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# Pico della Mirandola Oration on the Dignity of Man This is a new translation of and commentary on Pico della Mirandola's most famous work, the Oration on the Dignity of Man. It is the first English edition to provide readers with substantial notes on the text; essays that address the work's historical, philosophical, and theological contexts; and a survey of its reception. Often called the "Manifesto of the Renaissance," this brief but complex text was originally composed in 1486 as the inaugural speech for an assembly of intellectuals that could have produced one of the most exhaustive metaphysical, theological, and psychological debates in history had Pope Innocent VIII not forbidden it. This edition of the Oration reflects the spirit of the original text in bringing together experts in different fields. Not unlike the debate Pico optimistically anticipated, the resulting work is superior to the sum of its parts. Francesco Borghesi teaches in the Department of Italian Studies at the University of Sydney in Australia. Among his publications are Concordia, pietas, docta religio (2004) and the forthcoming Giovanni Pico della Mirandola (2013). Michael Papio is an Associate Professor of Italian Studies at the University of Massachusetts Amherst. He is the author of Keen and Violent Remedies: Social Satire and the Grotesque in Masuccio Salernitano's Novellino (2000) and the translator of Boccaccio's Expositions on Dante's Comedy (2009). Massimo Riva is a Professor of Italian Studies at Brown University. He has also taught at the University of Sydney in Australia, Northwestern University, and the University of Massachusetts Amherst. Among his recent publications are Italian Tales: An Anthology of Contemporary Italian Fiction (2004) and Il futuro della letteratura (2011). # Pico della Mirandola ## Oration on the Dignity of ManA New Translation and Commentary Edited by Francesco Borghesi University of Sydney Michael Papio University of Massachusetts Amherst Massimo Riva Brown University CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, São Paulo, Delhi, Mexico City Cambridge University Press 32 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10013-2473, USA www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107015876 © Francesco Borghesi, Michael Papio, and Massimo Riva 2012 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2012 Printed in the United States of America _A catalog record for this publication is available from the British Library._ _Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data_ Pico della Mirandola, Giovanni, 1463–1494. [De hominis dignitate. English & Latin] Oration on the dignity of man : a new translation and commentary / Pico della Mirandola ; [edited by] Francesco Borghesi, Michael Papio, Massimo Riva. p. cm. English and Latin. Includes bibliographical references (p.) and index. ISBN 978-1-107-01587-6 (hardback) 1. Philosophical anthropology – Early works to 1800. 2. Philosophy – Early works to 1800. I. Borghesi, Francesco, 1974– II. Papio, Michael, 1967– III. Riva, Massimo. IV. Title. B785.P52E5 2012 128–dc23 2011046648 ISBN 978-1-107-01587-6 Hardback Additional resources for this publication at <http://www.brown.edu/Departments/Italian_Studies/pico/> Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Web sites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Web sites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate. ## Contents Acknowledgments Part I. Preface, Introductions, Overview Preface: History of the Pico Project and Criteria for the Current Edition Massimo Riva The Historical and Biographical Background of the Oration Pier Cesare Bori Chronology Francesco Borghesi The Oration's Printed Editions Michael Papio Interpretations Francesco Borghesi Overview of the Text Francesco Borghesi, Massimo Riva, Michael Papio, Saverio Marchignoli, Giorgio Melloni, and Dino Buzzetti Part II. Text Part III. Images Bibliography Index of Names ## Acknowledgments The editors would like to thank the original members of the Brown University–University of Bologna Pico Project for their collaboration in the preparation of this edition. In particular, thanks go to Pier Cesare Bori and the Feltrinelli Publishing House of Milan for permitting the inclusion of a translated chapter from Pluralità delle vie (© Giangiacomo Feltrinelli Editore Milano; Prima edizione in "Campi del Sapere" aprile 2000) and to the Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale di Firenze, which permitted the reproduction of four images from the Palatino 885 manuscript. We would also like to thank Sarah Christopher for her contribution to the translation of Pier Cesare Bori's introductory piece, as well as Helen Freear-Papio, Lesley Freeman Riva, and Leanne Kilroy Borghesi for their invaluable help in the preparation of the final manuscript. Further thanks go to Francesco Bausi, whose Latin critical text is adopted for the present edition, and to Cristiana Facchini. Both read and commented on the manuscript at various stages. Brown University and the Brown–Bologna Exchange Fund have provided financial and logistical support for the Pico Project since its inception, as they have for this edition. We would additionally like to acknowledge the National Endowment for the Humanities for its generous support of the Pico Project, now part of the Virtual Humanities Laboratory at Brown. ## Part I Preface, Introductions, Overview ### Preface: History of the Pico Project and Criteria for the Current Edition Massimo Riva This edition of Giovanni Pico della Mirandola's discourse known as Oratio de hominis dignitate (On Human Dignity) is the product of teamwork performed by several scholars who participated in the Brown University–University of Bologna Pico Project. The project began in 1997 as an experiment in collaborative scholarship born out of a seminar on Pico given by Pier Cesare Bori, then a visiting professor at Brown. Bori was particularly interested in Pico's thought within the framework of his own reflection on human rights and the "pluralistic" convergence and potential consensus among diverse religious and ethical traditions. As a direct result of Bori's seminar, it became clear that a new edition of the Oration was desirable and that the new medium of electronic publishing could provide an interesting testing ground for our collaborative effort. The original team who contributed to this first stage of the project included a group of scholars of differing backgrounds and disciplinary orientations, working in both Europe and North America.1 The Web site of the Pico Project provided a shared platform for their work. We began by reproducing in digital form the text of the Oration from the incunabula of the editio princeps (edited by Pico's nephew, Gianfrancesco, and published in Bologna by Benedetto Faelli in 1496) held at the Biblioteca Universitaria in Bologna, at the Biblioteca Comunale dell'Archiginnasio in Bologna, and at the John Hay Library at Brown, knowing that the latter two incunabula are counterfeits of the princeps, both made in Lyon in 1498. We then proceeded to transcribe the text from the Biblioteca Universitaria copy of the princeps. A further necessary step was the examination of an anonymous partial manuscript by an unidentified author, possibly Giovanni Nesi,2 held at the National Library in Florence (misc. Palatino 885, discovered by Eugenio Garin) and generally held to represent the first draft of the Oration (an image of the manuscript is also available on our Web site). After this preliminary phase was completed, we were ready for the collaborative work envisioned as the core of our Brown–Bologna Pico Project. Over the following years, the transcription of the text was augmented with footnotes and annotations; new translations into Italian, English, and Spanish were completed; and some auxiliary documents were added to the site, such as a presentation of the project (in Italian, English, and Latin), a chronology of Pico's life, a bibliography of his works, a guide and templates for potential collaborators (composed by Michael Papio), and an essay by Pier Cesare Bori outlining his interpretation of Pico, which was later expanded into a book published in Italy by Feltrinelli in 2000 (Pluralità delle vie. Alle origini del Discorso sulla dignità umana di Pico della Mirandola – Plurality of Paths. The origins of the Discourse about Human Dignity of Pico della Mirandola). This book, a portion of which is excerpted here, included the Latin text of the Oration as an appendix, accompanied by the Italian translation, the result of the collaborative work done on our site and edited by Saverio Marchignoli. Marchignoli's notes (also partially based on the work of our team) included the variants from both the manuscript fragment (contained in the misc. Palatino 885) and Pico's Apologia (Apology), published in Naples by Francesco Del Tuppo in 1487, and a synopsis of the parallel sections of the manuscript and the princeps. This "hybrid" publishing method, relying on the electronic medium for the preparatory materials, remains one of the essential features of this expanded English edition. Compared with Marchignoli's Italian edition, the text of the Oration is accompanied here by an extensive apparatus of philological and interpretive footnotes and annotations. These identify sources previously unidentified, suggest intertextual links to other works by Pico or by other authors, and take into account, as much as possible, previous editions (mostly Italian or English). This includes, most importantly, the most recent Italian edition by Francesco Bausi, published in 2003, to which our Latin text conforms. What appears here in print is thus the product of a collaborative effort whose results-in-progress were first presented online. Meanwhile, the Web site of the Pico Project (now part of the Virtual Humanities Lab at Brown and including an annotated edition-in-progress of Pico's Conclusiones Nongentae)3 will continue to be updated and augmented, providing readers of this book with access to even more extensive resources that cannot easily be printed, such as a complete set of images from the manuscript and incunabula, as well as additional extensive quotations from Pico's texts and other identifiable or conjectural sources, quoted in their original languages (Greek, Hebrew, or Latin).4 This "hybrid" publication method represents a new and recent phase in the history of scholarly editions. It is quite common nowadays to complete preparatory work in electronic form for eventual publication in print, allowing scholars who collaborate all the communicative possibilities offered by email and the Internet, and the genesis of this edition as an online resource is thus reflected not only in the general spirit that informs it but also in some of its specific features. One could even suggest a historical analogy between Pico's time, when the transition from manuscript to the print medium was taking place, and our time, five hundred years later, when a new transition from print to the electronic medium is under way that allows new methods of testing and disseminating ideas. Such an analogy could indeed provide an opportunity for a reflection on the role of technology in the making (and remaking) of textual traditions; this, however, is outside the scope of this preface. As far as the Pico Project is concerned, since the beginning our intention has been to make the Oration widely available on the Internet as a resource for a wider community of scholars and readers, an essential step toward a better understanding and reappraisal of a legendary episode of the Renaissance: Pico's project to defend his nine hundred theses or conclusions before a council of theologians, designated by Pope Innocent VIII and charged with confronting him in a debate open to philosophers and publicly advertised and "broadcast" through the new medium of print (the incunabula containing the Conclusiones, now lost with the exception of two extant copies, one at the Vatican Library and the other at the British Library).5 Pico's partially aborted effort at publishing and defending his theses is thus the symbol of an almost "heroic" humanistic enterprise, one which still resonates with us in these times of ideological and religious conflict: the (re)discovery of, and fostering of, an open dialogue among the most ancient religious and philosophical doctrines, widely perceived as antagonistic but instead embraced by the young Pico, in an extraordinary effort at reconciling different paths toward a common (human and divine) truth, according to his idea of philosophical concordance and peace. From this point of view, Pico's system of thought and his method of quoting and editing his sources, by connecting and "linking" them in short, synthetic aphorisms, may also resonate with us, inspiring a comparison between Pico's "concordistic" way of synthesizing diverse traditions and ideas and our own post-modern way of retrieving and reconstructing them, both philologically and theoretically, from the depths of the historical archive. As a true product of teamwork, a collective enterprise, and not the work of a single scholar, as is usually the case, this edition of the Oration also reflects the new collaborative paradigm emerging alongside the introduction of new technologies that not only make possible but actually impose new habits and methodologies of collaboration on scholars in the humanities, who have traditionally been more reticent in adopting them than their colleagues in the sciences. Some specific features of this edition can be considered a direct or, at the very least, an indirect result of this new approach, and it is worth outlining them here. For instance, the division of the text into six sections, each edited, translated, annotated, and introduced by one of the original team members and then revised by others, provides a multi-faceted perspective on the Oration, reflecting the points of view of the various editors with their specific backgrounds and interests (theology and philosophy, cultural history, philology and literature).6 Moreover, the further subdivision of each section into numbered paragraphs and subparagraphs corresponding to each separate sentence in the princeps, maintained here in print, can be traced back to a suggestion by Pier Cesare Bori at the very beginning of the project and was meant to facilitate the close reading process and the collaborative commentary that the scholars participating in the project were about to tackle. Such an analytical subdivision of Pico's text, while perhaps arbitrary from a strictly philological point of view, also provides a useful layout in print for a fine parsing of a text which, although conceived by its author as a unified discourse to be pronounced in public (an introduction meant to set the tone of the debate about his nine hundred conclusions or theses), has also produced over the centuries a large archive of interpretations while maintaining its integrity as a philosophical text in its own merit, read by many as a veritable "manifesto" of Renaissance thought. Readers of this edition will have access to both the original discourse in Latin and its new English rendition, as well as the detailed commentary produced by the small community of scholars participating in the Pico Project. In short, a trace of the specific interface of the online edition can be found in this editorial choice. This methodology is bound to evolve even further: in the second phase of the Pico Project, a more interactive, dynamic interface (part of the Virtual Humanities Lab) will allow a broader group of collaborating scholars to expand their annotations and translations to Pico's other texts as well as related texts by other authors. It is foreseeable that new printed editions of these texts will also take advantage of these further collaborative efforts, while the work in progress on our project's Web site will allow continuous updating and further integration of both existing and forthcoming printed editions, including the present one.7 In this transition from a traditional idea of the scholarly (critical) printed edition as potentially definitive to a more dynamic idea according to which the life of a text is inseparable from its successive readings, interpretations, and reinterpretations (that is, from the historical communities of scholars who "produce" them), perhaps the major methodological (and typographical) burden is on the footnote and the annotation.8 Born within print culture, in the digital medium the footnote undergoes a true "renaissance" and metamorphosis. Whoever is familiar with textual traditions knows that over time annotations can acquire scholarly value in their own right. As Anthony Grafton puts it, in his "curious" history of this "minor" scholarly genre: "Footnotes buttress and undermine, at one and the same time."9 Of course, the (modern) historian "does not cite authorities but sources," writes Grafton. In an age in which authorities have been superseded by Wikipedia, the notion of "source" itself is undergoing a radical change, often morphing into a collective, almost anonymous, pseudo-authority (or a "crowd," to use a current term, as in "crowdsourcing"). According to this model, successive annotations to an original text may actually produce an entirely new text. Yet, with all its novelty, the transformation of the footnote and rhizomatic proliferation of the gloss in the age of digital inter- or hypertextuality is reminiscent of the way medieval scholastic culture functioned. Within this new technological context, the legacy of Renaissance humanism, representing the work of the humanities as a continuous rediscovery of and dialogue with the distant past, is still extremely relevant. If the humanistic networks of the past relied on letter writing and print for disseminating their ideas, contemporary networks rely on the even more powerful networking tools provided by digital technology. Pico's own theses can be seen as his synthetic glosses on the whole archive of "knowledge" known to him, and his glosses have somehow become independent from the texts they were originally linked to, standing on their own and ready for scrutiny on their own merits. This is particularly true of the Conclusiones. Yet, in order to judge Pico's ideas on their own merits, it is necessary for us to rediscover once again the sources that nourished his thought (thus "following up on one of the basic notions of Pico's own philosophy," as Paul Kristeller (, 41) once wrote). This is the inescapable "recursive" (and stratified) nature of humanistic knowledge. In the feedback loop between print and digital text, the gloss, the humble footnote, may evolve from a parasitic to a symbiotic component of the text but remains our way of accumulating (critical) knowledge about the past while engaging in an everlasting dialogue with the perennial sources of our cultural legacy. The praise and defence of "(human) dignity," the philosophical concept and moral ideal that gives Pico's Oration its spurious title and everlasting fame, is certainly one of the tenets of the humanistic legacy in our contemporary world. Clearly, a wide historical gulf separates the notion of "dignity" as it is articulated in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948), harkening back to the radical modern transformations brought about by the American and French revolutions, and Pico's ideas.10 Yet, the contemporary fortune of Pico's text, its "rediscovery" in the 1930s and 40s, is undoubtedly linked to the historical context in which it took place: a time when "human dignity" was being trampled to the point of leading even some of its defenders to question "humanism" itself as a misleading, self-referential ideology.11 The same can be said for the current revival of interest in Pico's thought. If contemporary scholarship (as witnessed by this edition) is less interested in perpetuating old schemes and interpretations than offering a critical reevaluation of the Oration's authentic historical roots, it cannot ignore the renewed debate about the concept of "dignity" in our post-Kantian and "post-humanist" context.12 In this debate, new definitions come along in the attempt to suggest a broader notion of "dignity" conceived, for example, as a "(modern) virtue."13 Such an evolving, "virtual" meaning of "dignity" cannot ignore its classical and religious roots, particularly in a world in which the confrontation and dialogue among religious traditions and beliefs are crucial to a pacific coexistence. From this point of view, there is no doubt that the legacy of Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, Count of Concordia, is still with us. 1 In addition to Pier Cesare Bori (History of Theology and Moral Philosophy, University of Bologna) and Massimo Riva (Italian Studies and Modern Media, Brown University), the group included Dino Buzzetti (History of Medieval Philosophy, University of Bologna), Karen de León-Jones (Italian Studies, Université de Savoie, Chambery), Saverio Marchignoli (Indian Philosophy and History of Orientalism, University of Bologna), Giorgio Melloni (Italian Studies, University of Delaware), and Michael Papio (Italian Studies, University of Massachusetts Amherst). Francesco Borghesi (Italian Studies, University of Sydney) joined the project in 2001. 2 Franco Bacchelli has identified the hand of Giovanni Nesi. See Bori (, 31n61). 3 <http://www.brown.edu/Departments/Italian_Studies/vhl_new/>. The Conclusiones are now available in a complete Spanish translation (the first such translation of Pico's text) edited by Ernesto Priani Saisó (Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Mexico) and Silvia Magnavacca (University of Buenos Aires, Argentina). 4 The most notable recent addition to the project's site is a sample from the first Chinese translation of Pico's Oration, published by Peking University Press, which was the product of a team of scholars at Beida (Peking University) with an introduction in Chinese and Italian by P. C. Bori, Lun ren de zun yan, Beijing: Beijing da xue chu ban she, 2010. 5 For an English edition of this work, see Farmer (). 6 Respectively, Pier Cesare Bori, §§1–23 (introduction by F. Borghesi and M. Riva); Massimo Riva, §§24–50 (introduction by M. Riva); Michael Papio, §§51–102 (introduction by M. Papio); Saverio Marchignoli, §§103–41 (introduction by S. Marchignoli); Giorgio Melloni, §§142–70 (introduction by G. Melloni, M. Papio, and M. Riva); Dino Buzzetti, §§171–233 (introduction by D. Buzzetti); Karen de León-Jones, §§234–68 (introduction by M. Riva). In order to avoid excessive disruption while reading Pico's Oration, all of the above-mentioned introductions are collected in a single Overview of the Text, which precedes Pico's text. 7 The first results of this process are Boccaccio (), edited and introduced by Michael Papio, and a forthcoming edition of excerpts from Giovanni Villani's thirteenth-century Cronica, edited by Rala Potter Diakite and Matthew Sneider, whose preparatory materials have also been processed at the VHL. 8 See the Open Annotation Collaboration (<http://www.openannotation.org/>). 9 Grafton (, 32). 10 Cf. Copenhaver (2002a, 58): "[T]he Oratio is not about dignity and freedom as any modern or post-modern reader would understand these terms." 11 This historical context is evoked by Garin in his introduction to a 1994 revised edition of the Oration (Pico 1994). 12 Cf. Fukuyama (, 148–77); Habermas (, 29–37). 13 Meyer (, 195–207). I have addressed this and other related ideas about Pico's legacy in Riva (). ## The Historical and Biographical Background of the Oration Pier Cesare Bori The year 1486 was an extraordinary one for young Pico della Mirandola. In March, at twenty-three years of age, he returned from Paris to his friends Poliziano, Lorenzo de' Medici, and Marsilio Ficino in Florence. On 8 May, Pico departed for Rome, where he intended to prepare for a debate on his philosophical theses with learned men from all corners of the world, invited at his own expense. Two days later, in Arezzo, he unsuccessfully attempted to carry off Margherita, wife of Giuliano de' Medici, an event that caused no small amount of scandal. However, the ensuing period of isolation, spent mainly in Fratta, between Perugia and Todi, was exceptionally productive for Pico. He wrote the Commento sopra una canzona de amore (a gloss on the poem written by his friend Girolamo Benivieni) and collected his theses, or Conclusiones, some nine hundred of them, in anticipation of the debate that was to take place at the beginning of the following year. For the introduction to this grand event, he also composed an elegant Oration, whose title afterward assumed the "epithet" On the Dignity of Man. By 7 December, he was in Rome, where the publication of the Conclusiones immediately received very negative reactions. At the beginning of 1487, Pope Innocent VIII called off Pico's public debate and convened a theological commission that, some months later, would condemn some of the theses. At the end of that same year, Pico decided to return to Paris. Is there a connection between the series of events that occurred between May and autumn 1486 and Pico's exceptional intellectual accomplishments of that time? In order to hazard an answer, one must go over those events more analytically, beginning with the incident in Arezzo.1 By 1486, Margherita, the wealthy widow of "un Costante spetiale, che teneva cavalli per correre palii" ["a Costante, spice merchant, who kept horses to run in palios"], had remarried the not so wealthy Giuliano di Mariotto de' Medici, an Aretine tax collector, and had gone to live with him in Arezzo. According to the account of the Estes' Florentine envoy Aldobrandino Guidoni, which survives in his letter of 12 May 1486 to Duke Ercole I, the young Pico, admired by the whole of Florence for his erudition and honesty of demeanour, had declared a few days earlier his desire to go to Rome. Having already sent his luggage on ahead toward Perugia, he left Florence accompanied by a fitting escort and stopped in Arezzo, where he attempted to carry off the lady. The letter reads: > Questo signor conte è stato in questa cità cum tanta reputatione, cum tanta magnificentia et cum una universale bona expectatione di facti suoi, quanto che homo che mai fusse qui in questa cità, però che parea veramente non potesse essere possibile la doctrina et scientia che era in lui. > > Il povero signore levò la voce, a questi dì, de volere andare a Roma; et parve che facesse caricare tute le robe sue et adviarle verso Perosa. Poi lui seguitò cum tuta la famiglia, che erano de le persone a piedi et cavallo, da 20; et haveva dui balestrieri a cavallo; et andaro ad Arezo, ove era ita una sua amorosa bellissima.2 > > [This signor Count enjoyed in this city great distinction, prestige and universal confidence in his deeds, more so than any other man who had ever lived here in this city; hence, it truly seemed that his erudition and knowledge were beyond belief. > > The poor Count made it known in those days that he intended to travel to Rome; and it seemed that he had loaded up all of his things and sent them toward Perugia. Then he followed afterward with all of his servants, and there were twenty people on horseback and on foot; and he had two crossbowmen on horseback; and they went to Arezzo, where his most beautiful beloved had gone.] According to Giuliano (the offended husband), Margherita had been abducted on the morning of 10 May against her will. He writes to his cousin Lorenzo de' Medici: > Iermattina andando la Margherita, mia donna, colla serva pigliare recreatione al Duomo Vecchio da fuori d'Arezo, fu da gente del signore della Mirandola, contra sua volontà, presa e messa a cavallo et in groppa a gente di sua famiglia colla quale era il decto signore; che per questo era venuto la sera dinanzi qui agli alberghi d'Arezo, con circa 20 cavagli et con balestrieri acti a far male; et menorronla via, cavalcando quanto potevano.3 > > [Yesterday morning, as my lady Margherita was going with her servant to the Old Duomo outside Arezzo for a stroll, she was taken against her will by the Count of Mirandola's men, was put on a horse and was carried off with some of his servants in the company of the aforementioned Count who, for this purpose, had lodged the previous evening in Arezzo with about 20 horses and crossbowmen ready to cause harm. They led her away, galloping as fast as they could.] Giuliano also laments the betrayal of one of his young subordinates who, moreover, supposedly stole more than 80 florins from him. Even the letter of the Signoria of Arezzo to Lorenzo de' Medici on 10 May reports that Margherita "fu a tradimento, et armata manu [...] et per força messa a cavallo" ["was betrayed and forcibly put upon a horse by armed men"].4 According to Aldobrandino Guidoni, however, the lady had left the city of Arezzo "infogata de lo amore del Conte" ["inflamed with love for the Count"].5 Luigi della Stufa similarly informs Lorenzo de' Medici that the woman, "come innamorata e ciecha di sì bel corpo, volontariamente montò a cavallo in groppa a uno de' due mandati" ["in love and blinded by such an attractive man, voluntarily mounted the horse of one of the two men who had been sent for her"].6 Stefano Taverna, the Milanese envoy in Florence, said that the Count had been "provocato da una femina formosa impazita di luy" ["provoked by a shapely woman who was mad about him"].7 Giovanni Pico's sister, Costanza Bentivoglio, wrote to her brother Girolamo di Piacenza that "la femina lo seguiva volontariamente" ["the woman followed him voluntarily"].8 The accounts of what happened next are consistent. Filippo Carducci, head official and podestà of Arezzo (as he explained to Lorenzo de' Medici on that very afternoon), had the bells rung and ordered that the Count be tracked down by his men, who were joined by as many as two hundred volunteers. Pico was captured near Marciano, on the border with Siena. According to Luigi della Stufa: > gli aretini hebono più gente. [...] N'amazorno XVIII et il magnifico signore fu ferito malamente et se non si fussi stato il buon chavallo che haveva sotto, rimaneva anche lui in compagnia de' 18.9 > > [the people of Arezzo had more men. [...] They killed eighteen and the magnificent Signore himself was seriously wounded; and if he hadn't had a good horse beneath him, he too would have found himself in the company of those eighteen.] The Aretine Council of Ten ordered that Pico and his secretary, Cristoforo da Casale Maggiore, be held in the custody of the man who, working with the pursuers, had captured him (a certain Giovanni Nicolacci da Marciano), and that the things remaining on the small battlefield be retrieved. Not long afterward, however, the Count was released by his guard in exchange for one hundred florins. For this, Giovanni Nicolacci was fined in January 1487 by the council of the Otto di Guardia of Florence, while Pico's secretary was punished as "colui da cui era derivato tutto il male" ("the man from whom all the trouble stemmed").10 Had anyone else perpetrated such an offence against the Medici, justice would have been meted out quite differently. Behind the scenes of this privileged treatment was Lorenzo de' Medici himself, who wrote to Arezzo's Signoria on 13 May to express his regret for the "ingiuria fatta a Giuliano de' Medici" ["injustice done to Giuliano de' Medici"], albeit without mentioning the responsible party.11 Lorenzo's desire to pardon and protect his young friend was shared by Ercole I d'Este, who answered his envoy, Aldobrandino Guidoni, saying that he was very sorry about what had taken place, "perché teneramente amamo epso magnifico conte Zohane" ["because I tenderly love this magnificent count Giovanni"], and begged him to see to Pico's liberation as if he were "nostro fratello" ["my brother"]. Ercole I forgave Pico, citing biblical precedents, "che certo le sono cose che anche Salamone, che fue tanto sapientissimo, incorse anchora lui alcuna volta in simile trasgressione; sì che, il gli è da havere compassione" ["for, in truth, even Solomon, for all his wisdom, sometimes committed similar misdeeds; thus, one should have compassion for him"].12 The Count's public image nonetheless suffered a great deal on account of the "chaso atroce" ["atrocious event"] of Arezzo.13 Aldobrandino Guidoni wrote from Florence to Duke Ercole I: > Et veramente questo caso è di natura che a tuta questa città rencresce perché questo conte Zohanne havea in questa cità uno nome del più docto homo che fusse uno buon pezo; et era reputato uno sancto; ora ha perso la reputatione et conditione sua.14 > > [And, truly, the nature of this event is such that the whole of this city is saddened, for this Count Giovanni had the reputation of being the most learned man that there had been in this city in a long time. He was deemed a saint; now he has lost his good name and position.] Other documents give us additional, sometimes detailed, information on the aftermath of the event. Some regard the recovery of things that were lost or stolen during the skirmish: > Restaci un cavallo di quelli del Signore appresso l'oste; una cappa rosata foderata di panno verde, due balestre d'acciaio con un martinecto; et un turchasso con sette passatoi; una cappetta di tane trista,15 con capperuccia foderata di damaschino pagonazzo; un giacho di maglio et una cintola di cuoio di pesce fornita d'ariento.16 > > [One of the Count's horses was left behind with the innkeeper. Other items include a rose-coloured cape lined with green cloth, two steel crossbows with a gaffle, and a quiver with seven arrows, a small cape of cheap russet with a little hood lined with purple damask, a mail tunic and a fishskin belt embellished with silver.] But of the Count himself during those days and months that followed, we have no news. And regarding Margherita, we know only that she was returned to her husband. However, from a comment made by Flavius Mithridates – Pico's principal colleague, of Jewish origin, who enriched his translations of cabalistic texts with poignant personal observations – it seems we can gather that Margherita, at the end of 1486 or the beginning of 1487, would have been willing to join the Count in Rome, even if she were pregnant. Indeed, she would have been able to do so had Pico so desired.17 But for Giovanni Pico, several months had passed and meanwhile several important changes had occurred. After a few months of silence, starting in September of the same year,18 news of Pico began to reappear in letters.19 Marsilio Ficino wrote to Pico on 8 September 1486, asking him to return his Arabic Koran.20 In Pico's reply,21 he promised to return it to Ficino shortly, as soon as he could return to Perugia, which he had left on account of the plague. He wrote to Ficino enthusiastically about his linguistic studies. He was making progress in Arabic and Aramaic, after acquiring a fair knowledge of Hebrew (a language in which it seems he would have been able to compose a letter). Pico could not believe that such extraordinary things had happened to him by chance; they must have taken place in accordance with divine will and with the consent of a celestial being who benevolently assisted him in his studies,22 which were facilitated by "the leap of the soul, work and diligence, despite a certain physical weakness." He enthusiastically read writings of the Chaldean wise man, who was useful in clarifying what the Hellenic tradition presented in an incomplete and imperfect form (see Bori , 63–68). Pico read Arab authors, such as "the letters of Mohammed of Toledo and Abulgal, who studied with Averroes, and the questions of a certain Adelando [...] who philosophized under Ammonius, Plotinus's teacher in Egypt."23 Pico found these works so stimulating, full as they were of "Pythagorean concepts and replete with ancient notions and esoteric thought," that they convinced him to study those languages in order to have direct access to the texts. Ficino seems to have encouraged Pico to resume his study of Plotinus. Pico assured him in his reply that he had never abandoned Plotinus and, indeed, would continue to study him.24 Pico was enthusiastically enraptured by his discoveries. Swept up by a kind of hermeneutic ecstasy, he applied to himself the words of Saint Paul: > Hic est Marsili meus cupido, hi mei ignes, qui non fluxam et vanam, sed firmam mihi non pollicentur iam, sed praestant voluptatem, veram imaginem futurae gloriae, quae revelabitur in nobis.25 > > [This, Marsilio, is my passion, these are the flames with which I burn, and for me there is not only the promise, but the gift of joy, which is not fleeting and vain but stable: the true image of the future glory that will be revealed in us.] We are witnessing here the original "nucleus" of the Oration; through eros (that is, fire), Pico has at this point attained divine glory by way of a spiritual journey in which this intellectual quest of his plays a central role. Pico hoped that there would also be some public recognition: in the solitude of Fratta, he put the finishing touches on the speech with which he would make public his discoveries in Rome. There, he would break with the customary esoteric discourse that characterized a great part of the traditions with which he was concerned.26 Thus, the certainty of eschatological glory was mingled with the expectation of present glory. The upcoming philosophical debate in Rome occupied his every thought. Pico placed enormous importance on the event: a triumph would follow his heroic and intellectual deeds and would erase the dishonour of the undertaking in Arezzo. This theme was frequent in the letters of the period. Pico also spoke of it in a brief undated letter to Taddeo Ugolino, written "ex Fracta": "Romam propero" ["I am hurrying toward Rome]."27 What did Pico have in mind? What should have happened in Rome? Pico, speaking in his Oration of the future debate, says: > Sunt qui hoc quidem exercitationis genus non improbent, sed in me nullo modo probent, quod ego hac aetate, quartum scilicet et vigesimum modo natus annum, de sublimibus Christianae theologiae mysteriis, de altissimis philosophiae locis, de incognitis disciplinis, in celebratissima urbe, in amplissimo doctissimorum hominum consessu, in apostolico senatu disputationem proponere sim ausus. (§154) > > [There are also others who, though not critical of this kind of exercise in itself, entirely disapprove of it in me who, born just twenty-four years ago, have at my age dared to propose a discussion on the sublime mysteries of Christian theology, on the most profound questions of philosophy and on unexplored fields of knowledge, all in such a famous city, before a vast assembly of learned men and in the presence of the apostolic senate.] Perhaps Pico was thinking precisely of the College of Cardinals, presided over by Innocent VIII, to whom in the preface to the second part of the Conclusiones he solemnly entrusted the verdict on his own Christian orthodoxy.28 The interest in debates, born in the context of the medieval university, was still very much alive, and Pico's initiative took its place in that framework. It was not, therefore, the idea of a debate but rather the number of the theses, the vastness and novelty of their themes, and the figure of Pico himself that attracted attention and rendered the episode exceptional in the eyes of his contemporaries. In the same period, Pico wrote from Fratta to Baldo Perugino, who remained in Perugia, the city from which Pico had fled on account of the plague. In this letter, Pico sends him a Carmen pro pace, recently written amid rumours of war.29 He tells Baldo Perugino: "cecidit et per hos dies etrusca lingua de amore carmen, quod cum illo venit, a paucis, nisi fallor, intelligendum: est enim pluribus ex secretiori antiquorum philosophia mysteriis refertum" [In these days, a poem on love written in the Tuscan language has fallen upon me, one that came with it and, unless I am mistaken, is accessible to very few men: indeed, it is replete with many mysteries from the most secret philosophy of the ancients]. These are difficult lines to interpret and to translate. It would be nice to think that the Tuscan poem "on love" that reached him during those days in Fratta was the Canzona de amore by Girolamo Benivieni, a work that was becoming ever more closely connected to his Commento sopra una canzona de amore, itself very difficult to understand insofar as it is full of the philosophic mysteries of the ancients. But could this be the meaning of "cecidit" ["has fallen"] and "venit" ["came"]? In any event, it seems clear to me that we are dealing here with the same social and philosophical context in which the Commento was taking shape, for during that period Pico was engaged in nothing other than literary "otium." We can now better understand the letter's final humorous allusion: > Faciam quod mones, ne, si quam forte Dianam viderim, quod de Tirhesia scribit Callimacus mihi eveniat. > > [I will follow your warning not to go too often to bathe in Fratta so that, if perchance I saw a Diana, what Callimachus writes of Tiresias will not happen to me.] Callimachus's hymn In lavacrum Palladis had not long before been translated from Greek by Poliziano. In it, we read of how Tiresias was blinded as punishment for having dared to look at Pallas bathing but received the gift of prophecy in return (vv. 75ff.).30 On 15 October, in a long letter to Andrea Corneus (of Cornia), Pico spoke of the events of May. He rejected Corneus's suggestion that he dedicate himself with increased vigour to the active life, protesting in favour of the contemplative life and the practice of philosophy as a man of his class, a prince, rather than as a paid professor of philosophy. His friend would soon see the extraordinary, and also public – even clamorous – results of Pico's solitary studies (see Bori , 73–84). At the letter's close, Pico spoke "de re uxoria" of the event in Arezzo: > Quod amicum illum tuum, cui in amore res male cessit apud Floreanum nostrum excusaveris, ex officio fecisti, habet ille quidem et ex historiis, et ex poetis, ex ipsa etiam philosophia unde se a nota criminis vendicet, habet unde magnorum se hominum praeiudiciis, Davidis praesertim Salomonisque tutetur, ut Aristotelem taceam, qui dum nonnullas etiam meretrices saepe deperibat, suorum de moribus praeceptorum nil meminit, quando amatae foeminae uti Cereri Eleusinae sacra fecit. Sed ille haec tutamenta, et quasi propugnacula sui facinoris, non amplexatur modo, vel amat, sed odit, et reiicit, et recusant; iacturam queritur suma, non culpam deprecatur, dolet quod peccavit, non defendit. Et mihi quidem vel hoc nomine caeteris excusandus, quod ipse se nil excusat, nihil homine imbecillius, nihil amore potentius. Hieronymi illa invicta et inconcussa mens, dum coelo tota inhaeret, puellarum choris intererat. Quae illum pestis potuit vel infestare, quem non edomabit? Si hoc amor in eremo, in humo collisis membris, in hebdomadarum potuit inedia, quid in pluma, in umbra, in omni deliciarum affluentia non poterit? Accedit quod ille nunc primo cecidit ruinae huius alioquin insolens et ignarus. De Neptuno conqueri potest, qui semel tantum naufragium fecit. Si ad eundem iterum offenderit lapidem, nemo manum porrigat, nemo misereatur. Nunc non excusari iure non potest, quem ita facti poenitet, ut favore excusationis se dignum ipse non existimet. Sed haec etiam nimis, quando amicus tuus huiusmodi facti memoriam, non solum aliquo modo literas tradi, sed quod sequens vita eius faciat obliterari penitus cupit.31 > > [You felt the need to pardon your friend for his misfortunes in love in our Floreanus (Arezzo). He could indeed find in history, in poets, and even in philosophy itself examples with which to pardon himself and defend himself, with the authority of great men, especially David and Solomon, to say nothing of Aristotle, who, while often flirting even with prostitutes, completely lost sight of the moral lessons he gave whenever he was sacrificing to his beloved as if to Eleusinian Ceres. But your friend not only does not share or appreciate but indeed hates, rejects, and refutes this kind of pardon and defence of his crime. He regrets the damage he has done; he does not flee his error. He suffers for having sinned; he does not defend himself. Others will be able to pardon that which he in no way pardons in himself. Nothing is weaker than man; nothing is mightier than love. Jerome's unconquerable and unshaken mind, while wholly focused on heaven, participated in the girls' dances. If this plague could threaten such a man, who else could it not have conquered? If love could obtain so much from him who slept on the bare earth of his hovel and fasted for eight days, what will it not be able to do to one who sleeps on feathers, in the shade, and lives amidst a great abundance of delights? What is more, he fell the first time, for he was unaccustomed to and ignorant of such precipices. He who has shipwrecked only once can cry out to Neptune. If he falls again and strikes the same rock, no one will offer a hand or have pity on him. Now, he who so repents of what he has done that he does not deem himself worthy of being pardoned may be justly forgiven. This is all the more the case when your friend not only wishes somehow to entrust to the written word the memory of that event but also desires that the rest of his life serve completely to blot it out.] There were, indeed, those who had laughed at the event, for example his friend Alessandro Cortesi, who had written to his brother, "we laughed at Paris and Helen: sometimes philosophers go mad").32 There were those who had wanted to pardon Pico, such as Ercole I, who cited Solomon, and Andrea Corneus, too. Even Marsilio Ficino had written a short "Apology on the Rape of the Nymph Margherita by the Hero Pico," using mythological motifs (Paris and Helen, Theseus and Ariadne, Hercules and Iole, Pluto and Proserpine, Jove and Europa) as well as evangelical ones, such as the parable of the merchant who acquires a precious pearl, "inventa pretiosa margarita" ["having found a precious margarita ('pearl or Margherita')"]. In his apology to Pietro Leone, Ficino had also affirmed that: "It is not abducting to receive or take a nymph who has fallen prey to someone and desires to be abducted; it is instead a liberation from her abductors."33 Flavius Mithridates had also spoken about it in the same ironic tone in the margins of a passage in his version of the Bahir, an ancient source of Jewish esotericism.34 Pico had set out on a path that would change his life. Here, illustrious examples are not enough to remove the onus of responsibility. He suffered for his sin, hated it, detested it, publicly admitted his fault, repented, and firmly resolved never to repeat it: "dolet quod peccavit, non defendit" ["he suffers for having sinned; he does not defend himself"], "facti poenitet" ["he repents"]. It is the Christian language of conversion, confession, and penitence that confers a certain note of sincerity to Pico's humanistic Latin, together with echoes of Psalm 50 (51 in Protestant versions), which the Bible attributes to David. In his commentary on Psalm 10 a few years later, Pico himself, speaking perhaps in the spirit of Savonarola, would condemn: > de nostri temporis tepid[e]s qui sub caerimoniarum religionisque praetextu sanctitatem mentiuntur et simplices et rectos corde, a spiritu et veritate deterrentes, ad propriam vanitatem trahere satagunt.35 > > [the tepid people of our time who, under the pretext of ceremonies and devotion, feign holiness, distract the simple and honest at heart from the spirit and the truth and, bustling about, draw them into their own vanity.] Gianfrancesco echoes this passage with the same reference to the "worship in spirit and in truth" (the important passage of the Gospel according to John)36 as he describes Pico in his Biography of Pico della Mirandola, which precedes Pico's writings in the first Bolognese edition of 1496: > Esterioris latriae cultus non multum diligens fuerat; non de eo loquimur, quem observandum praecepit Ecclesia (gestasse hunc quippe prae oculis eum vidimus) sed de his ceremoniis mentionem facimus, quas nonnulli posthabito vero cultu Dei, qui in spiritu et veritate colendus est, prosequuntur et provehunt.37 > > [He was not very diligent about outward observances. I do not refer to what the Church prescribes (we saw him practice it with our own eyes) but to those ceremonies to which some people dedicate themselves, neglecting the real worship of God, Who should be adored in spirit and truth.] It is likely that Pico's penitential attitude during autumn 1486 was accompanied by the corresponding sacraments, but of this we cannot be sure. Nevertheless, it is certain that he took it on himself to read a page of the Gospel every day. It is interesting to note – though I believe no one has yet done so – how a final page of the Commento sopra una canzona de amore, which Pico probably finished in the days when he wrote to Corneus, reflects a similar state of mind: pain, repentance, a firm desire to change his life. In the Commento, while following Benivieni's verses, Pico revisits the motif of "the ladder of amorous degrees" of Plato's Symposium with a nod, however provocative, to Marsilio Ficino's recent De amore. Indeed, Pico explicitly wrote to Domenico Benivieni that the Commento sopra una canzona de amore should be followed by a full-fledged commentary on the Symposium.38 Describing the first, lowest rung of this ladder, he states that it is superior to "bestiale furore" ["bestial fury"], which is not actually love. Pico speaks of this type of emotion with a harshness and realism reminiscent of his letter to Corneus, which is again brought to mind by Pico's rejection of the facile consolation derived from examples of illustrious sinners, such as David, Solomon, Jerome, and Aristotle: > Chi è nel primo grado tanto è felice quanto l'amato gli è presente, condizione in ogni modo assai migliore di quello bestiale furore e non amore, el cui bene non può se non per piccolo tempo durare e non può non lassare dopo sé se non longissima amaritudine e penitenzia; il che doverebbe essere a ciascuno sufficiente stimulo a farlo con celerrima fuga da questa essecranda voluttà rimuovere39 e con festinatissimo corso a quel celeste amore properare ove niuno vestigio di miseria, ma ogni plenitudine di felicità si truova. Né debbe allettare veruno a questa misera voluttà l'essere stati molti e per santità e per prudenza e per dottrina celebratissimi uomini da quella presi, anzi questo debbe essere a ciascuno invece di ragione efficacissima a mostrare che quella in tutto si debba con ogni ingegno fuggire. Perocché se questo male è sì pestifero e velenoso che abbia in sì forte e perfette anime potuto generare egritudini quasi incurabili, debbe ciascuno indubitamente persuadersi che nella sua abbia a partorire letale al tutto e mortifero morbo: di che meritamente si può concludere, chiunque in tale precipizio ruina, di sé medesimo e de' suoi mal composti pensieri, da Dio correzione e paterna punizione, dagli uomini forse non meno pietà e compassione che biasimo meritare.40 > > [A person who is in the first stage of love is happy as long as his beloved is in his presence, a condition much better in every way than that of animals, which is lust rather than love. The pleasure of lust lasts only a short time, and it inevitably leaves behind it endless bitterness and repentance. This fact ought to be sufficient deterrent to make anyone get away from this despicable form of desire as fast as possible and hasten by the fastest route to heavenly love, in which there is no trace of misery but rather the most complete bliss. No one should be attracted to this wretched form of desire by the fact that many men have been overcome by it who were famous for their sanctity, prudence, and learning. On the contrary, this fact ought to be instead a most persuasive argument to everyone that he should avoid lust entirely. For, if this evil is so pestiferous and poisonous that it has been able to produce an almost incurable disease in such strong and able souls, certainly everyone else ought to be persuaded that it is likely to produce an utterly lethal and deadly disease in his own soul. Thus we may justly conclude that anyone who falls over such a precipice deserves from God fatherly punishment for himself and correction for his confused thinking; from men perhaps he deserves more pity and compassion than blame.] > > (Pico 1984, 167) On the subject of "bestiale furore" ["bestial fury"], a further passage from the Commento is worthy of note: > L'opposto è nello amore celeste, nel quale non è questo pericolo, ma tutto tende alla bellezza spirituale dell'animo e dello intelletto, la quale molto più perfetta si truova ne' maschi che nelle donne, come d'ogni altra perfezione si vede. Però tutti coloro che di questo divino amore sono stati accesi hanno la maggior parte amato qualche giovane di indole generosa, la cui virtù è stata ad alcuni tanto più grata quanto l'è stata in un bel corpo, e non si sono effeminati drieto ad un armento di meretrice, le quali non solo non inducono l'uomo a grado alcuno di spirituale perfezione, ma, come Circe, al tutto lo trasformano in bestia.41 > > [The opposite is true in heavenly love: heavenly love involves no danger of coitus but rather is directed entirely toward the spiritual beauty of the soul, or the intellect. This spiritual beauty is much more perfect in men than in women, as is true of any other attribute. This is the reason why most men who have been affected by heavenly love have loved some young man of virtuous character (the more beautiful his body, the more attractive his virtue) rather than become effeminate and pursue a flock of harlots, who not only do not lead a man to any degree of spiritual perfection but, like Circe, completely transform him into a beast.] > > (Pico 1984, 133) With regard to this passage, which recalls the description of man's protean character from the beginning of the Oration, Erwin Panofsky noted that Ficino, faithful to the Symposium and to its two Venuses, fails to attribute to any Venus amor ferinus, which is equated with folly.42 Pico, on the contrary, conflates the heavenly Venuses in order to attribute to the earthly Venus the abovementioned evils. One may ask if this choice, beyond being a reflection of different theoretical orientations (as Panofsky maintains), could be a consequence of Pico's recent experience, which leads him to misogyny and to privilege male friendships, and his friendship with Benivieni above all.43 Even more pertinent here are Edgar Wind's conclusions,44 which describe how Pico broke with Ficino's hedonistic triad, Pulchritudo-Amor-Voluptas ("Beauty-Love-Pleasure"), still present on his medal (datable to around 1484–85), in order to move on to the more austere Pulchritudo-Intellectus-Voluntas ("Beauty-Intelligence-Will")45 (one remembers the severe treatment of pleasure in the previously mentioned passage of the Commento and also the authentic "gioia non fugace e vana, ma stabile" ["joy that is not fleeting and vain, but stable"] in the letter to Ficino of September 1486). Nevertheless, the tone of these passages lets us glimpse how much Pico himself was involved in the Commento sopra una canzona de amore di Benivieni (which could imply his rereading of the Symposium). Certainly, Pico explicitly chose to compose the Commento "according to the thoughts and opinions of the Platonists." The work has as its model the conversion (periagogé) of the soul (Republic) and its ascent (the Symposium's anagogé), while in the letter to Corneus the concept of penitence, together with its concomitant biblical language (e.g., metánoia, "conversio mentis ad Christum" [the conversion of the mind to Christ]), takes centre stage. In the first linguistic and theoretical model, conversion is toward Christ; in the second, it is toward beauty, personified by the Celestial Venus. (Botticelli's Birth of Venus was also finished in 1486.46) Pico addresses the same subject (his own moral transformation), turning to two religious, cultural, and linguistic models: Plato and the Bible. I would propose the hypothesis that it is precisely in this "bilingualism"47 that we see the first and most original manifestation of his "multifaceted philosophy," his pluralistic theoretical perspective, and his capacity to see reality in the light of innumerable points of view.48 All that has been said up to now throws light on Pico's most important text of this period, the Oration on the Dignity of Man. The first part of the Oration is dominated by the theme of eros according to the Platonic-Dionysian model of conversion-ascent. It is quite probable that Pico's personal experiences performed an important function in his decision to employ this model. It seems that he speaks in the Oration from a personal perspective, moving from his newly acquired awareness of the dangerous ambiguities (but also of the extraordinarily constructive power) of eros. To Corneus he had written, "nihil amore potentius" ["nothing is mightier than love"]. Having learned to control the power of eros, Pico would be able to push himself to the most arduous intellectual discoveries in order to open the way toward becoming one with an ineffable absolute. That Pico is in some way speaking of himself in the Oration and describing something that concerns him personally is especially clear in his letter to Girolamo Benivieni of 12 November. There is little time left now before his departure for Rome. Two days earlier, on 10 November, he wrote to an unnamed friend that he was unable to provide a certain bit of information, as his books had already left for Rome and he himself had already put on his hat and boots for the journey ("petasatus iam et caligatus").49 Meanwhile, the material to be presented in Rome continued to increase: > Disputanda per me publice dogmata ante tuum a me discessum 700is claudebantur. Postquam abisti, ad 900a excreverunt progrediebanturque nisi receptui cecinissem, ad mille. Sed placuit eo numero, utpote mystico, pedem esistere. Est enim (si vera est nostra de numeris doctrina) symbolum animae in se ipsam oestro Musarum percitae recurrentis. Accessit et orationi id quod ad te mitto. Cum enim statutum sit mihi ut nulla praetereat dies quin legam ex Evangelica doctrina, incidit in manus, postridie quam decesseras, illud Christi: "Pacem meam do vobis, pacem meam do vobis, pacem relinquo vobis." Illico subita quadam animi concitatione de pace quaedam ad philosophiae laudes facentia tanta celeritate distavi, ut notarii manum precurrerem saepe et invertirem. Desideravi, quod et semper desidero, vel tunc maxime [te] mecum esse, ut recens opus auribus, quasi e gremio editum infantem, benignius auditor exciperes.50 > > [The theses to be discussed before your departure were contained within 700. After your departure, they increased to 900, and they would have grown to 1000 had I not sounded the retreat. But I wanted to stop at that number, as a mystic number. If my doctrine of numbers is true, 900 is the symbol of the soul that recedes into itself, struck by the incitement of the Muses. What I am sending you has been added to the oration. I resolved not to let a day pass without reading something from the Gospels' teachings and, the day after your departure, what Christ said fell before my eyes: "I give you my peace, I give you my peace, peace I leave you." Immediately, I then excitedly dictated some things on peace and in praise of philosophy, and I did it with such haste that I often outpaced and confused the hand of the secretary. I wished, as I always do, that you were there with me (but especially so at that moment) so that you yourself could listen benevolently to the new text that, almost like a newborn child, had just issued from the womb.] In this period, Pico reads the Gospel every day, and a new passage of the Oration is born from his reading of John 14:27. Pico speaks about it with emotion, as if it were a birth: the scribe's pen cannot keep up with him.51 This passage is probably itself linked to the reference, in the earlier version, to the strife between hatred and love, a conflict from which Empedocles laments "being tossed upon the seas, driven by conflict and discord like a madman and banished from the gods" (cf. Oration §86). But in the new text the idea of war becomes more concrete. Pico knew not only intellectual battles; he also knew what war was, for Italy was then wholly consumed by it. Shortly before, Pico had written his Carmen pro pace in the hopes that God would avert a war that was roaring throughout all of Italy, in which "everything is laid waste, the sword destroys all."52 War was practiced by the Pico clan almost as if it were the family trade, and it raged among Pico's relatives as well. His brothers Galeotto and Anton Maria fought ferociously with each other to secure the family patrimony, while Pico renounced his rights in favour of Gianfrancesco.53 Pico's mother had nursed other ambitions for him,54 and he was spared the violence of conflict until a few months before, when he himself was the cause of bloodshed. Pico now knew from personal experience that at the root of all things lay man's natural disposition. Peace, he wrote, must be achieved through self-discipline. Such would be the peace that "will ratify an everlasting pact of the most holy peace between the flesh and the spirit." On the basis of this personal revelation, then, it is a scientific approach to natural philosophy that "will allay the differences of opinion and disagreements that vex, perplex and afflict our restless soul from all sides." But since nature, according to Heraclitus, was created from war, this yearned-for peace will be attained only by embracing Wisdom, who cries out: > Venite [...] ad me qui laborastis; venite et ego reficiam vos; venite ad me et dabo vobis pacem quam mundus et natura vobis dare non possunt. (§93) > > [Come to me, you who exert yourselves in vain; come and I will restore you; come to me and I will give you that peace which the world and nature cannot give to you.] Behind this exhortation lies perhaps the nucleus of Giovanni Pico's experience on the morning of 12 November 1486. After months of "long-lasting bitterness and repentance," he expresses a sense of recovery and reconciliation: > Haec est illa [...] pax quam facit Deus in excelsis suis, quam angeli in terram descendentes annuntiarunt hominibus bonae voluntatis, ut per eam ipsi homines ascendentes in caelum angeli fierent. Hanc pacem amicis, hanc nostro optemus seculo, optemus unicuique domui quam ingredimur, optemus animae nostrae, ut per eam ipsa Dei domus fiat. (§§95–96) > > [This is the [...] peace which God makes in His heavens, which the angels who came down to earth announced to men of good will so that these men would, ascending to heaven, be transformed by it into angels. Let us desire this peace for our friends, for our times; let us desire it for whatever home we enter. Let us desire it for our soul so that in her may be made a house of the Lord.] It is not without reason, then, that in his Vita Gianfrancesco Pico revisits and clarifies in Christian terms the motivations for Pico's letter to Andrea Corneus. He speaks of Pico's "conversion to Christ" and how he had moved away from earthly pleasures. Passing over the incident in Arezzo, Gianfrancesco asserts that the greatest influence on Pico's state of mind after his conversion was "simultas," the animosity of the Roman environment, against which his expectations of glory were shattered. It was only at that point, and not immediately after the Arezzo incident, that, according to Gianfrancesco, Pico awoke and understood the vanity of human glory: > Prius enim et gloriae cupidus et amore vano succensus, mulieribusque illecebris commotus fuerat: foeminarum quippe plurimae, ob vanustate corporis orisque gratiam, cui doctrina amplexaeque divitiae et generis nobilitas accedebant, in eius amorem exarserunt; ab quorum studio non abhorrens, parumper via vitae posthabita, in delicias defluxerat: verum simultate illa experrectus, diffluentem luxu animum retudit et convertit ad Christum, atque foeminea blandimenta in supernae patriae gaudia commutavit, neglectaque aura gloriae, quam affectaverat, Dei gloriam et ecclesiae utilitatem tota coepit mente perquirere, adeoque mores componere, ut post hac vel inimico iudice comprobari posset.55 > > [Earlier, desirous of glory and inflamed by vain love, he had let himself be moved by feminine allurements. The attractiveness of his body and the charm of his appearance, in addition to his erudition, great riches, and family's nobility, had caused many women to burn with love for him. Not being averse to such desires of theirs, he had abandoned himself for a bit to wantonness and had neglected the true way of life. But having been awoken by this confusion, he set aright his mind, which had languished in pleasures, and turned it to Christ. What is more, he transformed feminine flatteries into the joys of the supernal fatherland. Heedless of the gleam of glory for which he had yearned, he took to seeking with all the powers of his mind the glory of God and the service of the Church, and righted his ways such that even those who were his enemies would approve of him.] In light of my earlier suggestion that Pico probably considered the success of the debate to be extraordinarily important to the reconstruction of his own image, one can see how the failure of this undertaking may have weighed on him. Moreover, it is clear that this failure could then have occasioned yet another period of maturation for him, the one culminating in that complete "conversion" of which Gianfrancesco Pico wrote. Nevertheless, in order to protect his uncle's reputation, Gianfrancesco both avoids mention of the "atrocious event" of Arezzo and omits significant reflections on Pico's life and works. Since his premature death, the figure of Pico has continued to live on in the popular imagination and to attract scholarly attention. There has been a great deal of research on Pico in the last century, especially between the 500-year anniversaries of his birth and death. There have been important conferences; new editions and translations of his works have appeared; and his sources have been minutely researched.56 Amidst this flurry of scholarly activity, there persists a decades-old division between the two fundamental interpretive schools of thought related to Pico and, in particular, to his works of 1486 (the Commento, the Theses, and above all the Oration). The dominant tendency in Pico studies begins with Burckhardt, is carried on by Gentile, Garin, Cassirer, and Kristeller, and is currently represented by some recent contributions to Pico's thought on magic, astrology, the esoteric, the Cabala, and syncretism. The other tendency sees in Pico's works a continuation of the theological tradition, from the Bible to the Church Fathers and Scholastic theology. Among its representatives, De Lubac stands out with his Pic de la Mirandole (1974) for genuine pathos and a high degree of erudition. In his Freiheit zu Gott (1989), Reinhardt likewise insisted, but with a different style and with different sensibilities, on the pre-modern character of Pico's "systematic" way of thinking.57 Giovanni Pico did not circulate the Oration. Not until 1496, two years after Pico's death, did his nephew, Gianfrancesco, publish in Bologna, among his uncle's other works, that "elegantissima orazione" ["most elegant oration"], which would receive the subtitle "De hominis dignitate" beginning with the Strasbourg edition of Pico's works in 1504. Both the Commento, published only in 1519 among the works of Girolamo Benivieni, and the Conclusiones, after its publication on 7 December 1486 in Rome prior to the debate that never took place, remained out of circulation for a very long time. One can understand why Giovanni Pico wanted to move beyond the painful events of 1487 and to set aside these texts once and for all. Our conjecture regarding the composition of the Oration is that it was carried out in four stages. The first phase can be dated to mid-September 1486, with Pico's letter to Marsilio Ficino mentioned earlier, which attests to Pico's philological enthusiasm above all for the "Chaldean" (actually Aramaic) sources. This phase corresponds, almost directly, to the beginning of the second short part of the Oration in the version documented by the manuscript Palatino 885 (P).58 In the middle of September, Pico was perhaps also beginning the Commento sopra una canzona de amore (see the letter to Baldo Perugino). In this period of enthusiasm, he must have circulated among his friends this first version, which also survived for a while afterward, at a time when he would have wanted to erase every trace of the failed debate and its distressing aftermath. The manuscript Palatino 885 bears witness to this first phase, although the copy is rather imperfect and damaged (begging the inevitable comparison with R, the edited version of the text), consequences of a wide circulation regardless of Pico's intentions.59 The structure of the text in P (Palatino 885) is simple. The first part fundamentally coincides with the edited text R: the dignity of man consists of an itinerary, which, like that of the angels, can unite him with God. This path is threefold, and the intermediate stage is based on contemplation and philosophy, in accordance with numerous traditions, both biblical and otherwise. The second part (Oration §§147–90) is very short60 and explains two points of Pico's method. In order "to obtain fully" the philosophy that he "ardently pursues," two things are of utmost importance: full knowledge of the sources and the ability to engage in debate, an activity in which "there is profit even in defeat." The second phase in the history of the composition of the Oration – I surmise – consists in the addition of a defence of philosophy and the contemplative life (Oration §§142–50). The addition can be dated to the middle of October 1486 and is contemporary with the letter to Corneus (see the overview of §§142–70), on which it directly depends.61 This letter reflects Pico's anxiety as the date of the debate approaches, an anxiety that is intensified when Corneus reproaches him for having renounced the active life. The third phase coincides with Pico's letter of 12 November to Girolamo Benivieni, in which he himself states that he added the passage "de pace" ["on peace"] (Oration §§88–97). He also adds about two hundred theses, increasing their total number to nine hundred. The fourth phase consists of the detailed defence of his work, with particular attention to his wide range of sources (magic, the Cabala, etc.). This important expansion can be dated to his time in Rome.62 The second part of the Oration is now practically self-standing and easily transformed into the Apologia, which Pico wrote quickly, drawing on the Oration itself, and published in May 1487. This is the only part of the Oration, one could say, whose publication Pico personally oversaw. Thus, the Apologia, together with P, lends fundamental insights into the accuracy of R.63 This hypothesis also permits us to recognize the diverse meanings that Pico progressively attributed to the Oration and consequently also the Theses. He began with the justification of philosophy as a calling set within a mystical conception of human dignity, which is conceived as a threefold itinerary as represented in the principal traditions. To this end, he developed a methodology for his philosophical endeavour that comprised a thorough knowledge of the sources in consideration of the "immensitas" of Truth and the opportunity for debate. The original plan, however, rapidly became complicated. On the one hand, Pico discovered more clearly the theological and perhaps ecclesiological importance of his enterprise, and decided to return to the Oration in order to bestow on it this meaning as well (the fragment "de pace" introduced in mid-November). On the other hand, it soon became the target of objections (evident in his reply to Andrea Corneus in mid-October), which became serious accusations after the publication of the Conclusiones in Rome. As a result, Pico was forced to defend himself by attenuating the Oration's controversial tone and softening it with conciliatory passages. In spring 1487, Pico ultimately put aside the original nucleus of the Oration and preserved only those parts useful for his self-defence against the accusations of heterodoxy. (Translation by Michael Papio and Sarah Christopher.) This introduction, which appeared in an earlier form in Bori (11–33), is reproduced here by permission of the publisher. 