Journal articles on the topic 'Denmark – Intellectual life – 18th century'

This Article introduces and analyzes Michel Speranski's Rhetoric, which presents itself as a philosophical work. This philosophical approach makes it an innovative contribution to the intellectual life of 18th century Russia.

The 18th-century Parisian tavern was public space that lay beyond the private spheres of home, family, or corporate identity. Taverns, like markets or roads, were without inherent order, so they required the ordering of public authority. For much of the old regime, taverns illustrate the public sphere in its subjection to public control. A second public sphere, found in the coffeehouses of Britain and the cafés of France, was a place of intellectual and social exchange that gradually challenged the royal monopoly on public issues. Yet taverns demonstrated the evolution of a third public sphere from a space monopolized by royal control to one in which the populace constituted a public with its own discursive practices and norms. In their increasingly autonomous use of taverns, the people of Paris were developing a model of behavior that extended to the political life of the city during the French Revolution.

Born in Tønder, Denmark, Stephan Kenckel (1661–1732) had a short career in schoolteaching before becoming, in 1697, a customs master based in the provincial port town of Helsingør. Remarkably, Kenckel was a major collector both of musical instruments and of printed and manuscript music. We know this, since his music and instruments were put up for public auction after his death. The printed sale catalogue, the relevant contents of which are listed, described, and analysed, also includes, in the example studied, the handwritten names of purchasers and the prices they paid. The range of instruments—familiar and exotic, antiquated and newfangled-owned by Kenckel and the breadth of his musical repertory, which suggests the existence of a thriving collegium musicum active in Helsingør, testify to a higher state of musical development in early-18th-century Denmark than has been generally recognized.

It has long been known which books were read most widely throughout enlightened Europe and to which intellectual authorities particular social groups referred. After the long history of research about the 18th century, modernity has also inherited various research habits consisting mainly of constant verification of the recognised hierarchy of authors, publications, and actors of intellectual life. However, the question remains: how to study this literary culture in given continent areas? Speaking of literary culture, we mean the prevailing patterns in the reception, evaluation, assimilation and imitation of literature, information and evaluation channels, local conditions that have a decisive influence on choices and opinions. The author proposes to speak about this matter based on the recently completed work on literary culture in French-speaking Switzerland in the 18th century. Despite its specificity and evident provincialism, this example provides material for a general, theoretical and methodological reflection: is it worth researching production from the second (and further) shelf? If so, how should this material be approached? What does it tell us about the evaluation procedures? The article presents and analyses these issues.

The dissemination of the mechanical and Newtonian experimental philosophy in 18th-century England arose fascination in relation to the possible application of this new knowledge to the needs of productive life and the general welfare of the population. The activity of many independent and/or itinerant lecturers proved to be fundamental to spread the Newtonian philosophy and allow for the emergence of an ideal of applied science. In the present paper I discuss the intellectual trajectory of John Theophilus Desaguliers (1683-1744), who was the curator, or ‘official experimenter’, of the Royal Society of London and became a pioneer in the spreading of Newtonianism, as well as one of the most important and most respected independent lecturers on mechanical and experimental philosophy in the first half of the 18th century.

The focus of this study is the views of Feofan Prokopovich, a unique Orthodox thinker whose world outlook was shaped by an obvious influence of the ideas of the Protestant and Catholic Enlightenment. Talking about the Enlightenment, modern historiography focuses on the versatility of the phenomenon, preferring to talk about the Enlightenment, including the religious or confessional Enlightenment, aimed at rethinking the role of religion and the church. The Religious Enlightenment was a pan-European phenomenon that embraced Protestantism, Catholicism, Judaism, and Orthodoxy, and grew out of the desire to create an intelligent religion free of superstition and serving society. The intellectual movement of the religious Enlightenment sought to reconcile the natural philosophy of the 17th-18th centuries with a religious worldview, while trying to overcome the extremes of religious fanaticism, on the one hand, and nihilism and godlessness, on the other. The process of forming a new intellectual environment is marked by the coexistence and mutual influence of the most diverse, sometimes poorly compatible traditions, their transformation and modification. Comprehensively arguing the need for unlimited autocracy in Russia, Feofan Prokopovich, nevertheless, actively used the discourse of the Enlightenment in his writings, discussing the problem of the origin of the state, the mode of government, the boundaries of the power of the monarch, the rights and duties of subjects. On the example of Feofan Prokopovich, we can talk about the emergence and rooting of intellectual practices of a new type in Russian everyday life. The integration of Western European ideas and practices into Russian culture was ambiguous, multifaceted and depended on their adaptation to the socio-political space of Russia. Being well acquainted with the works of European authors of the 17th early 18th centuries, he rather took on the formal side of their discussions on socio-political topics, adapted a conceptual glossary that was new for the Russian educated public, which opened up opportunities for talking about politics in a new way.

Collections of antiquities on Danish manorsBefore the establishment of the public museum system and during its first phase after 1807, important activity concerning the relics of antiquity was managed by the estates (fig. 3). This resulted in the creation of collections with varied contents, including Danish antiquities. These were either bought or found within the estate district as was the case with the pieces of ”danefæ”, which the peasants found and brought to the manor (according to a decree from 1737, all treasures found in the Danish soil must be handed over to the king or – later – the state. Such finds are called” danefæ”). It is notable that the collection of danefæ took place according to a decentralised structure, as described in King Frederik V’s public notice from 1752, which also stated that a reward is given in return. According to this, the king delegated his right to collect danefæ to counts and barons, who could then again pass it on and cash the reward. The danefæ became the nucleus in many collections (fig. 4). This category of landowners kept their central position to archaeological work for a long time. Their right to collect danefæ lasted until 1853, and the practice of delivering antiquities found on the estate at the manor went on until modern times.The early museum collections, the kunstkammers and collections of curios of the 17th and 18th centuries, are well described in the literature on museum history. However, only little attention has been paid to the collections of the 19th and early 20th centuries. For instance, the collections of Broholm on Fyn (fig. 9), of Nr. Vosbjerg in Western Jutland, of Brattingsborg on Samsø, and of Valbygaard (fig. 1) and Lerchenborg on Sjælland have all been thoroughly described, but only individually (note 5), not as a phenomenon. This article is based on information from a few selected archives supplemented by spot tests involving a number of manors and several museums in areas with many estates (note 14). ln spite of the limitations induced by the source material it is the aim of the article to throw light on as many collections as possible to reach a general view. The article focuses on the manor collections as a phenomenon and on the museum development and museum traditions to which these collections belong , with the emphasis on the 19th and early 20th centuries.The article is based on two archives,Victor Hermansen’s papers in the Royal Library, indicated in the lists I-V with the signature of ”gl. Bib. VH” and the part of the report archive in the National Museum / Danish Prehistory, listed as ”NM, Oldtiden”, which contains the private collections. The material has been described using five time references: Before 1807 (list I); 1807-1848 (list II); 1848-1892 (list III); and finally 1892-1919 and 1919- the present time (both in list IV) (fig. 2). The time divisions were the result of an overall evaluation of the material, the type of collections and the intellectual, mental and social motives behind the collecting activity. Although the types of collections from different periods overlap and late examples of early collection types do occur, it is still obvious that the ideal for collector’s activity changed in the course of time.The review begins with the period 1807-1848, at the start of which the ”Royal Commission to the Safe keeping of Antiquities” was to become the foundation stone of the public museum system.1807-1848: landowners and others put much work into the issue, which the ”Commission” had been appointed to safeguarding. Danish artefacts were collected as never before. A flow of artefacts arrived at the collection in the capital from several landowners on Fyn and elsewhere. As in the beginning of the previous period, the landowners were also taking part in excavations, in protecting relics of antiquity and in publishing archaeological treatises.1848-1892:The public museum services were established. The new keeper of the Danish antiquities, the archaeologist J.J.A. Worsaae travelled the country to collect information, and he specifically contacted the landowners, knowing that these were key figures within archaeological research (fig. 5 and 10). Consequently, the landowners changed the way they dealt with archaeology in line with the development of the profession as initiated by Worsaae, who went in the direction of a more scholarly method and a dissociation of philosophy and history, which had been closely connected to archaeology. King Frederik VII’s (1848-1863) personal interest in archaeology had a positive influence on the development of the profession and contributed to its growing popularity among the landowners and the public.1892-1919: This period began with the Old Nordic Museum changing its name into the National Museum, and Sophus Müller becoming its curator. The landowners continued their archaeological activity, especially on those estates, which had a tradition for this (fig. 6). However, in the correlation between these archaeologically interested and active landowners, the National Museum gained more authority due to its growing expertise. Not only did the museum engage itself in the landowners’ investigations, it also took over the work and continued it on its own terms. But at the same time the museum staff showed appropriate consideration to the landowners, who according to the constitution had the right of owners hip to extensive areas with artefacts and relics of the past. Cooperation was necessary for the growth of the profession. The landowners had unlimited rights to those finds of artefacts and structures that were not danefæ or listed relics. However, the registers of the National Museum from this time show that after the excavation, the landowner often gave the finds to the museum.This period also saw conflicts between the provincial museums and the National Museum, caused by Sophus Müller’s policy of a centralised museum structure, which gave the provincial museums little liberty of action (note 7). We lack a coherent description of the private artefact collectors’ part in this game. A closer examination of some of them, such as Beck on Valbygaard, the private collectors associated with the museum in Odense, and Collet on Lundbygaard suggests that they were sometimes on one, sometimes on the other front in this controversy (note 9 and 47).After 1919: In 1919, the privileges and special duties of the nobility were cancelled, a development parallelled in the rest of Central, East and Northern Europe. The advanced position in the government previously held by this social class had ended to be replaced by the public sector of the democratic society of which the modern museum system forms a part. However, some estates carried on the tradition of building up collections of artefacts even in this period, and a few landowners opened museums on their estates (fig. 7). These are late activities in the long tradition of archaeological activity on the manors. Both in this periods and the previous one, the interest in collecting artefacts spread down the hierarchy of the manors to the employees and to the farmers on the small holdings. Today almost every family holding owns a collection of artefacts found on the property.To throw light on the changing intellectual context of which the artefact collections on the manors formed part, from the collections of the late Renaissance until the present, the article includes the collections of curios and minerals from the 17th and 18th centuries (list I). Most royal and princely courts in Europe had a kunstkammer with a wideranging content. The archive information used for this article has shown that in Denmark in the 19th century, these collections were not exclusively connected to the nobility or the manors. It is a common trait that the collector was a learned person, an academic or a high official or a well- educated nobleman with or without property. To agree with this, both in Denmark and internationally, a well-equipped library was attached to the collection as a fixed element (fig. 8). Some kunstkammers were attached to grammar schools, orphanages and student hostels. Through purchase and sale parts of the collections changed owner and location from time to time, as for instance the collection of Jesper Friis, which can be followed in written so urces from the 17th century through the following centuries and for a couple of items even into the antique collection of the National Museum.Around 1800, the Romantic Movement and the national currents increased the interest in Danish arte facts and relics of the past. Via folk high school education, which was inspired by the Nordic mythology and attached importance to the prehistory and early history of the nation, this interest spread into the population. As opposed to the earlier collections, which formed part of a learned environment characterised by a classical, humanistic education, the many manor collections, which had their prime in the period of c. 1860-1919, formed part of a practical agronomy universe, where demanding farming techniques were pushed into effect and where hunting and outdoor life was an important part of life. At the same time the landowners put much strength into renovating buildings and erecting fine manor complexes, a natural consequence of the wealth that originated from the corn sales. In an era where natural sciences and practical trades were given pride of place, the turn of archaeology away from the old humanistic method and tradition within philology and history towards the exact sciences will have contributed to the populariry of the profession.The private collections of artefacts have a larger professional and intellectual value than what is usually attributed to them. They were made at a time when the creation of rype collections of artefacts, suites, were in fashion. Information on find conditions and contexts are therefore rare. In the 20th century, professional archaeologists valued these collections according to the presence of find information, and so many of them were split through exchange. The fact that many of these artefacts were from the time before the parish accounts (a registering of relics of the past initiated by the National Museum) and thus – when it comes to the local artefacts – told of the relics of the past that had been situated on the estate earlier, but had been demolished in the early, active farming years of the first half of the 19th century. Also, the ethnological value of these collections has been disregarded.The article ends with considerations as to the public / the private. Nowadays these two notions create two separate rooms. ICOM’s ethical rules for museums have a clear definition, stating that a professional museum activiry is in compatible with private collecting activity.The history of the private collections of arte facts throws light on the development from the time before the public sector, when landowners and other private persons were supporting archaeology and the public museum initiative economically, politically and professionally. The profession developed from here and in a continued interaction between the professionals and the private collectors. Even when today there is a clear distinction between public and private, there are some interesting reminiscences left. Without the contribution and support of the public, archaeology would have difficult conditions.Karen Løkkegaard PoulsenMariboTranslated by Annette Lerche Trolle

The article is devoted to the circumstances of Hryhoriy Skovoroda’s use of the pseudonym «Daniil Meingard» and the role played by Mykhailo Kovalynskyi in Skovoroda’s adoption of this pseudonym. The article reconstructs the biography of Pastor Daniel Mingard, whose name was adopted by Skovoroda, including refuted false information about him, widespread in Ukrainian-language literature; a brief description of the intellectual biography of his son, Pastor Gabriel Mingard, who, unlike his father, was a notable figure in the intel- lectual life of the country of Vaud in the second half of the 18th century, in particular, one of the most original authors of the «Encyclopedia of Yverdon» — a liberal Protestant response to the «Encyclopedia» of Diderot and d’Alembert. The article states that the description of Daniel Mingard, which Kovalynskyi gives in «The Life of Grigory Skovoroda» in order to explain the origin of the pseudonym Skovo- roda, corresponds more to Gabriel than to Daniel Mingard. The explanation of this ambiguity is based on the hypothesis that Kovalynskyi, choosing Gabriel Mingard as an example to follow, projects the Mingard son-father relationship onto his relationship with Skovoroda. This hypothesis gives reason to reconsider the role of Kovalynskyi in the life of Skovoroda and in the formation of the image of the philosopher in «The Life of Grigory Skovoroda». The article reconstructs Kovalynskyi’s circle of reading and demonstrates that his literary preferences correspond to the leading trends of reception by Russian Freemasonry in the last third of the 18th century. Western, primarily liberal Protestant literature. This recon- struction gives reason to draw a parallel between Skovoroda’s opinion and Kovalynskyi’s reading circle, in the context of which the latter evaluates Skovoroda’s life and philosophy; they are related by devotion to religious and intellectual freedom, eclecticism, as well as numerous subjects that we consider purely Skovoroda’s subjects: self-knowledge, the inner man, the goodness of God, happiness, friendship, etc.

The article examines whether an 18th century man of letters in Tallinn might use (exotic plants) to design his living environment and spend his free time growing them and how he would do this. It is only possible to speculate about the answers. The inventory compiled in 1766 for the assets of Heinrich Benjamin Hessler, rector and technology professor at Tallinn Secondary School, includes many entries related to gardening, which may allude to his interest in gardening. Therefore, he has been chosen as the main character for this article.It turns out that gardening could be the part of the life of an 18th century man of letters with a focus on both the beauty and practical aspects. Considering the fact that travelling and visiting exotic places was not an everyday occurrence, growing exotic plants helped to make one’s living environment more interesting, diverse and also fulfilled educational goals. Based on the inventory, it seems that Professor Hessler was sufficiently wealthy to spend his resources on such a luxury. In addition, gardening was a way of relaxing and provided a respite from intensive intellectual work.

В статье исследуется «эра Бэнкса» (1778–1820) как особый период в истории британской науки, когда в центре интеллектуальной жизни империи оказалась ботаника, а ботаническая иллюстрация выступала как ведущий практический инструмент познания. Исследование контекстов и смыслов, возникающих вокруг ботанической иллюстрации, связано с рассмотрением практик научного наблюдения за природой, легитимированных и вместе с тем скованных определенными административными нормами, общекультурными стандартами и ценностными ориентирами своей эпохи. Наиболее влиятельной фигурой по отношению к вышеперечисленным факторам развития ботанической иллюстрации в Британии являлся ботаник Джозеф Бэнкс (1743–1820), президент Лондонского королевского общества с 1778 по 1820 год. Биография Дж. Бэнкса рассматривается нами в контексте его имперских амбиций и интеллектуального окружения. Результаты проведенного исследования позволяют углубить понимание властного дискурса подчинения человеком природы, зарождение которого связано с развитием таксономического подхода и совершенствованием способов визуализации ботанического знания. The article investigates the so called Banks era (1778–1820), a period of the history of British science when botany played a key role in the intellectual life of the British Empire and botanical illustrations were a practical tool in the exploration of the world. The investigation of meanings evoked by botanical illustrations is associated with the investigation of observations which are both legitimatized and limited by certain administrative norms, cultural standards, and values characteristic of an epoch. Joseph Banks (1743–1820), an English botanist and president of the Royal Society (1778–1820), was the most prominent figure to promote botanical illustrations in Britain. The article views the biography of Joseph Banks in the context of his imperial ambitions and his intellectual environment. The results of the research provide insight into the understanding of humanity’s domination of nature, whose origin is associated with the development of a taxonomic approach and the improvement of botanical art techniques.

The article examines the skovorodynstvo as the socio-cultural trend of the educated class of followers of philosophical views and, most of all, the lifestyle of Ukrainian travelling philosopher Hryhorii Skovoroda (1722–1794). Common to the skovorodyntsi was the fascination with the person of Skovoroda. The skovorodynstvo was in agreement with some other nonconformist trends of that time, had a connection with the Ukrainian national movement. Thus, is it a coincidence that the initiators of the Ukrainian cultural and national revival such as Ivan Kotliarevskyi, Hryhorii Kvitka-Osnovianenko and their followers are included in this movement? What features of Skovoroda’s way of life did attract his followers, and what did they bring on their own? The nonconformism of Ukrainian pre-romanticism and early romanticism coincided with the nonconformist lifestyle of the philosopher, noticeable and attractive during his lifetime and especially after his death. The skovorodynstvo can be divided into two trends: popular (among the general public) and intellectual. Skovorodyntsi from intellectual movement (intellectuals) found themselves in literary work, discovering or propagandizing the ideas of the skovorodynstvo, as well as giving the image of the skovorodynets. During the period between 1790 and 1850, the skovorodynstvo remained as a marker of the alternatives. The intellectual moods of the 19th century perceived or rejected the skovorodynstvo, oscillating between realistic materialism and idealistic mysticism, but such a trend to some extent continued, thus enriching other alternative socio-cultural or intellectual-aesthetic moves (tolstovstvo, modernism etc).

The article focuses on grapes as an element of the language of flowers, the 18th–19th century cultural phenomenon. Grapes belong to the ancient “core” of the language of flowers. It is considered a polysemantic word or a short sentence. Its use is typical for all European languages of flowers, including Russian. Grapes are often found in fiction. The epithet influences the contextual meaning of grapes. The most common colours are red and yellow, while green is much less used. Red colour enhances the meanings “fun”, “feast”, “carnal pleasures”. Yellow is associated with parental happiness, homeland, friendship, immaculate youth. Green appears in the contexts “trying to hide frustration”, “lack of skill”. The first group of meanings includes “feast”, “joy”, “pleasure”, “carnal love”. The second group of meanings is associated with the field of intellectual activity: “true knowledge”, “narrow-mindedness”. The latter meaning comes from the Russian folklore. Grapes can symbolise poetry and inspiration, and peaceful rural life as well. Since this plant accompanies ancient gods and goddesses, depicted in human form, grapes are used in comparisons that reveal the peculiarities of heroes and heroines' characters.

To Romantics the principle of life, its mystery and power, propelled a desire to ‘see into the life of things’ as William Wondsworth articulated it. This article examines how the relationship between life and non-life, the animate and the inanimate, humans and things, took on a new inflection in Romanticism, which differed in radical ways from the pragmatic and economic relationship between persons and things in the 18th century. In Romanticism, the threshold between living and dead matter came to linger between divinity and monstrosity. In Denmark, Hans Christian Andersen had few rivals when it came to articulating associations between humans and things. This article narrows the scope of Andersen’s vivifications to one specific subset: marionettes, dolls and automatons, asking how his surrogates operated vis-à-vis Heinrich von Kleist’s, E. T. A. Hoffman’s and Mary Shelley’s. Each of these authors drew on the hyper-mimetic relationship that dolls, marionettes and automatons have to humans: Kleist used marionettes to examine consciousness through unconsciousness; Hoffmann used automatons to articulate the uncanny; and Shelley used agolem-like monster to ponder the ethics of man’s quests for generative powers. Andersen, in contrast, used dolls, marionettes and automatons in order to speak about social beings.’

Digitization as an element of technological development has contributed to the removal of many information barriers related to access to the achievements of writing and printing culture. Thanks to numerous programs of developing and subsidizing work on intellectual property, digital libraries, museums and archives have been created, offering access to their collections online. Digital forms of priceless manuscripts, old prints, documents of social life and other manifestations of culture are not only a way of conservation and preservation of the originals or the presentation of library magazines, but also sources for research. The content of the Digital Library Federation – DLF, which associates 138 data providers, will be used as an example of digitized old prints along with ways of describing, searching, displaying results and special addons that make their use simple and effective. As a result of the research, 38,629 items marked as old prints were found in the database, supplied by 38 institutions, the most numerous being those provided by the Jagiellonian Digital Library and the Lower Silesia Digital Library, with the predominance of 18th and 17th century and Latin and Polish prints.

The author analyzes wandering dyaks as a specific group of 18th-century Ukrainian city and town intellectuals. During vacations and religious holidays, these young people went to high clergy and secular houses. They sang congratulatory songs about Christmas or Easter and delivered orations – poetic humorous speeches – abo school life and pupils’ wretchedness. For their performance, the wandering dyaks were rewarded, mostly with food. There was a special order from the administration of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy to release poor students for food begging with the obligation to return before the beginning of the school year. Therefore, such poems usually ended with a request for a reward. Gastronomic poetics is one of the key tools of the «grassroots» baroque that appeared thanks to the intersection of the intellectual urban and folk rural cultures. This phenomenon became the basis for Ivan Kotlyarevsky’s «Eneida», a step towards new-time Ukrainian literature. The texts analyzed in the article were first found in manuscript songbooks of 18th and early 19th century, both in Naddnipryanshchyna and Western Ukraine. It is noticeable that even after the end of the baroque epoch these songs were not forgotten, they were still performed, and ethnographers fixed them in various versions. In contrast to the of «high» baroque, marked by the occurrence of metaphoricity and abstractness, one of the main characteristics of wandering dyaks’ poems is the emphasis on materiality, especially food. According to this, it is worth using gastrocriticism to interpret orations and travesties. Gastronomic markers in the festive burlesque function as a series of oppositions: daily and ceremonial food; proper and improper; moderate and excessive; bestowed and stolen; banned and allowed; spiritual and carnal. Four aspects are investigated in the article. First of all, the self-image of ever-hungry students is closely reviewed. School life for common citizen had a clear association with poverty, which pointes the prominent role of malnutrition and forced fasting in poems of wandering dyaks. Secondly, the appearing of gastronomic utopias is proved as a reaction to a prolonged period of starvation. One more aspect is the conviction of excessive feeding. The last but not the least is the motive of giving, feasting and donating food in the poems of wandering dyaks. The poetry of wandering dyaks consists of the element of folk culture, on the one hand, and the literary imagery, on the other. For the intellectual of the 18th-century nutrition, along with the usual meaning, reflects the unity of bodily and spiritual parts of human nature. In the baroque culture, the widespread metaphor is eating as a spiritual act, and the cognition is perceived as the saturation of the inner world. Nutrition is considered in two semantic terms: firstly, food as a sign of physicality and, potentially, sinfulness and seduction; secondly, food as the embodiment of eternal life, the celebration of vitality. The «high» baroque culture transmits the first vision. Instead, the «lower» culture is characterized by the second idea, which explains the emergence of gastronomic fantasies in the poems of wandering dyaks.

In this article, we will analyze the influence of Greek spirituality on Russian culture in the second half of the 18th century, when Enlightenment ideas infused Russian society. Russian intellectual circles and the upper social class were inspired by Western categories of thought. The absence of a living theology that would give man the true meaning of life has caused tension and a great spiritual crisis in Russian society. One possible solution was to start a fight against the Enlightenment and reject any Western ideas. The second solution was to pay attention to the forgotten tradition and look for inspiration in it for the renewal of spiritual life. The spiritual renewal, known as the philokalic movement, leaned towards the second solution, building upon the Byzantine hesychastic tradition of the 14th century. This paved the way for a new era of Orthodox spirituality, which significantly influenced thinking and spiritual life in Russia. The movement of spiritual renewal is associated with the translation and publication of manuscripts written by Byzantine niptic authors, which were published in the book Dobrotolublye (gr. Philokalia). This significantly contributed to the spread of the hesychastic tradition in Russia and became an impetus for a return to Byzantine spiritual values. This article examines the spiritual, literary, and cultural activities of the most important centers of Russian Hesychasm, such as Sarov, Valaam, and Optina, and their influence on Russian society, which has not yet been recognized sufficiently.

