The nationalist rhetoric of Aurobindo Ghosh and other leaders of the political movement protesting the decision of the Government of British India to partition Bengal province in 1905 contained frequent allusions to Hindu myths and symbols. Militant political leaders primarily drew upon Śakta symbolism, especially the imagery of the Hindu cult of Kālī worship, and they adopted philosophical justifications of nationalism which were based on modernist, Neo-Hindu interpretation of Śaṁkara's Vedānta philosophy. The nation was described as an incarnation of the goddess Kālī, and nationalists were considered her devotees.

The imperial institution's capacity for survival, despite the many transformations in Japanese society and politics over the past thirteen hundred years, has few parallels in the history of human institutions. In 1965 the Imperial Household Agency could legitimately claim that the structure for managing the palace even today, though changed several times, including the ‘epoch-making’ renovation of 1947, could be traced back to the Taihō Institutes of 701.

Java's long-established sugar industry was transformed almost beyond recognition during the course of the nineteenth century. Under Dutch East India Company rule, which effectively lasted until the arrival on the island of Governor-General Daendels in 1808, sugar production had been organized almost exclusively by Chinese entrepreneurs, whose dozens of small sugar factories and plantations were scattered across the lowlands around Batavia (present day Jakarta). Their output played a subsidiary role in the prevailing pattern of colonial exploitation, was unable to compete in Europe with the production of West Indian sugar colonies and consequently found a sale, for the most part, only in other ‘protected’ Asian markets. During the nineteenth century, all this changed. First under government auspices—the so-called Cultivation System—and later under the direction of metropolitan-owned Sugar Corporations, the industry was transformed into a paradigm of colonial economic ‘development’. It was efficient, immensely profitable and productive (vast quantities of sugar were exported to the West), heavily capitalized and equipped with the best and most up-to-date machinery.

The rapid expansion of European power throughout much of the world in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries was a matter of wonder at the time, just as its causes have remained a subject of contention ever since. To pious contemporaries it was simply the natural triumph of the True Faith over pagan and infidel. Hernán Cortés, the conqueror of Mexico, wrote of his ‘just war’ against the tyrant Aztec emperor and his people addicted to unspeakable practices. Freedom to navigate the Indian Ocean, maintained João de Barros, the chronicler of Portuguese triumphs, was properly denied by his compatriots to those ignorant of Christianity and Roman Law. More recently, subtler explanations have come into fashion. The penetration by Portugal (with about 1,500,000 inhabitants) of the maritime economy of Asia (sustaining populations of millions), and the destruction by Castile (with a population of about 7,500,000) of the Aztec empire, some 27,000,000 strong, were the victories of superior morale. Europeans, with their will to win, overcame the adherents of stoic, passive and pessimistic religions, or, as M. Chaunu unkindly puts it, quality triumphed over quantity.3 Equally all-embracing is the thesis that meat-eating Iberian warriors had a natural advantage over the troops of civilizations whose grain-based diets were deficient in protein, or that Europeans, with their superior technology-their firearms and their sailing ships mounting artillery— were the predestined winners in any conflict with the less technologically advanced.4 The aim of this paper is to suggest that such arguments have little to commend them, and that European success very largely came from the adept exploitation of conflicts and divisions in indigenous societies, and from the securing of indigenous aid. Such behaviour reflects the pragmatic approach of European commanders in the field, typified by Afonso de Albuquerque, the captor of Goa–future capital of the Estado da India–who there pressed into service all from local dancing girls and musicians to war elephants and mercenaries.5 But such proceedings also reflect the attitudes of an age highly conscious, through resurgent knowledge of the classics, of the virtues of statecraft, just as they reflect, of course, the willingness of some elements in non- European societies to come to terms, for a variety of reasons, with alien intruders.

To a general reading public the history of the European empires still seems to be virtually synonymous with their military power and with stories of battles in tropical climes; by contrast, academic historians of imperialism now show little interest in purely military history. Campaigns and battles were no doubt frequently the means by which European power came to be exerted over other parts of the world, but, especially from the early nineteenth century onwards, their outcome was generally predictable. If the Europeans were prepared to make adequate efforts, their ultimate success was not usually in doubt. Defeats occurred often enough at the hands of Africans or Asians, but where it seemed worthwhile to do so, at least until the Russo—Japanese War, these defeats were sooner or later avenged. Historians' debates have therefore tended to concentrate not on the means of expansion but on the motives for it: why Europeans should have wished to exert their power or why they should have been drawn into doing so in certain situations. Books on battles are left to decorate that somewhat improbable piece of furniture, the coffee table.