1 The documents were collected by M. Del Piazzo (, 271–90), but Berti () is still useful, as is De Lubac (1977, 398ff.). 2 Del Piazzo (, 279). 3 Del Piazzo (, 276). 4 Del Piazzo (, 274). 5 Del Piazzo (, 280). 6 Del Piazzo (, 277). 7 Del Piazzo (, 281). 8 Del Piazzo (, 284). On account of an ironic comment made by Pico's colleague Guglielmo Raimondo de Moncada, known as Flavius Mithridates, it was thought that Margherita was not the only woman enamoured of Pico. Nevertheless, this was an extreme case. 9 Del Piazzo (, 277). According to Stefano Taverna, "they cut about fourteen of the count's men to pieces and wounded him as well" ("hanno tagliato a pezi circha 14 di quelli del conte e luy ferito"). According to Guidoni, "even Signor Giovanni's servants killed some of them in the brawl" ("la famiglia del signor Zohanne nella zuffa, pur amazorno anchora lor qualche uno"). 10 By 12 May, Guidoni had already surmised that, although the Count would not face negative consequences, "the secretary will come to a bad end because it is believed that he was a rogue and the source of all the trouble" ("'l canzelero ne farà male, perché è reputato che 'l fusse uno capestro, da cui sia processo ogni male"). See Del Piazzo (, 280). 11 Del Piazzo (, 282). 12 Del Piazzo (, 284). 13 This phrase is used several times in the letter of the Signoria of Arezzo to Lorenzo in the description of the incident. Cf. Del Piazzo (, 274–75). 14 Del Piazzo (, 280). 15 That is, a colour between red and black, and denoting inferior quality. 16 Del Piazzo (, 285). 17 Flavius Mithridates writes: "On account of his [Pico's] handsomeness, women nowadays compete with one another to be with him, especially Margherita, whom some man is willing to take tomorrow to Rome, should Pico so desire, though she may be pregnant." [Hodie propter cuius pulchritudinem mulieres concurrunt ut coeant secum, precipue Margarita quam unus se offert homo mane ducere eam usque Romam si voluerit Picus quamvis sit praegnans] (Cod. Vat. Ebr. [Vatican Hebrew Codices] fol. 157r). Cf. Wirszubski (, 17–18). Mithridates was writing while in Rome at the end of 1486. Hence, strictly speaking, one cannot confirm, as does Zambelli, that the woman was pregnant when Pico kidnapped her (Zambelli , 11). The comments in the margins of the text are of great interest not only for dating the translations but also for understanding the figure of Margherita and the very special relationship she had with Pico. Mithridates jokingly writes about Pico several times regarding his real abilities as a literary interpreter ("Pico, do you think you can understand without Mithridates?" ["putasne Pice sine Mithridate intelligere posse?"], (Wirszubski , 72); his wealth ("if Pico were poor, he wouldn't get such honours from Rome" ["si Picus esset pauper tot honores Romae non haberet"] (Wirszubski , 16); and the unfortunate outcome of his undertaking in Rome, alluding to the pope and the cardinals ("Pico was put in gaol in Castel Sant'Angelo because he wished to reveal secrets that wisemen concealed in mystery and that are not to be given away to asses" ["Picus est carceratus in castri Sancti Angeli quia voluit revelare secreta non revelanda asinis que non sine misterio occultarunt sapientes"] (Wirszubski , 17). He also alludes to what occurred between Pico and Margherita ("And this is the field where acts of illicit intercourse and turpitude took place, near Lucignano, where Pico was caught with Margherita" ["Et hic est ager in quo reuelantur turpitudines et fiunt coitus illiciti prope Lucinianum ubi captus fuit picus cum margarita"] (Wirszubski , 17). Flavius Mithridates expected to be able to return to Rome ("Think about it, Pico, and you'll understand. I won't teach you unless I go back to the city" ["Vide Pice et intellege. Ego autem noli tibi expondere nisi rediero ad urbem"] (Wirszubski , 72). He also has other requests: only if a (or the) "handsome boy" arrives will he teach Pico the Aramaic language ("which Pico would never know if not for the arrival of a [or the] na'ar iafe [handsome boy]" ["quam numquam Picus sciet nisi venerit naar iafe"] (Wirszubski , 72–73). B. Schefer, in his recent edition of the Theses (Pico 1999, 258), indicates, following Kieszkowski (in Pico 1973, 52), that "dominum naris" [lord of the nose], which refers to God, in the fortieth thesis according to the opinion of the cabalists (1.28.40), could be assonantal with na'ar. It is not certain, however, that Pico read these notes, which are datable to the end of 1486 or to 1487. It was probably because of the erratic personality of his colleague, though he was also fond of Pico and hard-working, that Pico excluded the mention of Flavius Mithridates from the definitive edition of the Oration. 18 According to F. Bausi's recent, well-argued thesis (Bausi 1998b, 7–57), the letter to Lorenzo de' Medici can be dated to July 1486. The Capponi manuscript dates the letter "florentie, idibus iuliis 1486" (that is, 15 July 1486), and one may assume that Gianfrancesco backdated his letter to 1484 in order to avoid showing that Giovanni Pico was still interested in vernacular poetry during a period in which he should have been otherwise occupied. Pico, like Poliziano in his Nutricia, would have praised, even if merely out of gratitude, Lorenzo de' Medici's Comento de' miei sonetti, which was then the model for Pico's contemporary Commento sopra una canzona de amore. Consequently, there would then be continuity and coherence between the letter to Lorenzo and the attention that was dedicated to rhetoric in the Oration, a subject to which we shall return shortly. 19 On Pico's letters, see Garin (, 261). I am reading Pico's letter according to the edition of the Opera omnia in Pico (1971, 1:367–68), keeping in mind the Bolognese incunabulum of 1496, except for those letters published by Leon Dorez (, 353–59). 20 Cf. Piemontese (). 21 Opera omnia (Pico 1971, 1:367–68). Ficino's letter is in Ficino (, 1:34–35). 22 Cf. Pico (1971, Opera omnia 1:367). 23 On these problematic authors, see Zambelli (, 28–29). 24 "This I know: Plotinus has not left my thoughts. Not only do I have his works at hand, but I feel obliged to study him as well. I have always admired him just as I do now" ["Hoc scio, non excidisse mihi Plotinum, quem non in manibus habendum modo, sed discendum adeo mihi, et semper censui, et nunc quoque censeo"], Pico (1971, Opera omnia 1:368). 25 To be compared with Rom. 8:18–19: "For I reckon that the sufferings of this time are not worthy to be compared with the glory to come, that shall be revealed in us. For the expectation of the creature waiteth for the revelation of the sons of God" (cf. 1 Cor. 11:7: "vir imago et gloria Dei est" ["Man... is the image and glory of God"]). F. Bacchelli also turned his attention to this passage (with results as yet unpublished), as has S. A. Farmer: the concluding section of the nine hundred theses "contains his grand plan for the conversion of the Jews, last item on the medieval agenda before the coming of the millennium" (Farmer , 42–43). 26 Cf. the final passage of the Commento sopra una canzona de amore ("Fu opinione degli antiqui teologi non si dovere temerariamente publicare le cose divine e' secreti misterii," in Pico 1942, 580–81): "It was the opinion of the ancient theologians that one should not rashly make public the secret mysteries of theology" (Jayne trans. in Pico 1984, 169). This passage will be included in the Oration, applied only to the Cabala. Farmer speaks about the contrast between Pico's "eagerness to reveal his hard-won knowledge and his equally strong hesitations to do so" (Farmer , 71). 27 "I am hurrying towards Rome where my studies are endangered, or rather where I have put them in danger. If I am successful, it is thanks to God, His glory and His grace. Should I fail, only my own ignorance is to blame" ["Romam propero ubi de nostris studiis periculum, vel cum pericolo faciemus. Si quid profecerimus, dei est munus, illi laudes et gratiae. Si quid defecerimus, nostra est imbecillitas nobis imputata"]. See Pico (1971, Opera omnia 1:366). He speaks of it again in letter 42 to Domenico Benivieni (Pico 1971, 1:382). 28 This is the hypothesis of Farmer, author of a recent and important edition of the nine hundred theses, who notes that the phrase "in apostolico senatu" ("in the apostolic senate") is missing in the Apologia (which Pico wrote a few months after the failure of the debate in Rome) and that Pico speaks of a debate "inter paucos et doctos secreto congressu" ("among few learned men, convened privately"). See Farmer (, 4–9). 29 In all probability, this is the Latin poem Ad Deum deprecatio ut bella tollat, quae per totam fremunt Italiam; see Bausi (, 95–96). The identification of the Oration on the Dignity of Man with the Carmen pro pace is incorrect. 30 Dorez (, 357–58). 31 Cf. Pico (1971, 378–79). 32 Garin (, 262). 33 Ficino (, 1:56–57). 34 So I understand his note on Habacuc 3:2: "'In medio annorum suorum vivifica illud': scilicet in medio illius margaritae (Qualis est Pici) generantis annos vivifica illud" ["'In the midst of one's years, bring it to life': that is, in the midst of that year-giving margarita (like Pico's), bring it to life"]. The comment is in the margin of §49 of the edition edited by Gershom Scholem (, 50), which speaks of a precious stone, the tenth sephira, loved by a king. It speaks of precious stone (margarita), light, sun, day, and year (Gen. 1:3,15); this is why "in the midst of the years" is tantamount to "in the midst of the margarita." The allusions are unclear. Chaim Wirszubski (, 204–5) recalls that J. Gaffarel, in his Codicum Cabalisticorum Index (1651), recounts having held in his hands a translation of Recanati's Commentary on the Pentateuch, in which there appeared, written by Mithridates in the second half of 1486, the names of Giovanni Pico and Margherita, with evident signs that someone had attempted to rub them out, an event that could only point to Pico himself. 35 Pico (1997, 92). And again, on Psalm 11, "quoniam qui se Dei legem custodire fatentur, ad hippochrisim lapsi, humanis divina confunduntur, et inanibus caeremoniis freti, verum Dei cultum profanaverunt, simplices, puros et spiritu pauperes corruperunt [...] Veros adoratores in spiritu et veritate orare oportere" ["For those who profess to be guardians of God's law, having lapsed into hypocrisy, confuse divine things with the human and, relying on meaningless ceremonies, render profane the true worship of God. They have corrupted those who are simple, pure and poor in spirit. [...] True worshipers must pray in spirit and in truth"] (Pico 1997, 116). 36 Cf. Bori (1996a). 37 Giovan Francesco Pico (1963, 74). Cf. De Lubac (1977, 420–21). 38 "Commentariolum nostrum non est quod admireris, ociosi cum esse voluimus, et omnino nihil agere, id egimus, animum remittentes potius quam intendentes. Omnino praeludium est commentariorum, quae in Platonis Symposium meditamur. Erit in illis quod tu saltem ames et laudes, qui omnia nostra amas et laudas. [...] Ex Fracta 10 Novembris 1486" [I wrote the little commentary of mine that you admire when I wished to relax and to do absolutely nothing so as to refresh my mind rather than to exert it. It is only a prelude to the commentary I am planning to write on Plato's Symposium, in which there will be something for you, who in any event love and praise all my works, to love and praise] (Pico 1971, 1:382). 39 Instead of "rimanersi," I choose "rimuovere," from the Giunta edition published in Florence in 1519. 40 Commento sopra una canzona de amore (Pico 1942, 578). 41 Pico (1942, 537–38). 42 The earthly Venus is human love; the heavenly Venus, divine love (see Pausanias 180c–185c). See Panofsky (, 140ff.). 43 Another difference with respect to Marsilio Ficino could perhaps depend on the same experience, which Pico affirms "che in Dio non sia bellezza, perché la bellezza include in sé qualche imperfezione" ("beauty is not in God, because beauty contains in itself some imperfection"). See Commento (Pico 1942, 495); cf. Toussaint (, 56–57). 44 Wind (, 46ff.). 45 Cf. Pico, Commento (1942, 509). "Letizia" ["happiness"] is mentioned, but does not pertain to the three graces. 46 Cf. Panofsky (, 191ff.). 47 Dionisotti () reflected much on this theme. Stéphane Toussaint speaks of "bilinguismo filosofico di Pico, da un lato avvolto nei misteri della Qabbala e delle teologie poetiche, dall'altro esposto alla cruda luce di una ragione che osava criticare l'astrologia così cara al Ficino" ["Pico's philosophical bilingualism, on the one hand wrapped in the mysteries of the Cabala and in poetic theologies and, on the other hand, exposed to the harsh light of reason that dared to criticize the astrology that was so dear to Ficino"] (Toussaint , 3). 48 Hence, that secundum "according to," which quite frequently distinguishes the Conclusiones: according to Aquinas; according to Duns Scotus; according to Plato, Aristotle, the theology of the ancients, the Chaldeans, and others. I owe this important observation to Carlo Ginzburg. 49 Pico (1971, Opera omnia 1:385). Here there is probably an allusion to Mercury's petasus, and to Pico's role as mystagogue and a new Hermes (Bori , 57n67). 50 See the letter from Fratta to Girolamo Benivieni (Dorez , 358). 51 Perhaps Pico had in mind the inspired writer of Ps. 44.2: "Eructavit cor meum verbum bonum [...] lingua mea calamus scribae velociter scribentis" ["My heart hath uttered a good word [...]. My tongue is the pen of a scrivener that writeth swiftly."]. In his Vita, Giovan Francesco Pico (1963, 22) mentions Giovanni's "nimia in commentando velocitas" ["exceptional speed in glossing"]. 52 "Omnia vastantur, omnia ferrum corripit, omne/iam latus Ausoniae fremit armis" ["Everything is laid waste, the sword destroys all, all of Ausonia already roars in battle"] in Kristeller (, 1:99). It should be noted that the last verse, "iungant caesa fodera porca" ["the parties come together with the immolated sow"], is echoed in the Oration, §89: "quippe quae cesa utraque bestia, quasi icta porca, inviolabile inter carnem et spiritum foedus sanctissimae pacis sanciet" ["indeed, both beasts having been sacrificed like a stuck sow, it will ratify an everlasting pact of the most holy peace between the flesh and the spirit"], and also, in an analogous context, the fragment "de pace quaedam," which he speaks of in the letter to Benivieni of 12 November 1486. In 1486, the marquisate of Saluzzo is occupied by Charles I of Savoy. Duke Alfonso of Calabria, allied with the Orsini against the Colonna, who are on the side of Innocent VIII, invades the papal territories. 53 Ceretti (). 54 See the episode narrated by Giorgio Merula in a letter written around 1483. He remembers how he had visited Mirandola a little less than twenty years before, deviating from his route toward Bologna. Giovanni Pico's mother, Giulia Boiardo, was alone with her three children, Caterina, Lucrezia, and Giovanni, because her husband, Giovanni Francesco, was at war in Calabria. Giorgio Merula recalls how the nurse, bringing Giovanni, who had just been born a little while before, into the dining room, jokingly asked: "What shall we do with this baby?" "Arma an litteras sequetur"? ["Will he be a soldier or a scholar?"]. Merula adds that the nurse guessed perfectly (Dorez , 356). Gianfrancesco affirms in the Vita that Giovanni "odiava la milizia secolare e il vincolo della vita coniugale" ["hated the secular militia and the ties of married life"], and the first even more than the second (G. F. Pico 1963, 72). 55 Giovan Francesco Pico (1963, 40–42). Sorbelli here translates "simultas" as "smarrimento" ("confusion"), whereas he had translated it just before (ibid., 36–37) as "animosità" ("animosity"). 56 The combative but often inadequate study of W. G. Craven (), however, constitutes an introduction to the historiographical debate around Pico and especially around the Oration. 57 See also Reinhardt's "De illis Pici vestigiis quae in regno theologiae [...] supersunt" (1994). Among those who continued this tradition are Dulles (), Di Napoli (), and Roulier (). 58 See the letter to Ficino in Opera omnia (Pico 1971, 367) ("[...] in quibus et illa quoque, quae apud Graecos mendosa et mutila circumferuntur, leguntur integra et absoluta" ["[...] there [in their homeland] and in the works [of the Chaldeans], which are circulated among the Greeks in a defective and damaged state, [the Oracles] are read whole and complete"]) and the Oration: "Quando permulti hique pretiosiores eorum libri ad nostros nullo interprete pervenerunt, et horum qui pervenerunt tum plures perverterunt potius quam converterint illi interpretes, tum certe omnibus eam caliginem obscuritatis offuderunt, ut quae apud suos facilia, nitida et expedita sunt, apud nostros scrupea facta laciniosa studiosorum conatum eludant plurimum atque frustrentur" ["When these far more precious books of theirs came to us without translation, many of them were too corrupt for the translators to repair. It is certain that at that point they were darkened by the shadows of obscurity such that what was easy, clear and free to them became among us difficult and thorny subjects that eluded many scholars and frustrated their attempts to unravel them"] (in Garin , 239). 59 I owe to Franco Bacchelli, to whom I am very grateful, the important information that the copy of the Oration contained in the Palatino 885 manuscript was written by Giovanni Nesi, the author of the Oraculum de novo saeculo (1497), pronounced from the grave by Giovanni Pico. On this "familiare di Marsilio Ficino e devoto di Frate Girolamo" ["relative of Marsilio Ficino and devotee of Brother Girolamo"], see Vasoli (1997, 68), who defines him precisely in this way. The edition of the Oraculum begins on p. 110. On Nesi, see also Walker (, 51–58). In a singular fusion of prophetism and hermeticism, the Oraculum exalts in Savonarola, in the voice of Giovanni Pico, the complete realization of a Gnostic-prophetic ideal, whose greatest prototype for Nesi had been precisely Giovanni Pico, in particular with his Oration. In an initial comparison between the Oration and the Oraculum, one's attention is particularly drawn to the portrait of Savonarola, possessor of the "multiplex philosophia" ("multifaceted philosophy") that stretches upward to "theologia domina" ("Lady Theology") at the top of Jacob's ladder; see Oraculum, 40v–41r (in Vasoli , 114). "Multiplex philosophia" is also in 73r, 126 (see Oration §§87–97), and on Christ "tam benigne vocantem" ["so gently called"] (73r, in Vasoli , 126; cf. Oration §18 R, "Tam blande vocati, tam benigniter invitati" ["so gently called, so calmly invited"], with the same evangelical reference: ["Come to me"] Matt. 11:28). Nesi's interest in the Oration was not casual since he copied at an earlier time a defective version, then put it aside in order to draw on the Oration for his Oraculum de novo saeculo, which had just been published by Gianfrancesco. 60 Around 5,000 characters compared with 28,000 in R, which as a whole contains around 52,000 characters. 61 Pico writes to Corneus: "Exitialis haec illa est et monstrosa persuasio, quae hominum mentes invasit, aut non esse philosophiae studia viris principibus attingenda, aut summis labiis ad pompam potius ingenii, quam animi cultum vel ociose etiam delibanda. Omnino illud Neoptolemi habent pro decreto, aut nil philosophandum, aut paucis [...] ergo vicio alicui vertetur, et virtutem ipsam virtutis gratia nil, extra eam quaerens perpetuo affectet et prosequatur quod divina mysteria, naturae consilia perscrutans, hoc perfruatur ocio, caeterarum rerum despector et negligens, quando illa possunt sectatorum suorum vota satis implore. Ergo illiberalem aut non omnino principis erit non mercenarium facere studium sapientiae. Quis aequo animo haec aut ferat aut audiat?" ["Men's minds have been invaded by the ruinous and monstrous conviction that noblemen ought to refrain from philosophical studies or, at most, that they should taste them only with the edge of their lips in order to show off their intelligence rather than putting them into practice, in peace, so as to better themselves. They wholeheartedly consider Neoptolemus's saying as a decree: no one, or just a very few, should engage in philosophy. [...] Even the virtue of one who, for love of virtue, seeks nothing other than virtue, lovingly pursues the divine mysteries, fathoms the plans of nature and enjoys this leisure, neglecting and despising all other things, is therefore transformed into some vice even though these things are enough to satisfy the needs of those who pursue them. Would it therefore be ignoble or wholly improper for a nobleman gratuitously to pursue wisdom? Who could hear or tolerate such a thing without irritation?"] (Pico 1971, 1:377). Compare this with the Oration (§§153–55): "Ita invasit fere omnium mentes exitialis haec et monstrosa persuasio, aut nihil aut paucis philosophandum. Quasi rerum causas, naturae vias, universi rationem, Dei consilia, caelorum terraeque mysteria, pre oculis, pre minibus exploratissima habere nihil sit prorsus, nisi vel gratiam inde aucupari aliquam, vel lucrum sibi comparare possit. Qui eo deventum est ut iam (proh dolor!) non existimentur sapientes nisi qui mercennarium faciunt studium sapientiae" ["Thus, nearly everyone's mind has been invaded by the ruinous and monstrous conviction that either no one or only a very few may study philosophy. As if having before our eyes and at our fingertips the causes of things, the ways of nature, the logic of the universe, the divine plan and the mysteries of Heaven and Earth were a thing of very little worth, unless accompanied by the possibility of garnering some favour or making a profit. Instead, it has now reached the point (what sorrow!) where only those who reduce the study of wisdom to a business are considered wise"]. Cf. Bori (, 73–75). 62 Bausi (, 111) indicates as terminus a quo 7 December 1486, the publication of the Theses, and as terminus ante quem 20 February 1487, when it was clear that the debate would not take place because Innocent VIII prohibited it and called a committee of inquiry. 63 Given that it is possible to compare R (1496) with P (1486) for the first part and with the Apologia (1487) for the second part, eventual minor editorial interventions not by Giovanni but by Gianfrancesco Pico do not emerge, in my opinion, as a subsequent phase in the history of the draft (Bori , 82–83). ## Chronology Francesco Borghesi ### 1463 On 24 February, Giovanni Pico dei Conti di Mirandola e Concordia was born in the castle of Mirandola. On that day – according to the tale related by his nephew Gianfrancesco – a circle of fire appeared for a split second over his mother's bed. Of his two sisters, Caterina and Lucrezia, the first married Lionello Pio da Carpi in 1473 and the second Pino Oderlaffi da Forlì in 1475. His brothers, Galeotto and Anton Maria, were perpetually fighting over the estate, nurturing a family feud that would one day cost Gianfrancesco his life. Giovanni's father died soon after his birth, and he was raised by his mother, Giulia Boiardo, who wanted him to pursue an ecclesiastical career. ### 1477 Pico departed for Bologna at the age of fourteen to study canon law in accordance with the wishes of his mother, who died in August 1478. ### 1479 Uninterested in the political and financial squabbles that divided his brothers after his mother's death, Pico decided to pursue activities that were more in line with his own budding interests. In late May, he found himself in Ferrara, where he began to study philosophy at the faculty of arts and also to learn ancient Greek. It was in Ferrara that Pico met two important figures: Battista Guarini, who later became his teacher, and Girolamo Savonarola, whom Pico impressed with his erudition in the public debate that, as protonotary, he held with Lorenzo Nogarola. ### 1480 Fifteen months later, in 1480, Pico, barely eighteen, was in Padua, broadening his knowledge of philosophy at what was then Italy's most famous university. He remained there for two academic years, making important contacts and studying Aristotle and his commentators, especially Averroes. It was this discovery of Arabo-Judaic thought that led to his close ties to a group of intellectuals who were actively disseminating such ideas throughout Italy, including Girolamo Ramusio and, particularly, Elia del Medigo. Another noteworthy individual whom Pico met in Padua was the Aristotelian Nicoletto Vernia, a scholar of Averroes who, unlike Elia del Medigo, could only read his works in Latin translation. ### 1482 Pico spent the summer of 1482 in his castle in Mirandola, departing in the fall for Pavia, where he decided to dedicate himself to the study of philosophy, Greek, and rhetoric. There he also studied late Aristotelian texts, such as those of the calculatores (the students and theorists of logic and language and some of the followers of Richard Swineshead, the fourteenth-century theological master at Oxford). Pico's reading of the calculatores is still evident in one of his late works, the Disputationes adversus astrologiam divinatricem. Through Angelo Poliziano, whom he met in Mantua in 1472, Pico began to take an interest in the Florentine literary movement; indeed, it was then that he asked Marsilio Ficino for a copy of his Theologia Platonica. Once again, under the influence of Elia del Medigo, he read and meditated on the work of John Philoponus and revised the amorous lyrics that he had begun composing several years earlier. ### 1483 In 1483, an agreement on the division of the family estate having been reached between his brothers, Pico at the age of twenty became one of the wealthiest men in Italy and free from all petty worries. While dedicating himself to philosophy in Padua and Pavia, Pico had carried on with his poetry. In May, he sent some of his compositions to Poliziano, who subsequently invited him to Florence. A new and decisive stage in the intellectual life of the Count of Mirandola and Concordia was initiated in the city of Lorenzo the Magnificent. ### 1484 In 1484, Pico read the Theologia Platonica of Ficino, who later recalled how Pico, seized by enthusiasm, had forced him to tackle Plotinus shortly after he had published his translation of Plato. Nevertheless, Pico took pains to assure his friends that he had not deserted the Aristotelian school but was simply an explorer (explorator) of new territory who was still dedicated to the ideas of the ancients. A crowd of various characters gathered around Pico: physicians and Jewish philosophers, Aristotelians, Platonists, and poets, as well as scholars of Dante and Petrarch. Chief among all these relationships was the protective and generous friendship of Lorenzo de' Medici. Even Elia del Medigo followed Pico to Florence, where he continued to work for him, translating from Hebrew Averroes's paraphrase of Plato's Republic as well as some of his logical quaestiones. One of Ficino's letters likewise informs us that Elia often held debates in Pico's house on philosophical and religious matters with another converted Jew, Guglielmo Raimondo de Moncada, also known as Flavius Mithridates. The latter soon began teaching Hebrew to Pico, who was impatient to learn the language of the Bible. It appears that Mithridates was a rather peculiar character with a difficult personality. In fact, he once demanded that Pico, if he wished to continue his lessons in Aramaic (Pico's "Chaldean"), serve as a go-between with a youth from Faenza called Lancillotto, whom Mithridates desired as a lover. ### 1485 Emphasis is often placed on Giovanni Pico's "official" entrance on the Italian cultural scene in 1485 with his polemic against Ermolao Barbaro, who taught Aristotle in Padua. Toward the end of 1482, Pico wrote Barbaro a letter expressing his admiration for the man's learning and his own regret that he had not had a chance to meet him during his sojourn in Padua (Barbaro had been in Venice at the time). The two began exchanging letters, which led to Barbaro's critique of the so-called barbarous philosophers, who used plain, overly technical, and dry language. Nowadays, Pico's response, in the celebrated letter entitled De genere dicendi philosophorum, is viewed as one of the greatest examples of Renaissance rhetoric. In it Pico proclaims that philosophical research need not conform to a single, harmonious style if such an approach impedes the pursuit of truth. Pico likewise dealt with the relationship between content and form in a long missive to Lorenzo the Magnificent, praising him for a collection of poems written in the vernacular. Having exalted the poetic works of the young prince, Pico set up a comparison between Dante and Petrarch. Inasmuch as Petrarch was lacking in content and Dante in form, the author of the letter clearly expressed his preference for Dante. Indeed, Petrarch comes across as a virtuoso, an artist, but not as a thinker; he was too self-satisfied, whereas Dante, who exhibited a very different nature, presented his material with great vigour. Initially fascinating, Petrarch's poetry ultimately proved less satisfying than Dante's profundity. Pico's argument appeared to be based on the philosophical leanings of all three authors. Pico praised Lorenzo not so much for his poetry, however, as for his ability to expound Aristotle's Physics, Ethics, and De anima and the ideas of the Platonists. In addition, Pico laid stress on the analytical aspects of Lorenzo's annotations in prose that appeared in the margins of his sonnets, which were meant not so much to delight as to heighten consciousness. ### 1485–1486 Constantly on the move, Pico appeared in Paris in July 1485 at the Sorbonne, where he remained until the beginning of the following year. Although information on this period is scarce, the experience of studying in the most important university in the world was no doubt a positive one, so much so that Pico often boasted of his skill at using the disputative style of the "celebratissimorum Parisiensium disputatorum." It is not unreasonable to assume that it was in Paris that Pico came up with the idea of putting his own philosophical and theological positions – as well as his political project – to the test in a public debate, even though such an event would have differed from traditional university debates in scope and significance. ### 1486 Pico's reentry into Florence marked what could be called the most tormented period of his brief life. In fact, 1486 was an extraordinary year for the young scholar. Having just completed his studies in Paris, the twenty-three-year-old returned in March to Florence, where he stayed among his friends (Lorenzo de' Medici, Angelo Poliziano, Marsilio Ficino, and Girolamo Benivieni) until 8 May, when he left for Rome. Two days later, he caused a remarkable scandal in Arezzo when he attempted to abduct Margherita, wife of Giuliano di Mariotto de' Medici, from her home. Distraught by the experience, he retired to Perugia, whence he proceeded to Fratta on account of the plague. There he finally managed, through work and penitence, to overcome the bitterness and shame of the deplorable affair. He wrote a commentary on a canzone written by his friend Girolamo Benivieni, collected nine hundred theses, or Conclusiones, meant to be discussed at a conference on philosophical peace that was to be held in Rome in January 1487 (to which scholars would be invited at his own expense), and composed an introductory Oration to the Conclusiones. By 7 December, he was in Rome, where the Conclusiones were set in print. At this point, another scandal erupted: the commission appointed to examine the theses condemned some of them, and Pope Innocent VIII cancelled the upcoming conference. Pico defended himself in the Apologia, into which he incorporated large sections of the Oration. By this time, however, the momentous year of 1486 had drawn to a close. ### 1487 It is clear that Pico felt he had much to offer to the Church of Rome and believed that his theorizing in no way ran counter to the principles of Christian theology. Fortified by these convictions and by the confidence of youth, Pico rededicated himself to the preparation of the Roman event. By November 1486, the Conclusiones had been prepared. The text was published on 7 December in Rome at the press of Eucharius Silber. Pico, as stated previously, invited theologians and philosophers for the days following the Epiphany of 1487. Nevertheless, his arrival in Rome was immediately complicated by voices of dissent that definitively convinced the pope to suspend the debate. The papal brief, Cum injunctio nobis, of 20 February 1487, encharged Giovanni Monisart, Bishop of Tournai, with the task of organizing a commission of seven bishops (among whom was Pedro Garcia), two generals of religious orders, and eight theologians and canons. The commission convened from the second to the thirteenth of March 1487. Pico was present at the debate, but only for the first five days. After that, he was no longer allowed to participate. Seven theses were immediately condemned, then another six. After a more thorough analysis, the first seven were condemned absolutely, while the other six were only censored. The secretaries of the trial, Johannes Cordier, a theologian from the Sorbonne, and the ailing Marco de Miroldo, were not favourably disposed to Pico. Exasperated and convinced of the correctness of his own reasoning, Pico quickly drafted an apologia in which he treated and clarified the thirteen contested theses. Once again, the effect was not what he had hoped for, and the Roman Curia viewed the publication of the Apologia on 31 May 1487 as an act of insubordination. In a brief dated 6 June, Innocent VIII summoned the tribunal of the Inquisition, and on 31 July Giovanni signed an act of submission that granted permission for the copies of the Conclusiones to be burned at the stake, but the bull Et si injuncto nobis, dated 4 August, absolved him personally of all condemnation. It is interesting that the bull was not publicized until 15 December, together with the warrant for his arrest. Pico saw no alternative but to flee from Rome. ### 1488 Pico was seized at the beginning of 1488 between Grenoble and Lyon, whence he was escorted to Paris under the supervision of papal nuncios. All the same, he was protected by the king, who confined him in the castle of Vincennes lest he be turned over to the Vatican. In the end, Pico was able to leave France unharmed, thanks to a special royal permit. He returned to Florence in April of the same year. After Pico returned to Florence, we come across another erudite Jew, R. Yohanan Alemanno, a physician raised in Tuscany in a family of bankers. Many scholars consider Alemanno one of the most widely learned Jewish intellectuals among Pico's circle of collaborators, capable, among other things, of reading Arabic sources in Hebrew. Pico found himself writing his commentary on the Song of Songs in a thoroughly homogeneous intellectual climate: Ficino had written his commentary on Plato's Symposium and Girolamo Benivieni his Canzone d'amore, afterward annotated by Pico. ### 1489 With his return to Florence, Pico entered an extremely productive period that would result in the publication of the Heptaplus and De ente et uno as well as the composition of the Disputationes adversus astrologiam divinatricem and the great moral letters to his nephew Gianfrancesco. Most likely, this new impetus in his studies was motivated by his need to overcome the bitter vicissitudes of Rome and perhaps also by his desire for spiritual redemption. Both in a letter to Andrea Corneus of 1489 and in the preface to the Heptaplus, he announced that he was working on a systematic commentary on the Psalms, which, however, he never carried to completion. The Heptaplus came out in print in summer 1489 and was financed by Roberto Salviati. The idea behind this work is that "the seven days of creation" contain all of nature's secrets and that in his books Moses had revealed all of human wisdom and all that the spirit of God had told him. In this same period, Pico also conceived and wrote De ente et uno, which circulated in Florence in manuscript form. This work was dedicated by Pico to his friend Poliziano, who had insistently asked him to intervene in a dispute between the Platonists – in the persons of Lorenzo de' Medici and Marsilio Ficino – and the Peripatetics or those who, like Poliziano, had always studied the texts of Aristotle. In reality, Pico seemed to disagree with the very principles of the debate and used the invitation as an occasion to articulate in public his theories on concord. To set Plato against Aristotle had long been one of the most arduous intellectual tasks, so much so that the ideology of humanism had come up with two diverse cultural strategies for dealing with, and certainly two different models of understanding, the two philosophers. Pico did not succeed in bringing the enterprise to a conclusion, but he left in De ente et uno a very interesting model of how he would have proceeded. ### Final Years In 1492, Giovanni wrote important moral letters to his nephew Gianfrancesco, the first from Ferrara, dated 15 May, and the second written on 2 July, which was followed by a third on 27 November. In these letters, Pico laid out the balance of existence itself and attempted to summarize all its precepts: it was not the world that was the adversary here but those things in it, such as ignorance, insanity, and greed, that needlessly wear out man's soul. One had to know how to liberate oneself from these afflictions. This, essentially, was his advice to his nephew. In the final years of his life, Pico seems to have directed his intellectual energy toward theological and spiritual studies, the mystery of life and grace, and the figure of the cross. He followed the sermons of Savonarola, toward whose arrival in Florence he himself had contributed. Pico's final work was conceived in the silence and solitude of his villa in Fiesole. This was the unfinished Disputationes adversus astrologiam divinatricem, the most comprehensive of all his projects. Published posthumously by his nephew Gianfrancesco in the 1496 edition of Pico's works, the Disputationes did not fail to arouse interest and stimulate much discussion. The subject was at the centre of the period's cultural debates: Girolamo Savonarola immediately prepared a compendium in Italian, and Giovanni Mainardi and Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa praised it; however, others, such as Giovanni Pontano, Luca Bellanti, Girolamo Torrella, Pietro Pomponazzi, and Jean Bodin, criticized it in various ways, sometimes severely. The Disputationes appeared just as interest in astrology was being reawakened. ### Death Giovanni Pico died amid uncertain circumstances in Florence on 17 November 1494, with Girolamo Savonarola at his side. By this point, his estate had been granted to charitable institutions and his nephews, and his well-stocked library to his brother Anton Maria. On the same day, Charles VIII entered Florence. ## The Oration's Printed Editions Michael Papio Like all great works of philosophy and literature from the past, the Oration on the Dignity of Man has a publication history that reflects the importance accorded to it by its readers over the course of time. When its themes are of greatest relevance, it appears more frequently in print. A glance at this record for the text from the 1400s to the present reveals two distinct periods of production, separated by three hundred years of "silence." Between the appearance of the editio princeps in 1496 and Heinrich Petri's 1572–73 reprint of Pico's Opera, the Oration appeared ten times in the company of Pico's other works and once alone. Between 1905 and the publication of the volume you now hold in your hands, it appeared roughly another fifty times, both in the original Latin and in translation into modern languages, including (from the greatest to the fewest in number) Italian, English, Spanish, German, Portuguese, French, Swedish, Danish, Hebrew, Romanian, Catalan, Finnish, Serbo-Croatian, Dutch, Japanese, and Chinese. Naturally, one may expect a work such as this to be rather widespread among the generations immediately following that of its author, but the reasons that lay behind this feverish "rediscovery" in the second half of the twentieth century are not as clear. Perhaps its newfound relevance since the second half of the twentieth century is a response to the violence of war, the philosophical exigencies of human rights and decolonialization, or a combination of these and other motives as well. Whatever the causes, it is undeniably true that there is something in the Oration that is pertinent, even necessary, to the thought of our times. The various phases of the Oration's original composition have been reconstructed by scholars who, though occasionally in disagreement, have succeeded in providing the historical and biographical contexts that influenced Pico's decisions regarding which elements to include and which to modify or discard altogether.1 Our purpose in these few pages, however, is to review what took place once the text first appeared in print. Unlike some of his other works, the entire Oration was never published during Pico's lifetime.2 Although parts of it were included in the Apologia, it was not until 1496, two years after his uncle's early death, that Gianfrancesco Pico included it in the posthumous Opera printed in Bologna by Benedetto (di Ettore) Faelli.3 In that edition, Gianfrancesco wrote: > Leges [...] orationem elegantissimam, iuvenili quidem alacritate dictatam, sed a doctoribus prae doctrinae et eloquentiae fastigio saepius admiratam; nec te moveat si plurima in eius calce convisuntur quae et in Apologiae sunt inserta proemio, quando illud foras publicaverit, hanc domi semper tenuerit, nec nisi amicis comunem fecerit.4 > > [You will read [...] a most elegant oration, dictated in fact with youthful alacrity but very often admired by learned men for the loftiness of its doctrine and eloquence. Do not be put off if much of what is treated at its close is also to be found in the Apologia's proem, for he would have published it had he not kept it private and had he not [already] made it available to his friends.] This oratio elegantissima ("most elegant oration") still had not taken on the title by which we have come to know it.5 Pico, as far as we know, never gave it a precise name; it has been suggested that he originally intended to call it the Oratio ad laudes philosophiae ("Oration in Praise of Philosophy"),6 but the evidence for this is slight. Not long after the Bolognese edition of 1496, though we cannot know precisely when,7 there appeared another publication of Pico's Opera, which is no more than a reproduction of the editio princeps. Though it, too, bears the colophon of Faelli, scholars have identified it as a product of Jacobino Suigo and Nicolas Benedict, who had it printed in Lyon.8 The third instance of the Oration's publication, this time in Venice, dates from 1498 and, with the exception of the order in which some of the works are presented, is essentially the same as the first two. Indeed, although some of the extant copies carry the Bernardino Vitali colophon, others are attributed directly to Faelli. The actual editor, it would seem, was not Vitali (who apparently employed the same character set nowhere else) but Antonio Moretus.9 The fourth publication of Pico's Opera was put together by Jakob Wimpheling and Hieronymus Emser (two men who, curiously, had conflicting views on Lutheranism) and completed in 1504 by Johann Prüss's press in Strasburg. It was in this version that the Oration (still called Oratio quædam elegantissima in its index) appeared for the first time with the subtitle de hominis dignitate ("on the Dignity of Man").10 It is worth noting that such a title actually refers most precisely only to the first section of the work (§§1–50), while the remainder would in fact seem to be best described as an encomium of philosophy. Two years later, Pico's Opera was printed yet again, and in this version, printed in Reggio Emilia by Ludovico Mazzali11 five months after the press's completion of Guarino Veronese's Regulae grammaticales, the Oration resumed what had been until then its traditional title. In 1517, the Oration was included in the first compilation of the Opera to be printed outside of Italy: the Parisian version of Jean Petit.12 The Oratio quædam elegantissima followed on the heels of the De ente et uno, just as it had done in all previous versions of Pico's collected works. In 1519, the Opera was published again by the Venetian press of Guglielmo da Fontaneto,13 which in the same year also put out copies of La uita el transito et gli miraracoli [sic] del beatissimo Sancto Hieronymo doctore excellentissimo, the pseudo-Augustinian Soliloquia animae ad Deum, and Priscian's Grammar with the glosses of Johannis de Aigre. These titles, and the fact that the pseudo-Cyprian Carmen de ligno crucis was presumably bound accidentally within Pico's works, lead one to assume (correctly) that this was no great step forward in Pico studies. The year 1530, however, marks an interesting moment for the Oration, inasmuch as it was printed for the first time independent of Pico's Opera omnia, a decision taken much earlier for other works, such as the Apologia and the Epistles. The place was Basel, Switzerland, and the printer Heinrich Petri14 (direct ancestor of the owners of the modern Schwabe publishing house – the oldest still in existence). On the frontispiece of this edition, the Oration, which appears with Pico's glosses on Psalm 15 and two other works, bears the impressive title Oratio de homine Ioannis Pici Mirandulae, ubi sublimiora et sacrae et humanae philosophiae mysteria explicantur ("Giovanni Pico della Mirandola's Oration on Man, in Which are Explained the Most Sublime Mysteries of Both Sacred and Human Philosophies"). Petri was also responsible for the following edition of the Oration, contained in Pico's Opera of 1557,15 for which the publisher this time returned to the 1504 Strasburg edition for its title: Oratio de hominis dignitate. This appended phrase is one that has stuck with the work to the present day. Unfortunately, however, Petri took the text from Gianfrancesco's 1496 editio princeps, which contained several typographical errors. Despite the fact that many of them were corrected in the errata corrige of Pico's nephew, Petri's editors seem not to have noticed. Given the great influence of the Petri editions over the centuries, this is an oversight that produced substantial defects in subsequent editions.16 Of particular interest to anyone concerned with publishing history is the intriguing tidbit that this is the first edition of the Opera to contain Johann Reuchlin's De arte cabalistica (ad intelligenda loca quaedam Pici, magno usui futura lectori ["for the comprehension of those passages of Pico's that will be of great use to the reader"]). One may well wonder what role Johannes Herold, the volumes' erudite humanist editor, played in this choice. In addition to being responsible for the fourth edition of Petrarch's collected works for Petri in 1554, Herold was a Swiss-German polyglot and editor with a taste for syncretism in his own right. His studies ranged from the Greco-Roman to the medieval, to Italian humanism, to Zoroaster and the Middle East.17 Essential to a full understanding of the dynamics here in play is the fact that the Basel humanists (such as Reuchlin, Lefèvre, and Beatus Rhenanus, to name but a few) were deeply concerned with Pico and the concept of human dignity. It is by no means a coincidence that Erasmus's language often echoed that of these Basel scholars in their programme of Christian humanism.18 In Italy, during that same year of 1557, the Milanese editor Girolamo Scoto produced his own edition of Pico's Opera in Venice.19 A musician and bookmaker generally concerned with the texts of Alexander of Aphrodisias (Aristotelian philosopher, fl. 198–211 AD) and Alessandro Achillini (1463–1512, professor of philosophy at the University of Bologna), Scoto seems to have enjoyed some success with this publication, insofar as the number of his tomes that remain extant is roughly the same as that of Petri. This is a fact that may, however, say more about the eagerness of the reading public of 1557 than about the quality of Scoto's edition. On the frontispiece, the Oration is entitled Oratio quædam elegantissima de Hominis celsitudine & dignitate ("A Certain Most Elegant Oration on the Excellence and Dignity of Man"), which may suggest some partial influence exercised by (the success of?) the Petri edition. Scoto's edition, despite its claim to present a complete corpus of Pico's work, omits the Commento and the Esposizione. We owe the final two pre-modern editions of the Oration to the Petri publishing house as well. The first of these, published in Basel in 1572–73 by Heinrich Petri, describes the work in both its index and its document header with the title De hominis dignitate ("On the Dignity of Man").20 Worthy of note is the fact that the editors elected to put Pico's works into the first volume and an incomplete collection of his nephew's into the second.21 Like its 1557 predecessor, this edition also contains Reuchlin's De arte cabalistica. The next and last early edition is that of 1601, published in Basel by Sebastian Henricopetri, the son of Petri who, upon being knighted in 1556 by Charles V, had assumed this new cognomen for his descendants.22 While the Oration was never the most popular among the works selected for publication between the end of the 1400s and the 1900s (this honour belongs to Pico's Epistles), its absence from the bibliographic record between 1601 and 1905 is a symptom of the waning interest in Pico's writings as a whole rather than in this specific text. The 1700s produced nearly nothing of particular value in editions of Pico's writings, and the century that followed, in which the publishers' interest turned principally to Pico's neglected works (such as his vernacular and Latin verses and some previously unpublished letters), overlooked the Oration altogether. The nineteenth century, however, would indeed prove invaluable for the initial appearance of what we would now call serious scholarship (e.g., Massetani, Di Giovanni, and even Oreglia), which in turn would set the stage for the veritable boom in editions in the twentieth. The first modern translation was published in 1905 in a volume of Pico's selected works edited by Arthur Liebert, a member, like Cassirer, of the Neo-Kantian Marburger School.23 Semprini's study, entitled La filosofia di Pico della Mirandola, contained in its appendix the first Italian translation of the Oration, unaccompanied by the original text.24 Herbert Werner Rüssel produced another translation of the work into German in 1940, prefaced it with a brief essay on humanistic theology, and included some of Thomas More's translation of Gianfrancesco's biography (also in German).25 In that same year, Charles Glenn Wallis published his own translation, under the title The Very Elegant Speech on the Dignity of Man,26 the first to appear in English and one in which the historical uncertainty of the title is visible. Indeed, in this initial edition, reproduced from typewritten copy, we read: "The first translation into this language of Oratio elegantissima de dignitate hominis." Wallis, poet and translator of Latin, Greek, and French, had already prepared English versions of works by Baudelaire, Plato, Porphyry, Kepler, Copernicus, and Grosseteste before turning his hand to Pico. In 1941, Bruno Cicognani's translation appeared,27 followed a year later by that of Eugenio Garin,28 whose text was used by Elizabeth Livermore Forbes in her translation of selected passages from the Oration in The Journal of the History of Ideas 3 (1942): 347–54. Forbes went on to publish a complete translation of the work in 1948 for the very widely circulated volume of Cassirer, Kristeller, and Randall entitled The Renaissance Philosophy of Man.29 Thus, in this short war-torn span of about twelve years (1936–48), the Oration – after having lain nearly untouched for three centuries – was translated three times into Italian, twice into English, and once into German. The third English translation, that of Robert Caponigri, appeared in 1956.30 The Wallis-Forbes-Caponigri triad of English editions has been reprinted since then in various forms by various publishers without any substantial changes.31 The last fifty years have witnessed great advances in the publication of Pico's short speech, most notably represented in the Italian editions of Tognon (1987) and Bausi (Pico 2003). Unfortunately, however, none of this progress has been reflected in any English translation until now. The present edition not only brings much of the scholarship of the last half-century into the Anglophone debate over this important work but also contributes substantially in its own right to the study and interpretation of the text. 1 E.g., Garin (, 231–33), Bori (, 30–33, 73–84), and Bausi (, 108–16). 2 Pico's decision not to make its entire contents public was no doubt influenced by the events described by Pier Cesare Bori in his introduction to the present volume. 3 The 1496 edition is described in detail by Quaquarelli and Zanardi (, 101–10), who have provided the most complete index of Pico's works. However, one may also wish to consult the standard repertories as well as Pico (1942, 89–99), Valenziani (), and Ludovici (). 4 Cited from Garin (Pico 1994b, xxii–xxiii). 5 The Oration begins on folio QQ2r and is there entitled simply "Oratio Ioannis Pici Miran. Concordiae Comitis." On the index page, the work bears the title "Oratio quædam elegantissima" ("A Certain Most Elegant Oration"), which establishes de facto the convention followed in the work's appellation until 1504. 6 See Farmer (, 18–19). 7 Aquilon (, 113). 8 Quaquarelli and Zanardi (, 110–18). The Oration begins on folio T4v, 28. 9 The Oration begins on folio S6r. Evidence gleaned from the characters used in the printing of quinternions P and Q suggest that their production was entrusted to Cristoforo de' Pensi. See Quaquarelli and Zanardi (, 119–25). 10 Quaquarelli and Zanardi (, 175–76). 11 Quaquarelli and Zanardi (, 176–78). The Oration begins on folio S4r. 12 Quaquarelli and Zanardi (, 178–80). The Oration begins on folio e4r. 13 Quaquarelli and Zanardi (, 180–82). The Oration begins on folio N3r. 14 Quaquarelli and Zanardi (, 192–93). It should not escape our notice that Basel and Strasbourg traditionally considered themselves rival centres of humanistic publishing. Thanks largely to Petri, the former held sway in the production of Pico's texts. 15 Quaquarelli and Zanardi (, 182–84). The Oration begins on folio Dd1r. This Basel edition of 1557 was reprinted in Pico (1969b). 16 See Garin's introduction to his edition of Pico's works (in Pico 1942, 54–55). 17 See Burckhardt () and Bietenholz (). 18 See Bietenholz (), and see also Francesco Borghesi's introduction in the present volume. 19 Quaquarelli and Zanardi (, 184–88). The Oration begins on folio l1v. 20 Quaquarelli and Zanardi (, 188–91). The Oration begins on folio Dd1r. This Basel edition of 1572–73 was reprinted in Pico (1971, Opera omnia). Basel, a fiery centre of Reformation humanism, is responsible not only for the most important pre-modern editions of Pico but many other intimately related texts as well (e.g., Plato, Plotinus, and Ficino). 21 See Garin's notes in Pico (1971, 1:vii). 22 The history of the Petri family was traced by Cullman () and the family business by Hieronymus (). The edition is described by Quaquarelli and Zanardi (, 301–4). 23 Pico (1905). 24 The Oration appears on pp. 219–41 and bears the title Orazione sulla dignità dell'uomo. 25 Pico, Über die Würde des Menschen (1940). 26 Pico, The Very Elegant Speech (1940). 27 Pico (1941). This edition was reprinted in 1942 and again in 1943. 28 Pico (1942). 29 Pico (1948). See also Pico (1953). 30 Pico (1956). 31 The most significant among the slight modifications made to any of these translations since their original publication were those of Paul J. W. Miller, who inserted corrections into Wallis's version for the 1965 edition (see Pico 1998). For the sake of completeness, mention must also be made of the otherwise unremarkable translation of Fallico and Shapiro (Pico 1967). ## Interpretations Francesco Borghesi Ever since it began circulating at the end of the 1480s, the meaning of the Oration on the Dignity of Man has been open to debate. One of the problems related to a proper interpretation of Giovanni Pico's thought has been the absence of critical editions of his works and the relatively small number of in-depth investigations of his sources. In more recent years, especially after the five hundredth anniversary of his birth in 1963, a number of new studies and commented editions of his texts have appeared, offering new grounding for a theoretical assessment of his opus. The most influential interpretations in Pico studies are represented by scholars such as Giovanni Gentile,1 Ernst Cassirer,2 Eugenio Garin,3 and Paul Oskar Kristeller,4 who, in different ways, have seen in Pico a "modern" philosopher. Others, such as Frances Yates,5 Paola Zambelli,6 and Brian Copenhaver,7 have emphasized his interest in magic and astrology, as well as his close ties to the esoteric and cabalistic strains of the Renaissance. In opposition to these tendencies, there is yet another that places him in the theological continuum that began in the Scriptures, continued in the Church Fathers, and culminated in Scholasticism. This position is represented by the studies of Giovanni Di Napoli, Henri De Lubac, Heinrich Reinhardt, Fernand Roulier, Antonino Raspanti, Walter Euler, Pier Cesare Bori, and Louis Valcke.8 While these authors' arguments can vary a great deal,9 they remain in agreement on the theological relevance of Pico's work. At stake in these studies is more than the relevance of the Oration alone; rather, they take into consideration a comprehensive interpretation of Giovanni Pico's thought and its relation to the meaning of Renaissance humanism. It is interesting to note, however, that in a very recent biography of Pico, Louis Valcke dates the history of the myth of Giovanni Pico back to the classic study of Jacob Burckhardt, The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy (1860). Valcke writes that Burckhardt, in interpreting Renaissance humanism as a phenomenon presenting all the characteristics typically attributed to the modern period (such as a conceptual divide with the Middle Ages and an exaltation of man's freedom from a superior ontological order), makes reference to a passage of Pico's Oration. In Valcke's view, later interpretations, such as those of Ernst Cassirer and Eugenio Garin, have followed Burckhardt's footsteps in presenting Pico's Oration as the manifesto of the Renaissance. These interpretations made possible the building of a mythical image of a Promethean Pico as the symbol of his age and are likely to have provided the grounding for a "modernizing" idea of Renaissance humanism.10 The contentious passage originally quoted by Burckhardt concerns the interpretation of the section of the Oration that deals with the story of Creation. According to Pico, the dignity of man – opus indiscretae imaginis ("a creature of indeterminate image") and thus an image of God – lies in his calling to transcend all images by following a path that involves three stages: ethical transformation (action), intellectual research (reflection), and, finally, perfection through his identification with the ultimate reality. In Pico's interpretation, this paradigm must be considered universal insofar as it exists in every philosophical and theological tradition that was known to him: Christian, Jewish, Hellenistic, Islamic, Hermetic, and "Chaldean." This "path" derives from the conjunction of the Platonic and Stoic traditions in Philo of Alexandria but also depends on both Pseudo-Dionysius and Origen, the latter of which preserves the Solomonic roots of this arrangement in the prologue to his Commentary on the Song of Songs. Solomon is the author of Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and the Song of Songs, which respectively represent moral, natural, and contemplative modes of thought and, according to Origen, would have been the conduit through which this scheme was transmitted to Greece. Pico significantly omits the importance of Solomon and separates the second stage from the pessimism of Ecclesiastes, insisting in a very original fashion on the religious dignity of man's intellectual vocation. The Oration begins by declaring that the dignity of man, of which both biblical and philosophical traditions speak, is not sufficiently proven by the argument that man has a special, dominant position over creation. To understand the true nature of human dignity, Pico writes, one must turn to the story of Creation. He relates this story in his own way, explaining that the human being, unlike all other creatures, must define his own nature, in which the seeds of all beings are present; the human creature may thus either degenerate or realize his true calling.11 One will recall that, after studying in the most important scholarly centres of northern Italy, Pico came to Florence in the 1480s with the intention of applying every known intellectual tool and philosophical tradition to biblical exegesis. From 1484 to 1485, he focused on Ficino's pia philosophia while continuing to study Western and Eastern philosophy, neglecting neither the filosofi barbari (whom he defended in a famous letter directed against Ermolao Barbaro)12 nor Hebrew and Arabic sources. It was during this period that Pico's growing knowledge of a vast speculative corpus convinced him that concordia among philosophical and religious doctrines was not only possible but crucial.13 Over thirty years after Nicholas of Cusa's De pace fidei (1453) and nearly fifty years after the Council of Ferrara-Florence, the young philosopher attempted to promote his own version of Cusa's "peace of faith." Pico's concordia revealed his belief that the major doctrines of antiquity and the Middle Ages were essentially in harmony and that reconciliation was desirable wherever there were apparent differences of position. The outcome of this belief appears in his insistence on the possible attainment of a concordia in which religious and philosophical disagreements can be reconciled in order to achieve a "superior unity."14 This perspective was not new in that it had already been addressed in, for example, the philosophical programme of Boethius. Pico was essentially reformulating a well-known theme in medieval philosophical and theological thought by proposing the agreement of every philosophical and theological system in the pursuit of the unity of truth. His ultimate goal was to reveal that the ancient philosophical concept of the "One" is the "One Itself" or, more simply, "Being Itself." Werner Beierwaltes claimed that Pico's identification of the "One" with "Being" derived from his interest in demonstrating the concordia of Platonic and Aristotelian philosophy. According to Pico's metaphysical interpretation of Plato's Parmenides, the "One" of the first hypothesis is God; nevertheless, God as pure reality, according to Aristotelian theology, is "Being Itself" ("totius esse plenitudo, plenitudo ipsius esse"). What remains to be proven is that this "One" is and that pure "Being" not only is the "One" but also the "One Itself." It is certainly true that for Pico the sense of the proposition that God "is above Being" – a thesis maintained by Plato's Academy and by later Platonists – is not only transcended by this identity but, more importantly, is legitimized from a Platonic and Aristotelian point of view. The assertion "super ens, super unum, super verum" applied to pure "Being," identical to the "One Itself," meant unequivocally that the divine principle is not any particular, determined, concrete "Being" or "One" but rather "Being" and the "One Itself." These claims of unity had already been anticipated by Pseudo-Dionysius, who offered a definition of God as the "One above Being" in the sense of Exodus 3:14, "ego sum qui sum," and equally as pure "Being" – a further demonstration of Pico's thesis.15 According to Pico's own words in the Heptaplus: > Hoc distamus a caelo, quod illum naturae necessitate, nos pro nostra libertate movemur. Pulsat enim assidue animum tuum spiritus motor. Si obaudias, tibi relinqueris tuo torpori, tuae infirmitati, miser et infelix. Si admittas, statim Deo plenus per orbem religionis ad Patrem, ad Dominum reportaris, in eo vitam semper possessurus, in quo et semper, etiam antequam fieres, vita fuisti. Haec est vera felicitas, ut unus cum Deo spiritus simus, ut apud Deum non apud nos Deum possideamus, cognoscentes sicut e cogniti sumus. Ille enim nos, non per nos, sed per se ipsum cognovit. Ita et nos cognoscemus illum per ipsum et non per nos. Haec est tota merces, haec est vita aeterna, haec est sapientia quam sapientes saeculi non cognoverunt, ut ab omni multitudinis imperfectione redigamur in unitatem per copulam indissolubilem cum eo qui est ipsum unum. > > [We differ from the heavens in that they are moved by the necessity of their nature and we in proportion to our freedom. The moving spirit knocks unremittingly at the door of your soul. If you fail to hear, you will be left wretched and unhappy in your own torpor and weakness. If you let it in, you will be carried back at once full of God, along the orbit of religion to the Father, to the Lord, to possess life forever in him, in whom you always had life even before you were made. This is true felicity, to be one spirit with God, so that we possess God in God, not in ourselves, but in himself, knowing him just as we are known. For he knows us not in ourselves, but in himself. Likewise we shall know him in himself and not in ourselves. This is our whole reward, this is the eternal life, this is the wisdom which the wise men of this world do not know, that from every imperfection of multiplicity we are brought back to unity by an indissoluble bond with him who is himself the One.] > > (Expositio septima de felicitate, quae est vita aeterna, Proemium libri septimi, Pico 1998, 152; Pico 1942, 336) This excerpt can be related to the passage in the Oration in which Pico writes: > Qui enim se cuipiam ex philosophorum familiis addixerunt, Thomae videlicet aut Scoto (qui nunc plurimum in manibus) faventes, possunt illi quidem vel in paucarum questionum discussione suae doctrinae periculum facere. At ego ita me institui, ut, in nullius verba iuratus, me per omnes philosophiae magistros funderem, omnes scedas excuterem, omnes familias agnoscerem. Quare, cum mihi de illis omnibus esset dicendum, ne, si privati dogmatis defensor reliqua posthabuissem, illi viderer obstrictus, non potuerunt, etiam si pauca de singulis proponerentur, non esse plurima quae simul de omnibus afferebantur. Nec id in me quisquam damnet, quod me quocumque ferat tempestas, deferar hospes. Fuit enim cum ab antiquis omnibus hoc observatum, ut, omne scriptorum genus evolventes, nullas quas possent commentationes illectas preterirent [...]. Et profecto angustae est mentis intra unam se Porticum aut Achademiam continuisse; nec potest ex omnibus sibi recte propriam selegisse, qui omnes prius familiaritates non agnoverit. Adde quod in una quaque familia est aliquid insigne, quod non sit ei commune cum caeteris [...]. Quid erat si Latinorum tantum, Alberti scilicet, Thomae, Scoti, Egidii, Francisci Henricique philosophia, obmissis Graecorum Arabumque philosophis, tractabatur, quando omnis sapientia a barbaris ad Graecos, a Graecis ad nos manavit? (§§179–93) > > [This is because those who have devoted themselves to any one of the schools of philosophy, siding for instance with Thomas or with Scotus, who are now most in fashion, can surely put their doctrines to the test in the discussion of but a few questions. As for myself, however, I have resolved – in order not to swear by the words of another – to pore over all masters of philosophy, to examine every page and to become acquainted with all schools. Therefore, since I was to speak of all of these doctrines (lest I seem committed to advocating one in particular as a result of having neglected the others), it was impossible for there not to be very many questions concerning all of them together, even if only a few questions were proposed in regard to each. Nor should anyone condemn me on this account, for "wherever the tempest carries me, there I am brought as a guest." For it was a rule observed by all the ancients in studying every kind of writer never to pass over any commentaries they were able to read [...]. And confining oneself within a single Porch or Academy certainly does show narrowness of mind. Nor can anyone rightly choose his own doctrine from them all, unless he has first made himself familiar with each of them. In addition, there is in each school something distinctive that is not shared in common with any other [...]