The article shows that the 20th century has significantly changed the social structure of societies, transforming the self-consciousness of a person of European culture. The 20th century prepared the actual modernity of the third millennium with its global structure of cultural and political interrelations, allowing for both the continuous development and critical revision of cultural traditions. National cultures, their spiritual traditions, ethical and aesthetic values are deconstructed under the pressure of unifying practices of the information society. The author raises the question: is the historical and spiritual experience of Russian culture relevant for modern Russia, for its political and cultural agenda? The article puts forward the thesis that the basic concepts included in the philosophical thesaurus and defining the research horizon of Russian cultural philosophers — the state, nation, culture, personality, freedom, religious experience, creativity — are determined by the meanings, ideals and values of the Modernity project. However, currently in relation to Modernity seems to be a radically new project. Modernity, which defined the cultural and political configuration of Russia and Europe in the 18th — early 20th century, cannot compete with this project. The present situation poses a serious challenge to the historical integrity and subjectivity of national cultures. In this context, one of the key tasks is to re-actualize the intellectual heritage of Russian culture, its concepts of man, history, and spiritual life, which were formulated by Russian thinkers.

Objectives: This paper looks at Freud's Jewish identity in the context of the Jewish experience in Eastern and Central Europe after 1800, using his family history and significant figures in his life as illustration. Sigmund Freud's life as a Jew is deeply paradoxical, if not enigmatic. He mixed almost exclusively with Jews while living all his life in an anti-Semitic environment. Yet he eschewed Jewish ritual, referred to himself as a godless Jew and sought to make his movement acceptable to gentiles. At the end of his life, dismayed by the rising forces of nationalism, he accepted that he was in his heart a Jew “in spite of all efforts to be unprejudiced and impartial”. The 18th century Haskalla (Jewish Enlightenment) was a form of rebellion against conformity and a means of escape from shtetl life. In this intense, entirely inward means of intellectual escape and revolt against authority, strongly tinged with sexual morality, we see the same tensions that were to manifest in the publication by a middle-aged Viennese neurologist of a truly revolutionary book to herald the new 20th century: The Interpretation of Dreams. Freud's life and work needs to be understood in the context of fin-de-siécle Vienna. Mitteleuropa, the cultural renaissance of Central Europe, resulted from the emancipation and urbanization of the burgeoning Jewish middle class, who adopted to the cosmopolitan environment more successfully than any other group. In this there is an extreme paradox: the Jewish success in Vienna was a tragedy of success. Conclusions: Freud, despite a deliberate attempt to play down his Jewish origins to deflect anti-Semitic attacks, is the most representative Jew of his time and his thinking and work represents the finest manifestation of the Litvak mentality.

Sufism is a kind of appreciation of the esoteric dimension of Islam which is often considered a destructive and distorted teaching. A sharp criticism was raised by Hasan Hanafi, a modern Muslim intellectual from Egypt, according to Sufism arising from the despair of the opponents of the absolutism of the Umayyads, and this Sufism had no social contribution. However, in Indonesia there is a cleric from Palembang named Shaykh Abdus Shamad Al-Palimbani who adheres to the Neo-Sufism style with its characteristic namely activism in collective life. This article seeks how to uncover the form of social idealism in the book Hidayatus Shalikin by Shaykh Abdus Shamad Al-Palimbani in the 18th century. The research methodology used is the historical method, heuristic, critical interpretation, and Historiography.The results of this study prove that Shaykh Abdus Shamad's social idealism includes several aspects, namely universal compassion in the morality of the people, rejecting violence and oppression, clean assets from acts of wrongdoing, and forbidding lies and expressions of hatred in the community.

Throughout the 16th and 17th centuries, many builders, artists, and architects living on the shores of Italian lakes decided to settle in Poland. Upon arrival, they pursued brilliant careers in various areas of life. Over time, they became Polonized. This was also the case for Giovanni Battista Trevano, who was active in Krakow in the first half of the 17th century and whose lifetime achievement was to become the royal architect of the Vasa kings. This article presents Trevano’s artistic oeuvre and provides insight into his social, economic, and intellectual status in the new community, including the architect’s offspring, who pursued successful careers in army, church, and state offices throughout the 17th and 18th centuries. These new findings are based on manuscripts that have recently been discovered by the author of the article in both Polish and Swiss archives. They allow for expanding the knowledge of the Trevano family’s genealogy and biography, and correcting some unjustified views in the discourse. On the basis of research on new archival sources, one can conclude that Giovanni Battista Trevano was a prominent architect, who is credited with introducing in Poland the early Baroque style, which soon became dominant in northern European art.

Grundtvig’s Position in Early Danish NationalismBy Lorenz RerupThe article deals with Grundtvig’s important position in Early Danish nationalism, i.e., in the decades from about 1800 to 1830. The background is the Danish Monarchy from the prosperous years at the turn of the century to the disastrous war 1807-1814, the loss of Norway in 1814, and the following needy postwar time. After 1814 the Danish Monarchy consisted of the Kingdom of Denmark, the Duchies of Schleswig and Holstein, the North-Atlantic Islands (the Faeroes and Greenland) and some minor colonies. The ideology which integrated the higher ranks of these heterogeneous ethnic groups of the Monarchy into one society was a patriotism underlining peace and order in the realm, the importance of just government and - before 1807 - the protection provided by the Danish navy.The patriotism of the Monarchy was compatible with various feelings of identity which bred in different parts of it from about 1750. The Danes, living in an old kingdom, equipped with a written language, with a complete educational system, and with a history of their own, of course, had a feeling of a Danish identiy, as the German speaking population of the Duchies had a corresponding feeling of an identity of their own. Clashes of these different identities might happen but were not connected with political ideas. The state was run by the king, not by the people, and a public opinion about politics was not allowed - and was almost non-existent - before the announcement of the Advisory Estates Assemblies in 1831. Now nationalism spread and soon undermined the supranational Monarchy, which finally disintegrated in 1864.However, in the first decades of the 18th century and influenced by the ideas of Romanticism a few poets, first of all Grundtvig, developed a literary national movement without political aims. In the writings of these poets the Danes - the whole people - have a real chance to make history if they abandon their superficial life and revive the virtues and piety of the great periods in Danish history. Like political nationalists these poets propagate this kind of revival. Their attempt failed. People were still divided into a ’high’ and a ’broad’ culture and some decades had to pass until the latter one felt the need of an ideology in order to be integrated into society. Nevertheless, Grundtvig seems to be a kind of link between the patriotic ideology of the 18th and the political nationalism of the 19th century.

Culture is a Latin-origin word and derived from ‘cultura’. The word ‘cultura’ in Latin was then used for the meanings of to sow and get crops, produce. Before Turkish fell under the influence of Western languages, the word with Arab-origin ‘Hars’ was used instead of culture. After the Republic, rather than using ‘hars’, the word of culture was derived from the Western languages. The word ‘culture’ was widely started to be in use around Europe with the end of 18th century and beginning of 19thcentury. From the historical context of this word, it is described with relevantly complicated definition due to its different or similar uses for centuries. Thus, it has become difficult to make a single, scientific or appropriate definition concerning culture. Raymond Williams developed three wide and effective categories of use in order explain the development of word and complexity of its use. “(i)independent and abstract noun that describes a general process of intellectual, spiritual and aesthetic development from 18th century; (ii) whether used specifically or generally,… an independent noun that indicates a particular way of life, whether of a people, a period or humanity. But we also have to recognise (iii) the independent and abstract noun which describes the works and practices of intellectual and especially artistic activity” (Williams, 2005).When we look at the word of culture from the sociological aspect, it is reviewed in a more comprehensive way compared with its daily use. In general, culture is describes by the life styles and all actions of a society. Additionally, the concept of culture is explained together with society due to their close relation. The society constitutes the mutual relationship systems. The joint orientation of a society leads them to be under a common culture roof. Society cannot be without culture and vice versa. Both terms make each other exist. The members of society share cultural elements. Then these form the mutual contexts that individuals within a society live in. “The culture of a society is comprised by both non-material- beliefs, thought and values that compose the content of culture- and material elements- objects, signs or technology that represent this content”(Giddens, 2005,22). The concept of culture does not form itself from the nature. Culture is a human activity that is comprised by human activities. Culture is also an abstract concept that individuals form together but also when appropriate surrender to it. “Culture means to create and protect an order, fight with everything that disturbs the order and looks chaotic for the order. Culture is the act of putting or adding an artificial, manmade order in the place of “Order of nature” (i.e status of without no human interference” (Bauman, 2004). Keywords: Simmel, culture, cultura, society, Hars

The history of Islam in part of what is known today as Nigeria datesto about the loth Century. Christianity dates to the late 18th Century. Bythe middle of the 19th Century, when Nigerian newspapers began to appearon the streets of Nigeria, both religions had won so many followers and extendedto so many places in Nigeria that very few areas were untouched bytheir influence. The impact of both religions on their adherents not only determinedtheir spiritual life, but influenced their social and political lives aswell. It therefore became inevitable that both religions receive coverage frommost of the newspapers of the time. How the newspapers as media of informationand communication reported issues about the two religions is thetheme of this paper.Rationale for the StudyThe purpose of this study is to highlight the context in which such earlynewspapers operated and the factors that dictated their performance. Thisis because it is assumed that when a society faces external threat to its territory,culture, and independence, all hands (the press inclusive) ought tobe on deck to resist the threat with all might. Were newspapers used as verbalartillery and how did they present each religion? It is also assumed thatin a multireligious society a true press should be objective and serve as avanguard in the promotion of the interest of the people in general and notcreate or foster an atmosphere of religious conflict. The study also aims atfinding out whether the papers promoted intellectual honesty and fosteredthe spirit of unity particularly when the society was faced with the encroachmentof the British who posed a threat to their freedom, culture, economy ...

The Allegory of Transience by Philipp Sauerland (Gdańsk 1677 – Wrocław 1762), an artist specializing in still life and animal painting, was purchased in 2015 by the National Museum in Gdańsk. The painting allows us to deepen our knowledge of Sauerland’s artistic roots, as well as the interpretation of the painting in the socio-cultural context of the development of Europe in the early 18th century. In the paper a thesis is put forward about the Leiden sources of Sauerland’s work, which are connected with the painting tradition of the so-called fijnschilders, especially the work of Willem van Mieris. In the first decade of the 18th century, Sauerland painted The Young Woman in the Kitchen Interior, surrounded by perfectly rendered victuals, showing a similar gesture as in the famous painting by Van Mieris The Mouse Trap. In the signed painting from a private collection in New York, Sauerland chose historical themes. He presented a rare scene of David Giving Uriah a Letter to Joab. The painting refers to two famous works by Pieter Lastmann, but it is placed in an architectural set design analogous to Van Mieris’s paintings. An important element of the Allegory of Transience, in turn, is the relief visible by sliding down a carpet. This motif is also taken from the work of Van Mieries, but the iconography of the sculptural representation refers to Gerard de Lairesse’s print showing Chronos prevented by Prudence from destroying the statues. Sauerland is therefore close to the artists from Leiden in terms of the choice of themes, motifs, and the way they are painted. He also usually used a similar format of paintings. Like Van Mieris, the artist from Gdańsk signed his works with longer inscriptions. Although references to the Leydians are obvious in Sauerland’s early works, he does not make copies of their works, but focusing on the still life genre, he transforms them in his own style. The second thesis of our essay is related to the transformation of vanitas motifs, which in Sauerland’s work reveal their secularized character. The traditional symbolism of transience, which draws on religion, is replaced by the ideas of rationalism, accompanied by the idea of reason that opens a possibility of overcoming sensual and emotional limitations. The work becomes an expression of emancipatory processes that take place at the turn of the 17th and 18th centuries in European culture. Referring to the philosophical work of Baruch Spinoza (notion of knowledge), we interpret Sauerland’s work as an expression of the emerging modern ideal of freedom, which was based on a rationalistic paradigm. It is thanks to wisdom (sapientia) that the subject is able to transcend the reality of the sensual guise. In the last part of the text we point to the important role of practical wisdom (prudentia) and art (ars) in the process of liberalization that accompanied the social changes of the time. Using illusionism, Sauerland proposes an interpretative key to the viewer: the meaning of life is complemented by art: by making art, understanding art, or collecting artworks, the rational man can free himself from the fear of his own finiteness. The function of this still life is not to remind us of death, but to point out that contemplation of art is an intellectual and spiritual exercise that allows us to find the right attitude to life.

The paper presents the results of the study of two Arabic language epigraphic monuments from the mountain villages of Shinaz and Gelhen. The unique nature of these well-studied tombstones lies in the fact that, apart from epitaphs, there are chronographs of historic events that took place in South Dagestan and neighbouring Shirvan in the 15th-early 18th centuries carved on them. We suggest a new reading of the Arabic texts on tombstones, as well as corrections in reading the historical chronographs. It has been revealed that the owner of the epitaph of the Shinaz stele of 1798–99 is a famous Dagestan researcher of the 18th century Isma‘il al-Shinazi. The previously unknown time of his life has also been reliably determined. An alternative dating of a similar stele from Gelhen, located on the grave of a representative of the hereditary spiritual elite of this village, ‘Abdurahman-effendi, son of malla Ibrahim, is proposed. The stele was made in 1848–49, exactly half a century after the Shinaz one. We came to conclusion that the source for the chronographs of both steles was not the chronograph created in 1710–12, as was previously believed. The direct source was the handwritten historical chronograph of Malij al-Rutuli from 1754–55. It is believed that the manuscript with the chronograph Malij al-Rutuli belonged to the scholar Sa‘id al-Shinazi, the son of Isma‘il al-Shinazi. It seems that Sa‘id al-Shinazi was the compiler of the entire text of the Shinaz stele on his father’s grave. It has been established that the texts of both steles contain excerpts from medieval Arabic poetry. The authors of these verses are the Caliph ‘Ali b. Abi Talib (d. 661) and the famous mystic of the ‘Abbasid era, Mansur al-Hallaj (d. 922). Al-Hallaj’s poems were first recorded in the epigraphy of Dagestan. The South Dagestan’s practice of including historical chronographs in the texts of tombstones, despite its rarity, undoubtedly testifies to the interest that representatives of the intellectual elite of Dagestan society showed to the study of history. The thesis of the close connection of epigraphic monuments of Dagestan with narrative texts has also been confirmed.

ABSTRACTWhat kind of world did early American men and women believe they were living in? Did God choose lottery winners or did intellectual, economic, and scientific insights engender more reasonable, skeptical, or secular formulations? Lotteries were a common and uncontroversial presence in early American economic and civic life, funding the construction of everything from bridges to churches. George Washington liked giving lottery tickets as gifts. Denmark Vesey purchased his freedom by winning a lottery. Although scholars have used the lottery and other forms of gambling to make important claims about class and culture in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, lotteries hold rich, untapped insights for American religious history. By offering a specific causal experience to explain, lotteries prompted answers from their participants, known as “adventurers,” about why things happened. Relying on firsthand accounts of lottery winners, correspondence among the managers who oversaw lotteries, promotional schemes designed to entice participation, and newspaper coverage, this article demonstrates providence's ongoing centrality to causality in eighteenth and early nineteenth-century America. Far from jettisoning an animated, meaningful universe with the aid of reason or in the face of debilitating doubt, lottery adventurers employed both longstanding and novel versions of providence to explain how the world worked and how God worked in the world.

Abstract History has documented the human species’ struggles to understand beauty and communities’ efforts to grow through education. Figures of universal culture, such as Plato, Aristotle, G. W. F. von Leibniz, A. G. Baumgarten, I. Kant, G. W. F. Hegel, etc. tackled matters of aesthetics with great care. In the postmodernist period art, one of the four pillars of a peoples’ culture, together with language, history and religion, goes through a particular phase about which we cannot unequivocally say that is evolutionary. Under the onslaught of common people’s entertainment culture, contemporary art has a hard time maintaining its initial mission, that of elevating man’s soul and generating aesthetic projections of reality on a cognitive plane. The overwhelming significance that art and natural beauty carry in the intellectual life, beginning with the 18th century, is challenged by kitsch, this scourge, which came to prominence within society from the time when bourgeois civilization reached its peak, towards the end of the 19th century. Following a short presentation of various kitsch forms, associations and typologies in music, history, architecture, sculpture, decorative art and interior design, choreography, media, etc., we discuss kitsch aspects in film music, emphasising unjustified, incongruous and unempathetic associations between music and the rest of the filmic units. At the same time, we also present possible solutions for avoiding association errors. The examples are structured in the following subchapters: stylistic incongruities between filmic units vs. characteristics of the epoch augmented by music; using mainly dissonant or atonal sonorities in movies; exploring different cultures: ethnic music between deformation and authenticity; national and international in Romanian movies; representative songs - the more or less commercial exogenous motivation of film music; regarding the quantity of musical events in movies.

In Tell About the South: The Southern Rage to Explain, eminent southernist Y(stet)Fred Hobson argues that since the early 19th century, southern discourse has been dominated by a desire to explain the South to a nation critical of its practices. This “rage to explain” was particularly apparent in the era known as the Southern Renaissance — the period roughly between World War I and World War II that saw a flowering of southern letters and intellectual life. During this period, southern poets, novelists, essayists, historians, and sociologists participated in a comprehensive enactment of the southern “rage to explain” the South, both to itself and to the rest of the world. Within this outbreak of explanation, a significant pattern emerges: a pattern of resistance to what I shall call the myth of a two-class white South.Throughout American history, northerners and southerners alike have colluded to create the impression that the antebellum white South consisted of only two classes: aristocratic planters on one extreme and debased poor whites on the other. This impression was initiated in the 18th century, when William Byrd's histories of the dividing line introduced the image of the poor white in the form of the laughable “Lubberlander.” The stereotype of the comic and/or degraded poor white can be traced from Byrd through George Washington Harris's tales of Sut Lovingood (1867) to William Alexander Percy's diatribes against poor whites in Lantern on the Levee (1941) and William Faulkner's unflattering portrayal of the Snopeses (1940–59). Meanwhile, the images of the courteous, kindly planter and of the plantation as pastoral idyll can be traced from John Pendleton Kennedy's Swallow Barn (1832) through the postbellum plantation fiction of Thomas Nelson Page to Stark Young's Civil War romance, So Red the Rose (1934).

On October 17, 2017 the conference “An Alsatian Intellectual in Enlightenment Russia: L.G. Nikolay, Strasbourg President of the Russian Academy of Sciences” happened. Materials of the conference, with the addition of other essays and documents, formed the basis of the book under review (published under the editorship of Sorbonne Professor Rodolphe Baudin and Senior Researcher of IWL RAS Alexandra Veselova). The book’s authors are well-known scientists from France, Russia, Germany and Switzerland. Baron Ludwig Heinrich von Nikolay (1737–1820; in Russia he was called Andrey Lvovich) played a prominent role in Russian social and cultural life at the end of the 18th century. Nicolay came from the intellectual milieu of Strasbourg, which became a subject of research in the essays included the book by R. Baudin, D. Ryusk and V. Berelovich. From 1769 he was in Russia, where he was entrusted with the position of mentor to the heir to the throne, Pavel Petrovich. In 1798, Nikolay was appointed president of the Russian Academy of Sciences; N. Prokhorenko’s essay is devoted to his productive activity in this post. Thanks to his personal qualities, Nicholas managed to stay at court after the coup on March 12, 1801 and ingratiate himself with Alexander I; in 1803 he left the service. A number of materials of the reviewed work are devoted to the literary work of Nikolay, a prolific and versatile poet (articles by M. Arens and A. Ananyeva). For posterity, the name Nikolay is associated primarily with the famous estate of Mon Repos in Vyborg, which he acquired in 1788, to which he dedicated a poem in 1804, probably his best work (article by Yu. Moshnik and M. Efimov). The book also pays attention to Nikolay as a character in historiographical essays and fiction (articles by A. Veselova and M. Efimov). Attached are five unpublished letters from Nicolai; their addressees are the diplomat and lawyer F.A. Annenberg and the poet and scientist K. Pfeffel. The book is provided with a chronology of Nicolai’s life and work and brief annotations of articles (in French and Russian).

The article is devoted to the problem of the Russian intelligentsia identity formation in the 21st century. The authors trace a historical path that the Russian intelligentsia has gone through. Russian philosophers of the 20th century rated this path as tragic, noting that the intelligentsia itself wrote its own history, having captured it in great cultural texts well known in Russia and in the world. The need to understand oneself, one’s purpose, to understand the peculiarity of the situation in Russia and the world is an expression of the intelligentsia’s self-consciousness. Cultural memory, allowing the intelligentsia to maintain its own integrity, plays a leading role in shaping the identity of the intelligentsia. It allows for its own integrity to be maintained. The Russian intelligentsia is a socio-cultural type, including the complex mix of ideas and values which has been shaped since the end of the 18th century in difficult historical conditions. From the beginning, the intelligentsia tried to solve the problem of Russian modernization through enlightening, initiating social changes and participating in them. The Russian intelligentsia formed a special character - psychological traits and behavior, opposite to the type of European intellectuals. Until now, the Russian intelligentsia argues about itself, becoming sometimes closer to European intellectuals, but affirming sometimes its singularity. Nevertheless, in modern Russia there is a widespread perception that the intelligentsia is being replaced by a class of intellectuals - professionals, experts, and public intellectuals which strive to influence the formation of public discourse and the discourse of power. In the course of post-Soviet transformations, the intelligentsia began to lose not only the role of public and political actor, but also the role of the moral elite. The consequences of this process are destructive for younger generations and society as a whole. The study conducted by the authors of the article shows that the discourse of intelligentsia is changing as well as the discourse about it, although the intelligentsia is being constructed in a process of permanent dispute about the past, present and future of Russia. At the same time, intellectual identity is being formed in this dispute. So, it would be wrong to perceive the Russian intelligentsia as an unchanging phenomenon. Its openness to cultural and social changes allows us to talk about the formation of the intelligentsia of the 21st century. The study also reveals that the attitudes towards the intelligentsia expressed by the young generation of educated Russians living in an open, global world, are changing. The new vision of the intelligentsia is similar to its European perception as an intellectual elite. At the same time, a desire of young Russians to turn to the values historically constituting the moral code of the Russian intelligentsia, is observed. Thus, it cannot be said that the intelligentsia has disappeared from Russian public life; instead, the intelligentsia identity is a cultural challenge for the younger generation of modern Russians.

The article presents a textual analysis of the letter of Barthold Georg Niebuhr, Prussian scientist and politician of the late 18th — first half of the 19th century, dedicated to the issue of German national church. Niebuhr is known primarily as one of the leading historians of his time. His name is mostly associated with the research on the history of Ancient Rome and other ancient states, as well as with the critical method which was a new word in German and European historiography. At the same time Niebuhr's intellectual talent allowed him to combine productively historical theory with political practice. Having served as Danish finance minister, then Prussian and Prussian ambassador in Rome for several years, Niebuhr created a significant corpus of political writings. However, they have attracted much less interest than his monographs and scientific articles on history and classical philology, until now. Nevertheless, as reviewing the real problems of politics from the practical point, Niebuhr's writings on political topics possess an undeniable merit. The fortieth year of Niebuhr's life was marked by the large-scale change of European borders, including territories ruled by Curia Romana. As Prussian ambassador in Rome Niebuhr was faced with a difficult task: diplomatically to bargain independence for German dioceses so that the process of forming a single national state was launched. In addition to the Roman Church, the solution to this issue was hampered by strained relations between catholics and protestants within Germany itself.

The 2021 publication of the MGIMO editorial, a textbook called Russian Magazines of the 19th — early 20th Centuries is a collection of articles by the faculty of the School of international journalism. The collection gives an idea of the formation and development of Russian journalism at the turn of the centuries, the Silver age of the Russian culture. It is this period that is marked by epochal events that have radically changed the life of society. Thick magazines, the subject of research in this collection, were the mouthpiece of not only socio-political, but also cultural events. Having appeared at the end of the 18th century, they acquired real spread in late 19th century, making the sphere of Russian journalism flourish and develop the professional standards. The thick periodical magazines were brought to life by the peculiar conditions of Russia’s development. Such magazines were not only a literary and artistic collection, but also a political newspaper that embodied the dialogue traditions of both conservatives and radicals. Readers of literary magazines and the authors of articles shaped the intellectual environment that determined the cultural advancement of the country and became significant point on the cultural landscape themselves. In the historical and cultural context of this period, the textbook helpfully explains a few little-known facts from the life of the authors whose publications and editorial activities determined the fate of the journals. Until now, such journals as Bozhii mir (God’s World) and several others have not been the subject of scientific interest. Therefore, the novelty and of the research conducted is important. The authors offer the explanation of why they choose this specific set of magazines. It is due to the place they had the process of formation and development of Russian journalism. The textbook emphasizes that the magazines published not only fiction works, their role was much more significant: they were the arena of political and literary struggle, gave the floor to express certain aesthetic or social principles and represented a type of a popular encyclopedia, thus acting as providers of education. In this way, among the instances why the textbook is of interest for educational purposes one should mention that the history of journalism of the period is reflected in the history of Russian culture.