What, in detail, do Indian peasants do when famine looms? How do they defend themselves, who succumbs and who survives? Recently several talented economic historians have given these questions a vigorous airing. Morris D. Morris in particular set off the discussion by suggesting that South Asian peasants are well prepared for periodic drought famines. He argues (I compress him almost to parody) that long experience with the monsoon's periodic failures has taught the Indian cultivator prudence: when crops begin to fail the cultivator draws upon previously stored substances—his wife's jewelry, grain, cattle, etc.—and sells them or barters them to keep up his usual level of food consumption. Thus, while his assets are cyclically depleted and replenished, he can usually stave off the most feared effect of drought, which is starvation. N. S. Jodha, however, has partially contradicted Morris by adducing evidence from Rajasthan and elsewhere which shows the peasant cultivator to be more likely to cut back his current food intake rather than risk a loss of future production by depleting his capital assets. Like Morris, Jodha sees that farmers are rational and plan for the future, the disagreement being whether they plan for crop failures in the midst of good harvests or plan for good harvests in the midst of crop failures In fact these two views, suitably softened, are not incompatible, and one can imagine both operating at different phases of a worsening episode of drought.

In an interview given in July 1974, Intiār Ḥusain, one of the most perceptive creative writers of Pakistan, had this to say about the experience of migration that was the direct outcome of the Partition of India in 1947:

A decade ago when I was talking about the experience of migration and the articles I wrote concerning it, I was in a state of great hope and optimism. It was then my feeling that in the process of the Partition we had sudenly, almost by accident, regained a lost, great experience—namely, the experience of migration, hijrat, which has a place all its own in the history of the Muslims—and that it will give us a lot. But today, after our political ups and downs, I find myself in a different mood. Now I feel that sometimes a great experience comes to be lost to a nation; often nations forget their history. I do not mean that a nation does, or has to, keep its history alive in its memory in every period. There also comes a time when a nation completely forgets its past. So, that experience, I mean the experience of migration, is unfortunately lost to us and on us. And the great expectation that we had of making something out of it at a creative level and of exploiting it in developing a new consciousness and sensibility—that bright expectation has now faded and gone.

The emergence of new groups in society willing and able to supply capital and enterprise to modern industry is one of the crucial aspects of economic development. The sources of entrepreneurship in China and the relations of those entrepreneurs with the rest of society have been insufficiently studied. Previous writers have tended to focus on outstanding individuals such as Sheng Hsuan-huai and Chang Chien, and to pay insufficient attention to their more run-of-the-mill followers. This paper surveys the changing sources of entrepreneurship in the Chinese coal industry between 1895 and 1937 and suggests reasons for the prominence or otherwise of the various groups involved. The concept of entrepreneurship used here is one much wider than the classic Schumpeterian definition, and includes the followers and adaptors who, as Redlich points out, also make a vital contribution to industrialization. Thus we take into our view all those who made a contribution to the development of modern coal mining enterprises as entrepreneurs, as managers or as stockholders—in many cases these functions overlapped. The companies covered are those owned either wholly or partly by Chinese nationals. Such companies accounted for 50–60 per cent of China's coal output of about 30 million tons in the 1930s.

The main purpose of this brief article on the importance of the joint family in six villages in Anekal Taluk, Bangalore District, Karnataka State, is to recommend a simple statistical method of measuring the ‘incidence of jointness’ among the resident population; it also presents the results of my enquiry.

Given the system of parliamentary democracy that India developed after its independence in 1947, it is understandable that pluralism came to be the major paradigm used to explain Indian politics. But just as the persistence of economic inequality was instrumental in calling pluralism into question as an appropriate model for explaining the American political system, so the continuation and even increase of inequality in India led social scientists to question the pluralist approach for India. And, as in the American case, a number of scholars turned to a Marxist class analysis to explain the Indian situation; by the mid-1970s a political economy model had begun to take shape that did offer a reason able explanation of the pervasive inequality in India. Also, Mrs Gandhi's Emergency of 1975–1977 fits very easily into this class analysis approach. But then came the elections of 1977 and the ouster of Mrs Gandhi at the polls, an event not explicable in terms of the Marxist model, but which fits very well into the pluralist framework. Which model, then, is more appropriate to employ in accounting for the Indian system ? The best answer seems to be to try to fit the pluralist approach within the Marxist one, with the latter carrying most of the explanatory load.

Faced with the progression of events outlined above, it is small wonder that observers of the Thai political scene at times are a bit baffled as to precisely what is transpiring in the kingdom's continued search for a stable political future. Yet beneath the headlines and seemingly blatant military power grabbing lies a web of internal happenings which is not only in a sense predictable, but to which there is an order and a fitful progress towards some form of popular representation. That this is so will become clear in the course of this analysis dealing with the military role in politics since the coup of October 1976 ended Thailand's chaotic three-year democratic experiment and reinstated ‘uniformed power’.