. Inasmuch as all wisdom has flowed from the barbarians to the Greeks and from the Greeks to us, what would have been the point of dealing only with the philosophy of the Latins, that is, of Albert, Thomas, Scotus, Giles, Francis and Henry, while leaving the Greek and Arab philosophers aside?] Pico was pursuing religious unity, not merely the harmony of Platonic philosophy with Christianity. His aim was more ambitious than Marsilio Ficino's in that he intended to demonstrate – on textual and philological grounds – the fundamental harmony of all philosophical and religious doctrines. In doing so, Pico did not mean to say that everything these doctrines taught was fully true but that each one contained elements of truth, some of which could be called universally true.16 As Charles Schmitt notes, Pico "considered many roads to lead to the truth, parallel paths, as it were, which all lead to the same end, but which may reach it in different ways. He further considered all philosophical systems and all religions to contain a portion of truth, which would prove beneficial to those who studied them."17 Comparing Pico's and Ficino's ideals of "concord" might help further clarify the matter. Frederick Purnell, Jr., who did extensive work on the history of the concordia Platonis ac Aristotelis of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, analyzed Ficino's "concordism." Purnell regarded "concordism" as "one of the contexts in which many Renaissance philosophers, including Ficino and his closest followers, interpreted Plato's thought." With the term "philosophic concord," Purnell referred > to the tendency to view Plato's teaching as fundamentally in harmony with those of other major thinkers and to strive to effect a reconciliation wherever there are apparent differences of position. The culmination of this tendency may be found in the claim made by Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and others that a true concordia philosophica is possible, in which many, if not all, philosophical disagreements can be shown to be merely verbal or else reconciled by placing the discordant position in proper perspective.18 According to Purnell, two major traditions influenced "concordism" and exerted a significant influence on Ficino: the prisca theologia (also known as pia philosophia) and the comparatio of Plato and Aristotle. The former entails the belief in a tradition of ancient wisdom traceable to the sages of a remote past and was elaborated in the writings of George Gemistus Pletho, the Byzantine scholar of Neoplatonic philosophy. Purnell writes: "The acceptance of this tradition of ancient wisdom carried with it an inherent predisposition toward concordism. Since Plato was heir to the accumulated wisdom of his predecessors within the tradition, Ficino was naturally led to stress the points of agreement."19 The second tradition that influenced Ficino, the comparatio of Plato and Aristotle, refers to the history of the interpretation of the philosophies of Plato and Aristotle and addresses the extent to which the two thinkers are ultimately reconcilable. Some have suggested that such reconciliation can be extensive, illustrating the fundamental unity of outlook between Plato and Aristotle on many central philosophical issues. Others have regarded such a harmonization as something impossible to achieve without damaging the philosophers' core beliefs.20 While both of these trends have found advocates throughout the history of Western philosophy, Purnell analyzes the contribution of Ficino to the former, stressing the crucial influence of Henry Bate of Malines's Speculum divinorum et quorundam naturalium (composed between 1281 and 1305) and Gemistus Pletho's De differentiis Platonis et Aristotelis (1439) on Florentine Platonism. In this perspective, Pico, with Francesco da Diacceto, is seen as representing one of the first attempts to effect an overall harmonization of the views of Plato and Aristotle, thanks to the stimulus his project received from Ficino's acceptance of a place for Aristotelian natural philosophy within an overall Platonic program. The tradition of prisca theologia and the comparatio are singled out as the two main influences on Ficino's "concordism." Ficino, in return, is viewed as having a profound influence on the diffusion of both traditions.21 Although influenced by Ficino's treatment of the subject, Pico's argument aims to exceed the boundaries of his discourse on "concord." In the interpretation by Pier Cesare Bori, Pico's human dignity consists in the mystical vocation of the human creature, as a creature of indeterminate image, to transcend any image, becoming one with the divinity that is beyond representation, and human vocation is a mystical vocation that has to be realized following a three-stage way, which necessarily comprehends moral transformation, intellectual research, and final perfection in the identity with the absolute reality. According to Bori, who accentuates the mystical aspect, this paradigm is universal because it can be retraced in every tradition.22 Thus, Pico's thought is pervaded by a pluralistic perspective: many are the ways that lead to the same goal, although Pico professes one of these, the Christian way. If Pico is to be considered a "concordist," it is reasonable to assume that his conception of Christianity was "inclusive" and should therefore be opposed to another conception that could be called "exclusive." The "exclusive" conception of Christianity says that what is "different" cannot be included in the Christian tradition and therefore cannot be saved; hence the necessity of, for instance, conversion. An "inclusive" conception of Christianity would tend to include what is "different" in that even those who do not belong to the Christian religion would not necessarily be considered in error and therefore on the wrong "way." Thus, the Christian way would have to be considered one of a number of possible ways leading to the ultimate truth. In this sense, all philosophical systems and religions – all "cultures," we might say – may contain a portion of truth and may lead to the same end, which can be reached through different ways. Although Pico never provides a definition of concordia, many scholars refer to his "concordistic" tendencies.23 Indeed, it may sound surprising that there is a lack of agreement on what concordia actually is. In some cases, the reference seems to be made to an "inclusive" idea of concordia; in others, scholars seem to make reference to a "reductionist" notion of concordia, such as that of "concordia Platonis ac Aristotelis," on which Purnell expands.24 The notion of an "inclusivist" concordia, such as Bori's, belongs to the tradition of a pluralistic Christian theological doctrine that looks to include other (and apparently conflicting) theologies. This tradition helps better define Pico's "concordism" by way of the notion of "religious pluralism." In this perspective, Pico's idea of man's freedom is a power situated in what recently has been called a "theological teleology." The purpose of such freedom is to allow the human person to ascend to a higher place and, ultimately, to become one with God the creator. Pico's ontology implies a potential for diverse viewpoints without abandoning the Christian truth. The human person is capable, by virtue of his freedom, of viewing the world from different perspectives. This possibility is an empirical fact that presents the challenge of finding unity in diversity. Let us not forget that what we are concerned with here is a search, a dynamic process, and that, for Pico, despite the multiplicity of perspectives, truth is ultimately one. According to this critical stance, the oneness of truth reflects the deeper unity of things, as all multiplicity has originated from the One.25 If this perspective is sustainable, we encounter the question of religious diversity. Simply put, if there is one God, why are there so many different religious traditions? From the point of view of "religious pluralism," the fundamental fact is not religious diversity. Rather, it is a single truth expressed through multiple human ideas and languages.26 Consequently, placing Pico within the Christian tradition as a "religious pluralist" does not seem to raise any issues: he is not standing outside the Christian faith looking for a general truth to be found in all religions. This is why Pico can argue without embarrassment that the truth of non-Christian religious traditions confirms Christian truth in a Christological perspective. From a hermeneutical point of view, the subject gives rise to a methodological problem. The notion of concordia may be considered from either a "historical" or a "structural" perspective. It is possible to consider Pico's attitude within the context of the relationship of the various religious confessions of his time, as has been done by commentators such as Eugenio Garin and Cesare Vasoli, who have preferred to assume a "historical" stance. It is equally possible, however, to consider the structural relationships between mysticism and religious experience within different traditions according to a "structural" or "meta-historical" perspective, as Fernand Roulier, Stéphane Toussaint, and Pier Cesare Bori have done.27 From a theological point of view, Jacques Dupuis has recently raised the question as to whether religious pluralism can be accepted or tolerated as a de facto reality in our world or whether it can be seen as existing de jure.28Perhaps the issue was not dissimilar in Italy toward the end of the fifteenth century: a period full of ecumenical hopes in which numerous developments that, only a few decades later, would appear unthinkable might have felt possible. In the case of Giovanni Pico, the problem is whether his thought can be considered at once a real "pensée de la différence" ante litteram as well as a form of "universalism." In some cases, Pico's expectation is to "reach the absolute"; in others, it is to "come to know all schools." Whenever the reference is to transcendental truth and man's foundation in divine nature, the former prevails; when it relates to various doctrines that contain portions of truth, the latter takes over. The Neoplatonists, for instance, and, above all, Plotinus, reason in a "meta-historical" way and look at the agreement between Plato and Aristotle as a "structural" fact. The agreement comes to an end when, in their opinion, Aristotle is in error: his doctrine of Noûs is correct, but he considers Noûs, "Intelligence" intended as intuition, the first principle and not a derivative one. Plotinus claims not to be proposing anything new because the foundation of truth is transcendent and divine. But, after this suggestion, he continues on with a doxographic examination of the doctrines of different philosophers (Enneads V.1.8–9).29 It is not that one aspect is true and the other false; they are simply two different levels of reading and should be kept separate. Pico, in whose work it is possible to find both attitudes, held that every major theological tradition contained elements of truth and that these elements could be combined into a grand synthesis that was at the same time compatible with orthodox Christianity. Like Nicholas of Cusa in his Cribratio Alchorani (1460–61), he believed that previous theologians' understanding of the sources of their own theological traditions was not necessarily correct. In fact, his aim was to construct a new theology using material from existing historical theologies as building blocks. This "new" theology would be superior to those already in existence because it would give a richer understanding of Christian truths. This is not to imply that Pico was interested in directly challenging Christian dogmas. But he did wish (like many humanists) to move Christian theological speculation beyond the circle of traditional authorities. This is the background of an interpretive approach that, to a certain extent, has informed the work of most members of the Bologna–Brown Pico Project. It is, of course, not the only possible approach. Shortly after the appearance of the edition of the Oration by Saverio Marchignoli, another, by Francesco Bausi, was published. Bausi's is now considered the standard edition of the Oration, as it makes available the best Latin text,30 a very reliable translation in Italian, and invaluable commentary. It also offers a very interesting basis for comparison with the Marchignoli edition. In a way, this comparison can be appreciated as the perfect case study for the relationship between philology and interpretation insofar as the two editions are both based on solid textual ground while the authors' interpretations could not be more different. In the introduction to his edition, Bausi explains his interest in the Oration as a literary text. Thus his analysis, concerned with the stylistic, rhetorical, and linguistic aspects of the text, does not attempt to identify sources that can be only hypothetically considered as such. Instead, it aims to trace sources that have an impact on the textual fabric. He refuses the idea of proposing an interpretation of the Oration but makes clear that his study is geared toward establishing a textual basis on which to base a hermeneutical discussion. Bausi further argues that the Oration should be classified as belonging to the literary genre of the humanistic prolusiones: he clarifies that this would not diminish its importance, but it would underline the occasional character that it had in Pico's mind. In fact, Pico wrote the Oration as an introductory piece to the Conclusiones Nongentae, the nine hundred theses to be debated in Rome during a "council" organized by Pico in the presence of Pope Innocent VIII. He did not intend to give it any special theoretical meaning.31 However, Bausi seems to bring his opinion a step forward when he claims that, since it was so clearly linked to the project of the Roman dispute, the Oration is not – and was not considered by its author – a text with a theoretical independence of its own.32 This view is perhaps as extreme as the interpretation of those scholars who regard the Oration as carrying the seeds of Pico's "concordistic" ideal and believe that it can be taken seriously from a theoretical point of view, but it is nevertheless based on solid textual ground. An opposition to it can only rely on the same tools, which is what has been attempted by Pier Cesare Bori and the members of the Pico Project, who, despite the evident differences in their ways of approaching the same text, acknowledge the importance of Bausi's work and have addressed the present edition in open dialogue with it. The fact that Pico attempted to propagate his "concordistic" theology among authorities in Christendom through the Conclusiones Nongentae and the Oration becomes significant in that it suggests that Giovanni Pico had transformative aims as radical as those of the religious reformers of the succeeding generation. This notion should not sound too surprising, as the connection between humanist and Reformation thought has long been acknowledged by studies in both fields. Delio Cantimori noted that in Pico's writings one can retrieve several topics that will make an appearance in the radical reevaluation of the principles of theoretical speculation and civic life that informed the aspirations of Italian heretics in the sixteenth century.33 Eugenio Garin and Cesare Vasoli have emphasized several times the irenic significance of the Oration, in which peace and concordia are not only meant in a moral and philosophical sense but also in an ecclesiastical and civic one.34 According to Charles Lohr, "[a]fter Pico, the history of metaphysics shifted from the problem of God to the problem of being. It is no accident that the Fifth Lateran Council determined not only the supremacy of the pope to the councils, but also the metaphysical demonstrability of man's immortality."35 In recent years, a number of important editions of previously unknown texts have appeared concerning Pico's Hebrew and Arabic sources. These newly available texts cast light both on the way Pico was operating as a scholar of biblical, theological, and philosophical literature and on his philological methodology. They show how Pico's reading of Hebrew and Arabic texts was scarcely based on his own linguistic skills but rather dependent on the knowledge of his tutors, such as the Jewish intellectuals Flavius Mithridates and R. Yohanan Alemanno. The importance of these texts derives from the fact that they demonstrate how Pico used them, as well as from the influence that they had on both his own scholarship and the intellectual climate of European culture. The studies by Michela Andreatta on Mithridates' Hebrew–Latin translation of the Commentary on the Song of Songs by Gersonides;36 by Giulio Busi, Saverio Campanini, and Giacomo Corazzol on Pico's cabalistic library;37 by Fabrizio Lelli on Alemanno;38 and by Angelo Michele Piemontese and Benoît Grévin on Mithridates' and Pico's Korans39 bring to attention a great wealth of materials which will help to further contextualize Pico's thought in the realm of religious pluralism. These materials still require extensive analysis but might end up providing historical and philosophical studies with a new image of Renaissance humanism. 1 Gentile (; originally published in 1916). 2 Cassirer (). 3 See especially Garin (, , ) but also Garin (, ). For the complex interpretation of Giovanni Pico provided by Garin, see Vasoli (). 4 Kristeller (). 5 Yates (, originally published in 1964). For some recent assessments of the "Yates thesis" concerned with the fundamental value attached by Renaissance thinkers to the Hermetic-magical tradition, see the introduction by J. B. Trapp to Yates (, xvii–xxvi), and Idel (, ). 6 Zambelli (). See also Zambelli (, 251–327) and, for the hypothesis suggesting that the scientific revolution was promoted by, among other things, the Hermetic idea of man who is "magnum miraculum," see Rossi (, first edition published in 1957). 7 Copenhaver (2002a), but also Copenhaver (2002b). 8 Di Napoli (), De Lubac (), Reinhardt (), Roulier (), Raspanti (), Euler (), Bori (), and Valcke (). Valcke has written a great deal on Pico, but this last volume seems to summarize his interpretation. 9 For instance, while Reinhardt emphasizes the pre-modern character of Pico's "systematic thought," De Lubac sees him as a lay theologian who began but never completed the task of reconciling every human civilization with God through Christ. 10 While overstated, Valcke's point provides an idea of the magnitude of the issue. See Valcke (, 13–25). 11 Bori (, 464). But see also Lohr (, 578–84) and Dougherty (, 124–32). 12 See Bausi (1998a). 13 "Concord" has to be preferred over the notion of "syncretism," which is not part of the philosophical and theological dictionary of Pico and lacks specificity. Used in a broad sense, the term causes semantic confusion, as in Farmer (, ix–x, 18–29). 14 Vasoli (, 114–17) and Vasoli (, 264), but also Purnell (). 15 Beierwaltes (, 217–19). 16 See Euler (, 226–28). 17 Schmitt (, 305). 18 Purnell (, 397–98). 19 Purnell (, 398, 400). On prisca theologia, see Schmitt () and Walker (). 20 Purnell (, 402) and Mahoney (, 10–13). 21 Purnell (, 408–15). On Henry Bate and his Speculum, see Nardi (, 173–79), Gregory (), and Bate (, xiii–xxviii, but also xxxvi–xxxvii on Pico's manuscript containing Henry Bate's Speculum). On Pletho's De differentiis, see Kristeller (, 86–109), Monfasani (, 201–29), Hankins (, 193–208), and Monfasani (). This treatise, written in Greek, although mostly known by its Latin title, is the summary of a series of lectures given by Pletho in 1439 while a member of the Greek delegation to the Council of Florence. 22 Bori (, 464), but also Bori (, 85–94). 23 In the writings of Eugenio Garin, this notion has always been present, perhaps even central. At times, concordia is referred to as a Renaissance topos; see Hankins (, 64n79), who remarks that a forceful defence of philosophical "concord" was widespread among Renaissance humanists. 24 On the comparatio tradition, see Purnell (). 25 Sudduth (, 72–73). 26 Sudduth (, 74–75). 27 Roulier (), Toussaint (), and Bori (, ). On "historical" and "meta-historical" perspectives, see Borghesi (, 101–7). 28 See Dupuis (, 386–87). But see also Dupuis (, 15–35) regarding the debates raised by Dupuis (), and Ruggieri () for a recent assessment of the challenges that Christian theology is facing in an age of diversity and radical pluralism of cultures, religions, and values. 29 I am grateful to Dino Buzzetti, with whom I had several conversations that were of great help in better understanding the theoretical aspects of these matters. 30 Bausi's is the Latin critical text that is used in this edition. 31 Pico (2003, xi). 32 Pico (2003, xv). 33 Cantimori (, 4): "negli scritti [...] di Pico della Mirandola si poteva raccogliere più di un motivo atto a essere svolto nel senso di quella radicale rielaborazione dei principî della vita sociale e dei presupposti speculativi, filosofici come teologici, di essi, che era l'aspirazione degli eretici italiani, e che informa di sè tutte le loro dottrine." But see also Cantimori (, 145): "Dapprima è un'aspirazione. Per il Quattrocento italiano, e per gli uomini che vivono negli anni precedenti il sacco di Roma, la riforma religiosa è una grande speranza che si formula istituzionalmente nelle critiche del Valla, ma soprattutto filosoficamente nello sforzo del Ficino per creare una nuova dottrina apologetica del cristianesimo [...]. Questa aspirazione trova la sua espressione piú viva e immediata nelle fervide speranze destate dal Concilio lateranense del 1512; ma la sua soddisfazione piena nello spiritualismo cristiano di Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, che assieme al pensiero del Ficino costituisce la sostanza delle idee e delle suggestioni diffuse in tutta Europa da [...] Erasmo da Rotterdam." This previously unpublished paper by Cantimori was written in 1938. For Pico's influence on Huldrych Zwingli, see Schindler (). 34 See, for instance, Garin (1952b, 137–39) and Vasoli (). Vasoli's remarks are highlighted by Bori (, 80–81). See also Garin (, 474): "Il rinnovamento savonaroliano era un rinnovamento morale e politico, con preoccupazioni sociali, collocato in un'ampia prospettiva religiosa; quello auspicato da Pico era totale, investiva tutta la vita dell'uomo, tutta la società umana, anche se si esprimeva soprattutto in termini intellettuali, anzi filosofici. Savonarola, quando lo tenterà, limiterà il suo esperimento a Firenze, pur presentandola come la nuova Gerusalemme; Pico sogna un messaggio universale, un apostolato irenico tra tutti gli uomini." 35 Lohr (, 584). On religious reform, in a different but converging perspective, see Bori (), to be read with Bori (). 36 Andreatta () and Gersonide (). 37 Respectively, Mithridates (), Mithridates (), and Recanati (). See also Corazzol (). 38 Lelli (, ) and Alemanno (). But see also Genazzano (). 39 Piemontese (, ) and Grévin ( and ). See also Piemontese (), in which the author identifies the Abdala Sarracenus mentioned at the beginning of Pico's Oration as 'Abd-All h b. al Tamir, head of the Christian community of Nagran (Yemen) and famous in medieval Islamic literature because of his martyrdom in 523 AD. I wish to thank Mauro Perani and Giacomo Corazzol for providing me with the abovementioned 2012 papers presented at the second international conference on Flavius Mithridates in 2008 before the publication of the proceedings. ## Overview of the Text ### §§1–23 (Francesco Borghesi and Massimo Riva) The opening section of the Oration contains what could be called the original myth of humanism: the praise of man as a unique being, at the boundaries of the natural (earthly) and the supernatural (heavenly) realms. Pico begins his address by quoting an unidentified Arabic source in which he has read how a certain Abdallah ('Abd-All h = servant of God) praises man as the most wondrous creature on all the "world's stage" (§1).1 He finds the same praise in a famous Hermetic text (Asclepius) that had recently been translated into Latin by Marsilio Ficino.2 Yet Pico is dissatisfied with these commonplaces regarding man's supremacy in creation that he finds in biblical and other religious and philosophical traditions (he also mentions the Chaldean "oracles" or Persian "magi") as well as in the recent humanistic literature praising the dignity of man (e.g., Fazio, Manetti): man as "king of the creatures beneath him," "poco minore che gli angeli" ("a little less than angels," as Dante says,3 quoting, like Pico, Ps. 8:6); man as microcosm, copula or hymeneum mundi (a link and an intermediary among creatures), "the midpoint between fixed eternity and fleeting time [...] (as the Persians say)" (§3). To understand the truth of the human condition ("a condition to be envied not only by beasts but even by the stars and the intelligences dwelling beyond this world," §6), says Pico, one must resort to the story of Creation. However, in his retelling of Genesis (which informs the entire structure of the first part of the Oration) Pico distances himself from traditional versions. His establishing "scene" is based not only on biblical sources but also on Plato's Symposium and Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite's De mystica theologia (which Pico read in Ficino's translation). In short, his staging conflates three garden images into one: the Garden of Eden (Gen. 2), the garden of Zeus (from the Symposium), and the paradise of angels (from Dionysius).4 From the Bible comes the sequence of creative acts that puts Adam at the centre of an already completed Creation, although the creative process is inverted. Pico's account begins in the heavens and moves downward toward earthly things (a sort of ontological degradation reminiscent of Neoplatonic doctrines): God first created the supercelestial sphere, then the moving stars, the animals on earth, and, last of all, the human being, created in order to ponder "the meaning of such a magnificent achievement, to love its beauty and to marvel at its vastness" (§12).5 The scene of God's speech to man is also based on the Bible, although its content is remarkably different: there is no prohibition against approaching the Tree of Life but an invitation to direct knowledge, desire, and one's whole being toward the highest goal, "to be reborn into the higher orders, those that are divine" (§23). This transcendental goal – not simply obedience to God's commandments – is man's true vocation. (One may well detect here a positive reference to Gen. 3:21: "Behold Adam is become as one of us, knowing good and evil.") The theme of the image of man is again based on the Bible, yet according to Pico man is not created in God's likeness but is opus indiscretae imaginis, the work of indeterminate image (a term not necessarily to be interpreted as the equivalent of nature), "so that [he] may, as the free and extraordinary shaper of [him]self, fashion [him]self in whatever form [he] prefer[s]" (§22). This is a leitmotif that will be developed in the section immediately following (§§13–23). Pico takes this stance not only in order to exalt man's free will, flexibility, and perfectibility but also, and especially, in order to argue that the ultimate goal of man is the attainment of a reality that transcends every image, so that humans become in effect the image of a nonimage. As a result, the biblical idea of man's dominion over all creatures – the very idea that was so important, by contrast, in Giannozzo Manetti's De dignitate et excellentia hominis and for Marsilio Ficino (in whose work Giovanni Gentile saw the first conception of regnum hominis: "the kingdom of man"6) – has here but a secondary role. The main justification for human dignity and excellence is not horizontal primacy but vertical tension.7 We could say then that the dignity of man consists of the mystical vocation of the human being, as a creature of indeterminate image, to transcend all states (vegetal, animal, rational, intellectual) and to become one with the divinity that is beyond representation (Plotinus, Enneads 6.9, 8.20). We can detect here a polemical note aimed at Ficino's Theologia Platonica (1482), with its insistence on the idea of human dignity as identified with the immortality of the soul, in its intermediate position between the body and "quality" on the one hand and angels and God on the other.8 Pico's emphasis is different: man's freedom must fulfil itself through transcendental tension, with a dynamism not present in the static condition of the biblical Paradise, a dynamism that Pico finds instead in another garden. While the presence of the myth of Epimetheus (from Plato's Protagoras 321) has been noted, it is remarkable that such a fundamental influence as the Symposium (interpreted by Ficino in his De amore and by Pico in his Commento in the same fateful year of 1486) has not yet been analyzed in depth. And yet, in the Oration, as in the Symposium, we find Eros and Adam celebrated not for their present excellence but for a sort of intermediate and imperfect condition, "neither of heaven nor of earth, neither mortal nor immortal" (literally stated in both the Symposium and the Oration §22). Precisely as a "medium" (Oration), or as a "metaxù" (Symposium), the human creature may, if so inclined, reach the supreme reality through the love of knowledge and wisdom. The Symposium account is well known: Eros was conceived in the garden of Zeus by Póros (resource) and Penía (poverty) the day Aphrodite was born. Eros receives his imperfect nature from this intermediate position between ignorance and knowledge, and from his constant search for the latter (Symposium 203d–204c). Both in the Oration and in the Symposium, therefore, we find: (a) a character – man and Eros, respectively – praised for his potential capacity to reach the highest ends; (b) someone who is in an intermediate condition, neither mortal nor immortal, neither of the earth nor of the heavens (Symposium 203e); (c) someone placed in mundi meditullio ("in the middle of the world"), capable of reaching, through the love of knowledge, the supreme reality (Symposium 202d); (d) the primacy of love, desire, and the will as the final essence of the human being, while the intellectual element is not opposed to but a part of spiritual development, supported by the dynamics of desire (and here we note a parallelism between the ascent described at the end of Diotima's speech in the Symposium and the exit from the cave described in Plato's Republic 7).9 This direct Platonic source alone is nevertheless insufficient to explain the particular attributes and articulation of this vertical tension. Pico relies on an additional model, that of the three-stage mystical ascension (purgation, illumination, perfection) set forth by Proclus and, most importantly, by the Neoplatonic Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite. Because Pico, along with his contemporaries, still believed Dionysius had been converted by Paul at the Areopagus (the source of the enormous reverence for Dionysius throughout the Middle Ages), he faithfully accepted Dionysius's explanation of the mystical ascent in terms of the vertical movement that Paul describes instead of as forward spiritual tension (Phil. 3:13: the so-called epektasis) or "running" (1 Cor. 9:24ff.). In the majestic opening of the Oration, we may detect as well the presence of Plotinus, taken both directly and through Marsilio Ficino. In his Commentary on Plato's Symposium (6.7),10 Ficino provided a detailed exegesis of Eros's birth, which occurred on the same day that Venus was born. In Pico's Commentary on a Love Song by Girolamo Benivieni, we find an entire section (2.13) in which he speaks "Del nascimento di Amore e quello che si intende per li orti di Giove, per Poro e per Penia e per i natali di Venere" ("Of the birth of Love and what is meant by the gardens of Jove, by Póros, by Penía and by Venus's birthday," translation ours).11 In short, we may conclude that in the opening scene of the Oration, the son of Póros and Penía, Eros, coalesces entirely with the creature made of earth and spirit, Adam, a being without archetype, an image of his own. His itinerary will consequently take Eros-Adam through every image, beyond all images, finding fulfilment only in the final identity with Him Who, being the source of all images, dwells in obscurity.12 How is it possible to reach such a fulfilment? One suggestion comes from Pico's portrayal of the angelic court; that is, the third garden (based on Pseudo-Dionysius's De mystica theologia). Man's task lies precisely in the emulation of the angels and in what they represent: the thrones, more distant from God, represent peaceful action and judicious discipline; the cherubim symbolize contemplation through dialectics and philosophy; and the seraphim, the nearest to the Godhead, represent unity with God through love. In this perspective, philosophy achieves its supreme meaning, and the Oration becomes a justification of philosophy as the intermediate stage – the "cherubic stage" – of the mystical process. In sum, a careful reading of the opening section of the Oration suggests that man's vocation, according to Pico, is a mystical one that must be realized through a threefold path that necessarily comprises moral transformation, intellectual inquiry, and a final perfection in the union with absolute reality. This paradigm is universal; it can be found in every tradition. Such a conclusion can be confirmed and illustrated by carefully examining Pico's treatment of his disparate sources and by pointing out the significant twists to which they are sometimes subjected in order to make them compatible with his particular intentions. It is essential, therefore, to place in the foreground the very foundations that support Pico's thought in the Oration rather than concentrating on the innumerable authorities from each tradition to whom he makes reference or on the myriad other quotations, allusions, and mythological images with which he adorns his speech. ### §§24–50 (Massimo Riva) Pico begins this portion of the Oration with emphatic praise for God's "liberality" in the creation of man. Man's happiness depends on God's generosity, and the emblematic sign of God's supreme benevolence toward His creature is the creative freedom that He bestowed upon the human being: the freedom to obtain what one wishes and to become what one wants. As Pier Cesare Bori underlines in his commentary on the previous sections, this dual emphasis on desire and free will is crucial for Pico, who clearly moves beyond the Ciceronian tradition of gubernare terrena ("the governing of earthly affairs"), a concept that was central to the civic thought of the first half of the fifteenth century, toward a theological-metaphysical horizon. However, this horizon is deeply rooted in the anthropological tradition of Florentine humanism (from Petrarch to Manetti).13 Human beings must make the most of God's gifts by freely developing the divine seeds planted in them. This is an idea of great suggestive power if translated (albeit anachronistically) into our contemporary context, in which ideas about "intelligent design" and the human capacity (and responsibility) to manipulate "the seeds" of nature are hotly debated. Metamorphosis is the master metaphor of this whole section of the Oration: the freedom to change ourselves and to shape our own ontological destiny is an intrinsic and essential quality (dignity and potentiality) of human beings, so much so that we are distinguished and defined, among all creatures (including angels), by our lack of a precise and limiting image or identity. As a direct consequence of our freedom, however, we may resign ourselves to existing in a vegetative state (like plants), degrade ourselves to the behaviour of animals, or elevate ourselves to the point of transcending our human condition and reaching for the heavens, provided that we exercise in full our active intellect, which for Pico is superior to individual reason. Reaching for the heavens means becoming like angels and true "sons of God" (§29). Yet, as Pico seems to suggest, an even higher and exquisitely human goal can be achieved: mystical inspiration is easily detectable in this hymn-like and visionary crescendo designed to set the (lofty, if not hyperbolic) tone of the debate with the pope's theologians over his Conclusiones, his ambitious attempt at reconciling all ancient theological and philosophical traditions in a common path toward wisdom, or better, toward an active knowledge of the divine within us. Here, in this segment of the Oration, Pico is trying to communicate to his intended audience his own deeply felt enthusiasm, his own vision and comprehension of the divine as a transformative, metamorphic power, directed both outward and inward.14 To this end, he adopts a highly metaphorical language, borrowing from a variety of sources, in order to convey their common, fundamental message, which coincides with the inner spirit of his enterprise. In short, Pico delves into the various fragments of a prisca theologia, including his biblical exegesis (Heptaplus and Expositiones in Psalmos), guided by the intent to reconnect the mysteries and hidden truths scattered throughout them, always aiming at a spiritual interpretation of sacred or pagan texts through their literal, allegorical, moral, and anagogical meanings.15 In the Apology (1487), Pico compares these four levels, in the Christian way of reading and explaining the Scriptures, with the Hebrew [sic] Pesat (literal meaning), Midrash (allegorical meaning), Sechel (tropological meaning), and Cabala (anagogical meaning), thus confirming that this procedure informed his approach to different textual traditions.16 An ambivalent, exegetic, and esoteric aim therefore informs his reading strategy and his references to his various (reliable or unreliable) sources, all culminating in the anagogical (or cabalistic) meaning, the spiritual goal of man, or how man can become one with God.17 As noted, a fundamental source for the Oration as a whole is Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite's De mystica theologia (read through Marsilio Ficino). In the first section of this work (1.1), the author describes the condition of one who faces God sine interprete ("without intermediary") (Garin , 239). We can say that Pico puts himself in the same position; adopting Dionysius's imagery, based in turn on several passages from Scripture, he speaks of "darkness" as a divine attribute (like the night of Orphic mysteries and the Ein Soph of the Cabala)18 and "blindness" as the necessary, paradoxical medium of human knowledge of the divine, a "seeing that consists in not seeing." This paradoxical imagery returns also in Pico's Neoplatonic sonnets, written in the same years, along with his commentary on Girolamo Benivieni's Love Song, a text in which Pico strives to embrace the true and full meaning of Eros.19 The changing nature of man (Eros and Adam) as an emanation of God's creative gift is illustrated in the simile of the chameleon, perhaps the most famous and enduring image used by Pico in the Oration. Aristotle used the simile of the chameleon in his Nicomachean Ethics, where he spoke of happiness as the product of perfect virtue and an accomplished life, measured against the instability of man's "fortunes." While Aristotle uses the term in a negative sense, pointing to the instability of the human condition, Pico positively emphasizes the transformative nature of the human being.20 Closely related to, in fact coupled with, the image of the chameleon is the reference to Proteus. Taken together, these terms illustrate the central idea of this segment of the Oration, the Protean capacity of human beings to fashion themselves as they please. This idea must be understood in the light of Pico's appropriation (through Ficino) of another textual tradition, the Hermetic. "The form of humankind is multiform and various...," we read in Asclepius.21 To add another layer to this already complex web of references, in Pico's Conclusions on the Ways of Interpreting Orpheus' Hymns According to Magic, we find the following aphorism (n28): "He who cannot attract Pan approaches Proteus in vain."22 Edgar Wind explains this obscure passage as follows: "Mutability, according to Pico, is the secret door through which the universal invades the particular. Hence Proteus transforms himself continuously because Pan [All] is within him."23 This enigma seems to describe the unique situation of the human being in relation to the divine. As a chameleon and a Proteus, capable of changing shape (the Latin word is effingere) as well as imitating all images and forms, assuming all "names," the human being is thus effectively an agent of the imageless God: his "demiurgic" (or magical) abilities reflect a degree of free will and free choice, which is, as we have seen, God's supreme gift to man.24 Commenting on this passage, Wind thus qualifies Pico's radical mysticism: "This doctrine provides a convincing mystical justification for an eminently rational mental state."25 Again, we are faced with the fundamental ambivalence of Pico's philosophical mysticism, which quite possibly provides a reason for our modern fascination with his thought. What follows is one of the most enigmatic passages of the Oration, full of intricate references to biblical (albeit apocryphal) and cabalistic sources that address the angelic metamorphosis of Enoch-Metatron. Second- and third-century Church Fathers such as Justin Martyr, Irenaeus, Origen, and Clement of Alexandria all make reference to the Book of Enoch. Though it is difficult to say precisely to which text or texts Pico refers here, his library, acquired after his death by Cardinal Grimani and later dispersed, was rich in cabalistic works in Hebrew, many sine titulo and some simply forgeries (see both Kibre's and Tamani's reconstructions). Yet at least one important reference can be identified: in the commentary of Abraham Abulafia (Pico's major cabalistic source) to Maimonides' Morèh Nevuchim (Dal lat al-h 'ir nn, The Guide of the Perplexed), entitled Sitrè Toràh (The Secrets of the Law) and included in both Kibre's and Tamani's lists, we read, "And they say that Enoch is Metatron and so says Ionethes Chaldeus [...]" (translation mine).26 In the Third Book of Enoch, or Book of Enoch of the mystics of the Merkabah (chariot or throne of God), the elevation of Enoch has two versions. In the second of these versions, Enoch is "taken with the Shekhinah" and "transfigured" as Metatron ("Methathronius"; i.e., he who is next to the throne of God, according to the prevailing, yet probably inaccurate, Greek etymology). After a devout life on earth, Enoch was elevated to the rank of the first angels and Sar ha-panìm (literally "prince of the divine visage," or divine presence or countenance). Shekhinah, originally the female manifestation of God in man, is often identified with the Holy Ghost and the Epinoia, the feminine manifestation of God's mind, of which the Gnostic Valentinus spoke.27 This intricate constellation of possible cabalistic (and Gnostic) references, not precisely identifiable with a direct quotation of the Ethiopic (Third) Book of Enoch, hints at the complexity of Pico's angelology, as articulated in the Oration and the Conclusiones.28 Here too, as Wirszubski first suggested, we find the (missing) term Metatron in the Conclusions according to Themistius (1.19.2): "I believe that the active intellect that in Themistius is only illuminating is the same as Metatron in the cabala" (translation mine). It also appears in the Cabalistic Conclusions Confirming the Christian Religion 2.11.10: "That which among the cabalists is called [ ] Metatron is without doubt that which is called Pallas by Orpheus, the paternal mind by Zoroaster, the son of God by Mercury, wisdom by Pythagoras, the intelligible sphere by Parmenides" (Farmer, trans., 1998, 525). All these symbols, according to Farmer, would syncretically refer "to the intellectual nature of the angelic mind" (Farmer , 70). Yet, in its formulation in the Oration, this supreme synthesis has the quality of a vision rather than a detached philosophical conclusion, informed as it is by a profound aspiration to a transcendental unity of all symbolic knowledge (the only knowledge of the divine allowed to man).29 Again, mystical and intellectual, spiritual and rational (or magical) meanings are inseparable in Pico's words, which is precisely what creates the suggestive nature of this text and gives the reader and the interpreter a choice: either follow Pico in his mystical flight (reshaping man into angel or pure spirit) or patiently try to extract the inner kernel of philosophical (intellectual) wisdom from the ancients' most mysterious messages through the painstaking recomposition of its scattered sources.30 Next, we return to what we may call Pico's pre-modern (pre-evolutionistic) idea of a dynamic unity of all living things, earthly and celestial. It is the vision articulated by Pythagoras at the end of Ovid's Metamorphoses (15.160 ff.): "omnia mutantur, nihil interit..." ("all things are changing; nothing dies...").31 Pico's thought seems inspired by the Pythagorean idea of transmigration: man as a microcosm, containing in himself the seeds and stages of all creation. This idea can also be found, with differing nuances, in many of the traditions he quotes, but it acquires new shades of meaning in his writings. The operations of the soul, its ascent or descent through the various stages and realms of the cosmos, can be envisioned from multiple points of view, including the practical theology of the Cabala (or the doctrine of the sefirot). The ambivalent tension inherent in the unity of body and soul, leading "upward" or "downward," is directly linked to the concept of man as a microcosm, a mirror of the whole of creation, and therefore capable of imagining, transforming, and reshaping (effingere) himself in the image of all other creatures (beasts or angels). Particularly effective is Pico's iterative and emphatic use of three almost synonymous terms in order to articulate man's specific and unique capability. The most interesting of these terms is effingere, from ex fingere, which has two fundamental meanings: (a) to form, to procreate with artifice (found in Tacitus, Pliny, Tertullian, and others); and (b) to imitate or imagine (again found in Tertullian). This dual semantic value, linked as it is to both a practical (magic?) and an imaginative (theoretical) meaning, sums up Pico's multilayered idea of man's creativity. Again, this definition of a human being can be found at the core of all religious-philosophical traditions (prisca theologia), all confirming, in the eyes of Pico, the biblical narrative of Genesis, including the suras of Muhammad (the Qur'an) and the so-called Chaldean Oracles. In the latter, Pico supposedly found the adage that "Man is by nature diverse, multiform and inconstant" ( ), a sentence absent from the editio princeps but present in the Palatino manuscript, and, according to Wirszubski, possibly written in a mixture of Hebrew and Aramaic, in Ethiopic script (Wirszubski , 241–44). According to Farmer, it was taken by Pico from a version of the Oracles provided to him by Flavius Mithridates and was most likely a forgery (Farmer , 146, 344–45). Whatever the source, the important question for modern readers remains: are these words to be understood for their moral and spiritual meaning (like Pico's implicit reference to the Pythagorean doctrine of metempsychosis), or are they the foundation of a different view of humanity, justified by effectively positioning the human being at the top of creation (summing up in himself all its various realms and creatures)? The imaginative and transformative power of the human being may be a source of spiritual transcendence (emulating the "dignity" of angels, "unwilling [...] to yield to them and unable to endure second place"); it can also be a source of narcissistic contemplation, or, even worse, "will to power" ante litteram. Many modern interpreters have indeed emphasized the latter subtexts. This ambiguity is implicit in a passing reference to the nature of demons that we find in the Palatino manuscript but is erased from the princeps: "If [man] cultivates his rational seeds, he will become a demon or a heavenly animal. If he cultivates his intellectual seeds, he will be an angel and a son of God."32 Interestingly enough, in his Platonic Theology 14.3, Ficino connects "the life of demons" to the contemplation of mathematics, the rational order of celestial bodies (with their astrological symbols). This seems to be Pico's meaning as well, as though among the possibilities open to man there exists an imperfect metamorphosis into a celestial "demon," provided he raises himself to the contemplation of the cosmos as the theatre of his metamorphosis, without reaching for a superior, intellectual, and spiritual dimension. In conclusion, man's lack of an image (or fixed identity) is both a prerogative and a liability: human dignity and freedom can be celebrated in one way (as gifts from God used to glorify God's creation) or the other (as the essence of our autonomous, self-fashioning being); that is, according to either religious or secularized principles. Yet in either case our freedom is insufficient and can even lead us astray if unaccompanied by the awareness of our responsibility, the unique privilege, and the burden of our peculiar mission to cultivate (in ourselves) all the seeds of creation: "Thus may we avoid abusing the most indulgent liberality of the Father by transforming the free choice He bestowed upon us from something beneficial to something harmful" (§46). ### §§51–102 (Michael Papio) In the first part of this section (§§51–62), Pico moves toward an apparently more concrete plan of action as he continues his exhortation to men to fulfil their highest potential, the perfection of the self through the inspiration of the three highest classes of angels: the cherubim, seraphim, and thrones. In Pico's representation of these angels, the thrones are judgment, the cherubim intelligence, and the seraphim love (§54). This arrangement is Pseudo-Dionysian, as Pico himself tells us, but corresponds even more precisely to one of the standard interpretations of the Christian mystics. Some three hundred years before Pico, Bernard of Clairvaux () had already laid out this same scheme with perfect clarity in his advice to Pope Eugenius III: > Putemus Thronos alto etiam ab his evolasse recessu, qui ex eo quod sedent, Throni dicuntur; et ex eo sedent, quod sedit in eis Deus. Neque enim sedere in eis qui non sederent posset. Quaeris quid [al. quam] illam sentiam sessionem? Summam tranquillitatem, placidissimam serenitatem, pacem quae exsuperat omnem intellectum. Talis est qui sedet in Thronis Dominus sabaoth, judicans omnia cum tranquillitate, placidissimus, serenissimus, pacatissimus. Et tales sibi constituit Thronos, simillimos sibi. Putemus Cherubin ex ipso sapientiae fonte, ore Altissimi haurientes, et refundentes fluenta scientiae universis civibus suis. Et vide ne is sit, quem propheta loquebatur, "fluminis impetus laetificans civitatem Dei." Putemus Seraphin, spiritus totos divino igne succensos, succendere universa, ut singuli cives singulae sint lucernae ardentes et lucentes; ardentes charitate, lucentes cognitione. (De consideratione 5.4, PL 182.792c–793b) > > [Let us suppose that the Thrones have ascended to recesses even higher than these, and that they are called Thrones because they are seated and they are seated because God is seated upon them. For he could not be seated upon those who are not seated. Do you ask what I judge this sitting to be? Supreme tranquility, most placid serenity, peace which surpasses all understanding. Such is he, the Lord of Sabbaoth, who sits upon the Throne, judging all things with tranquility; he is the most placid, most serene, most peaceful. And he has established those as Thrones for himself which are most similar to him. Let us suppose the Cherubim drink from the very font of wisdom, the mouth of the Most High, and pour forth a stream of knowledge to all the citizens of heaven. And see if it is not this which the Prophet speaks of: "The stream of the river makes the city of God joyful." Let us suppose the Seraphim, spirits totally enkindled with divine fire, enkindle all so that each citizen is a lamp burning and shining: burning with love, shining with knowledge.] The parallelisms between Pico and Bernard are striking, but despite the close similarities it would be difficult to claim with confidence that Bernard is our author's direct source. This sort of angelogical exegesis was present as well in other writers, such as Augustine (De trinitate 10.9), Gregory (Homilies on the Gospels 34.7, 10–14), Peter Lombard (Sententiae 2.9.2), and Bonaventure (Itinerarium mentis in Deum 4.4). What is certain, however, is that Pico made use of existing allegorical tropes in order to illustrate his own personal syncretic vision of the contemplative soul's ethical and erudite journey to God. Neatly woven into this already allusive fabric of Christian mysticism are strands of Neoplatonism, cabalistic symbolism, and ancient philosophy. Just as in Pico's references to the enigmatic Metatron, what may appear at first glance to be a haphazard combination of images is in effect a well-planned kaleidoscopic vision that joins the common with the exotic, the general with the specific. Just as elsewhere in the Oration, Pico here distils complex notions into their most essential emblems and combines them in such a way as to produce an intriguing composite that is just as suggestive as it is difficult to pin down. Such a technique would no doubt have been an extremely successful way to pique the interest of his intended audience. Among the most meaningful concepts he means to highlight in this segment of the Oration are the fundamental collaborative interaction of intellect, love (caritas), and wisdom; the inherent dignity in the individual's path to enlightenment; the omnipresent danger to one's spiritual well-being present both in the innate weakness of the soul and in the chaotic nature of the universe; the immeasurable importance of peace (pax philosophica); and the requisite epistemological steps for attaining theological solace. If we are to attain this ultimate goal, Pico explains, we must first learn God's ways or laws, a task we may accomplish by consulting those who have already experienced the direct vision of God. The examples he gives are Moses, who spent forty days in communion with God after the third month following the Exodus (Exod. 24:15–18), and Paul, who writes in his second letter to the Corinthians that he was raised up to heaven (2 Cor. 12:2–4). We who yearn to follow their example and become fortified by God's justice must prepare our souls through love and the illumination of the intellect. The figure of the cherub is particularly important in this extended metaphor. The cherubim traditionally guard the Tree of Life in Eden33 (Gen. 3:24; cf. Ezek. 28:14, 16), stand alongside or support God's throne (Pss. 80:1, 99:1; Isa. 37:16), or serve as Yahweh's divine chariot (cf. the Ficinian reference to nectar in §98). They were also, as Pico naturally knew, a fundamental part of the tabernacle, the construction of which Moses oversaw (Heb. 9:5). In 2 Chron. 3:14, we read that they were depicted on the veil of the adytum (the Temple's innermost chamber), mentioned in §101. However, Pico principally plays on the traditional Augustinian interpretation of cherubim as representing plenitudo scientiae ("a fullness of knowledge"), which is ultimately derived from Philo's π γνωσις κα πιστ μη πολλ ("recognition and full knowledge") and foreshadowed by Jerome's multitudo scientiae ("a wealth of knowledge").34 As such, they are an ideal role model for the contemplative man (§59) insofar as the cherubim allow access to theological knowledge – and therefore to God – through love.35 In cabalistic thought, moreover, the cherubim represent the mysterious union of the earthly with the heavenly. The cherubic image was used by the Psalmist in the celebration of David's thankfulness after being delivered from his enemies. In Pico's re-elaboration of the motif, man's greatest enemy is the darkness of ignorance (§71). Augustine explains in his sermon on Psalm 17 that God, while flying above the cherubim, is incomprehensible to man; He is hidden in His dark waters and dark tabernacle (Ps. 17:11–12).36 In order to attain illumination, one must nurture his faith, even in the absence of awareness (cf. Rom. 13:10; 2 Cor. 5:7; and §63), until he has been given the gift of spiritual sight. If Pico's use of the highest order of angels is less than elaborate here, one would do well to consider the rather more concrete explanation in his moral exposition on Psalm 17 (Raspanti in Pico 1997, 166–68). There we read that the thrones' steadfastness bolsters our resolve and aids us not to be chased away ex sede nostrae dignitatis ("from the seat of our dignity"). The cherubim are the plenitudo scientiarum ("fullness of the sciences") (a pluralizing twist on Augustine that allows for more specificity, as we shall see), which helps us to avoid falling victim to the veri ignorantia ("ignorance of the truth"). Lastly, the seraphim, with the fire of love, completely purify our will and keep us from sinning through malice or improper choices. At the close of this portion of the Oration (§§59–60), Pico makes specific references to God as moving/hovering/brooding above the waters of creation. Pico is here alluding to the "separation of the waters" (Gen. 1:7–9) into the upper and the lower (cf. Exod. 20:4 and Ps. 148:4). The upper level, as he explains in the Heptaplus (see especially 3.3), is the supercelestial realm, associated with the cherubim (Hep., proem 2), the seraphim, and the thrones (Hep. 3.3).37 The lower waters were originally the seven planets, which were collected together and brought forth the seas and the ocean whence, as the Chaldeans held, came the nutritive elements that give rise to growth and regeneration in plant and animal life (Hep. 2.3, 3.4). Metaphorically, they also come to stand for the sensual and sensory characteristics of man (Hep. 4.3). The waters over which the "Spirit of the Lord" flies here are the upper. This "Spiritus Domini" is in the Heptaplus synonymous with the Spirit of Love (Hep. 3.2) and with God's illumination of our intellect (Hep. 4.2, 5.1, and 6.2) as well as Creator of form (Hep. 1.2).38 In the Commento (2.17a), Pico mentions that the upper waters are the living fountain, which slakes man's thirst forever.39 According to cabalistic teaching (e.g., Zohar 1.16a ff.), the light and the darkness of the first day were the "upper waters," from which the "lower waters" were separated, thanks to the largely negative sefirah known as Geburah (Force, Left). Most important to our considerations here are the general concepts of "superior" and "inferior." Pico intends in these lines to associate the three highest angels with specific functions of the individual mind (intellection, love, and wisdom) and, at the same time, to underline their relationship to the original supernal forms of creation. God and His influences exist, above the upper waters, in a perfect state from which mortals, residents of the lower waters, may glean salvific inspiration. In order to reach the ultimate mystical union with the Godhead, we must strive to transform ourselves according to Its threefold revelation. The following sections (§§63–72) contain a plan for our approach to the Godhead. One who wishes to realize his potential to reach a state of illumination (the second stage in Pseudo-Dionysius's tripartite path: §70) must recognize his innate capacity to imitate the function of the cherub (§71), which is the epitome of proper cognitive activity. By way of cherubic contemplation, the believer may then bring to fruition that link between love (the seraphim, Isa. 6) and justice or law (the thrones),40 which Pico describes as the order of Pallas (§§65–66) or, we may say, the intellectual nature that leads to wisdom, inasmuch as the Orphean Pallas is associated with Metatron (the intellectual nature of man).41 Here again the reader finds an appeal to the transcendent powers of philosophy, this time wrought with allusions to a later phase of Neoplatonic mystical thought. There is a long tradition of seeing the cherubim as ideal representatives of studied contemplation, especially among the Christian mystics of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries;42 hence the evocation of Moses (§64), who is the contemplative exemplar of the acceptance of God's ways (i.e., laws and judgment), and, by extension, Paul (§69).43 Pico's use of these two figures, one from the Old Testament and one from the New, is in no way haphazard. Moses, as the author of the Pentateuch, was the most important prophet and the one who best exemplified the internalization of God's will; Paul, the principal single author of the New Testament, could be seen to be Moses's anagogical double. Both succeeded in communing directly with God, and both sought to teach His ways to others. Indeed, the link between the two was made quite explicit as long ago as the works of Gregory of Nyssa. The mystical union of the soul with God is the responsibility of all who would be followers of Moses (§102). Just how this is implemented, however, has been the subject of numerous theological approaches. Pico returns through Paul to the Areopagite (§70), whose insistence on the boundless significance of hierarchies is in perfect harmony with his own perception. "If one talks then of hierarchy," Pseudo-Dionysius writes, "what is meant is a certain perfect arrangement, an image of the beauty of God which sacredly works out the mysteries of its own enlightenment in the orders and levels of understanding of the hierarchy, and which is likened toward its own sources as much as is permitted" (Pseudo-Dionysius , Celestial Hierarchy 165b–c). Pico responded with great enthusiasm both to the notion that the role of the supernal angels was to assist man in his ambitious struggle for perfection and to the similarities between this hierarchy and the rather more detailed chain of being, or gradation of emanations, that is of such profound meaning in the cabalistic texts. Dionysius's practical implementation of this threefold way (Ecclesiastical Hierarchy 536d–37a), however, is rather less inspiring than Pico's. In §§71–72, one of the most thought-provoking sections of the Oration, Pico overlays on Dionysius's threefold path a surprisingly less mystical process than one might expect: dialectics is related to purification, natural philosophy to illumination, and theology to perfection. Whereas previous generations had hotly debated the role of dialectics (one need only think of the antagonistic relationship between Abelard's dialectics and Bernard of Clairvaux's mysticism), Pico syncretically embraces the best of the Logica antiqua and Logica modernorum. Indeed, Abelard's willingness to consider seriously the truths present in non-Christian traditions is embraced in the Oration alongside the mystical tendencies of the Cistercians and the Franciscans.44 What emerges is a mode of thought that seems to succeed in blending Neoplatonism and Aristotelian Scholasticism quite productively (§§90–93). One of the most remarkable aspects of Pico's system lies in its openness both to Aristotelian concepts, such as those of Aquinas or Duns Scotus, while simultaneously admitting Augustinian ideas, such as those of Bonaventure or Henry of Ghent. Dialectics, Pico promises, will cut through sophistic reasoning, and natural philosophy will provide all the knowledge required to begin the process of theological enlightenment. Just how the mechanisms of intellectual cognition were to play out and whether this theology was based on reason or revelation remained to be seen, we must imagine, during the great debate. One could well argue that this superposition on Dionysius of dialectics and natural philosophy privileged the Aristotelians or, on account of the conflict between the plurality of divine ideas and the unity of divine essence, put Pico uncomfortably close to Averroes's theories on the "unity of intellect";45 however, there is more than enough space here in the passage from illumination to perfection to fit in any number of ideas from Proclus or Ficino.46 We may come to an even fuller appreciation of this strategy by considering Conclusiones 2.11.66, in which (despite an unclear order) Pico lists the sefirot as he adapted them to the soul: the first is associated with unity; the second with intellect; the third with reason. Such a representation appears to suggest the following relationships: unity-perfection-theology-thrones; intellect-illumination-natural philosophy-cherubim; reason-purification-dialectics-seraphim. Clearly, something is missing. Even if we were to assign Pico's fourth sefirah ("superior sensual passion") to the seraphim and move the first sefirah to the level of God, this scheme would still be less than convincing.47 What he loses in inconsistency of rigid epistemological systems, however, he makes up for with flexible allegory ("per figuram"). Sections 73–82 recall for the reader the multifaceted allegorical figure of Jacob's ladder (Gen. 28:11–17), here employed by Pico as a logical metaphor for our way to God. The ladder is an image long embraced in the readings of Pico's entire audience, from Hebrew midrashim and cabalistic treatises on the Tree of Life to Christian mystical texts and Islamic accounts of the Night of the Mi'r j. Access to this path, however, is restricted to those who are "pure" and "prepared." Purification and preparation signify respectively the absolute renunciation of earthly desires and the assiduous pursuit of intellectual and spiritual readiness for the soul. But how may we approach the ladder? The feet of the unenlightened are sullied by base sensual desires, and his hands are stained with self-serving destructive aggression (§§75–77). Once the hands and feet are washed clean by moral philosophy, they are transformed from hindrances to advantages.48 The potential cleansing or redemption of desire was explained by Pico himself in his Commento on the fifth stanza. What is most important to note in this imagery is that God has given us the tools to use our innate affective and intellectual powers so that we may ascend, rather than descend, the ladder that leads up to the supernal essence (§66). This ladder, for someone like Pico, who so profoundly appreciates the allegory of hierarchy (and the hierarchy of allegory), may be variously interpreted. It might stand for the soul's participation in the gradations of creation just as well as for the orderly progression of its perfection.49 Just as in Genesis (28:12–13), and as in Dante's Paradiso (22.61–75) for that matter, the ladder is highly specific ad litteram but amply inclusive ad allegoriam. What emerges with the greatest clarity in this discussion is the notion that downward movement along the ladder's rungs leads to chaos, and upward movement to unity (§82). The dismemberment of Osiris suggests the centrifugal powers of strife, whereas the Apollonian unifying force would stand for the capacity of well-directed love to draw the soul upward toward God. Sections 83–97 are dedicated to the preparation of the soul and, once perfected, to its union with God. Pico's references to the inherently troublesome nature of lived existence (§§87–89) are thematically very appropriate to the imagery he has just reproduced from Genesis, including the presence of the cherubim, and to the appearance here in the text of Job. If Jacob's ladder is primarily illustrative of the righteous use of the sensual appetite (the spectrum that runs from luxuria to caritas), Job's identification of God's heavenly peace surely addresses the proper use of our intellectual and active faculties. Empedocles, then, is very well suited to an "exegesis" of Job, insofar as the spectrum that complements the one just mentioned would run from strife to friendship. "Friendship" in this context should be understood both as a form of caritas and as the general force of harmonious attraction (much discussed by Empedocles and analyzed by Aristotle [Met. 985a20–30]), which, in Pico, translates into that energy which encourages the soul toward its union with God. The soul, which has a natural faculty for friendship (1 Sam. 18:1), is always drawn upward toward the highest good, which is in itself tranquil and peaceful. It may profitably be noted at this point that, according to the cabalistic interpretation of the cosmogony of Genesis, great discord arose between Hesed (Mercy) and Geburah (Force) upon the separation of the upper and lower waters, and the conflict was quelled by the establishment of the firmament between them (e.g., Zohar 1.17a–18a). Moses drew on the story of this conflict to make peace between Korah and Aaron when the two came to blows over the latter's monopoly of the Levite priesthood (Num. 16–17). Lasting peace was established only after wrath was transformed into love. Essential in this process is the notion of Peace, or spiritual tranquillity, whose attainment is prerequisite to the defeat of the inner desires and earthly appetites that contaminate our soul. This spiritual calm, produced not only through dialectics and natural philosophy but especially through the study of theology, is the loftiest goal of each individual and should be desired both for oneself and for all mankind. This is the Pythagorean "friendship" that characterizes the beginning and the end, the return of the soul from its mortal exile.50 Once the soul is purified and prepared, Pico explains, it will ascend to the heavens and, like a bride, be wedded to God. The sensuality of §§93–97 obviously derives in great measure from the Song of Songs, which was highly influential both to the Christian mystical tradition and to cabalistic interpretation. Pico unites the sponsa Christi of the former with the Shekhinah of the latter to form an image easily recognizable by those familiar with either motif. Ultimately, the successful bride-soul releases its grip on mortality and consigns itself to wondrous death: "Let us also, therefore, choose this kind of death, as also the Apostle says, that 'we may die to sin, but live to God'" (Origen , 172–73, Eleventh Homily on Genesis, quoting Rom. 6:10).51 In §§98–102, Pico extends the metaphorical image of the soul's path of enlightenment to the biblical descriptions of the tabernacle that Moses had built in the wilderness as a place of worship for the Israelites (Exod. 26:27, 35–38). Like the ladder, the tabernacle is another of the most enduring symbols of the contemplative's path to enlightenment; it had been used for centuries to illustrate the progress of the soul and/or the mind toward its ultimate goal.52 Richard of St. Victor devoted an immense amount of energy to the application of this analogy in his De arca mystica, and by the time we reach Bonaventure, the imagery seems to be quite taken for granted (Itinerarium mentis in Deum 3.1 and 5.1). The Zohar speaks of an upper and a lower Tabernacle (cf. 2.130a, 2.159a, 234b, 239b–240a, 3.114b), associating the former with the Tabernacle of Metatron, which symbolizes the Shekhinah, and the latter with the hidden Tabernacle of Binah. In almost every instance of the tabernacle allegory, access to the structure's inner areas is restricted to varying degrees – as in the Bible – depending on one's level of holiness. Likewise, the soul is granted proximity to God in accordance with its level of purity and perfection. In Pico's scheme, those who have not begun this process must remain outside the tabernacle; partial access is granted to those who have embraced only dialectics and moral philosophy; the final vision of the Godhead is obtained at the centre of the tabernacle by those who, beyond dialectics and moral philosophy, have dedicated themselves to theology as well. The most important aspect of this segment is Pico's allegorical division of the place of worship into three stages, each corresponding to a level of personal perfection. This is an interesting twist to the physical hierarchy of holy places that is presented in the Bible and to the Pseudo-Dionysian path to enlightenment on which Pico built so much in the preceding paragraphs. Particularly useful to a full understanding of §§98–102 is an often overlooked passage in Maimonides' Guide of the Perplexed (3.51), which offers so many close parallelisms to Pico's allegory of the tabernacle that one is tempted to call it a source. In Maimonides (), the prince and his castle are representative of God and the tabernacle: > Those who are outside the city are all those human beings who possess no religious belief whatsoever, be it of a speculative or of a traditional nature. [...] These are like the animals devoid of reason. [...] Those who are in the city but turn their backs to the prince's palace are men of thought and speculation who have arrived at false opinions, be this due to some major error that crept into their reasoning or to their acceptance of erroneous ideas of others. [...] Those who are making for the palace and aim at entering it, but have never seen the palace