Today we hear more and more that until our country realizes fundamental European values, it will not be able to become a full member of the “European family”. But it should be emphasized that this process began long before Ukraine gained independence and the leading role in this was played by foreign consuls of Europe and America. The countries that created the modern world as it is, where the foundations of modern statehood, civil society, an efficient market economy, and a system of social justice were laid. Therefore, this article is dedicated to highlighting the role of these representatives in the implementation of European values in the south of Ukraine in the late XIX – early XX centuries. Being in the port cities of the region, which then opened wide horizons for commercial activity, and using all opportunities to maximize the protection of the interests of their state and citizens, foreign consuls, through the development of public-social life of the region, contributed to the implementation of priority values. There were many consuls who made a significant contribution to the development of urban territories, their improvement, the enrichment of the spiritual and intellectual life of the townspeople. Consulates of Greece, Norway, Sweden, Germany, Italy, Belgium, England, Denmark, Portugal, Brazil and Argentina deserve special attention. Awareness of the importance of education, spiritual status of the population and the development of the city as a whole made positive changes. At the end of XIX – beginning of XX century the South of Ukraine began to occupy leading positions in the foreign economic activity of the Russian Empire. Of course, it cannot be said that this was done solely through the work of foreign representatives, but they nevertheless managed to prove that the unity of values is the foundation on which the European Union stands today.

The subject of this article is the role and place of music store as a phenomenon in cultu­ral history. It is located “at the intersection” of historical and socio-cultural musicology but it has not been previously studied from this perspective. The relevance of the topic is related to the fact that the study of the music store phenomenon in all versati­lity gives an opportunity to have a new look at different aspects of musical and social life: history of performing art, concert practice, music management, development of music instruments, book and music publishing. It covers the emergence of music stores (based on bookstalls with an expanded pro­duct range, publishing houses, factories for production of musical instruments); their locations as well as different aspects of functioning (including in the system of music management, edu­cation and enlightenment). On the example of the most famous stores of Moscow and Petersburg of the end of the 18th — beginning of the 20th century, it is shown that music stores played a strongly pronounced culture spreading role in the history of Russian culture. In particular, reading rooms and libraries were organized at music stores; concerts were organized with their mediation; skilled staff of the music industry grew in their depths. There is noted that the cultural function of music store was particularly evident in the provinces where it would become a noticeable cultural and intellectual centre. The article indicates main directions of further research in this and related fields of knowledge; traces the fate of this institution in our days: changing the forms of work, going from offline to online space.

Folkelige og sociale bevagelser. Nyere forskningsretninger og kvalitative forstaelser[Popular and Social Movements. Recent Research Approaches and Qualitative Interpretations]By Vagn WahlinHowever fascinating Grundtvig himself is as a central figure in 19th century Denmark, we, the citizens of the Third Millennium, have to ask why and how he is also interesting today and how his word, work and influence spread. Part of the answer to that fundamental question lies in the fact that he was the right man at the right place at the right time, with the right tidings to tell some clergymen and many peasant farmers on their dominant, middle size, family farms that they were the core of the nation. But part of the answer is to be found in the fact that his followers managed to elevate him to the influencing position as an inspirer and prophet of a broad popular movement that lasted for generations after his death. This popular, national and Christian movement of the Grundtvigians interacted in the social and political development of more than a hundred years with the other broad popular and ideological movements of Denmark such as the Labour Movement, the more Evangelical movement of the Home Mission, the Temperance movements, the Suffragists and women’s organizations, the associations of the world of sport, the political and youth organizations, etc. They were all active on the local level and soon also on the national level and, from the 1880s and onwards, established more firm organizations and institutions to deal with practical matters such as schools, boy scouts, community houses, soccer stadiums, magazines, newspapers, political associations, trade unions, as well as organized economic and anticapitalistic activities by co-operative dairies, breweries, slaughterhouses, export companies etc. As long as the agrarian sector of society (until around 1960-1970) dominated the national export to pay for the large import of society, that pattern of popular movements, also in the urban industry, influenced most of Danish history and life - and is still most influential in today’s post-modern society.During absolutism (1660-1848), organized social activities and associations were forbidden or strictly controlled. Yet a growing and organized public debate appeared in Copenhagen in late 18th century, followed by literary and semi-political associations amongst the enlightened, urban bourgeoisie. Around 1840 the liberals had organized themselves into urban associations and through newspapers. They were ready to take over the power of the society and the state, but could only do so through an alliance with the peasant farmers in 1846 followed by the German uprising in 1848 by the liberals in Schleswig-Holstein.In Denmark there existed a rather distinct dividing line - economic, cultural, social and in terms of political power - between two dominant sectors of society: Copenhagen, totally dominant in the urban sector, in contrast to the agrarian world, where 80% of the population lived.In the urban as well as in the agrarian sectors of society, the movements mostly appeared to be a local protest against some modernization or innovative introductions felt as a threat to religious or material interests - except for a few cases, where the state wanted an enlightened debate as in the Royal Agrarian Society of 1769. Whether the said local protesters won or lost, their self organization in the matter could lead to a higher degree of civil activity, which again could lead to the spread of their viewpoints and models of early organization. The introduction of civil liberties by the Constitution of 1849 made it more easy and acceptable for the broad masses of society to organize. However, with the spread of organizations and their institutions in the latter part of the 19th century, an ethical and social understanding arose that the power of the organized citizens should be extended from the special or vested interests of the founding group to the benefit of the whole of society and of all classes.So everybody who contributes positively, little or much, to the upholding and development of Danish society should be benefited and embraced by the popular movements. Around 1925 the Labour Movement as the last and largest in number and very influential had finally accepted that ethical point of view and left the older understanding of the suppressed army of toiling and hungry workers. The people, the ‘folk’, and the country of all classes had then been united into ‘Danmark for folket’ (a Denmark o f by and fo r the people).So while a social movement may be an organization of mere protest or vested interests or a short-lived phenomena, a ‘folkelig bevagelse’ (popular movement) became what it was at first - in the understanding of the majority of the Danes, but not in the eyes of the 19th century bourgeois and landowner elite - a positive label. It is still so today, though it is now questioned by many of the more internationally-minded members of the new elite. The word ‘folk’ in the term ‘folkelig bevagelse’ is so highly valued that nearly all political parties of today have included it in their names. For the majority of people, Danish and popular and movements stand for the organized societal activity of those who accept the language, history, culture including religion, landscapes, national symbols, etc. of Denmark and who incorporate all this as a valid part of their self-understanding just as they actively take part in the mutual responsibility for their fellow countrymen. This general attitude is most clearly demonstrated when it is severely breached by some individual or group.With the addition of the Church and the Christian dimension, we have what is the essence of Grundtvig’s heritage. Without this source of inspiration, the popular movements up to a generation ago would have been different and perhaps of less importance, and without the popular movements, Grundtvig’s influence would have been less important in Denmark of the last hundred years. We may best understand this as a process of mutual dependency and of a mutual societal interaction.

“Through them antiquity is manifest before us”Changing interpretations of dolmens by Danish archaeologists in the 19th centuryThroughout the centuries, people have tried to explain the function and origin of dolmens. These interpretations reflect the society, science and culture that influenced archaeologists in their work. This article shows how the interpretation of dolmens by three archaeologists during the 19th century was shaped by changing scientific theories, contemporary events, culture and the dolmens themselves.At the beginning of the 19th century, artefacts and monuments such as dolmens were only seen as appendices to the written sources. This meant that the system created by Børge Thorlacius was shaped by an interpretation of dolmens as alters, tombs of kings and thingsteads (figs. 1 and 2). Thorlacius found confirmation for these interpretations in the size of a dolmen he visited. The fact that the size could confirm an interpretation was due to the contemporary fascination with Danish antiquity, where there was a belief in the existence of a true Danish spirit and that Nordic heroes were strong and brave (fig. 3).This approach to interpretation was challenged by J.J.A. Worsaae in 1843, when he rejected the written sources and turned to the artefacts and monuments to find information on Danish antiquity. He used the history of Danish antiquity to plant a national identity in the Danish people, and dolmens legitimised Danish territory by proving its long history, but they could not be linked to the ancestors of the Danes (figs. 5-6). The disconnection of the dolmens from the mythical past previously associated with them meant that the dolmens were now merely tombs and sources of information about ordinary people in the Stone Age (figs. 4 and 7). All artefacts now became important to archaeologists, providing an insight to the past, as they shifted from deduction to induction.Sophus Müller considered every arte­fact and monument important as only large numbers of them could lay the foundations for archaeological research. He developed an archaeological method whereby the formulation of a hypothesis relied on observation and comparative investigations. Influenced by positivism, evolutionism and the theory of diffusion, he reached the conclusion that dolmens in Denmark were part of an international movement of ideas originating in the East, in this case the concept of a life after death (fig. 8). He used this perception to state that dolmens were, in themselves, monuments in honour of the dead. Moreover, he used the very construction of the chamber to link dolmens with the idea that the afterlife was ensured by preservation of the body.Despite developments in science, culture and society, dolmens remained a part of the national identity project throughout the 19th century. Archaeology was born out of the romanticism and nationalism of the late 18th and early 19th century, and even though interpretations of dolmens, their function, their builders and their significance changed, they continued to be used in creating a Danish national identity (fig. 9). This article demonstrates the development of archaeology as a science, the changes in the use of artefacts as sources and the way in which the artefacts themselves played a part in the interpretations.Minna Kanzler HemmetAarhus

Erica Simon26/2 1910 - 11/2 1993William Michelsen writes a personal obituary about the French Grundtvig scholar Erica Simon. He first met Erica Simon in the middle of the fifties, when she was studying the Swedish folk high schools and wanted to meet all the Grundtvig scholars and people who put Grundtvig’s ideas into practice. Erica Simon was a university professor in Scandinavian languages and literature, but she also founded her own folk high scholl west of Lyons. Erica Simon’s interest in Grundtvig and her commitment to the Grundtvig’s ideal of .the school for life. was aroused in the mid-fifties, when she studied at Uppsala and met the Swedish folk high scholl Hvilan in Sk.ne. Erica Simon worked together especially with the Nordic folk high school in Kung.lv, and she wanted to spread the knowledge of Grundtvig’s ideas, not only in France, but all over the world. Like Grundtvig, Erica Simon wanted to find the roots of folk culture behind the influence from the Roman Empire, an influence which underlies the centralized school system dating back to Napoleonic France. Erica Simon’s main subject in her Grundtvig research was his ideas of the connection between folk enlightenment and science or scholarship. Science and folk culture are different matters but have to interact in order to establish a scholarship built on folk culture. In accordance with Grundtvig, Erica Simon stresses medieval Anglo-Saxon and Icelandic literature as the Nordic element in universal history, establishing a vernacular culture in opposition to the Latin school and scholarship. Erica Simon was a passionate scholar and interpreter of Grundtvigian ideas. She often visited Denmark and was on the Committe of Grundtvig-Selskabet, where she gave lectures, and she published papers in the Grundtvig-Studier in 1969 and 1973.Erica Simon was born i Königsberg on February 26th, 1910. She spent her youth in Hannover and afterwards studied language and literature in Geneva and in Paris. She married in 1936 and became a widow in 1942, but remarried, bearing the name Vollboudt. Jacques Kleiner, her son from her first marriage, today lives in Switserland. From 1939-54 she was a secondary school teacher in France, but in 1954 she began studying the Nordic folk high school, doing research in Uppsala in 1955-56. In 1962 she became a doctor at the Sorbonne University in Paris (Doctorat d.tat in 1962), with a dissertation about the Swedish folk high schools in the late 18th century.

As John Adamson outlined in his voluminous comparative analysis of European court culture, „in the period between 1500 and 1750 a „Versailles model” of a court as a self-sufficient, situated in a free space, architectonically harmonious city-residency remote from the capital city, where the king’s household and administration was located, was an exception.” The Versailles conception and „model” both architectonically and in terms of practical functioning of the court was spread and secured in the 18th century, developing into a model of absolutism which was imitated to different extents. The spectrum of the adoption of the court of Louis XIV by material and intellectual culture reached from the grand ensembles of palaces of Carskoye Selo in Peterhof, Russia, Drottningholm in Sweden and Sanssouci in Germany to several small residences of the German princes’ realms in Weimar, Hanover, and elsewhere in Europe. Analyzing the works of several researchers about the transformation of the French aristocracy into court society, a common conclusion is the assurance of the symbolic autocratic power by Louis XIV to the detriment of the economic and political independence of the aristocracy. In this context, A. de Tocqueville points at the forfeiture of the power of the French aristocracy and its influence and a simultaneous self-isolation of the group, which he defines as a „caste with ideas, habits and barriers that they created in the nation.” Modern research, when revisiting the methods of the resarch on the aristocracy and when expanding the choice of sources, is still occupied with the problem defined in the beginning of the 19th century by A. de Tocqueville: The aristocracy lost its power and influence, and by the end of the 18th century also its economic basis for its dominance in French society. John Levron defines courtiers as functional mediators between the governor and society, calling them a „screen”.1 In turn, Ellery Schalk stated that in the time of Louis XIV the aristocracy was going through an elite identity crisis, when alongside the old aristocracy involved in military professions (noblesse d’épée), the governor allowed a new, so-called administrative aristocracy (noblesse de robe) to hold major positions and titles of honour. Along with the transformation of the traditional aristocratic hierarchy formed in the early Middle Ages, which John Lough described as an anachronism already back in the 17th century, also the status of governor and its symbolic place in the aristocratic hierarchy changed. It shall be noted that it is the question of a governor’s role in the political culture of absolutism by which the ideas of many researches can be distinguished. Norbert Elias thinks that an absolute monarch was a head of a family, which included the whole state and thereby turned into a governor’s „household”. Timothy Blanning, on the other hand, thinks that the court culture of Louis XIV was the expression of the governor’s insecurity and fears. This is a view which the researcher seems to derive from the traumatic experience of the Fronde (the aristocrats’ uprising against the mother of Louis XIV, regent Anna of Austria), which the culturologist K. Hofmane interpreted from a psychoanalytical point of view and defined Louis XIV as a conqueror of chaos and a despotic governor. In the wide spectrum of opinions, it is not the governor’s political principles which are postulated as a unifying element, but scenarios of the representation of power, their aims and various tools that are combined in the concept of court culture. N. Elias names symbolic activities in the court etiquette as the manifestation of power relations, whereas M. Yampolsky identifies a symbolic withdrawal of a governor’s body from the „circulation in society”, when a governor starts to represent himself, thereby alienating himself from society. George Gooch in this way reprimanded Louis XV as he thought this development would deprive the royal representation from the sacred. In turn, Jonathan Dewald in his famous work „European Aristocracy” noted that Louis XIV was not the first to use the phenomenon of the court for securing the personal authority of a governor, and refers to the courts during the late period of the Italian Renaissance as predecessors of French court culture. What role did the monarch’s closest „viewers” – the courtiers – play in this? K. Hofmane by means of comparison with the ancient Greek mythical monster Gorgon comes to conclusion that the court had to provide prey for the Gorgon (the king), who is both scared and fascinated by the terrific sight (of power and glory). The perception of the court as a collective observer implies the presence of the observed and worshiped object, the king. The public life of Louis XIV, which was subjected to the complicated etiquette, provided for the hierarchical access to the king’s public body. Let’s remember the „Memoirs” of Duc de Saint-Simon that gives a detailed description of the symbolic privileges granted to the courtiers, which along the material gifts (pensions, concessions and land plots) were tools for the formation of the identity and the status of a new aristocrat/courtier – along with the right to touch the king’s belongings, his attire, etc. The basis for securing the structure of the court’s hierarchy was provided by the governor’s body along the lines mentioned above, which according to the understanding of representation by M. Yampolsky was withdrawn from society and placed within the borders of the ensemble of the Versailles palace. There, by means of several tools, including dramatic works of art, the governor’s body was separated from its symbolic content and hidden behind the algorithms of ritualized activities. Blanning also speaks about a practice of hiding from the surrounding environment, thereby defining court culture as a hiding-place that a governor created around himself. It was possible to look at a governor and thereby be observed by him not only on particular festivals, when a governor was available mostly for court society, but also in different works of visual art, for example, on triumphal archs, in engravings, or during horse-racings.

Abstract. Introduction. Active recreation tourism is more effective for physical, emotional, intellectual recreation than passive recreation tourism. Active forms of tourism give dosed in terms of volume and intensity of physical activity for participants, which is the main factor in their recreation and effective recovery. Active tourism is becoming an increasingly important segment of the tourism industry. Active tourism includes more and more types of recreational and tourist and tourist and sports activities. It performs several functions - health, prevention, rehabilitation, training, and education. World experience shows that recently the share of active, extreme, and adventure tourism is growing rapidly. Therefore, the study of current trends in the world and domestic experience of organization of active tourism is relevant. Purpose. The article aims to study current trends in the world and domestic experience in the organization and functioning of active tourism. In the long run, this will help improve the tourist image of the country, region, community and increase tourist flows. Results. International practice shows that, at the present stage of the development of economic systems, tourism is the most dynamically developing area. It is also worth noting that international tourism for some developing countries is the main export ofservices and one of theprincipalsources of foreign exchange in these countries; acts as a stabilizing lever for the formation of their budgets and credit and financial relations with other states. At the beginning of the XXI century, international tourism became one of the most important economic activities in the world, and its history begins long before the invention of the word tourist in the late 18th century. According to the Western tradition, organized trips can be found in ancient Greece and Rome, which claim origins as "heritage tourism" (historical monuments of recognized cultural significance) and beach resorts. Analysis of global trends in active tourism shows that there is a growing interest in more extreme travel "nomadic recreation"; familyextreme trips; immersion in the ocean; space travel; micro-trips or weekend tours; extreme-recovery. In response to the growing demand, travel agencies in the European Union offer a wide range of cycling tours, hiking, rafting, diving, sightseeing, and fauna. Analysis of the development of tourism in Ukraine shows that due to the fast pace of life, inactive, addiction to gadgets, more and more tourists today have begun to prefer active recreation. This holiday will be especially interesting for citizens who live in highrise buildings, among the asphalt and want to change their everyday life for a while for the beauty and splendor of nature. Each region of Ukraine has potential opportunities for the development of each type of tourism: hiking, biking, car, water, fishing, hunting, horseback riding, and mountaineering. In recent years, there has been an increasing number ofspecialized tour operators and guides offering relevant services. Also, the network ofspecialized shops, suppliers, points of hire, and service of modern tourist equipment, establishments, various tourist information, maps, guides are expanded. Conclusions. It is claimed, thatthe word demand is growing for active, extreme tourism because humanity is increasingly suffering from overwork and digital dependence. Given that most areas suffer from overtourism new concepts of recreation are becoming increasingly popular, where it is possible to restore inner peace, mental and spiritual condition. In addition, the identity of local culture and the identity of territory have a significant influence on interest among tourists. Ukraine has the potential for the development of active types of tourism. Also, the world experience will help diversify the range of ideas for the development of tourism.

On Grundtvig’s Thought and Post-Lutheran PhilosophyAn introduction to Danevirke IIBy William MichelsenGrundtvig’s considerations on the life of man in his periodical Danevirke (1816- 19) are the result of his critical reading of the major works in modern philosophy and in protestant theology since 1517. His criticism of the works can be found in Prospect o f World Chronicle Especially in the Age o f Luther from 1817; his own comments are presented in Danevirke. Inevitably the criticism has affected the comments, making them difficult to read today in our altered circumstances. Yet all philosophy and theology since Luther has seen itself in relation to the same works, though in most cases reaching a different conclusion from Grundtvig’s. It is three hundred years of thought he is concerned with.Grundtvig denotes the fundamental concepts in his thought with the words: Sense, Knowledge, and Made in G od’s Image. By “sense” he means the faculties through which we apprehend existence, both the outer existence and the inner: sight, hearing, and feeling. With their aid man already in childhood builds up not only his environment but also his self-awareness. Here Grundtvig ascribes the fundamental sense to feeling. Sight, he says, is both the faculty through which we receive images of the outer world, but also as the inner sense the faculty through which we create imaginative pictures of what we cannot see directly with the outer eye. Such pictures may be true or false, that is, illusions. When Grundtvig had his visions, he regarded the true visions as brought about by God, and the false as produced by “the Father of Lies”, the Devil. Hearing, the sense through which we perceive words and thus learn to speak, is for Grundtvig the basis of human reason, which he considers a faculty developed later and which could therefore under no circumstances be the basis of the human psyche.The creation of man in God’s image, as both the Old and the New Testament relate it, means that man is made to resemble his Maker, though from the outset he is in no way a complete image of God. Rather, he finds himself in a slow development towards this goal; a development that is still marked by the Fall. Grundtvig has given his first exposition of his thinking on the subject in the unfinished second edition of Brief Prospect of World Chronicle, the first edition of which appeared in 1812. These pages from 1814 are reprinted at the front of this edition of Grundtvig Studies.Grundtvig’s understanding of the old Danish word, vidskab, (knowledge) is as the intellectual superstructure of the sciences through which we form our world-view. He demanded of himself that his ideas should be understandable to every thinking person, and that they should be expressed in pure Danish without the loan-words constructed by philosophers. Naturally they should also be in agreement with common sense as well as classical logic. He paid no heed to Kant’s Critique o f Pure Reason, which is a major reason why he has been attacked for being unable to understand what he read and unable to think sensibly himself. Søren Kierkegaard chose a different tactic in his criticism of contemporary thought, but Kierkegaard’s tactic in no way changed Grundtvig’s views. Understanding Grundtvig therefore requires that one begins from the same starting-point that he offered his readers, even though posterity has called it naive realism.Part of fundamental experience, says Grundtvig, is that every person is both body and spirit, and that the bodily and the spiritual cannot be separated in the living person. He calls this permanent link between body and spirit man’s Self or Soul.Since man’s life is limited in time and moves in only a limited space, Grundtvig believes that time and space are also limited, are not endless. Man is not master of time and space; but he can imagine beings living an endless existence which is called everlasting. From this comes the idea of an everlasting life.Such ideas come into being through the Word, by which Grundtvig does not mean constructed sound symbols but something that the child learns from the other people it trusts. In this way man comes to trust the super-human word too: God’s Word. It is from this Word of God that the world man lives in and man himself are created. This idea is not the experience of the individual, however, but something which belongs to mankind’s, i.e. all men’s common experience, which Grundtvig calls History. No man has experienced the creation of the world, but ideas of it have been transmitted from man to man through history. Grundtvig calls his view of man and the life of man a historical view of man. However, he does not regard this view as science (videnskab) but only knowledge (vidskab). He also avoids the word “philosophy” in his thought because his view goes against the conttemporary misuse of the word.Grundtvig’s thought rejects every philosophy which claims to explain man and his existence solely through human reason and without regard to man’s limitation in time and space. Instead he maintains that we can only know human life through the experience of individual peoples and the whole human race, i.e. through History. This is the criticism he makes in the first of his “reflections”, which has the title On the Philosophical Century, a term that comprises the philosophy of the 18th century from Christian Wolf to Schelling.According to Grundtvig the task of philosophy and the sciences is to understand mankind. But when he contemplates man as an image of his Creator, he maintains that man knows what he is an image of, even though he cannot conceive it. He can only conceive himself. His task is to attain a true picture of himself - “to conceive oneself in Truth”. Grundtvig believes this means conceiving man as the inconceivable God has created him.In his criticism of the philosophy of the 18th century Grundtvig does not mention Leibniz. But in his World Chronicle from 1817 he does mention his Théodicée (1710). He admits that the defence of Christianity which Leibniz presents was built on the same logical foundation as his own view, namely the basic principle of contradiction. But he nevertheless claims that this foundation was an illusion. For Christianity exceeds all human reason, though it is not in conflict with it. And if one wishes to support Christianity with philosophical proof, one risks leading it to destruction: “Supports are ready to fall, and what rests on them wobbles when it is pushed. ” This was almost what happened when Leibniz’s pupil, Christian Wolf, built his system on Leibniz’s philosophy. And this is why Grundtvig’s criticism of 18th century philosophy begins with Christian Wolf.What is the core of Grundtvig’s criticism? What is the main purpose of this lengthy presentation, which appeared just as obscure to contemporary readers as it does to present-day readers, however willing they may be to follow him?Grundtvig’s criticism of “the philosophical century” is to the effect that man is attempting the impossible: to conceive who or what has created the world and man himself, God. This is impossible, if only because man is incapable of conceiving anything greater than himself and his existence, limited by time and space. He can imagine something greater but he cannot conceive it. He can believe in God and an everlasting life, but neither God nor everlasting life can he conceive philosophically.Man’s philosophical and scientific task is limited to understanding himself and his existence in time and space. And since he only knows his development up to the point at which he lives, he cannot achieve any systematic description or explanation of human life in its entirety, as that would require a development he does not know of.This is the core of Grundtvig’s thought and of his criticism of the philosophy of his time and of previous centuries. But it may well be difficult to perceive or deduce this from his first philosophical consideration in Danevirke, partly due to the polemical tone and the words and thoughts that are foreign to us, and partly because his way of thinking is disfigured by a terrible misprint in his criticism of this philosophy which was the basis of all contemporary thought. It is not especially Kant that Grundtvig singles out; he is attacking every philosophy which maintains that human reason can conceive a being which is created by itself, absolutely independent of anything else. He then continues: “... and what it cannot conceive it cannot itself be either, since reason is in no way outside (udenfor) as far as it conceives... - as if Grundtvig would argue against the idea that reason was “outside”. That is not his aim. The sentence only makes sense when the word udenfor is separated into its component parts: It then reads: “... since reason is not, unless it conceives; it is a concept, and in us a temporal concept which cannot possibly conceive anything eternal and unchangeable; and the self-dependent is eternal, the self-dependent living truth is unchangeable.”This was Grundtvig’s main assertion in the dispute over Schelling’s philosophy. It is extended here to cover the whole of “the philosophical century” and thus Kant’s philosophy too. God is and will remain inconceivable. One can believe in Him, but one cannot conceive Him. Religion can just as little be replaced as supported by philosophy. Grundtvig refuses to accept the philosophical artifice of turning time and space into categories of human thought (and thus in principle everlasting).Man cannot conceive eternal truth. But he can conceive that nothing can be true if it excludes man as he really is. For eternal truth has created man as he is.This is the use to which Grundtvig puts the basic principle of contradiction in his view of the relationship between reason and faith. He does not attempt to prove that God exists, or what faculties He has, or that He created the world and man. But he does maintain that whoever denies that God can create and has created the world contradicts himself. For man does exist, and has created neither himself nor the world - nor his own reason.Grundtvig goes no further in his application of the basic principle of contradiction in the essay. But he claims that he has the right to use it in his evaluation of men’s deeds throughout history; see also Henning H.irup's doctorate: Grundtvig’s View o f Faith and Knowledge (Copenhagen 1949).The purpose of this first consideration is not only to contradict contemporary philosophy but to make room for historical knowledge. Grundtvig elaborates his concepts in two other essays: On Historical Knowledge and On Developing the Chronicle in the same volume. His aim with all three articles - and with the periodical in general - was to marshal an alternative to the contemporary view that it was possible to adduce another ground for an understanding of human life than historical knowledge, that is, in a speculative natural philosophy. According to Grundtvig History shows that man is “a being in the process of developing himself’. He asserts that what is developing itself must already be present in man as “woven into” him. He himself cannot generate it, he must conceive it. God’s revelation as man does not mean that man has produced God, but that he is made in God’s image. So when Grundtvig speaks here of God’s “revelation in time”, he is not thinking of religious experiences but incontrovertible historical events.