S. J. Tambiah has drawn attention to two recent developments in Thai Buddhism which strike him as having a particularly seminal significance. The first is ‘the new politico-economic role of monks themselves as promoters of government-sponsored community development programmes’. The characteristics of this aspect of Thai Buddhism have been charted into the early seventies at least, by Tambiah, Suksamran and Ruth-Inge Heinze.

Sociologists of western religion have devoted much time and effort to delineating the principal characteristics of the denomination. The discussion has emerged very largely from the distinction drawn in 1912 by Troeltsch between church and sect. The latter is represented as radical and egalitarian, at odds with the society of which it is a part, and demanding total commitment from its followers. By comparison, the former is hierarchic and conservative, at one with its social surroundings, and generally less concerned about the varying extent of members' adherence to the corporate body. There has ensued considerable discussion regarding the adequacy of this dichtomy, and a number of refinements and alternative schema have been proposed.

The majority of foreigners involved in the turbulent period marking Japan's early transformation to modernity have been relegated to the obscurity of archival research, only occasionally surfacing in specialist studies. One exception is Léon Roches, head of the French legation from 1864 to 1868; he enjoys a considerable degree of notoriety and controversy, with very few of even the most general works no modern Japanese history failing to mention him. The major reason no doubt is due to the policy Roches pursued and the role he is alleged to have played; although in fact the main line of his policy did not differ radically from that of his Western colleagues and his role had tended to be exaggerated.

The growth of modern nation states seems to have inevitably entailed the progressive encapsulation, incorporation and integration of local, relatively autonomous systems into a broader political and socioeconomic framework, generating in the process new pressures on local systems as they are forced to reformulate their relationship with the encompassing state. Even in the case of peasant societies where there is, by definition, a relationship between local community and an overarching political and economic structure, there has, historically, been a high degree of decentralization in many spheres, and a relatively low demand for the integration of the total society. The process of modernization, however, is generally accompanied by increasing central interference in subordinate systems, leading to new pressures, opportunities, interests and alignments.

In the historiography of Indian nationalism the didactic impact of the West is generally recognized but seldom detailed. The purpose of this paper is to elucidate the nature of Ireland's contribution to the development of an Indian national consciousness in the formative phase of political awakening. It is hoped to establish that while many of the ideals of civic freedom and patriotism were derived from continental sources, the immediate lessons of a country struggling to free itself from the British ‘colonial’ yoke were provided essentially by Ireland. In this context, the model that will be studied for its impact on the mind of India's first generation of political leaders, belongs to the Irish Home Rule movement launched in 1870 and welded by Charles Stewart Parnell into a powerful anti-imperial force.

Thomas George Williamson, soldier, composer, music publisher and author, died in Paris in 1817. Though neither a great soldier nor particularly a significant creative writer, his attainments have qualified him for a short mention in various biographies and encyclopedias. None of these presents anything approaching an account of the whole man, however, because Williamson had a wide range of interests in which he invested his creative energies and he is known only from the standpoint of each of the subject specializations concerned without reference to the others. The present study was initiated by a commission to write an article on Williamson the composer for the new Grove's Dictionary of Music & Musicians, on whom in the previous edition three sentences had been devoted. Besides adding to a knowledge of his musical activities, source material has been brought together which could be of interest to historians and sociologists, not least in Asian studies. For Williamson's story has very much to do with the twenty years he lived in India before his return to England in 1798, both because this period was the career part of his life and on account of the wealth of experiences that it provided for him to draw upon later in his literary and musical compositions.

On August 21st 1945 the viceroy announced that elections would be held that Winter to the Central and Provincial Legislative Assemblies. They were to precede the convention of a constitution-making body for British India. The Muslim League had to succeed in this crucial test if its popular support of its demand for Pakistan was to be credible. In particular it had to succeed in the Punjab as there could be no Pakistan without that province. But in the Punjab's last elections held in 1937 the League had fared disastrously. It had put forward a mere seven candidates for the 85 Muslim seats and only two had been successful. In the 1946 elections the League won 75 of the total Muslim seats. This improvement in its performance which had momentous implications for the future for the subcontinent requires explanation.

The study attempts to delineate the degree of system rigidity of three major dialect groups, namely, the Cantonese, the Hakkas and the Hokkiens. The principal source of data is derived from inscriptions collected by Chen and Tan (1972). The findings reveal that at the individual level the system boundary of the Hokkiens was more rigid than that of the Cantonese and the Hakkas. This confirms earlier observations made at the organizational level.

Earlier observations dictate that after 1854 the Cantonese and the Hakkas were, at the organizational level, not on good terms. This was, however, not the case at the individual level. We also found that the system boundary of religious organizations, i.e., temples and burial ground bodies, was least rigid.

I shall turn Japanese, for they at least can think, and be reticent! … I fail to see any Western people in a position to set the Japs an example in their diplomacy … their organization, their strategy, their virile qualities, their devotion and self control. Above all, their national capacity for self reliance, self-sacrifice and their silence, …