yet, are the great mass of those who obey the Law, or in other words the "men without learning who occupy themselves with religious duties." Those who have arrived at the palace and are walking round it are those possessed of religious learning, who accept the right opinions as traditional beliefs and study the detailed ordinances of the works demanded in the service of God, but have never made an attempt to speculate on the principles of their faith or inquired in any way into the justification of any item of faith. Those who have embarked on speculation concerning the principles of religion have entered the forecourts. [...] Those, finally, who have succeeded in obtaining demonstrative proof of everything that can be demonstratively proved, and have reached certainty with regard to all those metaphysical matters on which certainty can be reached, and have almost reached certainty wherever no more than this was possible, those, I say, have penetrated to the presence of the prince in the inner parts of the palace. Maimonides concludes the metaphor notably, like Pico, by distilling these various levels of initiation into three. The first corresponds to Pico's description of dialectics (§99): "As long as you are occupied with the mathematical sciences and the technique of logic, you belong to those who walk around the palace in search of the gate" (Maimonides , 186). The second corresponds to Pico's description of those who, employing dialectics, put themselves at the service of philosophy (§100): "As soon as you learn the natural sciences you enter the palace and pass through its forecourts" (Maimonides , 186). The third corresponds to the theological contemplation of the divine (§101): "When you complete your study of the natural sciences and get a grasp of metaphysics, you enter unto the prince into the inner courtyard (Ezek. 44:21, 27) and have achieved to be in the same house as he" (Maimonides , 186).53 Though Maimonides' extended allegory deals superficially with the Prince and His palace, his own reference to the tabernacle in Ezekiel draws a perfect correspondence with those instructions of Moses mentioned in the Oration. In Pico, the outermost area of the Temple is that of the unclean or the common people, and the Levites are responsible for the sanctuary (see Num. 1:47–53, 3:5–10, 18:1–7; Ezek. 44:15–17, etc.). At the centremost area of the Temple, that part administered by the descendants of Aaron, is located the "velum" ("without any veil of a likeness coming in between," §101), behind which one finds himself in God's direct presence. In the first proem to the Heptaplus, Pico explains that Moses was entirely illuminated by the Divine Light but revealed to men the truths according to their ability to comprehend them (cf. Ps. 118:11; 1 Cor. 5:11), an idea that is certainly present in these paragraphs, too. Similarly, in the Heptaplus's second proem, Pico expounds on the figure of Moses's tabernacle as a tripartite configuration of the world structured according to levels of attainable comprehension: the highest level (or innermost area) is that which theologians call "angelic" and philosophers call "intelligible"; the middle level is the celestial world; and the lower is the sublunary world that we inhabit. The outermost area described in §99 corresponds to the "lower waters" of creation or the "sublunary world." In §100, Pico refers to the zone of the firmament where the seven planets are situated. Known as the "celestial world," or (hashamayim) in Hebrew, it corresponds to that region above the inhabited world and below the supercelestial. The Holy of Holies of §101 is comparable to the supernal world inhabited by God and the three highest orders of angels. These three worlds are symbolized by Moses's instructions regarding the construction of the tabernacle. Pico insists on this series of similes, as he himself tells us, because through them man is able to recognize his path to a union with God. It was with the sight of the Spirit (i.e., through intellectual or intuitive cognition combined with theological enlightenment) that Moses and Paul saw God without any veil of a likeness coming in between them.54 This is the same task that awaits anyone who wishes to scale the ladder, prepare a dwelling-place in his soul for God, become one with the Mind above all minds, draw together Osiris's limbs, die in the bliss of the plenitude of life, or be received within the Prince's palace. ### §§103–41 (Saverio Marchignoli) The first, very elegant part of Pico's Oration – that dedicated to the assertion of the dignity of man and the praise of philosophy – ends with the present sections, in which the author systematically extends his inquiry to nonbiblical sources ("not only the Mosaic and Christian mysteries...," §103). His aim here is to provide evidence supporting the universal recognition of the tripartite philosophy that he would like to discuss in front of the "Fathers" in Rome (the very term tripartita philosophia appears precisely in this section, §115). Such evidence is supplied by the interpretation of the language of the mysteries in which the texts of the "theology of the ancients" (priscorum theologia) were supposed to have been preserved. Pico starts with a rather general nod to the Greek (Eleusinian) mysteries, in which he again refers to the Pseudo-Dionysian model of the three stages of spiritual progression: purification (moral philosophy and dialectics), illumination (natural philosophy), and perfection (theology, which culminates in the mystical vision called epopteia). Then, in §§109–13, he adapts Plato's doctrine of the four divine μαν αι (maníai) "frenzies" (or divini furores, following the terminology in Ficino's 1457 letter to his long-time friend Pellegrino Agli) to his tripartita philosophia. Poetic madness is linked to moral philosophy and dialectics, mystical madness to natural philosophy, and the last two madnesses – the prophetic and the erotic – to theology. This passage is particularly elaborate and refined, for it reflects a major concern in Pico's thought: Pico was not only working on the Commento sopra una canzona de amore but also planning to develop it into a commentary on Plato's Symposium. The same interpretational process is then applied to the three Delphic precepts, "Nothing too much," "Know thyself," and "You are," which are easily reconnected to these three stages of the spiritual life. In §§120–23, Pico points to the Pythagorean "symbols" as further evidence for his tripartita philosophia, which in §§130–35 is recognized in the writings of the "Chaldeans" as well. Finally, after a meaningful allusion to Abraham (originating from the land of the Chaldeans) in §§140–41, Pico uses the names of the most eminent archangels of traditional angelology in order to expound his tripartite scheme still further. With the mention of Raphael ("God heals"), Gabriel ("God is strong"), and Michael ("Who is like God?"), Pico rejoins the biblical tradition, thus circularly closing the section. Paul O. Kristeller once wrote that "in studying the sources of Pico's thought, we are not merely pursuing a task that is potentially interesting for an understanding of his work, but are actually following up one of the basic notions of Pico's own philosophy" (Kristeller , 41). Such an affirmation would prompt us to seek, whenever possible, all of Pico's sources, a task that proves particularly difficult for the Oration and the Conclusiones, replete as they are with references to unusual or even unknown works and authors.55 Such an endeavour, while always intriguing, is particularly tempting in the enigmatic allusions of these sections in particular. On account of the abovementioned risks of pursuing such a strategy, however, we have here limited ourselves to tracing the actual sources underlying the complex texture of Pico's work, thus distinguishing them from other possible, but more remote, sources. For instance, the distant source of §§109–13 is obviously Plato's (1990) Phaedrus 265b, "And we made four divisions of the divine madness, ascribing them to four gods, saying that prophecy was inspired by Apollo, the mystic madness by Dionysus, the poetic by the Muses, and the madness of love [...] by Aphrodite and Eros," and Pico certainly knew Ficino's Latin translation of the passage. But the order in which Pico lists the four furores in the Oration suggests even more convincingly that his actual direct source in this case was not this passage in Plato but Ficino's interpretation of it in the final pages of his Commentarium in Convivium Platonis. While some sources may have been recognized here for the first time (such as the quotation of Paul's Letter to the Hebrews in §112 or the reference to the letter De divino furore in §113), the chief crux of these sections is still to be found in the references to the "writings of the Chaldeans" (§130). Unfortunately, the nature of Pico's "Chaldean" sources still remains unclear. A closer examination of the Greek "Chaldean Oracles" (including Psellus's exegesis) may be helpful in explaining some of these intricacies, but we would likely still be left without a real solution to the problem itself. As for the Latin text, it must be emphasized that, as opposed to other editions, the lacunae corresponding to the "Chaldean" names of the rivers of Paradise (§134) have not been provided by Bausi. The Hebrew names that appear in most sixteenth-century editions, and that pass thence into modern editions, are in fact taken from Gen. 2:11–15, but such conjectural shortcuts are incompatible with the translations in Pico's possession. This omission of names ultimately appears fully justified, especially in the light of the only extant (partial) manuscript of the Oration, in which we find a possible trace of the "Chaldean writings" with which Pico was familiar. Finally, it must be noted that some of the variae lectiones preserved in this manuscript and accepted in Bausi's text are quite remarkable: among these, the reader should take note of the phrase sacratissimum deorum cultum ("most holy worship of the gods") of §135, which replaces the usual sacratissimum Dei cultum ("most holy worship of God"). The nature of Pico's hermeneutic attitude toward nonbiblical sources is a major, controversial topic. It would seem from this and other similar details that a profound change in Pico's attitude took place after the failure of the projected disputation in Rome and his subsequent condemnation in 1487. Indeed, a more apologetic Christian pattern, with regard to both pagan and Hebrew sources, prevailed during Pico's last years in Florence under Savonarola's influence (1491–94). But what can be said about Pico's attitude in 1486, the year in which the Conclusiones, the Oration, and the Commento were composed? Here we witness a full-scale use of Neoplatonic symbolic patterns within the framework represented by the prisca theologia and the continuous intermingling of biblical and nonbiblical sources. Pico seems to be so deeply absorbed in his "project of concord" that he is capable of speaking many different "languages" simultaneously (Pier Cesare Bori has rightly emphasized Pico's "bilingualism"). Such a linguistic fusion assumes the existence of a "mysteric" level at which the secret meaning of all theological texts simply awaits the interpreter's illuminating exegesis. In this sense, Pico (as well as Ficino, though in a somewhat different fashion) goes a step further in the process of transforming the "ritual mysteries" into "literary mysteries," which some scholars (e.g., Festugière, Wind) have brilliantly identified as a deeply significant characteristic of the Neoplatonic movement. The presupposition of a "mysteric" level common to biblical and nonbiblical texts ended up being a sanctification of the latter, thus inaugurating a hermeneutic attitude that would develop in its own way, independently from the late positions of the Florentine Platonists and despite the severe judgments of the subsequent generation (including Pico's own nephew, Gianfrancesco). ### §§142–70 (Giorgio Melloni, Michael Papio, and Massimo Riva) In these sections, Pico strongly defends his vocation for philosophical studies, the dignity implicit in pursuing the love of wisdom (philo-sophia), and the right to engage in public debate in order to defend his own opinions. He does so following and copiously quoting illustrious examples from classical (Greek and Roman) antiquity. This praise of philosophy can perhaps be considered the leitmotif of the entire Oration. According to Bori (, 30–31), the original nucleus of these sections can be found in the second half of the manuscript P (Palatino 885), §§25–31, in which Pico stresses two essential points: that a thorough knowledge of sources is necessary to the apprentice philosopher and that disputation is beneficial even when one's argument is defeated. Again according to Bori's general hypothesis on the composition of the Oration, the defence of philosophy and the contemplative life contained in these sections was added later. Datable to mid-October of 1486 (when Pico took refuge in the castle of Fratta after the Margherita episode), it closely follows the letter to Andreas Corneus, also written during the same period (along with the Commentary on a Love Song by Girolamo Benivieni). As Bori notes, this entire group of sections reflects Pico's anxiety over the upcoming public debate on his nine hundred theses, an anxiety intensified by Corneus's reproach that Pico has unduly abandoned the active life (an accusation to which Pico replies in his letter). Later on, some themes expressed in these sections will be repeated and expanded in Pico's Apologia (published in Naples in 1487 after the failure of the Roman disputation), in which Pico defends himself from the accusations of heterodoxy levelled at him by the pope's theologians. The relevant sections of the Apologia (A), as well as those of the manuscript (P), are extensively quoted in the footnotes in order to allow a close comparison among the various drafts. Pico begins this group of sections by providing several arguments in his own defence, focusing on the duty he felt to engage in the study of philosophy, including the study of those heterogeneous sources of ancient wisdom discussed in the preceding passage (Chaldean Oracles and cabalistic doctrines). The models he follows here are classical – Cicero, in particular (On Moral Ends, De Oratore, and De Republica primarily, but also the Tusculan Disputations, in which we find the etymological definition of philosophy as disinterested love of wisdom, on which Pico insists). The reference to Cicero's definition ("wisdom is the knowledge of things divine and human, together with an understanding of each thing's cause" – Augustine provides another similar source) is consistent with the inspiration for the whole Oration. Here again, Pico outlines the ascending path to truth, the three (or, according to Bausi, four) stages through which the journey toward wisdom must pass: from the knowledge of earthly phenomena to that of celestial and divine manifestations, up to the supreme cause, or principle of the universe. This confirms Pico's fundamental position in the Oration vis-à-vis theology, that philosophy is not absorbed by theology: "Pico extols the dignity of the contemplative-philosophical stage within a plurality of diverse and parallel spiritual itineraries" (Bori , 63).56 Yet the practice of philosophy is now disparaged, Pico laments, and even this sublime knowledge is degraded, measured only against the material profit it can produce for its practitioners. The pursuit of wisdom is nowadays reduced to a career, a business similar to that of merchants, and therefore supposedly inappropriate for a nobleman like him. The rhetorical pitch of the Oration here reaches a climax. The simile used, without euphemism, is prostitution. Pallas Athena (the personification of philosophy, and for Pico, in particular, a symbol of the universal intellect) is forced to parade naked, "like a prostitute who accepts a pittance for her deflowered virginity" (§155). The source of this image is most likely Petrarch (RVF 7.10–11), while Petrarch's Invectiva Contra Medicum, full of piercing expressions against the pseudophilosophers of his time, is also a text Pico may have had in mind. With the aim of restoring his own image as that of a disinterested searcher for truth, consumed by a compelling desire to pursue wisdom at all costs, Pico goes so far as to renounce (in part) his patrimonial rights and states that he has given himself over entirely to the contemplative life, thus fully embracing the Aristotelian thesis of its superiority over the active life (Nicomachean Ethics 10.7). We can hear in his words the echo of a Petrarchan-Augustinian leitmotif (De vita solitaria) – for that matter, the opposition between the active and contemplative life gives rise to lively debates in other key humanistic texts of the Quattrocento, such as, for example, Landino's Disputations at Camaldoli.57 Yet this opposition, which is also the counterposition between the civic and mercantile culture of the Florentine commune, on the one hand, and the rising aristocratic courtly culture, epitomized by the Medicean circle, on the other, is not absolute in the fifteenth century. Thus, Bori detects a Socratic theme in Pico's apology (namely, a reference to Plato's Apology of Socrates) and evokes the figure of the Platonic Socrates in order to exemplify how Pico's own vocation for philosophical studies and his readiness to publicly debate his ideas are "not without a civic relevance" (Bori , 77). Next, Pico moves on to sing the praises of disputations, a formal practice common in scholastic circles and universities. Yet, one is uncertain whether to consider Pico's plan to discuss his ideas about universal peace "before a vast assembly of learned men and in the presence of the apostolic senate" as the last in a long line of ecumenical councils of Church Fathers (those Pico addresses, in the Oration, as "most reverend") or the very first international conference of scientists. Later, in the Apologia, written, as we know, after the debate was called off, Pico redefines his intended audience, speaking of a "secret meeting among a few learned men" (cf. Farmer , 9). Here, in this portion of the Oration, Pico defends himself against the accusation of presumptuousness, of daring, at only twenty-four years of age, "to propose a discussion on the sublime mysteries of Christian theology, the most profound questions of philosophy and unexplored fields of knowledge" (§164). One cannot entirely blame his critics for harbouring such thoughts. Again, however, it is in the name of philosophy that Pico defends himself, arguing in favour of the practice of disputation, in which the "eminent doctors" of the Church "have engaged quite often (and not without high honour and praise)" and in which "also [...] Plato, Aristotle and all the most revered philosophers of every age" have engaged. Finally, he calls on Plato in order to remind the reader that jealousy must be "excluded from the divine chorus" (Phaedrus 247a). In short, disputation "sharpens the intellect," argues Pico, quoting Talmudic sources in support of this central point. It is worth noting that the tradition of public disputations focused mainly on debates between Christian theologians and Jewish Rabbis, yet another instance in which Pico aims to show how all major philosophical and theological traditions converge in the search for the truth, at least in method, if not in substance. Interestingly enough, and almost in contradiction with himself (with both his fundamental message of universal peace and his later criticism of astrology), Pico even includes an astrological reference in his argument extolling the need for philosophical debates, as though to suggest, indirectly, that his own destiny as a philosopher, as well as his idea of a public disputation, was written in the stars: in the horoscope of philosophers, in the threefold conjunctions of Mars and Mercury, inasmuch as Mars symbolically represents the need for "conflict" (i.e., disputation as a gymnasium of the mind). Finally, Pico recuses himself rhetorically from defending his right to engage in such a battle at such a young and (according to his critics) immature age. However, he then quotes biblical (Old Testament) sources in defence of youth and bellicosely claims for himself not the title of scholar but that of a "soldier" (of truth, one could add), albeit an admittedly "weak" one. Indeed, he points out that even those who are defeated will benefit from debating since "there is profit in defeat." This is a statement that, harkening back to classical antiquity, may well apply not only to theological disputes but also to such modern contraptions as democracy and experimental science (Karl Popper docet). If the goal is our search for truth, then the real enemies of truth, however we choose to define it, are those who refuse to put their own ideas and beliefs to the test of dialogue and debate; in other words, those who do not submit to human reason. Such faith in reason is based in turn on the conviction that our intellectual pursuits, beyond our religious and philosophical convictions, are all rooted in the one universal intellect that governs all things. ### §§171–233 (Dino Buzzetti) This group of sections begins with the last argument of Pico's self-vindication in the face of the criticisms raised against the proposal of a public disputation of his nine hundred theses. In his opinion, there is no cogent reason to argue against the high number of his theses or against his young age, for, on the contrary, in both cases his attempt would be praiseworthy even in the case of defeat. Far from being needless and audacious, his endeavour is timely and appropriate: a close examination of all positions and a suitable comparison of all philosophical doctrines and schools are absolutely vital to genuine philosophical inquiry. Accordingly, Pico carries on with a detailed enumeration of the several authors whose theses he lists in the first half of his nine hundred Conclusiones, where he represents the doctrines shared by different schools and cultural traditions. He follows the same order of the theses in mentioning first the Latins, or the Western medieval philosophers who wrote their works in Latin, followed by the Arabs and the Greeks. Conforming to a classical rhetorical model, Pico associates with each name in his survey a particular quality that vividly portrays the author's work. In Pico's mind, the merits of the comparison of different schools and opinions deserve to be vigorously emphasized. The truth can shine through only in the discussion of diverse positions because the wisdom of the latest thinkers is deeply rooted in the traditions of their predecessors, the Arabs and the Greeks, and because the Greeks themselves inherited the wisdom of the barbarians. Hence, no one can be content with just one opinion or refrain from appealing to other sources. Pico has extended his examination to the testimonies of the prisca theologia, the ancient theology of the Hermetic, Pythagorean, and Chaldean traditions, but comprehensive as such an approach may be, no scrutiny of the many different doctrines can substitute for a more direct and personal inquiry, such as the one Pico presents in the second part of his nine hundred theses. He proceeds therefore to describe concisely the conclusions drawn according to his own opinion and ascribes to his own merits a demonstration of the agreement between Plato and Aristotle, which many others had merely taken for granted. Pico also insists on an attempt to show the agreement among some conclusions by Scotus and Aquinas, and likewise the harmony among certain contentions of Averroes and Avicenna. The other major ability he claims for himself is that of deriving any conclusion whatsoever on natural and metaphysical matters from completely different principles than are commonly taught in schools of his time. His is, furthermore, a new philosophy that deserves to be judged for its own worth rather than by his young age. At this point in the Oration, Pico feels obliged to account for the inclusion of the somewhat remarkable areas of inquiry that he has included in his collected theses. Each of them requires a rather detailed explanation. He deals in the first place with the art of numbers, which, he contends, offers a novel method by which to prove philosophical truths, and mentions the ancient theologians and all the philosophers, from Pythagoras onward, who were conversant with it. He insists in particular on Plato, without failing, however, to refer to Aristotle and the Arabs as well. The last part of the present section is devoted to an illustration of magic, which Pico presents as the highest and most perfect form of wisdom and natural philosophy. In this lengthy exposition, he sharply distinguishes between two forms of magic, one that scarcely deserves attention and another, nobler one, which has been identified since the most ancient times with the knowledge of things divine. The first was disregarded by wise men and condemned by religion and civil laws, whereas the second was sought after by philosophers and cultivated by the forerunners of the Pythagorean and Zoroastrian traditions. The latter was praised by Plato, the Arabs, and the Schoolmen, but it is to Plotinus in particular that Pico refers in his explanation of how this noble form of magic can lead to the profoundest knowledge of the inner workings of the powers of nature. The kind of comprehensive and concise summary of the content of his nine hundred theses that Pico provides here involves a very large number of references to philosophical sources and doctrines. The chief purpose of the notes for this group of sections was that of documenting their import and provenance. Where the reference is not literal but conjectural, it is accompanied by the indication of the commentators who have suggested it. The notes often contain quotations from the textual sources in order to help the reader to understand their use in Pico's hands as well as his intended interpretation. The other notes supplied are mainly historical. The amount of information provided is inversely proportionate to the renown of the persons and subjects there described. Particular attention has been paid to lesser-known historical characters and unusual terms; in those cases, some care has been taken in gathering information otherwise scattered and dispersed in different or not easily available sources. Pico's direct references are selective and deliberate, and full acquaintance with them helps in the clarification of his intentions. The text of the present portion of the Oration may be profitably compared both with an earlier draft, preserved in the manuscript of Florence's Biblioteca Nazionale and known as Palatino 885 (fols. 143–153), and with Pico's Apologia, a self-defence written after the prohibition of the public discussion of his nine hundred theses and the formal condemnation of some specific points contained therein. A synopsis of the divergent passages of the Oration and the Palatino manuscript was first published by Pier Cesare Bori and Saverio Marchignoli,58 and a complete collation is comprised in the appendix to Francesco Bausi's 2003 edition, where a list of the additions to the portion of the text included in the Apologia is also to be found.59 The most significant variants of the earlier draft are reported here in the notes. References to the corresponding sections of the Conclusiones are also included. In his praise of philosophy, Pico has shown that its ultimate goal is the attainment of peace, the friendship of all souls in their spiritual unity with God's one mind (§94). By showing that philosophical practice and meditation consist in one's preparation for the plenitude of life that holy peace alone can bestow on us (§97), Pico has justified his intention to devote himself entirely to the exercise of philosophy (§142). In this part of the text, his main concern becomes that of describing his quest for philosophical truth and defending his method of inquiry alongside the paths to philosophical wisdom that he has envisaged in opposition to the severe and unfair criticisms levelled against his endeavour. Pico's methodology refuses any indiscriminate allegiance to authority and admits only independent inquiry; he explicitly identifies his conscience as the sole judge of his opinions (§150). Determined as he is not to put his trust in the opinions of others, he boldly declares his intention to become acquainted with all doctrines and all schools (§180). He argues that a thorough examination of all philosophical positions is required not only to avoid error and unwarrantable contentions but also to discover that part of the truth which is to be found in any given philosophical doctrine or tradition (§§184–85). Consequently, the comparison of different positions (§192) appears to be the only criterion that can ensure independent thinking and promote genuine research. Pico sees philosophical practice as a matter of personal commitment and concern (§142). He is convinced that it is only through philosophy and contemplation that man can ascend to a state of passionate ardour and spiritual union with the all-embracing Divine Mind, and afterward be prepared to descend again in order to strive, with full awareness, toward peace and friendship in the earthly world (§66). He is therefore unable to renounce direct personal inquiry and necessarily must find his own way to the truth, by himself and within himself (§197). Pico's confidence in his own direct quest for truth both leads him to claim that the solution to any philosophical question whatsoever can be established by means of his new inventive principles and allows him to aver the introduction of an altogether "new philosophy" (§§206–7). On the grounds of his new principles, Pico feels entitled to declare that he has not only suggested, as many others had done, but even proved the compatibility of Plato and Aristotle (§200). Indeed, beyond Aristotle and Plato, he similarly affirms agreement between Scotus and Aquinas and between Averroes and Avicenna (§205). Pico devotes a special group of his nine hundred Conclusiones to the concordance between philosophical positions commonly held to be divergent and dissonant. Clearly, concord is one of Pico's major concerns. In maintaining the harmony between Plato and Aristotle, he finds himself very much in accordance with the ancient Neoplatonic tradition. Plotinus had openly said that his teachings were "no novelties" and only amounted to the interpretation and explanation of earlier doctrines (Enneads 5.1.8) "that ranged themselves most closely to the school of Pythagoras" (5.1.9). And Pico himself quite consistently takes a similar hermeneutical stance. He traces to different sources his notion of the Protean nature of man (§§18–23, 33) and his explanation of the three stages of the mystical progression (§70): Mosaic and Christian Scriptures (§42); the doctrines of the cabalists and the Arabs (§139); Zoroastrian (§135), Chaldaean (§43), and Hermetic (§33) theology; Pythagorean doctrines (§34); and Greek mysteries (§104). All traditions rooted in ancient theology (prisca theologia: §199) and wisdom (prisca sapientia: §259) converge in conveying the same hidden doctrines (secreta philosophia: §263). As in the ancient Neoplatonic tradition, the exercise of philosophy then comes to reside in the hermeneutical practice of unveiling and exposing the covert meaning of earlier writings. The more Pico sees his task as challenging and new, the less he finds possible support in the works of any other interpreters or expounders. From this point of view, the ancient method of philosophizing through numbers can also be presented as new (§208). But the art of counting that he espouses in his Conclusiones is not to be confused with the arithmetic of the merchants (§212); it consists, on the contrary, in the divine arithmetic that Pythagoras introduced and shaped on the model of the Orphic theology (§260). And the same can be said of magic, which is to be seen as that science of things divine that Plato ascribes to Zoroaster (§223) and that Pythagoras, and all who travelled afar to learn it, held to be the most important form of arcane wisdom (§221). This higher and holier form of philosophy can lead us from the contemplation of the wonders and the most secret things of nature to religion and to the worship of God (§232), but we must guard against mistaking it for that execrable and most deceitful of arts that makes man a slave to wicked powers (§227) and has been condemned by religion and civil laws alike (§218). Pico's task of interpreting the ancient wisdom and all the sapiential knowledge that flowed from it (§§133–34) can thus be seen in its own right as a new form of philosophizing. The novelty of his attempt to expose hidden content and to rationalize the occult doctrines handed down in the ancient teachings can thus be easily reconciled with his effort to demonstrate the profound concord and agreement of all theological and philosophical traditions that originated from them. ### §§234–68 (Massimo Riva) In this final segment of the Oration, Pico explains his position toward Judaism, or, as he put it, "the ancient mysteries of the Hebrews." In short, he claims to find in the Jewish tradition the confirmation of Catholic faith, as well as the very weapons with which to confute the "calumnies of the Jews" (§234). These pages must be read in close connection with the section of the Conclusiones that contains Pico's own "cabalistic theses," as well as with relevant passages from the Heptaplus, Pico's commentary on Genesis, written a couple of years later (1489). Yet Pico's assimilation and treatment of the Jewish tradition (which gained him the reputation of "Christian cabalist") are still under scrutiny and assessment by scholars, who have formulated various hypotheses about the actual sources that he may have used and the roles played by such figures as Flavius Mithridates and Yohanan Alemanno in his reading and interpretation of cabalistic texts. The first and most important source mentioned here is actually a conflation of Esdras, Hilary, and Origen. For Pico, Esdras is a composite figure uniting the Jewish leader of the canonical Book of Ezra with the visionary from the apocryphal Greek Books of Esdras. The latter, which record the revelation received by Esdras, were conserved in the Western tradition and circulated both independently and within the compilation of the Latin Vulgate (by 1560, 2 Esdras is relegated to an appendix to the New Testament). Pico drew primarily from 2 Esdras, which was familiar to the Church Fathers he mentions; hence, it is likely that he formed his ideas more from reading this text than from any original Jewish sources. In this composite work, he finds the narrative account of how a secret explanation of the Law was given to Moses on Mount Sinai, along with the five books of the Pentateuch (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy); the letter of the Law contained in those books will be divulged to the people, while its explanation will remain the secret prerogative of a few God-fearing men (the cohanim, direct descendants of Aaron the high priest, brother of Moses) in a lineage beginning with Jesu Nave (Joshua, son of Nun), the first leader of the Jewish people after Moses, according to various biblical narratives.60 Again, we are faced with a subtle ambivalence in Pico's argumentative strategy: on the one hand, he seems to embrace the esoteric nature of ancient traditions, including the Cabala; on the other, he wants to explain what its mysteries actually mean or at least how they should be interpreted. This ambivalence is further complicated by the difficult relation between (pagan) philosophical and (Judeo-Christian) theological exegesis in his thought. If philosophy helps clarify theological mysteries, the confirmation of theological (Christian) truths remains the ultimate goal of philosophical explanations. Indeed, Pico's treatment of the Jewish tradition, in this final portion of the Oration, deals directly with the distinction between esotericism and exotericism in the transmission (tradition) of all (theological) truths. This is at the core of his exegetic method and governs also what Bori has called Pico's bilingualism: his ability to articulate, in the most original parts of the Oration, a universalistic point of view, speaking in a dual language, at once theological and philosophical, capable of extending the (range of) truth and recognizing different paths to wisdom while following the path of his own Christian faith. This attitude, according to Bori, would also provide a solution to the ambivalence of esotericism and exotericism mentioned earlier: because Pico's intensive universalism (neither monistic nor a simple variety of syncretism) does not make philosophy ancillary to theology neither does it subordinate theology to philosophy.61 Pico's universalism, however, remains fundamentally elitist (albeit retrospectively so). Indeed, is not the phrase "to make public to the populace the most secret mysteries and the profoundest arcana of divinity" (§237) the same as "to give holy things to the dogs and cast pearls before swine" (Matt. 7:6)? The implicit answer to this rhetorical question is yes, of course – at least until the time comes when bigotry and an acritical, dogmatic adherence to the Law can be superseded by a superior understanding of, and implicit dialogue among, different traditions (that is, different ways of articulating and interpreting the true Law). That time has now apparently come, with Pico and his nine hundred theses. Pico's attitude toward the Cabala, then, sums up his attitude toward prisca theologia as a whole. Putting the Cabala on the level of pagan (Pythagorean and Platonic) philosophy,62 he actually treats pagan philosophy (including natural philosophy and magic, discussed in the group of sections immediately preceding this one) as a repository of "hidden wisdom" to be explained in light of Christian dogmas. Yet there is both a contemplative and a practical value in the Cabala; as stated in the Conclusiones, it "puts into practice all of formal metaphysics and lower theology."63 Like Pythagorean and Platonic doctrines, the Cabala contributes to that spiritual transformation that allows man to ascend to the level of angels and beyond. According to Pico, contemplation of the True Torah transforms man into a more godlike creature like Adam (§18), transformed into the cosmic Adam Kadmon, or like Enoch (§35), who is both human and angelic in nature. Paul is the logical choice for a cabalistic model for Christians since Pauline experiences concord perfectly with the two key components of the initiation described in the Oration: conversion and revelation. At the moment of conversion, Paul accepted the new Law over the old Torah; therefore, for Pico, the revelation given to him must be a new Cabala and Paul the new Moses. The divine commandment that is at the origin of esotericism applies to all forms of wisdom and is a common trait of the various paths leading to it. In other words, there is a "cabalistic" trait in all traditions, including the Egyptian (the distinction between demotic writing or the common sort and the sacred writing or hieroglyphs known only to priests and scribes) and the Greek (Pythagoras, Plato, and Aristotle all to some extent wrote in enigmas or transmitted a more secret knowledge to their followers). The same can be said of the "forgotten words of Jesus," the oral wisdom entrusted to his disciples and hence left unwritten.64 We are here taken back to the notion of a direct revelation of the divine truth, sine interprete, a mystical union with the Godhead, which is also the goal of the spiritual itinerary, the last stage of the inner transformation outlined in the Oration. This is a paradoxical notion if ever there was one, inasmuch as those who receive this revelation often become its interpreters, or the intermediaries for those who are (and, as we have seen, should be) excluded from it. Pico himself implicitly assumes this interpretive role in the Conclusiones. This is the difference between "epopteia" and "reception," which lies at the root of all traditions, a difference that cannot be reduced simply to the opposition between orality and literacy but is instead based on two communicative and cognitive systems: "from mind to mind" or "through the intercession of the word" (§244). Yet Pico's focus on the Cabala (in Reuchlin's definition, "receiving what is heard"65) as a sort of genealogical model for the "reception" and transmission of the highest form of knowledge in general bears witness to the intense exchange between Jewish and humanistic circles in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, an exchange that has increasingly attracted the attention and scrutiny of scholars in recent years.66 This is highly significant, as even Ficino and other thinkers who were interested in the Jewish tradition never clearly distinguished Cabala from other mystical approaches. This was in part because they lacked the linguistic and theological background acquired by Pico through his studies with Jewish scholars such as Yohanan Alemanno, Elia del Medigo, and Flavius Mithridates. By working directly with Jewish thinkers, Pico not only acquired these requisite skills but was also directly introduced to a tradition that was still relatively new within Judaism since Cabala appeared around the twelfth century and became widespread among Jews only in the fourteenth (thus, we can actually speak of a development parallel to, and probably intertwined with, the rise of humanism, all within the same historical framework).67 As to the actual extent of Pico's knowledge of the Cabala, the jury is still out; again, the prophet Ezra is quoted in these pages as the master source of Pico's account and treatment of the Cabala's origins, against the backdrop of the reconstruction of the temple in Jerusalem and the reestablishment of the Law following the Babylonian exile. Ezra, according to the narrative in the biblical canonical writings, was scribe and leader of the Jewish congregation in Babylon. He was accorded permission to return to Jerusalem with a second group of exiles. In Jerusalem, Ezra organized the community of the Jews according to traditional Jewish Law, written down in the five Books of Moses (1 Ezra 7); upon his return to Jerusalem, he also received from the archangel Uriel the vision that is transcribed into the seventy books (as many as the members of the Synedrion) that (according to Pico) contain "the science of the Cabala," to be handed down in its three fundamental components: "the ineffable theology of the supersubstantial deity"; "the exact metaphysics of the intelligible and angelic forms"; and "the most steadfast philosophy of natural things" (§250).68 Notwithstanding the fact that he was then only twenty-six (and that, as he himself notes, "these books are held in such religious awe by the Jews of today that no one under the age of forty is permitted to approach them," §252), Pico aimed to acquire as many as possible, translating and studying them with the help of, among others, Flavius Mithridates (the convert Jew Guglielmo Raimondo de Moncada, who was Pico's teacher of Hebrew, Aramaic, and Arabic in 1486 and had been appointed teacher of Oriental languages at the "Studium Urbis" in Rome in 1482). Whether we may speak of an actual "conversion" of Pico to the Cabala or simply of an apologetic attempt to "convert" the Cabala into an anti-Jewish tool of conversion69 is still open to conjecture. Perhaps (at least as far as the Oration and the Conclusiones are concerned) one does not entirely exclude the other. There is no doubt, however, that Pico is a Christian when he writes the Oration and when he defends himself, in the Apologia, forcefully declaring: "I am not a magician, I am not a Jew, I am not an Ishmaelite, I am not a heretic, but I worship Jesus and carry Jesus' cross on my body" (preface 14). Pico sees in the cabalistic books – and God is his witness (vidi in illis, testis est Deus) – not the secrets of the Mosaic religion but the universal truths of Christian dogmas; he also reads in them "what we read daily in Paul, Dionysius, Jerome and Augustine."70 In the light of his personal "epiphany," Pico claims that the teachings of the Cabala confirm Christian doctrines and dogmas and are to be considered as part of the Christian tradition as a whole. In his cabalistic Conclusiones, he therefore acts as an interpreter, the translator of a personal, philosophical, and theological vision. As the (natural) science of astrology teaches us how to read in the book of God (nature) – he writes – thus the Cabala teaches us how to read in the book of the Law (Conclusiones 2.11.72; Farmer , 552). The same argument (a mixture of esotericism and exotericism) used for the Cabala is also valid for the Chaldean and Orphic mysteries, handed down through the fragmentary teachings of Zoroaster and Pythagoras's mathematical doctrines (with the substantial difference that in Pico's day there was no significant number of followers of Orpheus or Pythagoras to be converted to the universal truth of Christianity). Nevertheless, as Bori suggestively observes, it is sometimes tempting, while reading Pico, actually to believe in the survival or rebirth of mysteries like those transmitted in the pagan initiation rites. Understanding the esoteric language of initiation and spiritual transformation implies interpreting and translating its content, its truth, disguised under the veil of poetic enigmas, into the language of Christian theology. Pico's is a highly synthetic – yet generously inclusive – philosophical reconciliation of the multiple ways in which universal (Christian) truth may be articulated. As young Pico himself provocatively declares in the final lines of the Oration, his principal task was to "[free] from the tangle of riddles and the obscurity of fables the meaning of this secret philosophy" (§263). This is the hermeneutic strategy that lies at the core of Pico's "new philosophy": only through the correct (or at least doggedly coherent) interpretation of any given text – or doctrine – may its disguised truths be revealed. In this way, it is perhaps more accurate to say that Pico has developed an entire system of exegetic thought rather than "merely" a new philosophy. Yet this characteristic alone is not enough to explain the full import of Pico's many contributions. How many philosophers and theologians before (and after) him spent sleepless nights examining the texts of their predecessors through a lens that was, or genuinely seemed to them, to be wholly original? This is the age-old task of all commentators, one that Plotinus addresses in his Enneads (7.1): > When, perhaps, we make the effort to clarify our ideas and close into the heart of the matter we are at once unsettled: our doubts throw us back upon ancient explanations; we choose among the various theories, or among the various interpretations of some one theory, and so we come to rest, satisfied, if only we can counter a question with an approved answer, and glad to be absolved from further enquiry. Now, we must believe that some of the venerable philosophers of old discovered the truth; but it is important to examine which of them really hit the mark and by what guiding principle we can ourselves attain to certitude. What sets Pico apart from others, what at last makes his Oration so significant, is not simply his heartfelt desire to attain a comforting measure of "certitude"; rather, it is his equally ardent willingness (indeed, necessity) to put his theories to the test. Success is gauged not in rest but in action. However, this ambition, if we may use such a term, derives as much from his own slakeless thirst to make a contribution of his own as it does from a sense of responsibility toward his fellow man. In the first proem to the Heptaplus, Pico explains that he had assumed the role of exegete so that "I too might pluck for myself a few ears to place as first fruits upon the altars of the church, that I might not be shut off from the privileges of the temple like a false Israelite or one of the uninitiate." The spirited acquisition of knowledge is itself a part of man's path to perfection. For this reason, we ought to see Pico's submission of his theses to public debate both as an opportunity to test their validity and as an altruistic invitation to assist, albeit indirectly, in the self-enlightenment of all those in his learned audience. 1 There have been several attempts at identifying this unknown person. In any case, that the "manifesto of Renaissance Humanism" may begin with a coded reference to an Arabic "prophet" (as in the Palatino manuscript) who is actually a converted friar (or a converted Jew) remains a fascinating conjecture. 2 Asclepius 6. See also Augustine, De civitate Dei 10.12; Ficino, Theologia Platonica 14.3. 3 Convivio 4.19.7. 4 Cf. Bori, "Tre giardini" (1996b, 551–64); Bori (, 36ff.). 5 Besides Hermetic texts (e.g., Asclepius 8–9), this motif is present also in Lactantius (De ira dei 14.1) as well as Manetti (De dignitate 3). Cf. Bausi (Pico 2003, 7). 6 Gentile (, 66). 7 It is precisely for this reason, we might add, that Pico (with an eye toward Seneca's forty-first letter, to Lucilius) develops and integrates Seneca's idea of wisdom into the Oration. The concept of reason as a means of dominating oneself, and the whole cosmos, is expressed in Senecan terms, although the second sentence suggests, again, an upward dynamism that does not belong to Stoic usage. 8 See Marcel (1958, 664ff.). On Ficino's concept of human dignity, see Vasoli (, 74–89). 9 To reinforce this "contamination" of a Platonic and biblical archetype in the Oration, we may remember that Origen, in a work translated into Latin in 1481 by Cristoforo Persona (Contra Celsum), had already recognized in the Platonic myth of the Symposium a reflection of the Creation story told in Genesis (with Póros identified with Adam and Penía with the serpent). For Pico's attitude toward Origen, see Conclusiones 1.29.29 (Farmer , 434–35). See also Wind (, 44): "Although [Pico's] doctrine is not identical with Origen's in any detail, they have in common the assumption that man's place in the universe is not fixed, that he is able to move freely, up and down, between the angelic and the animal spheres, belonging to both and bound to neither." See also Wind (, 197ff.). 10 In this passage, Ficino comments on Symposium 203. 11 Pico (1942, 501). Pico's thesis 2.5.21 (Farmer , 444–45) also speaks of the hortus Jovis ("the garden of Jove [Zeus]"). 12 See §30. 13 The following sentence by Pico's friend and patron Lorenzo de' Medici (from the Commentary on His Own Sonnets, also written in the 1480s and possibly a model for Pico's own Commentary on a Love Song by Girolamo Benivieni) seems to echo the dynamic meaning of "happiness," based on a long classical tradition, from Plato to Boethius, on whose celebration this section of the Oration opens: "All men are born with a natural appetite for happiness, and all human actions are directed toward it as their true goal" (Pico 1992, 605, translation mine). For the anthropological tradition, see Buck (, 1:6ff.). 14 The copious references to Patristic sources, underscored by the majority of commentators, should not overshadow the real emphasis of the Oration. When they speak of animal metamorphoses, for example, the Church Fathers and monastic authors (perhaps with the exception of such mystic authors as St. Bernard) generally speak in the negative, emphasizing the nature of the Fall and portraying a true (allegorical and theological) "menagerie" of human degradation into a variety of animals, according to various sins. Many (e.g., St. Thomas Aquinas) add as a corollary the demonic corruption of the imaginative and rational faculties of man. Pico instead is focused on extolling the transcendent possibilities of chameleon-like human nature and imagination. 15 Cf. Copenhaver (2002a, 59): "[A]t the peak of a climb that starts with free choice and rises through terrestrial, celestial and supercelestial natures, Adam's last movement is withdrawal into himself, and his final goal is mystical extinction in the godhead." 16 Among the Church Fathers, Origen and Jerome spoke of the "threefold" sense of Scripture, but the third of Origen's senses, the spiritual, was split into two, the allegorical and the anagogical, and so the "fourfold" sense became established. The mnemonic distich "Litera, gesta docet; quid credas, allegoria; moralis, quid agas; quo tendas anagogia" ("The letter teaches events, allegory what you should believe, morality teaches what you should do, anagogy what mark you should be aiming for") is most often cited from the Glossa ordinaria (De Lubac , 1:1). An alternative version is: "Litera, scripta docet; quod credas, allegoria; quod speres, anagoge; quid agas, tropologia." On Origen, see De Lubac (, 1:142–59, 161–84 and passim). 17 Pico (1971, 1:178). Compare Antonino Raspanti's introduction to Pico's Expositiones in Psalmos (in Pico 1997, 18–21) and Wirszubski (, 262–63) on the sources of "the Hebrew terms of the fourfold interpretation of the Scripture which Pico uses in his Apology." See also Campanini (2005, 432–44). 18 Cf. Farmer (, 345); Copenhaver (2002a). Cf. also Conclusions on the Ways of Interpreting Orpheus' Hymns According to Magic 15 (Farmer , 510). 19 Sonetti (1994, 33, 61): "di caligine opaca dianci pieno" ("full of impenetrable darkness") (16.4) and "di caligine operto è 'l vivo raggio," which could be translated as "the vivid ray piercing [through] darkness" (30.6). Interestingly, caligine ("darkness") is a hapax in Dante (Purg. 11.30). 20 Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1.1100b5ff. (Aristotle , 106): "For clearly if we were to track a person's fortunes, we shall find ourselves often calling the same person happy and then miserable, thus revealing the happy man as a kind of chameleon and infirmly based" (emphasis added). Bausi correctly points out that the Aristotelian meaning of the term comes back, in a different context, in Pico's (2003, 14) confutations of astrology in Disputationes adversos astrologiam (6.2). One could perhaps recognize here a nod to the great Renaissance theme and iconography of Fortune as chance, opportunity, occasio temporis, to be seized by the forelock. Copenhaver (2002a, 60) points instead to the negative, naturalistic, and "magic" background of the image. 21 Asclepius 5–6. Cf. Hermes Trismegistus (, 69). 22 Farmer (, 514): "Frustra adit naturam et Protheum, qui Pana non attraxerit." 23 Wind (, 196). 24 Copenhaver stresses the (Christian) cabalistic leitmotif of the Oration over other themes: "Human mutability, according to Pico, is a marvel, but is also unreliable. [...] Man finds his dignity by emulating the angels" (Copenhaver 2002a, 60). 25 Wind (, 218). According to Wind, we are not far here from Nicholas of Cusa's docta ignorantia ("learned ignorance"). De Lubac and (after him) Bausi also recall a passage of Cusa's On Conjectures (De conjecturis), in which the main theme of this section of the Oration, man's potential transformation into a human God or a God humanized (humanus Deus atque Deus humanatus), is also clearly expressed (De Lubac , 200–1). 26 See Bausi (Pico 2003, 25). 27 See Idel (). 28 For an interpretation of the role of Metatron in Pico's angelology, see Copenhaver (2002a, 78ff.). 29 Ernst Cassirer (, 138) put Pico's doctrine of God, man, and the world under the category of "symbolic thought." Bori (, 86) agrees. 30 Cf. Copenhaver (2002a, 81): "[W]ritten in Latin, expressed in recondite allusions to classical and biblical texts, and dependent on sources even more arcane, the Oration could be read as the antithesis of what Descartes wanted philosophy to become: divorced from history and philology and obligated to clarity as an ideal." 31 Cf. Ovid, Metamorphoses 15.165–72: "All things are changing; nothing dies. The spirit wanders, comes now here, now there, and occupies whatever frame it pleases. From beasts it passes into human bodies, and from our bodies into beasts, but never perishes. And, as the pliant wax is stamped with new designs, does not remain as it was before nor keep the same form long, but is still the selfsame wax, so do I teach that the soul is ever the same, though it passes into ever-changing bodies" (Ovid, ). 32 In another section of the text (§37), we read in the Palatino manuscript: "[I]t is not the circular body that makes the demon [the "heavens" in the princeps] but straightforward reason." 33 Augustine, On Genesis against the Manichees 2.23: "Hence, we read, and we hear, and we should believe, that the fullness of knowledge and the flaming sword [of the cherubim] guard the tree of life. No one can come to the tree of life except by these two ways, that is, by the endurance of troubles and the fullness of knowledge [...], that is, by charity" (Augustine of Hippo ). The endurance of troubles, we may assume, is addressed in §§92–93 of the Oration. See also Farmer (, 41). 34 Philo, Life of Moses 2.97. See Augustine's sermon on Psalms 17 (especially v. 10) and 98, Jerome's De interpretatione nominum hebraicorum s.v., Peter Lombard's commentary on Psalm 98, and Rabanus Maurus, De universo 5.3. 35 Cf. Augustine's sermon on Psalm 79: "The cherub is the seat of God's glory and is interpreted as the fullness of knowledge. There God sits in the fullness of knowledge. Though we understand that the cherubim are the exalted powers and virtues of the heavens, you will nevertheless be a cherub if you so desire. If the cherub is the seat of knowledge, listen to what the Scripture says: 'the soul of the just man is the seat of knowledge' (Wisdom 7). How, you say, will I become the seat of knowledge? Who will make it so? You yourself have the means to make it so: 'the fullness of law is love'" (Rom. 13:10) (Augustine of Hippo ). 36 Cf. Pico's first exposition on Psalm 17:12 (Pico 1997, 149) and the "solitary darkness of the Father" in §30. 37 In the Old Testament (Jer. 10:2), the upper waters are compared to the Jews (Hep. 7.2), whereas the lower waters come to represent the gentiles (Hep. 7.2) and more generally the earthly world from which Christians are freed, as if from a yoke (Hep. 7.3). Furthermore, Pico attributes to Moses the notion that the firmament (i.e., the sphere of the fixed stars) was placed by God between the two waters (Hep. 2.3). 38 See also Ps. 28:3. 39 Cf. John 4:13–15. 40 The inherent link between love (charity) and law, while not immediately apparent, becomes clear in Augustine's sermon on Psalm 98, in which he equates knowledge with the knowledge of God's law ("the duties of action," §69). Thus, Augustine's appeal to the reader to embody the fullness of knowledge is, not unlike what Pico presents here, an exhortation to aspire to the heights of theology. 41 See Conclusiones 2.5.14 and 2.11.10; Wirszubski (, 198–200); Farmer (, 441, 524–25). This same concept is found in Maimonides' Guide of the Perplexed 3.ex. 42 The most significant illustration of the motif is to be found in Richard of St. Victor's treatise De arca mystica, in which the complex elaboration of the contemplative process culminates within the tabernacle in the figures of the cherubim (see 4.5 and passim). See §232 of the Oration, which seems to echo Richard's main idea. 43 See the first proem to the Heptaplus. 44 It is worth noting that Pico's library contained a copy of what appears to be Berengar of Poitiers's defence of Abelard (Kibre , 149, no. 207). 45 See Conclusiones 7.2–4. This is but a single example among many of the fact that Pico was pursuing, with well-intentioned yet perhaps naive optimism, certain fundamental notions with perilous disregard for what one may nowadays see as their "cultural baggage." Another analogous example is to be found in the case of Abelard, who unhesitatingly explained that the Platonic anima mundi ("world soul") was tantamount to the Holy Spirit (e.g., Theologia Christiana 1.5, PL 178.1144a–46d). 46 For example, Theologia Platonica 1.5.14, 13.2.10, and 14.2.8–10, among many other possibilities. 47 See Farmer (, 81–82, 549). 48 Augustine, for instance, had explained in his sermon on Psalm 98 that once the believer has gratefully accepted God's illuminating grace, his feet become nimble like the hooves of a stag and his hands take on the strength of a bow (Ps. 17:34–35, 37). The stag's hooves, then, come to represent the believer's agile zeal, and his strong hands suggest his steadfastness in doing good works. See Augustine's sermon on Ps. 9:15–16. Note, however, that the foot can also be a positive symbol: love directed to the proper ends (see Peter Lombard's commentary on the same verses in Ps. 9 and Sent. 2.38; Bernard of Clairvaux's sermon 13 on the Psalms). 49 E.g., Conclusiones 2.8.1. 50 Pertinent to this discussion is Di Napoli (, 410–16). 51 Daniélou has traced out the tradition of angels serving as the soul-bride's helpers (Daniélou , 83–94); cf. Augustine's De doctrina christiana 1.37. 52 Cf. Philo's Life of Moses 2.66–140; Clement of Alexandria's Stromateis 5.6; Bede's De tabernaculo. 53 Each of these translations comes from Rabin's edition (Maimonides ). 54 See also Pico's Commento 2.9. 55 The richest and most reliable annotation for the Oration is presently that of Francesco Bausi (Pico 2003). 56 Bausi strongly disagrees with this point of view, stressing how Pico's "opening to all philosophical-theological schools and religious traditions does not deny (and in fact preventively implies) that only one, the Christian, is the repository of a full and unique truth, communicated to man through Revelation" (Pico 2003, 26). 57 Cf. Vickers, Rombach, and Enenkel. 58 Cf. Bori (, 154–58). 59 Cf. Bausi (Pico 2003, 141–56). 60 It is not coincidental that (as Pico elaborates in his cabalistic Conclusions) Joshua Nave, the first in this lineage, has the same name as the Savior (Yehoshua's root = salvation), who, according to his followers, will fulfil the prophecy of the Old Testament. 61 Bori (, 90–94). Farmer (, 89–96, passim) adopts the category of syncretism, and Grafton (, 97) speaks instead of "a model of eclectic philosophy that would inspire imitation for centuries to come." An interpretation different from that of Bori is provided also by Bausi (Pico 2003, xlvii ff.), who stresses the fundamental continuity between Pico's Oration and his later writings, in particular the Heptaplus, part of a projected monumental tract Against the Enemies of the Church (Adversus hostes ecclesiae), of which only one part was drafted, the Disputations against Divinatory Astrology. In the proem to the third exposition of the Heptaplus, Pico adopts an argument first put forth by Augustine in De doctrina Christiana (2.40), according to which Christians are the legitimate proprietors of those truths that pagan philosophers, in particular the Platonists, illegitimately claimed to possess. 62 Copenhaver (2002a, 75). 63 Copenhaver (2002a, 76). Pointing out that Pico sees in the Cabala both a theosophy (contemplative) and a theurgy (operative – a major influence on Pico's Cabala was the thirteenth-century mystic Abraham Abulafia, whose Cabala "was aggressively theurgic"), Copenhaver sees the possibility "that Pico meant to bring both the Sefirot (a theology expressed in names and hence lower than the "ineffable" theology) and the Merkabah (forms, angels, intelligences, what Maimonides called "metaphysics") into his practical Cabala." See also Wirszubski (, 137ff.). 64 Pesce (, introduction). 65 Cf. Pico's Commento (in the commentary to the final stanza), in which the Cabala is defined as "reception" precisely because it is transmitted not in writing but by word of mouth. 66 See, for example, Garin (). 67 Pico underlines how recently translations of Jewish cabalistic works into Latin had appeared, beginning with the humanists (§§251–53). Interestingly enough, the first printed editions of cabalistic works in Latin were not translations of Jewish works but Christian writings on the Cabala, such as Reuchlin's De arte cabalistica and De verbo mirifico. 68 See Copenhaver (2002a, 75ff.) for a recent attempt at situating these words within the cabalist tradition probably known to Pico, from Maimonides to Abulafia. 69 Cf. Bausi (Pico 2003, 131n257). In addition to the episode of Dactylus Hebreus, recounted by Pico himself, we discover in a letter of Lorenzo de' Medici to Giovanni Lanfredini (11 August 1488) that Pico had converted (using "his own arms") a young and learned Jew whom he had employed to translate some of his Hebrew books. 70 Cf. Bori (, 61): "It is evident that both points of view coexist in Pico: on the one hand, the persistence of the language of mysteries [...]; on the other, Augustine and traditional biblical devotion." Indeed, Beroaldo called Pico "the Other Apuleius," referring to Apuleius as a follower of the sacred mysteries (Bausi , 169). ## Part II Text ### lATIN TEXT 1. Legi, patres colendissimi, in Arabum monumentis, interrogatum Abdalam Sarracenum quid in hac quasi mundana scena admirandum maxime spectaretur, nihil spectari homine admirabilius respondisse. 2. Cui sententiae illud Mercurii adstipulatur: "Magnum, o Asclepi, miraculum est homo." #### TRANSLATION 1. Most esteemed fathers,1 I have read in the ancient texts of the Arabians2 that when Abdallah the Saracen3 was questioned as to what on this world's stage, so to speak, seemed to him most worthy of wonder, he replied that there is nothing to be seen more wonderful than man.4 2. This opinion is seconded by Mercury's saying: "A great miracle, Asclepius, is man."5 3. Horum dictorum rationem cogitanti mihi non satis illa faciebant, quae multa de humanae naturae praestantia afferuntur a multis: esse hominem creaturarum internuntium, superis familiarem, regem inferiorum; sensuum perspicacia, rationis indagine, intelligentiae lumine naturae interpretem; stabilis evi et fluxi temporis interstitium, et (quod Persae dicunt) mundi copulam, immo hymeneum, ab angelis, teste Davide, paulo deminutum. 4. Magna haec quidem, sed non principalia, idest quae summae admirationis privilegium sibi iure vendicent. 5. Cur enim non ipsos angelos et beatissimos caeli choros magis admiremur? 3. Still, when I considered the reasons behind these maxims,6 I was unsatisfied by the arguments put forward by many men to explain the excellence of human nature:7 that man is the intermediary between creatures, a companion of the higher beings, a king of the things beneath him; that, by the acuity of his senses, by the discernment of his reason and by the light of his intelligence he was the interpreter of nature;8 that man is the midpoint between fixed eternity and fleeting time, the bond (as the Persians say9) or rather the wedding-song of the world,10 and only slightly inferior, as David affirms,11 to the angels. 4. These reasons are indeed great, but they are nonetheless not the principal ones. That is, they are not the main grounds on which man may rightfully claim for himself the privilege of the highest admiration. 5. Indeed, why then would we not find the angels themselves and the blessed choirs of heaven even more admirable? 6. Tandem intellexisse mihi sum visus cur felicissimum proindeque dignum omni admiratione animal sit homo, et quae sit demum illa conditio quam in universi serie sortitus sit, non brutis modo, sed astris, sed ultramundanis mentibus invidiosam. 7. Res supra fidem et mira! 8. Quidni? Nam et propterea magnum miraculum et admirandum profecto animal iure homo et dicitur et existimatur. 9. Sed quae nam ea sit audite, patres, et benignis auribus pro vestra humanitate hanc mihi operam condonate. 10. Iam summus Pater architectus Deus hanc quam videmus mundanam domum, divinitatis templum augustissimum, archanae legibus sapientiae fabrefecerat. 11. Supercelestem regionem mentibus decorarat; ethereos globos aeternis animis vegetarat; excrementarias ac faeculentas has inferioris mundi partes omnigena animalium turba complerat. 12. Sed, opere consumato, desiderabat artifex esse aliquem qui tanti operis rationem perpenderet, pulchritudinem amaret, magnitudinem admiraretur. 13. Idcirco iam rebus omnibus (ut Moses Timeusque testantur) absolutis, de producendo homine postremo cogitavit. 6. At length, it seemed to me that I had come to understand why man is the most fortunate of beings and therefore worthy of all admiration, and what finally is the condition that befell him in the universal order, a condition to be envied not only by beasts but even by the stars and the intelligences dwelling beyond this world.12 7. A thing surpassing belief, and wondrous too! 8. And why not? Since, for this very reason, man is rightly called, and thought to be, a great miracle and a being worthy of all admiration. 9. But hear, fathers, exactly what this condition is and, while you listen benevolently, kindly indulge me in my endeavour. 10. In accordance with the laws of His mysterious wisdom, God the supreme Father and Architect had already fashioned this worldly home we behold, this most sacred temple of His divinity. 11. He had already adorned the supercelestial region with intelligences, enlivened the heavenly globes with eternal souls, and filled the excremental and filthy parts of the lower world with a multitude of forms of animal life. 12. But when the work was finished, the Craftsman13 still longed for there to be someone to ponder the meaning of such a magnificent achievement, to love its beauty and to marvel at its vastness.14 13. So, when everything was done (as Moses and Timaeus testify), He finally thought to bring forth man.15 14. Verum nec erat in archetipis unde novam sobolem effingeret, nec in thesauris quod novo filio hereditarium largiretur, nec in subsellis totius orbis ubi universi contemplator iste sederet. 15. Iam plena omnia; omnia summis, mediis infimisque ordinibus fuerant distributa. 16. Sed non erat paternae potestatis in extrema faetura quasi effetam defecisse; non erat Sapientiae consilii inopia in re necessaria fluctuasse; non erat benefici Amoris ut qui in aliis esset divinam liberalitatem laudaturus, in se illam damnare cogeretur. 17. Statuit tandem optimus opifex ut cui dari nihil proprium poterat, ei commune esset quicquid privatum singulis fuerat. 14. But there was nothing among His archetypes from which He could mould a new progeny, nor was there anything in his storehouses that He might bestow upon His new son as an inheritance, nor was there among the seats of the world any place for this contemplator of the universe. 15. Every place was by then filled; all things had already been assigned to the highest, the middle, and the lowest orders. 16. But it was not in the nature of the Father's power to fail, as if exhausted, in His final creation. It was not in the nature of His wisdom to hesitate, as if at a loss, when faced with a necessary task. Nor was it in the nature of His beneficent love to have one who would praise divine generosity in all other things be forced to find it blameworthy in regard to himself. 17. At length, the Master Creator decreed that the creature to whom He had been unable to give anything wholly his own should share in common whatever belonged to every other being.16 18. Igitur hominem accepit, indiscretae opus imaginis, atque in mundi positum meditullio sic est alloquutus: "Nec certam sedem, nec propriam faciem, nec munus ullum peculiare tibi dedimus, o Adam, ut quam sedem, quam faciem, quae munera tute optaveris, ea pro voto, pro tua sententia, habeas et possideas. 19. Definita caeteris natura intra praescriptas a nobis leges cohercetur. 20. Tu, nullis angustiis cohercitus, pro tuo arbitrio, in cuius manu te posui, tibi illam prefinies. 