First a Man - then a Christian. Grundtvig and Missonary ActivityBy K.E. BuggeThe aim of this paper is to clarify Grundtvig’s ideas on missionary activity in the socalled »heathen parts«. The point of departure is taken in a brief presentation of the poem »Man first - and then a Christian« (1838), an often quoted text, whenever this theme is discussed. The most extensive among earlier studies on the subject is the book published by Georg Thaning: »The Grundtvigian Movement and the Mission among Heathen« (1922). The author provides valuable insights also into Grundtvig’s ideas, but has, of course, not been able to utilize more recent studies.On the background of the revival movement of the late 18th and early 19th century, The Danish Missionary Society was established in 1821. In the Lutheran churches such activity was generally deemed to be unnecessary. According to the Holy Scripture, so it was argued, the heathen already had a »natural« knowledge of God, and the word of God had been preached to the ends of the earth in the times of the Apostles. Nevertheless, it was considered a matter of course that a Christian sovereign had the duty to ensure that non-Christian citizens of his domain were offered the possibility of conversion to the one and true faith. In the double-monarchy Denmark-Norway such non-Christian populations were the Lapplanders of Northern Norway, the Inuits in Greenland, the black slaves in Danish West India and finally the native populations of the Danish colonies in West Africa and East India. Under the influence of Pietism missionary, activity was initiated by the Danish state in South India (1706), Northern Norway (1716), and Greenland (1721).In Grundtvig’s home the general attitude towards missionary work among the heathen seems to have reflected traditional Lutheranism. Nevertheless, one of Grundtvig’s elder brothers, Jacob Grundtvig, volunteered to become a missionary in Greenland.Due to incidental circumstances he was instead sent to the Danish colony in West Africa, where he died after less than one year of service. He was succeeded by his brother Niels Grundtvig, who likewise died within a year. During the period when Jacob Grundtvig prepared himself for the journey to Greenland, we can imagine that his family spent many an hour discussing his future conditions. It is probable that on these occasions his father consulted his copy of the the report on the Greenland mission published by Hans Egede in 1737. It is a fact that Grundtvig imbibed a deep admiration for Hans Egede early in his life. In his extensive poem »Roskilde Rhyme« (1812, published 1814), the theme of which is the history of Christianity in Denmark, Grundtvig inserted more than 70 lines on the Greenland mission. Egede’s achievements are here described in close connection with the missionary work of Bartholomäus Ziegenbalg in Tranquebar, South India, as integral parts of the same journey towards the celestial Jerusalem.In Grundtvig’s famous publication »The Church’s Retort« (1825) he describes the church as an historical fact from the days of the Apostles to our days. This historical church is at the same time a universal entity, carrying the potential of becoming the church of all humanity - if not before, then at the end of the world. A few years later, in a contribution to the periodical .Theological Monthly., he applies this historicaluniversal perspective on missionary acticity in earlier times and in the present. The main features of this stance may be summarized in the following points:1. Grundtvig rejects the Orthodox-Lutheran line of thought and underscores the Biblical view: That before the end of time the Gospel must be preached out into all comers of the world.2. Our Lutheran, Biblically founded faith must not lead to inactivity in this field.3. Correctly understood, missionary activity is a continuance of the acts of the Apostles.4. The Holy Spirit is the intrinsic dynamic power in the extension of the Christian faith.5. The practical procedure in this extension work must never be compulsion or stealth, but the preaching of the word and the free, uninhibited decision of the listeners.We find here a total reversion of the Orthodox-Lutheran way of rejection in principle, but acceptance in practice. Grundtvig accepts the principle: That missionary activity is a legitimate and necessary Christian undertaking. The same activity has, however, both historically and in our days, been marred by unacceptable practices, on which he reacts with forceful rejection. To this position Grundtvig adhered for the rest of his life.Already in 1826, Grundtvig withdrew from the controversy arising from the publication of his .Retort.. The public dispute was, however, continued with great energy by the gifted young academic, Jacob Christian Lindberg. During the 1830s a weekly paper, edited by Lindberg, .Nordisk Kirke-Tidende., i.e. Nordic Church Tidings, became Grundtvig’s main channel of communication with the public. All through the years of its publication (1833-41), this paper, of which Grundtvig was also an avid reader, brought numerous articles and reports on missionary activity. Among the reasons for this editorial practice we find some personal motives. Quite a few of Grundtvig’s and Lindberg’s friends were board members of the Danish Missionary Society. Furthermore, one of Lindberg’s former students, Christen Christensen Østergaard was appointed a missionary in Greenland.In the present paper the articles dealing with missionary activity are extensively reported and quoted as far as the years 1833-38 are concerned, and the effects on Grundtvig of this incessant .bombardment. of information on missionary activity are summarized. Generally speaking, it was gratifying for Grundtvig to witness ho w many of his ideas on missionary activity were reflected in these contributions. Furthermore, Lindberg’s regular reports on the progress of C.C. Østergaard in Greenland has continuously reminded Grundtvig of the admired Hans Egede.Among the immediate effects the genesis of the poem »First the man - then the Christian« must be mentioned. As already observed by Kaj Thaning, Grundtvig has read an article in the issue of Nordic Church Tidings, dated, January 8th, 1838, written by the Orthodox-Lutheran, German theologian Heinrich Møller on the relationship between human nature and true Christianity. Grundtvig has, it seems, written his poem in protest against Møller’s assertion: That true humanness is expressed in acceptance of man’s fundamental sinfulness. Against this negative position Grundtvig holds forth the positive Johannine formulations: To be »of the truth« and to hear the voice of the Good Shepherd. Grundtvig has seen a connection between Møller’s negative view of human nature and a perverted missionary practice. In the third stanza of his poem Grundtvig therefore inserted some critical remarks, clearly inspired by his reading of Nordic Church Tidings.Other immediate effects are seen in the way in which, in his sermons from these years, Grundtvig meticulously elaborates on the Biblical argumentation in favour of missionary activity. In this context he combines passages form the Old and New Testament - often in an ingenious, original manner. Finally must be mentioned the way in which Grundtvig, in his hymn writing from the middle of the 1830s, more often than hitherto recognized, interposes stanzas dealing with the preaching of the Gospel to heathen populations.Turning from general observations and a study of immediate impact, the paper considers the effects, which become apparent in a longer perspective. In this respect Grundtvig’s interpretation of the seven churches mentioned in chapters 2-3 of the Book of Revelation is of crucial importance. According to Grundtvig, they symbolize seven stages in the historical development of Christianity, i.e. the churches of the Hebrews, the Greeks, the Romans, the English, the Germans and the »Nordic« people. The seventh and last church will reveal itself sometime in the future.This vision, which Grundtvig expounds for the first time in 1810, emerges in his writings from time to time all through his life. The most impressive literary monument describing the vision is his great poem, »The Pleiades of Christendom« from 1856-60.In 1845 he becomes convinced that the arrival of the sixth stage is revealed in the breakthrough of a new and vigourous hymn-singing in the church of Vartov. As late as the spring of 1863 Grundtvig voices a contented optimism in a church-historical lecture, where the Danish missions to Greenland and to Tranquebar in South India are characterized as .signs of life and good omens.. Grundtvig here refers back to his above-mentioned »Roskilde Rhyme« (1812, 1814), where he had offered a spiritual interpretation of the names of persons and localities involved in the process. He had then observed that the colony founded in Greenland by Hans Egede was called »Good Hope«, a highly symbolic name. And the church built by the missionaries in Tranquebar was called »Church of the New Jerusalem«, a name explicitly referring to the Book of Revelation, and thus welding together his great vision and his view on missionary activity. After Denmark’s humiliating defeat in the Danish-German war of 1864, the optimism faded away. Grundtvig seems to have concluded that the days of the sixth and .Nordic. church had come to an end, and the era of the seventh church was about to commence. In accordance with his poem on »The Pleiades« etc. he localizes this final church in India.In Grundtvig’s total view missionary activity was the dynamism that bound his vision together into an integrated process. Through the activity of »Denmark’s apostle«, Ansgar, another admired mis-sionary, the universal church had become a locally rooted reality. Through the missions of Hans Egede and Ziegenbalg the Gospel was carried out to the ends of the earth. The local Danish church thus contributed significantly to the proliferation of a universal church. In the development of this view, Grundtvig was inspired as well as provoked by his regular reading of Nordic Church Tidings in the 1830s.

Who was Clara?By Kaj ThaningIn this essay the author describes his search for Clara Bolton and her acquaintance with among others Benjamin Disraeli and the priest, Alexander d’Arblay, a son of the author, Fanny Burney. He gives a detailed account of Clara Bolton and leaves no doubt about the deep impression she made on Grundtvig, even though he met her and spoke to her only once in his life at a dinner party in London on June 24th 1830. Kaj Thaning has dedicated his essay to Dr. Oscar Wood, Christ Church College, Oxford, and explains why: “Just 30 years ago, while one of my daughters was working for Dr. Oscar Wood, she asked him who “Mrs. Bolton” was. Grundtvig speaks of her in a letter to his wife dated June 25th 1830. Through the Disraeli biographer, Robert Blake, Dr. Wood discovered her identity, so I managed to add a footnote to my thesis (p. 256). She was called Clara! The Disraeli archives, once preserved in Disraeli’s home at Hughenden Manor but now in the British Museum, contain a bundle of letters which Dr. Wood very kindly copied for me. The letters fall into three groups, the middle one being from June 1832, when Clara Bolton was campaigning, in vain, for Disraeli’s election to parliament. Her husband was the Disraeli family doctor, and through him she wrote her first letter to Benjamin Disraeli, asking for his father’s support for her good friend, Alexander d’Arblay, a theology graduate, in his application for a position. This led to the young Disraeli asking her to write to him at his home at Bradenham. There are therefore a group of letters from before June 1832. Similarly there are a number of letters from a later date, the last being from November 1832”.The essay is divided into three sections: 1) Clara Bolton and Disraeli, 2) The break between them, 3) Clara Bolton and Alexander d’Arblay. The purpose of the first two sections is to show that the nature of Clara Bolton’s acquaintance with Disraeli was otherwise than has been previously assumed. She was not his lover, but his political champion. The last section explains the nature of her friendship with Alex d’Arblay. Here she was apparently the object of his love, but she returned it merely as friendship in her attempt to help him to an appointment and to a suitable lifelong partner. He did acquire a new position but died shortly after. There is a similarity in her importance for both Grundtvig and d’Arblay in that they were both clergymen and poets. Disraeli and Grundtvig were also both writers and politicians.At the age of 35 Clara Bolton died, on June 29th 1839 in a hotel in Le Havre, according to the present representative of the Danish Institute in Rouen, Bent Jørgensen. She was the daughter of Michael Peter Verbecke and Clarissa de Brabandes, names pointing to a Flemish background. On the basis of archive studies Dr. Michael Hebbert has informed the author that Clara’s father was a merchant living in Bread Street, London, between 1804 and 1807. In 1806 a brother was born. After 1807 the family disappears from the archives, and Clara’s letters reveal nothing about her family. Likewise the circumstances of her death are unknown.The light here shed on Clara Bolton’s life and personality is achieved through comprehensive quotations from her letters: these are to be found in the Danish text, reproduced in English.Previous conceptions of Clara’s relationship to Disraeli have derived from his business manager, Philip Rose, who preserved the correspondence between them and added a commentary in 1885, after Disraeli’s death. He it is who introduces the rumour that she may have been Disraeli’s mistress. Dr. Wood, however, doubts that so intimate a relationship existed between them, and there is much in the letters that directly tells against it. The correspondence is an open one, open both to her husband and to Disraeli’s family. As a 17-year-old Philip Rose was a neighbour of Disraeli’s family at Bradenham and a friend of Disraeli’s younger brother, Ralph, who occasionally brought her letters to Bradenham. It would have been easy for him to spin some yarn about the correspondence. In her letters Clara strongly advocates to Disraeli that he should marry her friend, Margaret Trotter. After the break between Disraeli and Clara it was public knowledge that Lady Henrietta Sykes became his mistress, from 1833 to 1836. Her letters to him are of a quite different character, being extremely passionate. Yet Philip Rose’s line is followed by the most recent biographers of Disraeli: the American, Professor B. R. Jerman in The Young Disraeli (1960), the English scholar Robert Blake, in Disraeli (1963) and Sarah Bradford in Disraeli (1983). They all state that Clara Bolton was thought to be Disraeli’s mistress, also by members of his own family. Blake believes that the originator of this view was Ralph Disraeli. It is accepted that Clara Bolton 7 Grundtvig Studier 1985 was strongly attracted to Disraeli, to his manner, his talents, his writing, and not least to his eloquence during the 1832 election campaign. But nothing in her letters points to a passionate love affair.A comparison can be made with Henrietta Sykes’ letters, which openly burn with love. Blake writes of Clara Bolton’s letters (p. 75): “There is not the unequivocal eroticism that one finds in the letters from Henrietta Sykes.” In closing one of her letters Clara writes that her husband, George Buckley Bolton, is waiting impatiently for her to finish the letter so that he can take it with him.She wants Disraeli married, but not to anybody: “You must have a brilliant star like your own self”. She writes of Margaret Trotter: “When you see M. T. you will feel so inspired you will write and take her for your heroine... ” (in his novels). And in her last letter to Disraeli (November 18th 1832) she says: “... no one thing could reconcile me more to this world of ill nature than to see her your wife”. The letter also mentions a clash she has had with a group of Disraeli’s opponents. It shows her temperament and her supreme skill, both of which command the respect of men. No such bluestockings existed in Denmark at the time; she must have impressed Grundtvig.Robert Blake accepts that some uncertainty may exist in the evaluation of letters which are 150 years old, but he finds that they “do in some indefinable way give the impression of brassiness and a certain vulgarity”. Thaning has told Blake his view of her importance for Grundtvig, and this must have modified Blake’s portrait. He writes at least: “... she was evidently not stupid, and she moved in circles which had some claim to being both intellectual and cosmopolitan.”He writes of the inspiration which Grundtvig owed to her, and he concludes: “There must have been more to her than one would deduce by reading her letters and the letters about her in Disraeli’s papers.” - She spoke several languages, and moved in the company of nobles and ambassadors, politicians and literary figures, including John Russell, W.J.Fox, Eliza Flower, and Sarah Adams.However, from the spring of 1833 onwards it is Henrietta Sykes who portrays Clara Bolton in the Disraeli biographies, and naturally it is a negative portrait. The essay reproduces in English a quarrel between them when Sir Francis Sykes was visiting Clara, and Lady Sykes found him there. Henrietta Sykes regards the result as a victory for herself, but Clara’s tears are more likely to have been shed through bitterness over Disraeli, who had promised her everlasting friendship and “unspeakable obligation”. One notes that he did not promise her love. Yet despite the quarrel they all three dine together the same evening, they travel to Paris together shortly afterwards, and Disraeli comes to London to see the them off. The trip however was far from idyllic. The baron and Clara teased Henrietta. Later still she rented a house in fashionable Southend and invited Disraeli down. Sir Francis, however, insisted that the Boltons should be invited too. The essay includes Blake’s depiction of “the curious household” in Southend, (p. 31).In 1834 Clara Bolton left England and took up residence at a hotel in the Hague. A Rotterdam clergyman approached Disraeli’s vicar and he turned to Disraeli’s sister for information about the mysterious lady, who unaccompanied had settled in the Hague, joined the church and paid great attention to the clergy. She herself had said that she was financing her own Sunday School in London and another one together with the Disraeli family. In her reply Sarah Disraeli puts a distance between the family and Clara, who admittedly had visited Bradenham five years before, but who had since had no connection with the family. Sarah is completely loyal to her brother, who has long since dropped Clara. By the time the curious clergyman had received this reply, Clara had left the Hague and arrived at Dover, where she once again met Alexander d’Arblay.Alex was born in 1794, the son of a French general who died in 1818, and Fanny Burney. She was an industrious correspondent; as late as 1984 the 12th and final volume of her Journals and Letters was published. Jens Peter .gidius, a research scholar at Odense University, has brought to Dr Thaning’s notice a book about Fanny Burney by Joyce Hemlow, the main editor of the letters. In both the book and the notes there is interesting information about Clara Bolton.In the 12th volume a note (p. 852) reproduces a letter characterising her — in a different light from the Disraeli biographers. Thaning reproduces the note (pp. 38-39). The letter is written by Fanny Burney’s half-sister, Sarah Harriet Burney, and contains probably the only portrait of her outside the Disraeli biographies.It is now easier to understand how she captivated Grundtvig: “very handsome, immoderately clever, an astrologer, even, that draws out... Nativities” — “... besides poetry-mad... very entertaining, and has something of the look of a handsome witch. Lady Combermere calls her The Sybil”. The characterisation is not the letter-writer’s but that of her former pupil, Harriet Crewe, born in 1808, four years after Clara Bolton. A certain distance is to be seen in the way she calls Clara “poetry-mad”, and says that she has “conceived a fancy for Alex d’Arblay”.Thaning quotes from a letter by Clara to Alex, who apparently had proposed to her, but in vain (see his letter to her and the reply, pp. 42-43). Instead she pointed to her friend Mary Ann Smith as a possible wife. This is the last letter known in Clara’s handwriting and contradicts talk of her “vulgarity”. However, having become engaged to Mary Ann Alex no longer wrote to her and also broke off the correspondence with his mother, who had no idea where he had gone. His cousin wrote to her mother that she was afraid that he had “some Chére Amie”. “The charges are unjust,” says Thaning. “It was a lost friend who pushed him off. This seems to be borne out by a poem which has survived (quoted here on p. 45), and which includes the lines: “But oh young love’s impassioned dream /N o more in a worn out breast may glow / Nor an unpolluted stream / From a turgid fountain flow.””Alex d’Arblay died in loneliness and desperation shortly afterwards. Dr. Thaning ends his summary: “I can find no other explanation for Alexander d’Arblay’s fate than his infatuation with Clara Bolton. In fact it can be compared to Grundtvig’s. For Alex the meeting ended with “the pure stream” no longer flowing from its source. For Grundtvig, on the other hand the meeting inspired the lines in The Little Ladies: Clara’s breath opened the mouth, The rock split and the stream flowed out.”

The Age of Enlightenment was a movement of philosophy that dominated Europe's sphere of ideas. This movement advocated ideals like as freedom, progress, compassion, brotherhood, constitutional rule, church and state separation, all based on the concept that reason is the primary source of authority and legitimacy. The precise beginning of such an age of enlightenment is under discussion, while the beginnings of the 18th century (1701) are often mentioned as starting points, even in the mid-19th century (1650). According to French historians, the period is usually between 1715 and 1789. The end of the Enlightenment was usually the result of many historians until the latter years of the siècle; generally, the French Revolution began in 1789, or the Napoleonic War (1804– 15). The Enlightenment was generally adopted by most European countries with a regional emphasis. Cultural contact between particular European countries and across the Atlantic had occurred in both ways throughout Age of Enlightenment. In the discussion and thought about illumination, science started to take center stage. The Enlightenment was long regarded by Western civilizations as the intellectual and political foundation. It was in charge of the political modernization of the West. Concerning religion, the critique of the Enlightenment era has responded to the European religious struggle of the last century. The researchers have reviewed the relevant studies on the Age of Enlightenment and determined that, by living in the present moment in the future, their knowledge of life and the world around it may be enlightened and expanded.