21. Medium te mundi posui, ut circumspiceres inde comodius quicquid est in mundo. 22. Nec te celestem neque terrenum, neque mortalem neque immortalem fecimus, ut, tui ipsius quasi arbitrarius honorariusque plastes et fictor, in quam malueris tute formam effingas. 23. Poteris in inferiora, quae sunt bruta, degenerare; poteris in superiora, quae sunt divina, ex tui animi sententia regenerari." 18. He therefore took man, this creature of indeterminate image,17 set him in the middle of the world,18 and said to him: "We have given you, Adam, no fixed seat or form of your own, no talent peculiar to you alone. This we have done so that whatever seat, whatever form, whatever talent you may judge desirable, these same may you have and possess according to your desire and judgment. 19. Once defined, the nature of all other beings is constrained within the laws We have prescribed for them. 20. But you, constrained by no limits, may determine your nature for yourself, according to your own free will, in whose hands We have placed you. 21. We have set you at the centre of the world so that from there you may more easily gaze upon whatever it contains. 22. We have made you neither of heaven nor of earth, neither mortal nor immortal,19 so that you may, as the free and extraordinary20 shaper of yourself, fashion yourself in whatever form you prefer. 23. It will be in your power to degenerate into the lower forms of life, which are brutish. Alternatively, you shall have the power, in accordance with the judgment of your soul, to be reborn into the higher orders, those that are divine." 24. O summam Dei patris liberalitatem, summam et admirandam hominis foelicitatem, cui datum id habere quod optat, id esse quod velit! 25. Bruta, simul atque nascuntur, id secum afferunt (ut ait Lucilius) e bulga matris quod possessura sunt. 26. Supremi spiritus aut ab initio aut paulo mox id fuerunt, quod sunt futuri in perpetuas aeternitates. 24. O supreme liberality21 of God the Father, and supreme and wonderful happiness22 of man who is permitted to obtain what he desires and to be what he wills! 25. As soon as they are born, brutes bring with them from their mother's womb,23 as Lucilius says, all that they are going to possess. 26. The Intelligences have been, either from the beginning or soon thereafter,24 what they are perpetually going to be throughout eternity. 27. Nascenti homini omnifaria semina et omnigenae vitae germina indidit Pater. 28. Quae quisque excoluerit, illa adolescent, et fructus suos ferent in illo. 29. Si vegetalia, planta fiet; si sensualia, obrutescet; si rationalia, caeleste evadet animal; si intellectualia, angelus erit et Dei filius. 30. Et si, nulla creaturarum sorte contentus, in unitatis centrum suae se receperit, unus cum Deo spiritus factus, in solitaria Patris caligine, qui est super omnia constitutus omnibus antestabit. 27. The Father infused in man, at his birth, every sort of seed and all sprouts of every kind of life.25 28. These seeds will grow and bear fruit in each man who sows them. 29. If he cultivates his vegetative seeds, he will become a plant. If he cultivates his sensitive seeds, he will become a brute animal. If he cultivates his rational seeds, he will become a heavenly being. If he cultivates his intellectual seeds, he will be an angel and a son of God.26 30. And if he – being dissatisfied with the lot assigned to any other creature – gathers himself into the centre of his own unity, thus becoming a single spirit with God in the solitary darkness27 of the Father, he, who had been placed above all things, will become superior to all things. 31. Quis hunc nostrum chamaeleonta non admiretur? 32. Aut omnino quis aliud quicquam admiretur magis? 31. Who will not wonder at this chameleon of ours?28 32. Or rather, who will admire any other being more? 33. Quem non immerito Asclepius Atheniensis, versipellis huius et se ipsam transformantis naturae argumento, per Protheum in mysteriis significari dixit. 34. Hinc illae apud Hebreos et Pythagoricos methamorphoses celebratae. 33. Not without reason, Asclepius the Athenian29 said that man was represented in the secret rites by Proteus because of his changing and metamorphous nature.30 34. Hence the metamorphoses renowned among the Jews31 and the Pythagoreans.32 35. Nam et Hebreorum theologia secretior nunc Enoch sanctum in angelum divinitatis, quem vocant , nunc in alia alios numina reformant; et Pythagorici scelestos homines et in bruta deformant et, si Empedocli creditur, etiam in plantas. 35. Indeed, even the most secret Hebrew theology at one time transforms holy Enoch into an angel of divinity,33 whom they call [ ] Metatron,34 and at other times it reshapes other men into other spirits. According to Pythagoreans, wicked men are deformed into brutes and, if Empedocles is to be believed, into plants as well.35 36. Quos imitatus Maumeth illud frequens habebat in ore, qui a divina lege recesserit brutum evadere. 37. Et merito quidem: neque enim plantam cortex, sed stupida et nihil sentiens natura; neque iumenta corium, sed bruta anima et sensualis; nec caelum orbiculatum corpus, sed recta ratio; nec sequestratio corporis, sed spiritalis intelligentia angelum facit. 38. Si quem enim videris deditum ventri, humi serpentem hominem, frutex est, non homo, quem vides; si quem in phantasiae quasi Calipsus vanis praestigiis cecutientem et, subscalpenti delinitum illecebra, sensibus mancipatum, brutum est, non homo, quem vides. 36. Imitating them, Mohammed frequently remarked that he who strays from divine law becomes a brute.36 37. And, indeed, rightly so. It is not in fact the bark that makes the plant, but dull and insentient nature; not the hide that makes a beast of burden, but a brutish and sensuous soul; not the circular body that makes the heavens, but straightforward reason; not the separation from the body that makes an angel, but its spiritual intelligence.37 38. If you see someone who is a slave to his belly, crawling along the ground,38 it is not a man you see, but a plant; if you see someone who is enslaved by his own senses, blinded by the empty hallucinations brought on by fantasy (as if by Calypso herself39) and entranced by their bedevilling spells, it is a brute animal you see, not a man. 39. Si recta philosophum ratione omnia discernentem, hunc venereris; caeleste est animal, non terrenum. 40. Si purum contemplatorem corporis nescium, in penetralia mentis relegatum, hic non terrenum, non caeleste animal: hic augustius est numen, humana carne circumvestitum. 41. Ecquis hominem non admiretur? 42. Qui non immerito in sacris Litteris Mosaycis et Christianis nunc "omnis carnis," nunc "omnis creaturae" appellatione designatur, quando se ipsum ipse in omnis carnis faciem, in omnis creaturae ingenium effingit, fabricat et transformat. 43. Idcirco scribit Evantes Persa, ubi Chaldaicam theologiam enarrat, non esse homini suam ullam et nativam imaginem, extrarias multas et adventitias. 44. Hinc illud Chaldeorum [ ], idest "homo variae ac multiformis et desultoriae naturae animal." 39. If you see a philosopher discerning things with right reason, worship him, for he is not an earthly creature, but divine. 40. If you see a pure contemplator, oblivious to his body and absorbed in the recesses of his mind, this is neither an earthly nor a heavenly creature: this is a still more eminent spirit, clothed in human flesh.40 41. Who, then, will not admire man? 42. Not undeservedly, in Mosaic and Christian Scripture he is sometimes called "all flesh" and sometimes "every creature," insofar as he fashions, shapes, and transforms his own appearance into that of all flesh,41 his own character into that of every creature. 43. Accordingly, Evanthes the Persian,42 writing on Chaldean theology, says man possesses no innate image, but many that are extrinsic and acquired. 44. Hence that saying of the Chaldeans [ ];43 that is, "Man is by nature diverse, multiform and inconstant."44 45. Sed quorsum haec? 46. Ut intelligamus (postquam hac nati sumus conditione, ut id simus quod esse volumus) curare hoc potissimum debere nos, ut illud quidem in nos non dicatur, cum in honore essemus non cognovisse similes factos brutis et iumentis insipientibus, sed illud potius Asaph prophetae: "Dii estis et filii Excelsi omnes"; ne, abutentes indulgentissima Patris liberalitate, quam dedit ille liberam optionem e salutari noxiam faciamus nobis. 47. Invadat animum sacra quaedam et Iunonia ambitio, ut mediocribus non contenti anhelemus ad summa, adque illa (quando possumus, si volumus) consequenda totis viribus enitamur. 48. Dedignemur terrestria, caelestia contemnamus, et, quicquid mundi est denique posthabentes, ultramundanam curiam eminentissimae divinitati proximam advolemus. 49. Ibi, ut sacra tradunt mysteria, Seraphin, Cherubin et Throni primas possident; horum nos, iam cedere nescii et secundarum impatientes, et dignitatem et gloriam emulemur. 45. Yet, why go on about this? 46. So that we may understand that we (having been born into this condition; that is, born with the possibility to become what we wish to be) must take the greatest care, lest people say of us that we, although held in high esteem, did not realize that we had turned ourselves into brutes and mindless beasts of burden. Let us instead recall the saying of Asaph the prophet: "You are all gods and sons of the most high."45 Thus may we avoid abusing the most indulgent liberality of the Father by transforming the free choice He bestowed upon us from something beneficial to something harmful. 47. Let our souls be pervaded by a certain holy and Junonian ambition so that we, not satisfied with what is mediocre, may aspire to what is loftiest, and may apply ourselves with all our strength in that pursuit, for we shall succeed if we are so minded. 48. Let us spurn the terrestrial, disdain the celestial;46 disregarding all that is of this world, let us fly off to the otherworldly court that is near to the most eminent Divinity.47 49. There, according to the sacred mysteries, seraphim, cherubim, and thrones occupy the first places;48 let us emulate their dignity49 and glory, unwilling as we are to yield to them and unable to endure second place. 50. Erimus illis, cum voluerimus, nihilo inferiores. 51. Sed qua ratione, aut quid tandem agentes? 52. Videamus quid illi agant, quam vivant vitam. 53. Eam si et nos vixerimus (possumus enim), illorum sortem iam equaverimus. 54. Ardet Saraph charitatis igne; fulget Cherub intelligentiae splendore; stat Thronus iudicii firmitate. 55. Igitur si actuosae addicti vitae inferiorum curam recto examine susceperimus, Thronorum stata soliditate firmabimur. 56. Si ab actionibus feriati in opificio opificem, in opifice opificium meditantes, in contemplandi ocio negociabimur, luce Cherubica undique corruscabimus. 57. Si charitate ipsum opificem solum ardebimus, illius igne, qui edax est, in Saraphicam effigiem repente flammabimur. 58. Super Throno, idest iusto iudice, sedet Deus iudex seculorum. 50. If so we wish, we will not be inferior to them at all. 51. But in what way, or by doing what? 52. Let us consider what they do, what life they lead. 53. If we too live that life (and indeed we can), we will be equal to their lot. 54. The seraph burns with the fire of love; the cherub shines with the splendour of intelligence; the throne stands in the steadfastness of judgment. 55. Therefore, if we, being dedicated to an active life, undertake the care of inferior things with proper consideration of their worth, we will be strengthened by the steadfast solidity of the thrones.50 56. If we, being unburdened by actions, meditate on the Creator in His creation and on creation in the Creator, we shall be engaged in the tranquillity of contemplation; we shall shine on all sides with cherubic light.51 57. If we burn for the Creator alone, with charity, with its all-consuming fire, we shall burst into flame in the likeness of the seraphim.52 58. Upon the throne, that is, upon the just judge, sits God, the Judge of all time. 59. Super Cherub, idest contemplatore, volat atque eum quasi incubando fovet. 60. Spiritus enim Domini fertur super aquas, has – inquam – quae super caelos sunt, quae apud Iob Dominum laudant antelucanis hymnis. 61. Qui Saraph, idest amator est, in Deo est, et Deus in eo, immo et Deus et ipse unum sunt. 62. Magna Thronorum potestas, quam iudicando, summa Saraphinorum sublimitas, quam amando assequimur. 63. Sed quo nam pacto vel iudicare quisquam vel amare potest incognita? 64. Amavit Moses Deum quem vidit, et administravit iudex in populo quae vidit prius contemplator in monte. 59. Over the cherub, that is, over the contemplator, He flies53 and, as if brooding over him,54 imbues him with warmth. 60. Indeed, the Spirit of the Lord is carried over the waters, the waters that, I say, are above the Heavens and that praise God in the pre-dawn hymns in the book of Job.55 61. He who is a seraph, that is, a lover, is in God and God is in him; indeed, he and God are one.56 62. Great is the power of the thrones that we may reach by judging; supreme is the height of the seraphim that we may reach by loving. 63. And yet in what manner can anyone either judge or love things unknown?57 64. Moses loved the Lord Whom he saw. As a judge, Moses administered to the people the things that he earlier saw on the mountain as a contemplator.58 65. Ergo medius Cherub sua luce et Saraphico igni nos praeparat, et ad Thronorum iudicium pariter illuminat. 66. Hic est nodus primarum mentium, ordo Palladicus philosophiae contemplativae preses; hic nobis et emulandus primo et ambiendus, atque adeo comprehendendus est, unde et ad amoris rapiamur fastigia, et ad munera actionum bene instructi paratique descendamus. 67. At vero operae precium, si ad exemplar vitae Cherubicae vita nostra formanda est, quae illa et qualis sit, quae actiones, quae illorum opera, prae oculis et in numerato habere. 68. Quod cum nobis per nos, qui caro sumus et quae humi sunt sapimus, consequi non liceat, adeamus antiquos patres, qui de his rebus utpote sibi domesticis et cognatis locuplectissimam nobis et certam fidem facere possunt. 69. Consulamus Paulum apostolum, vas electionis, quid ipse, cum ad tertium sublimatus est caelum, agentes Cherubinorum exercitus viderit. 70. Respondebit utique, Dyonisio interprete, purgari illos, tum illuminari, postremo perfici. 65. Hence, the cherub, located in the middle position, uses his light both to prepare us for the seraphic fire and likewise to illuminate for us the judgment of the thrones.59 66. The cherub is the bond of the Prime Minds, the order of Pallas, the overseer of contemplative philosophy.60 First we must emulate him, thirst after him and to the same degree understand him in order that we may be raised from him to the heights of love and descend from him, well taught and prepared, to the duties of the active life. 67. And yet, if our life is to be modelled on the example of the cherub's, it is worth our while to have before our eyes an idea of what life they lead and what it is like,61 what their duties are and what they do. 68. Inasmuch as we, who are flesh and have the smell of earthly things,62 are not permitted to follow their model of our own accord, let us consult the ancient Fathers, for they, to whom these things were common and well known, can provide us with certain and abundant evidence of their nature. 69. Let us inquire of the apostle Paul, the chosen vessel,63 regarding the activities of the cherubic hosts whom he saw when raised up to the third heaven. 70. He will certainly answer, according to the interpretation of Dionysius, that they are cleansed, then illuminated, and afterward are perfected.64 71. Ergo et nos, Cherubicam in terris vitam emulantes, per moralem scientiam affectuum impetus cohercentes, per dialecticam rationis caliginem discutientes, quasi ignorantiae et vitiorum eluentes sordes animam purgemus, ne aut affectus temere debacchentur, aut ratio imprudens quandoque deliret. 72. Tum bene compositam ac expiatam animam naturalis philosophiae lumine perfundamus, ut postremo divinarum rerum eam cognitione perficiamus. 73. Et ne nobis nostri sufficiant, consulamus Iacob patriarcham, cuius imago in sede gloriae sculpta corruscat. 74. Admonebit nos pater sapientissimus in inferno dormiens, mundo in superno vigilans; sed admonebit per figuram (ita eis omnia contingebant) esse scalas ab imo solo ad caeli summa protensas, multorum graduum serie distinctas, fastigio Dominum insidere, contemplatores angelos per eas vicibus alternantes ascendere et descendere. 71. So too, emulating the cherubic life on Earth, curbing the drive of the emotions through moral science, dispersing the darkness of reason through dialectics (as if washing away the squalor of ignorance and vice), may we purge our souls, lest our emotions run amok or our reason imprudently run off course at any time.65 72. Then may we imbue our purified and well-prepared soul with the light of natural philosophy so that afterward we may perfect it with the knowledge of things divine.66 73. And lest we be satisfied by those of our own, let us also consult Jacob the patriarch, whose image shines, chiselled in the dwelling place of glory.67 74. The most wise father, asleep in the lower world and awake in the higher, will illuminate us.68 But he will teach us through a figure (in this way all things were known to them) that there is a ladder that stretches from the lowest earth to the highest Heavens and that is marked by a series of many rungs. God is at its height, and the contemplative angels move up and down it in turns.69 75. Quod si hoc idem nobis angelicam affectantibus vitam factitandum est, queso, quis Domini scalas vel sordidato pede, vel male mundis manibus attinget? 76. Impuro, ut habent mysteria, purum attingere nephas. 77. Sed qui hi pedes? Quae manus? 78. Profecto pes animae illa est portio despicatissima, qua ipsa materiae tanquam terrae solo innititur: altrix – inquam – potestas et cibaria, fomes libidinis et voluptariae mollitudinis magistra. 79. Manus animae cur irascentiam non dixerimus, quae appetentiae propugnatrix pro ea decertat, et sub pulvere ac sole predatrix rapit quae illa sub umbra dormitans helluetur? 75. Yet, if we are to carry out these things in our efforts to imitate the angelic life, who, I ask, will dare to touch the Ladder of God, either with unclean feet or with unwashed hands? 76. It is unlawful, as the mysteries have it, to touch the clean with the unclean.70 77. But what feet are these? What hands? 78. To be sure, the foot of the soul is that part which is most despicable, that which leans upon matter as if on earthly soil; it is the faculty, I say, that feeds and nourishes; it is, I say, the kindling wood of lust and the teacher of sensual weakness.71 79. And why not call the hands of the soul its irascible part, that which fights on behalf of Desire,72 battles for it, and like a plunderer takes away in broad daylight and the public arena73 the things that Desire, resting in the shade, then devours?74 80. Has manus, hos pedes, idest totam sensualem partem in qua sedet corporis illecebra quae animam obtorto (ut aiunt) detinet collo, ne a scalis tamquam prophani pollutique reiciamur, morali philosophia quasi vivo flumine abluamus. 81. At nec satis hoc erit, si per Iacob scalam discursantibus angelis comites esse volumus, nisi et a gradu in gradum rite promoveri, et a scalarum tramite deorbitare nusquam, et reciprocos obire excursus bene apti prius instructique fuerimus. 80. These hands, these feet, are the entire sensual part of the body in which resides the attraction that drags the soul back, as they say, obtorto collo.75 Let us wash them in moral philosophy as in a flowing river lest we be held back from the ladder as wicked and unclean.76 81. And yet not even this will be enough if we wish to be companions of the angels who hasten up and down Jacob's ladder unless we are first well prepared and instructed to be promoted from step to step, to wheel away nowhere from the course of the ladder, and to face their movements to and fro. 82. Quod cum per artem sermocinalem sive rationariam erimus consequuti, iam Cherubico spiritu animati, per scalarum idest naturae gradus philosophantes, a centro ad centrum omnia pervadentes, nunc unum quasi Osyrim in multitudinem vi Titanica discerpentes descendemus, nunc multitudinem quasi Osyridis membra in unum vi Phebea colligentes ascendemus, donec, in sinu Patris – qui super scalas est – tandem quiescentes, theologica foelicitate consumabimur. 83. Percontemur et iustum Iob, qui foedus iniit cum Deo vitae prius quam ipse ederetur in vitam, quid summus Deus in decem illis centenis millibus qui assistunt ei potissimum desideret: pacem utique respondebit, iuxta id quod apud eum legitur: "Qui facit pacem in excelsis." 84. Et quoniam supremi ordinis monita medius ordo inferioribus interpretatur, interpretetur nobis Iob theologi verba Empedocles philosophus. 85. Hic duplicem naturam in nostris animis sitam, quarum altera sursum tollimur ad celestia, altera deorsum trudimur ad inferna, per litem et amicitiam, sive bellum et pacem, ut sua testantur carmina, nobis significat. 82. Once we, inspired by the cherubic spirit, have reached this point through the art of speaking or of reasoning – that is, philosophizing according to the grades of Nature, penetrating the whole from the centre to the centre77 – then shall we descend, dashing the one into many with Titanic force like Osiris, and ascend, drawing together with Phoebean might the many into one, like Osiris's limbs,78 until at last, resting in the bosom of the Father Who is at the top of the ladder, we shall be made perfect in theological bliss.79 83. And let us inquire of just Job, who entered into a living pact with the God of life before he was brought into being,80 as to what God the Highest desires among those tens of hundreds of thousands who are there present before Him.81 He will certainly answer "Peace," in accordance with what is written in the book of Job: "He who makes peace in the heavens."82 84. And since the middle order interprets the precepts of the supreme order for the lower ones,83 let now Empedocles the philosopher interpret for us the words of Job the theologian. 85. Empedocles, as his songs attest, presents to us through the symbols of strife and friendship, or of war and peace, the dual nature that is set in our souls: one of them lifts us upwards to the heavens and the other drags us down into the depths.84 86. In quibus se lite et discordia actum, furenti similem, profugum a diis in altum iactari conqueritur. 87. Multiplex profecto, patres, in nobis discordia; gravia et intestina domi habemus, et plus quam civilia bella. 88. Quae si noluerimus, si illam affectaverimus pacem quae in sublime ita nos tollat ut inter excelsos Domini statuamur, sola in nobis compescet prorsus et sedabit philosophia. 89. Moralis primum, si noster homo ab hostibus indutias tantum quesierit, multiplicis bruti effrenes excursiones et leonis iurgia, iras animosque contundet; tum si rectius consulentes nobis perpetuae pacis securitatem desideraverimus, aderit illa et vota nostra liberaliter implebit, quippe quae cesa utraque bestia, quasi icta porca, inviolabile inter carnem et spiritum foedus sanctissimae pacis sanciet. 90. Sedabit dialectica rationis turbas, inter orationum pugnantias et syllogismorum captiones anxie tumultuantis. 91. Sedabit naturalis philosophia opinionis lites et dissidia, quae inquietam hinc inde animam vexant, distrahunt et lacerant. 86. In these songs, he deplores being tossed upon the seas, driven by conflict and discord like a madman and banished from the gods.85 87. Manifold indeed, O fathers, is the discord in us; we have grave internal, more than civil, wars in our home.86 88. They are such that, if we desire them not, if we yearn after that peace which will lift us up and set us among God's most exalted ones, only philosophy will be able to still the troubles within us and bring us calm. 89. If our man87 would just seek a truce from his enemies, moral philosophy will beat down the unbridled stampede of the manifold beast and the aggression, ire, and arrogance of the lion.88 Then, if we yearn right-mindedly for the safety of perpetual peace for ourselves, it will come and liberally satisfy our desires; indeed, both beasts having been sacrificed like a stuck sow, it will ratify an everlasting pact of the most holy peace between the flesh and the spirit.89 90. Dialectics will calm the tumults of reason agitated and tossed about between the contradictions of speech and the captiousness of syllogisms. 91. Natural philosophy will allay the differences of opinion and disagreements that vex, perplex, and afflict our restless soul from all sides. 92. Sed ita sedabit, ut meminisse nos iubeat esse naturam, iuxta Heraclitum, ex bello genitam, ob id ab Homero "contentionem" vocitatam; idcirco in ea veram quietem et solidam pacem se nobis prestare non posse, esse hoc dominae suae, idest sanctissimae theologiae, munus et privilegium. 93. Ad illam ipsa et viam monstrabit et comes ducet, quae procul nos videns properantes "Venite," inclamabit, "ad me qui laboratis, venite et ego reficiam vos, venite ad me et dabo vobis pacem quam mundus et natura vobis dare non possunt." 94. Tam blande vocati, tam benigniter invitati, alatis pedibus, quasi terrestres Mercurii, in beatissimae amplexus matris evolantes, optata pace perfruemur: pace sanctissima, individua copula, unianimi amicitia, qua omnes animi in una mente, quae est super omnem mentem, non concordent adeo, sed ineffabili quodammodo unum penitus evadant. 92. But it will bring harmony in such a way as to remind us that nature is the offspring of war, as Heraclitus said, and is therefore called "strife" by Homer.90 Thus, it is said that in philosophy true rest and stable peace cannot reveal themselves to us alone, that this is the duty and privilege of its mistress; that is, of the most holy Theology.91 93. She will show us the way to this peace and like a companion will lead us. Seeing us hurrying along from afar, she will call out, "Come to me, you who exert yourselves in vain; come and I will restore you; come to me and I will give you that peace which the world and nature cannot give to you."92 94. So gently called, so kindly invited, we will then fly away into the embrace of the most blessed Mother like terrestrial Mercuries with winged feet93 and will rejoice in the longed-for peace.94 This is that most holy peace, the indissoluble bond, the harmonious friendship in which all souls, in one mind (a mind that is above all minds) are not only in agreement but, indeed, in a certain ineffable way, inwardly become one.95 95. Haec est illa amicitia quam totius philosophiae finem esse Pythagorici dicunt; haec illa pax quam facit Deus in excelsis suis, quam angeli in terram descendentes annuntiarunt hominibus bonae voluntatis, ut per eam ipsi homines ascendentes in caelum angeli fierent. 96. Hanc pacem amicis, hanc nostro optemus seculo, optemus unicuique domui quam ingredimur, optemus animae nostrae, ut per eam ipsa Dei domus fiat; ut, postquam per moralem et dialecticam suas sordes excusserit, multiplici philosophia quasi aulico apparatu se exornarit, portarum fastigia theologicis sertis coronarit, descendat Rex gloriae et cum Patre veniens mansionem faciat apud eam. 95. This is the friendship that the Pythagoreans call the end of all philosophy,96 that peace which God makes in His heavens, which the angels who came down to earth announced to men of good will so that these men would, ascending to heaven, be transformed by it into angels.97 96. Let us desire this peace for our friends, for our times; let us desire it for whatever home we enter.98 Let us desire it for our soul so that in her99 may be made a house of the Lord, so that, after casting off her impurities through moral philosophy and dialectics, our soul may adorn herself with multifaceted philosophy, as if with royal magnificence, and so that she may crown the heights of her doors with the garlands of theology. And let us desire this peace for our soul so that the King of Glory100 may descend at last, together with the Father, to make a home in her.101 97. Quo tanto hospite si se dignam praestiterit (qua est illius immensa clementia) deaurato vestitu quasi toga nuptiali, multiplici scientiarum circumdata varietate, speciosum hospitem, non ut hospitem iam, sed ut sponsum excipiet, a quo ne unquam dissolvatur dissolvi cupiet a populo suo, et domum patris sui, immo se ipsam oblita, in se ipsa cupiet mori ut vivat in sponso, in cuius conspectu preciosa profecto mors sanctorum eius: mors – inquam – illa, si dici mors debet plenitudo vitae, cuius meditationem esse studium philosophiae dixerunt sapientes. 97. If our soul shows herself to be worthy of such a Guest – for His Clemency is immense102 – she (clad in gold, as in a wedding toga, and surrounded by a diverse variety of sciences103) will receive her handsome Guest not merely as a Guest but as a Bridegroom.104 So as not to be separated from Him, she will wish to be separated from her people. Having forgotten her own father's home – indeed, having forgotten herself – she will wish to die in herself so that she may live in her Spouse, in Whose sight the death of His saints is truly precious.105 This is the death, I say (if one must call that plenitude of life death), whose contemplation is, according to the sages, the study of philosophy.106 98. Citemus et Mosen ipsum, a sacrosanctae et ineffabilis intelligentiae fontana plenitudine, unde angeli suo nectare inebriantur, paulo deminutum. 99. Audiemus venerandum iudicem nobis in deserta huius corporis solitudine habitantibus leges sic edicentem: "Qui polluti adhuc morali indigent, cum plebe habitent extra tabernaculum sub divo, quasi Thessali sacerdotes interim se expiantes. 98. Let us take as an example Moses, who is himself but a bit inferior to the fountain-like fullness of sacrosanct and ineffable intelligence whose nectar inebriates the angels.107 99. We will hear the venerable Judge thus declare His laws to us who live in the empty solitude of this body:108 "Let those who are unclean and as yet in need of moral philosophy dwell with the masses outside the tabernacle in the open air while they purify themselves like the priests of Thessaly.109 100. Qui mores iam composuerunt, in sanctuarium recepti, nondum quidem sacra attractent, sed prius dialetico famulatu, seduli levitae philosophiae, sacris ministrent. 101. Tum ad ea et ipsi admissi, nunc superioris Dei regiae multicolorem, idest sydereum aulicum ornatum, nunc caeleste candelabrum septem luminibus distinctum, nunc pellicea elementa in philosophiae sacerdotio contemplentur, ut postremo, per theologicae sublimitatis merita in templi adyta recepti, nullo imaginis intercedente velo divinitatis gloria perfruantur." 102. Haec nobis profecto Moses et imperat et imperando admonet, excitat, inhortatur, ut per philosophiam ad futuram caelestem gloriam, dum possumus, iter paremus nobis. 100. Let those who have already put their behaviour in order and have been received into the sanctuary not yet lay hands upon the sacred things, but first, in the service of dialectics, let them serve the holy things of philosophy like diligent Levites. 101. Once they are allowed access to the holy things in the priesthood of philosophy, let them contemplate the multicoloured aspect of the higher kingdom of God; that is, the divine, princely decoration, as well as the celestial candelabra adorned with seven lights.110 Let them behold the skins so that they, permitted at last into the recesses of the temple111 through the merits of theological sublimity, may rejoice in the glory of the Divinity without any veil of a likeness coming in between."112 102. These things Moses truly commands of us and in commanding instructs, incites, and encourages so that through philosophy we may prepare for ourselves, while we are able, the path to the future celestial glory.113 103. Verum enimvero, nec Mosayca tantum aut Christiana mysteria, sed priscorum quoque theologia harum, de quibus disputaturus accessi, liberalium artium et emolumenta nobis et dignitatem ostendit. 104. Quid enim aliud sibi volunt in Graecorum archanis observati initiatorum gradus, quibus primo, hercle, per illas quas diximus quasi februales artes, moralem et dialecticam, purificatis, contingebat mysteriorum susceptio? 105. Quae quid aliud esse potest quam secretioris per philosophiam naturae interpretatio? 103. In fact, however, not only the Mosaic and Christian mysteries114 but also the theology of the ancients115 shows us the dignity and value of the liberal arts, which I came to discuss. 104. For at what else, by Hercules!116 was the observance of the different degrees of initiation in Greek mysteries aimed? Only after having been purified through moral philosophy and dialectics,117 those arts that we might call expiatory, could the initiates gain entrance to the mysteries.118 105. And what else can such an initiation possibly signify if not an understanding, achieved through philosophy, of nature's most mysterious things? 106. Tum demum ita dispositis illa adveniebat ποπτε α, idest rerum divinarum per theologiae lumen inspectio. 107. Quis talibus sacris initiari non appetat? 108. Quis, humana omnia posthabens, fortunae contemnens bona, corporis negligens, deorum conviva adhuc degens in terris fieri non cupiat, et aeternitatis nectare madidus mortale animal immortalitatis munere donari? 109. Quis non Socraticis illis furoribus, a Platone in Phaedro decantatis, sic afflari non velit ut alarum pedumque remigio hinc, idest ex mundo, qui est positus in maligno, propere aufugiens, ad caelestem Hierusalem concitatissimo cursu feratur? 110. Agamur, patres, agamur Socraticis furoribus, qui extra mentem ita nos ponant, ut mentem nostram et nos ponant in Deo! 106. Only then did that ποπτε α,119 the intimate vision of divine things by the light of theology, come to those who were so disposed. 107. Who would not yearn to be initiated into such sacred rites? 108. Who, leaving behind all human concerns, scorning the goods of fortune and pleasures of the body, would not wish to become a guest at the table of the gods while still alive on earth120 and, inebriated by the nectar of eternity, to receive, though still a mortal creature, the gift of immortality?121 109. Who would not wish to be so inspired by those Socratic frenzies, which Plato celebrates in the Phaedrus,122 that he is whisked away to the heavenly Jerusalem, soaring from here – that is, from this world set on evil123 – with oarlike strokes of wings and feet?124 110. Let us be led away, fathers, let us be led away by the Socratic frenzies that will so lift us beyond our minds125 as to put our mind and ourselves in God! 111. Agemur ab illis utique, si quid est in nobis ipsi prius egerimus; nam si et per moralem affectuum vires ita per debitas competentias ad modulos fuerint intentae, ut immota invicem consonent concinentia, et per dialecticam ratio ad numerum se progrediendo moverit, Musarum perciti furore celestem armoniam intimis auribus combibemus. 112. Tum Musarum dux Bacchus, in suis mysteriis (idest visibilibus naturae signis) invisibilia Dei philosophantibus nobis ostendens, inebriabit nos ab ubertate domus Dei, in qua tota si uti Moses erimus fideles, accedens sacratissima theologia duplici furore nos animabit. 111. They will surely lead us away – but only once we ourselves have taken control of what is ours. If, through moral philosophy, the forces of our passions have been guided correctly toward their proper ends (in such a way that they produce together a lasting harmony126) and if, through dialectics, our reason has moved along at the proper pace, only then, stirred by the frenzy of the Muses,127 shall we drink in that heavenly harmony with our inmost hearing. 112. Then, through his mysteries128 (that is, through the visible signs of nature), Bacchus, the leader of the Muses,129 will show the invisible things of God130 to those of us who pursue philosophy and will make us drunk with the abundance of God's house;131 and if we, like Moses, prove faithful in all God's house,132 most sacred Theology shall draw close to us, animating us with a twofold frenzy. 113. Nam in illius eminentissimam sublimati speculam, inde et quae sunt, quae erunt quaeque fuerint insectili metientes aevo, et primaevam pulchritudinem suspicientes, illorum Phebei vates, huius alati erimus amatores, et ineffabili demum charitate quasi aestro perciti, quasi Saraphini ardentes extra nos positi, numine pleni, iam non ipsi nos, sed ille erimus ipse qui fecit nos. 114. Sacra Apollinis nomina, si quis eorum significantias et latitantia perscrutetur mysteria, satis ostendent esse deum illum non minus philosophum quam vatem. 115. Quod cum Ammonius satis sit exequutus, non est cur ego nunc aliter pertractem; sed subeant animum, patres, tria Delphica precepta oppido his necessaria, qui non ficti, sed veri Apollinis, qui illuminat omnem animam venientem in hunc mundum, sacrosanctum et augustissimum templum introgressuri sunt: videbitis nihil aliud illa nos admonere, quam ut tripartitam hanc, de qua est presens disputatio, philosophiam totis viribus amplectamur. 113. For, raised to her most eminent heights, and thence comparing to indivisible eternity all things that are and shall be and have been, we shall be the Phoebean seers of those things;133 and, admiring that primeval beauty, we shall become its winged lovers.134 And at last, roused by ineffable love as if by a frenzy,135 and borne outside ourselves like ardent seraphim, filled with the godhead,136 we shall no longer be ourselves, but He Himself Who made us.137 114. The sacred names of Apollo, if anyone investigates their meanings and hidden mysteries, sufficiently show that God is, no less than a seer, a philosopher.138 115. But since Ammonius139 has amply examined this matter, there is no reason for me to treat it further. Instead, fathers, let us call to mind the three Delphic precepts,140 which are absolutely necessary to those who are to enter the most holy and august temple, not of the false but of the true Apollo, who illuminates every soul that comes into this world;141 you will realize that they exhort us to do nothing other than embrace with all our strength the tripartite philosophy that we now discuss. 116. Illud enim μηδ ν γαν, idest "nequid nimis," virtutum omnium normam et regulam per mediocratits rationem, de qua moralis agit, recte praescribit. 117. Tum illud γν θι σεαυτ ν, idest "cognosce te ipsum," ad totius naturae nos cognitionem, cuius et interstitium et quasi cynnus natura est hominis, excitat et inhortatur. 118. Qui enim se cognoscit, in se omnia cognoscit, ut Zoroaster prius, deinde Plato in Alcibiade scripserunt. 119. Postremo, hac cognitione per naturalem philosophiam illuminati, iam Deo proximi, ε , idest "es" dicentes, theologica salutatione verum Apollinem familiariter proindeque foeliciter appellabimus. 120. Consulamus et Pythagoram sapientissimum, ob id praecipue sapientem, quod sapientis se dignum nomine nunquam existimavit. 121. Praecipiet primo ne super modium sedeamus, idest rationalem partem qua anima omnia metitur, iudicat et examinat, ociosa desidia ne remittentes amittamus, sed dialectica exercitatione ac regula et dirigamus assidue et excitemus. 122. Tum cavenda in primis duo nobis significabit, ne aut adversus solem emingamus, aut inter sacrificandum ungues resecemus. 116. For the famous maxim μηδ ν γαν (that is, "nothing too much")142 rightly prescribes as rule and norm for every virtue the criterion of the "mean," of which moral philosophy speaks. 117. Then the maxim γν θι σεαυτ ν (that is, "know thyself")143 urges and exhorts us to the knowledge of all nature, of which the nature of man is the intermediary and, so to speak, the mixture.144 118. For he who knows himself in himself knows all things, as was first written by Zoroaster and later by Plato in the Alcibiades.145 119. Finally, once natural philosophy has enlightened us with this knowledge, we, being very close to God and saying ε (that is, "you are"),146 shall address by a theological salutation the true Apollo on intimate and likewise blissful terms. 120. But let us also consult the exceedingly wise Pythagoras,147 wise precisely because he never deemed himself worthy of that name.148 121. He will first advise us "not to sit on a bushel"149 – that is, not to lose that rational faculty through which the soul measures, judges, and considers all things – by abandoning it to sloth and inaction; rather, he will advise us by the exercise and the rule of dialectics to direct and to stimulate that faculty assiduously. 122. Then he will point out to us two things to be avoided above all: that is, making water facing the sun and trimming our nails while offering sacrifice.150 123. Sed postquam per moralem et superfluentium voluptatum fluxas eminxerimus appetentias, et unguium presegmina quasi acutas irae prominentias et animorum aculeos resecuerimus, tum demum sacris, idest de quibus mentionem fecimus Bacchi mysteriis, interesse, et, cuius pater ac dux merito Sol dicitur, nostrae contemplationi vacare incipiamus. 124. Postremo ut gallum nutriamus nos admonebit, idest ut divinam animae nostrae partem divinarum rerum cognitione quasi solido cibo et caelesti ambrosia pascamus. 125. Hic est gallus cuius aspectum leo, idest omnis terrena potestas, formidat et reveretur. 126. Hic ille gallus cui datam esse intelligentiam apud Iob legimus. 127. Hoc gallo canente aberrans homo resipiscit. 123. But after we have urinated away the dissolute appetites of our overflowing pleasures through moral philosophy and pared away, like nail clippings, the sharp points of wrath and the spines of animosity,151 only then shall we finally begin to take part in the sacred rites, that is, in the abovementioned mysteries of Bacchus, and to dedicate ourselves to that contemplation of which the sun is rightly called the father and guide.152 124. Finally Pythagoras will exhort us "to feed the cock"153 – that is, to nourish the divine part of our soul154 – with the knowledge of divine things, as if with solid food and heavenly ambrosia.155 125. This is the cock whose sight fills the lion – that is, all earthly power – with fear and awe.156 126. This is the cock to whom, as we read in Job, intelligence was given.157 127. When this cock crows, the erring man comes to his senses.158 128. Hic gallus in matutino crepusculo, matutinis astris Deum laudantibus, quotidie commodulatur. 129. Hunc gallum moriens Socrates, cum divinitatem animi sui divinitati maioris mundi copulaturum se speraret, Esculapio, idest animarum medico, iam extra omne morbi discrimen positus, debere se dixit. 130. Recenseamus et Chaldeorum monumenta: videbimus (si illis creditur) per easdem artes patere viam mortalibus ad felicitatem. 128. In the dawn twilight, this cock sings each day with the morning stars in praise of God.159 129. This is the cock that the dying Socrates, when – now out of danger of all bodily illness – he was hoping to join the divine part of his soul to the divinity of the greater world,160 said he owed to Aesculapius; that is, to the physician of souls.161 130. But let us also review the writings of the Chaldeans,162 and we shall see (if they are trustworthy) that it is by these same arts that the road to happiness is made accessible to mortals. 131. Scribunt interpretes Chaldei verbum fuisse Zoroastris alatam esse animam, cumque alae exciderent ferri illam praeceps in corpus, tum illis subcrescentibus ad superos revolare. 132. Percunctantibus eum discipulis quo pacto alis bene plumantibus volucres animos sortirentur: "Irrigetis – dixit – alas aquis vitae." 133. Iterum sciscitantibus unde has aquas peterent, sic per parabolam (qui erat hominis mos) illis respondit: "Quatuor amnibus paradisus Dei abluitur et irrigatur; indidem vobis salutares aquas hauriatis. 134. Nomen ei qui ab aquilone [...], quod 'rectum' denotat; ei qui ab occasu [...], quod 'expiationem' significat; ei qui ab ortu [...], quod 'lumen' sonat; ei qui a meridie [...], quod nos 'pietatem' interpretari possumus." 131. The Chaldean interpreters write that it was a saying of Zoroaster's that the soul is winged and, when its wings fall off, it plummets into the body;163 but once the wings have regrown, it flies back to heaven.164 132. When his disciples asked him how they too might obtain souls with well-plumed wings and the ability to fly, he replied: "Soak them well in the waters of life." 133. And when they asked him where they might look for such waters, he answered them with a parable (as was his custom): "God's paradise is irrigated and cleansed by four rivers.165 From these you may draw the waters that will save you. 134. The name of the river that flows from the north is [...], which means the right; that which flows from the west is named [...], which means expiation; that which comes from the east is named [...], that is, light; while that from the south is [...], which may be translated as piety."166 135. Advertite animum et diligenter considerate, patres, quid haec sibi velint Zoroastris dogmata: profecto nihil aliud nisi ut morali scientia, quasi undis Hibericis, oculorum sordes expiemus; dialectica, quasi boreali amussi, illorum aciem lineemus ad rectum; tum in naturali contemplatione debile adhuc veritatis lumen, quasi nascentis solis incunabula, pati assuescamus, ut tandem per theologicam pietatem et sacratissimum deorum cultum, quasi caelestes aquilae, meridiantis solis fulgidissimum iubar fortiter perferamus. 136. Hae illae forsan et a Davide decantatae primum, et ab Augustino explicatae latius, matutinae, meridianae et vespertinae cognitiones. 137. Haec est illa lux meridialis quae Saraphinos ad lineam inflammat et Cherubinos pariter illuminat. 138. Haec illa regio quam versus semper antiquus pater Abraam proficiscebatur. 135. Now consider carefully and with your full attention, fathers, what these doctrines of Zoroaster represent. They surely mean nothing other than to induce us to wash away with moral philosophy, as in the Iberian waves, the filth from our eyes, and to straighten our gaze by dialectics, as if by the northern line.167 Then we should accustom our eyes, in the contemplation of nature, to endure the still feeble light of truth, like the first rays of the rising sun, so that through theological piety and the most holy worship of the gods, we finally become able to endure, like heavenly eagles, the dazzling splendour of the midday sun.168 136. These are, perhaps, those celebrated morning, midday, and evening thoughts first sung by David and then given a wider explanation by Augustine.169 137. This is the noonday light that squarely enflames the seraphim and equally illuminates the cherubim. 138. This is the region toward which our ancient father Abraham was ever advancing.170 139. Hic ille locus ubi immundis spiritibus locum non esse et Cabalistarum et Maurorum dogmata tradiderunt. 140. Et si secretiorum aliquid mysteriorum fas est vel sub enigmate in publicum proferre, postquam et repens e caelo casus nostri hominis caput vertigine damnavit et – iuxta Hieremiam – ingressa per fenestras mors iecur pectusque male affecit, Raphaelem coelestem medicum advocemus, qui nos morali et dialectica uti pharmacis salutaribus liberet. 141. Tum ad valetudinem bonam restitutos iam Dei robur Gabriel inhabitabit, qui nos per naturae ducens miracula, ubique Dei virtutem potestatemque indicans, tandem sacerdoti summo Michaeli nos tradet, qui sub stipendiis philosophiae emeritos theologiae sacerdotio quasi corona preciosi lapidis insignet. 139. This is the place where, according to the doctrines of the cabalists and the Moors, there is no place for unclean spirits.171 140. And, if it may be permitted, even in the form of a riddle, to bring anything at all of the most hidden mysteries into the open172 (inasmuch as the sudden fall from heaven has condemned the head of our man173 to dizziness and, according to Jeremiah, death has come in through the windows to smite our livers and breasts174), let us call upon Raphael,175 the heavenly physician, to set us free with moral philosophy and dialectics, as if with healing drugs. 141. Then, once we have been restored to health, Gabriel, the strength of God,176 will abide in us and, leading us through the marvels of nature and showing us everywhere the merit and the power of God, he will finally deliver us to Michael the high priest, who will in turn bestow upon us, who will have completed our service to philosophy, the insignia of theological priesthood,177 as if a crown of precious stones.178 142. Haec sunt, patres colendissimi, quae me ad philosophiae studium non animarunt modo, sed compulerunt. 143. Quae dicturus certe non eram, nisi his responderem qui philosophiae studium in principibus praesertim viris, aut his omnino qui mediocri fortuna vivunt, damnare solent. 144. Est enim iam hoc totum philosophari (quae est nostrae etatis infoelicitas!) in contemptum potius et contumeliam, quam in honorem et gloriam. 142. These are the reasons, most reverend fathers, that have not only encouraged me but even thrust upon me the duty of studying philosophy. 143. And I would certainly not elaborate on them if I were not compelled to respond to those who are accustomed to condemning the study of philosophy, especially in men of high rank or, even more generally, in those of a middling fortune.179 144. For philosophizing as a whole (and this is the misfortune of our age!) is now derided and disparaged, instead of being honoured and glorified.180 145. Ita invasit fere omnium mentes exitialis haec et monstrosa persuasio, aut nihil aut paucis philosophandum: quasi rerum causas, naturae vias, universi rationem, Dei consilia, caelorum terraeque mysteria pre oculis, pre manibus exploratissima habere nihil sit prorsus, nisi vel gratiam inde aucupari aliquam, vel lucrum sibi quis comparare possit. 145. Thus, nearly everyone's mind has been invaded by the ruinous and monstrous conviction that either no one or only a very few may study philosophy,181 as if having before our eyes and at our fingertips the causes of things, the ways of nature, the logic of the universe, the divine plan, and the mysteries of Heaven and Earth182 were of no value whatsoever unless accompanied by the possibility of garnering some favour or making a profit. 146. Quin eo deventum est ut iam (proh dolor!) non existimentur sapientes nisi qui mercennarium faciunt studium sapientiae, ut sit videre pudicam Palladem, deorum munere inter homines diversantem, eiici, explodi, exsibilari, non habere qui amet, qui faveat, nisi ipsa, quasi prostans et praefloratae virginitatis accepta mercedula, male paratum aes in amatoris arculam referat. 147. Quae omnia ego non sine summo dolore et indignatione in huius temporis non principes, sed philosophos dico, qui ideo non esse philosophandum et credunt et praedicant, quod philosophis nulla merces, nulla sint praemia constituta; quasi non ostendant ipsi, hoc uno nomine, se non esse philosophos, quod cum tota eorum vita sit vel in questu, vel in ambitione posita, ipsam per se veritatis cognitionem non amplectuntur. 146. Indeed, it has now reached the point (what sorrow!) that only those who reduce the study of wisdom183 to a business184 are considered wise. It is like seeing chaste Pallas,185 who dwells among men out of the generosity of the gods, rejected, hooted off and hissed at, with no one to love or protect her, lest she, like a prostitute who accepts a pittance for her deflowered virginity, deposit the ill-earned profit into her lover's money chest.186 147. And I say all these things (not without the deepest grief and indignation) not against the lords of our times but against the philosophers who believe and openly declare that no one should pursue philosophy if only because there is no market for philosophers, no remuneration given to them, as if they did not reveal in this very word187 that they are not true philosophers. Hence, insofar as their whole life has been dedicated to moneymaking and ambition, they are incapable of embracing the knowledge of truth for its own sake. 148. Dabo hoc mihi, et me ipsum hac ex parte laudare nihil erubescam, me nunquam alia de causa philosophatum nisi ut philosopharer, nec ex studiis meis, ex meis lucubrationibus mercedem ullam aut fructum vel sperasse alium vel quesiisse, quam animi cultum et a me semper plurimum desideratae veritatis cognitionem. 149. Cuius ita cupidus semper et amantissimus fui ut, relicta omni privatarum et publicarum rerum cura, contemplandi ocio totum me tradiderim, a quo nullae invidorum obtrectationes, nulla hostium sapientiae maledicta vel potuerunt ante hac, vel in posterum me deterrere poterunt. 150. Docuit me ipsa philosophia a propria potius conscientia quam ab externis pendere iuditiis, cogitareque semper non tam ne male audiam, quam ne quid male vel dicam ipse vel agam. 151. Equidem non eram nescius, patres colendissimi, futuram hanc ipsam meam disputationem quam vobis omnibus, qui bonis artibus favetis et augustissima vestra praesentia illam honestare voluistis, gratam atque iocundam, tam multis aliis gravem atque molestam; et scio non deesse qui inceptum meum et damnarint ante hac, et in praesentia multis nominibus damnent. 148. This much shall I grant myself (and I shall not blush a bit for self-praise in this regard): that I have never pursued philosophy for any other reason than for the sake of being a philosopher, nor have I ever hoped for or sought from my studies, from my queries, any reward or fruit beyond the nourishment of my mind and the knowledge of the truth, something I have always very greatly desired. 149. And I have always been so avid for it and so enamoured of it that, setting aside all private and public concerns,188 I devoted my whole self to the leisure of contemplation,189 from which no calumny of the envious, no slander of the enemies of wisdom, has thus far managed to distract me, nor will it in the future. 150. Philosophy herself has taught me to rely upon my own conscience rather than upon the opinions of others, and always to be careful, not so much that people do not speak badly of me as, rather, that I not say or do anything that is in itself bad.190 151. In fact, most reverend fathers, I was not unaware that this proposed debate of mine would be just as welcome and enjoyable to all of you who promote the good arts and have honoured this discussion with your most august presence as, on the contrary, it would be bothersome and unpleasant to many others. I furthermore realize both that there has been no lack of men who criticized my undertaking from the outset and that they still continue to do so for a variety of reasons. 152. Ita consueverunt non pauciores, ne dicam plures, habere oblatratores quae bene sancteque aguntur ad virtutem, quam quae inique et perperam ad vitium. 153. Sunt autem qui totum hoc disputandi genus et hanc de litteris publice disceptandi institutionem non approbent, ad pompam potius ingenii et doctrinae ostentationem quam ad comparandam eruditionem esse illam asseverantes. 154. Sunt qui hoc quidem exercitationis genus non improbent, sed in me nullo modo probent, quod ego hac aetate, quartum scilicet et vigesimum modo natus annum, de sublimibus Christianae theologiae mysteriis, de altissimis philosophiae locis, de incognitis disciplinis, in celebratissima urbe, in amplissimo doctissimorum hominum consessu, in apostolico senatu disputationem proponere sim ausus. 155. Alii, hoc mihi dantes, quod disputem, id dare nolunt, quod de nongentis disputem questionibus, tam superfluo et ambitiose quam supra vires id factum calumniantes. 156. Horum ego obiectamentis et manus illico dedissem, si ita quam profiteor philosophia me edocuisset, et nunc, illa ita me docente, non responderem, si rixandi iurgandique proposito constitutam hanc inter nos disceptationem crederem. 157. Quare obtrectandi omne lacessendique propositum, et quem scribit Plato a divino semper abesse choro, a nostris quoque mentibus facessat livor, et an disputandum a me, an de tot etiam quaestionibus, amice incognoscamus. 152. In truth, endeavours directed sincerely and righteously toward the attainment of virtue have always faced no fewer (indeed, often more) hecklers191 than those directed sinfully and wrongly toward vice. 153. There are, admittedly, some who frown upon both this style of debate and the very institution of publicly disputing matters of learning. They claim that such discussions are better suited to the flaunting of wit and the display of erudition than to the acquisition of knowledge. 154. There are also others who, though not critical of this kind of exercise in itself, entirely disapprove of it in me who, born just twenty-four years ago, have at my age dared to propose a discussion on the sublime mysteries of Christian theology, on the most profound questions of philosophy, and on unexplored fields of knowledge, all in such a famous city, before a vast assembly of learned men and in the presence of the apostolic senate. 155. Still others, although they allow me the right to debate, do not wish to grant me the permission to dispute nine hundred theses, for they wrongfully consider the task and my desire to participate in it to be as superfluous and presumptuous as it is beyond the reach of my intellect. 156. I would have readily given in to their objections had I been so taught by the philosophy that I profess; nor would I now attempt to respond to them, even with the guidance of philosophy, if I believed that this debate among us had been opened with the purpose of fighting and quarrelling. 157. Therefore, let us rid from our minds any intention to disparage and disquiet, as well as the ill will that Plato assures us is absent from the divine chorus.192 Let us instead amiably consider both whether I am to begin this discussion and whether I should entertain so large a number of theses.193 158. Primum quidem ad eos, qui hunc publice disputandi morem calumniantur, multa non sum dicturus, quando haec culpa, si culpa censetur, non solum vobis omnibus, doctores excellentissimi, qui sepius hoc munere non sine summa et laude et gloria functi estis, sed Platoni, sed Aristoteli, sed probatissimis omnium etatum philosophis mecum est communis. 159. Quibus erat certissimum nihil ad consequendam quam querebant veritatis cognitionem sibi esse potius, quam ut essent in disputandi exercitatione frequentissimi. 160. Sicut enim per gymnasticam corporis vires firmiores fiunt, ita dubio procul in hac quasi litteraria palestra animi vires et fortiores longe et vegetiores evadunt. 161. Nec crediderim ego aut poetas aliud per decantata Palladis arma, aut Hebreos, cum , idest "ferrum," , idest "sapientum," symbolum esse dicunt, significasse nobis, quam honestissima hoc genus certamina adipiscendae sapientiae oppido quam necessaria. 158. First, with regard to those who maliciously criticize this use of public disputation, I shall say very little, since this blunder, if we must call it so, has been committed on numerous occasions not only by me and by all of you, most eminent doctors, who have engaged quite often in it (and not without high honour and praise), but also by Plato, Aristotle, and all the most revered philosophers of every age.194 159. These men were certain that, in order to achieve the knowledge for which they searched, nothing was more beneficial than wholehearted engagement in the practice of debate. 160. In fact, just as the body's muscles become robust through gymnastics, undoubtedly so too, in this literary gymnasium of sorts,195 do the forces of the mind become far firmer and more vigorous. 161. Nor would I believe that the poets, in their singing of the arms of Pallas, and the Hebrews in saying that [barzel], "iron,"196 is the symbol [shel-ha-h akhamim], "of wise men," can mean nothing other than that this honourable pursuit of public debate is absolutely essential to the attainment of wisdom. 162. Quo forte fit ut et Caldei, in eius genesi qui philosophus sit futurus, illud desiderent, ut Mars Mercurium triquetro aspectu conspiciat, quasi si hos congressus, haec bella substuleris, somniculosa et dormitans futura sit omnis philosophia. 163. At vero cum his qui me huic provinciae imparem dicunt, difficilior est mihi ratio defensionis: nam si parem me dixero, forsitan immodesti et de se nimia sentientis, si imparem fatebor, temerarii et inconsulti notam videor subiturus. 164. Videte quas incidi angustias, quo loco sim constitutus, dum non possum sine culpa de me promittere quod non possum mox sine culpa non praestare. 165. Forte et illud Iob afferre possem, spiritum esse in omnibus, et cum Timotheo audire: "Nemo contemnat adolescentiam tuam." 162. Perhaps this is why the Chaldeans hope to see in the horoscope of one who is to become a philosopher197 that Mars faces Mercury from three separate angles;198 it is almost as if all philosophy would become sluggish and drowsy were it not for the existence of these conflicts and debates. 163. It is more difficult for me, though, to defend myself against those who pronounce me unequal to this undertaking. If I in fact declare myself equal to it, it seems I shall be accused of immodesty and of having an excessively high opinion of myself. If, instead, I admit that I am unequal to it, I shall be charged with recklessness and imprudence. 164. See what difficulties I face,199 what task awaits me, since I cannot blamelessly promise about myself something I must then fulfil without blame. 165. I can refer, perhaps, to Job's famous saying200 that the spirit exists in all men, and find comfort in what Timothy was told: "Let no man despise thy young age."201 166. Sed ex mea verius hoc conscientia dixero, nihil esse in nobis magnum vel singulare; studiosum me forte et cupidum bonarum artium non inficiatus, docti tamen nomen mihi nec sumo nec arrogo. 167. Quare et quod tam grande humeris onus imposuerim, non fuit propterea quod mihi conscius nostrae infirmitatis non essem, sed quod sciebam hoc genus pugnis, idest litterariis, esse peculiare quod in eis lucrum est vinci. 168. Quo fit ut imbecillissimus quisque non detrectare modo, sed appetere ultro eas iure possit et debeat, quandoquidem qui succumbit beneficium a victore accipit, non iniuriam, quippe qui per eum et locupletior domum, idest doctior, et ad futuras pugnas redit instructior. 169. Hac spe animatus, ego infirmus miles cum fortissimis omnium strenuissimisque tam gravem pugnam decernere nihil sum veritus. 170. Quod tamen temere sit factum nec ne, rectius utique de eventu pugnae quam de nostra aetate potest quis iudicare. 171. Restat ut tertio loco his respondeam, qui numerosa propositarum rerum multitudine offenduntur, quasi hoc eorum humeris sederet onus, et non potius hic mihi soli quantuscumque est labor esset exanclandus. 166. To speak, though, from my own conscience, I could say with all sincerity that there is nothing great or singular about me. While I strongly uphold my own eager commitment to the good arts,202 I do not assume or expect the title of scholar.203 167. Thus, though I have taken a great burden upon my shoulders,204 it was most certainly not because I am unaware of my weaknesses; rather, I recognize that in this particular kind of clash – that is, one of a literary nature – there is profit in defeat. 168. Consequently, those who are weakest205 should, rather than disparaging such contests, have the right, indeed the obligation, voluntarily to seek them out. He who has been defeated receives not an injury from the winner but an advantage, for, thanks to him, he returns home richer; that is, wiser and better equipped for future contests. 169. Though I am but a weak soldier, I am nonetheless enlivened by this hope, and I have no fear of combat in so difficult a battle against the strongest and most vigorous adversaries.206 170. Whether or not this initiative was reckless will be best decided not from my age but from the final outcome of the battle. 171. It remains in the third place207 for me to respond to those who take offence at the very large number of my propositions, as if this burden lay on their shoulders and it were not instead up to me alone to support its weight, no matter how great. 172. Indecens profecto hoc et morosum nimis, velle alienae industriae modum ponere, et – ut inquit Cicero – in ea re quae eo melior quo maior, mediocritatem desiderare. 173. Omnino tam grandibus ausis erat necesse me vel succumbere vel satisfacere: si satisfacerem, non video cur quod in decem praestare questionibus est laudabile, in nongentis etiam praestitisse culpabile existimetur. 174. Si succumberem, habebunt ipsi, si me oderunt, unde accusarent, si amant, unde excusent: quoniam in re tam gravi, tam magna, tenui ingenio exiguaque doctrina adolescentem hominem defecisse, venia potius dignum erit quam accusatione. 175. Quin et iuxta poetam: "... si deficiant vires, audacia certe laus erit: in magnis et voluisse sat est." 176. Quod si nostra aetate multi, Gorgiam Leontinum imitati, non modo de nongentis sed de omnibus etiam omnium artium questionibus soliti sunt, non sine laude, proponere disputationem, cur mihi non liceat, vel sine culpa, de multis quidem, sed tamen certis et determinatis disputare? 172. To be sure, it is unseemly and exceedingly patronizing to wish to set limits to another's efforts and, as Cicero says, to desire moderation in a matter where the greater is the better.208 173. In undertaking so great a venture, it was inevitable that I either fail or succeed. If I should succeed, I do not see why what is praiseworthy to do for ten theses should be considered blameworthy to do for nine hundred. 174. If I should fail, they will have grounds for accusing me if they hate me – and for excusing me if they love me. Indeed, a young man who has failed through lack of intelligence or want of learning in so serious and great an undertaking will certainly be more worthy of forgiveness than of blame. 175. Indeed, according to the poet: "If strength fails, audacity will surely be praised; and in great endeavours, it is enough to have willed."209 176. And if many in our age, imitating Gorgias of Leontini,210 have been accustomed, not without praise, to propose a disputation not merely on nine hundred questions but on all questions related to all arts,211 why should I not be allowed to engage without blame in debate on questions that, though indeed numerous, are at least precise and determined? 177. "At superfluum – inquiunt – hoc, et ambitiosum." 178. Ego vero non superfluo modo, sed necessario factum hoc a me contendo; quod et si ipsi meam philosophandi rationem considerarent, inviti etiam fateantur plane necesse est. 179. Qui enim se cuipiam ex philosophorum familiis addixerunt, Thomae videlicet aut Scoto (qui nunc plurimum in manibus) faventes, possunt illi quidem vel in paucarum questionum discussione suae doctrinae periculum facere. 180. At ego ita me institui, ut, in nullius verba iuratus, me per omnes philosophiae magistros funderem, omnes scedas excuterem, omnes familias agnoscerem. 177. But they say this is needless and audacious. 178. Yet I contend that I did this not needlessly but out of necessity, and if they should consider my philosophical method, they must admit, albeit reluctantly, that it is clearly necessary. 179. This is because those who have devoted themselves to any one of the schools of philosophy, siding for instance with Thomas212 or with Scotus,213 who are now most in fashion, can surely put their doctrines to the test in the discussion of but a few questions. 180. As for myself, however, I have resolved – in order not to swear by the words of another214 – to pore over all masters of philosophy, to examine every page, and to become acquainted with all schools.215 181. Quare, cum mihi de illis omnibus esset dicendum, ne, si privati dogmatis defensor reliqua posthabuissem, illi viderer obstrictus, non potuerunt, etiam si pauca de singulis proponerentur, non esse plurima quae simul de omnibus afferebantur. 182. Nec id in me quisquam damnet, quod me quocumque ferat tempestas, deferar hospes. 183. Fuit enim cum ab antiquis omnibus hoc observatum, ut, omne scriptorum genus evolventes, nullas quas possent commentationes illectas preterirent, tum maxime ab Aristotele, qui eam ob causam ναγνώστ ς, idest "lector," a Platone nuncupabatur. 184. Et profecto angustae est mentis intra unam se Porticum aut Achademiam continuisse; nec potest ex omnibus sibi recte propriam selegisse, qui omnes prius familiaritates non agnoverit. 185. Adde quod in una quaque familia est aliquid insigne, quod non sit ei commune cum caeteris. 181. Therefore, since I was to speak about all of these doctrines (lest I seem committed to advocating one in particular as a result of having neglected the others), it was impossible for there not to be very many questions concerning all of them together, even if only a few questions were proposed in regard to each.216 182. Nor should anyone condemn me on this account, for "wherever the tempest carries me, there I am brought as a guest."217 183. For it was a rule observed by all the ancients in studying every kind of writer never to pass over any commentaries they were able to read, and this is especially true for Aristotle, who for this reason was called by Plato ναγνώστης; that is, "the reader."218 184. And confining oneself within a single Porch219 or Academy220 certainly does show narrowness of mind. Nor can anyone rightly choose his own doctrine from them all unless he has first made himself familiar with each of them.221 185. In addition, there is in each school something distinctive that is not shared in common with any other. 186. Atque ut a nostris, ad quos postremo philosophia pervenit, nunc exordiar, est in Ioanne Scoto vegetum quiddam atque discussum, in Thoma solidum et equabile, in Egidio tersum et exactum, in Francisco acre et acutum, in Alberto priscum, amplum et grande, in Henrico (ut mihi visum est) semper sublime et venerandum. 186. And now, to begin with our own,222 to whom philosophy came last, we find in John [Duns] Scotus223 something lively and meticulous, in Thomas [Aquinas]224 a balanced solidity, in Giles [of Rome]225 a neat precision, in Francis [of Meyronnes]226 a penetrating acuteness, in Albert [the Great]227 an ancient and grand breadth, in Henry [of Ghent],228 as it has seemed to me, a constant and venerable solemnity.229 187. Est apud Arabes in Averroe firmum et inconcusum, in Avempace, in Alpharabio grave et meditatum, in Avicenna divinum atque Platonicum. 188. Est apud Graecos in universum quidem nitida, in primis et casta philosophia; apud Simplicium locuplex et copiosa, apud Themistium elegans et compendiaria, apud Alexandrum constans et docta, apud Theophrastum graviter elaborata, apud Ammonium enodis et gratiosa. 187. Among the Arabs,230 we find in Averroes231 an unshaken firmness, in Avempace,232 as in Al-Farabi,233 a thoughtful seriousness, in Avicenna234 a divine Platonic sublimity. 188. Among the Greeks,235 philosophy is certainly limpid in general and pure in particular; in Simplicius236 it is rich and copious, in Themistius237 elegant and compendious, in Alexander [of Aphrodisias]238 learned and self-consistent, in Theophrastus239 seriously worked out, in Ammonius240 smooth and agreeable. 189. Et si ad Platonicos te converteris, ut paucos percenseam, in Porphirio rerum copia et multiiuga religione delectaberis, in Iamblico secretiorem philosophiam et barbarorum mysteria veneraberis; in Plotino privum quicquam non est quod admireris, qui se undique prebet admirandum, quem de divinis divine, de humanis longe supra hominem docta sermonis obliquitate loquentem sudantes Platonici vix intelligunt. 190. Pretereo magis novitios, Proclum Asiatica fertilitate luxuriantem, et qui ab eo fluxerunt, Hermiam, Damascium, Olympiodorum et complures alios, in quibus omnibus illud τ Θε ον, idest "divinum," peculiare Platonicorum simbolum elucet semper. 189. And if you turn to the Platonists,241 to mention but a few, in Porphyry242 you will be pleased by the wealth of his topics and the complexity of his religion; in Iamblichus243 you will be awed by an occult philosophy and the mysteries of the barbarians; in Plotinus244 there is no one thing in particular for you to admire, for he offers himself to admiration in every part. Even the Platonists themselves struggle to understand his wisely allusive discourse when he speaks divinely of things divine and when he speaks of human things in a way that far surpasses humanity. 190. I shall pass over the more recent ones, such as Proclus,245 who abounds in Asian fecundity, and those who stem from him, Hermias,246 Damascius,247 Olympiodorus,248 and many others, in all of whom there always shines forth that τ Θε ον – that is, that divine something which is the distinctive mark of the Platonists. 191. Accedit quod, si qua est heresis quae veriora incessat dogmata et bonas causas ingenii calumnia ludificetur, ea veritatem firmat, non infirmat, et velut motu quassatam flammam excitat, non extinguit. 192. Hac ego ratione motus, non unius modo (ut quibusdam placebat), sed omnigenae doctrinae placita in medium afferre volui, ut hac complurium sectarum collatione ac multifariae discussione philosophiae ille veritatis fulgor, cuius Plato meminit in epistolis, animis nostris quasi sol oriens ex alto clarius illucesceret. 193. Quid erat si Latinorum tantum, Alberti scilicet, Thomae, Scoti, Egidii, Francisci Henricique philosophia, obmissis Graecorum Arabumque philosophis, tractabatur, quando omnis sapientia a barbaris ad Graecos, a Graecis ad nos manavit? 194. Ita nostrates semper in philosophandi ratione peregrinis inventis stare et aliena excoluisse sibi duxerunt satis. 191. One should also add that when some school attacks the more established truths and derisively slanders valid arguments of reason, it strengthens rather than weakens the truth, which – like a flame that is stirred by agitation – is thus enkindled rather than extinguished.249 192. Spurred on by this reasoning, I wished to bring to light the opinions not only of a single doctrine (as some would have liked) but of every school of thought, so that, through the comparison of many schools and the discussion of several philosophies, that "effulgence of truth" which Plato mentions in his letters might more intensely illuminate our minds, like the sun rising from the deep.250 193. Inasmuch as all wisdom has flowed from the barbarians to the Greeks and from the Greeks to us, what would have been the point of dealing only with the philosophy of the Latins – that is, of Albert, Thomas, Scotus, Giles, Francis, and Henry – while leaving the Greek and Arab philosophers aside?251 194. Thus, our authors have always seen fit, in matters of philosophy, to ground themselves in foreign discoveries and to perfect the doctrines of others.252 195. Quid erat cum Peripateticis egisse de naturalibus, nisi et Platonicorum accersebatur Achademia, quorum doctrina et de divinis semper inter omnes philosophias, teste Augustino, habita est sanctissima, et a me nunc primum, quod sciam (verbo absit invidia), post multa secula sub disputandi examen est in publicum allata? 196. Quid erat et aliorum quot quot erant tractasse opiniones, si, quasi ad sapientum symposium asymboli accedentes, nihil nos quod esset nostrum, nostro partum et elaboratum ingenio, afferebamus? 197. Profecto ingenerosum est (ut ait Seneca) sapere solum ex commentario et, quasi maiorum inventa nostrae industriae viam praecluserint, quasi in nobis effaeta sit vis naturae, nihil ex se parere quod veritatem, si non demonstret, saltem innuat vel de longinquo. 198. Quod si in agro colonus, in uxore maritus odit sterilitatem, certe tanto magis infecundam animam oderit illi complicita et associata divina mens, quanto inde nobilior longe proles desideratur. 195. What point would there have been in dealing with natural things alongside the Peripatetics without also invoking the Platonic Academy? Their doctrine on divine things, as Augustine shows,253 has always been considered the most sacred of all philosophies; this is a doctrine that, as far as I know, is now being brought forward by me for the first time after many centuries (may my words inspire no envy) to be submitted for public debate. 196. And what would have been the point of dealing with the opinions of others, no matter how many there were, if I – like he who comes to the banquet of the wise without contributing anything254 – were to bring nothing of my own, nothing born of and elaborated with my own mind?255 197. It is certainly undignified, as Seneca says,256 to know only through books and, as though the discoveries of our ancestors had barred the way to our own industriousness and the power of nature were exhausted in us, to bring about from ourselves nothing that, even if it fell short of demonstrating the truth, might at least hint at it from afar. 198. For if a farmer hates sterility in his field and a husband hates it in his wife,257 the Divine Mind will certainly hate even more the barren soul that is joined and associated with It, insofar as it is a far nobler offspring that is desired. 199. Propterea non contentus ego, praeter communes doctrinas, multa de Mercurii Trismegisti prisca theologia, multa de Caldeorum, de Pythagorae disciplinis, multa de secretioribus Hebreorum addidisse mysteriis, plurima quoque per nos inventa et meditata de naturalibus et divinis rebus disputanda proposuimus. 200. Proposuimus primo Platonis Aristotelisque concordiam, a multis ante hac creditam, a nemine satis probatam. 199. Hence, I have not been content simply to add, beside the common doctrines, many principles taken from the ancient theology of Hermes Trismegistus,258 many more drawn from the teachings of the Chaldeans259 and Pythagoras,260 and many others deriving from the more secret mysteries of the Hebrews,261 and I have also proposed for disputation a good many discoveries and reflections of my own,262 both on things natural and divine. 200. In the first place, I have proposed the concord of Plato and Aristotle, believed by many before me but adequately proven by none.263 201. Boetius, apud Latinos id se facturum pollicitus, non invenitur fecisse unquam quod semper facere voluit. 202. Simplicius, apud Graecos idem professus, utinam id tam praestaret quam pollicetur! 203. Scribit et Augustinus in Achademicis non defuisse plures qui subtilissimis suis disputationibus idem probare conati sint, Platonis scilicet et Aristotelis eandem esse philosophiam. 204. Ioannes item Grammaticus, cum dicat apud eos tantum dissidere Platonem ab Aristotele qui Platonis dicta non intelligunt, probandum tamen posteris hoc reliquit. 205. Addidimus autem et plures locos in quibus Scoti et Thomae, plures in quibus Averrois et Avicennae sententias, quae discordes existimantur, concordes esse nos asseveramus. 201. Among the Latins, Boethius promised to do it, but there is no evidence that he ever did what he always wished to do.264 202. Among the Greeks, Simplicius made the same declaration, and if only he had fulfilled his promise!265 203. Augustine,266 too, writes that there were not a few Academics who tried with their most subtle arguments to prove the same thing – namely, that the philosophies of Plato and Aristotle were one. 204. Likewise John [Philoponus] the Grammarian, who,267 although he says that Plato differs from Aristotle only for those who do not understand what Plato says,268 nevertheless left it to posterity to prove. 205. I have also added many theses in which I maintain that several statements by Thomas and Scotus that are thought to be discordant are in agreement,269 and many others in which I maintain the same about statements by Averroes and Avicenna.270 206. Secundo loco quae in philosophia cum Aristotelica tum Platonica excogitavimus nos, tum duo et septuaginta nova dogmata physica et metaphysica collocavimus, quae si quis teneat, poterit, nisi fallor (quod mihi erit mox manifestum), quamcumque de rebus naturalibus divinisque propositam questionem longe alia dissolvere ratione quam per eam edoceamur quae et legitur in scolis et ab huius evi doctoribus colitur philosophiam. 207. Nec tam admirari quis debet, patres, me in primis annis, in tenera etate, per quam vix licuit (ut iactant quidam) aliorum legere commentationes, novam afferre velle philosophiam, quam vel laudare illam si defenditur, vel damnare si reprobatur; et denique, cum nostra inventa haec nostrasque sint litteras iudicaturi, non auctoris annos, sed illorum merita potius vel demerita numerare. 206. In the second place, I have presented not only my discoveries in Aristotelian and Platonic philosophy271 but also seventy-two new theses,272 which I have proposed both in physics and in metaphysics. Whoever grasps these theses will be able – if I am not mistaken, as I shall soon see – to solve any question put to him regarding things natural and divine by a method quite unlike that of the philosophy taught in schools and cultivated by the doctors of this age. 207. Nor should anyone be much amazed, fathers, that in my youth, at a tender age at which (as some propose) I should hardly have been allowed to read the works of others, I wish to introduce a new philosophy;273 instead, let this philosophy be either praised if it is defensible or condemned if it is refutable. When my discoveries and my writings are eventually judged, one should tally up not the years of their author but rather their merits or demerits. 208. Est autem, et praeter illam, alia quam nos attulimus nova per numeros philosophandi institutio, antiqua illa quidem et a priscis theologis, a Pythagora presertim, ab Aglaophemo, a Philolao, a Platone prioribusque Platonicis observata; sed quae hac tempestate, ut preclara alia, posteriorum incuria sic exolevit, ut vix vestigia ipsius ulla reperiantur. 209. Scribit Plato in Epinomide inter omnes liberales artes et scientias contemplatrices praecipuam maximeque divinam esse scientiam numerandi. 210. Quaerens item cur homo animal sapientissimum, respondet: "Quia numerare novit"; cuius sententiae et Aristoteles meminit in Problematis. 208. There is, moreover, still another method of philosophizing (one that is carried out with numbers), which I have presented as new but which is in fact old, and was observed by the ancient theologians,274 by Pythagoras in particular, by Aglaophamos,275 Philolaus,276 and Plato, and by the earlier Platonists.277 But in our age this doctrine, like other famous ones, has so fallen into disuse on account of the carelessness of posterity that hardly any traces of it remain. 209. Plato writes in the Epinomis that, among all liberal arts and contemplative sciences, the principal and most divine is the science of numbers. 210. And again, asking why man is the wisest of animals, he answers: "Because he knows how to count."278 Aristotle also mentions this response in his Problems.279 211. Scribit Abumasar verbum fuisse Avenzoar Babilonii eum omnia nosse, qui noverat numerare. 212. Quae vera esse nullo modo possunt, si per numerandi artem eam artem intellexerunt cuius nunc mercatores in primis sunt peritissimi; quod et Plato testatur, exerta nos admonens voce ne divinam hanc arithmeticam mercatoriam esse arithmeticam intelligamus. 213. Illam ergo arithmeticam, quae ita extollitur, cum mihi videar post multas lucubrationes exploratam habere, huiusce rei periculum facturus, ad quatuor et septuaginta questiones, quae inter physicas et divinas principales existimantur, responsurum per numeros publice me sum pollicitus. 211. Abumasar280 writes that it was a saying of Avenzoar of Babylon281 that he who knows how to count knows all things. 212. None of these things could possibly have been true if they had taken the art of numbering to be that same one at which merchants are now especially skilful. Plato attests to this as well282 when he openly warns us not to believe that this divine arithmetic is the mathematics of the merchants. 213. Since it seemed to me, after long nights of study, that I had thoroughly examined that arithmetic which is so praised, I made up my mind to put these matters to the test and promised that I would answer in public, through the art of numbering, the seventy-four questions283 that are considered most important in matters natural and divine. 214. Proposuimus et magica theoremata, in quibus duplicem esse magiam significavimus, quarum altera demonum tota opere et auctoritate constat, res medius fidius execranda et portentosa; altera nihil est aliud, cum bene exploratur, quam naturalis philosophiae absoluta consumatio. 215. Utriusque cum meminerint Greci, illam, magiae nullo modo nomine dignantes, γοητε αν nuncupant; hanc propria peculiarique appellatione μαγε αν, quasi perfectam summamque sapientiam, vocant. 216. Idem enim, ut ait Porphyrius, Persarum lingua "magus" sonat quod apud nos "divinorum interpres et cultor." 217. Magna autem, immo maxima, patres, inter has artes disparilitas et dissimilitudo. 218. Illam non modo Christiana religio, sed omnes leges, omnis bene instituta respublica damnat et execratur; hanc omnes sapientes, omnes caelestium et divinarum rerum studiosae nationes approbant et amplectuntur. 214. I have also proposed some theses regarding magic284 in which I have shown that there are two forms of magic: one is based entirely on the deeds and powers of demons (and is, in truth, an execrable and monstrous thing); the other, when keenly examined, is nothing but the absolute perfection of natural philosophy. 215. The Greeks mentioned both of them, but they call the former γοητε αν (dignifying it in no way with the name of magic), whereas they call the latter by the proper and exclusive name of μαγε αν, the perfect and highest wisdom, as it were.285 216. As a matter fact, as Porphyry says,286 "magus" in the Persian language means the same as "expert and interpreter of divine things" in ours. 217. So, fathers, there is a great or even the greatest difference and disparity287 between these two arts. 218. The former is condemned and abhorred not only by the Christian religion but by all laws and every well-ordered state. The latter is approved and embraced by all wise men and by all peoples devoted to heavenly and divine things. 219. Illa artium fraudulentissima, haec altior sanctiorque philosophia; illa irrita et vana, haec firma, fidelis et solida. 220. Illam quisquis coluit semper dissimulavit, quod in auctoris esset ignominiam et contumeliam; ex hac summa litterarum claritas gloriaque antiquitus et pene semper petita. 219. The former is the most deceitful of arts; the latter is the highest and most holy philosophy. The former is sterile and vain; the latter is sure, reliable, and firm.288 220. The former has always been concealed by whoever has practiced it because it would have brought shame and disrepute to anyone who wrote about it, whereas the highest literary renown and glory have since antiquity almost always been sought from the latter.289 221. Illius nemo unquam studiosus fuit vir philosophus et cupidus discendi bonas artes; ad hanc Pythagoras, Empedocles, Democritus, Plato discendam navigavere, hanc predicarunt reversi, et in archanis precipuam habuerunt. 221. No philosopher, nor any man eager to learn the good arts, has ever applied himself to the study of the former, but Pythagoras, Empedocles,290 Plato, and Democritus291 crossed the seas to learn the latter, taught it when they returned, and considered it chief among the arcane doctrines.292 222. Illa, ut nullis rationibus, ita nec certis probatur auctoribus; haec, clarissimis quasi parentibus honestata, duos precipue habet auctores: Xamolsidem, quem imitatus est Abbaris Hyperboreus, et Zoroastrem, non quem forte creditis, sed illum Oromasi filium. 222. The former is neither based on any principles nor approved by any reliable author; the latter, ennobled, as it were, by the most celebrated parents, has two authors above all: Zalmolxis,293 who was imitated by Abaris the Hyperborean,294 and Zoroaster,295 not the one of whom perhaps you are thinking296 but the son of Oromasius.297 223. Utriusque magia quid sit Platonem si percontemur, respondebit in Alcibiade Zoroastris magiam non esse aliud quam divinorum scientiam, qua filios Persarum reges erudiebant, ut ad exemplar mundanae reipublicae suam ipsi regere rempublicam edocerentur; respondebit in Carmide magiam Xamolsidis esse animi medicinam, per quam scilicet animo temperantia, ut per illam corpori sanitas comparatur. 223. If we ask Plato what the magic of both these men is, he will answer in the Alcibiades that the magic of Zoroaster is nothing other than that science of divine things in which the kings of the Persians educated their sons so that they might learn to rule their state in accordance with the example of the order of the universe.298 And in the Charmides299 he will answer that the magic of Zamolxis is the medicine of the soul, or that medicine by which temperance is obtained for the soul, just as by the other medicine health is obtained for the body. 224. Horum vestigiis postea perstiterunt Carondas, Damigeron, Apollonius, Hostanes et Dardanus; perstitit Homerus, quem ut omnes alias sapientias, ita hanc quoque sub sui Ulixis erroribus dissimulasse in poetica nostra theologia aliquando probabimus; perstiterunt Eudoxus et Hermippus, perstiterunt fere omnes qui Pythagorica Platonicaque mysteria sunt perscrutati. 224. Afterward, Charondas,300 Damigeron,301 Apollonius,302 Osthanes,303 and Dardanus304 followed in their footsteps. And so did Homer, who likewise concealed this wisdom, just as he concealed all the others, beneath the wanderings of his Ulysses, as I shall eventually prove in my Poetic Theology.305 Eudoxus and Hermippus also followed this path,306 and so, too, did almost everyone else who has assiduously investigated the Pythagorean and Platonic mysteries. 225. Ex iunioribus autem qui eam olfecerint tres reperio, Alchindum Arabem, Rogerium Baconem et Guilielmum Parisiensem. 226. Meminit et Plotinus, ubi naturae ministrum esse et non artificem magum demonstrat: hanc magiam probat asseveratque vir sapientissimus, alteram ita abhorrens ut, cum ad malorum demonum sacra vocaretur, rectius esse dixerit ad se illos quam se ad illos accedere. 225. Among the later philosophers, then, I find three who have got a whiff of it: the Arabian Al-Kindi,307 Roger Bacon,308 and William of Paris.309 226. Plotinus also mentions it,310 where he shows that a magus is the minister and not the maker of nature. That most wise man approves and justifies this kind of magic, so abhorring the other that, invited to the rites of evil demons, he says that it was more fitting for them to come to him than for him to go to them. 227. Et merito quidem: ut enim illa obnoxium mancipatumque improbis potestatibus hominem reddit, ita haec illarum principem et dominum. 228. Illa denique nec artis nec scientiae sibi potest nomen vendicare; haec, altissimis plena mysteriis, profundissimam rerum secretissimarum contemplationem et demum totius naturae cognitionem complectitur. 229. Haec, intersparsas Dei beneficio et interseminatas mundo virtutes quasi de latebris evocans in lucem, non tam facit miranda, quam facienti naturae sedula famulatur. 227. And rightly so,311 for just as the former makes man a slave and a minion of wicked powers, the latter makes him their lord and master. 228. The former, in the end, cannot claim for itself the name either of art or of science, whereas the latter, full as it is of the loftiest mysteries, comprises the deepest contemplation of the most secret things and ultimately the knowledge of all nature. 229. The latter, in calling out, as it were, from their hiding places into the light the good powers sown and scattered here and there in the world by God's beneficence, does not so much perform miracles as sedulously act as the servant of nature, which in turn performs them. 230. Haec universi consensum, quem significantius Graeci συμπ θειαν dicunt, introrsum perscrutatius rimata, et mutuam naturarum cognationem habens perspectatam, nativas adhibens unicuique rei et suas illecebras, quae magorum υγγες nominantur, in mundi recessibus, in naturae gremio, in promptuariis archanisque Dei latitantia miracula, quasi ipsa sit artifex, promit in publicum; et sicut agricola ulmos vitibus, ita magus terram caelo, idest inferiora superiorum dotibus virtutibusque maritat. 230. The latter has quite profoundly probed into that harmony of the universe that the Greeks more expressively call συμπ θειαν,312 and has discerned the mutual kinship313 that natures share. It assigns to each thing its innate charms (which are called the υγγες314 of the magicians) and brings out into the open, as if it were itself their cause, the miracles lying hidden in the recesses of the world, in the womb of nature, in the mysterious storerooms of God. Just as the farmer marries elm to vine,315 so does the magus marry earth to heaven – that is, the lower things to the endowments and powers of the higher.316 231. Quo fit ut quam illa prodigiosa et noxia, tam haec divina et salutaris appareat: ob hoc praecipue, quod illa hominem, Dei hostibus mancipans, avocat a Deo, haec in eam operum Dei admirationem excitat, quam propensa charitas, fides ac spes, certissime consequuntur. 232. Neque enim ad religionem, ad Dei cultum quicquam promovet magis quam assidua contemplatio mirabilium Dei, quae ut per hanc de qua agimus naturalem magiam bene exploraverimus, in opificis cultum amoremque ardentius animati, illud canere compellemur: "Pleni sunt caeli, plena est omnis terra maiestate gloriae tuae." 233. Et haec satis de magia, de qua haec diximus, quod scio esse plures qui, sicut canes ignotos semper adlatrant, ita et ipsi saepe damnant oderuntque quae non intelligunt. 234. Venio nunc ad ea quae, ex antiquis Hebreorum mysteriis eruta, ad sacrosanctam et catholicam fidem confirmandam attuli; quae ne forte ab his, quibus sunt ignota, commentitiae nugae aut fabulae circumlatorum existimentur, volo intelligant omnes quae et qualia sint, unde petita, quibus et quam claris auctoribus confirmata, et quam reposita, quam divina, quam nostris hominibis ad propugnandam religionem contra Hebreorum importunas calumnias sint necessaria. 231. Hence, the latter is consequently revealed to be just as divine and salutary as the former is monstrous and harmful. It is precisely on this account that the former, in subjecting man to the enemies of God, drives him away from God, whereas the latter stimulates him to admire God's works, which is the state of mind that most surely gives rise to well-disposed faith, hope, and charity. 232. For nothing better induces us to religion and to the worship of God than the assiduous contemplation of His wonders. Once we have aptly examined them by means of this natural magic I am discussing, we shall be all the more ardently aroused to the worship and love of their Creator, and shall be forced to sing: "The heavens are full, all the earth is full with the majesty of Thy glory."317 233. But this is enough on magic, regarding which I have said this much because I know that there are many who, just as dogs always bark at strangers, likewise often hate and condemn what they do not understand. 234. I come now to those things that I deduced from the ancient mysteries of the Hebrews and that I cite as confirmation of the sacrosanct and Catholic faith. So that these things not be considered, by those who are ignorant of such matters, imaginary trifles or the fables of storytellers,318 I wish to explain to all men what they are and what they are like; where they come from; by whom and by how many enlightened authors they are confirmed; and how enigmatic, how divine, how necessary they are to those of our own faith for the safeguard of our religion against the importunate calumnies of the Jews.319 235. Scribunt non modo celebres Hebreorum doctores, sed ex nostris quoque Hesdras, Hilarius et Origenes, Mosen non legem modo, quam quinque exaratam libris posteris reliquit, sed secretiorem quoque et veram legis enarrationem in monte divinitus accepisse; preceptum autem ei a Deo ut legem quidem populo publicaret, legis interpretationem nec traderet litteris, nec invulgaret, sed ipse Iesu Nave tantum, tum ille aliis deinceps succedentibus sacerdotum primoribus, magna silentii religione revelaret. 235. Not only the celebrated Hebrew doctors but also some among our own,320 such as Esdras,321 Hilary,322 and Origen,323 write that Moses received from God on the mount not only the five books of the Law324 that he bequeathed to posterity but also a true and more secret exposition of the Law.325 God commanded him to proclaim the Law to the people but never to put the interpretation of the Law into writing, nor divulge it, but to communicate it only to Jesu Nave,326 who would in turn reveal it, under a solemn vow of secrecy, to his successors among the high priests.327 236. Satis erat per simplicem historiam nunc Dei potentiam, nunc in improbos iram, in bonos clementiam, in omnes iustitiam agnoscere, et per divina salutariaque precepta ad bene beateque vivendum et cultum verae religionis institui. 237. At mysteria secretiora et sub cortice legis rudique verborum pretextu latitantia, altissimae divinitatis archana, plebi palam facere, quid erat aliud quam dare sanctum canibus et inter porcos spargere margaritas? 236. The simple story was sufficient to recognize now God's power, now His wrath against the wicked, His mercy toward the good, or His justice before all.328 Divine and salutary precepts were sufficient to learn about the goodly and blessed life, the worship of true religion.329 237. But to make public to the populace the most secret mysteries and the profoundest arcana of divinity concealed beneath the bark330 of the Law and the rough vestiture of language,331 what else could this have been but to give holy things to the dogs and to cast pearls before swine?332 238. Ergo haec clam vulgo habere, perfectis communicanda (inter quos tantum sapientiam loqui se ait Paulus), non humani consilii, sed divini precepti fuit; quem morem antiqui philosophi sanctissime observarunt. 239. Pythagoras nihil scripsit nisi paucula quaedam, quae Damae filiae moriens commendavit. 240. Egyptiorum templis insculptae Sphinges hoc admonebant, ut mystica dogmata per enigmatum nodos a prophana multitudine inviolata custodirentur. 238. Therefore, the custom of keeping from the masses these things that were to be conveyed only to the perfect333 (among whom only Paul334 declared that he wished to speak of wisdom) derived not from human counsel but from divine commandment335 and was a practice that the ancient philosophers solemnly observed. 239. Pythagoras wrote nothing but a few insignificant things that he entrusted to his daughter Dama336 on his deathbed. 240. The Sphinxes carved337 on the temples of the Egyptians admonished them that the mystical doctrines should be kept inviolate from the profane multitude by the knots of enigmas.338 241. Plato, Dionysio quaedam de supremis scribens substantiis, "per enigmata – inquit – dicendum est, ne si epistola forte ad aliorum pervenerit manus, quae tibi scribimus ab aliis intelligantur." 242. Aristoteles libros Metaphysicae, in quibus agit de divinis, editos esse et non editos dicebat. 243. Quid plura? Iesum Christum vitae magistrum asserit Origenes multa revelasse discipulis, quae illi, ne vulgo fierent comunia, scribere noluerunt. 244. Quod maxime confirmat Dionysius Areopagita, qui secretiora mysteria a nostrae religionis auctoribus κ νο ς ε ς νο ν, δι μ σου λ γου, idest ex animo in animum, sine litteris, medio intercedente verbo ait fuisse transfusa. 241. Plato, writing certain things to Dionysius339 regarding the supreme substances, explained: "It is necessary to write in enigmas, for should this letter perchance fall into the hands of others, they would then be unable to understand what I have written to you." 242. Aristotle used to say that the books of the Metaphysics, in which he deals with divine things, were published and unpublished.340 243. What else? According to Origen, Jesus Christ, the Teacher of Life,341 revealed many things to His disciples, which they refused to write down so that these things would not be communicated to the common people. 244. This is conclusively confirmed by Dionysius the Areopagite,342 according to whom the secret mysteries were transmitted to the founders of our religion, " κ νο ς ε ς νο ν, δι μ σου λ γου"343 – that is, from mind to mind – without writing, through the intercession of the word.344 245. Hoc eodem penitus modo cum ex Dei praecepto vera illa legis interpretatio Moisi deitus tradita revelaretur, dicta est Cabala, quod idem est apud Hebreos quod apud nos "receptio"; ob id scilicet, quod illam doctrinam non per litterarum monumenta, sed ordinariis revelationum successionibus alter ab altero quasi hereditario iure reciperet. 246. Verum postquam Hebrei, a Babilonica captivitate restituti per Cyrum et sub Zorobabel instaurato templo, ad reparandam legem animum appulerunt, Esdras, tunc ecclesiae praefectus, post emendatum Moseos librum, cum plane cognoscerent per exilia, cedes, fugas, captivitatem gentis Israeliticae institutum a maioribus morem tradendae per manus doctrinae servari non posse, futurumque ut sibi divinitus indulta celestis doctrinae archana perirent, quorum commentariis non intercedentibus durare diu memoria non poterat, constituit ut, convocatis qui tunc supererant sapientibus, afferret unusquisque in medium quae de mysteriis legis memoriter tenebat, adhibitisque notariis in septuaginta volumina (tot enim fere in sinedrio sapientes) redigerentur. 245. Once the Law's genuine interpretation, which God conveyed to Moses, had been revealed in this same private way, it was called "Cabala,"345 which means to the Hebrews what "reception"346 means to us (doubtlessly because this doctrine was received not through written documents but through orderly successions of revelations from one man to another, almost by hereditary right). 246. However, after Cyrus347 restored the Hebrews from the Babylonian Exile,348 and once the Temple had been rebuilt under the rule of Zerubbabel,349 the Hebrews turned their minds toward the reestablishment of the Law. Esdras350 (who was then the leader of the people), having amended the books of Moses, clearly realized that – following the exiles, the massacres, the flights and captivity of the people of Israel – the custom instituted by their ancestors for handing down the doctrines could no longer be preserved and that the mysteries of this divinely conveyed celestial doctrine would fade into oblivion in the absence of written documents since they could no longer endure in memory alone. Thus, he decided that those sages who were still alive should be convened,351 that each of them should share with the others whatever he could recall of the mysteries of the Law, and that scribes be employed to record it all in seventy volumes352 (roughly the same as the number of sages in the Sanhedrin).353 247. Qua de re ne mihi soli credatis, patres, audite Esdram ipsum sic loquentem: "Exactis quadraginta diebus loquutus est Altissimus dicens: 'Priora quae scripsisti in palam pone, legant digni et indigni, novissimos autem septuaginta libros conservabis ut tradas eos sapientibus de populo tuo; in his enim est vena intellectus et sapientiae fons et scientiae flumen.' 248. Atque ita feci." 249. Haec Esdras ad verbum. 250. Hi sunt libri scientiae Cabalae; in his libris merito Esdras venam intellectus, idest ineffabilem de supersubstantiali deitate theologiam, sapientiae fontem, idest de intelligibilibus angelicisque formis exactam metaphysicam, et scientiae flumen, idest de rebus naturalibus firmissimam philosophiam esse clara in primis voce pronuntiavit. 251. Hi libri Sixtus quartus Pontifex Maximus, qui hunc sub quo vivimus foeliciter Innocentium VIII proxime antecessit, maxima cura studioque curavit ut in publicam fidei nostrae utilitatem Latinis litteris mandarentur; iamque cum ille decessit, tres ex illis pervenerant ad Latinos. 247. So that you need not believe only me, fathers, hear what Esdras himself says: "At the end of forty days, the Most High spoke, saying, 'That which you first wrote, set forth clearly so that the worthy and unworthy alike may read it, but keep to yourself the most recent seventy books so that you may hand them over to the wisest among your people. In them are the vein of intellect, and the fountain of wisdom, and the river of science.' 248. And I did so."354 249. These are the words of Esdras to the letter. 250. These are the books of the science of the Cabala.355 These tomes, as Esdras356 rightly proclaimed, clearly and from the outset, contain a vein of understanding – in other words, the ineffable theology of the supersubstantial deity – a font of wisdom that is the exact metaphysics of the intelligible and angelic forms, and the river of science that is the most steadfast philosophy of natural things.357 251. Pope Sixtus IV358 – who immediately preceded Innocent VIII,359 under whom we live in happiness – arranged, with the utmost care and concern, for these books to be translated360 into Latin for the common good of those of our faith.361 At the time of his death, three of them were already available in Latin.362 252. Hi libri apud Hebreos hac tempestate tanta religione coluntur, ut neminem liceat nisi annos quadraginta natum illos attingere. 253. Hos ego libros non mediocri impensa mihi cum comparassem, summa diligentia indefessis laboribus cum perlegissem, vidi in illis (testis est Deus) religionem non tam Mosaycam, quam Christianam. 254. Ibi Trinitatis mysterium, ibi Verbi incarnatio, ibi Messiae divinitas; ibi de peccato originali, de illius per Christum expiatione, de caelesti Hyerusalem, de casu demonum, de ordinibus angelorum, de purgatoriis, de inferorum paenis eadem legi quae apud Paulum et Dionysium, apud Hieronymum et Augustinum quotidie legimus. 252. These books are held in such religious awe by the Jews of today that no one under the age of forty is permitted to approach them.363 253. I purchased these books at no little cost to myself,364 and when I perused them with the greatest diligence and unstinting labour, I saw in them (as God is my witness) not so much the Mosaic as the Christian religion.365 254. Here is the mystery of the Trinity,366 here the Incarnation367 of the Word, here the divinity of the Messiah;368 here of original sin,369 of its expiation through Christ,370 of the heavenly Jerusalem,371 of the fall of the demons, of the hierarchy of the angels, of Purgatory, of the punishments in Hell.372 I saw the same things that we read every day in Paul, Dionysius, Jerome,373 and Augustine.374 255. In his vero quae spectant ad philosophiam, Pythagoram prorsus audias et Platonem, quorum decreta ita sunt fidei Christianae affinia, ut Augustinus noster immensas Deo gratias agat quod ad eius manus pervenerint libri Platonicorum. 256. In plenum nulla est ferme de re nobis cum Hebreis controversia de qua ex libris Cabalistarum ita redargui convincique non possint, ut ne angulus quidem reliquus sit in quem se condant. 257. Cuius rei testem gravissimum habeo Antonium Cronicum, virum eruditissimum, qui suis auribus, cum apud eum essem in convivio, audivit Dactylum Hebreum peritum huius scientiae in Christianorum prorsus de Trinitate sententiam pedibus manibusque descendere. 258. Sed ut ad meae redeam disputationis capita percensenda, attulimus et nostram de interpretandis Orphei Zoroastrisque carminibus sententiam. 259. Orpheus apud Graecos ferme integer; Zoroaster apud eos mancus, apud Caldeos absolutior legitur: ambo priscae sapientiae crediti patres et auctores. 260. Nam, ut taceam de Zoroastre, cuius frequens apud Platonicos non sine summa semper veneratione est mentio, scribit Iamblicus Calcideus habuisse Pythagoram Orphycam theologiam tamquam exemplar ad quam ipse suam fingeret formaretque philosophiam. 255. As for those matters pertaining to philosophy, it truly seems you are hearing Pythagoras or Plato, whose conclusions bear such affinity to the Christian faith that our own Augustine pronounced immense gratitude to God that the Platonic books made their way into his hands.375 256. On the whole, there is no point of controversy between us and the Jews on which the latter could not be refuted and convinced by means of the cabalistic books, so that no corner will remain in which they may take refuge.376 257. On this matter, I have a most trustworthy witness in the most erudite Antonius Chronicus,377 who, at a banquet at his house at which I was present, heard with his own ears Dactylus the Jew himself,378 an expert in this science, wholeheartedly acknowledge the Christian tenet of the Trinity. 258. But to return to reviewing the theses of my disputation, I have also presented my own interpretation of the songs of Orpheus and Zoroaster.379 259. Orpheus is extant among the Greeks in an almost complete text; Zoroaster is lacunose among the Greeks but among the Chaldeans is read in a more complete text. Both are credited with being the fathers and authors of ancient wisdom.380 261. Quin idcirco tantum dicta Pythagorae sacra nuncupari dicunt, quod ab Orphei fluxerint institutis; inde secreta de numeris doctrina et quicquid magnum sublimeque habuit Graeca philosophia ut a primo fonte manavit. 262. Sed (qui erat veterum mos theologorum) ita Orpheus suorum dogmatum mysteria fabularum intexit involucris et poetico velamento dissimulavit, ut si quis legat illius hymnos, nihil subesse credat praeter fabellas nugasque meracissimas. 263. Quod volui dixisse ut cognoscatur quis mihi labor, quae fuerit difficultas ex affectatis enigmatum syrpis, ex fabularum latebris latitantes eruere secretae philosophiae sensus, nulla praesertim in re tam gravi, tam abscondita inexplorataque adiuto aliorum interpretum opera et diligentia. 264. Et tamen oblatrarunt canes mei minutula quaedam et levia ad numeri ostentationem me accumulasse: quasi non omnes quae ambiguae maxime controversaeque sunt quaestiones, in quibus principales digladiantur achademiae, quasi non multa attulerim his ipsis, qui et mea carpunt et se credunt philosophorum principes, et incognita prorsus et intentata. 265. Quin ego tantum absum ab ea culpa, ut curaverim in quam paucissima potui capita cogere disputationem; quam si (ut consueverunt alii) partiri ipse in sua membra et lancinare voluissem, in innumerum profecto numerum excrevisset. 260. Indeed, to say nothing of Zoroaster, who is often mentioned by the Platonists and always with the utmost veneration, Iamblichus of Chalcis writes that Pythagoras regarded Orphic theology as the model on which he fashioned and formed his own philosophy.381 261. As a matter of fact, it is said for this reason alone that the Pythagorean maxims are thought to be sacred, for they derive from the Orphic teachings; from this first source flowed forth the secret doctrine of numbers382 and everything that is great and sublime in Greek philosophy.383 262. However, Orpheus (as was the practice among the ancient theologians) so well concealed the mysteries of his dogmas under the coverings of fables and hid them under the veil of poetry that, if one were to read his hymns, one would believe there is nothing more behind them than the most commonplace tales and trifles. 263. I wished to say this so as to make known what trouble and what difficulties I faced in freeing from the tangle of riddles and the obscurity of fables the meaning of this secret philosophy,384 especially since I could not rely on assistance in a matter so important, so hidden and unexplored, from the work or diligence of any other interpreters. 264. Nevertheless, the dogs have barked385 that I have ostentatiously accumulated a large number of minutia and trivialities, as if all of them were not the most ambiguous and controversial questions over which the principal academies are now in pitched battle; as if I myself had not studied many arguments that are wholly unknown to, and untried by, the very ones who carp at me and who believe themselves to be the noblest of philosophers. 265. Indeed, I am so far removed from this fault that I took care to limit the disputation to as few theses as I could. Had I wished (as is customary among others) to dismember the disputation and chop it into pieces, the theses would have grown to a countless number. 266. Et, ut taceam de caeteris, quis est qui nesciat unum dogma ex nongentis, quod scilicet de concilianda est Platonis Aristotelisque philosophia, potuisse me citra omnem affectatae numerositatis suspitionem in sexcenta, ne dicam plura, capita deduxisse, locos scilicet omnes in quibus dissidere alii, convenire ego illos existimo, particulatim enumerantem? 267. Sed certe (dicam enim, quamquam neque modeste neque ex ingenio meo; dicam tamen, quia dicere me invidi cogunt, cogunt obtrectatores) volui hoc meo congressu fidem facere non tam quod multa scirem, quam quod scirem quae multi nesciunt. 268. Quod ut vobis re ipsa, patres colendissimi, iam palam fiat, ut desiderium vestrum, doctores excellentissimi, quos paratos accinctosque expectare pugnam non sine magna voluptate conspicio, mea longius oratio non remoretur, quod foelix faustumque sit, quasi citante classico iam conseramus manus. 266. And, to say nothing of all of the others, who does not know that I could have subdivided a single thesis of the nine hundred (the one, for example, on the reconciliation of the philosophies of Plato and Aristotle) into, say, six hundred or more without arousing the suspicion of padding the numbers by enumerating in detail all the points on which others think they disagree and I believe they agree? 267. There can be no doubt – this I shall declare, although it is neither modest nor in keeping with my character; this I shall nonetheless declare since those who envy and speak ill of me compel me to do so – that I have resolved through this congress of mine to demonstrate not so much that I know many things as that I know things that many do not know.386 268. So that this may become clear to you by the facts, most reverend fathers, and so that my oration no longer postpone the object of your desire, most excellent doctors (whom not without great delight I see ready and, girded up, spoiling for a fight), let us take up ours arms, as if to the sound of the battle trumpet, and may the outcome be fruitful and favourable. 1 Pico prepared this oration for a future debate in Rome, at which he believed his nine hundred theses would be discussed. He speaks of this congress as a senate or a council (see §154); cf. Pico's Epistle to Lorenzo (Bausi , 115). 2 Pico was studying Arabic under the guidance of Flavius Mithridates. See his letter to Corneus (Pico 1971, Opera omnia 1:376–79). Cf. Pico's Epistle to Ficino from Fratta and his Epistle to Corneus of 15 October 1486. 3 Various hypotheses have been formulated about the identity of this Abdallah: Tognon (Pico 1987, 62) and Cicognani (Pico 1941, 97) identify him with 'Abd-All h ibn al-Muqaffa', an Arabic writer of the eighth century and a translator of Persian works into Arabic; Bausi (Pico 2003, 2) identifies him with 'Abd-All h ibn Salam, a Jew of Medina who converted to Islam two years before the death of Mohammed (630) after recognizing the identity of the Koran and the Torah. According to tradition, he collaborated in the writing of the Koran and was one of the four Jews who interrogated Mohammed himself on one hundred theological questions (Doctrina Machumeti); cf. Bibliander () and Nicholas of Cusa (, 718, 733). Piemontese () identifies him as 'Abd-All h b. al Tamir, head of the Christian community of Nagran (Yemen) and famous in medieval Islamic literature because of his martyrdom in 523 AD. 4 Nihil... respondisse: P has here some presumably Arabic letters, written in an inexpert hand, that may be deciphered as the sequence '-l-r-'-j-w-?-l, perhaps naively intended to spell al-rajul. There then comes a blank space followed by idest hominem respondisse. See fig. 1. 5 "A great miracle..."; see Hermes Trismegistus, Asclepius 6.1–2 (Corpus Hermeticum, Hermes Trismegistus , 2:301–2). The Hermetic writings are attributed to the Egyptian God Thot, Hermes Trismegistos in Greek, the inventor of writing, who was made to correspond to the Latin Mercury. Written in Greek and Latin, they are dated between the first and the third centuries AD and were highly valued during the period of humanism and the Renaissance, thanks to Marsilio Ficino's translation of the most important among them, the Poimandres. Among these works, one also finds the Asclepius (Fr. Asclepius, Lat. Aesculapius, god of medicine and prophecy). Cf. Heptaplus 5.6; Ficino, Theologia Platonica 14. 6 Cf. Cicero, De Oratore 1.1 (Bausi , 115). 7 Pico is here referring to the rich literature on the dignity of man (e.g., Bartolomeo Fazio or Giannozzo Manetti, for whom ancient Christian authors were essential); see Garin () and De Lubac (). Pico accepts the idea of man as a microcosmos, gathering within himself all the elements, mediator and interpreter of the universe (see §§17 and 27, Heptaplus 5.7, Picatrix 3.5.1). This is also the central thesis of Marsilio Ficino's Platonic Theology, in which the soul is placed between matter and angelic intelligences (see Kristeller , 118–23), but Pico believes that man's calling consists not in the static enjoyment of this central position but rather in the dynamism by which the human being is called to transcend the world of images and finally to become one with the Absolute, which is beyond representation. 8 Note the sequence sense, reason, intellect; these elements will reappear in the three-stage ascension according to the model of the angelic orders: thrones, cherubim, seraphim. The same sequence is in §§29ff. (and again in §§37–40), where man is meant to transcend even the angelic orders and to become one with God. 9 "Persians." Pico is possibly thinking of a "Chaldaic" source. The Chaldean Oracles (a mystic writing probably of the second century and very important to Proclus) had been attributed to Zoroaster by Gemistus Plethon, Ficino's source. See §259 and Conclusiones 2.8 (Farmer , 486–93). We do not know, however, exactly which Chaldean texts Pico is referring to. See §129; Persae: magi P. 10 Ficino, Theologia Platonica 10 and also his Epistle to Bracciolini (Ficino , 1:657); cf. Chaldean Oracles, frag. 6 (De Places 1971, 68). 11 See Ps. 8:4–7: "quoniam videbo caelos tuos; opera digitorum tuorum lunam et stellas quae tu fundasti / quid est homo quod memor es eius aut filius hominis quoniam visitas eum / minuisti eum paulo minus ab angelis gloria et honore coronasti eum / et constituisti eum super opera manuum tuarum" ("For I will behold thy heavens, the works of thy fingers: the moon and the stars which thou hast founded. / What is man that thou art mindful of him? Or the son of man that thou visitest him? / Thou hast made him a little less than the angels, thou hast crowned him with glory and honour: / And hast set him over the works of thy hands"). 12 Note the order angels, stars, lower creatures, repeated in reverse order in §11. 13 "Craftsman" translates artifex, a term echoed both in architectus (§10) and opifex (§56). 14 Note the threefold structure (to ponder, to love, to wonder), repeated in §14 (archetypes, treasure-houses, seats), §15 (higher, middle, lower orders), §16 (power, wisdom, love, with a reference to the Trinity), and once more in §18 (seat, form, talents). Bausi believes that this rhetorical device derives from the original redaction of the Oration, which takes three "anaphoric series" as its point of departure (Bausi , 115). 15 This account of Creation depends on both biblical and Platonic sources (Bori 1996b and Bori , 35ff.). (a) Biblical is the sequence of creative acts that places Adam at the centre of a Creation already concluded, even if the way the generative processes take place is different from that of Genesis 1. Here, Creation occurs in a movement downward from on high: the area above the heavens, the animated heavenly bodies, the animals on the earth and man, with a sort of ontological degradation. (b) The idea of God speaking to His new creature is biblical, but the words spoken are quite different: instead of prohibiting accession to the tree of knowledge, there is the invitation to direct desire, knowledge, and one's whole being toward the highest possible aim. Man is taught this and not the prohibition. (c) While the image's theme is biblical, Pico's man has not been created in the image of God but is opus indiscretae imaginis ("a creation of an indeterminate image"). (d) The idea of sovereignty over things, which in Genesis 2 is expressed together with the faculty of naming, is also biblical. As for the Platonic source, attention must be drawn to Timaeus 41b (man is created as the last of beings, as a mixture of mortality and immortality), Protagoras 321c–d (the myth of the creation of Epimetheus, created in a state of imperfection and need), and especially the Symposium (interpreted by Ficino in his De Amore, as well as by Pico himself in his Commento, both of 1486). According to the well-known myth, Eros was conceived in the garden of Zeus by Poros (resource) and Penia (poverty) on the day Aphrodite was born. Eros gets his imperfect nature from this intermediate position between ignorance and knowledge, and is always seeking the latter (Symp. 203d–204c). Both in the Oration and in the Symposium (a) we find the praise of someone – Eros and the human creature, respectively – not for his innate dignity, based only on stereotypes and clichés, but for his potential capacity to reach the highest of ends; (b) we find someone who is in an intermediate condition, neither mortal nor immortal, neither of the earth nor of the heavens (Symp. 203e); (c) we find someone placed in the midst (medium, metaxù in the Symposium), capable of reaching, through the love of knowledge, the supreme reality (Symp. 202d); and (d) we find the priority of love, of desire, of the will as the final essence of the human being, while his intellectual nature is not at odds with but within his spiritual development and is supported by the dynamics of desire (and there is again here a parallel between the ascent described at the end of Diotima's intervention and the exit from the cave described in Republic 7). 16 Pico's conception of microcosmos is active: the presence in man of the principles of every being allows him to ascend, so to speak, through all beings. 17 The term "indeterminate" translates the Latin indiscretus, which is influenced by the Greek δι κριτος ("undecided"). Genesis 1:26 seems to be contradicted here insofar as man has no image; however, the human being has no image precisely because he or she is called to become God, Who is beyond all representation. See §30, "caligo Patris." 18 Human centrality (see also §21) is statically affirmed, but in relation to the dynamics of freedom. 19 This comes from the Symposium; see §13. Cf. Ps. 8:6. 20 God is the "ordinary" creator. Honorariusque om. P. Arbitrarius: cf. Martianus Capella 1.68. Man is "honorarius," while God is "ordinarius" (Bausi , 119); Plotinus, Enneads 1.6, 9, 13 (Pico 2003, 11). 21 liberality: Pico, the scion of an aristocratic family, goes beyond the earthly meaning of "liberality," one of the Aristotelian virtues discussed in Nicomachean Ethics 4.1, and celebrated in the Tenth Day of Boccaccio's Decameron, as a sort of aristocratic sublimation of the utilitarian, mercantile logic that pervades fourteenth- and fifteenth-century Florentine civic culture. Cf. Cicero's (2005b) De officiis 1.20: "beneficientia, quam eandem vel benignitatem vel liberalitatem appellari licet" ("charity, which may also be called kindness or generosity"). Cf. also Pico (1998, De ente et uno 8): "in veritate venerari artificis sapientiam, in bonitate redamare amantis liberalitatem" ("in truth, we can venerate the wisdom of the artisan; in goodness, we can love in return the liberality of the lover"). 22 happiness: Here, too, Pico goes beyond the Aristotelian-Scholastic roots of this term (see Dante, Conv. 4.17.8: "felicitade è operazione secondo virtude in vita perfetta" – "happiness is activity according to virtue in perfect life"), embracing a more dynamic, spiritual meaning in Platonic or Neoplatonic terms. In book 4 of his De dignitate et eccellentia hominis (following Lactantius; see Garin , 23ff.), Giannozzo Manetti (1396–1459) had already questioned the opinions of those, whether ancients or moderns, pagans or Christians, who emphasize the misery of human life. Manetti considers happiness to be the result of a "virtuous life" – that is, a Christian life ("...all those who accurately observe heavenly commandments will without doubt be destined to be fortunate from birth, and always happy and blessed forever," quoted by Garin 1952b, 485, my translation), emphasizing the importance of "active" versus "contemplative" life (vita activa vs. vita contemplativa). Pico, perhaps influenced by Marsilio Ficino, seems to find a new connection between the active and the contemplative aspects – knowledge as an active force – for which it may not be out of place to recall here also Virgil, Georgics 2.490: "Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causam." ("Happy is he who could know the cause of things"). See also Heptaplus 7 (Pico 1942, 324–26), in which Pico makes a distinction between a "natural" and a "supernatural" happiness, the latter achievable only "per gratiam," through divine grace (see also Pico 2003, introduction, 20, and n17). Cf. Pico, Expositiones in Psalmos 17 (Pico 1997, 154): "Hoc autem principium est universae humanae foelicitatis: ut rectae sint cogitationes nostrae et Dei spiritu agamur" ("This, however, is the source of all human happiness: that our thoughts be righteous and that we be moved by the Spirit of God"). 23 bulga, a Latin term of Celtic origin, translated as "womb" by analogy (from Lucilius 1904–5, Satyres 1:26, 623; 2:230–31). 24 That is, after Lucifer's fall. 25 In the second proem of Pico's Heptaplus (a commentary on Genesis), we read: "It is a common expression in the Schools to say that man is a microcosm, whose body is a mixture of elements, including the heavenly spirit, the vegetative soul, the senses of brutes, reason, the angelic mind and the image of God" (Pico 1942, 193, my translation). Cf. Augustine, De civitate Dei 7.30 and 12.24. 26 In his commentary, Bausi (Pico 2003, 12–13, n29) traces this crucial passage to Iamblichus, Protrepticus 5, a collection of philosophical readings compiled in the third and fourth centuries (for an English translation, see Iamblichus ). Cf. Asclepius 1.5–6a (in Hermes Trismegistus –36, 1:294–96). Garin suggests looking to medieval sources as well, such as John of Salisbury (Policraticus 8.12 [PL 199.756b]) and Alan of Lille. In the latter's De Planctu Naturae (prose 3), "the possibility for man to degenerate into a brute and regenerate himself in God are expressed in terms very similar to those used by Pico" (Garin , 37); cf. Ps. 48:21. Tognon suggests a precise reference for this entire section of the Oratio: John Scotus Eriugena's De divisione naturae (3.37, PL 122.732b–c and 4.5, PL 122.754a–b). According to De Lubac, the Oration simply repeats the same idea that was expressed many times before in Patristic literature (De Lubac , 198–99). Cf. Ficino, Theologia Platonica 14.3: "It [the soul] lives the life of a plant insofar as it indulges the body by fattening it up; the life of the beast insofar as it flatters the senses; the life of a man insofar as it calls upon reason to handle human affairs; the life of the heroes insofar as it investigates things in nature; the life of the demons insofar as it contemplates mathematics; the life of the angels insofar as it inquires into the mysteries divine; and the life of God insofar as it does all things for God's sake. Every man's soul in a way makes trial of all these in itself, although different souls do so in different ways, and thus humankind strives to become all things, since as a genus it lives the lives of all. Mercurius Trismegistus was struck with wonder by this and declared, 'Man is a great miracle, an animal meet to be worshipped and adored'" (Allen trans. in Ficino –6, 4:240–43). 27 Among several plausible sources for this passage, both Bori (, 43) and Bausi (Pico 2003, 13) suggest Gregory of Nyssa (, Life of Moses 2.162–65), where we read: "When therefore Moses grew in knowledge, he declared that he had seen God in darkness, that is, that he had then come to know that what is divine is beyond all knowledge and contemplation." Cf. Exod. 19:9: "The Lord said to him: Lo, now will I come to thee in the darkness of a cloud"; Exod. 20:21: "And the people stood afar off. But Moses went to the dark cloud wherein God was"; 2 Chron. 6:1: "Then Solomon said: The Lord promised that he would dwell in a cloud." See also Deut. 4:11: "And you came to the foot of the mount, which burned even unto heaven: and there was darkness, and a cloud and obscurity in it." Bori (, 42) quotes a passage from Pico's De ente et uno (Pico 1942, 414) in which we find an articulate definition of the paradoxical (mystical) nature of our "knowledge" of the divine, according to which "there is no darkness, no light, no error, no truth, and about the divine it is not possible [to make] either a positive or a negative statement." Cf. Conclusiones 1.26.5 (Farmer , 338–39); Conclusiones 2.10.15 (Farmer , 510–11); Statius, Thebaid 3.498; Kaldaica Skolia, frag. 18; Proclus, On Cratylus 57.25; Ps. 17:12: "et posuit tenebras latibulum suum in circuitu eius tabernaculum eius tenebrosa aqua in nubibus aeris" ("And he made darkness his covert, his pavilion round about him: dark waters in the clouds of the air"). See, too, De ente et uno (Pico 1942, 412–15) and Bausi (, 120–21). Cf. Ficino, In Dionysium Areopagitam (Ficino , 2:1014) and §13, Asclepius 1.6a, 26–28 (in Hermes Trismegistus –36, 1:294–96), and P, 117ff. (Pico 2003, 150–51). 28 According to Garin (followed by Pico 2003, 14n31), the most important reference for Pico's use of this word is Ficino's mention of that passage of Priscian's commentary on Theophrastus where the adjectives chameleontean and Protean are attributed to human imagination ("Imagination is both a] Proteus and chameleon"). See Ficino (, 2:1825) and Garin (, 351). Copenhaver suggests that behind Pico's use of the term there may also be a (negative) reference to magical tradition after Pliny the Elder's Natural History (8.51), a text that Cosimo de' Medici had Cristoforo Landino translate into Florentine: "According to ancient sources that Pico knew, it [the chameleon] looks and behaves like a lizard, combining features of a fish, pig, viper, tortoise, and crocodile into a horrific appearance that masks its harmlessness. Is man such a monstrosity, assembled from parts of other creatures?" [...] With one exception, Pico's other examples of mutability in this section of the Oration are as negative and ambiguous as the chameleon – transmigration of criminal souls into animals or plants and the shapeshifting of Proteus, the Old Man of the Sea who fights the noble Menelaus in the Odyssey. The only clearly positive transformation is angelic" (Copenhaver [2002a, 60). See also Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics 1100b, 5–9, on human happiness, and Ficino's translation and gloss on Priscian's comments on Theophrastus's De Phantasia et Intellectu (Ficino , Opera omnia 2:1824–25). 29 Bausi (Pico 2003, 14n33) says that the identity of the Asclepius to whom Pico refers here is unknown. The adjective Athenian could make us think of Asklepios (Lat. Aesculapius), the legendary Greek physician, son of Apollo and Coronis and god of healing (also related to the Egyptian god Imothep). His first teacher was the wise centaur Chiron (on the cult of Asklepios in ancient Greece, see Aleshire ). However, contextual evidence makes it more plausible that Pico here refers again to that composite collection of texts known as the Corpus Hermeticum (already quoted in the opening paragraph of the Oration), which Marsilio Ficino started to translate from Greek into Latin in 1463; namely, to the so-called Latin Asclepius (Ficino's edition of the Asclepius was printed in 1469). Pico's text clearly echoes the Hermetic Asclepius (the interlocutor and disciple of Hermes Trismegistus, also understood to be a descendant of the great Asklepios, just as Hermes is a grandson of the great Egyptian god Toth). 30 For the mythological Proteus, see Homer, Odyssey 4.383–570, and Virgil, Georgics 4.387–527. However, the most immediate reference is to the Orphic Hymns quoted in Ficino's Theologia Platonica 11.3: "Theologia Orphica Protheum appellat essentiam tertiam, animarum rationalium sedem" ("Orphic Theology calls Proteus the third essence, and the seat of the rational soul"). (See Pico 2003, 14n33: the human soul can be compared to a Proteus because it contains the essence of all things.) De Lubac dedicates two chapters of his book on Pico (De Lubac , pt. 2, "Metamorphosis") to Proteus in the works of the Church Fathers and in medieval culture. 31 The specific reference seems to be to the "Hebrew Cabalist Wisemen Whose Memory Should Always be Honoured," to whom forty-seven cabalistic Conclusiones are dedicated. See Farmer (, 344–45 and notes) for a discussion of Pico's cabalistic sources, all drawn from late medieval texts, and more specifically, according to Wirszubski (), from Flavius Mithridates' Latin translation of Menahem Recanati's Commentary on the Pentateuch (a thesis criticized by Farmer). At the Vatican Library, there are four codices (Vaticani Hebraici 189–91 and Chigi A VI 190) that contain Mithridates' translations with glosses by Pico. On the issue of Pico's relationship to Jewish culture, in addition to Wirszubski, see the important contributions of Paolo Edoardo Fornaciari (, 107–20), Fabrizio Lelli (, 193–223 and , 1:303–25), and Giuliano Tamani (, 2:491–530). See also Copenhaver (2002a, 78ff.). 32 Cabalistic and Pythagorean doctrines and calculations are a significant component of Pico's Conclusiones (according both to the opinions of others and to his own). For references to the mathematics of Pythagoras, namely, the Quaternarius, see in particular 1.25.1–14. According to Farmer, Pico draws his references to Pythagorean doctrines from late Greek sources, primarily Proclus's Theologia Platonica (Farmer , 334). In short, a numerical (and mystical) ratio underlies the metamorphic nature of the cosmos. On Pythagoras and Florentine culture of the fifteenth century, and Pico's contemporary Giovanni Nesi (1456–1506), in particular, possibly the transcriber of the only extant manuscript of the Oration, P, see Celenza (). Cf. Conclusiones 2.10.28 (Farmer , 514). 33 Both Garin and Tognon refer to the Ethiopic Book of Enoch 40.8 (first or second century; see Knibb ). Tertullian considered it part of the Holy Scriptures. There are at least three references for the Book of Enoch: the Ethiopic Book of Enoch, also known as 1 Enoch; the Slavonic Book of Enoch, also known as 2 Enoch; and the so-called Third Book of Enoch. Rather than referring to a single text, Pico more likely elaborates on a complex, and apocryphal, textual tradition. His reference could include the so-called Third Book of Enoch, presumably compiled in Babylon around the sixth century. This late apocalyptic text, which circulated also in medieval manuscripts, harkens back to the mysticism of the Merkabah (Scholem , 66ff.). In the Jewish tradition, many legends accrete around the figure of Enoch (son of Jared, father of Methuselah, the seventh in Adamitic genealogy in the line of Seth). See Gen. 5:24: "And he walked with God, and was seen no more: because God took him," and also the apocryphal Sir. 50:14: "No one like Enoch has been created on earth, for he was taken up from the earth." Transfigured, he was taken to heaven without abandoning the human form. In the Jewish tradition, Enoch is also represented as the inventor of letters, arithmetic, and geometry, and is called "the first author." 34 The princeps edition has a blank space where the Hebrew word should be. Both Basel editions (1557 and 1572) have Mal'akh ha-Sekinach, Hebrew retroversion of the Latin angelum divinitatis. Following Wirszubski (, 232), Bausi (Pico 2003, 171–72) restores in his edition the characters found in the earlier version of the Oration (possibly one of two drafts Pico prepared in fall 1486 while in Umbria before moving to Rome) in the manuscript Palatino 885 of the National Library in Florence, reading them as Metatron (see fig. 2). A reference to Metatron can be found in Pico's Commento sopra una canzona (written in the same period as the Oration and the Conclusiones, 1486) almost in the exact terms of the Oration, as a synonym of transfiguration: "This is what the statement of the Cabalist wise men must mean, when they say that Enoch was transformed into Metatron, angel of divinity, or, in general, that any other man is transformed into an angel" (Pico 1984, 147; see also Pico 1942, 554). On the interpretation of the Enoch-Metatron transfiguration, see also Conclusiones 1.19.2 (according to Themistius) and 2.11.10 (cabalistic conclusions confirming the Christian religion). It is generally held that there are three possible etymological interpretations of the word Metatron: in addition to the Greek "Methathronius," meaning he who is next to the throne of God, one derived from matara ("keeper of the watch"), and one derived from metator ("guide"). See Scholem (, 66–69, and –72, 1443–46). As Scholem writes, "two different traditions have been combined in the figure of Metatron. One relates to the heavenly angel who was created with the creation of the world, or even before, and makes him responsible for performing the most exalted tasks in the heavenly kingdom [derived from the angel Yaol, a sort of lesser YHWH]. [...] A different tradition associates Metatron with Enoch [...] he who ascended to heaven and was changed from a human being into an angel – in addition he also became the great scribe who recorded men's deeds." Interestingly enough, the fact that this second tradition associating Metatron with Enoch is "absent from the Talmud or the most important Midrashim, is evidently connected with the reluctance of the Talmudists to regard Enoch in a favourable light" (Scholem, –72, 1444–45). It is perhaps not surprising that the identification occupies a prominent place in Pico's Christian Cabala. Cf. Gen. 5:21–24; Enoch 12:1–4; 3 Enoch 3:1, 16:5. 35 "I was born a male and female child, a plant, a bird and a dumb fish of the sea..." (Empedocles of Akragas, frag. 117 [Diels]; see Fitt , 65–66). Cf. Pico, Heptaplus 4.5 (1942, 280–81): "Hence that Chaldean saying: 'the beasts of the earth live in you'; and we learn from Plato, in the Republic, that we have inside us diverse species of animals; thus it is not difficult to believe (if one understands it well) the paradox of the Pythagoreans, that wicked men transform themselves into beasts." See also Pico's Conclusiones 2.3.71, where Empedocles' doctrine is connected to the sefirot ("By strife and friendship in the soul Empedocles means nothing but the leading upwards and leading downwards in it, which I believe is proportional in the science of the sefirot to eternity and adornment," trans. Farmer , 421) and to Zoroaster and his Chaldean commentators ("In the same place, by the roots of the earth they can only mean the vegetative life, which conforms to the words of Empedocles, who posits transanimation even into plants," 2.8.4, trans. Farmer , 489). 36 See Sura 2:65: "And certainly you have known those among you who exceeded the limits of the Sabbath, so We said to them: Be (as) apes, despised and hated." See also Sura 5:60, 7:166. We know that Pico, who was studying Hebrew and Arabic with the help of Flavius Mithridates, borrowed a Latin translation of the Koran from Marsilio Ficino (Pico 2003, 17n36). 37 According to Bausi (Pico 2003, 17n37), this passage shows that Pico does not adhere to the doctrine of metempsychosis (or transmigration of the soul) and agrees with Ficino (Theol. Pl. 17.4) on a moral and allegorical interpretation of the transformations of which Empedocles and other ancient authors speak. 38 The Latin text (humi serpentem hominem) plays on a popular etymology for human, derived from humus (man shaped out of earth), already used by G. Manetti in his own De dignitate. There are many medieval sources for this passage; see Isidore of Seville's Etymologies 11.1.4 and Pico's own commentary on Genesis (Pico, 1942, 270, my translation): "Because he was made of earth, as Moses writes, he was called man." 39 Homer, Odyssey 1.55–57 (Homer , 5). It was widely taken that Ulysses is the allegory of the "good (moral) man" and that Calypso, the enchantress, binds him with false imaginations. 40 For this paragraph, possible sources are Seneca, Epistles 41.4–5, and Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 7.1 (1145a), echoed by Dante's Convivio 3.7.6. 41 See, for example, Gen. 6:12 ("God had seen that the earth was corrupted, for all flesh had corrupted its way upon the earth"); Num. 27:16; Deut. 5:26; Luke 3:6; John 3:6 and 17:2; 1 Cor. 15:39; 1 Peter 24. 42 It is difficult to know which "Persian" source Pico has in mind. 43 The Hebrew characters here derive from Wirszubski's transliteration of the phrase in the Palatino manuscript, which is reproduced in fig. 3. (See Mithridates , 38, and Wirszubski , 241.) Pico claims he possessed the Chaldean Oracles (i.e., books containing the oracles of "Ezre, Zoroastris and the Melchiar of the Magi") in a letter to Ficino (fall 1486, Ficino , 2:272–73). According to Farmer (, 486–87), this became the source of a conviction among Renaissance editors of the Oracles – such as, for example, Francesco Patrizi – that Pico indeed possessed the original, integral texts from which the extant and incomplete Greek collections made by Psellus (eleventh century) and Pletho (fifteenth century) were drawn (fragments from Plotinus, Proclus, and others). Ficino himself had translated and provided commentary on Pletho's collection. There is no trace of it (attributed to Chaldean sources) in the Conclusiones. According to Bausi (Pico 2003, 172–73), who follows both Wirszubski and Marchignoli (in Bori , 98, 106), the rather uncertain quotation is in a composite language, a mixture of Aramaic and Hebrew, written in an Ethiopic script, that Pico's "consultant," Flavius Mithridates, presented to his patron as Chaldean. See §§130–35. The Heinrich Petri editions present not these words but a Latin paraphrase translated back into Hebrew (see Pico 2003, 172). 44 Bausi (Pico 2003, 20n44) notes how the Latin word here translated as "inconstant" (desultorius) is used by Varro and Apuleius in reference to riders (desultores) who jumped like acrobats from one horse to another. More interestingly perhaps (also according to Bausi), Poliziano uses the same adjective for Venus (desultoria Venus) in Nutricia 106–7, speaking of the "free love" of primitive men before the institution of marriage. 45 The reference is to Ps. 81:6–7: "I have said: You are gods and all of you the sons of the most High. / But you like men shall die: and shall fall like one of the princes." These are words spoken by God to the angels, condemned for their sins. Pico applies them to men in order to incite them to ascend from their intermediate (and shapeless) station toward a higher, angelic form, the theme of the next section of the Oration. Cf. Copenhaver (2002a, 61). 46 Wallis, Miller, and Carmichael mistakenly translate "caelestia contemnamus" as "let us struggle toward the heavenly." I prefer to be consistent with the letter of the text, sticking to the classical meaning of the verb contemnare (used by Cicero and others) and translating caelestia as "celestial" rather than "heavenly." Pico's reference might be to the astronomical-astrological knowledge of the heavens. In any case, it is consistent with what he writes in §40, where he suggests a higher stage of contemplation beyond the earthly and the celestial (see also my reference to the rubbed out word "demon" in the introduction). 