The ideas put forth here do not fit perfectly or entirely into the genre and form of what has established itself as the scholarly journal article. What is put forth, instead, is a juxtaposition of lines of thinking about the scholarly and popular in publishing, past, present and future. As such it may indeed be quite appropriate to the occasion and the questions raised in the call for papers for this special issue of M/C Journal. The ideas put forth here are intended as pieces of an ever-changing puzzle of the making public of scholarship, which, I hope, may in some way fit with both the work of others in this special issue and in the discourse more broadly. The first line of thinking presented takes the form of an historical overview of publishing as context to consider a second line of thinking about the current status and future of publishing. The historical context serves as reminder (and cause for celebration) that publishing has not yet perished, contrary to continued doomsday sooth-saying that has come with each new medium since the advent of print. Instead, publishing has continued to transform and it is precisely the transformation of print, print culture and reading publics that are the focus of this article, in particular, in relation to the question of the boundaries between the scholarly and the popular. What follows is a juxtaposition that is part of an investigation in progress. Presented first, therefore, is a mapping of shifts in print culture from the time of Gutenberg to the twentieth century; second, is a contemporary snapshot of the editorial mandates of more than one hundred member journals of the Canadian Association of Learned Journals (CALJ). What such juxtaposition is able to reveal is open to interpretation, of course. And indeed, as I proceed in my investigation of publishing past, present and future, my interpretations are many. The juxtaposition raises a number of issues: of communities of readers and the cultures of reading publics; of privileged and marginalised texts (as well as their authors and their readers); of access and reach (whether in terms of what is quantifiable or in a much more subtle but equally important sense). In Canada, at present, these issues are also intertwined with changes to research funding policies and some attention is given at the end of this article to the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC) of Canada and its recent/current shift in funding policy. Curiously, current shifts in funding policies, considered alongside an historical overview of publishing, would suggest that although publishing continues to transform, at the same time, as they say, plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. Republics of Letters and Ghosts in Machines Republics of Letters that formed after the advent of the printing press can be conjured up as distant and almost mythical communities of elite literates, ghosts almost lost in a Gutenberg galaxy that today encompasses (and is embodied in) schools, bookshelves, and digital archives in many places across the globe. Conjuring up ghosts of histories past seems always to reveal ironies, and indeed some of the most interesting ironies of the Gutenberg galaxy involve McLuhanesque reversals or, if not full reversals, then in the least some notably sharp turns. There is a need to define some boundaries (and terms) in the framing of the tracing that follows. Given that the time frame in question spans more than five hundred years (from the advent of Gutenberg’s printing press in the fifteenth century to the turn of the 21st century), the tracing must necessarily be done in broad strokes. With regard to what is meant by the “making public of scholarship” in this paper, by “making public” I refer to accounts historians have given in their attempts to reconstruct a history of what was published either in the periodical press or in books. With regard to scholarship (and the making public of it), as with many things in the history of publishing (or any history), this means different things in different times and in different places. The changing meanings of what can be termed “scholarship” and where and how it historically has been made public are the cornerstones on which this article (and a history of the making public of scholarship) turn. The structure of this paper is loosely chronological and is limited to the print cultures and reading publics in France, Britain, and what would eventually be called the US and Canada, and what follows here is an overview of changes in how scholarly and popular texts and publics are variously defined over the course of history. The Construction of Reading Publics and Print Culture In any consideration of “print culture” and reading publics, historical or contemporary, there are two guiding principles that historians suggest should be kept in mind, and, though these may seem self-evident, they are worth stating explicitly (perhaps precisely because they seem self-evident). The first is a reminder from Adrian Johns that “the very identity of print itself has had to be made” (2 italics in original). Just as the identity of print cultures are made, similarly, a history of reading publics and their identities are made, by looking to and interpreting such variables as numbers and genres of titles published and circulated, dates and locations of collections, and information on readers’ experiences of texts. Elizabeth Eisenstein offers a reminder of the “widely varying circumstances” (92) of the print revolution and an explicit acknowledgement of such circumstances provides the second, seemingly self-evident guiding principle: that the construction of reading publics and print culture must not only be understood as constructed, but also that such constructions ought not be understood as uniform. The purpose of the reconstructions of print cultures and reading publics presented here, therefore, is not to arrive at final conclusions, but rather to identify patterns that prove useful in better understanding the current status (and possible future) of publishing. The Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries—Boom, then Busted by State and Church In search of what could be termed “scholarship” following the mid-fifteenth century boom of the early days of print, given the ecclesiastical and state censorship in Britain and France and the popularity of religious texts of the 15th and 16th centuries, arguably the closest to “scholarship” that we can come is through the influence of the Italian Renaissance and the revival and translation (into Latin, and to a far lesser extent, vernacular languages) of the classics and indeed the influence of the Italian Renaissance on the “print revolution” is widely recognised by historians. Historians also recognise, however, that it was not long until “the supply of unpublished texts dried up…[yet for authors] to sell the fruits of their intellect—was not yet common practice before the late 16th century” (Febvre and Martin 160). Although this reference is to the book trade in France, in Britain, and in the regions to become the US and Canada, reading of “pious texts” was similarly predominant in the early days of print. Yet, the humanist shift throughout the 16th century is evidenced by titles produced in Paris in the first century of print: in 1501, in a total of 88 works, 53 can be categorised as religious, with 25 categorised as Latin, Greek, or Humanist authors; as compared to titles produced in 1549, in a total of 332 titles, 56 can be categorised as religious with 204 categorised as Latin, Greek, or Humanist authors (Febvre and Martin 264). The Seventeenth Century—Changes in the Political and Print Landscape In the 17th century, printers discovered that their chances of profitability (and survival) could be improved by targeting and developing a popular readership through the periodical press (its very periodicity and relative low cost both contributed to its accessibility by popular publics) in Europe as well as in North America. It is worthwhile to note, however, that “to the end of the seventeenth century, both literacy and leisure were virtually confined to scholars and ‘gentlemen’” (Steinberg 119) particularly where books were concerned and although literacy rates were still low, through the “exceptionally literate villager” there formed “hearing publics” who would have printed texts read to them (Eisenstein 93). For the literate members of the public interested not only in improving their social positions through learning, but also with intellectual (or spiritual or existential) curiosity piqued by forbidden books, it is not surprising that Descartes “wrote in French to a ‘lay audience … open to new ideas’” (Jacob 41). The 17th century also saw the publication of the first scholarly journals. There is a tension that becomes evident in the seventeenth century that can be seen as a tension characteristic of print culture, past and present: on the one hand, the housing of scholarship in scholarly journals as a genre distinct from the genre of the popular periodicals can be interpreted as a continued pattern of (elitist) divide in publics (as seen earlier between the oral and the written word, between Latin and the vernacular, between classic texts and popular texts); while, on the other hand, some thinkers/scholars of the day had an interest in reaching a wider audience, as printers always had, which led to the construction and fragmentation of audiences (whether the printer’s market for his goods or the scholar’s marketplace of ideas). The Eighteenth Century—Republics of Letters Become Concrete and Visible The 18th century saw ever-increasing literacy rates, early copyright legislation (Statute of Anne in 1709), improved printing technology, and ironically (or perhaps on the contrary, quite predictably) severe censorship that in effect led to an increased demand for forbidden books and a vibrant and international underground book trade (Darnton and Roche 138). Alongside a growing book trade, “the pulpit was ultimately displaced by the periodical press” (Eisenstein 94), which had become an “established institution” (Steinberg 125). One history of the periodical press in France finds that the number of periodicals (to remain in publication for three or more years) available to the reading public in 1745 numbered 15, whereas in 1785 this increased to 82 (Censer 7). With regard to scholarly periodicals, another study shows that between 1790 and 1800 there were 640 scientific-technological periodicals being published in Europe (Kronick 1961). Across the Atlantic, earlier difficulties in cultivating intellectual life—such as haphazard transatlantic exchange and limited institutions for learning—began to give way to a “republic of letters” that was “visible and concrete” (Hall 417). The Nineteenth Century—A Second Boom and the Rise of the Periodical Press By the turn of the 19th century, visible and concrete republics of letters become evident on both sides of the Atlantic in the boom in book publishing and in the periodical press, scholarly and popular. State and church controls on printing/publishing had given way to the press as the “fourth estate” or a free press as powerful force. The legislation of public education brought increased literacy rates among members of successive generations. One study of literacy rates in Britain, for example, shows that in the period from 1840–1870 literacy rates increased by 35–70 per cent; then from 1870–1900, literacy increased by 78–261 per cent (Mitch 76). Further, with the growth and changes in universities, “history, languages and literature and, above all, the sciences, became an established part of higher education for the first time,” which translated into growing markets for book publishers (Feather 117). Similarly the periodical press reached ever-increasing and numerous reading publics: one estimate of the increase finds the publication of nine hundred journals in 1800 jumping to almost sixty thousand in 1901 (Brodman, cited in Kronick 127). Further, the important role of the periodical press in developing communities of readers was recognised by publishers, editors and authors of the time, something equally recognised by present-day historians describing the “generic mélange of the periodical … [that] particularly lent itself to the interpenetration of language and ideas…[and] the verbal and conceptual interconnectedness of science, politics, theology, and literature” (Dawson, Noakes and Topham 30). Scientists recognised popular periodicals as “important platforms for addressing a non-specialist but culturally powerful public … [they were seen as public] performances [that] fulfilled important functions in making the claims of science heard among the ruling élite” (Dawson et al. 11). By contrast, however, the scholarly journals of the time, while also increasing in number, were becoming increasingly specialised along the same disciplinary boundaries being established in the universities, fulfilling a very different function of forming scholarly and discipline-specific discourse communities through public (published) performances of a very different nature. The Twentieth Century—The Tension Between Niche Publics and Mass Publics The long-existing tension in print culture between the differentiation of reading publics on the one hand, and the reach to ever-expanding reading publics on the other, in the twentieth century becomes a tension between what have been termed “niche-marketing” and “mass marketing,” between niche publics and mass publics. What this meant for the making public of scholarship was that the divides between discipline-specific discourse communities (and their corresponding genres) became more firmly established and yet, within each discipline, there was further fragmentation and specialisation. The niche-mass tension also meant that although in earlier print culture, “the lines of demarcation between men of science, men of letters, and scientific popularizers were far from clear, and were constantly being renegotiated” (Dawson et al 28), with the increasing professionalisation of academic work (and careers), lines of demarcation became firmly drawn between scholarly and popular titles and authors, as well as readers, who were described as “men of science,” as “educated men,” or as “casual observers” (Klancher 90). The question remains, however, as one historian of science asks, “To whom did the reading public go in order to learn about the ultimate meaning of modern science, the professionals or the popularizers?” (Lightman 191). By whom and for whom, where and how scholarship has historically been made public, are questions worthy of consideration if contemporary scholars are to better understand the current status (and possible future) for the making public of scholarship. A Snapshot of Scholarly Journals in Canada and Current Changes in Funding Policies The here and now of scholarly journal publishing in Canada (a growing, but relatively modest scholarly journal community, compared to the number of scholarly journals published in Europe and the US) serves as an interesting microcosm through which to consider how scholarly journal publishing has evolved since the early days of print. What follows here is an overview of the membership of the Canadian Association of Learned Journals (CALJ), in particular: (1) their target readers as identifiable from their editorial mandates; (2) their print/online/open-access policies; and (3) their publishers (all information gathered from the CALJ website, http://www.calj-acrs.ca/). Analysis of the collected data for the 100 member journals of CALJ (English, French and bilingual journals) with available information on the CALJ website is presented in Table 1 (below). A few observations are noteworthy: (1) in terms of readers, although all 100 journals identify a scholarly audience as their target readership, more than 40% of the journal also identify practitioners, policy-makers, or general readers as members of their target audience; (2) more than 25% of the journals publish online as well as or instead of print editions; and (3) almost all journals are published either by a Canadian university or, in one case, a college (60%) or a scholarly or professional society (31%). Table 1: Target Readership, Publishing Model and Publishers, CALJ Members (N=100) Journals with identifiable scholarly target readership 100 Journals with other identifiable target readership: practitioner 35 Journals with other identifiable target readership: general readers 18 Journals with other identifiable target readership: policy-makers/government 10 Total journals with identifiable target readership other than scholarly 43 Journals publishing in print only 56 Journals publishing in print and online 24 Journals publishing in print, online and open access 16 Journals publishing online only and open access 4 Journals published through a Canadian university press, faculty or department 60 Journals published by a scholarly or professional society 31 Journals published by a research institute 5 Journals published by the private sector 4 In the context of the historical overview presented earlier, this data raises a number of questions. The number of journals with target audiences either within or beyond the academy raises issues akin to the situation in the early days of print, when published works were primarily in Latin, with only 22 per cent in vernacular languages (Febvre and Martin 256), thereby strongly limiting access and reach to diverse audiences until the 17th century when Latin declined as the international language (Febvre and Martin 275) and there is a parallel to scholarly journal publishing and their changing readership(s). Diversity in audiences gradually developed in the early days of print, as Febvre and Martin (263) show by comparing the number of churchmen and lawyers with library collections in Paris: from 1480–1500 one lawyer and 24 churchmen had library collections, compared to 1551–1600, when 71 lawyers and 21 churchmen had library collections. Although the distinctions between present-day target audiences of Canadian scholarly journals (shown in Table 1, above) and 16th-century churchmen or lawyers no doubt are considerable, again there is a parallel with regard to changes in reading audiences. Similarly, the 18th-century increase in literacy rates, education, and technological advances finds a parallel in contemporary questions of computer literacy and access to scholarship (see Willinsky, “How,” Access, “Altering,” and If Only). Print culture historians and historians of science, as noted above, recognise that historically, while scholarly periodicals have increasingly specialised and popular periodicals have served as “important platforms for addressing a non-specialist but culturally powerful public…[and] fulfill[ing] important functions in making the claims of science heard among the ruling élite” (Dawson 11), there is adrift in current policies changes (and in the CALJ data above) a blurring of boundaries that harkens back to earlier days of print culture. As Adrian John reminded us earlier, “the very identity of print itself has had to be made” (2, italics in original) and the same applies to identities or cultures of print and the members of that culture: namely, the readers, the audience. The identities of the readers of scholarship are being made and re-made, as editorial mandates extend the scope of journals beyond strict, academic disciplinary boundaries and as increasing numbers of journals publish online (and open access). In Canada, changes in scholarly journal funding by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC) of Canada (as well as changes in SSHRC funding for research more generally) place increasing focus on impact factors (an international trend) as well as increased attention on the public benefits and value of social sciences and humanities research and scholarship (see SSHRC 2004, 2005, 2006). There is much debate in the scholarly community in Canada about the implications and possibilities of the direction of the changing funding policies, not least among members of the scholarly journal community. As noted in the table above, most scholarly journal publishers in Canada are independently published, which brings advantages of autonomy but also the disadvantage of very limited budgets and there is a great deal of concern about the future of the journals, about their survival amidst the current changes. Although the future is uncertain, it is perhaps worthwhile to be reminded once again that contrary to doomsday sooth-saying that has come time and time again, publishing has not perished, but rather it has continued to transform. I am inclined against making normative statements about what the future of publishing should be, but, looking at the accounts historians have given of the past and looking at the current publishing community I have come to know in my work in publishing, I am confident that the resourcefulness and commitment of the publishing community shall prevail and, indeed, there appears to be a good deal of promise in the transformation of scholarly journals in the ways they reach their audiences and in what reaches those audiences. Perhaps, as is suggested by the Canadian Centre for Studies in Publishing (CCSP), the future is one of “inventing publishing.” References Canadian Association of Learned Journals. Member Database. 10 June 2008 ‹http://www.calj-acrs.ca/>. Canadian Centre for Studies in Publishing. 10 June 2008. ‹http://www.ccsp.sfu.ca/>. Censer, Jack. The French Press in the Age of Enlightenment. London: Routledge, 1994. Darnton, Robert, Estienne Roche. Revolution in Print: The Press in France, 1775–1800. Berkeley: U of California P, 1989. Dawson, Gowan, Richard Noakes, and Jonathan Topham. Introduction. Science in the Nineteenth-century Periodical: Reading the Magazine of Nature. Ed. Geoffrey Cantor, Gowan Dawson, Richard Noakes, and Jonathan Topham. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2004. 1–37. Eisenstein, Elizabeth. The Printing Revolution in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1983 Feather, John. A History of British Publishing. New York: Routledge, 2006. Febvre, Lucien, and Henri-Jean Martin. The Coming of the Book: The Impact of Printing 1450–1800. London: N.L.B., 1979. Jacob, Margaret. Scientific Culture and the Making of the Industrial West. New York: Oxford UP, 1997. Johns, Adrian. The Nature of the Book: Print and Knowledge in the Making. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1998. Hall, David, and Hugh Armory. The Colonial Book in the Atlantic World. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2000. Klancher, Jon. The Making of English Reading Audiences. Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 1987. Kronick, David. A History of Scientific and Technical Periodicals: The Origins and Development of the Scientific and Technological Press, 1665–1790. New York: Scarecrow Press, 1961. ---. "Devant le deluge" and Other Essays on Early Modern Scientific Communication. Lanham: Scarecrow Press, 2004. Lightman, Bernard. Victorian Science in Context. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1997. Mitch, David. The Rise of Popular Literacy in Victorian England: The Influence of Private choice and Public Policy. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P, 1991. Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council. Granting Council to Knowledge Council: Renewing the Social Sciences and Humanities in Canada, Volume 1, 2004. Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council. Granting Council to Knowledge Council: Renewing the Social Sciences and Humanities in Canada, Volume 3, 2005. Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council. Moving Forward As a Knowledge Council: Canada’s Place in a Competitive World. 2006. Steinberg, Sigfrid. Five Hundred Years of Printing. London: Oak Knoll Press, 1996. Willinsky, John. “How to be More of a Public Intellectual by Making your Intellectual Work More Public.” Journal of Curriculum and Pedagogy 3.1 (2006): 92–95. ---. The Access Principle: The Case for Open Access to Research and Scholarship. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2006. ---. “Altering the Material Conditions of Access to the Humanities.” Ed. Peter Trifonas and Michael Peters. Deconstructing Derrida: Tasks for the New Humanities. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005. 118–36. ---. If Only We Knew: Increasing the Public Value of Social-Science Research. New York: Routledge, 2000.

The autobiographical documentary film “18q – a valuable life”, is one attempt to redefine the place of disability in contemporary western society. My work presents some key moments in my life and that of my family since the birth of my youngest child, Allycia in 1995. Allycia was born with a rare genetic condition affecting the 18th chromosome resulting in her experiencing the world somewhat differently to the rest of the family. The condition, which manifests in a myriad of ways with varying levels of severity, affects individuals’ physical and intellectual development (Chromosome 18, n. pag.). While the film outlines the condition and Allycia’s medical history, the work is primarily concerned with the experiences of the family and offering an alternate story of disability as “other”. Drawing on Rosemarie Garland Thomson’s notion of shape structuring story ("Shape") and Margrit Shildrick’s discussion of becoming vulnerable as theoretical foundations, I reflect on how the making of the film has challenged my previously held views about disability and ultimately about myself. The Film & Disability “18q – a valuable life” introduces a new, previously “invisible” shape in the form of bodies coded as Chromosome 18 to the screen. The initial impulse to make the film was driven by a need to provide a media presence for a rare genetic condition known collectively as Chromosome 18 (Chromosome 18, n. pag.) where previously there was none. This impulse was fuelled by a desire to tell a different story, our story; a story about what life can be like when a child with intellectual and physical impairment is born into one’s family. This different story is, in Garland Thompson’s terms, one that “insists that shape structures story” (114) and endeavours to contribute to recasting disability “as an occasion for exuberant flourishing” (Garland Thompson 114). The categorisation and depiction of people with disability in western society’s media have been scrutinised by many writers including Mitchell and Snyder ("Representations"; "Visual"), Oliver and Norden who point out that negatively charged stereotypical representations of the disabled continue to proliferate in the mediasphere. Englandkennedy for example examines the portrayal of the new disability classification Attention Deficit Disorder and is highly critical of its representation in programs such as The Simpsons (1989-2008) and films such as Pecker (1998). She asserts, “few media representations of ADD exist and most are inaccurate; they reflect and reinforce social concerns and negative stereotypes” (117) to the detriment of the condition being better understood by their audiences. However, Englandkennedy also identifies the positive possibilities for informed media representations that offer new models and stories about disability, citing works such as Children of a Lesser God (1986) and The Bone Collector (1999) as examples of shifts in fictional story telling modes. There are also shifts in recent documentary films such as My Flesh and Blood (2004), Tarnation (2003) and Murderball (2005) which provide insightful, powerful and engaging stories about disability. I suggest however that they still rely upon the stereotypical modes identified by numerous disability studies scholars. For example, Darke’s (n. pag.) heroic mother figure and disabled outsider and victim are depicted in the extreme in My Flesh and Blood and Tarnation respectively, whilst Murderball, as powerful as it is, still constructs disability as “something” to be overcome and is celebrated via the character construction of the “super-crip” (Englandkennedy 99). These stories are vital and insightful developments in challenging and re-shaping the many stigmas associated with disability, but they remain, for the most part, inaccessible to me in terms of my place in the world as a person parenting a little girl with physical and intellectual impairment. Able to Live The opening of the film features footage of my two older children Adam and Kristina, as “normal”, active children. These idyllic images are interrupted by an image of me by Allycia’s bedside where, as an infant, she is attached to life saving machines. She is at once “othered” to her active, healthy siblings. Her survival was reliant, and remains so, albeit to a much lesser extent, upon the intrusion of machines, administering of medication and the intervention of strangers. The prospect of her dying rendered me powerless, vulnerable; I lacked the means to sustain her life. To hand over my child to strangers, knowing they would carve her tiny chest open, suspend the beating of her already frail heart and attempt to repair it, was to surrender to the unknown without guarantees; the only surety being she would cease to be if I did not. Allycia survived surgery. This triumph however, was recast in the shadow of abnormality as outlined in the film when genetic screening of her DNA revealed she had been born with a rare genetic abnormality coded as 18q23 deletion. This information meant she was missing a part of her eighteenth chromosome and the literature available at that time (in 1997) gave little cause for hope – she was physically and intellectually retarded. This news, delivered to me by a genetic counsellor, was coupled with advice to ensure my daughter enjoyed “quality of life”. The words, “rare genetic abnormality” and “retarded” succeeded in effectively “othering” Allycia to me, to my other two children and the general population. My knowledge and experience with people with genetic abnormalities was minimal and synonymous with loss, sadness, suffering and sacrifice and had little to do with quality of life. She was frail and I was confronted with the loss of a “normal” child that would surely result in the “loss” of my own life when framed within this bleak, imagined life that lay before me; her disability, her otherness, her vulnerability signalled my own. As unpalatable as it is for me to use the word monstrous with reference to my daughter, Shildrick’s work, aligning the disabled experience with the monstrous and the possibility of becoming via a refiguring of vulnerability, resonates somewhat with my encounter with my vulnerable self. Schildrick proposes that “any being who traverses the liminal spaces that evade classification takes on the potential to confound normative identity” (6). As Allycia’s mother, I find Shildrick’s assertion that the monstrous “remains excessive of any category, it always claims us, always touches us and implicates us in its own becoming” (6) is particularly pertinent. This is not to say that Schildrick’s notion of the monstrous is an unproblematic one. Indeed Kaul reminds us that: to identify disabled bodies too closely with the monstrous seems to risk leaving us out of universal, as well as particular, experience, entirely in the figurative. (11) Schildrick’s notion of the universality of vulnerability however is implicit in her reference to that which confounds and disturbs us, and it is an important one. Clearly Allycia’s arrival has claimed me, touched me; I am intimately implicated in her becoming. I could not have anticipated however the degree to which she has been intertwined with my own becoming. Her arrival, in retrospect crystallised for me Shildrick’s proposition that “we are already without boundaries, already vulnerable” (6). The film does not shy away from the difficulties confronting Allycia and my family and other members of the chromosome 18 community. I have attempted however to portray our environment and culture as contributing factors and challenge the myth of medicine as a perfect science or answer to the myriad of challenges of navigating life with a disability in contemporary society. This was a difficult undertaking as I did not want the work to degenerate into one that was reliant on blame or continued in the construction of people with disability as victims. I have been mindful of balancing the sometimes painful reality of our lives with those moments that have brought us a sense of accomplishment or delight. Part of the delight of our lives is exemplified when my sister Julie articulates the difference in Allycia’s experiences as compared to her own nine year old daughter, Lydia. Julie succeeds in valorising Allycia’s freedom to be herself by juxtaposing her own daughter’s preoccupation with “what others think” and her level of self consciousness in social contexts. Julie also highlights Lydia’s awareness of Allycia’s difference, via narration over footage of Lydia assisting Allycia, and asserts that this role of becoming a helper is a positive attribute for Lydia’s development. Able to Laugh Including humour in the film was a vital ingredient in the reframing of disability in our lives and is employed as a device to enhance the accessibility of the text to an audience. The film is quite dialogue driven in furnishing background knowledge and runs the risk at times, when characters reveal some of their more painful experiences, of degenerating into a tale of despair. Humour acts as device to lift the overall mood of the film. The humour is in part structured by my failures and incompetence – particularly in reference to my command (or rather lack) of public transport both in Australia and overseas. While the events depicted did occur – my missing a ferry and losing our way in the United States – their inclusion in the film is used as a device to show me, as the able bodied person; the adult ‘able’ mother, with flaws and all. This deliberate act endeavours to re-shape the “heroic mother” stereotype. A wistful form of humour also emerges when my vulnerability becomes apparent in a sequence where I break down and cry, feeling the burden in that moment of the first eleven years of Allycia’s life. Here Allycia as carer emerges as she uses our favourite toy to interrupt my crying, succeeding in turning my tears into a gentle smile. Her maturity and ability to connect with my sadness and the need to make me feel better are apparent and serve to challenge the status of intellectual impairment as burden. This sequence also served to help me laugh at myself in quite a different way after spending many hours confronted with the many faces that are mine during the editing process. I experienced a great deal of discomfort in front of the camera due to feelings of self-consciousness and being on display. That discomfort paled into insignificance when I then had to watch myself on the monitor and triggered a parallel journey alongside the making of the film as I continued to view myself over time. Those images showing my distress, my face contorted with tears as I struggled to maintain control made me cry for quite a while afterwards. I felt a strange empathy for myself – as if viewing someone else’s pain although it was mine, simultaneously the same and other. Chris Sarra’s “notion of a common core otherness as constituting the essence of human being” is one that resonates closely with these aspects. Sarra reinterprets Bhaskar (5) arguing that “we should regard the same as a tiny ripple on the sea of otherness”, enabling us “to enshrine the right to be other” capturing “something of the wonder and strangeness of being” (5). Over time I have become used to seeing these images and have laughed at myself. I believe becoming accustomed to seeing myself, aging as I have during these years, has been a useful process. I have become "more" comfortable with seeing that face, my face in another time. In essence I have been required to sit with my own vulnerabilities and have gained a deeper acceptance of my own fragility and in a sense, my own mortality. This idea of becoming “used to”, and more accepting of the images I was previously uncomfortable with has given me a renewed hope for our community in particular, the disability community in general. My experience I believe indicates the potential for us, as we become more visible, to be accepted in our difference. Critical to this is the need for us to be seen in the fullness of human experience, including our capacity to experience laughter and love and the delight these experiences bring to our lives and those around us. These experiences are captured exquisitely when Allycia sees her newfound chromosome 18 friends, Martin and Kathryn kissing one another. She reacts in much the same way I expect other little girls might in a similar situation. She is simultaneously “grossed out” and intrigued, much to our delight. It is a lovely spontaneous moment that says much in the space of a minute about Martin and Kathryn, and about Allycia’s and my relationship. For me there is a beauty, there is honesty and there is transparency. Able to Love My desire for this film is similar to Garland Thomson’s desire for her writing to “provide access to some elements of my community to both disabled and non disabled audiences alike” (122). I felt part of the key to making the film “work” was ensuring it remained accessible to as wide an audience as possible and began with a naive optimism that the film could defy stereotypical story lines. I discovered this accessibility I desired was reliant upon the traditions of storytelling; language, the construction of character and the telling of a journey demanded an engagement in ways we collectively identify and understand (Campbell). I found our lives at times, became stereotypical. I had moments of feeling like a victim; Allycia as a dancer could well be perceived as a “supercrip” and the very act of making a film about my daughter could be viewed as a heroic one. The process resulted in my surrendering to working within a framework that relies upon, all too often, character construction that is stereotypical. I felt despondent many times upon realising the emergence of these in the work, but held onto the belief that something new could be shown by exposing “two narrative currents which are seldom included in the usual stories we tell about disability: sexuality and community” (Garland Thompson 114). The take on sexuality is a gentle one, concerned with emerging ideologies surrounding sexuality in our community. This is a new phenomenon in terms of the “place” of sexuality and intimacy within our community. One of our parents featured in the film makes this clear when he explains that the community is watching a new romance blossom “with interest” (18q) and that this is a new experience for us as a whole. In focussing on sexuality, my intention is to provoke discussion about perceptions surrounding people categorised as intellectually impaired and their capacity to love and build intimate relationships and the possibilities this presents for the chromosome 18 community. The theme of community features significantly in the film as audiences become privy to conferences attended by, in one instance, 300 people. My intention here is to “make our mark”. There has been no significant filmic presence of Chromosome 18. The condition is rare, but when those affected by it are gathered together, a significantly “bigger picture” of is presented where previously there was none. The community is a significant support network for families and is concerned with becoming empowered by knowledge, care and advocacy. The transcendence of global and cultural boundaries becomes apparent in the film as these differences become diminished in light of our greater need to connect with each others’ experiences in life as, or with, people born with genetic difference. The film highlights the supportive, educated and joyful “shape” of our community. In presenting our community I hope too that western society’s preoccupation with normativity and ableism (Goggin) is effectively challenged. In presenting a version of life that “destabilises the system and points up its inadequacy as a model of existential relations”, I am also demonstrating what Shildrick calls “unreflected excess, that which is other than the same” (105). The most significant shift for me has been to refigure my ideas about Allycia as an adult. When I was given her medical prognosis I believed she would be my responsibility for the rest of my life. I did not hold a lot of hope for the future and could not have possibly entertained the idea that she may live independently or heaven forbid, she may enter into an intimate adult relationship; such was my experience with the physically and intellectually impaired. Thankfully I have progressed. This progression has been, in part, due to attending a Chromosome 18 conference in Boston in 2007 where we met Kathryn and Martin, a young couple in the early stages of building a relationship. This is a new phenomenon in our community. Kathryn and Martin were born with chromosome 18 deletions. Meeting them and their families has signalled new possibilities for our children and their opportunities and their right to explore intimate adult relationships. Their relationship has given me confidence to proceed with an open mind regarding Allycia’s adulthood and sexuality. Conclusion The very act of making the film was one that would inevitably render me vulnerable. Placing myself before the camera has given me a new perspective on vulnerability as a state that simultaneously disempowers and empowers me. I could argue this process has given me a better understanding of Allycia’s place in the world, but to do this is to deny our differences. Instead I believe the experience has given me a renewed perspective in embracing our differences and has also enabled me to see how much we are alike. My understanding of myself as both “able” and “othered”, and the ensuing recognition of, and encounter with, my vulnerable self have in some measure, come as a result of being continually confronted with images of myself in the editing process. But more than this, reflecting upon the years since Allycia’s birth I have come to a more intimate understanding and acceptance of myself as a consequence of knowing Allycia. Whereas my experience has been a matter of will, Allycia’s contribution is in the fact that she simply is. These experiences have given me renewed hope of acceptance of people of difference - that over time we as a society may become used to seeing the different face and the different behaviours that often accompany the experience of people living with genetic difference. References Bhaskar, R. Dialectic: The Pulse of Freedom. London: Verso, 1993. Campbell, J. The Hero's Journey: Joseph Campbell on His Life and Work. California: New World Library, 2003 Caouette, J. Tarnation. Dir. J. Caouette. DVD. 2004. Chromosome 18. "Chromosome 18 Research & Registry Society." 2008. 3 March 2008 ‹http://www.chromosome18.org/›. Darke, P. "The Cinematic Construction of Physical Disability as Identified through the Application of the Social Model of Disability to Six Indicative Films Made since 1970: A Day In The Death of Joe Egg (1970), The Raging Moon (1970), The Elephant Man (1980), Whose Life Is It Anyway? (1981), Duet for One (1987) and My Left Foot (1989)." 1999. 10 Feb. 2006 ‹http://www.darke.info/›. Englandkennedy, E. “Media Representations of Attention Deficit Disorder: Portrayals of Cultural Skepticism in Popular Media.” Journal of Popular Culture 41.1 (2008): 91-118. Garland Thomson, R. “Shape Structures Story: Fresh and Feisty Stories about Disability.” Narrative 15.1 (2007): 113-123. –––. Extraordinary Bodies: Figuring Physical Disability in American Culture and Literature. New York: Columbia Univ. Press, 1997. Goggin, G. Division One: Bodies of Knowledge. 2002. 10 Feb. 2006 ‹http://adt.library.qut.edu.au/adt-qut/uploads/approved/adt-QUT20041123.160628/public/02whole.pdf›. Groening, M. The Simpsons. 20th Century Fox Television. 1989-2008. Iacone, J. The Bone Collector. Dir. P. Noyce. DVD. Columbia Pictures Corporation, 1999. Karsh, J. My Flesh and Blood. DVD. San Francisco: Chaiken Films, 2004. Kaul, K. Figuring Disability in Disability Studies: Theory, Policy and Practice. Toronto: York University, 2003. Medoff, M. Children of a Lesser God. Dir. R. Haines. Paramount Pictures, 1986. Mitchell, D. T., and S. L. Snyder. "Representation and Its Discontents: The Uneasy Home of Disability in Literature and Film." In Handbook of Disability Studies, eds. G. L. Albrecht, K. D. Seelman, and M. Bury. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 2001. 195-218. –––. “The Visual Foucauldian: Institutional Coercion and Surveillance in Frederick Wiseman's Multi-Handicapped Documentary Series.” Journal of Medical Humanities 24.3 (2003): 291. Norden, M.F. The Cinema of Isolation. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1994 Oliver, M. The Politics of Disablement. The Disability Archive UK. University of Leeds, 1990. 3 April 2005 ‹http://www.leeds.ac.uk/disability-studies/archiveuk/Oliver/p%20of%20d%20oliver4.pdf›. Rubin, H. A., and D. A. Shapiro. Murderball. DVD. Paramount Pictures, 2005. Sarra, C. Chris Sarra & The Other. Unpublished manuscript, 2005. Shildrick, M. Embodying the Monster: Encounters with the Vulnerable Self. London: Sage, 2002.Wain, Veronica. 18q – A Valuable Life. Prod. V. Wain. 2008. Waters, J. Pecker. Videocassette. Polar Entertainment, 1998.