47 This image is developed further in §94 and §132. 48 On angelic hierarchies, see the commentary to the next section. 49 This is the first time the word "dignity" appears in the text of the Oration. It also appears written in the margins of the Bolognese incunabulum of 1496 (visible online on the site of the Pico Project) and will migrate later into the title (see Michael Papio's introduction to this volume). In addition to Garin (, 102–46), Bori (, 41) lists a number of canonical and extracanonical sources most likely known to Pico, including a text by Pope Leo the Great, that have become part of the Christmas service: "Agnosce, o christiane, dignitatem tuam..." (Acknowledge, o Christian, your dignity; and espousing divine nature, do not regress to the old filth, with a degenerate conversation"). See also Buck (, 1:5). The dignity and nature of man is the eighth point in Pico's twelve Spiritualis pugnae arma ("Arms of the spiritual struggle"), included in his Twelve Rules for the Spiritual Struggle. Cf. Manetti's De dignitate et excellentia hominis (, fol. 163): "...quod neque angelis neque ulli aliae creaturae, nisi homini dumtaxat, ad admirabilem quandam humanae naturae dignitatem et ad incredibilem quoque eius ipsius excellentiam, datum, concessum et attributum esse novimus" ("...we acknowledge what neither pertains to the angel nor to any other creature, if not to man, and it is given, allowed and attributed to the admirable dignity of human nature and his own incredible excellence"). 50 Cf. Pico's first exposition on Ps. 17:12 (Raspanti in Pico 1997, 149). 51 As in Calcidius's commentary on Plato's Timaeus, opifex (from δημιουργ ς; e.g., Tim. 28c) may be taken as God or the Creator. Opificium, then, comes to mean "creation" or "world." See Pico's Heptaplus (e.g., 1.1.3, 1.5.2, and 6.proem). 52 In accordance with the scheme set out by Pseudo-Dionysius (see §70 of the Oration) and confirmed by St. Thomas (Summa Theologiae 1.108, art. 6) and St. Gregory (In evang. II hom. 34), Pico represents here the three divisions of the highest order of angels: the seraphim, the cherubim, and the thrones. The fact that Pico specifically calls the cherubim contemplators does not, of course, mean that the seraphim and thrones are not. Man's task is the emulation of the highest angels, and dialectics is the necessary intermediate stage in this mystic process (Bori 1996b, 557). See Conclusiones 1.6.7, 1.28.2. It has been suggested (Farmer , 346–51) that Pico consciously overlaid the cabalistic sefirot on the celestial hierarchy elucidated by Pseudo-Dionysius. In this arrangement, as it applies here, each of these three types of angels is associated with a specific sefirah: the seraphim with Hesed (love); the thrones with Din (judgment); the cherubim with Binah (intelligence). See Pseudo-Dionysius, Celestial Hierarchy 205b–209a. 53 Yahweh flies through the Heavens mounted on a cherub (2 Sam. 22:11; Ps. 17:11). 54 This unusual phrase, in which God "broods," is glossed by Pico himself in Heptaplus 2.2: "Above this [i.e., the crystalline heaven of the upper waters] was borne or, as Hebrew wisdom has it and as Ephraim the Syrian translates it, 'brooded,' the Spirit of the Lord; that is, the closely adhering spiritual Olympus, the seat of the Spirits of the Lord, warmed it with its warmth-giving light" (Pico 1998). See also Heptaplus 1.2 and Pico's Commento 1.10. Interestingly, the gloss of St. Ephrem in question (Com. on Genesis 1.7) explicitly states that it was a normal wind and not the Spirit of the Lord (Hebrew , ruah) that hovered or brooded above the waters (Kronholm , 43–44). Jerome registers the Hebrew term mentioned there as , which he transcribes as merefeth (Liber Hebraicarum quaestionum in Genesim PL 23.937c). Some manuscripts, however, have the apparently more accurate merahefeth or merahaefeth. For the implications of this line of interpretation, see Hayward's commentary on Jerome's Hebrew Questions on Genesis (in Jerome , 103–5) (see also 2 Sam. 22:11; Pss. 18:11, 104:3; Hos. 4:19; Augustine, Confessions 13.9, De Genesi ad litteram 1.18; Abelard, Sic et non 23; Basil, Homilia II in Hexaëron). Later in the Heptaplus (6.2 and 6.5), Pico returns to this same image, citing James 1:17. See also: Pss. 17:11, 23:2; Gen. 1:2; Jer. 4:23. 55 As Bausi rightly notes, most commentators direct the reader to Job 38:7, but a more likely source is actually Ps. 148:4. Cf. Conclusiones 1.28.24, 2.11.67; Farmer (, 549 and passim). On early-morning prayer, see Conclusiones 1.28.37. 56 Cf. 1 Cor. 12:8–14; Augustine, De trinitate 9.3. 57 On loving the unknown, see Augustine, De trinitate 10.1.3, and Rabanus Maurus's Commentary on Matthew 4.13.5. Cf. John 10:30, 17:11, 21–22; Deut. 29:29; Farmer (, 226, 252). 58 Exod. 24:15–18. After his ascent to the mountain to make atonement for his people's sins (Exod. 32:30ff.), Moses returned to his people in the Sinai Wilderness and revealed to them what he had learned in direct communion with God: the Law tablets (Exod. 34:1–4), the granting of Israel's covenant (Exod. 34:10ff.), the establishment of the Feast of the Unleavened Bread (Exod. 34:18), the revelation of the Sabbath (Exod. 35:1ff.), and the organization of the tabernacle (Exod. 35–38). For Moses as a contemplator, see Philo, Life of Moses 2.68–69, and Pseudo-Dionysius, Mystical Theology 1001a. 59 These three classes of angels are known as the "first hierarchy," as they are closest to God. The necessity of the middle level in joining the upper and the lower is addressed in the Heptaplus (6.7) in imagery consonant with that employed here. Cf. Pico's Exposition (230–38) on Psalm 50 (in Pico 1997, 246) and the Heptaplus's second proem. 60 Cf. Macrobius, On the Dream of Scipio 1.6.11, and Pico's Heptaplus 6.6. The "Prime Minds" are the angels; the "Order of Pallas" is a phrase referring to the cherubim, insofar as they preside over the contemplators (Pico 2003, 26–27). 61 Bausi (, 126) maintains that the language here is drawn directly from Ermolao Barbaro (, 1:15), but see also Quintilian's Institutiones 6.3.111 and Seneca's Controversiae 2.13. 62 Rom. 8:5; Phil. 3:19; Col. 3:2. Cf. Heptaplus (proem to 7): "si nixum propria fortitudine nihil supra se ipsum potest assurgere (alioquin se ipso esset validius), utique nihil nitens per se ipsum ad felicitatem maius aliquid vel perfectius sua natura assequi poterit" ("since nothing can rise above itself by relying on its own strength [otherwise it would be stronger than itself], so nothing relying on itself can attain a felicity any greater or more perfect than its own nature" (Pico 1998). 63 Acts 9:15. See also Commento 2.9; Panofsky (, 140–41). 64 Celestial Hierarchy 165b–c, 205c–209d. This Dionysius was, of course, thought to be the homonymous follower of Paul of Acts 17:34. See also Heptaplus 3.3 and Pseudo-Dionysius's Divine Names 821b–d. The mystic three-stage path, or triplex via, was often articulated as purgatio-illuminatio-unitio (or perfectio). 65 Ecclesiastical Hierarchy 537a–c. 66 Augustine, among several others, regularly defines the cherub as plenitudo scientiae ("the fullness of knowledge"). See, for example, his sermon on Psalm 97, in which he makes a connection between the fullness of knowledge, love, and God's throne. Pico may have also been thinking of Richard of St. Victor's De arca mystica: "Certe cherubin plenitudo scientiae dicitur, et sub talis vocabuli praesagio magnum quiddam secretioris scientiae proponere, vel polliceri videtur" ("Certainly the word 'cherub' means 'fullness of knowledge,' and under the indication of this word it seems that a kind of great thing of hidden knowledge is being proposed and promised," Zinn, trans., in Richard of St. Victor 1979, 259). See also Gregory, Moralia in Job 17.27 (PL 76.29a); Isidore of Seville, Mysticorum expositiones sacramentorum, "On Genesis" 5.13–14 and "On Exodus" 46.1 (PL 83.222c and 311b–c). Pico's use of the phrase in the Oration additionally evokes Jerome's famous notion of scientia secretorum, which seems particularly appropriate to his discussion of the mysteries (see §104). 67 Richard of St. Victor's De duodecim patriarchis is based on the notion that Jacob was the father of twelve sons: the successive stages of the contemplator's quest for mystical enlightenment. The recurring topos of Jacob's image engraved in the throne of God comes from the Aggadic tradition. See Wolfson 1995, 1–62. Jacob, like Moses, was considered a prototype of effective enlightenment. "Those of our own" refers to the scholars of the Latin tradition (see §186). 68 Jacob saw God here on Earth only during a dream (Gen. 28:11–17); in Heaven, however, the vision of God is attainable in a waking state. Cf. Heptaplus 3.4, Commento (notes to fourth stanza), and St. Hilary's Tractatus super psalmos (PL 9.657b). This paradox of Jacob's heightened powers of perception during "sleep" was used by Richard of St. Victor as a model of ascetic contemplation, of the time when the body seems to sleep but the mind is acutely aware (De exterminatione 3.16). 69 Genesis 28:12–13; Commento (notes to sixth stanza); Philo, De somniis 1.2ff.; Iamblichus, Protrepticus 1 (41.11–24 in Iamblichus ). Interestingly, Pico's depiction of the relatively harmonious comings and goings of the angels on the ladder is a rather joyous contradiction of the typical iconography of the ladder to God. See Katzenellenbogen (, 22–26). 70 See Plato, Phaedo 67b (Pico 2003, 31). See also Num. 4:15: "[...] non tangant vasa sanctuarii ne moriantur..." ("and they shall not touch the vessels of the sanctuary, lest they die"); 2 Kings 6:6–7: "extendit manum Oza ad arcam Dei et tenuit eam quoniam calcitrabant boves iratusque est indignatione Dominus contra Ozam et percussit eum super temeritate qui mortuus est tibi iuxta arcam Dei" ("Oza put forth his hand to the ark of God, and took hold of it: because the oxen kicked and made it lean aside. And the indignation of the Lord was enkindled against Oza, and he struck him for his rashness: and he died there before the ark of God"). 71 The conception here of aspects of the soul as a hindrance to the attainment of spiritual and philosophical purity (§§78–80) owes much to Plato's Phaedo (64c–67b), in which mastery of physical appetite is the cornerstone of moral rectitude. 72 Cf. Ps. 17:25. Cf. Arnobius Afer, Disputationum adversus gentes libri VII 2.9; Rabanus Maurus, Commentaria in libros II paralipomenon 2.28. See also Bausi (, 127). 73 The phrase sub pulvere ("within the dust") often means "furtively" (e.g., Gregory, Mor. 32.10) but here conveys precisely the opposite meaning: "in the public arena" or "publicly." See, for example, Cicero, De legibus 3.6.14. 74 Job 40:16; Isidore, Sententiarum libri tres 2.39, "De fornicatione" (PL 83.641a). Cf. Pico (1998, De ente et uno 10): "Unitatis pacem turbat ambitio et sibi haerentem animum extra se rapit et in diversa quasi lacerum trahit atque discerpit" ("Ambition disturbs the peace of unity and wrenches the soul that clings to it out of itself, and drags and tears the soul in pieces as if wounded"). 75 "By the neck." Despite some commentators' ingenious source hunting, this was not a particularly uncommon expression. See, however, Garin's edition of the Oration, in which he observes that this particular usage here may echo Asclepius (Pico 1942), an opinion adopted by Copenhaver (2002a, 67–68) and Hermes Trismegistus (, 74). 76 Psalm 23:3–4: "quis ascendet in montem Domini et quis stabit in loco sancto eius [?] innocens manibus et mundo corde qui non exaltavit frustra animam suam" ("Who shall ascend into the mountain of the Lord: or who shall stand in his holy place? The innocent in hands, and clean of heart, who hath not taken his soul in vain"). Cf. Aeneas to Anchises (Virgil , Aen. 2.717ff.): "Tu, genitor, cape sacra manu patriosque Penatis; / me, bello e tanto digressum et caede recenti, / attrectare nefas, donec me flumine vivo / abluero" ("Father, do thou take in thy hand the sacred things and our country's household gods; for me, fresh from such a conflict and recent carnage, it were sin to handle them, until I have washed me in a running stream." 77 This could be a reference to the metaphor of eternal happiness as circular movement. See Heptaplus (proem to 7): "Circular motion, through which a body is carried around to the point from which it started, is the most express image of the true felicity, through which a creature returns to the beginning from which it proceeded" (Pico 1998). This passage may be inspired principally by al-Batalyawsi. See Idel (, Ascensions 183–87). 78 A probable source for these similes is Plutarch's On Isis and Osiris 18. After Osiris dies, Typhon (who is identified as being akin to the Titans in 49 and whom Pico identifies with Satan in Conclusiones 2.10.13) comes upon his corpse and cuts it into pieces. Isis afterward collects almost all of the body parts and, with the help of her son Horus (first identified with Apollo in Herodotus 2.144), conquers Typhon. As a result of this conflict, Osiris comes to be regarded as the god of the dead but also of renewed life through Horus (who is, like Apollo, associated with the sun). See also Pico's Commento 2.8. 79 "To be made perfect" is a phrase that refers to "perfection" in its mystical sense. See §70 and note 64. 80 It actually was not Job but Jeremiah who entered into a pact with God before his birth (see Jer. 1:5). See also, however, Job 31:18. 81 Daniel 7:10. 82 Job 25:2; Dan. 7:10; Gen. 1:2; Heptaplus 3.6. Cf. Conclusiones 1.28.24 (Farmer , 355) and Mithridates (, 151). 83 Pseudo-Dionysius, Celestial Hierarchy 209a–b. Cf. Conclusiones 2.5.3. 84 Empedocles, frag. 17 (Diels and Kranz 1951–52). This is a reference to the "Cosmic Cycle" of Empedocles, according to which two fundamental cosmic forces are locked in an eternal struggle. Love (φιλ α) strives to attract and combine, while Strife (νε κος) seeks to repel and separate. Cf. Aristotle, Met. 985a20–30; Plutarch, On Isis and Osirus 48. By comparing Conclusiones 2.3.71 and 2.11.66, we see that the former is akin to the seventh sefirah and the latter to the eighth (i.e., what moves toward superior things and what toward inferior). See Farmer (, 421, 549). 85 Empedocles, frag. 115, 13–14 (Diels and Kranz 1951–52). Cf. Conclusiones 2.3.71. 86 Cf. Lucan, Pharsalia 1.1 (Cassirer, Kristeller, and Randall in Pico 1948, 231). Plusquam civilia bella ("more than civil wars") are those waged not only among citizens but even members of a single family. See Isidore of Seville (Etym. 18.1) and Rabanus Maurus (De universo 20.1). Cf. Augustine, De doctrina christiana 4.139. 87 The phrase "our man" in 2 Cor. 4:16 is explained as the "exterior self" (Pico 2003, 38). Bonaventure (1882–1902, 2:587) glosses the expression as the body, as opposed to the "interior self," which is the "rational spirit" or mind. 88 Pico elaborates on the metaphor of man's interior "manifold beast" in Heptaplus 4.5–7, citing Plato's statements in the Republic (588c–92b) that our secret desires can be compared to various beasts that dwell within us. Cf. Eusebius, Praeparatio evangelica 12.46. Bori explains that there is an allusion here to the labours of Hercules (Bori , 77) and that the phrase "manifold beast" refers to the hydra (sensuality) and the "lion" refers to the Nemean lion (wrath). Cf. Bausi (Pico 2003, 39). 89 To understand this simile of the "icta porca" (stuck sow), we must look to Virgil, who, in the eighth book of the Aeneid, recounts the peace made between Romulus and Tatius over the sacrificed sow (Aen. 8.639–41). This passage is incorporated by Pico in Christian terms and brought in here as the symbol of a ratified peace. See also the last verse of Pico's Carmen latinum 7. 90 Contentio ("strife") is perhaps the Latin translation of νε κος but could refer just as well to Homer's use of ρις, related to Eris, the goddess of discord. The comparison between Heraclitus and Homer is found in Aristotle (Eudem. Eth. 1235a25), Plutarch (De Iside et Osiride 48), and others. See Heraclitus, frags. 10, 53 (in which the etymon is π λεμος [Pico 2003, 40]), and 80 (Diels and Kranz 1951–52); Homer, Iliad 18.107. Cf. Commento 2.8 and the first Epistle to Gianfrancesco. 91 Cf. Philo, On the Cherubim 37. 92 Matthew 11:28; John 14:27; Jer. 6:16. 93 In other words, we who are of this world will fly into the embrace of Theology. See Conclusiones 2.5.9. Cf. De ente et uno 10; Ps. 54:7; Commento (notes to stanza I). See also §109. Although Pico casts the beatissima mater ("most blessed Mother") specifically as Theology, his phrase is constructed in such a way as to bring to mind also the Virgin and the Dove of Song of Songs 6:8 as well as the female personification of knowledge or philosophy at large (cf. Boethius, Consolation of Philosophy 4. prose 1, metre 1). This feminine personification likewise suggests Shekhinah or the Matronita. A relationship between the medieval Marian tradition and the Shekhinah of the Zohar is proposed by Green (94–97). 94 This phrase echoes quite closely the important proem of the Heptaplus's (Pico 1998) third book, in which we read: "volabo insuper caelestem regionem, ubi vera est quies, vera pax, vera tranquillitas, pax utique quam hic visibilis et corporeus dare non potest" ("I shall fly above the heavenly region to that of true repose, peace, and tranquility, especially that peace which this visible and corporeal world cannot give"). 95 On the unity of the intellect, see Farmer (, 112–14). See also Conclusiones 1.7.3, 1.20.7, 2.4.24–25; Farmer (, 107–8). It should be noted that the yearning for peace is, in effect, also the desire for truth (cf. Mithridates , 158), for without peace there is no union (whether unitio or henosis), and without truth there is no understanding of the Godhead (or the One). For Pico, these are all logical points of ontological – and philosophical – convergence. See De ente et uno 10 (Pico 1998): "Pat[er...] ipsa unitas, ipsa veritas, ipsa bonitas est. [...] Evolemus ad Patrem ubi pax unifica, ubi lux verissima, voluptas optima" ("The Father [...] is unity itself, truth itself, goodness itself. [...] Let us fly to the Father where there is unifying peace, truest light, best pleasure"). 96 See Iamblichus, De vita Pythagorica 33.229–33. See also Pico's Epist. 20.5. 97 Cf. Luke 2:13–14 and Heptaplus 7.4. 98 Cf. Matt. 10:12–13: "Intrantes autem in domum salutate eam et siquidem fuerit domus digna veniat pax vestra super eam" ("And when you come into the house, salute it, saying: Peace be to this house"); Luke 10:5–6; John 14:23. 99 As will soon become apparent, the feminine pronouns in this section and the next refer to the soul, anima, which is a feminine noun in Latin. 100 Psalm 23:10. Cf. Conclusiones 1.6.3. 101 See Macarius's first homily (3–4), in which he explains the allegories of Ezekiel's vision, comprehensible only if one takes it anagogically to represent the advent of Christ (the hand that appears beneath the cherub's wings), Who oversees the perfection of the human soul and its preparation to become God's throne. For Proclus's tripartite path to theology as an analogue to Pseudo-Dionysius's triple way, see Bori (, 51ff.). Despite man's apparent ability to raise himself up, the self-preparatory elements of the soul's attainment of union with God should not be seen as existing outside the need for God's grace (see Dulles , 121–25). Cf. John 14:23; Ps. 23:7–8. 102 Cf. Conclusiones 1.28.3; Prov. 20:28. 103 Psalm 44:10–11: "Adstetit regina a dextris tuis in vestitu deaurato circumdata varietate / audi filia et vide et inclina aurem tuam et obliviscere populum tuum et domum patris tui" ("The queen stood on thy right hand, in gilded clothing; surrounded with variety. / Hearken, O daughter, and see, and incline thy ear: and forget thy people and thy father's house"). According to the most common interpretations of these verses, the bride here represents the emergence of a single church from a "variety" of languages and customs (cf. Jerome Ep. 65.14–15 [PL 22.633]; Augustine, Enarrationes in psalmos 44.24–25 [PL 36.510]). Pico recasts the image as the illumination of the single soul through a variety of "sciences," or schools of thought. 104 Cf. Isa. 49:18, 61:10; Jer. 2:32; John 3:29; Rev. 19:7–8, 21:2. This eroticization of the union between the soul and God clearly owes much in tone to the Song of Songs. Cf. also Hos. 2:19–20. This union is of a very personal nature inasmuch as this intimate "marriage" represents the contemplative's ultimate goal. See Rabanus Maurus, Commentary on Ezekiel 15.40; Ps. 44:11–12; Isa. 49:18; Gen. 24:7. The allegorical allusions belong both to the cabalistic tradition of hieros gamos (e.g., Shekhinah's coupling with Binah) and to the Christian mystical vision of the soul's union with the Godhead (e.g., Bernard of Clairvaux's Sermones in Epiphania 2.2–3 [PL 183.158–59]). See also Richard of St. Victor's De arca mystica 3.13–16. 105 Cf. Conclusiones 1.17.3–5; Ps. 115:15. 106 That "plenitude of life" known as death is explained more clearly by Pico in De ente et uno 5. Citing Paul (1 Cor. 15:31; Rom. 7:24) and Seneca (Ep. 102 and 120), Pico casts our worldly life as death itself inasmuch as it is simply the soul's temporary vivification of the body, not a state of existence that is characteristic of the essence of the soul. The soul's "life" is being and, given that the study of philosophy is also the contemplation of being, can in this way be seen to exemplify the object of the philosopher's endeavour. Cf. the last sentence of De ente et uno and Phaedo 82b–84b. In the Commento (notes to stanza 4), Pico explains that the cabalists believed many patriarchs had died as a result of intellectual rapture, represented allegorically in the kiss. Having been so completely uplifted, they were able to abandon their bodies (Conclusiones 2.8.7, 2.11.13). See also Macrobius, In somnium Scipionis 1.12.17; Rom. 14:7–8; Col. 2:11–13; Plato, Phaedo 60d ff. (Pico 1987, 20), 81a (Cassirer, Kristeller, and Randall in Pico 1948, 232). 107 See Origen's first homily on Genesis: "Therefore, by participation in that celestial water which is said to be above the heavens, each of the faithful becomes heavenly, that is, when he applies his mind to lofty and exalted things, thinking nothing about the earth but totally about heavenly things" (Origen , 50). This notion is not far from those expressed in §§55–56 and indeed corresponds to Pico's explanation of the "deathless fountain" in the Commento (notes to stanza 4). Cf. Conclusiones 2.9.6. The image of heavenly nectar in this context goes back to Plato's discussion of the angelic charioteer who, after guiding the soul to heaven, refreshes his horses with ambrosia and nectar (Phaedrus 243e–257a). Cf. Macrobius, In somnium Scipionis 1.12.11. Nectar, according to Proclus, corresponds to the Infinite (cf. Conclusiones 1.24.54; Farmer , 333). Ficino was especially intrigued by this mythical "hymn," of which he wrote several times and which indeed occupies nearly all of his commentary on the Phaedrus. In a letter sent to Giovanni Cavalcanti (known as the De raptu Pauli ad tertium coelum [Ficino , 1:697ff.]), Ficino uses Plato's charioteer as a stylistic model for Paul's vision of heaven (cf. 2 Cor. 12:2–4 and §70). The motif is revisited, complete with mention of the divine foods, in two other works: in De voluptate, Ficino explains that ambrosia represents contemplation and nectar the joy of being near to God; in De amore (7.14), ambrosia and nectar are symbolic of the wondrous vision of heaven. These two interpretations come together in his commentary on the Philebus (chap. 34) and in the Theologia Platonica (18.8). These various ideas on the meaning of heavenly nectar appear frequently in many of Ficino's letters. See Allen (, 220 and passim). Pico probably begins with this Platonic notion of the presence of nectar in heaven but then, relying on Plotinus's interpretation (Enneads 3.5.9) of a passage in Plato's Symposium (203b–c), adds the reference to intoxication, an allusion in the case of Plotinus to the way in which knowledge is passed down from higher to lower levels. See also Pico's Commento (2.14a, notes to stanza 3 and notes to stanza 4, in which he refers to Maimonides' Guide for the Perplexed 2.12) and Conclusiones 2.10.24, 2.11.17; cf. §108. For the cherub as the supercelestial charioteer who guides the soul in an orderly fashion away from discord, see Philo, On the Cherubim 23–24. 108 "Solitude of the body" is a phrase that was sometimes associated with Job 39:6 (Gregory, Moralia in Job 30.16). See also Gerhoh of Reichersberg's Commentaria vetustissima et profundissima super Canticum Canticorum 3.3 (PL 195.1129c–d). 109 Cf. Exod. 19:22–23; Lev. 16:23–24. The allegory of the tabernacle as an end is traditional. See Gregory of Nyssa's Life of Moses 177–78. Though hardly as enthusiastic about pagan philosophers, Richard of St. Victor (both in his De arca mystica and the Nonnullae allegoriae tabernaculi foederis) likewise glosses the various grades of access to the tabernacle as linear phases of epistemological progress that culminate in the grace of understanding through the contemplation of divine invisibilia. For the purification of the priests, see Philo's Life of Moses 2.74 and 138ff.; Clement of Alexandria's Stromateis 5.6; Jerome's Commentary on Ezekiel, chap. 3; and Pico's first exposition on Ps. 17:12 (Pico 1997, 149). Thessaly, long considered a hotbed of magicians, fits in nicely with the concept of the intelligent but misguided soul. 110 The menorah appears also in the eighth tale of Flavius Mithridates' translation, made for Pico, of The Great Parchment. Its modern editor, Giulio Busi, explains: "In various passages, [the author] expresses the theoretical principle of the correspondence between a particular sefirah and the whole. He says for instance that 'the holy Temple below is arranged according to the region of the holy temple above,' thus signifying that malkut (the lower Sanctuary) reproduces the structure of the whole emanation (the upper Sanctuary). Such a perfect mirroring is however possible only when the priest takes his dirty 'clothes [...] away [and...] puts clean linen over his head.' That is when the evil forces are driven away and yesod (the holy priest) is connected purely with malkut. Such a mystical purity makes it possible to ascend through meditation to the outermost source of light" (Mithridates , 38). 111 Cf. Rabanus Maurus's Commentary on Ezekiel 42.17; Bausi (1996, 37). 112 The meaning of §§98–102 relies upon several Old Testament passages related to temples and the duties of priests. Most scholars attribute the wondrous images of §101 to the descriptions of the Ark of the Covenant (Exod. 25–26). See also Exod. 27:21; Lev. 4:6, 24:3; Heptaplus (second proem); and Conclusiones 1.2.22. To be sure, the phrase pellicea elementa ("skin coverings") is difficult to understand if not in reference to the furs placed over the ark's exterior (cf. Exod. 26:7, 14, 36:19, and 39:33; see Pico 1948, 233). The skins could be Christological symbols and/or representative of the Fall and Redemption; cf. Conclusiones 2.8.8–9 and Farmer (, 489–90). Similarly, the seven-part candelabra could well be inspired by the septem lucernas ("seven lights") of Exod. 25:37–39 and the multicoloured decorations of the supercelestial world by the various blues, scarlets, purples, and golds of the tabernacle's curtains (Exod. 26:1–6). 113 Such a forthright assertion recalls Eriugena's famous phrase "Nemo intrat in caelum nisi per philosophiam" ("No one enters heaven except through philosophy," in Eriugena 1939, 64). 114 Pico was not the only one to use the term "mystery" as applied to Moses's teachings. Cf., for example, Ficino's In Phaedrum (Ficino , 1363): "Tum vero interea mirabile nota mysterium mosayco mysterio simile" ("Meanwhile, take note of this marvelous mystery, which resembles the Mosaic mystery," trans. Allen , 74–75). For an antecedent, see Philo, On the Cherubim 48–49. See also Eriugena, Periphyseon 2.22 (PL 122.564a–b). 115 On the theology of the ancients, or prisca theologia (a notion that was taken from Gemistus Pletho), see Ficino's Argumentum set before his translation of the Pimander (Ficino , 1836): "There is, therefore, a theology of the ancients (prisca theologia) [...] which has its origins in Mercury and culminates in the divine Plato." For an alternative thread, which begins with Zoroaster, see Theologia Platonica 17.1 (Ficino , 386). For the different genealogies, see Walker (). For a general overview, see Walker (); see also M. J. B. Allen, "Golden Wits, Zoroaster and the Revival of Platon" in Allen (). Pico's trust in the prisca theologia will turn into disillusionment and then finally disappear in his Disputationes; see Valcke (, 192), cited in Bausi (, 110n19). 116 The exclamation "by Hercules!" (akin to "by Jove!") was not uncommon, but see Bausi (Pico 2003, 167–68) for its appearance in Gianfrancesco's editorial work. 117 On dialectics seen as an expiatory art, see Plato, Sophist 230c–d. 118 Ancient mystery cults (e.g., the Eleusinian) often required novices to progress through a series of stages before beholding in person the contents of the sacred κ στη and attaining epopteia (see §§104 and 106). The creation of an analogy between the path of philosophy and that of the mysteries – the first steps of which consist in purification and initiation – is typical of Neoplatonism but is already present in Plato's Phaedo 69b–d: "...but truth is in fact a purification from all these things, and self-restraint and justice and courage and wisdom itself are a kind of purification. And I fancy that these men who established the mysteries were not unenlightened, but in reality had a hidden meaning when they said long ago that whoever goes uninitiated and unsanctified to the other world will lie in the mire, but he who arrives there initiated and purified will dwell with the gods. For as they say in the mysteries, 'the thyrsus-bearers are many, but the mystics are few'; and these mystics are, I believe, those who have been true philosophers" (Plato ). A.-J. Festugière has suggested that the mystères cultuels have been replaced through the mystères littéraires (cf. Diès ). Regarding the issue of the "language of mysteries" in a Platonic context, refer to Wind's introduction (Wind ). 119 Cf. Plato, Symposium 210a; Plutarch, On Isis and Osiris 77 (382d). 120 See Plato, Phaedo 69c. 121 See Plato, Phaedrus 247e, in Ficino's translation: "Cum autem redierit, auriga ad praesepe sistens equos obicit illis ambrosiam, et post ipsam nectar potandum" ("On his arrival, the charioteer stops the horses at the stable and offers them ambrosia and nectar also to drink," Allen trans. in Allen , 220). See also §98. 122 Plato's most significant passage may be found in Phaedrus 265b: "And we made four divisions of the divine madness, ascribing them to four gods, saying that prophecy was inspired by Apollo, the mystic madness by Dionysos, the poetic by the Muses, and the madness of love [...] by Aphrodite and Eros" (Plato ). This passage is amply treated by Ficino in the final pages of his Commentarium in Convivium Platonis, whence Pico draws the order of the four madnesses, or furores, described later. On the divinus furor, see also Ficino's letter to Pellegrino Agli (Gentile ; Ficino , 613ff.). The translation of the Greek manía into the Latin furor appears in Cicero, De divinatione 1.80: "Negat enim sine furore Democritus quemquam poetam magnum esse posse, quod idem dicit Plato. Quem, si placet, appellet furorem, dum modo is furor ita laudetur ut in Phaedro Platonis laudatus est" ("Democritus says that no one can be a great poet without being in a state of frenzy, and Plato says the same thing. Let Plato call it 'frenzy' if he will, provided he praises it as it was praised in his Phaedrus," Falconer trans. in Cicero ). See Plato, Phaedrus 244a. 123 John 5:19: "Scimus quoniam ex Deo sumus: et mundus totus in maligno positus est" ("We know that we are of God, and the whole world is seated in wickedness"). 124 See Virgil, Aen. 6.19. See Marsilio Ficino, Commentarium in Convivium Platonis 7.14: "Alas animo tribuit, per quas in sublime feratur" ("[Plato] attributes wings to the soul, by which it may be borne to the sublime," Jayne trans. in Ficino ). See also §§48 and 94. 125 Marsilio Ficino, Theologia Platonica 1.6: "Aliud tamen mens erit, aliud veritas. Quod sic aperit Zoroaster: Μ νθανε τ νοητ ν, πε ξω ν ου π ρχει, id est: 'Scito intellegibile ipsum esse extra mentem'" ("Yet mind and truth will still be different things. Zoroaster unfolded it like this: 'Be aware that the intelligible lies outside the mind,'" Allen, trans. in Allen ). See Chaldean Oracles 1.10 (Des Places , 66). 126 Marsilio Ficino, Commentarium in Convivium Platonis 7.14: "Primus itaque furor inconcinna et dissonantia temperat" ("So the first kind of madness tempers dissonant and unharmonious parts," Jayne trans. in Ficino ). 127 Marsilio Ficino, Commentarium in Convivium Platonis 7.14: "Primus quidem poeticus furor, alter mysterialis, tertius vaticinium, amatorius affectus est quartus. Est autem poesis a Musis, mysterium a Dionysio, vaticinium ab Apolline, amor a Venere" ("The first is the poetic madness, the second is that of the mysteries, the third is that of prophecy, and the fourth is that of love. Moreover, the poetry is from the Muses, the mystery from Dionysus, the prophecy from Apollo, and the love from Venus," Jayne trans. in Ficino ). Ficino, while paraphrasing Plato's Phaedrus, gives the four furores a different order, which is followed by Pico. See Plato, Phaedrus 265b. 128 Second furor, the furor mysterialis. See note 127. 129 On the relation between Dionysus and Apollo (to whom the appellation Musagetes normally refers), see Plutarch, On the E at Delphi 389b–c. 130 Romans 1:20: "Invisibilia enim ipsius, a creatura mundi, per ea quae facta sunt, intellecta, conspiciuntur" ("For the invisible things of him, from the creation of the world, are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made"). See Ficino, De divino furore, a letter to Pellegrino Agli (in Ficino , 613): "Itaque Paulus ac Dionysius, Christianorum theologorum sapientissimi, invisibilia Dei, asserunt, per ea quae facta sunt queque hic cernuntur intelligi" ("Paul and Dionysius, the wisest of the Christian theologians, affirm that the invisible things of God are understood from what has been made and is to be seen here," trans. in Ficino –2003, 1:43–44). 131 Psalm 35:9: "Inebriabuntur ab ubertate domus tuae" ("They shall be inebriated with the plenty of thy house"). 132 Hebrews 3:5: "Et Moses quidem fidelis erat in tota domo eius tamquam famulus" ("And Moses indeed was faithful in all his house as a servant"). Additionally, Heb. 3:2: "Qui fidelis est ei qui fecit illum sicut et Moses in omni domo illius" ("Who is faithful to him that made him, as was also Moses in all his house"), which is a quotation of Num. 12:7: "At non talis servus meus Moses, qui in omni domo mea fidelissimus est" ("But it is not so with my servant Moses who is most faithful in all my house"). 133 Cf. Homer, Iliad 1.70, cited in Plutarch's On the E at Delphi 387b. This is the third furor, the vaticinium (see note 127). 134 The fourth furor, the amatorius affectus ("loving emotion") (see note 127). 135 The original term, aestrus or oestrus, derives from the Greek ο στρος (lit. "gadfly"), which was often used metaphorically, as in Sophocles and Euripides, to refer to any stimulus that drives one mad. See Pico's letter to Benivieni of 12 November 1486 (in Dorez , 358). See also Bausi (Pico 2003, 54). 136 On the ardent seraphim, cf. §§54 and 57. See, again, Ficino's De divino furore (in Ficino , 613): "in hac autem ipsa alarum recuperatione abstrahi a corpore illarum vi animum Deoque plenum ad Superos trahi ac vehementer anniti" ("On recovery of these wings, the soul is separated from the body by their power. Filled with God, it strives with all its might to reach the heavens and thither it is drawn," Allen trans. in Allen ). 137 Galatians 2:20: "Vivo autem iam non ego, vivit vero in me Christus" ("And I live, now not I; but Christ liveth in me"). 138 Cf. Plutarch, On the E at Delphi 385b. 139 This philosopher, who was Plutarch's teacher, belonged to the Platonic Academy; he is one of the main characters of Plutarch's On the E at Delphi. See Plutarch, On the E at Delphi 385b–c. 140 The whole passage is clearly dependent on Plutarch's On the E at Delphi, where the three Delphic maxims are commented on. 141 John 1:9: "Erat lux vera, quae illuminat omnem hominem venientem in hunc mundum" ("That was the true light, which enlighteneth every man that cometh into this world"). 142 Cf. Plutarch, On the E at Delphi 385d. 143 Cf. Plutarch, On the E at Delphi 385d and passim. 144 Cf. Nonius Marcellus (, 1:62, 83); Cicero, Orator 21. See also Bausi (Pico 2003, 56–57). 145 Plato, Alcibiades I (131a–33c). 146 Cf. Plutarch, On the E at Delphi 392a and passim. 147 On the reception of Pythagoras during the Renaissance, see Casini (). 148 Cf. Iamblichus, De vita Pythagorica 8.44. 149 Cf. Iamblichus, Protrepticus 21 (Iamblichus , 107, 116–17; Iamblichus , 134, 142–43); Porphyry, Vita Pythagorae 42; Ficino, Symbola Pythagorae philosophi; Ficino, Commentariolus in symbola Pythagorae (in Ficino , 2:102). 150 Cf. Iamblichus, Protrepticus 21 (Iamblichus , 107–8, 115, 121–22; Iamblichus , 134, 141, 147); Ficino, Symbola Pythagorae philosophi (in Ficino , 1979); Ficino, Commentariolus in symbola Pythagorae (in Ficino , 2:102–3). Cf. also Diogenes Laertius 7.34–35; Hesiod, Opera et dies 727, 742–43; Pliny, Natural History 28.69. 151 Ficino, Commentariolus in symbola Pythagorae (in Ficino , 2:100): "Mingere est purgari, incidere ungues etiam est amovere a te superba et vilia" ("To urinate is to purge oneself, to cut the nails is to distance oneself from prideful and vile things"). See Celenza (, 694–95). 152 Cf. Plato, Republic 508b–c. 153 Cf. Iamblichus, Protrepticus 21; Ficino, Symbola Pythagorae philosophi; Ficino, Commentariolus in symbola Pythagorae (in Ficino , 2:101). See Celenza (, 695–97). 154 Cf. Plato, Alcibiades I (133c). 155 "Solid food" in this context recalls Paul's admonition not to take spiritual food that is too strong before one is ready. See Heb. 5:12–14: "Etenim cum deberetis magistri esse propter tempus rursum indigetis ut vos doceamini quae sint elementa exordii sermonum Dei et facti estis quibus lacte opus sit non solido cibo. Omnis enim qui lactis est particeps expers est sermonis iustitiae parvulus enim est; perfectorum autem est solidus cibus eorum qui pro consuetudine exercitatos habent sensus ad discretionem boni ac mali" ("For whereas for the time you ought to be masters, you have need to be taught again what are the first elements of the words of God: and you are become such as have need of milk, and not of strong meat [solido cibo]. For every one that is a partaker of milk, is unskillful in the word of justice: for he is a little child. But strong meat [solidus cibus] is for the perfect; for them who by custom have their senses exercised to the discerning of good and evil"). Regarding ambrosia, see notes 107 and 121. 156 Cf. Prov. 30:30–31: "Leo, fortissimus bestiarum, ad nullius pavebit occorsum; gallus succinctus lumbos, et aries; nec est rex, qui resistat ei" ("A lion, the strongest of beasts, who hath no fear of anything he meeteth: A cock girded about the loins: and a ram: and a king, whom none can resist"). See, moreover, Ficino, De vita coelitus comparanda 3.14 (in Ficino , 550). 157 Job 38:36; cf. Ficino, Commentariolus in symbola Pythagorae (in Ficino , 2:102). 158 Cf. Ficino, Commentariolus in symbola Pythagorae (in Ficino , 2:102). See Matt. 26:74–75: "Et continuo gallus cantavit. Et recordatus est Petrus verbi Iesu, quod dixerat: prius quam gallus cantet, ter me negabis" ("And immediately the cock crew. And Peter remembered the word of Jesus which he had said: Before the cock crows, thou wilt deny me thrice"). 159 Cf. Job 38:7: "Cum me laudarent simul astra matutina [...]" ("When the morning stars praised me together [...]"). 160 The greater world (maior mundus) is the Neoplatonic Macrocosmos or Megacosmos. 161 Plato, Phaedo 118a. Since those who recovered from illness often sacrificed a cock to Aesculapius as recognition for their cure, these famous last words of Socrates were commonly taken to mean that he viewed death as the ultimate remedy for the vicissitudes of this life. 162 Unfortunately, the nature of Pico's sources is not clear. Some texts had been brought to his attention by Flavius Mithridates (see Pico's letter to Ficino written in autumn 1486, in Supplementum Ficinianum, 272–73: "Chaldaici hi libri sunt, si libri sunt et non thesauri: In primis Ezre, Zoroastris et Melchiar Magorum oracula, in quibus et illa quoque, que apud Graecos mendosa et mutila circumferuntur, leguntur integra et absoluta. Tum est in illa Chaldeorum sapientum brevis quidem et salebrosa, sed plena misteriis interpretatio. Est itidem et libellus de dogmatis Chaldaice theologie cum Persarum, Grecorum et Chaldeorum in illa divina et locupletissima enarratione" ("These are the Chaldean books, if they are to be considered books and not treasures: first the oracles of the Mages, Ezra, Zoroaster, and Melcher, in which one can read in its absolute integrity what has been transmitted only in fragments and full of mistakes among the Greeks. In those books is contained the somewhat condensed and hard to decipher, yet comprehensive, interpretation of the mysteries of the Chaldean wise men. One equally finds in them also a small book about the dogmas of the Chaldean theology, with a divine and most authoritative explanation of the Persians', the Greeks', and the Chaldeans'"). Pico certainly had some texts or fragments written in a language that Wirszubski, on the basis of the extant fragments preserved in the Palatino manuscript (for example, the names of the paradisiacal rivers listed in §134), considered to be a mixture of Aramaic, Syrian, and Hebrew, written in Ethiopic characters. These "texts," however, might obviously have been fabricated, perhaps by Flavius Mithridates himself (Farmer , 13, 486–87). Pico considered them, as in the preceding quotation, as being genuine versions (perhaps the originals) of the Chaldean Oracles; according to him they were better and richer than the compilation of scattered Greek fragments that circulated under that title (on the fortune of the Greek Chaldean Oracles during the Renaissance, see Dannenfeldt ). Gemistus Pletho might have been the first to believe that the Chaldean Oracles embodied sentences by Zoroaster (see also Masai , 136ff.; Bidez and Cumont ; Duchesne-Guillemin , 4). He was followed by Ficino in the Theologia Platonica (see Gentile ). See also Bausi (Pico 2003, 173–75). 163 See Psellus, Summaria et brevis dogmatum Chaldaicorum expositio (PG 122.1152d). 164 See note 127. 165 PG 122.1129a. 166 The names of the rivers are not available in the editio princeps, and the lacunae are normally filled in later editions with the Hebrew names of the paradisiacal rivers (Gen. 2:10–14). In the Palatino manuscript, Wirszubski (Wirszubski , 242, and in Mithridates , 38ff.) was able to read the four names as written in Ethiopic letters, but in a language that can be interpreted as a mixture of Aramaic, Syriac, and Hebrew, as follows: 1. q-s-t = "truth" (in Syriac); 2. k-?-r-n = "expiation" (in Hebrew); 3. n-h-r = "light" (in Aramaic); 4. r-h-m-n-t = "piety" (in Hebrew). See fig. 4. 167 The phrase "northern line" translates boreali amussi. Amussis was a term variously used to signify an instrument employed to ascertain the degree to which a flat surface was level or precise. Pico may intend here nothing more esoteric than the plane one establishes while aligning one's sight through the eyepieces of an astrolabe (or by levelling a quadrant, nocturnal, or other navigational device) pointed toward Polaris (the North Star). Hence, we could assume here an image, albeit a rather complicated one, that approximates the modern expression "moral compass." The reference to Iberian waves could be, as Bausi conjectures, to Seneca (Pico 2003, 64). See also the notion of "median line" in Idel (, Ascensions 167–81). 168 The North, therefore, would represent dialectics; the East, natural philosophy; the South, theology; and the West, moral philosophy. 169 Psalm 54:18: "Vespere, et mane, et meridie, narrabo, et annuntiabo" ("Evening and morning, and at noon I will speak and declare"). Augustine, De genesi ad litteram 4.30.47: "[...] ubi semper est dies in contemplatione incommutabilis veritatis, semper vespera in cognitione in seipsa creaturae, semper mane etiam ex hac cognitione in laude Creatoris" ("when it is always day in the immutable contemplation of truth, it is always evening in man's awareness of himself and morning always arises from that awareness in praise of the Creator"). See also Augustine, Enarrationes in Psalmos 54.18: "Evangeliza tu, noli tacere quod accepisti, vespere, de praeteritis; mane, de futuris; meridie, de sempiternis" ("Do thou proclaim glad tidings, keep not secret that which thou hast received, 'in evening' of things gone by, 'in morning' of things to be, 'at noon' of things ever to be," Augustine of Hippo, ). Morning, then, comes to be associated with natural philosophy, evening with moral philosophy, and noon with theology. This pattern, with the exception of dialectics, is compatible with the allegory of the cardinal directions listed in note 168. 170 Cf. Gen. 12:1–13:3, 13:14–15; Conclusiones 1.28.14. 171 The "Moors" are, more accurately, the Arabs. See Conclusiones 1.21.3. This could be a reference to the ideas that informed Conclusiones 1.28.21 inasmuch as midday, like the South, belongs to theology. 172 On the prohibition against disclosing the contents of the mysteries, see, for one example among many, Plotinus, Enneads 6.9.11: "This is the intention of the command given in the mysteries here below not to disclose to the uninitiated" (Plotinus 1966–88). 173 For the phrase "our man," see note 87. 174 Jeremiah 9:21: "Quia ascendit mors per fenestras nostras, ingressa est domos nostras" ("For death is come up through our windows, it is entered into our houses"). Bausi reminds us that the windows of our souls are our senses, through which we are susceptible to temptation. He likewise notes that Plato associated our liver and breast with concupiscence and wrath, respectively (Pico 2003, 67). 175 For a possible source of this angelological conclusion, see Gregory the Great, XL Homiliarum in Evangelia libri duo 34.9 (PL 76.1251a): "Raphael vero dicitur medicina Dei" ("In truth, Raphael is called the medicine of God"). Cf. Tob. 3:25: "Et missus est angelus Domini, ut curaret eos ambos, quorum uno tempore sunt orationes in conspectu Domini recitatae" ("And the holy angel of the Lord, Raphael was sent to heal them both, whose prayers at one time were rehearsed in the sight of the Lord"). On the names of the angels as connected to the doctrine of the sefirot (a connection which might be alluded to through the words "the most hidden mysteries"), see Yates (). For Raphael as healer, see, for example, Tob. 3.25–26 and 11.8ff. 176 Cf. Gregory the Great, XL Homiliarum in Evangelia libri duo 34.9 (PL 76.1251a): "Gabriel autem, fortitudo Dei" ("And Gabriel is the strength of God"). 177 Cf. Gregory the Great, XL Homiliarum in Evangelia libri duo 34.9 (PL 76.1251a): "Michael namque, qui ut Deus" ("And Michael, who is like God"). 178 Psalm 20:4: "Posuisti in capite eius coronam de lapide pretioso" ("thou hast set on his head a crown of precious stones"). 179 For an example of an analogous use of the term fortune, see Pico, Epistle 36 (to Andrea Corneus), 15 October 1486 (Pico 1971, Opera omnia 1:376–79), to which this whole section of the Oration is very similar (Bori , 73–77): "Everyone must act this way, especially those whom fortune has treated so benevolently that they can live not merely splendidly and comfortably, but also magnificently. Great fortunes raise one up to the skies and therefore induce ostentation but, like an indomitable, bucking steed, they often behave badly and torment, rather than transport, him who rides upon them" (Pico 1971, 1:377). 180 As Bausi (Pico 2003, 68) notes, this whole passage recalls the opening paragraph of Cicero's De finibus bonorum and malorum (On Moral Ends), where we find a similar defence of philosophical studies: "In this work I am putting into Latin themes which philosophers of the highest talent and most refined learning have dealt with in Greek, and I am well aware, Brutus, that this will incur criticism of various kinds. Some people, by no means uneducated, altogether disapprove of philosophizing. Others do not criticize it so long as it is done in an easygoing manner, but consider that one should not devote so much of one's enthusiasm and attention to it" (Cicero 2001b). 181 See again Pico's letter to Andrea Corneus: "Men's minds have been invaded by the ruinous and monstrous conviction that noblemen ought to refrain from philosophical studies or, at most, that they should taste them only with the edge of their lips in order to show off their intelligence, rather than putting them into practice, in peace, so as to better themselves. They consider Neoptolemus' saying as a decree: no one, or just a very few, should engage in philosophy" (Pico 1971, 1:377). The Neoptolemus referred to here is the protagonist of a lost tragedy by Ennius quoted by, among others, Cicero (De Republica 1.18.30): "He much preferred Ennius' Neoptolemus, who said that 'he wanted to be a philosopher but only a little; it didn't please him totally'" (Cicero 1999b). See also De Oratore 2.37.156: "I have determined to philosophize, as Neoptolemus says in Ennius, 'In a few things, for I don't want to do so in all ways'" (Cicero 1979–82); Aulus Gellius (, Attic Nights 5.15.9): "I agreed with Ennius' Neoptolemus, who rightly says: 'Philosophizing there must be, but by the few; / Since for all men it's not to be desired.'" 182 Here Pico outlines again a comprehensive plan for philosophical study in three stages, ascending from the investigation of earthly phenomena and natural philosophy ("the causes of things, the ways of nature") to celestial phenomena ("the logic of the universe") and theological mysteries (the plans of God, the mysteries of Heaven and Earth). The passage is reminiscent of Cicero, Tusculan Disputations (4.57): "[W]isdom is the knowledge of things divine and human, together with an understanding of each thing's cause" (Cicero ). 183 "The study of wisdom" is an etymological reflection of the Greek φιλοσοφ α ("philosophy"). Cf. Augustine, Against the Academicians 3.9.20: "Listen, my friend, philosophy is not called wisdom itself but the zeal for wisdom" (Augustine of Hippo ); Augustine, Epistles 3.149.2: "[...] and what is philosophy in Latin, if not the study of wisdom?" Cf. also Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.1: "The theoretical study of all the skills which have to do with the right way of living is to be identified with the pursuit of wisdom, that is, philosophy. So I decided that I should expound this in Latin" (Cicero ). 184 See again Pico's letter to Andrea Corneus: "Would it therefore be ignoble or wholly improper for a nobleman gratuitously to pursue wisdom? Who could hear or tolerate such a thing without irritation? No one who has practiced philosophy in such a way as to be able or unable to do so has ever truly been a philosopher. Such a man has engaged in commerce, not philosophy" (Pico 1971, 1:377). As Bausi (Pico 2003, 70) notes, this passage also echoes Convivio 1.9.3–5, where Dante, however, speaks against perverting the pursuit of "letters" in general (not philosophy, in particular) into practical and monetary advantage. Such a scornful attitude toward the pursuit of knowledge is one of the main themes of the early humanists (cf., e.g., Petrarch's Invective contra medicum and Boccaccio's Genealogiae deorum gentilium 14). 185 See §161 and §§65–66, where "the order of Pallas" is described as that of cherubic contemplation that brings to fruition the link between love (the seraphim) and justice or law (the thrones): throughout the Oration and Conclusiones, as the personification of Wisdom or Philosophy, Pallas signifies the intellectual nature which leads to wisdom (in Conclusiones 2.5.14 and 2.11.10, the Orphean Pallas is associated with the cabalists' Metatron). 186 Cf. Plato, Republic 495c. For the image of chaste Philosophy as neglected, scorned, and reduced to prostitution, one may also recall these famous verses from Petrarch (, RVF 7.10–11): "Povera e nuda vai, Philosophia, / dice la turba al vil guadagno intesa" ("'Philosophy, you go poor and naked!' / says the mob, bent on low gain"). 187 That is, "remuneration." 188 This may be a reference to the fact that in 1483 Pico renounced the administration of his patrimony, securing for himself only one-third of its revenues (Pico 2003, 72). According to Gianfrancesco, he renounced all earthly possessions three years before his death (in 1496). 189 See again the epistle to Andrea Corneus, in which Pico speaks about the opposition between active and contemplative life: "But you might say: I want you to embrace Martha [the active life], but without abandoning Mary [the contemplative life]. I do not reject this opinion; in truth, I neither condemn nor impugn anyone who holds it. But maintaining that it is not a mistake to pass from a contemplative to a public life is very different from considering one's refusal to do so to be an act of slothfulness or, indeed, even a sin or a crime" (Pico 1971, 1:377). As to whether the active life is more excellent than the contemplative, see Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae 2.2.182.1 (which follows Aristotle's Ethics 10.7.8). This question was vigorously debated in humanist circles: see Cristoforo Landino (1424–1504), Disputationes Camaldulenses 1. See also Philippus de Harveng, Commentaria in cantica canticorum 3.7 and 3.11. 190 Bori (, 76) notes that this passage echoes Plato's Apology of Socrates 28a–34d, where we read: "I greet you, Athenians, with affection, but I shall obey the god rather than you, and so long as I am alive and capable I will not stop doing philosophy..." (Plato ). 191 Literally "barking opponents." The Latin term oblatrator is found in Sidonius, Epist. 1.3.2 and 4.22.6 (Bausi , 136), and in the feminine form in Plautus's Miles gloriosus 3.1.87. See §264 and Jerome, Epist. 133.13. 192 Cf. Plato, Phaedrus 247a: "First in the heavens travels Zeus [...] after him there follows an army of gods and divinities, ordered in eleven companies [...] and after them follows anyone who wishes and is able to do so, for jealousy is excluded from the divine chorus" (Plato ). 193 It is difficult to ascertain who exactly has taken these differently nuanced positions toward the idea of a public discussion of Pico's nine hundred theses. Bori (, 75) conjectures that this whole segment, from where the text departs from the extant manuscript P in the second line of §143 ("And I would certainly not elaborate on them...") to §150, was added to the text of the Oration by inserting parts of the letter to Corneus, written in mid-October 1486. Bausi (, 111–12), however, conjectures that Pico's defence of philosophy was part of his answer to the five objections that were addressed to him after the publication of the nine hundred theses. On the history of the text in its present edition, including a synopsis of the manuscript P, the editio princeps, and Pico's Apologia, published in Naples in 1487, see Massimo Riva's preface and Pier Cesare Bori's and Michael Papio's introductions to this volume. 194 Bausi (Pico 2003, 76) observes that this whole passage echoes Angelo Poliziano's commentary on Statius's Silvae, where Poliziano quotes Aristotle (Problemata 916b.19), saying that "even the most contentious argument greatly sharpens the intellect" ("Contentiosa enim illa disputatio, ut Aristoteles scribit, magnopere ingenium exacuit"). Cf. Poliziano (, 92). 195 Cf. Sidonius, Epist. 1.6, 2.9. 196 The term barzel ("iron") occurs seventy-six times in the Old Testament and appears for the first time in Gen. 4:22. All of the occurrences refer, either literally or metaphorically, to the significance of iron. The metaphorical aspect that interests us here is one that alludes to the ideas of physical force, harshness, difficulty, and resistance. Grinding iron against iron symbolizes the way in which a sage tempers the presence of another person's spirit in such a way that, as a result, the latter's ability to react will become razor sharp. See, for example, Prov. 27:17: "Iron sharpens itself with iron and man sharpens the intelligence of his companion," and also Cicognani's note (in my translation): "In the Talmud the wise are likened to iron, which is ground and sharpened by beating one piece against the other. See the Babylonian Talmud, discussed in the book of Ta'anith, p. 7a. 'Rab Hammah observes: what is the significance of the text of Prov. 27:17: iron and iron together? As it occurs among instruments of iron, where one sharpens the other, so it is also the case among two wise men who sharpen themselves one against the other" (in Pico 1943, 119). Cf. Bausi (Pico 2003, 172). 197 What is here translated as "horoscope" is literally genesi ("the moment of birth"). 198 Literally, "they desire [...] that Mars face Mercury directly from a horizontal trine." "Triquetrus aspectus (the 120° angle formed by the position of the two planets in question) is [...] a technical astrological term: cf. Pliny the Elder, Natural History 2.77" (Bausi , 132). It signifies a most propitious conjunction. See also Carena (in Pico 1994, 75): "Triquetrus, said of a celestial body at a distance of one third of the zodiac from another body or, rather, that forms with that body one side of an equilateral triangle in the zodiac." See also Cicognani's note in his edition (in Pico 1943, 119): "The astrological viewpoint spoken of here is called 'triangular aspect,' which means that the two lines of sight construct a 120° angle, one of the most favourable aspects; and the would-be philosopher will have to the highest degree the conjunction of hermetic intelligence (Mercury) and pugnacious prowess (Mars)." See also Pico, Disputationes adversus astrologiam divinatricem 6.14.16 and 10.9 (with the corresponding annotations by E. Garin in Pico 1946–52); Pliny the Younger, Natural History 2.59, 2.77, 2.80; Lucretius, De rerum natura 1.717, 4.653; Julius Caesar, Bellum Gallicum 5.13.1. 199 Bausi (, 140) notes the transitive use of incidere with the simple accusative, found in poetry (see Lucretius, De rerum natura 4.568), in post-classical Latin (Solinus, Tacitus, and especially Apuleius) and in the Christian authors. See Ermolao Barbaro, Temistius fol. 113v. 200 Cf. Job 32:8: "But, as I see, there is a spirit in men, and the inspiration of the Almighty giveth understanding." 201 Cf. 1 Tim. 4:12: "Let no man despise thy youth: but be thou an example of the faithful in word, in conversation, in charity, in faith, in chastity." 202 Cf. §151. The term "good arts" is found in Ovid (, Tristia 3.7.32): "So put aside the causes of sloth, accomplished girl, return to [noble arts] and thy sacred offerings" (Wheeler trans., with modifications). See also Augustine, In Psalmum IX Enarratio (PL 36.127). 203 For the allusion to Pythagoras (who chose for himself the term "philosopher," or "lover of wisdom," rather than that of "wise man"), see §120 and notes. 204 Cf. Horace, Ars Poetica 38–40: "Pick a subject, writers, equal to your strength and take some time to consider what your shoulders should refuse and what they can bear" (Horace 1995b). 205 For the term imbecillissimus, see Cornelius Celsus 2.18; Seneca, De beneficiis 4.18. Pico uses the term in his letter to Corneus and numerous times elsewhere in his works. 206 Cf. Titus Livius, Ab urbe condita 28.14.12 and 33.5. 207 Pico's self-justification continues, in parallel with the text of the Apologia, until §266. 208 Cicero, On Moral Ends (De finibus bonorum et malorum) 1.2: "The second class of critics, who, however much they approve of philosophy, nevertheless would rather have it less eagerly prosecuted, are asking for a restraint that is not easy to practise. The study is one that when once taken up admits of no restriction or control. In fact, the attitude of the former class, who attempt to dissuade us from philosophy altogether, seems almost less unreasonable than that of those who would set limits to what is essentially unlimited, and expect us to stop half-way in a study that increases in value the further it proceeds" (Cicero 1999a). Bausi adds a further reference to 1.3 (Pico 2003, 80–81n172). Carena adds a reference to the catalogue of the books possessed by Pico (Kibre , no. 1217). According to Reich and Buck, who follow Reich's apparatus to the letter, "no exactly corresponding passage" can be found. Reich adds a reference to Cicero, Philippicae 8.3.10 (Wuilleumier 99), "What do we promise our armies? Far better and greater rewards" (Cicero ), and Cato maior (Carena in Pico 1994, 17, but the quotation is imprecise: see Cicero, Cato maior de senectute 6.17: "non facit ea [senectus] quae iuvenes; at vero multo maiora et meliora facit" ["Granted that an old man does not do what young men do: still, the things he does are vastly more significant and more worthwhile," Copley trans. in Cicero ]). 209 Propertius, Elegiae 2.10.5–6. See Kibre (, nos. 236, 324, 795). Compare the closing paragraph of the Heptaplus's second proem. 210 Gorgias of Leontini (c. 485–c. 380 BC) was a major representative of early Sophistry. See Diels and Kranz (–52, 82A.1a, from Philostratus, Vitae sophistarum 1.9.1ff.). 211 Cf. §158. For the reference to Gorgias, prince of dispute, see Cicero, De Oratore 3.32.129: "And Gorgias was actually the very first to dare, in large gatherings, to call on people to tell him what subject each of them wanted to hear about" (Cicero 2001a). See also Cicero, Brutus 12.46–47; Cicero, On Moral Ends 2.1. See Kibre (, nos. 55, 507, 331). Regarding Aristotle, see the Τεχν ν συναγωγ (Technôn sunagôgê: "collection of systems"), "which, to integrate his Rhetoric, contained a history of eloquence in the presentation of the single systems (τ χναι)" (Cicero , 28n). See also Sophistici elenchi 34.183b36–184a1: "For the training given by the paid teachers of contentious argument resembled the system of Gorgias. For some of them gave their pupils to learn by heart speeches which were either rhetorical or consisted of questions and answers, in which both sides thought that the rival arguments were for the most part included" (Aristotle ). 212 Cf. §186. 213 Cf. §186. 214 Horace, Epistles 1.1.14: "nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri" ("I am not bound over to swear as any master dictates," Horace ). Cf. Kibre (, nos. 37, 109, 357, 414, 718); Quintilian, Institutio oratoria 1.8.19. 215 The correspondence with the text of manuscript Palatino 885, interrupted at §169, is resumed here and continues to §190. A significant omission, with respect to the text of the Palatino, is to be noted. The text of the Palatino manuscript reads: "My first aim was not to swear by anyone else's words but to pore over all masters of philosophy, to examine all books, and to become acquainted with all schools. [...] I discovered that in order to do so it was necessary to know not only the Greek and Latin languages, but also the Hebrew and Chaldean languages, and the Arabic language as well, with which I have just begun to labour under the guidance of William Mithridates, an expert on all these languages." The William Mithridates mentioned here by Pico is the Jewish Orientalist, his collaborator and teacher, better known as Flavius Mithridates: "a much sought-after translator, he had to flee from Rome in 1483 after a mysterious crime. [...] Willelmus Ramundus Mithridates, professor of arts and sacred theology, member of the curia and translator from the Hebrew, Arabic, Chaldean, Greek and Latin languages." This was the title he gave himself in the edition of the Dicta septem sapientium dated 24 March 1485 in Cologne (Secret , 170). According to Farmer (, 167), this "passage praising Flavius Mithridates" and similar ones are "suspiciously left out of the Oration as Gian Francesco printed it," a circumstance that may be an indication (Farmer , 171n108) of the shrewd "editorial sieve" applied by Gianfrancesco to the text of the 1496 Bolognese edition (Farmer , 169). On the Chaldean language, see §199. 216 The proposition is omitted in the Palatino manuscript. Olivier Boulnois comments: "Pico does not reject the Medieval principle of dispute; on the contrary, he extends it to everything that may be thought" (in Pico 1993, 328) because "if the Discourse has man's dignity as its object, its aim is to permit the integration of all things within the peace of the absolute. [...] Hence, the aim pursued is not that of constituting an inventory, but that of restoring a theological and philosophical peace, the foundation of all the other, moral and political, forms of peace" (Pico 1993, 326–27). 217 Horace, Epistles 1.1.15: "quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes" ("wherever the storm drives me, I turn in for comfort," Horace ). See Kibre (, nos. 37, 109, 357, 414, 718). This, too, is omitted in the Palatino manuscript. 218 See De vita Aristotelis 1–3 (Aristotle , 428) and 14–15 (Aristotle , 443). 219 The "Stoa," that is, the portico (or "porch" as here) in Athens, where in about 300 BC the Stoic School had its original seat. 220 Plato's school, the Academy, is thus called because it had its seat near the gardens dedicated to the legendary hero Academos. 221 The Palatino manuscript adds: "In the past there has never been, nor will there ever be after us, anyone whose task is to understand the whole truth. Its vastness goes beyond the human capacity to be equal to it." 222 From this point on, the text begins to follow the order of the exposition of the nine hundred theses, which can be divided into two major and numerous minor sections. The first main section can be defined as "quasi-historical" and is subdivided into several minor sections that present in reverse chronological order the "opinions of the pagans and their heresiarchs." Thus, "the Latin scholastics (§186) are followed by the Arabs (§187), the Arabs by the Greeks (§§188–90), the Greeks by the Chaldeans (§199), the Chaldeans by the Egyptians (§199), and the Egyptians by the Hebrew cabalist wise men (§199). The second main section contains, in turn, theses "presented according to Pico's own opinion (secundum opinionem propriam)" §195, §199, and following sections (Farmer , 8). As Pignagnoli notes, "by 'our own,' Pico means the Scholastics" (in Pico 1969, 119n); cf. Conclusiones 1.1.1–6.11 (Farmer , 212–49). The "Latin" authors quoted by Pico "are all to be found in abundance in his library" (Carena in Pico 1994, 76n). 223 Cf. Conclusiones 1.4.1–22 (Farmer , 236–41). John Duns Scotus (ca. 1266–1308) is considered one of the most important thinkers of the entire scholastic period, surnamed Doctor subtilis ("the subtle Doctor") for his highly technical and meticulous reasoning. 224 Cf. Conclusiones 1.2.1–45 (Farmer , 218–31). 225 Cf. Conclusiones 1.6.1–11 (Farmer , 246–49). 226 Cf. Conclusiones 1.3.1–8 (Farmer , 232–35). 227 Cf. Conclusiones 1.1.1–16 (Farmer , 212–17). Albertus Magnus (ca. 1200–1280), also known as Saint Albert the Great, was a Dominican theologian and philosopher. 228 Cf. Conclusiones 1.5.1–13 (Farmer , 242–45). Henry of Ghent (ca. 1217–1293) was a philosopher and theologian at the University of Paris. 229 Pico's style of enumeration is modelled on a passage in Cicero's De Oratore (3.7.28). 230 Cf. Conclusiones 1.7.1–1.14.2 (Farmer , 250–81). The Arab authors cited are also "all in Pico's library" (Carena in Pico 1994, 76n). 231 Cf. Conclusiones 1.7.1–41 (Farmer , 50–63). Ibn Rushd (1126–1198), the "commentator of Aristotle," was famous in the Latin world under the name of Averroes. He was a scholar well grounded in Muslim religious studies and in the positive sciences (physics, medicine and biology, astronomy), as well as being a theologian and philosopher. 232 Cf. Conclusiones 1.14.1–2 (Farmer , 280–81). Ibn B jja (late 1000s–1139), known as Avempace in the medieval West, was a famous philosopher and wazir of Spain in the twelfth century. Together with Averroes in the Islamic West and Avicenna in the East, he was one of the greatest of all Islamic philosophers. There is no doubt, moreover, that the philosophical mysticism of Ibn B jja's work The Regime of the Solitary Man had a great influence on Ibn Tufayl's philosophical novel Risalat Hayy ibn Yaqzan ("The Story of Hayyi ibn Yaqzan"), which was of great importance to Pico. The Hebrew version of this novel was "translated into Latin by Pico himself for his own personal use, under the influence of Johanan Alemanno" (Cassuto , 322; Cicognani in Pico 1941, 114n). According to Wirszubski, "the person who next to Flavius Mithridates matters most for the study of Pico's encounter with the Kabbala is Johanan Alemanno" (Wirszubski , 256). 233 Cf. Conclusiones 1.9.1–11 (Farmer , 268–71). Al-Farabi (870–950), known to the Middle Ages as Alfarabius or Avennasar, was one of the most prominent Muslim philosophers. 234 Cf. Conclusiones 1.8.1–12 (Farmer , 264–67). Ibn-Sina (980–1037), known in the West as Avicenna, had a comprehensive philosophical system that was much indebted to Aristotle and, to a certain extent, to Neoplatonic doctrines, but featured substantial original thought. 235 Cf. Conclusiones 1.15.1–1.19.5 (Farmer , 282–95). 236 Simplicius (ca. 490–560), a Neoplatonist philosopher, was one of the chief commentators of Aristotle. In Pico's library could be found Avicenna's commentaries to Aristotle's Categories (Kibre , nos. 439, 452, 1616), De anima (Kibre , no. 447), De caelo (Kibre , nos. 455, 463, 715, 1020, 1595), and Physics (Kibre , nos. 439, 446, 455, 457, 464, 499, 514, 745). The catalogue contains two copies of an alleged commentary by Simplicius, In secundum et tertium ethicorum (Kibre , nos. 446, 451), but as far as we know he wrote only one commentary on ethical matters, namely, a commentary on the Manual of Epictetus (see Hadot , 39). 237 Themistius (ca. 317–388), a Peripatetic, politician, and commentator on Aristotle, was also to be found in Pico's library (Kibre , no. 575). 238 Alexander of Aphrodisias was a master of Aristotelian philosophy in Athens between 198 and 211 and is known as the greatest commentator on Aristotle in ancient times. There are numerous works by Alexander among Pico's books (Kibre , nos. 29, 510, 511, 617, 730, 1588, 1592, 1597). 239 Theophrastus (ca. 372–ca. 287 BC) was a philosopher and scientist, becoming Aristotle's successor in directing the Peripatetic school from 322 BC on. His works were found in Pico's library (Kibre , nos. 450, 631, 1557). 240 Pico's stylistic considerations prevent his identification with Ammonius Saccas (175–252), an Alexandrian Neoplatonist who was the teacher of Origen and Plotinus. It is certain that "it was not Ammonius Saccas, or Ammonius, Plato's master, but Ammonius, the son of Hermias, a scholar of Proclus" (Pignagnoli in Pico 1969, 121n117). Ammonius Hermiae (ca. 440–after 517) was head of the Neoplatonic School in Alexandria, commentator on Aristotle, and teacher of Asclepius, Damascius, Philoponus, and Simplicius. 241 Cf. Conclusiones 1.20.1–1.24.55 (Farmer , 296–333). Together with the other Neoplatonic authors Plotinus, Porphyry, and Iamblichus, "there were numerous works by Proclus in Pico's library" (Carena in Pico 1994, 77n90). 