IntroductionThere are two types of Africa. The first is a place where people and cultures live. The second is the image of Africa that has been invented through colonial knowledge and power. The colonial image of Africa, as the Other of Europe, a land “enveloped in the dark mantle of night” was supported by western states as it justified their colonial practices (Hegel 91). Any evidence that challenged the myth of the Dark Continent was destroyed, removed or ignored. While the looting of African natural resources has been studied, the looting of African knowledges hasn’t received as much attention, partly based on the assumption that Africans did not produce knowledge that could be stolen. This article invalidates this myth by examining the legacy of Ethiopia’s indigenous Ge’ez literature, and its looting and abduction by powerful western agents. The article argues that this has resulted in epistemic violence, where students of the Ethiopian indigenous education system do not have access to their books, while European orientalists use them to interpret Ethiopian history and philosophy using a foreign lens. The analysis is based on interviews with teachers and students of ten Ge’ez schools in Ethiopia, and trips to the Ethiopian manuscript collections in The British Library, The Princeton Library, the Institute of Ethiopian Studies and The National Archives in Addis Ababa.The Context of Ethiopian Indigenous KnowledgesGe’ez is one of the ancient languages of Africa. According to Professor Ephraim Isaac, “about 10,000 years ago, one single nation or community of a single linguistic group existed in Ethiopia, Eritrea, and the Horn of Africa” (The Habesha). The language of this group is known as Proto-Afroasiatic or Afrasian languages. It is the ancestor of the Semitic, Cushitic, Nilotic, Omotic and other languages that are currently spoken in Ethiopia by its 80 ethnic groups, and the neighbouring countries (Diakonoff). Ethiopians developed the Ge’ez language as their lingua franca with its own writing system some 2000 years ago. Currently, Ge’ez is the language of academic scholarship, studied through the traditional education system (Isaac, The Ethiopian). Since the fourth century, an estimated 1 million Ge’ez manuscripts have been written, covering religious, historical, mathematical, medicinal, and philosophical texts.One of the most famous Ge’ez manuscripts is the Kebra Nagast, a foundational text that embodied the indigenous conception of nationhood in Ethiopia. The philosophical, political and religious themes in this book, which craft Ethiopia as God’s country and the home of the Ark of the Covenant, contributed to the country’s success in defending itself from European colonialism. The production of books like the Kebra Nagast went hand in hand with a robust indigenous education system that trained poets, scribes, judges, artists, administrators and priests. Achieving the highest stages of learning requires about 30 years after which the scholar would be given the rare title Arat-Ayina, which means “four eyed”, a person with the ability to see the past as well as the future. Today, there are around 50,000 Ge’ez schools across the country, most of which are in rural villages and churches.Ge’ez manuscripts are important textbooks and reference materials for students. They are carefully prepared from vellum “to make them last forever” (interview, 3 Oct. 2019). Some of the religious books are regarded as “holy persons who breathe wisdom that gives light and food to the human soul”. Other manuscripts, often prepared as scrolls are used for medicinal purposes. Each manuscript is uniquely prepared reflecting inherited wisdom on contemporary lives using the method called Tirguamme, the act of giving meaning to sacred texts. Preparation of books is costly. Smaller manuscript require the skins of 50-70 goats/sheep and large manuscript needed 100-120 goats/sheep (Tefera).The Loss of Ethiopian ManuscriptsSince the 18th century, a large quantity of these manuscripts have been stolen, looted, or smuggled out of the country by travellers who came to the country as explorers, diplomats and scientists. The total number of Ethiopian manuscripts taken is still unknown. Amsalu Tefera counted 6928 Ethiopian manuscripts currently held in foreign libraries and museums. This figure does not include privately held or unofficial collections (41).Looting and smuggling were sponsored by western governments, institutions, and notable individuals. For example, in 1868, The British Museum Acting Director Richard Holms joined the British army which was sent to ‘rescue’ British hostages at Maqdala, the capital of Emperor Tewodros. Holms’ mission was to bring treasures for the Museum. Before the battle, Tewodros had established the Medhanialem library with more than 1000 manuscripts as part of Ethiopia’s “industrial revolution”. When Tewodros lost the war and committed suicide, British soldiers looted the capital, including the treasury and the library. They needed 200 mules and 15 elephants to transport the loot and “set fire to all buildings so that no trace was left of the edifices which once housed the manuscripts” (Rita Pankhurst 224). Richard Holmes collected 356 manuscripts for the Museum. A wealthy British woman called Lady Meux acquired some of the most illuminated manuscripts. In her will, she bequeathed them to be returned to Ethiopia. However, her will was reversed by court due to a campaign from the British press (Richard Pankhurst). In 2018, the V&A Museum in London displayed some of the treasures by incorporating Maqdala into the imperial narrative of Britain (Woldeyes, Reflections).Britain is by no means the only country to seek Ethiopian manuscripts for their collections. Smuggling occurred in the name of science, an act of collecting manuscripts for study. Looting involved local collaborators and powerful foreign sponsors from places like France, Germany and the Vatican. Like Maqdala, this was often sponsored by governments or powerful financers. For example, the French government sponsored the Dakar-Djibouti Mission led by Marcel Griaule, which “brought back about 350 manuscripts and scrolls from Gondar” (Wion 2). It was often claimed that these manuscripts were purchased, rather than looted. Johannes Flemming of Germany was said to have purchased 70 manuscripts and ten scrolls for the Royal Library of Berlin in 1905. However, there was no local market for buying manuscripts. Ge’ez manuscripts were, and still are, written to serve spiritual and secular life in Ethiopia, not for buying and selling. There are countless other examples, but space limits how many can be provided in this article. What is important to note is that museums and libraries have accrued impressive collections without emphasising how those collections were first obtained. The loss of the intellectual heritage of Ethiopians to western collectors has had an enormous impact on the country.Knowledge Grabbing: The Denial of Access to KnowledgeWith so many manuscripts lost, European collectors became the narrators of Ethiopian knowledge and history. Edward Ullendorff, a known orientalist in Ethiopian studies, refers to James Bruce as “the explorer of Abyssinia” (114). Ullendorff commented on the significance of Bruce’s travel to Ethiopia asperhaps the most important aspect of Bruce’s travels was the collection of Ethiopic manuscripts… . They opened up entirely new vistas for the study of Ethiopian languages and placed this branch of Oriental scholarship on a much more secure basis. It is not known how many MSS. reached Europe through his endeavours, but the present writer is aware of at least twenty-seven, all of which are exquisite examples of Ethiopian manuscript art. (133)This quote encompasses three major ways in which epistemic violence occurs: denial of access to knowledge, Eurocentric interpretation of Ethiopian manuscripts, and the handling of Ge’ez manuscripts as artefacts from the past. These will be discussed below.Western ‘travellers’, such as Bruce, did not fully disclose how many manuscripts they took or how they acquired them. The abundance of Ethiopian manuscripts in western institutions can be compared to the scarcity of such materials among traditional schools in Ethiopia. In this research, I have visited ten indigenous schools in Wollo (Lalibela, Neakutoleab, Asheten, Wadla), in Gondar (Bahita, Kuskwam, Menbere Mengist), and Gojam (Bahirdar, Selam Argiew Maryam, Giorgis). In all of the schools, there is lack of Ge’ez manuscripts. Students often come from rural villages and do not receive any government support. The scarcity of Ge’ez manuscripts, and the lack of funding which might allow for the purchasing of books, means the students depend mainly on memorising Ge’ez texts told to them from the mouth of their teacher. Although this method of learning is not new, it currently is the only way for passing indigenous knowledges across generations.The absence of manuscripts is most strongly felt in the advanced schools. For instance, in the school of Qene, poetic literature is created through an in-depth study of the vocabulary and grammar of Ge’ez. A Qene student is required to develop a deep knowledge of Ge’ez in order to understand ancient and medieval Ge’ez texts which are used to produce poetry with multiple meanings. Without Ge’ez manuscripts, students cannot draw their creative works from the broad intellectual tradition of their ancestors. When asked how students gain access to textbooks, one student commented:we don’t have access to Birana books (Ge’ez manuscripts written on vellum). We cannot learn the ancient wisdom of painting, writing, and computing developed by our ancestors. We simply buy paper books such as Dawit (Psalms), Sewasew (grammar) or Degwa (book of songs with notations) and depend on our teachers to teach us the rest. We also lend these books to each other as many students cannot afford to buy them. Without textbooks, we expect to spend double the amount of time it would take if we had textbooks. (Interview, 3 Sep. 2019)Many students interrupt their studies and work as labourers to save up and buy paper textbooks, but they still don’t have access to the finest works taken to Europe. Most Ge’ez manuscripts remaining in Ethiopia are locked away in monasteries, church stores or other places to prevent further looting. The manuscripts in Addis Ababa University and the National Archives are available for researchers but not to the students of the indigenous system, creating a condition of internal knowledge grabbing.While the absence of Ge’ez manuscripts denied, and continues to deny, Ethiopians the chance to enrich their indigenous education, it benefited western orientalists to garner intellectual authority on the field of Ethiopian studies. In 1981, British Museum Director John Wilson said, “our Abyssinian holdings are more important than our Indian collection” (Bell 231). In reaction, Richard Pankhurst, the Director of Ethiopian Studies in Addis Ababa, responded that the collection was acquired through plunder. Defending the retaining of Maqdala manuscripts in Europe, Ullendorff wrote:neither Dr. Pankhurst nor the Ethiopian and western scholars who have worked on this collection (and indeed on others in Europe) could have contributed so significantly to the elucidation of Ethiopian history without the rich resources available in this country. Had they remained insitu, none of this would have been possible. (Qtd. in Bell 234)The manuscripts are therefore valued based on their contribution to western scholarship only. This is a continuation of epistemic violence whereby local knowledges are used as raw materials to produce Eurocentric knowledge, which in turn is used to teach Africans as though they had no prior knowledge. Scholars are defined as those western educated persons who can speak European languages and can travel to modern institutions to access the manuscripts. Knowledge grabbing regards previous owners as inexistent or irrelevant for the use of the grabbed knowledges.Knowledge grabbing also means indigenous scholars are deprived of critical resources to produce new knowledge based on their intellectual heritage. A Qene teacher commented: our students could not devote their time and energy to produce new knowledges in the same way our ancestors did. We have the tradition of Madeladel, Kimera, Kuteta, Mielad, Qene and tirguamme where students develop their own system of remembering, reinterpreting, practicing, and rewriting previous manuscripts and current ones. Without access to older manuscripts, we increasingly depend on preserving what is being taught orally by elders. (Interview, 4 Sep. 2019)This point is important as it relates to the common myth that indigenous knowledges are artefacts belonging to the past, not the present. There are millions of people who still use these knowledges, but the conditions necessary for their reproduction and improvement is denied through knowledge grabbing. The view of Ge’ez manuscripts as artefacts dismisses the Ethiopian view that Birana manuscripts are living persons. As a scholar told me in Gondar, “they are creations of Egziabher (God), like all of us. Keeping them in institutions is like keeping living bodies in graveyards” (interview, 5 Oct. 2019).Recently, the collection of Ethiopian manuscripts by western institutions has also been conducted digitally. Thousands of manuscripts have been microfilmed or digitised. For example, the EU funded Ethio-SPaRe project resulted in the digital collection of 2000 Ethiopian manuscripts (Nosnitsin). While digitisation promises better access for people who may not be able to visit institutions to see physical copies, online manuscripts are not accessible to indigenous school students in Ethiopia. They simply do not have computer or internet access and the manuscripts are catalogued in European languages. Both physical and digital knowledge grabbing results in the robbing of Ethiopian intellectual heritage, and denies the possibility of such manuscripts being used to inform local scholarship. Epistemic Violence: The European as ExpertWhen considered in relation to stolen or appropriated manuscripts, epistemic violence is the way in which local knowledge is interpreted using a foreign epistemology and gained dominance over indigenous worldviews. European scholars have monopolised the field of Ethiopian Studies by producing books, encyclopaedias and digital archives based on Ethiopian manuscripts, almost exclusively in European languages. The contributions of their work for western scholarship is undeniable. However, Kebede argues that one of the detrimental effects of this orientalist literature is the thesis of Semiticisation, the designation of the origin of Ethiopian civilisation to the arrival of Middle Eastern colonisers rather than indigenous sources.The thesis is invented to make the history of Ethiopia consistent with the Hegelian western view that Africa is a Dark Continent devoid of a civilisation of its own. “In light of the dominant belief that black peoples are incapable of great achievements, the existence of an early and highly advanced civilization constitutes a serious anomaly in the Eurocentric construction of the world” (Kebede 4). To address this anomaly, orientalists like Ludolph attributed the origin of Ethiopia’s writing system, agriculture, literature, and civilisation to the arrival of South Arabian settlers. For example, in his translation of the Kebra Nagast, Budge wrote: “the SEMITES found them [indigenous Ethiopians] negro savages, and taught them civilization and culture and the whole scriptures on which their whole literature is based” (x).In line with the above thesis, Dillman wrote that “the Abyssinians borrowed their Numerical Signs from the Greeks” (33). The views of these orientalist scholars have been challenged. For instance, leading scholar of Semitic languages Professor Ephraim Isaac considers the thesis of the Arabian origin of Ethiopian civilization “a Hegelian Eurocentric philosophical perspective of history” (2). Isaac shows that there is historical, archaeological, and linguistic evidence that suggest Ethiopia to be more advanced than South Arabia from pre-historic times. Various Ethiopian sources including the Kebra Nagast, the works of historian Asres Yenesew, and Ethiopian linguist Girma Demeke provide evidence for the indigenous origin of Ethiopian civilisation and languages.The epistemic violence of the Semeticisation thesis lies in how this Eurocentric ideological construction is the dominant narrative in the field of Ethiopian history and the education system. Unlike the indigenous view, the orientalist view is backed by strong institutional power both in Ethiopia and abroad. The orientalists control the field of Ethiopian studies and have access to Ge’ez manuscripts. Their publications are the only references for Ethiopian students. Due to Native Colonialism, a system of power run by native elites through the use of colonial ideas and practices (Woldeyes), the education system is the imitation of western curricula, including English as a medium of instruction from high school onwards. Students study the west more than Ethiopia. Indigenous sources are generally excluded as unscientific. Only the Eurocentric interpretation of Ethiopian manuscripts is regarded as scientific and objective.ConclusionEthiopia is the only African country never to be colonised. In its history it produced a large quantity of manuscripts in the Ge’ez language through an indigenous education system that involves the study of these manuscripts. Since the 19th century, there has been an ongoing loss of these manuscripts. European travellers who came to Ethiopia as discoverers, missionaries and scholars took a large number of manuscripts. The Battle of Maqdala involved the looting of the intellectual products of Ethiopia that were collected at the capital. With the introduction of western education and use of English as a medium of instruction, the state disregarded indigenous schools whose students have little access to the manuscripts. This article brings the issue of knowledge grapping, a situation whereby European institutions and scholars accumulate Ethiopia manuscripts without providing the students in Ethiopia to have access to those collections.Items such as manuscripts that are held in western institutions are not dead artefacts of the past to be preserved for prosperity. They are living sources of knowledge that should be put to use in their intended contexts. Local Ethiopian scholars cannot study ancient and medieval Ethiopia without travelling and gaining access to western institutions. This lack of access and resources has made European Ethiopianists almost the sole producers of knowledge about Ethiopian history and culture. For example, indigenous sources and critical research that challenge the Semeticisation thesis are rarely available to Ethiopian students. Here we see epistemic violence in action. Western control over knowledge production has the detrimental effect of inventing new identities, subjectivities and histories that translate into material effects in the lives of African people. In this way, Ethiopians and people all over Africa internalise western understandings of themselves and their history as primitive and in need of development or outside intervention. African’s intellectual and cultural heritage, these living bodies locked away in graveyards, must be put back into the hands of Africans.AcknowledgementThe author acknowledges the support of the Australian Academy of the Humanities' 2019 Humanities Travelling Fellowship Award in conducting this research.ReferencesBell, Stephen. “Cultural Treasures Looted from Maqdala: A Summary of Correspondence in British National Newspapers since 1981.” Kasa and Kasa. Eds. Tadesse Beyene, Richard Pankhurst, and Shifereraw Bekele. Addis Ababa: Ababa University Book Centre, 1990. 231-246.Budge, Wallis. A History of Ethiopia, Nubia and Abyssinia. London: Methuen and Co, 1982.Demeke, Girma Awgichew. The Origin of Amharic. Trenton: Red Sea Press, 2013.Diakonoff, Igor M. Afrasian Languages. Moscow: Nauka, 1988.Dillmann, August. Ethiopic Grammar. Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 2005.Hegel, Georg W.F. The Philosophy of History. New York: Dover, 1956.Isaac, Ephraim. The Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahido Church. New Jersey: Red Sea Press, 2013.———. “An Open Letter to an Inquisitive Ethiopian Sister.” The Habesha, 2013. 1 Feb. 2020 <http://www.zehabesha.com/an-open-letter-to-an-inquisitive-young-ethiopian-sister-ethiopian-history-is-not-three-thousand-years/>.Kebra Nagast. "The Queen of Sheba and Her Only Son Menyelik I." Trans. Wallis Budge. London: Oxford UP, 1932.Pankhurst, Richard. "The Napier Expedition and the Loot Form Maqdala." Presence Africaine 133-4 (1985): 233-40.Pankhurst, Rita. "The Maqdala Library of Tewodros." Kasa and Kasa. Eds. Tadesse Beyene, Richard Pankhurst, and Shifereraw Bekele. Addis Ababa: Ababa University Book Centre, 1990. 223-230.Tefera, Amsalu. ነቅዐ መጻህፍት ከ መቶ በላይ በግዕዝ የተጻፉ የእኢትዮጵያ መጻህፍት ዝርዝር ከማብራሪያ ጋር።. Addis Ababa: Jajaw, 2019.Nosnitsin, Denis. "Ethio-Spare Cultural Heritage of Christian Ethiopia: Salvation, Preservation and Research." 2010. 5 Jan. 2019 <https://www.aai.uni-hamburg.de/en/ethiostudies/research/ethiospare/missions/pdf/report2010-1.pdf>. Ullendorff, Edward. "James Bruce of Kinnaird." The Scottish Historical Review 32.114, part 2 (1953): 128-43.Wion, Anaïs. "Collecting Manuscripts and Scrolls in Ethiopia: The Missions of Johannes Flemming (1905) and Enno Littmann (1906)." 2012. 5 Jan. 2019 <https://halshs.archives-ouvertes.fr/halshs-00524382/document>. Woldeyes, Yirga Gelaw. Native Colonialism: Education and the Economy of Violence against Traditions in Ethiopia. Trenton: Red Sea Press, 2017.———. “Reflections on Ethiopia’s Stolen Treasures on Display in a London Museum.” The Conversation. 2018. 5 June 2018 <https://theconversation.com/reflections-on-ethiopias-stolen-treasures-on-display-in-a-london-museum-97346>.Yenesew, Asres. ትቤ፡አክሱም፡መኑ፡ አንተ? Addis Ababa: Nigid Printing House, 1959 [1951 EC].

The term “coffee palace” was primarily used in Australia to describe the temperance hotels that were built in the last decades of the 19th century, although there are references to the term also being used to a lesser extent in the United Kingdom (Denby 174). Built in response to the worldwide temperance movement, which reached its pinnacle in the 1880s in Australia, coffee palaces were hotels that did not serve alcohol. This was a unique time in Australia’s architectural development as the economic boom fuelled by the gold rush in the 1850s, and the demand for ostentatious display that gathered momentum during the following years, afforded the use of richly ornamental High Victorian architecture and resulted in very majestic structures; hence the term “palace” (Freeland 121). The often multi-storied coffee palaces were found in every capital city as well as regional areas such as Geelong and Broken Hill, and locales as remote as Maria Island on the east coast of Tasmania. Presented as upholding family values and discouraging drunkenness, the coffee palaces were most popular in seaside resorts such as Barwon Heads in Victoria, where they catered to families. Coffee palaces were also constructed on a grand scale to provide accommodation for international and interstate visitors attending the international exhibitions held in Sydney (1879) and Melbourne (1880 and 1888). While the temperance movement lasted well over 100 years, the life of coffee palaces was relatively short-lived. Nevertheless, coffee palaces were very much part of Australia’s cultural landscape. In this article, I examine the rise and demise of coffee palaces associated with the temperance movement and argue that coffee palaces established in the name of abstinence were modelled on the coffee houses that spread throughout Europe and North America in the 17th and 18th centuries during the Enlightenment—a time when the human mind could be said to have been liberated from inebriation and the dogmatic state of ignorance. The Temperance Movement At a time when newspapers are full of lurid stories about binge-drinking and the alleged ill-effects of the liberalisation of licensing laws, as well as concerns over the growing trend of marketing easy-to-drink products (such as the so-called “alcopops”) to teenagers, it is difficult to think of a period when the total suppression of the alcohol trade was seriously debated in Australia. The cause of temperance has almost completely vanished from view, yet for well over a century—from 1830 to the outbreak of the Second World War—the control or even total abolition of the liquor trade was a major political issue—one that split the country, brought thousands onto the streets in demonstrations, and influenced the outcome of elections. Between 1911 and 1925 referenda to either limit or prohibit the sale of alcohol were held in most States. While moves to bring about abolition failed, Fitzgerald notes that almost one in three Australian voters expressed their support for prohibition of alcohol in their State (145). Today, the temperance movement’s platform has largely been forgotten, killed off by the practical example of the United States, where prohibition of the legal sale of alcohol served only to hand control of the liquor traffic to organised crime. Coffee Houses and the Enlightenment Although tea has long been considered the beverage of sobriety, it was coffee that came to be regarded as the very antithesis of alcohol. When the first coffee house opened in London in the early 1650s, customers were bewildered by this strange new drink from the Middle East—hot, bitter, and black as soot. But those who tried coffee were, reports Ellis, soon won over, and coffee houses were opened across London, Oxford, and Cambridge and, in the following decades, Europe and North America. Tea, equally exotic, entered the English market slightly later than coffee (in 1664), but was more expensive and remained a rarity long after coffee had become ubiquitous in London (Ellis 123-24). The impact of the introduction of coffee into Europe during the seventeenth century was particularly noticeable since the most common beverages of the time, even at breakfast, were weak “small beer” and wine. Both were safer to drink than water, which was liable to be contaminated. Coffee, like beer, was made using boiled water and, therefore, provided a new and safe alternative to alcoholic drinks. There was also the added benefit that those who drank coffee instead of alcohol began the day alert rather than mildly inebriated (Standage 135). It was also thought that coffee had a stimulating effect upon the “nervous system,” so much so that the French called coffee une boisson intellectuelle (an intellectual beverage), because of its stimulating effect on the brain (Muskett 71). In Oxford, the British called their coffee houses “penny universities,” a penny then being the price of a cup of coffee (Standage 158). Coffee houses were, moreover, more than places that sold coffee. Unlike other institutions of the period, rank and birth had no place (Ellis 59). The coffee house became the centre of urban life, creating a distinctive social culture by treating all customers as equals. Egalitarianism, however, did not extend to women—at least not in London. Around its egalitarian (but male) tables, merchants discussed and conducted business, writers and poets held discussions, scientists demonstrated experiments, and philosophers deliberated ideas and reforms. For the price of a cup (or “dish” as it was then known) of coffee, a man could read the latest pamphlets and newsletters, chat with other patrons, strike business deals, keep up with the latest political gossip, find out what other people thought of a new book, or take part in literary or philosophical discussions. Like today’s Internet, Twitter, and Facebook, Europe’s coffee houses functioned as an information network where ideas circulated and spread from coffee house to coffee house. In this way, drinking coffee in the coffee house became a metaphor for people getting together to share ideas in a sober environment, a concept that remains today. According to Standage, this information network fuelled the Enlightenment (133), prompting an explosion of creativity. Coffee houses provided an entirely new environment for political, financial, scientific, and literary change, as people gathered, discussed, and debated issues within their walls. Entrepreneurs and scientists teamed up to form companies to exploit new inventions and discoveries in manufacturing and mining, paving the way for the Industrial Revolution (Standage 163). The stock market and insurance companies also had their birth in the coffee house. As a result, coffee was seen to be the epitome of modernity and progress and, as such, was the ideal beverage for the Age of Reason. By the 19th century, however, the era of coffee houses had passed. Most of them had evolved into exclusive men’s clubs, each geared towards a certain segment of society. Tea was now more affordable and fashionable, and teahouses, which drew clientele from both sexes, began to grow in popularity. Tea, however, had always been Australia’s most popular non-alcoholic drink. Tea (and coffee) along with other alien plants had been part of the cargo unloaded onto Australian shores with the First Fleet in 1788. Coffee, mainly from Brazil and Jamaica, remained a constant import but was taxed more heavily than tea and was, therefore, more expensive. Furthermore, tea was much easier to make than coffee. To brew tea, all that is needed is to add boiling water, coffee, in contrast, required roasting, grinding and brewing. According to Symons, until the 1930s, Australians were the largest consumers of tea in the world (19). In spite of this, and as coffee, since its introduction into Europe, was regarded as the antidote to alcohol, the temperance movement established coffee palaces. In the early 1870s in Britain, the temperance movement had revived the coffee house to provide an alternative to the gin taverns that were so attractive to the working classes of the Industrial Age (Clarke 5). Unlike the earlier coffee house, this revived incarnation provided accommodation and was open to men, women and children. “Cheap and wholesome food,” was available as well as reading rooms supplied with newspapers and periodicals, and games and smoking rooms (Clarke 20). In Australia, coffee palaces did not seek the working classes, as clientele: at least in the cities they were largely for the nouveau riche. Coffee Palaces The discovery of gold in 1851 changed the direction of the Australian economy. An investment boom followed, with an influx of foreign funds and English banks lending freely to colonial speculators. By the 1880s, the manufacturing and construction sectors of the economy boomed and land prices were highly inflated. Governments shared in the wealth and ploughed money into urban infrastructure, particularly railways. Spurred on by these positive economic conditions and the newly extended inter-colonial rail network, international exhibitions were held in both Sydney and Melbourne. To celebrate modern technology and design in an industrial age, international exhibitions were phenomena that had spread throughout Europe and much of the world from the mid-19th century. According to Davison, exhibitions were “integral to the culture of nineteenth century industrialising societies” (158). In particular, these exhibitions provided the colonies with an opportunity to demonstrate to the world their economic power and achievements in the sciences, the arts and education, as well as to promote their commerce and industry. Massive purpose-built buildings were constructed to house the exhibition halls. In Sydney, the Garden Palace was erected in the Botanic Gardens for the 1879 Exhibition (it burnt down in 1882). In Melbourne, the Royal Exhibition Building, now a World Heritage site, was built in the Carlton Gardens for the 1880 Exhibition and extended for the 1888 Centennial Exhibition. Accommodation was required for the some one million interstate and international visitors who were to pass through the gates of the Garden Palace in Sydney. To meet this need, the temperance movement, keen to provide alternative accommodation to licensed hotels, backed the establishment of Sydney’s coffee palaces. The Sydney Coffee Palace Hotel Company was formed in 1878 to operate and manage a number of coffee palaces constructed during the 1870s. These were designed to compete with hotels by “offering all the ordinary advantages of those establishments without the allurements of the drink” (Murdoch). Coffee palaces were much more than ordinary hotels—they were often multi-purpose or mixed-use buildings that included a large number of rooms for accommodation as well as ballrooms and other leisure facilities to attract people away from pubs. As the Australian Town and Country Journal reveals, their services included the supply of affordable, wholesome food, either in the form of regular meals or occasional refreshments, cooked in kitchens fitted with the latest in culinary accoutrements. These “culinary temples” also provided smoking rooms, chess and billiard rooms, and rooms where people could read books, periodicals and all the local and national papers for free (121). Similar to the coffee houses of the Enlightenment, the coffee palaces brought businessmen, artists, writers, engineers, and scientists attending the exhibitions together to eat and drink (non-alcoholic), socialise and conduct business. The Johnson’s Temperance Coffee Palace located in York Street in Sydney produced a practical guide for potential investors and businessmen titled International Exhibition Visitors Pocket Guide to Sydney. It included information on the location of government departments, educational institutions, hospitals, charitable organisations, and embassies, as well as a list of the tariffs on goods from food to opium (1–17). Women, particularly the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union (WCTU) were a formidable force in the temperance movement (intemperance was generally regarded as a male problem and, more specifically, a husband problem). Murdoch argues, however, that much of the success of the push to establish coffee palaces was due to male politicians with business interests, such as the one-time Victorian premiere James Munro. Considered a stern, moral church-going leader, Munro expanded the temperance movement into a fanatical force with extraordinary power, which is perhaps why the temperance movement had its greatest following in Victoria (Murdoch). Several prestigious hotels were constructed to provide accommodation for visitors to the international exhibitions in Melbourne. Munro was responsible for building many of the city’s coffee palaces, including the Victoria (1880) and the Federal Coffee Palace (1888) in Collins Street. After establishing the Grand Coffee Palace Company, Munro took over the Grand Hotel (now the Windsor) in 1886. Munro expanded the hotel to accommodate some of the two million visitors who were to attend the Centenary Exhibition, renamed it the Grand Coffee Palace, and ceremoniously burnt its liquor licence at the official opening (Murdoch). By 1888 there were more than 50 coffee palaces in the city of Melbourne alone and Munro held thousands of shares in coffee palaces, including those in Geelong and Broken Hill. With its opening planned to commemorate the centenary of the founding of Australia and the 1888 International Exhibition, the construction of the Federal Coffee Palace, one of the largest hotels in Australia, was perhaps the greatest monument to the temperance movement. Designed in the French Renaissance style, the façade was embellished with statues, griffins and Venus in a chariot drawn by four seahorses. The building was crowned with an iron-framed domed tower. New passenger elevators—first demonstrated at the Sydney Exhibition—allowed the building to soar to seven storeys. According to the Federal Coffee Palace Visitor’s Guide, which was presented to every visitor, there were three lifts for passengers and others for luggage. Bedrooms were located on the top five floors, while the stately ground and first floors contained majestic dining, lounge, sitting, smoking, writing, and billiard rooms. There were electric service bells, gaslights, and kitchens “fitted with the most approved inventions for aiding proficients [sic] in the culinary arts,” while the luxury brand Pears soap was used in the lavatories and bathrooms (16–17). In 1891, a spectacular financial crash brought the economic boom to an abrupt end. The British economy was in crisis and to meet the predicament, English banks withdrew their funds in Australia. There was a wholesale collapse of building companies, mortgage banks and other financial institutions during 1891 and 1892 and much of the banking system was halted during 1893 (Attard). Meanwhile, however, while the eastern States were in the economic doldrums, gold was discovered in 1892 at Coolgardie and Kalgoorlie in Western Australia and, within two years, the west of the continent was transformed. As gold poured back to the capital city of Perth, the long dormant settlement hurriedly caught up and began to emulate the rest of Australia, including the construction of ornately detailed coffee palaces (Freeman 130). By 1904, Perth had 20 coffee palaces. When the No. 2 Coffee Palace opened in Pitt Street, Sydney, in 1880, the Australian Town and Country Journal reported that coffee palaces were “not only fashionable, but appear to have acquired a permanent footing in Sydney” (121). The coffee palace era, however, was relatively short-lived. Driven more by reformist and economic zeal than by good business sense, many were in financial trouble when the 1890’s Depression hit. Leading figures in the temperance movement were also involved in land speculation and building societies and when these schemes collapsed, many, including Munro, were financially ruined. Many of the palaces closed or were forced to apply for liquor licences in order to stay afloat. Others developed another life after the temperance movement’s influence waned and the coffee palace fad faded, and many were later demolished to make way for more modern buildings. The Federal was licensed in 1923 and traded as the Federal Hotel until its demolition in 1973. The Victoria, however, did not succumb to a liquor licence until 1967. The Sydney Coffee Palace in Woolloomooloo became the Sydney Eye Hospital and, more recently, smart apartments. Some fine examples still survive as reminders of Australia’s social and cultural heritage. The Windsor in Melbourne’s Spring Street and the Broken Hill Hotel, a massive three-story iconic pub in the outback now called simply “The Palace,” are some examples. Tea remained the beverage of choice in Australia until the 1950s when the lifting of government controls on the importation of coffee and the influence of American foodways coincided with the arrival of espresso-loving immigrants. As Australians were introduced to the espresso machine, the short black, the cappuccino, and the café latte and (reminiscent of the Enlightenment), the post-war malaise was shed in favour of the energy and vigour of modernist thought and creativity, fuelled in at least a small part by caffeine and the emergent café culture (Teffer). Although the temperance movement’s attempt to provide an alternative to the ubiquitous pubs failed, coffee has now outstripped the consumption of tea and today’s café culture ensures that wherever coffee is consumed, there is the possibility of a continuation of the Enlightenment’s lively discussions, exchange of news, and dissemination of ideas and information in a sober environment. References Attard, Bernard. “The Economic History of Australia from 1788: An Introduction.” EH.net Encyclopedia. 5 Feb. (2012) ‹http://eh.net/encyclopedia/article/attard.australia›. Blainey, Anna. “The Prohibition and Total Abstinence Movement in Australia 1880–1910.” Food, Power and Community: Essays in the History of Food and Drink. Ed. Robert Dare. Adelaide: Wakefield Press, 1999. 142–52. Boyce, Francis Bertie. “Shall I Vote for No License?” An address delivered at the Convention of the Parramatta Branch of New South Wales Alliance, 3 September 1906. 3rd ed. Parramatta: New South Wales Alliance, 1907. Clarke, James Freeman. Coffee Houses and Coffee Palaces in England. Boston: George H. Ellis, 1882. “Coffee Palace, No. 2.” Australian Town and Country Journal. 17 Jul. 1880: 121. Davison, Graeme. “Festivals of Nationhood: The International Exhibitions.” Australian Cultural History. Eds. S. L. Goldberg and F. B. Smith. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1989. 158–77. Denby, Elaine. Grand Hotels: Reality and Illusion. London: Reaktion Books, 2002. Ellis, Markman. The Coffee House: A Cultural History. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2004. Federal Coffee Palace. The Federal Coffee Palace Visitors’ Guide to Melbourne, Its Suburbs, and Other Parts of the Colony of Victoria: Views of the Principal Public and Commercial Buildings in Melbourne, With a Bird’s Eye View of the City; and History of the Melbourne International Exhibition of 1880, etc. Melbourne: Federal Coffee House Company, 1888. Fitzgerald, Ross, and Trevor Jordan. Under the Influence: A History of Alcohol in Australia. Sydney: Harper Collins, 2009. Freeland, John. The Australian Pub. Melbourne: Sun Books, 1977. Johnson’s Temperance Coffee Palace. International Exhibition Visitors Pocket Guide to Sydney, Restaurant and Temperance Hotel. Sydney: Johnson’s Temperance Coffee Palace, 1879. Mitchell, Ann M. “Munro, James (1832–1908).” Australian Dictionary of Biography. Canberra: National Centre of Biography, Australian National U, 2006-12. 5 Feb. 2012 ‹http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/munro-james-4271/text6905›. Murdoch, Sally. “Coffee Palaces.” Encyclopaedia of Melbourne. Eds. Andrew Brown-May and Shurlee Swain. 5 Feb. 2012 ‹http://www.emelbourne.net.au/biogs/EM00371b.htm›. Muskett, Philip E. The Art of Living in Australia. New South Wales: Kangaroo Press, 1987. Standage, Tom. A History of the World in 6 Glasses. New York: Walker & Company, 2005. Sydney Coffee Palace Hotel Company Limited. Memorandum of Association of the Sydney Coffee Palace Hotel Company, Ltd. Sydney: Samuel Edward Lees, 1879. Symons, Michael. One Continuous Picnic: A Gastronomic History of Australia. Melbourne: Melbourne UP, 2007. Teffer, Nicola. Coffee Customs. Exhibition Catalogue. Sydney: Customs House, 2005.

Transmedia storytelling, as defined by Henry Jenkins in 2006 in his book Convergence Culture, highlights a production strategy that aims to augment the narration of a cultural work by scattering it across several media platforms—digital or non-digital. The term is certainly quite recent, but the practices are not new and allow us to understand the evolution of the cultural industries and the creation of a new media ecosystem. As Matthew Freeman states, transmedia storytelling always relies on industrial changes, the narration adapting itself to new media synergies and novelties to create engaging and coherent storyworlds.Producers of American TV shows, showrunners, and networks are more and more eager to develop narrative universes on other media platforms in order to target new audiences and to give food for thought to fans, as well as reward them for their intellectual and emotional investment. Ancillary content and tie-ins sometimes take the form of novelisations or comic books, highlighting the fact that strategies of transmedia storytelling can be deployed on non-digital platforms and still enhance the narrative aspects of the show. For example, Twin Peaks (1990) developed The Diary of Laura Palmer (1990), a journal written by the character Laura Palmer who gave insights on her life and details about her relationships with other characters before she was murdered at the beginning of the series. How I Met Your Mother (2005-2014) published The BroCode (2008), first seen on episode “The Goat” (season 3 episode 17), and The Playbook (2012), first seen in an episode entitled “The Playbook” (season 5 episode 8). They are bibles written by character Barney Stinson that contain rules or advice for picking up women. For instance, The BroCode contains 150 articles, a glossary of terms, a definition of “a bro,” history of the code, amendments, violations, and approved punishments, all invented by Barney; some of these components were talked about on the show, while others were original additions for the book.Another way to create transmedia storytelling around TV shows is by developing comic books. This article will explore this specific media form in relation to transmedia strategies and will try to underline how comic books can make a narrative richer by focusing on parts of the plot, characters, times, or locations. First, I will focus on the importance of seriality from a historical perspective, because seriality appears to be one of the main principles of transmedia storytelling. Yet, is this narrative continuity always coherent and always canon when it comes to the publication of comic books? I will then propose a typology of the narratives comic books exploit to augment the storytelling of a show. I will give examples to illustrate how comic books can enrich the narrative universe of a given show and how characters can smoothly move from one platform to the other.A Transmedia World: Television and Comic Books Hand in HandSeriality is one of the main pillars of transmedia storytelling, and, according to Jenkins, “it is about breaking things down into chapters which are satisfying on their own terms, but which motivate us to come back for more” (“Transmedia”). These characteristics are already present in the way TV series are written, produced, and broadcast, and in the way comic books are created. They rely on episodes for TV shows and on issues for comic books that usually end with suspense and a suspension in the narrative continuity, commonly known as a cliff-hanger. For comic books, this narrative continuity took root in the early comic strips of the 18th and 19th century (Maigret and Stefanelli), which played a huge part in what we now know as comic books. As Pagello explains:The extensive practice of narrative serialisation played a major role in this context: the creative process, the industrial production and distribution, the editorial practices and, finally, the experience of comics readers all underwent dramatic changes when comics started to develop an identity distinguished from satirical cartoons, illustrated books and the various forms of children’s picture stories.According to Derek Johnson, these evolutions, in terms of production and reception, are closely linked to the widespread use of the franchise model in media industries. Johnson explains thatcomic books, video games, and other markets once considered ancillary now play increasingly significant and recentered roles in the production and consumption of everyday film and television properties such as Heroes, Transformers, and the re-envisioned Star Trek in ways that only very few innovators (such as George Lucas and his carefully elaborated and expanded Star Wars empire) had previously conceived in the twentieth century.The creation of transmedia strategies that capitalize on narrative continuity and seriality call for some synergies between media and for a “gatekeeper” of the stories who will ensure that all is coherent in the storyworld. Thus, “in 2006, the management of Heroes, for example, became a job for a professional ‘Transmedia Team’ charged with implementing creative coordination across television, comics, and the Internet” (Johnson).Another principle of transmedia storytelling, closely linked to seriality and the essence of the definition, is the creation of a narrative universe, that is “world-building,” in which plots and characters develop, and which will lay the foundations for the story. These foundations will be written in what is called a Bible, a document containing all the narrative elements in order to ensure coherence. In the notion of world-building, a matrix of possibilities is deployed, since stories can potentially become threads to weave, and re-weave. This rhizomatic world can be extended to infinity in a canonical way (by the official production) and in a non-canonical one (by the creations of fans). For Mark Wolf, these narrative worlds work like dynamic entities, and are transformative, transmedial, and transauthorial, which are similar to the notions and possibilities of transmedia storytelling, and media and cultural convergence. Stories that cannot be contained within the “real” of a single medium will be expended and developed on another or several other ones, creating a rich storyworlds. Comic books can be one of these tie-in media.New Term, Old Creations: An Historical OverviewMatthew Freeman wrote in his latest book Historicising Transmedia Storytelling that these transmedia practices do have a past and existed long before the introduction of the term due to new technologies, production strategies, and reception tactics. Comic books were often an option to enrich storylines and further develop the characters. For example, L. Frank Baum created a storyworld around The Wizard of Oz made of mock newspapers, conferences, billboards, novels, musicals, and comic strips in order to “appeal to a migratory audience” (Jenkins, “I Have”) and to deepen the characters, introduce new ones, and discover the land of Oz as if it were a real location. The author used techniques of advertising to promote and above all to expand his storyworld. As newspaper comic strips were quite popular at the time, Baum created several tie-in extensions in the newspapers and in a novel format. As Jason Scott underlines, “serial narratology enhances the possibilities of advertising and exploitation through the established market for the second and subsequent instalment” (14). The series of comic strips entitled Queer Visitor from the Marvellous Land of Oz (1904-1905) picked up, in terms of narration, just after the end of the book, offering a new temporality and life for the characters. As Freeman notes, this choice follows an economic logic:The era’s newspaper comic strips and their institutional tendency to prioritize recurring characters as successful advertising mechanisms (as witnessed in the cross-media dispersion of Buster Brown) had in fact influenced Baum to return to the series’ more familiar faces of Dorothy, the Scarecrow, and the Tin Woodman (2371).Here, the beloved characters are moving from one medium to the next, giving new insights on their life after the end of the book, and enhancing their stories beyond its pages.A Typology of Comic Books and Tie-in Extensions of TV SeriesBefore diving into a tentative typology, I want to look at the definition of canon in a transmedia storyworld. There is a strong debate in academic discussions around the issues of canonicity, and here I understand canonicity as the production of official texts around a given cultural content. That is because of precisely what is qualified as an official text or an official extension, and what is not. In the book I co-edited with Benjamin W.L. Derhy Kurtz (Derhy Kurtz and Bourdaa), we respond by coining the term “transtexts,” which includes officially produced texts and fantexts in the same narrative universe. The dichotomy between both kinds of texts is thus diminished. Nonetheless, in production and transmedia strategies, canonicity is hard to evaluate because “few television series have attempted to create transmedia extensions that offer such a (high level of) canonic integration, with interwoven story events that must be consumed across media for full comprehension” (Mittell 298). He follows by proposing a typology of two possible transmedia extensions based on a canon perspective versus a non-canon one: “what is extensions” extend the storyworld canonically and in a coherent way, whereas “what if extensions” “pose(s) hypothetical possibilities rather than canonical certainties, inviting viewers to imagine alternate stories and approaches to storytelling that are distinctly not to be treated as potential canon” (Mittell 298). Mark Wolf refers to the term growth to qualify canonical materials which are going to expand a given storyworld and which nourish the stories. As argued by Gabriel et al., “Wolf’s definition of ‘growth’ makes it clear that, for him, a transmedial product can only be considered to contribute to a world’s growth if it adds new ‘canonical’ material, i.e. material that presents new pieces of information that are “true” for the fictional world” (Gabriel et al. 169). This notion of “truth” to the diegesis can be opposed in this context to the notion of alternate stories and alternate versions of the characters.My attempted typology lays its foundation upon this opposition between what is seen as an official extension and what is seen as an unofficial extension, but offers alternate perspectives to expand the storyworld using new characters, locations, or universes. The first category will look at canonical extensions and how they can deepen characters’ development and temporalities. The second category will deal with “canon divergent” (to use fans’ language) extensions and how they can offer new entries into the stories by creating new characters or presenting new locations.Canonical Extensions: CharactersTie-in extensions in the form of comic books help to deepen the characters, especially supporting characters, by delving into their motivations and psychology, or by giving them backstories and origin stories. According to Paolo Bertetti, “the transmedia character is a fictional hero whose adventures are told on several media platforms, each providing details about the character's life” (2344). Actually, motivated characters are the quintessential element of the narration of the classic Hollywood era, which was then reused in the narration of TV series, which were then penned into comic books. In her definition of transmedia superstructures, Marsha Kinder based her analysis on how characters moved from one medium to the next, making them the centre of the narrative universe and the element audiences would follow.For example, Fringe (2008), in a deal with DC comics, extended its stories and its characters in comic books, which were an integral part of the storyworld, and which included canon materials by offering Easter Eggs to fans and rewarding them for their investment in the narrative universe. Each issue of the second series dealt with a major or recurring character from the show, deepening them by giving them backgrounds. That way, audiences can discover the backstories of Agent Broyles, Nina Sharp, the CEO of Massive Dynamic, or even Gene, Walter’s cow, all of which are featured in the series but not well developed.Written by actor Tim Rozon (who plays Doc Holliday on the show) and author Beau Smith, Wynonna Earp Season Zero (2017) focuses on the past of main character Wynonna Earp when she was an outlaw and before she comes back to her hometown, Purgatory. The past comes to life on the pages, while it was only hinted at in the show. It is a good introduction to the main character before the show, since Wynonna comes back to Purgatory by bus at the beginning of the very first episode and there are no flashback episode relating her story earlier. Because the two authors of this comic book are part of the creative crew of the show, an actor and a writer, they ensure a sense of coherence in the extensions they write.In collaboration with Dynamite Entertainment, an American comic book company, NBC Universal launched a series of comic book issues entitled Origins (2008) as an ancillary text to Battlestar Galactica (2004). “Origin stories” are a specific genre related to superhero franchises. M.J. Clarke underlines that,the use of Origins Stories is influenced by the economic structure of the comic book industry, which continues to produce stories over years and decades. ... By remaining faithful to the Origins (which are frequently modified in their consistency), readers can discover a story without having to navigate in more than 400 numbers of commix. (54)The goal of these comic books is to create a "past" for the human characters that appeared in the series. The collection of comic books thus focuses on five main characters in 11 issues, spread out over a year: William Adama, Zarek, Gaius Baltar, Kara "Starbuck” Thrace, and Karl "Helo" Agathon. These issues are collected in an eponymous Omnibus. Likewise, Orphan Black (2011) also offered backstories for its “clone club” without disrupting the pace of the show. The stories, tied to the events of the series, focus on the opportunity to better understand the emotions, thoughts, and feelings that exemplify the characters of the show.It is interesting to note that the authors of these comic book extensions were in close contact with Ronald D. Moore and David Eick, showrunners of the Battlestar Galactica series, which guaranteed coherence and canonicity to the newly created material. In a personal interview, Robert Napton, writer of Origins, explained the creative process:so every week we would watch episodes and make sure our stories matched as closely as possible to what the television series was doing …we tried to make it feel like it was very much part of the series, so they were untold adventures and we tried to fit it into the continuity of the series as much as possible.Brandon Jerwa, writer for Battlestar Galactica comic book series Season Zero and Ghosts (2009), confirmed that, “It is my understanding that the comics were passed through Mr. Moore’s office, and they were certainly vetted by Syfy and Universal.” Jerwa also added an interesting input on perception of canonicity versus non-canonicity by fans who can be picky about the ancillary contents and added materials that extend a storyworld:Most comic tie-ins have a hard time being considered a legitimate part of the canon, and that is simply beyond the control of the creative team. I worked very hard to make sure that I was writing material that adhered to the continuity of the show as closely as humanly possible. I don’t believe in writing a licensed property in such a way as to put forward ‘my vision’ of the universe; I believe very firmly that it is my responsibility to serve the source material above all else.Canonical Extensions: TemporalitiesComic books as a licensed product can expand the temporalities of the show and tell stories before the beginning of the series and after it ended, as well as fill time voids and ellipses. For example, now in its 11th season in comic books, Joss Whedon managed to keep Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997-2003) alive and to attract new fans without alienating its original fanbase. Blogger and web entrepreneur Keith McDuffee felt that reading Buffy as a comic book after seeing it on television for seven years was strange, but the new format was a good sign because: “the medium lets creativity go completely wild without budget worries.” The comic books focus on the famous characters and created a life for them after the end of the show, making them jump from the screen onto the pages. Sometimes, the comic books told original stories that might seem out-of-character, like the issue in which Buffy sleeps with a woman. That kind of storyline wasn’t explored in the TV show, and comics offer one way to go deeper into the characters’ backgrounds and psychology. Sometimes, the tie-ins do not strictly follow the continuity and become non-canon regarding the stories of the TV shows. For example, DC/Wildstorm presented comic book issues around The X-Files (1993-) that were set in continuity of the show but failed to refer to main plot events (for example, Scully’s pregnancy). “Rather than offering ‘additive comprehension’ to a pre-existing television and film narrative, Spotnitz chose to write licensed comics on their own terms” (Pillai 112).DC is familiar with offering new adventures for its superhero characters in the form of comic books (which are first published online), going back to the basics. Of course, in this case, the relationship between the comic book medium and the television medium is more intricate, as the TV series are based on comic book characters whose stories are then extended again in comic books, which are created specifically to extend the TV shows’ storyworlds. The creation of the comic book series The Flash Season Zero (2015) set the stories between the episodes of the first season of The Flash and focus on the struggles of Barry Allen as he juggles between his job as a CSI, his love for Iris West, his childhood sweetheart, and his new identity as a vigilante with superpowers. This allows viewers to better understand a part of Barry Allen’s life that was not well developed in the show, adding temporal layers to the stories. The Adventures of Supergirl vol. 1 (2016) also depict the battles of the girl of steel between episodes, as well as her life with her sister, Alex (who is also a new addition in the comic book), and her co-workers at the DEO. For Arrow,the digital tie-ins offer producers [opportunities] to explore side stories they are unable to cover on screen. In the case of Season 2.5, the 22-chapter comic enabled the producers to fill in the blanks in between the seasons, thus offering more opportunities to explore the dynamics of fan-favorite characters such as Felicity and Diggle. (Bourdaa and Chin 183)These DC comic books are examples of giving life to a TV show beyond the TV screen, enhancing the timeframe of the stories and providing new content. The characters pass through the screen to live new adventures in comic books. In some cases, the involvement of the series' actor and writer in comic book scripting confirms the desire for consistency in the extensions of the series, whatever the medium used and whatever the objectives.Canon Divergent Extensions or the Real PossibilitiesFinally, comic books can deploy stories that will display a new point of view on the canon: a “multiplicity” (Jenkins, “La Licorne”) or a “what-if story” (Mittell), which will explore new possibilities and new characters.The second series of Orphan Black comic book tie-ins entitled Helsinki (2016) dealt with clones in the capital of Finland. The readers discover the lives of other clones, how they deal with the discovery of their “condition,” and that they have a caretaker. The comics are written by John Fawcett, who is also a showrunner for the series. The narrative universe is stretched into new possibilities, seen with new eyes, and shown from the perspective of new clones. The introduction of new characters gives opportunities to tell new stories and diverge from the canonical content, especially in terms of the characters’ development and depth.Battlestar Galactica, after the show ended, partnered once again with Dynamite Entertainment, to publish a new set of comic books entitled BSG: Ghosts (2009), which tells the story of new characters surviving the Cylon genocide. Writer Brandon Jerwa asks in BSG: Ghosts: "And if a squadron of secret agents had also survived Cylon Attack?" For him, comic books are a good opportunity to relaunch the narrative universe by introducing new characters in a well-known storyworld.The comic books will definitely have to evolve in order to survive because at some point we will end up exhausting the interest of the readers on the narrative continuity. Projects like Ghosts are definitely a good way to test public reaction to new ideas in a familiar environment. (Jerwa)Conclusion: From One Medium to the Next, From Narrative Extensions to MarketingThis article offers an overview of how comic books are used as tie-in products to extend TV series’ narrative universe. The ambition was not to give an exhaustive panorama but to propose a typology with some examples. I showed that characters’ development, temporalities, and new points of view are narrative angles exploited in comic books to give depth to a storyworld. Of course, this raises issues of labour, authorship, and canon content, which are already discussed elsewhere (see, for example: Clarke, Pillai, Scott). Yet, comic books are an integral part of transmedia storytelling and capitalise on notions of seriality, offering readers new stories, continuity, depth, and character motivations in order to enrich storylines and make them live beyond the screen. However, Robert Napton, in our interview, underlines an interesting opposition between licensing and marketing: “Frankly, comic books are considered licensing and marketing, not official canon. The only TV comic that is canon is Buffy Season 8 and 9 because Joss Whedon says they are, but that is not the normal situation.” He clearly draws a line between what he considers to be a licensed product, in this article what I describe as canonical content, and a marketing product, which could be understood in this article as a canon divergent tie-in. The debate here is clearly on, since understandings of transmedia vary between the perspectives of production companies, which are trying to gain profit by providing new content, the perspectives of fans, who know the storyworlds and the characters extensively and could be very possessive of them, and the perspectives of extension authors, who “have very strict story guidelines” (Jerwa) and have to make their stories fit within the narrative universe as it is told onscreen.ReferencesBertetti, Paolo. “Towards a Typology of Transmedia Characters.” International Journal of Communication 8 (2014): 2344-2361.Boni, Marta. World Building: Transmedia, Fans, Industries. Amsterdam: Amsterdam UP, 2017.Bourdaa, Mélanie. “Transmedia Storytelling: Entre Narration Augmentée et Logiques Immersives.” InaGlobal (2012). 16 December 2017 <http://www.inaglobal.fr/numerique/article/le-transmedia-entre-narration-augmentee-et-logiques-immersives>.Bourdaa, Mélanie, and Bertha Chin. “World and Fandom Building: Extending the Universe of Arrow in Arrow 2.5.” Arrow and Superhero Television: Essays on Themes and Characters of the Series. Eds. James F. Iaccino, Cory Barker, and Myc Wiatrowski. Jefferson: MacFarland, 2017.Clarke, M.J. Transmedia Television: New Trends in Network Serial Production. New York: Continuum Publishing, 2013.Derhy Kurtz, WL Benjamin, and Mélanie Bourdaa. The Rise of Transtexts: Challenges and Opportunities. London: Routledge, 2016.Freeman, Matthew. Historicising Transmedia Storytelling: Early Twentieth-Century Transmedia Story Worlds. London: Routledge, 2017.Gabriel, Nicole, Bogna Kazur, and Kai Matuszkiewicz. “Reconsidering Transmedia(l) Worlds.” Convergence Culture Reconsidered: Media—Participation—Environments. Eds. Claudia Georgi and Brigitte Johanna Glaser. Göttingen: Universitätsverlag Göttingen, 2015.Gillan, Jennifer. Television and New Media: Must-Click TV. New York: Routledge, 2010.Jenkins, Henry. Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide. New York: NYU Press, 2006.Jenkins, Henry. “I Have Seen the Future of Entertainment… And It Works.” Confessions of an Aca-Fan, 2008. <http://henryjenkins.org/blog/2008/10/i_have_seen_the_futures_of_ent.html>.Jenkins, Henry. “Transmedia Education: The 7 Principles Revisited.” Confessions of an Aca-Fan, 2010. <http://henryjenkins.org/blog/2010/06/transmedia_education_the_7_pri.html>.Jenkins, Henry. “La Licorne Origami Contre-attaque: Réflexions Plus Poussées sur le transmedia storytelling.” Terminal 10-11 (2013): 11-28. <http://journals.openedition.org/terminal/455>.Jerwa, Brandon. Personal Correspondence. 2013.Johnson, Derek. “A History of Transmedia Entertainment.” Spreadable Media: Web Exclusive Essays. <http://spreadablemedia.org/essays/johnson/#.Wo6g24IiGgQ>.Maigret, Eric, and Matteo Stefanelli. La Bande Dessinée: Une Médiaculture. Paris: Armand Colin, 2012.McDuffee, Keith. Buffy the Vampire Slayer: The Long Way Home, Part 1. Season premiere. 2007. <http://www.aoltv.com/2007/03/16/buffy-the-vampire-slayer-the-long-way-home-season-premiere/.>.Mittell, Jason. Complex TV: The Poetics of Contemporary Television Storytelling. New York: NYU Press, 2015.Napton, Robert. Personal Correspondence. 2013.Pagello, Federico. “Before the Comics: On Seriality of Graphic Narratives during the Nineteenth Century.” Belphégor 14 (2016). <http://journals.openedition.org/belphegor/810>.Pillai, Nicolas. “What Am I Looking at Mulder?: Licensed Comics and Freedoms of Transmedia Storytelling.” Science Fiction and Television 6.1 (2013): 101-117.Scott, Jason. “The Character-Orientated Franchise: Promotion and Exploitation of Pre-Sold Characters in American Film, 1913–1950.” Scope: An Online Journal of Film and Television Studies (2009): 10–28.

Discussions of the economic theory of planned obsolescence—the purposeful embedding of redundancy into the functionality or other aspect of a product—in the 1980s and 1990s often focused on the impact of such a design strategy on manufacturers, consumers, the market, and, ultimately, profits (see, for example, Bulow; Lee and Lee; Waldman). More recently, assessments of such shortened product life cycles have included calculations of the environmental and other costs of such waste (Claudio; Kondoh; Unruh). Commonly utilised examples are consumer products such as cars, whitegoods and small appliances, fashion clothing and accessories, and, more recently, new technologies and their constituent components. This discourse has been adopted by those who configure workers as human resources, and who speak both of skills (Janßen and Backes-Gellner) and human capital itself (Chauhan and Chauhan) being made obsolete by market forces in both predictable and unplanned ways. This includes debate over whether formal education can assist in developing the skills that make their possessors less liable to become obsolete in the workforce (Dubin; Holtmann; Borghans and de Grip; Gould, Moav and Weinberg). However, aside from periodic expressions of disciplinary angst (as in questions such as whether the Liberal Arts and other disciplines are becoming obsolete) are rarely found in discussions regarding higher education. Yet, higher education has been subsumed into a culture of commercial service provision as driven by markets and profit as the industries that design and deliver consumer goods. McKelvey and Holmén characterise this as a shift “from social institution to knowledge business” in the subtitle of their 2009 volume on European universities, and the recent decade has seen many higher educational institutions openly striving to be entrepreneurial. Despite some debate over the functioning of market or market-like mechanisms in higher education (see, for instance, Texeira et al), the corporatisation of higher education has led inevitably to market segmentation in the products the sector delivers. Such market segmentation results in what are called over-differentiated products, seemingly endless variations in the same product to attempt to increase consumption and attendant sales. Milk is a commonly cited example, with supermarkets today stocking full cream, semi-skimmed, skimmed, lactose-free, soy, rice, goat, GM-free and ‘smart’ (enriched with various vitamins, minerals and proteins) varieties; and many of these available in fresh, UHT, dehydrated and/or organic versions. In the education market, this practice has resulted in a large number of often minutely differentiated, but differently named, degrees and other programs. Where there were once a small number of undergraduate degrees with discipline variety within them (including the Bachelor of Arts and Bachelor of Science awards), students can now graduate with a named qualification in a myriad of discipline and professional areas. The attempt to secure a larger percentage of the potential client pool (who are themselves often seeking to update their own skills and knowledges to avoid workforce obsolescence) has also resulted in a significant increase in the number of postgraduate coursework certificates, diplomas and other qualifications across the sector. The Masters degree has fractured from a research program into a range of coursework, coursework plus research, and research only programs. Such proliferation has also affected one of the foundations of the quality and integrity of the higher education system, and one of the last bastions of conventional practice, the doctoral degree. The PhD as ‘Gold-Standard’ Market Leader? The Doctor of Philosophy (PhD) is usually understood as a largely independent discipline-based research project that results in a substantial piece of reporting, the thesis, that makes a “substantial original contribution to knowledge in the form of new knowledge or significant and original adaptation, application and interpretation of existing knowledge” (AQF). As the highest level of degree conferred by most universities, the PhD is commonly understood as indicating the height of formal educational attainment, and has, until relatively recently, been above reproach and alteration. Yet, whereas universities internationally once offered a single doctorate named the PhD, many now offer a number of doctoral level degrees. In Australia, for example, candidates can also complete PhDs by Publication and by Project, as well as practice-led doctorates in, and named Doctorates of/in, Creative Arts, Creative Industries, Laws, Performance and other ‘new’ discipline areas. The Professional Doctorate, introduced into Australia in the early 1990s, has achieved such longevity that it now has it’s own “first generation” incarnations in (and about) disciplines such as Education, Business, Psychology and Journalism, as well as a contemporary “second generation” version which features professionally-practice-led Mode 2 knowledge production (Maxwell; also discussed in Lee, Brennan and Green 281). The uniquely Australian PhD by Project in the disciplines of architecture, design, business, engineering and education also includes coursework, and is practice and particularly workplace (or community) focused, but unlike the above, does not have to include a research element—although this is not precluded (Usher). A significant number of Australian universities also currently offer a PhD by Publication, known also as the PhD by Published Papers and PhD by Published Works. Introduced in the 1960s in the UK, the PhD by Publication there is today almost exclusively undertaken by academic staff at their own institutions, and usually consists of published work(s), a critical appraisal of that work within the research context, and an oral examination. The named degree is rare in the USA, although the practice of granting PhDs on the basis of prior publications is not unknown. In Australia, an examination of a number of universities that offer the degree reveals no consistency in terms of the framing policies except for the generic Australian Qualifications Framework accreditation statement (AQF), entry requirements and conditions of candidature, or resulting form and examination guidelines. Some Australian universities, for instance, require all externally peer-refereed publications, while others will count works that are self-published. Some require actual publications or works in press, but others count works that are still at submission stage. The UK PhD by Publication shows similar variation, with no consensus on purpose, length or format of this degree (Draper). Across Australia and the UK, some institutions accept previously published work and require little or no campus participation, while others have a significant minimum enrolment period and count only work generated during candidature (see Brien for more detail). Despite the plethora of named degrees at doctoral level, many academics continue to support the PhD’s claim to rigor and intellectual attainment. Most often, however, these arguments cite tradition rather than any real assessment of quality. The archaic trappings of conferral—the caps, gowns and various other instruments of distinction—emphasise a narrative in which it is often noted that doctorates were first conferred by the University of Paris in the 12th century and then elsewhere in medieval Europe. However, challenges to this account note that today’s largely independently researched thesis is a relatively recent arrival to educational history, being only introduced into Germany in the early nineteenth century (Bourner, Bowden and Laing; Park 4), the USA in a modified form in the mid-nineteenth century and the UK in 1917 (Jolley 227). The Australian PhD is even more recent, with the first only awarded in 1948 and still relatively rare until the 1970s (Nelson 3; Valadkhani and Ville). Additionally, PhDs in the USA, Canada and Denmark today almost always incorporate a significant taught coursework element (Noble). This is unlike the ‘traditional’ PhD in the UK and Australia, although the UK also currently offers a number of what are known there as ‘taught doctorates’. Somewhat confusingly, while these do incorporate coursework, they still include a significant research component (UKCGE). However, the UK is also adopting what has been identified as an American-inflected model which consists mostly, or largely, of coursework, and which is becoming known as the ‘New Route British PhD’ (Jolley 228). It could be posited that, within such a competitive market environment, which appears to be driven by both a drive for novelty and a desire to meet consumer demand, obsolescence therefore, and necessarily, threatens the very existence of the ‘traditional’ PhD. This obsolescence could be seen as especially likely as, alongside the existence of the above mentioned ‘new’ degrees, the ‘traditional’ research-based PhD at some universities in Australia and the UK in particular is, itself, also in the process of becoming ‘professionalised’, with some (still traditionally-framed) programs nevertheless incorporating workplace-oriented frameworks and/or experiences (Jolley 229; Kroll and Brien) to meet professionally-focused objectives that it is acknowledged cannot be met by producing a research thesis alone. While this emphasis can be seen as operating at the expense of specific disciplinary knowledge (Pole 107; Ball; Laing and Brabazon 265), and criticised for that, this workplace focus has arisen, internationally, as an institutional response to requests from both governments and industry for training in generic skills in university programs at all levels (Manathunga and Wissler). At the same time, the acknowledged unpredictability of the future workplace is driving a cognate move from discipline specific knowledge to what have been described as “problem solving and knowledge management approaches” across all disciplines (Gilbert; Valadkhani and Ville 2). While few query a link between university-level learning and the needs of the workplace, or the motivating belief that the overarching role of higher education is the provision of professional training for its client-students (see Laing and Brabazon for an exception), it also should be noted that a lack of relevance is one of the contributors to dysfunction, and thence to obsolescence. The PhD as Dysfunctional Degree? Perhaps, however, it is not competition that threatens the traditional PhD but, rather, its own design flaws. A report in The New York Times in 2007 alerted readers to what many supervisors, candidates, and researchers internationally have recognised for some time: that the PhD may be dysfunctional (Berger). In Australia and elsewhere, attention has focused on the uneven quality of doctoral-level degrees across institutions, especially in relation to their content, rigor, entry and assessment standards, and this has not precluded questions regarding the PhD (AVCC; Carey, Webb, Brien; Neumann; Jolley; McWilliam et al., "Silly"). It should be noted that this important examination of standards has, however, been accompanied by an increase in the awarding of Honorary Doctorates. This practice ranges from the most reputable universities’ recognising individuals’ significant contributions to knowledge, culture and/or society, to wholly disreputable institutions offering such qualifications in return for payment (Starrs). While generally contested in terms of their status, Honorary Doctorates granted to sports, show business and political figures are the most controversial and include an award conferred on puppet Kermit the Frog in 1996 (Jeffries), and some leading institutions including MIT, Cornell University and the London School of Economics and Political Science are distinctive in not awarding Honorary Doctorates. However, while distracting, the Honorary Doctorate itself does not answer all the questions regarding the quality of doctoral programs in general, or the Doctor of Philosophy in particular. The PhD also has high attrition rates: 50 per cent or more across Australia, the USA and Canada (Halse 322; Lovitts and Nelson). For those who remain in the programs, lengthy completion times (known internationally as ‘time-to-degree’) are common in many countries, with averages of 10.5 years to completion in Canada, and from 8.2 to more than 13 years (depending on discipline) in the USA (Berger). The current government performance-based funding model for Australian research higher degrees focuses attention on timely completion, and there is no doubt that, under this system—where universities only receive funding for a minimum period of candidature when those candidates have completed their degrees—more candidates are completing within the required time periods (Cuthbert). Yet, such a focus has distracted from assessment of the quality and outcomes of such programs of study. A detailed survey, based on the theses lodged in Australian libraries, has estimated that at least 51,000 PhD theses were completed in Australia to 2003 (Evans et al. 7). However, little attention has been paid to the consequences of this work, that is, the effects that the generation of these theses has had on either candidates or the nation. There has been no assessment, for instance, of the impact on candidates of undertaking and completing a doctorate on such facets of their lives as their employment opportunities, professional choices and salary levels, nor any effect on their personal happiness or levels of creativity. Nor has there been any real evaluation of the effect of these degrees on GDP, rates of the commercialisation of research, the generation of intellectual property, meeting national agendas in areas such as innovation, productivity or creativity, and/or the quality of the Australian creative and performing arts. Government-funded and other Australian studies have, however, noted for at least a decade both that the high numbers of graduates are mismatched to a lack of market demand for doctoral qualifications outside of academia (Kemp), and that an oversupply of doctorally qualified job seekers is driving wages down in some sectors (Jones 26). Even academia is demanding more than a PhD. Within the USA, doctoral graduates of some disciplines (English is an often-cited example) are undertaking second PhDs in their quest to secure an academic position. In Australia, entry-level academic positions increasingly require a scholarly publishing history alongside a doctoral-level qualification and, in common with other quantitative exercises in the UK and in New Zealand, the current Excellence in Research for Australia research evaluation exercise values scholarly publications more than higher degree qualifications. Concluding Remarks: The PhD as Obsolete or Retro-Chic? Disciplines and fields are reacting to this situation in various ways, but the trend appears to be towards increased market segmentation. Despite these charges of PhD dysfunction, there are also dangers in the over-differentiation of higher degrees as a practice. If universities do not adequately resource the professional development and other support for supervisors and all those involved in the delivery of all these degrees, those institutions may find that they have spread the existing skills, knowledge and other institutional assets too thinly to sustain some or even any of these degrees. This could lead to the diminishing quality (and an attendant diminishing perception of the value) of all the higher degrees available in those institutions as well as the reputation of the hosting country’s entire higher education system. As works in progress, the various ‘new’ doctoral degrees can also promote a sense of working on unstable ground for both candidates and supervisors (McWilliam et al., Research Training), and higher degree examiners will necessarily be unfamiliar with expected standards. Candidates are attempting to discern the advantages and disadvantages of each form in order to choose the degree that they believe is right for them (see, for example, Robins and Kanowski), but such assessment is difficult without the benefit of hindsight. Furthermore, not every form may fit the unpredictable future aspirations of candidates or the volatile future needs of the workplace. The rate with which everything once new descends from stylish popularity through stages of unfashionableness to become outdated and, eventually, discarded is increasing. This escalation may result in the discipline-based research PhD becoming seen as archaic and, eventually, obsolete. Perhaps, alternatively, it will lead to newer and more fashionable forms of doctoral study being discarded instead. 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