242 Porphyry (234–ca. 305) was a Neoplatonic philosopher who sought to bring even greater precision to Plotinus. 243 Iamblichus (ca. 242–327) was a Neoplatonic philosopher who was a disciple of Porphyry and launched the Neoplatonic School in Syria: "His writings had a great influence on the Athenian School which arose during the following century under Plutarch [of Athens]" (Morrow in Proclus , 19n). His thinking was essential to later Neoplatonic metaphysics. 244 Plotinus (205–270) is unanimously considered the chief representative of Neoplatonism. He was a pupil of Ammonius Saccas in Alexandria and, after the (presumed) death of his teacher, he settled in Rome, where he taught Porphyry. 245 Proclus (412–485), a Neoplatonic philosopher, joined the Neoplatonic School at Athens around 430 or 431 and studied under Plutarch of Athens and Syrianus, whom he succeeded as head of the school (ca. 437). In Proclus, there is a Neoplatonic synthesis of Aristotelian and Stoic elements. 246 Hermias (fifth century), a Neoplatonic philosopher, was a fellow disciple of Proclus in Athens at the school of Syrian the Great, but lived and taught in Alexandria. 247 Damascius (ca. 462–after 538), a Neoplatonic philosopher, sought to reinvigorate the Neoplatonists' reputation after the death of Proclus in 485. He faced a sharp increase in Christianity, against which he hoped to apply philosophic reasoning. 248 Olympiodorus (before 510–after 565), a Neoplatonic philosopher and disciple of Ammonius in Alexandria, attained the chair of philosophy in about 541. Though many of his students were Christians, he never converted. Olympiodorus can be found in Pico's library (Kibre , no. 1130). 249 Here the Palatino manuscript contains an addition, which Garin transcribes as "Sunt haec veritatis privilegia, ut vinci nesciat et coniecta contra spicula in auctores redeant" (Garin , 239–40): "These are the privileges of truth: it cannot be conquered and the weapons used against it rebound against their authors." See also Boulnois and Tognon (in Pico 1993, 49n). Yet, for a slightly different lectio, see Marchignoli (in Bori , 136, 157): "Sane hoc veritatis privilegio [it is truly by this privilege of truth], ut vinci nesciat et contorta in eam spicula in auctores redeant." At this point, the correspondence with the text of manuscript P is interrupted, to return in §193 and §268. 250 Cf. Plato, Epistula 7.341c–d. 251 The text of manuscript P reads: "In fact it is certain that all knowledge was passed down from the barbarians to the Greeks and from the Greeks to us"; see Marchignoli (in Bori , 154). See also Diogenes Laertius, Vitae philosophorum 1.Proem.1. On Eudoxus and Hermippus, see §224. The origin of the doctrines of knowledge among the barbarians is also recalled by Eusebius's Praeparatio evangelica 9.10.1–7 and 14.10.4–5. 252 The text of manuscript P adds: "It is undoubtedly necessary to obtain the sacred knowledge and most secret mysteries in the first place from the Hebrews and the Chaldeans and then from the Greeks. The Arabians share with the Greeks all the other arts and the most diverse forms of philosophical knowledge. How could anyone who does not approach them be able to progress in this knowledge? However, since many of their books, including the most valuable ones, have come down to us lacking any translation, and of those that have reached us the translators have distorted more things than they have rendered useful, obviously then a foggy obscurity has spread over everything so that what for the native readers was simple, clear and useful has become for us full of difficulties and contortions, hence evasive, immediately thwarting any attempt on the part of the scholars to understand it." See Marchignoli (in Bori , 155). 253 The commentators refer readers to De vera religione 3.3, but, as Reich notes, "an exact reference has not been documented" (in Pico 1968, 64n66). Reich refers readers rather to De civitate Dei [City of God] 8.11. See also De civitate Dei 9.1. The De civitate Dei was to be found among Pico's books (Kibre , no. 194) together with a commentary by Thomas Anglicus (Kibre , no. 539), presumably Thomas Waleys O.P. (fl. 1314–1350). The work by Thomas Waleys, and its continuation by his Dominican confrere Nicholas Trevet, is one of the few, or perhaps the only, extended commentaries on Augustine's City of God written in the Middle Ages. 254 Cf. Gellius 7.13.1–2; see Kibre (, no. 420). 255 Cf. Conclusiones 2.1.1–2.11.72 (Farmer , 364–553) and §199. In fact, there are only 498 theses in the final edition of this second main section of the work, while there were originally 500. To compensate for this lack, however, there are 402 theses in the final draft of the first main section, while there were originally 400 (see Farmer , 8). 256 Seneca, Epistles 33.7. See Kibre (, no. 995). 257 Cf. Corpus Hermeticum 2.17: "Prudent people therefore regard the making of children as a duty in life to be taken most seriously and greatly revered, and should any human being pass away childless, they see it as the worst misfortune and irreverence" (Hermes Trismegistus ). 258 Cf. Conclusiones 1.27.1–10 (Farmer , 340–43). "Ancient theology" here translates the rather wider ranging Latin expression prisca theologia. "Under the name of the (Egyptian god) Hermes Trismegistus numerous texts circulated, the contents of which were partly astrological and partly Platonist-Neopythagorean, presented as translations of ancient Egyptian texts. A corpus of 18 texts, which were probably collected in late antiquity in Neoplatonic circles, has been handed down. The Corpus Hermeticum was translated in 1471 by Ficino, who was strongly influenced by the mystic wisdom of these texts" (Reich in Pico 1968, 64n66). 259 Cf. Conclusiones 1.26.1–6 (Farmer , 338–39). The name "Chaldea," originally applied to the southernmost area of Mesopotamia, was later used to designate the entire Babylonian territory. The Chaldeans probably came from Arabia, and with the decline of Assyrian power a dynasty of Chaldean origin assumed power in Babylon (626 BC), holding it until the Persian invasion (529 BC). Farmer notes rightly that the "Chaldean" taught to Pico by Flavius Mithridates was in actual fact "Aramaic" (Farmer , 3). The "Chaldean" texts Pico stated he had in a letter to Ficino in 1486 are quite probably the work, according to Farmer, of Mithridates' forgery (Farmer , 13, 486–87, and note). 260 Cf. Conclusiones 1.25.1–14 (Farmer , 334–37); Pythagoras (sixth century BC) was a mysterious figure in Greek intellectual history. Religious reformer, mathematician, and inspired thaumaturge, he has been compared to Oriental shamans. On shamanic influences, see §193 and §222. 261 Cf. Conclusiones 1.28.1–47 (Farmer , 344–63). Here Pico is referring to the doctrines of the Cabala. 262 Cf. again Conclusiones 2.1.1–2.11.72 (Farmer , 364–553); in actual fact only 498 (see §196 and note 255). 263 Cf. Conclusiones 2.1.1–17 (Farmer , 364–73). Unlike the authors cited, Pico expressly strove to demonstrate agreement between Plato and Aristotle. "The scholar from Mirandola claims to be the first to propose the concordia between the two greatest Greek philosophers 'after many centuries' [see §195]," Pignagnoli writes, and "the claim [...] is true in the sense that no one until then had dedicated any profound studies to the matter" (in Pico 1969, 123n123). This work, perhaps left unfinished, has not come down to us. However, Pico speaks explicitly of it in the De ente et uno, which according to Boulnois and Tognon "is undoubtedly a fragment of it" (in Pico 1993, 109n50). Like the De ente et uno, the Concordia was also ordered into ten parts to suggest "the importance of this Pythagorean numerus numerorum" ("number of numbers") (Farmer , 30); cf. Conclusiones 2.9.23 (Farmer , 502–3). Pico probably composed the De ente et uno "in 1491 as a preliminary sketch for the Concord" (Farmer , 25). 264 Boethius, Commentaries on Aristotle's De interpretatione 2.3 (Boethius , 2:80). See Kibre (, no. 119). 265 See Simplicius's proem to In Aristotelis Categorias commentarium and Kalbfleisch (in Simplicius , 29–32). It is not present, however, in In Aristotelis Physicorum libros commentaria 8.5 (Arist. 258b4 [Diels and Kranz 1951–52, 2:1249, 12–13]) or In Aristotelis De caelo commentaria 3.7 (Arist. 306a1). For the presence of Simplicius among Pico's books, see §188 and note 236. A very similar judgment is directly expressed by Pico in a letter to Ermolao Barbaro of 6 December 1484 (Pico 1971, Opera omnia 1:368–69). See also Cicero, Academica 1.4.17–18. 266 Cf. Contra Academicos 3.19.42, in which Augustine refers to Cicero's Academica 1.17–18: "Non defuerunt acutissimi et sollertissimi viri qui docerent disputationibus suis Aristotelem ac Platonem ita sibi concinere, ut imperitis minusque attentis dissentire videantur" ("There have been acute and clever men who taught in their disputations that Aristotle and Plato in such wise agree with one another that those who are unskilled or examine the matter cursorily think that they disagree," Augustine of Hippo ). 267 John Philoponus (ca. 490–570) was "a Christian philosopher and theologian, disciple of Ammonius Hermiae in Alexandria"; philoponos, or "lover of work," "is the name given to the members of certain ascetic associations" (Faggin , 2:758). Reich's supposition that the reference should have been to "John Garland, who lived from about 1190 to 1260/70, a grammarian, lexicographer, musicologist and pedagogue" (in Pico 1968, 66n72) is highly unlikely. Some of Philoponus's works can be found in Pico's library (Kibre , nos. 449, 1131). 268 Cf. De vita Aristotelis 23–25 (Aristotle , 438). 269 Cf., in particular, Conclusiones 1.2–9, 14, and 17 (Farmer , 366–71). 270 Cf., in particular, Conclusiones 1.15–16 (Farmer , 370–71). 271 Cf. Conclusiones 2.2.1–80: "Eighty philosophical conclusions according to my own opinion, which while dissenting from the common philosophy, do not depart radically from the common method of philosophizing" (Farmer , 372–97). In these theses, too, according to Farmer, Pico "resolves numerous standard scholastic conflicts" (Farmer , 206). 272 They are the "Conclusiones paradoxae secundum opinionem propria nova in philosophia dogmata inducentes" ("Paradoxical conclusions according to his own opinion, leading to new philosophical dogmas"): Conclusiones 2.3.1–71. In the editio princeps, however, they are indicated as 71 (numero lxxi); see Farmer (, 398–421). This discrepancy in numbering can be explained by the changes Pico carried out "shortly before, and apparently while, the work was in press" (Farmer , 183). A "faulty cross-referencing" shows also that "one from his 'paradoxical conclusions introducing new doctrines into philosophy' [was] excluded" in the final draft (Farmer , 461). The fourth of the "Conclusiones magicae [...] secundum opinionem propriam" ("Magical conclusions according to my own opinion [9.4]") in fact reads: ex ista conclusione et conclusione paradoxa dogmatizante .xlvii. sequitur... ("from that conclusion and the forty-seventh paradoxical conclusion, it follows...") (Farmer , 495), but the reference in 9.4 is actually to the forty-sixth "paradoxical dogmatizing conclusion" (Farmer , 495, note). According to Farmer, the thesis was deleted "almost surely for theological reasons" (Farmer , 18n49). These "seventy-two" theses, or the remaining seventy-one, make up the philosophia nova ("new philosophy") that Pico intended to introduce. 273 Farmer points out that "historians have routinely bypassed this passage," in which Pico expressly states that he wishes to introduce a new philosophy (novam afferre velle philosophiam), whereas it should be obvious, in his opinion, that in this "key" passage Pico "underscored the importance" of the very part of the nine hundred theses in which his intention directly took shape (Farmer , 18). 274 "Marsilius Ficinus cites in the Platonica theologia a certain number of 'ancient theologians'" (Boulnois and Tognon in Pico 1993, 55n21); cf. Marsilio Ficino, Theologia Platonica de immortalitate animorum 6.1 (Marcel in Ficino –70, 1:224). Pignagnoli (in Pico 1969, 127n130) observes that "for prisca theologia (or theologia priscorum), Ficino meant thoughts about the 'divine' contained in the Corpus Hermeticum [see §199 and note 258] and, prior to this, the wisdom of Zoroaster contained in the Chaldean Oracles." See §137, §230 and note 314. 275 E. Wellmann describes Aglaophamos as "the presumed Orphic master of Pythagoras, from whom he is thought to have received his initiation in Thrace." See Iamblichus, De vita Pythagorica 146; Kibre (, no. 844). See also Aristotle, Metaphysica 1.5 (985b23–986a3). 276 Philolaus (ca. 470–385 BC), "a contemporary of Socrates and Democritus," member of the Pythagorean school and "the first to make his doctrine known by means of an ample exposition of it [in his Περ φ σεως ("On Nature")], of which numerous fragments remain" (Pozzo , 2:390). 277 Cf. Proclus, In primum Euclidis Elementorum libri commentarii, Prologue 1; Theologia Platonica 1.5; Iamblichus, De vita Pythagorica 146 (Iamblichus , 60, 1–9). It is not present in Aristotle's Metaphysica 1.5 (985b23–986a3). 278 Cf. Plato, Epinomis 976c–e. The Epinomis belongs to a set of works that were ascribed to Plato in antiquity; however, their authenticity has come into doubt in the modern period. Alcibiades I and II also belong to this set of works (see §35). "The Epinomis is thought by some scholars to be the work of Philip of Opus; but, if it is Plato's, it certainly belongs to his late period" (Kraut , 389). According to Cicognani, however, the dialogue "already attributed by many, following Diogenes Laertius (3.37), to Philip of Opus, a direct follower of Plato, is nowadays held to be authentic by the most authoritative critics" (in Pico 1941, 118n65). 279 Aristotle, Problemata 30.6 (956a11–13). 280 Abu Mashar (787–886), a Persian astronomer and astrologer "known mainly in western Europe as Albumazar, who studied in Baghdad and was a contemporary of the famous philosopher Al-Kindi (first half of ninth century); after having studied Islamic traditions, he mainly dedicated himself to the study of astronomy and astrology, and it is to the latter discipline that he owes his renown" (Millas 1954–, 143). Abu Mashar "is one of the most famous medieval astrologers, above all thanks to the great influence he had in the West," where he became "the principal author on whose works astrology was studied" (Kunitzsch 1977–98). 281 "Who this Babylonian Avenzoar may be," writes Cicognani, "I have no means of knowing." Thus, in his opinion, Pico must have considered this Avenzoar "Babylonian" "to distinguish him from Avenzoar of Seville, a famous physician, the first of the Arabs to allow tracheotomy" (in Pico 1941, 119n67). The latter, also called by the Latins Abumaron or Abhomaron, was considered by Averroes, "his friend and adviser," the "greatest doctor since the time of Galen." Abumaron, or more precisely Abu Marwan ibn Zuhr (ca. 1094–1162), was the "most important representative of a family of doctors, who for six generations practised this profession in the Arabian-Hispanic world" (Lauer 1977–98). Pico considers his opinions in the nine hundred theses (see Conclusiones secundum Abumaron Babylonium numero .iiii. ["Four conclusions according to Abumaron the Babylonian"] 1.11.1–4; Farmer , 274–75) and "is probably drawing here from Averroes' discussions of Ibn Zuhr, although he could also be approached through a Latin translation of his Taysir, his most famous medical work." In fact, "the first printed edition of that text, which appeared in 1490/91, found its way into Pico's library" (Farmer , 274, note). See Kibre (, 103–4). In the Conclusiones, Pico for some reason calls Abumaron "Babylonian," but the incongruence of his words reported by Abumasar, who was a contemporary of Al-Kindi and lived far earlier, remains. Cicognani, however, finds it "fruitless to examine the Latin versions of Abumasar's work" and states that "perhaps Avenzoar, in Pico's text, is a mistake" (in Pico 1941, 119). 282 Plato, Republic 525b–c. 283 Pico here alludes to the Questiones ad quas pollicetur se per numeros responsurum ("Questions to which he promises to respond through numbers") 2.7a.1–74 (Farmer , 470–85), seventy-four in number, which are included among the Conclusiones de mathematicis secundum opinionem propriam numero .lxxxv. ("Eighty-five conclusions on mathematics according to my own opinion") 2.7.1–11, 2.7a.1–74 (Farmer , 466–85). 284 Cf. Conclusiones 2.9.1–26 (Farmer , 494–503) and 2.10.1–31 (Farmer , 504–15). 285 For the distinction between γοητε α (goêteia) and μαγε α (mageia), see the Suda: "Magic [μαγε α] is the invocation of beneficent spirits for the production of something good; like the oracles of Apollonius of Tyana. Sorcery [γοητε α] is the invocation of maleficent spirits which takes place around the graves" (Roth ). From here until §231, Pico refers to γοητε α (goêteia) and μαγε α (mageia) as the "former" and the "latter," respectively. 286 Porphyry, De abstinentia 4.16.1. See also Apuleius, Apologia 25.9; Kibre (, no. 656). 287 As Bausi points out, the term disparilitas, used here by Pico in the expression disparilitas et dissimilitudo ("difference and disparity"), "was to be found already in the letter to Barbaro" (Bausi , 124). The terms dissimilitudo, diversitas ("difference, diversity") are found in Gellius, Macrobius, Apuleius, Calcidius, and the Christian authors, but also in Barbarus, Temistio, fol. 114r. Besides occurring in the Oration, it returns "in the Heptaplus, p. 190 Garin (disparilitas conditionis); and it moreover recurs in the preface to the first Miscellanea by Angelo Poliziano. [...] Synonymic diphthology with dissimilitudo is found also in Aug. Epist. 120.12" (Bausi , 38). 288 Cf. Pliny, Natural History 30.1: "eo ipso quod fraudolentissima artium plurimum in toto terrarum orbe plurimisque saeculis valuit" ("were it only because the most fraudulent of arts has held complete sway throughout the world for many ages," Jones trans.); 30.2: "natam primum e medicina nemo dubitabit ac specie salutari inrepsisse velut altiorem sanctioremque medicinam" ("Nobody will doubt that it first arose from medicine, and that professing to promote health it insidiously advanced under the disguise of a higher and holier system," Pliny the Elder 1967–70, Jones trans.); see Kibre (, no. 913). As Boulnois and Tognon point out, "these are the theses extensively developed by Pico in his Disputationes adversus astrologiam divinatricem, which clearly distinguish for the first time mathematical astronomy from divining astrology" (Pico 1993, 57n22). Compare the proem of the Disputationes adversus astrologiam divinatricem: "And when I say astrology, I do not mean that which measures the size and motion of the stars with a mathematical method, a certain and noble art, full of dignity for its merits, widely supported by the authority of highly learned men, but that which foresees the future from the course of the stars, a deceitful speculation, forbidden by religious and civil laws, maintained by the curiosity of men, derided by philosophers, supported by charlatans, suspect to all good people and to all wise men" (Pico 1971, 1:412; Pico 1946–52, 1:1–9, 40). 289 Cf. Pliny's Natural History 30.8: "quamquam animadverto summam litterarum claritatem gloriamque ex ea scientia antiquitus et paene semper petitam" ("and yet I notice that of old, in fact almost always, the highest literary distinction and renown have been sought from that science," Pliny the Elder 1967–70, Jones trans.). 290 Empedocles (492–432 BC), "the last of the great naturalist philosophers of the 5th Century," "led a life of wandering; if the diverse aspects of his life are described as 'orator – physician – priest – magician', this is precisely what is meant: that he tried to heal, order and conciliate" (Dörrie 1964–75b, "Empedocles"). 291 Democritus (ca. 460–ca. 370 BC) "was one of the main representatives of ancient atomism, which he had learnt from Leucippus" (Bodnár –, "Democritus"). "According to one of his own accounts, kept for us by Clement of Alexandria (Str. 1.69), he made very long journeys, as no other of his time: he thus had the occasion to know the Babylonians and the Egyptians" (Dörrie 1964–75a, "Democritus"). However, according to Bodnár (–, 3:455), "the great travels attributed to Democritus allude to nothing but the encyclopaedic vastness of his work" (cf. Diels and Kranz –52, 68B64 and B65). 292 Cf. Pliny, Natural History 30.2: "Certe Pythagoras, Empedocles, Democritus, Plato ad hanc discendam navigavere exiliis verius quam peregrinationibus susceptis, hanc reversi praedicavere, hanc in arcanis habuere" ("Certainly Pythagoras, Empedocles, Democritus and Plato went overseas to learn it, going into exile rather than on a journey, taught it openly on their return, and considered it one of their most treasured secrets," Pliny the Elder 1967–70, Jones trans.). On the travels to the East attributed to the Greek sages, see further Iamblichus, De mysteriis 1.1: "For it would not be becoming that Pythagoras, Plato, Demokritos, Eudoxos, and many others of the Old Greeks, should have obtained competent instruction from the temple-scribes of their own time, but that thou [Porphyry] who art contemporary with us, and having the same disposition as they, should be turned away by those now living and recognized as public teachers" (Iamblichus ). 293 As for Zalmoxis, Griffiths writes: "According to Herodotus (4.94–6), a God of the Getae in Thrace ('also called Gebeleizis') who promised immortality to his devotees ...]. Also offered is an alternative, euphemistic version, in which Zalmoxis was a charlatan who imported ideas picked up from Pythagoras, whose slave he had been" (Griffiths [2003b, "Zalmoxis," ). More extensively, Dodds observes: "We know at any rate that Pythagoras founded a kind of religious order, a community of men and women whose rule of life was determined by the expectation of lives to come. Possibly there were precedents of a sort even for that: we may remember the Thracian Zalmoxis in Herodotus, who assembled 'the best of the citizens' and announced to them, not that the human soul is immortal, but that they and their descendants were going to live forever – they were apparently chosen persons, a sort of spiritual élite. That there was some analogy between Zalmoxis and Pythagoras must have struck the Greek settlers in Thrace, from whom Herodotus heard the story, for they made Zalmoxis into Pythagoras' slave. That was absurd, as Herodotus saw: the real Zalmoxis was a daemon, possibly a heroised shaman of the distant past. But the analogy was not so absurd: did not Pythagoras promise his followers that they should live again, and become at least daemons or even gods?" (Dodds , 144). 294 Abaris is known for being "the priest of Apollo the Hyperborean and a shaman like Aristeas of Proconnesus" (Des Places in Porphyre 1982, 49, 153). In the Charmides, Plato associates him with Zalmoxis (Plato, Charmides 158b). In his commentary on the passage in Plato, Alfred Croiset refers readers to the information Herodotus gives of him: "Abaris is a semi-legendary figure, a sort of thaumaturge, to whom was attributed, among his other works, a poem about Apollo among the Hyperboreans. According to Herodotus (4.36), he was a priest of Apollo. It was narrated that he had travelled around the Earth without eating, carrying with him the whole time an arrow that Apollo had given him as a sign of his devotion" (Plato , 58–59n3); cf. Herodotus, Historiae 4.36.1. 295 Cf. Pliny, Natural History 30.3. Zoroaster, who was "the creator of the highly influential theological and moral system which was Iranian dualism," remains, however, for us "a hazy figure in an imprecise past time" (Bidez and Cumont , 1:v). "The most ancient information that has been passed down to us about Zoroaster came from the early Greek historians of Asia Minor, the main one of whom was Xanthos the Lydian, who wrote in the 5th century, before Herodotus" (Bidez and Cumont , 5). Diodorus Siculus (Bibliotheca historica 1.94.2) records that "Zathraustes" received the laws of the "Benign Spirit." "It is now admitted that this prophet lived at the beginning of the sixth century BC. He was an Iranian from the northeast, and the cradle of his preaching was 'the Arian region' during the reign of King Vishtaspa (Hystapes for the Greeks), north of Sogdiana (see Varenne ). The term Arianois is, therefore, quite correct as this region had not yet been conquered by Cyrus and was neither Median nor Persian. The 'Benign Spirit' is Ahoura Mazda, god of light, who abducted Zarathustra in ecstasy in order to dictate his laws to him" (Diodorus Siculus , 173n1). On Ahoura-Mazda, see also p. 235 n. 297. 296 Cf. Pliny, Natural History 30.8: "diligentiores paulo ante hunc Osthanen] ponunt Zoroastrem alium Proconnensium" ("A little before Osthanes, the more careful inquirers place another Zoroaster, a native of Proconnesus," Jones trans. in Pliny –70). This should be Aristeas of Proconnesus according to Diels and Kranz (–52, 217, 68 [55] B 300, 13), yet cf. Pliny, Natural History 30.3: "Sine dubio illic orta in Perside a Zoroastre, ut inter auctores convenit. Sed unus hic fuerit an postea et alius, non satis constat" ("Without doubt magic arose in Persia with Zoroaster. On this our authorities are agreed, but whether he was the only one of that name, or whether there was also another afterwards, is not clear," Jones trans. in Pliny –70). (See Bidez and Cumont , 2:13n18.) Aristeas is, "like Abaris and Zalmoxis, a legendary wisdom-figure associated with the cult of Apollo, reflecting early Greek contacts with Scythian culture" (Griffiths [2003a, "Aristeas," 159). On the legend of Aristeas, whose "capacity to disappear and reappear, and whose presence at the same time in different places, made him similar [...] to other 'magicians'" (Aldo Corcella in Herodotus –, 4:240), see Herodotus, Historiae 4.13–15. 297 Cf. Apuleius, Apologia 26.1–2. In Zoroastrianism, Oromazes, or "Ahoura-Mazda," is the god of Good, "the supreme, omniscient, omnipresent god, standing well above other divine mights; he is, as an inscription in Persepolis says, 'the creator of this earth, the creator of heaven, the creator of man'" (Bidez and Cumont , 1:v). See Diogenes Laertius, Vitae philosophorum 1.Proem.8. 298 Plato, Alcibiades I 121e–122a. The passage from Plato is quoted by Apuleius in a place quite probably known to Pico; see §216 (and note 286) and Apologia 25.10–11. 299 Plato, Charmides 156c–157a. 300 Cf. Apuleius, Apologia 90.6. According to Reich, the Charondas cited by Pico is nothing but the Carmendas from Apuleius's text, which at this point, moreover, turns out to be highly corrupt. He observes that "both the mss. in the Biblioteca Laurenziana report the abbreviation carm‾das, which explains Pico's 'erroneous' form." In Reich's opinion, therefore, "Carondas means, as is found in Apuleius' testimony, the magician Carmendas, whose name Pliny (Natural History 30.5) hands down more correctly as Tarmoendas"; Pliny "includes him among the magicians quorum nulla extant monumenta" (in Pico 1968, 72n83). However, "Tarmoendas is also mentioned only once by Pliny" and, according to the interesting conjecture by Adam Abt, "because of the way the name is recorded in the codex, it signifies that this is the first time it has been seen," and the name Carmendas is "like a rhetorical name: qui carmen dat" (Apuleius , 319). Also according to Butler and Owen (Apuleius , 162), the name Carmendas "would not be an unnatural name for a magician, qui carmen dat" and, as Vincent Hunink points out, "in the latter variant, it may well have been the surname of any great magician" (Apuleius , 2:223). Cf. Pliny, Natural History 30.5. However, Iamblichus includes Charondas among the first followers of Pythagoras (see §222). 301 Damigeron is the presumed author of a work of Greek origin (second century AD) on the properties of the stones, whose content is similar to that of the pseudo-Zoroaster used by Pliny (Natural History 37.139–85). 302 Apollonius is the renowned Apollonius of Tyana, of whom the Athenian Philostratus wrote a biography dedicated to the Empress Julia (before 217, the date of her death). 303 "Several texts on magic, which recalled Zarathustra [Zoroaster] circulated bearing the name of Hostanes, or Osthanes" (Reich in Pico 1968, 72n83); "the Oktateuchos, a book on magic that was widespread in the first centuries of Christianity, was attributed to him." Osthanes is cited several times by Pliny: see Natural History 28.6.69 and 256; 30.8.11 and 14. The Suda speaks of a "guild or society" of magicians called Ostanai (Butler and Owen in Apuleius , 163). The reference to Zoroaster is taken from Diogenes Laertius, to whom the compiler clearly refers; see Diogenes Laertius, Vitae philosophorum 1.Proem.2. From this testimony, Osthanes can be considered "the most famous" of the magicians who were "heirs to the knowledge" of Zoroaster (Bidez and Cumont , 1:vi). Moreover, "Democritus was thought when visiting Mendes [a city in the northwestern district of the the Nile delta, so called from the name of the major god worshipped there] to have been a pupil of Ostanes, a Persian sage, who became a legendary figure credited with a corpus of medical and magical lore, DK [Diels and Kranz] ii, 210 ff" (Whittaker in Tatian , 35, note a). Ostanes also appears in a Gnostic script cited by Hippolytus which speaks of certain divine powers and of men endowed with particular faculties generated in their image. See Hippolytus, Refutatio omnium haeresium 5.14.8. 304 Dardanus is "the mythical ancestor of the Trojans to whom were ascribed the introduction of the Samothracian mysteries and the invention of magic. [...] According to Fulgentius he was the author of dimanera. [...] Pliny relates that Democritus recovered his writings from his grave. Among the Christian authors, Arnobius, Clement of Alexandria and Eusebius mention him" (Waszink in Tertullian , 576). See Pliny, Natural History 30.9; Clemens Alexandrinus, Proptrepticus 2.13.3. 305 "The Poetic Theology is mentioned in the Commento [sopra una canzona de amore]... and in parallel sections of the Oration and Apology (Opera 121, 327; Garin, Scritti vari, 150). Scattered evidence survives that would permit a detailed reconstruction of Pico's methods in his Poetic Theology, which unlike earlier Renaissance works in that genre (like Boccaccio's Genealogia deorum) was motivated by highly systematic goals" (Farmer , 70n35). These are Pico's own words: "The sense of which, although it may be subtle and lofty, nevertheless conforms to things so well that it almost seems a wonder to me that both Marsilius and others, captured by the words of Plato, did not understand it; and witness to this is my awareness of it the first time I ever read the Symposium: no sooner had I finished reading his words in this place, than this truth appeared to my mind, which in our commentary on the Convivium and in our Poetic Theology we shall in fact explain more fully" (Commento, fourth stanza). 306 Cf. Pliny, Natural History 30.3–4. As for Aristotle, Gigante points out (in Diogenes Laertius , 2:458n26) that "a precise comparison with Pliny has been carried out by W. Jaeger"; the latter writes that Aristotle, "considering the wisdom of the Egyptians and the Iranian religion, rather than being perplexed in the face of their uncertain antiquity, attempted to obtain a calculation of the years as precisely as possible" (Jaeger , 131). Eudoxus (ca. 391–ca. 38 BC) was a "mathematician, astronomer, geographer, and philosopher associated with Plato's Academy and subsequently head of his own school in Cnidus." Diogenes Laertius "tells us that he studied geometry with Archytas [VIII. viii. 86] [and] perhaps it is for this reason that Diogenes lists him among the Pythagoreans [VIII. viii. 91]" (Dancy , 236). G. L. Huxley stresses "the importance of his doctrine of proportion [and observes that it lay] in its power to embrace incommensurable quantities [...], for it amounts to a rigorous definition of real number" (Huxley –80, 4:466). Eudoxus carried out long journeys in Asia and "spent more than a year in Egypt, some of the time in the company of the priests in Helopolis [and he] was said to have composed his Oktaeteris, or eight-year calendric cycle, during his sojourn with them" (Huxley –80, 4:466). According to Le Bonniec, Hermippus of Smyrna (fl. third century BC), a follower of Callimachus who "wrote biographies of philosophers, writers and legislators," was "a compiler belonging to the Peripatetic School" (in Arnobius 1982, 353). Hermippus was certainly "called 'the Callimachean' or 'the Peripatetic' [but] at that time the epithet described someone erudite in the field of literature or biography, without necessarily implying any connection with the Peripatetic School" (Montanari –, 5:439). Hermippus wrote two works, On the Seven Sages and On Pythagoras, and "was the author in about the year 200 of a book Peri Magôn / Περ μ γων, which gave Pliny – through Apion – and almost at the same time Diogenes Laertius, a series of extracts with bibliographical references of capital importance. If Hermippus has transmitted to us so many valuable indications about Zoroaster and his work, it is with the detachment of a collector of texts who worked separated from the clamour and preoccupations of the world, in front of the shelves of books in the Museum in Alexandria. As far as Zoroaster is concerned, this erudite compiler tries to do nothing but be as exhaustive, precise and objective as possible" (Bidez and Cumont , 1:21–22). 307 Al-Kindi (ca. 800–ca. 873) "was the first outstanding Arabic-writing philosopher [and] he appears to have been the first to introduce the late Greek syllabus of philosophical learning into the Muslim world. [This curriculum] was mainly, though not exclusively, based on the Corpus Aristotelicum and its Peripatetic and Neoplatonic commentators. [Al-Kindi] had a distinguished position at the Caliph's court in Baghdad [and] for about a century he enjoyed a reputation as a great philosopher in the Aristotelian-Neoplatonic tradition" (Walzer , 4:340). "One of the items for which no title is given in the inventories" of Pico's library is "possibly Alkindi's treatise on Magic Arts" (Kibre , 93; see no. 982 of the catalogue). 308 Interests in operative natural magic were shared also by Roger Bacon (1214/20–1292) (Wolter , 1:240–41). "By Roger Bacon, whom Pico termed a great patron of astrology [Rogerius Bacon magnus astrologiae patronus; see Disputationes in astrologiam in Pico 1971, Opera omnia 1:419, 490] was the Letter on Secret Works of Art and Nature and on the Nullity of Magic" kept in his library (Kibre , 93–94; see no. 422 of the catalogue). 309 The influence of the doctrines of natural magic transmitted by the Arabs is seen also in William of Auvergne or of Paris (ca. 1180–1249), "French theologian and philosopher [who] taught theology at Paris, and was consecrated bishop of the city." William also belongs to "the first generation of Paris masters to make a wide use of Aristotelian, Islamic, and Jewish thought"; he may be considered "the first great master of the new age [and] the first thinker to use with courage and insight the rediscovered riches of Aristotle" (Knowles , 8:302–3). However, "there is moreover in his works a dramatically non-Aristotelian notion of experience that harked back to Arabic and Hebrew lore on magic and the occult. The real 'experimenters' were for him natural magicians, whose ability to manipulate hidden forces in the natural world held out the promise of marvellous accomplishments." This aspect of William's work also constitutes "a theme of major importance for later scholastic thought, picked up with fervour by Roger Bacon and many of the so-called Perspectivists" (Marrone , 9:726–27). In Pico's library "there was the De universo by William of Auvergne, in which he treated of magic" (Kibre , 93; see no. 620 of the catalogue). In the Apologia (Pico 1971, 1:169), Pico explicitly refers to William's De universo: De hac ut dixi tractat Guilielmus Parisiensis in suo de universo corporali et spirituali (Kibre , 93n42). 310 Cf. Plotinus, Enneades 4.21.40. "Friendship" (philia / φιλ α, or more precisely philotês / φιλ της) and "discord" (neikos / νε κος) are terms introduced by Empedocles (see, e.g., frag. B 17, 16–20 in Diels and Kranz –52, and §85). For the use of the expression sympatheia, see §230. According to Armstrong, this passage "and the following chapters make clear that magic was for Plotinus a manipulation of natural forces, attractions and sympathies resulting from the living organic unity of the physical universe [and that] his interest in it was philosophical rather than practical" (in Plotinus –88, 4:260n1). It is significant to note that the Theologia Aristotelis, which follows in this point (6.13) the text by Plotinus, expands it, making the distinction Pico insists on explicit: "Now the works that arise from sorcery and magic occur in two ways, either by sympathy and the concord of similar things, or by opposition and variance through the plurality and variance of the faculties. But though they vary they complete the one living thing. Often things happen without anybody's having performed any trick at all. The artificial magic is falsehood, for it is all mistaken and does not hit the mark. The true magic, which is not mistaken and does not play false, is the magic of the universe, which is love and mastery. The wise magician is the one who assimilates himself to the universe and practises its works in accordance with his capability, for he makes use of love in one place and makes use of mastery in another place" (in Plotinus –88, 4:13–16; the parts in italics are those corresponding to the Greek text). 311 Cf. Porphyry, Vita Plotini 10.33–38; see Kibre (, no. 1668). 312 Cf. Pliny, Natural History 20.1 and 37.59. 313 The traditional Latin text here reads cognitionem, but Bausi (Pico 2003, 192) suggests on good grounds the emendation cognationem ("affinity or kinship"), which matches the term συγγ νειαν used by Synesius in De insomniis 2.2, the passage upon which Pico most likely relied. 314 Cf. Pape (, s.v. iügx): "the wryneck [or wagtail], a small bird, which takes its name from its cry (iuzô / ζω). Tied and made to turn on a metal circle, or on a wheel, it was considered by the witches of antiquity an effective love philtre (philtron / φ λτρον), particularly to bring back an unfaithful lover." Thus also Scholia in Theocritum vetera 2.17. It is in its metaphorical sense that iügx / ϋγξ is used in fragment 223 of the Chaldean Oracles (Des Places , 120), where "the iügges / ϋγγες play a very important role" (Reich in Pico 1968, 74n90). For the Chaldean Oracles, see §199 and note 259. In the Chaldean Oracles, therefore, the iynges can be conceived of as "noetic powers" (Lewy , 132), which may be interpreted at different times as psychic faculties, or divine powers, that exercise the "function [...] of a magical mediation between the Supreme God and the invoking theurgist" (Lewy , 250). According to Lewy, the iynges "are, consequently, the thoughts of the Supreme Being: thinking through circular motion" (Lewy , 132) and "besides their theurgical, they have also a cosmic function" (Lewy , 135), for they are also "astral intelligences" or divinities (Lewy , 137), which "form a triad with the connective gods [sunocheis] and the teletarchic gods" (Des Places , 86, n1 to frag. 76), whose name literally means "lords of initiation" (Des Places , 198n1). The procession of the iynges before the Father, according to the doctrine of the Chaldean Oracles, is summed up by Psellus (Hypotyposis 2–5 in Des Places , 198, 4–19). According to Antelme-Édouard Chaignet, "the iügges of Damascius and of the Chaldeans" must be "nothing but systems of abstract ideas" (in Damascius , 2:250 and note). Moreover, Lewy observes that "as the world is ruled by noetic entities, the ways of communicating with them are also conceived of as noetic [and] for this reason, the Chaldæans regard the science of treating of the cognition of the intelligible world as being of basic significance," so "[t]his central theme of Chaldæan theosophy [...] was of particular interest to the Neoplatonists" (Lewy , 165). According to Des Places, it may be said that "the role of intermediaries, which Plato attributes to the demons, is in the Oracles that of the iynges." According to Bausi, Pico uses the term in the sense of magic words, formulas or, more generally, as spells or charms, and "in this regard depends on Synesius, De insomniis [2.2]" (Pico 2003, 114–15). Davide Susanetti, commenting on this passage of Synesius, sums it up well: "There are three meanings of iügx: it is the name of a bird, of an instrument of erotic magic, and of a witch." He adds that "in the Chaldean system the iynges are not material instruments, but noetic entities [...], thought of the paternal intellect [...], magical names, identical to the thoughts of the father [...], intermediaries between him and men; words and formulae that may not be pronounced and which god himself gave to men to permit them to practise sacred rites and theurgical elevation" (in Synesius , 96–97). 315 Cf. Horace, Epodes 2.9–10 and Epistles 1.16.3; Vergil, Georgics 1.2 and Eclogues 2.70; Ovid, Metamorphoses 10.100; Columella, De re rustica 11.2.79. 316 Cf. Ficino, Comentarium in Convivium Platonis de amore 6.10, and Pico, Conclusiones 2.9.13 (Farmer , 498), and, furthermore, Conclusiones 2.9.5 (Farmer , 496) and 2.9.11 (Farmer , 498). 317 Isaiah 6:3: "plena est omnis terra gloria eius" ("all the earth is full of his glory"); cf. Hab. 3:3: "operuit caelos gloria eius, et laudis eius plena est terra" ("His glory covered the heavens, and the earth is full of his praise"). The phrase "Pleni sunt caeli et terra gloria majestatis tuae" ("The heavens and earth are filled with the glory of Thy majesty") appears as a chorus for the mass of the first Sunday during Advent in St. Germain's Hispanic-Mozarabic Missal (PL 72.423a). It became a normal part of the Sanctus of the mass and was repeated numerous times by St. Gregory, Alcuin, Rabanus Maurus, St. Bernard of Clairvaux, and others. 318 Cf. Heptaplus 7. 319 The part of the Oration devoted to Jewish tradition corresponds to the last section of Pico's Conclusiones, which contains his cabalistic theses. 320 For the phrase "our own," see §186. 321 See §250 and 4 Esd. 14:3–6. The so-called Books of Esdras (in the Protestant tradition 1 Esdras and 2 Esdras) are considered apocryphal. 1 Esdras belongs to the biblical canon of the Catholic Church, Eastern Orthodoxy, and Oriental Orthodoxy. It is not included in the Protestant Bible and Hebrew Tanakh. 2 Esdras is considered a Jewish apocalypse. It is preserved in the biblical canon of the Ethiopian and Russian churches. For many Christian groups it belongs to apocryphal literature. The early Hebrew and Greek versions are lost, but they circulated in different translations. 2 Esdras was published as an appendix in the Latin Vulgate edited under Pope Clement VIII. 322 Hilary, Tractatus in psalmos 2.2 (PL 9.262–63). According to Bausi, this sentence is quoted also in the "Apologia, 5, in Commentationes, f. EE 4.5; Opere complete, 7, 20" (Pico 2003, 118). 323 Origen, Commentary on John 19.296–97 and PG 14.552–53. Cf. "Apologia, V (Commentationes, f. EE iii v – iiii r = Opere complete, VII 18)" (Pico 2003, 124). See also De principiis 2.12; Heptaplus, proem, 12. 324 The "books of Moses" are the first five books of the Hebrew Bible, so called because their authorship was attributed to Moses. They are called in Hebrew "hummach" or "Pentateuch" from the Greek, and comprise Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. See Conclusiones 1.28.16 (Farmer , 352–53) and Heptaplus, proem 2.7. 325 Cf. Conclusiones 1.28.33 (Farmer , 358–59) and 2.11.49 (Farmer , 540–41). This is an allusion to oral tradition and therefore to the Cabala as the true revelation received by Moses on the Mount. See 2 Esdras. In the episode of Zerubbabel, truth is defined as the primary force of the universe. See also Sefer ha-Bahir 1.137–8: the "Torah of Truth" revealed to Moses. 326 Jesu Nave is Joshua, son of Nun, who became the leader of Israel after the death of Moses, according to the narratives in Num. 27:18 and Deut. 34:9. Cf. Jos. 1:1; Sir. 46:1 (Pico 2003, 119). Part of the tradition of wisdom literature, its principal thesis is that wisdom is identified as the Law, revealed only to the God-fearing, who obey the commandments. The name Jesus translates the Hebrew name Yehoshua, whose root bears the meaning of "salvation." In the Christian canon (Luke 3:29; Col. 4:11), two other men appear with this name, translated as "YHWH is salvation." Several of Pico's cabalistic conclusions seek to prove this meaning to demonstrate the fulfilment of Christian dogma by which Jesus was the Son of God. 327 These are the kohanim, direct descendants of Aaron the high priest, brother of Moses. See also §141, "sacerdoti summo Michaeli" in reference to the archangel, whose name in Hebrew translates as "Who is like God?" (Num. 13:13; Dan. 10:13). Pico identifies Michael with the sefirah Keter (Crown), which he interprets as the symbol of the priesthood, itself a reference to the cabalists, who are thus the spiritual descendants of Jesu Nave (Sirach). 328 Cf. Conclusiones 1.28.3. 329 Cf. Sirach 24. Most of these notions (divine retribution and mercy, the mysteries of the universe, etc.) are contained in the work. Later Greek versions, as well as the Latin Ecclesiasticus, also mention the origin of sin, the afterlife, and other matters related to the Christian dogmas, which Pico mentions in §254. See Origen, De principiis 3.14 (Sir. 16:21). See also Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite (Divine Names 597b, 684b–c, where reception and transmission of divine commandments are direct knowledge of the divine) and Plato, Epist. 8 (1092a), on the lifestyle of priests. At last, Pico has enumerated the main themes of Esdras. 330 "Bark," as in the outer layer of a tree, translates cortex ("bark," "husk," or "crust"). The term was used by mythographers and allegorists (e.g., Boccaccio's Genealogiae deorum gentilium) as a synonym for the rather more common Neoplatonic terms integumentum and involucrum (see §262) to refer to the literal meaning that covers or protects the deeper meaning of a text. See Conclusiones 2.11.63; Expositiones in psalmos 11.4. 331 Cf. Heptaplus, proem 8–10. 332 Matthew 7:6: "Give not that which is holy to dogs; neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest perhaps they trample them under their feet, and turning upon you, they tear you." The language of election is also to be found elsewhere. According to Bausi (Pico 2003, 120), see Epistle to Barbaro §53; Apologia V (Commentationes, fol. EE iiii r = Opere complete 7.18); Heptaplus, proem; Commento 3.11. See Pseudo-Dionysius, Celestial Hierarchies 145c, on initiation into sacred mysteries. The Latin margaritae ("pearls") is often repeated in other cabalistic works by Christian followers of Pico, who specifically use the term "margarite" in translation into Italian. See Camillo (, 49–50). 333 The state of perfection is the final stage in the tripartite path to mystical enlightenment. See §70 and also Heptaplus 7. 334 Pico refers here to the esoteric way of transmitting the true religion and accepts the idea that religion in its material garb is for the people, whereas the truest knowledge of God is meant only for the initiates. Paul provides the Christian biblical model of mystical experience with the two visionary episodes recorded: his conversion on the road to Damascus (Acts 9:22, 26; Gal. 1:15–16) and his celestial rapture (2 Cor. 12:1–10). Hence, Pico refers to him as one of the elect ("vas electionis," §69). See Bausi (Pico 2003, 120); 1 Cor 2:4–7; Conclusiones 2.11.8 (Farmer , 522–23); Heptaplus, proem 10. 335 1 Corinthians 2:6–7: "Howbeit we speak wisdom among the perfect: yet not the wisdom of this world, neither of the princes of this world that come to nought; But we speak the wisdom of God in a mystery, a wisdom which is hidden, which God ordained before the world, unto our glory." See also 1 Cor. 2:13 ("Which things also we speak, not in the learned words of human wisdom; but in the doctrine of the Spirit, comparing spiritual things with spiritual.") and Rom. 1:17 ("For the justice of God is revealed therein, from faith unto faith, as it is written: The just man liveth by faith."). See Origen's De principiis 3.3. To communicate the mysteries only to the worthy is a recurrent topos from ancient times. 336 On Pythagoras's quasi-divine nature, attributing to him miracles that recall those attributed to Jesus, see Iamblichus, De vita Pythagorica 28.146. The reference to Pythagoras as Hyperborean Apollo hints at prophecy, as Apollo was associated with oracles. In fact, Pico misquotes Iamblichus, who actually attributes to Pythagoras the authorship of a single work entitled The Sacred Discourse. See Diogenes Laertius 8.42; Pico, Heptaplus, proem (Pico 2003, 121). 337 This passage recalls the image of Jacob and the ladder (§§73–74). Moses instructs us to prepare for a heavenly vision through the study of philosophy (§102). 338 Since ancient times, it has been widely believed that there were two writing systems in Egypt: demotic, or the common sort, and the sacred writing, or hieroglyphs, known only to priests and scribes. For ancient sources, see Horapollo, Hieroglyphica; Diodorus Siculus, Bibliotheca historica 1.74, 3.4; Clement of Alexandria, Stromata 5.4.20. For fifteenth-century sources, see the translations by Lorenzo Valla and others of Horapollo (reintroduced to Italy in 1419 by Cristoforo Buondelmonti, who was certainly the source for Cyriac d'Ancona's famous voyage to Egypt in 1435). See also Poggio Bracciolini's edition of Ammianus Marcellinus. Others who discuss hieroglyphs are Leon Battista Alberti in De re aedificatoria and Francesco Colonna in Hypnerotomachia Poliphili. Cf. Pico's Heptaplus, proem; Conclusiones 2.11.70f (Farmer , 550–51); Commento 3.11. See also Castelli (); Camillo (, 48); Plutarch, De Iside et Osiride 354c (Pico 2003, 121). 339 Plato, Epist. 2 (312d–e); Pico, Heptaplus, proem (Pico 2003, 121–22). 340 See Conclusiones 2.11.34 and 63. Bausi notes that this quotation is taken from a letter written by Aristotle to Alexander the Great and translated into Latin by Gellius (20.5). The topic of the letter is devoted to books transmitted through oral wisdom. Pico thought that Aristotle transmitted his metaphysical philosophy through oral teaching (Pico 2003, 122). 341 See §83 and, on the transmission of Scripture from Moses to Jesus, Origen (De principiis 4.1–6; Contra Celsum 6.6; Comm. in Matth. 14.630). See also Commento 3.2, a passage that mentions the teachings transmitted by Jesus to His disciples through mysteries. Disciples did not write down these teachings; rather, they transmitted them orally only to the elect. For a recent perspective on this matter, see the introduction in Pesce (). 342 See Conclusiones 2.11.34 and Dionysius's Celestial Hierarchies 376c. Compare Commento 3.11; Heptaplus, proem (Pico 2003, 123). 343 The Greek text inserted here is the same as has been provided in all modern editions of the Oration. Bausi, however, argues quite convincingly for the interpolation of a longer quotation from Pseudo-Dionysius, which reads: " κ νο ς ε ς νο ν, δι μ σου λ γου, σωματικο μ ν υλοτ ρου δ μως, γραφ ς κτ ς" ("from mind to mind, [...] through the means of verbal expression and thus corporeal, but at the same time more immaterial since it is free from writing," Pseudo-Dionysius ). Bausi bases this conjecture in part on the fact that the phrase sine litteris ("without writing") seems to have been taken from γραφ ς κτ ς ("free from writing"), which belongs to this lengthier citation (Pico 2003, 165). 344 See §101. The link established between the intercession of the veil that protects the human mind from the heavenly glories and that of the word ("intercedente verbo") that transmits them in a manner intelligible to the intellect illustrates the difference between epopteia and receptio. See Ecclesiastical Hierarchies 1.4 (PG 3.367c) and Bausi (Pico 2003, 123). 345 Most contemporary scholars concur with Reuchlin, who attributed to Pico the initial use of this term in a Latin work on the subject (De arte cabalistica 1.13p–q). Within erudite Jewish circles, the systematic study of the Cabala in a philosophical vein corresponded exactly with the development of humanism in Italy. See Garin () and cf. Heptaplus 1, 7; Conclusiones 2.11.72 (Farmer , 552–53). 346 Cf. Reuchlin, De arte cabalistica 2.24d.132: "Kabbalah means 'a receiving.'" More interesting still is the earlier account provided in De arte cabalistica 2.6e.61: "Thus, in the ancient writings: 'Moshe kibbel' – 'Moses heard', and received the law at Sinai. So Kabbalah gets its name: receiving what is heard." "Moshe qibbel" is the beginning of Mishna Avot 1.1 (see Albeck ), where it is written that Moshe received the Torah on Mount Sinai and that the Torah was then transmitted to other sages in Israel. Cf. Commento, incipit to the final stanza. 347 Cyrus II the Great, founder of the Persian Empire (reigned 559–530 BC). On the conquest of Babylon in 539 BC, see Isa. 44:28–45:1 and 45:13 (the latter also for Cyrus as a liberator and messiah). It is Ezra who attributes to Cyrus the decree to rebuild the Temple (Ezra 6:3). 348 This is a reference to the "Babylonian exile" under Nebuchadnezzar (reigned 605–562 BC), who exiled the Jewish leadership from the city in 597–596 BC and 587–586 BC (1 Ezra 1:1–11). See Soggin et al. (, 300–31) and Liverani (2003, 203–20). Accounts of the exile are found in several biblical texts (2 Kings, 2 Chronicles, Daniel, Jeremiah). The prophet Ezekiel lived among the exiles, and it is he who preached to the Jews a restoration in the near future. See Heptaplus 7. 349 Zerubbabel, the grandson of the exiled king of Judah (1 Chron. 3:17–19), returned to Jerusalem with the first group of Jews. Upon returning from exile, Zerubbabel became governor of the province of Judah under the Persian ruler Darius I (522–486 BC). He and the high priest Joshua restored the Temple (520–515 BC); however, Zerubbabel is not mentioned in the account of the dedication provided in Ezra 6:16–18. Another messianic figure (according to Ezra 2:2), Zerubbabel was a descendant of David, thus figuring in the genealogies of Jesus in Matthew 1 and Luke 3. 350 Ezra 1–6 gives the account of the restoration of the Temple, which was the centre of Jewish spiritual life until the final destruction of the Second Temple in 70 AD. From Ezra 7–10 comes the account of the return of a group of Jews to Judah under Artaxerxes (465–424 BC), who had permitted Ezra to reestablish the Torah with the help of priests (kohanim) and Levites. 351 Cf. Conclusiones 1.28.45 (Farmer , 362–63). 352 2 Esdras; the archangel Uriel appears in a vision to Esdras, who transcribes the angelic revelations in seventy books. 2 Esdras, which is a Jewish apocalypse, appeared in the Vulgate. It is written that scribes worked forty days in order to write down the hidden oral tradition from the seventy sages, who correspond to the number of the seventy members of the Sanhedrin. 2 Esdras 14:21–24 records that only Esdras's accounts were written down; cf. Heptaplus, proem 2. See Bausi (Pico 2003, 125). The seventy sages of the Sanhedrin are mentioned in Hilarius, Tractatus in psalmos. 353 In the New Testament, the term often designates the council of priests and scribes that opposes Jesus and His followers (Matt. 26:59; Mark 14:55, 15:1; Luke 22:66; John 11:47; Acts 4:15, 5:21, 6:12, 22:30, 23:1, 24:20). Sanhedrin derives from the Greek συν δριον (synedrion), denoting an assembly of leaders. In the New Testament, Josephus Flavius, and rabbinical literature, various institutions are described with this same name in various historical periods. Different theories exist regarding exactly what it was and how it functioned. See, for example, Hoenig (). 354 4 Esd. 14:45–48; cf. Heptaplus 1. 355 Cf. Conclusiones 2.11.1–3 (Farmer , 518–21). 356 These books are thoroughly messianic; there is even an early interpolation at the very beginning of 2 Esdras naming Jesus as the Messiah. Furthermore, the seventh and final vision that Esdras has under visitation of the angel Uriel explicitly states that Esdras composed seventy books of esoteric revelations. It is interesting to note that one of the characters in the canonical Book of Ezra is probably the namesake of Mithridates. Another possible source for the association of the Cabala to the figure of Ezra lies in the works of Abraham ibn Ezra. 357 The three archangels Pico mentions in §135 represent dialectics, natural philosophy, and theology. It is at this point in the first redaction of the oration that Pico underwent what Tognon refers to as an "intellectual conversion" (in Pico 1987, 65n16) to the Cabala. Cf. Heptaplus 3 and 5. 358 Pope Sixtus IV was a renowned bibliophile. A fresco painted by Melozzo da Forlì (Hospital of Santo Spirito, 1478) depicts the pope appointing the humanist Bartolomeo Sacchi (Platina) as Librarian of the Vatican. Regarding his complex relationships with Jews and Judaism, one must of course remember that it was Sixtus IV who authorized the establishment of the Inquisition in Spain in 1478. The initiative's primary function was to adjudicate on matters of faith concerning the conversos, or converted Jews. 359 Giambattista Cibò (Innocent VIII, pope 1484–92). It is the same Dominican-led tribunal set up by Sixtus IV that will pursue Pico under Innocent VIII. See Reuchlin's account of Pico's escape to France and pursuit by the Inquisition in De arte cabalistica 1.13q. 360 It is not certain which books Sixtus IV wanted to be translated into Latin. The author of the translations was likely Flavius Mithridates. See Bausi (Pico 2003, 126–27) and also Onofri (, 69–70); Cicognani's commentary to Pico (1941, 124–32); Wirszubski's introduction to Flavius Mithridates (, 66–69); Piemontese (, 261–62). 361 Cf. Heptaplus 3. 362 We cannot be sure which books these are. 363 Pico died in 1494, at only thirty-two years of age. See Pico, Apologia V (Commentationes, fol. EE v v = Opere complete, VII 25); Heptaplus cabalistica proem. 364 Reuchlin, De arte, 1.13s–t.91: "Nor can I boast with Mirandola of having, like Ezra who once ordered the seventy to write out volumes on the secrets of the Kabbalah, spent vast sums collecting books." Four of these books are at the Vatican Library (Vat. Hebr. 189, 190, 191; Vat. Chigi A. 6.190). See Tamani (, 516–18) and Busi's and Campanini's introductions to Mithridates () and Mithridates (), respectively. See also Wirszubski's introduction to Mithridates (, 50–63); Lelli (, 206–10). 365 Cf. Commento 3.11. Pico writes about his desire to know the cabalistic tradition and the need to study Hebrew and Aramaic, without which it is impossible to obtain a grasp of the Cabala. See also Pico, Apologia V (Commentationes, fol. EE v r = Opere complete, VII 22) (Pico 2003, 128). On the Latin translation of these books, see Tamani (, 516–18). It is likely that the translations made by Flavius Mithridates for Pico are different from those made for Sixtus IV (Pico 2003, 129). See Heptaplus, proem 2. 366 The doctrine of the Trinity is not explicitly mentioned in the New Testament but was elaborated in later writings. However, certain passages provided the material on which it was formulated. See Matt. 28:19: "in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit"; 2 Cor. 13:13: "the grace of Jesus, the love of God and the communion of the Holy Spirit." See also Conclusiones 1.28.19 (Farmer , 352–53) as well as 2.11.5–7, 20, 30, 33–34, and 45; cf. Heptaplus 5–6. 367 See 1 Cor. 8:6; Phil. 2:6; Col. 1:16, where Paul affirms the existence of Christ before Creation. See Conclusiones 2.11.14–16 (Farmer , 526–27); cf. Conclusiones 2.11.43 (Farmer , 538–39). 368 Conclusiones 2.11.32 (Farmer , 532–33), 2.11.38–39 (Farmer , 536–37), 2.11.46 (Farmer , 538–39), 2.11.51 (Farmer , 540–41); Heptaplus 6–7. 369 Cf. Conclusiones 1.28.4–5 (Farmer , 346–47). 370 Cf. Conclusiones 2.11.19, 21–26, and 40 (Farmer , 528–31, 536–37). 371 Conclusiones 1.28.10 (Farmer , 350–51) and Heptaplus 7. 372 Purgatory and Hell are not mentioned in the biblical texts but are developed in later Christian writings. 373 Jerome was commissioned by Pope Damasus in 382 to provide a faithful Latin translation of the Bible. It took twenty years to complete, largely because Jerome took the unprecedented step of translating the Old Testament directly from original sources rather than the Greek Septuagint. His translation became the accepted text and was thenceforth called the versio vulgata or "common translation" (Vulgate). Pico plays on this terminology in his distinction between the common understanding of the Mosaic texts and the secret cabalistic interpretation known only to the elect. See Pico, Conclusiones Cabalisticae 2.11.72. According to Bausi, this idea drives all the seventy-two theses on the Cabala. In his Commento (3.2), Pico claims that the Cabala is the "greatest source of our Faith." See Bausi (Pico 2003, 129). 374 Cf. Heptaplus, proem 2. 375 Augustine, Confessiones 7.9.13. 376 Cf. Heptaplus 7. 377 Antonio Vinciguerra (1440/46–1502), secretary of the Venetian Republic, is listed in the Apologia as a contemporary practitioner of magic (Pico 2003, 130). On Antonio Vinciguerra, see Della Torre (); Beffa (); Bacchelli (, 64n184). 378 On Dactylus, see Widmanstetter (, cc. axx2v–3r). See also Scholem (, 20–22, 40). Dactylus is probably to be identified with the Vitalis Dactylomelos who, in January 1500, completed the translation of Averroes's Commentary on Aristotle's Physics, contained in the Latin codex 6507 of the National Library in Paris. See Bacchelli (, 65n185). Cassuto (, 317–19) argues that Dactylus was one of Pico's Hebrew teachers. 379 Conclusiones 2.11.17 (Farmer , 526–27). 380 "Ancient wisdom" translates prisca sapientia. 381 See Iamblichus, De vita Pytagorica 28.145; Diogenes Laertius 8.1.8; Conclusiones 2.11.10 (Farmer , 524–25). See also Reuchlin, De arte cabalistica: "His philosophy, however, I have only been able to glean from the Hebrew Kabbalah, since it derives in origin from the teachers of Kabbalah, and then was lost to our ancestors, disappearing from Southern Italy into the Kabbalistic writings." This would become the widespread interpretation throughout the sixteenth century. 382 Conclusiones 2.11.55 (Farmer , 542–43); cf. Heptaplus, proem. 383 Reuchlin, De arte cabalistica 147. The association between Orpheus and Pythagoras is already present in Herodotus 2.81. 384 Cf. Gellius (1990, Noctes Atticae 12.6.1). 385 Cf. §233. 386 See Reuchlin, De arte cabalistica 3.52f: "[T]he subject is quite complicated and not understood by outsiders as yet, and scholars in the Latin world in particular know nothing at all about it, except the little work published some time ago by Count Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and Paul Ricci, and even in the present day that little work is insufficiently understood." He goes on to complain of slanderers (calumniatores), whom he compares to Pharisees. ## Part III Images Figure 1. Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, ms. Palatino 885, f. 143r. Figure 2. Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, ms. Palatino 885, f. 145r. Figure 3. Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, ms. Palatino 885, f. 147r. Figure 4. Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, ms. Palatino 885, f. 151v. ## Bibliography Albeck, Chanoch, ed. 1988. Mishna. Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik. Alemanno, Yohanan. 1995. Hay ha-'olamim (L'immortale). 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Astrologia, cabala e arte lulliana in Pico della Mirandola e seguaci. Venice: Marsilio. ## Index of Names Abaris the Hyperborean , 'Abd-All h b. al Tamir Abdalla Sarracenus (Abdallah the Saracen) , , , Abraham Abraham ibn Ezra Abu Mashar (Abumasar) , Abulafia, Abraham , , Abulgal Adam , , , , , , Aglaophamos , Agli, Pellegrino , , Agrippa von Nettesheim, Heinrich Cornelius Alan of Lille Albeck, Chanoch Alberti, Leon Battista Albertus Magnus , , , , Alcuin of York Alemanno, Yohanan , , , Alexander of Aphrodisias , Alexander the Great Al-Farabi , Al-Kindi , , Alighieri, Dante , , , , , , , Allen, Michael J. B. , , , , Ammianus Marcellinus Ammonius , , Andreatta, Michela Aphrodite , Apollo , , , , , , , , , Apollonius of Tyana , , Apuleius , , , , Aquilon, Pierre Aristeas of Proconnesus Aristotle , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Armstrong, Arthur H. Arnobius of Sicca Asclepius , , , , Augustine of Hippo (Saint) , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Avempace (Ibn B jja) , Avenzoar of Babylon , Averroes (Ibn Rushd) , , , , , , , , , , , Avicenna (Ibn-Sina) , , , , Bacchelli, Franco , , Bacchus , , , Bacon, Roger , Barbaro, Ermolao , , , , , , Basil of Caesarea (Saint) Bate of Malines, Henry Bausi, Francesco , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Bede (the Venerable) Beffa, B. Beierwaltes, Werner Bellanti, Luca Benedict, Nicolas Benivieni, Domenico , Benivieni, Girolamo , , , , , , , , , , , Bentivoglio, Costanza 12–13 Berengar of Poitiers Bernard of Clarivaux (Saint) , , , , , , Beroaldo, Filippo Berti, Domenico Bidez, Joseph , , Bietenholz, Peter , Boccaccio, Giovanni , , Bodin, Jean Bodnár, István Boethius, Anicius Manlius Severinus , , , , Boiardo, Giulia , Bonaventure (Saint) , , , Borghesi, Francesco , , Bori, Pier Cesare , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Botticelli, Sandro Boulnois, Olivier , , , , Bracciolini, Poggio Buck, August , , Buondelmonti, Cristoforo Burckhardt, Andreas Burckhardt, Jacob , Busi, Giulio , , Butler, Harold E. Buzzetti, Dino , , Calcidius , Callimachus , Calypso , Camillo, Giulio , Campanini, Saverio , , Cantimori, Delio Caponigri, Robert Carducci, Filippo Carena, Carlo , , , , Carmichael, Douglas Casini, Paolo Cassirer, Ernst , , , Cassuto, Umberto , Castellli, Patrizia Cavalcanti, Giovanni Celenza, Christopher , Ceretti, Felice Chaignet, Antelme- Édouard Charles VIII Charondas , Cicero, Marcus Tullius , , , , , , , , , , , , , Cicognani, Bruno , , , , , , Clement VIII Clement of Alexandria , , , , Colonna, Francesco Columella, Lucius Junius Moderatus Copenhaver, Brian , , , , , , , , , , , , Corazzol, Giacomo Corcella, Aldo Cordier, Johannes Cornelius Celsus Corneus, Andrea , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Cortesi, Alessandro Craven, William G. Croiset, Alfred Cullman, Karl Cumont, Franz , , Cyriac of Ancona Cyrus II the Great , da Casale Maggiore, Cristoforo Dactylus Hebreus , , da Diacceto, Francesco da Fontaneto, Guglielmo Dancy, R. M. Daniélou, Jean Damascius , , Damasus Damigeron , Dardanus , David , , , de Aigre, Johannis d'Este, Ercole I , , de León-Jones, Karen , De Lubac, Henri , , , , , , , , de Miroldo, Marco del Medigo, Elia , , Del Piazzo, M. , , , , del Tuppo, Francesco della Stufa, Luigi , Della Torre, Arnaldo Democritus , , , , Des Places, Édouard , , d'Este, Ercole I , , Diès, Auguste Di Napoli, Giovanni , , Diodorus Siculus , Diogenes Laertius , , , , , Dionisotti, Carlo Dionysius II of Syracuse , di Piacenza, Girolamo Dodds, E. R. Dorez, Leon , , , , Dörrie, Heinrich Dougherty, Michael V. Duchesne-Guillemin, Jacques Dulles, Avery , Duns Scotus, John , , , , , , , , , , , , Dupuis, Jacques Empedocles , , , , , , , , , , Emser, Hieronymus Ennius Enoch , , , , Ephrem the Syrian (Saint) Epictetus Erasmus, Desiderius Eriugena, John Scotus , , Eros , , , , , , Esdras , , , , , , , , Eudoxus , , Eugenius III Eusebius of Caesarea , Euler, Walter , Ezra , Faelli, Benedetto , , Faggin, Giuseppe Fallico, Arturo B. Farmer, Stephen Alan , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Fazio, Bartolomeo Festugière, A. J. , Ficino, Marsilio , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Fitt, Mary Fornaciari, Paolo Edoardo Francis of Meyronnes , , , , Fukuyama, Francis Gabriel (archangel) , , Gaffarel, Jacques Galen Garcia, Pedro Garin, Eugenio , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Gellius, Aulus , , , , Gemistus Pletho, George , , , , , Gentile, Giovanni , , , Gentile, Sebastiano , Gerhoh of Reichersberg Gersonides Gigante, Marcello Giles of Rome , , , , Ginzburg, Carlo Gorgias of Leontini , , Grafton, Anthony , Green, Arthur Gregory of Nyssa , , Gregory the Great , , , , , , Gregory, Tullio Grévin, Benoît Griffiths, Alan H. Grimani, Domenico Guarini, Battista Guidoni, Aldobrandino , , , Habermas, Jürgen Hankins, James , Henricopetri, Sebastian Henry of Ghent , , , , , Heraclitus of Ephesus , Hercules , , Hermes Trismegistus (Mercurius) , , , , , , , , , Hermias , Hermippus , , Herodotus , , Herold, Johannes Hesiod Hieronymus, Frank Hilary of Poitiers (Saint) , , Hippolytus Hoenig, Sidney B. Homer , , , , , , Horace , , Horapollo Hunink, Vincent Huxley, G. L. Iamblichus , , , , , , , , , , , , Idel, Moshe , , Innocent VIII , , , , , , , , Isidore of Seville , , , Jacob , , , , Jayne, Sears Reynolds , Jeremiah , , Jerome (Saint) , , , , , , , , , Jesus Christ , , , , , Job , , , , , , , , , , John of Salisbury Josephus Flavius Joshua (Jesu Nave) , , Julius Caesar Kibre, Pearl , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Knibb, Michael Knowles, David Kraut, Richard Kristeller, Paul Oskar , , , , , , , , Kronholm, Tryggve Kunitzsch, Paul Lactantius, Lucius Caecilius Firmianus Landino, Cristoforo , , Lanfredini, Giovanni 104–5 Lauer, Hans H. Lelli, Fabrizio , , Leone, Pietro Lewy, Hans Liebert, Arthur Liverani, Mario Livermore Forbes, Elizabeth , Lohr, Charles , Lucan Lucifer Lucretius (Titus Lucretius Carus) Ludovici, Sergio Samek Macarius Macrobius Ambrosius Theodosius , , , Magnavacca, Silvia Mahoney, Edward P. Maimonides , , , , , , Manetti, Giannozzo , , , , , , Marcel, Raymond Marchignoli, Saverio , , , , , , Martianus Capella Marrone, Steven Masai, François Mazzali, Ludovico Medici, Cosimo de' Medici, Lorenzo de' , , , , , , , , , , Medici, Giuliano di Mariotto de' , , , , Medici, Margherita de' , , , , , , , , Melloni, Giorgio , Melozzo da Forlì Merula, Giorgio Meyer, Michael J. Michael (archangel) , , , , Millas, J. M. Miller, Paul J. W. , Mithridates, Flavius (Guglielmo Raimondo de Moncada) , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Mohammed , , Mohammed of Toledo Monfasani, John Monisart, Giovanni Montanari, Franco More, Thomas Moretus, Antonio Moses , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Nardi, Bruno Neoptolemus Nesi, Giovanni , , Nicholas of Cusa , , , Nicolacci da Marciano, Giovanni Nogarola, Lorenzo Nonius Marcellus Olympiodorus , Onofri, Laura Ordelaffi da Forlì, Pino Origen , , , , , , , , , , , , Oromazes (Oromasius) , Orpheus , , , Osiris , , Osthanes , Ovid (Publius Ovidius Naso) , Owen, Arthur S. Pallas , , , , , Panofsky, Erwin , Pape, W. Papio, Michael , , , , , Patrizi, Francesco Paul (Saint) , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Perani, Mauro Perugino, Baldo , 33–34 Pesce, Mauro , Peter Abelard , , Peter Lombard , , Petit, Jean Petrarca, Francesco (Petrarch) , , , , , Petri, Heinrich , , , Philip of Opus Philippus de Harveng Philo of Alexandria , , , , , , , Philolaus Philoponus, John (John the Grammarian) , , Philostratus of Athens , Pico della Mirandola, Antonmaria (Anton Maria) , , Pico della Mirandola, Galeotto , Pico della Mirandola, Caterina , Pico della Mirandola, Gianfrancesco (Giovan Francesco) , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Pico della Mirandola, Lucrezia , Pico Project , , , , , Piemontese, Angelo Michele , , Pignagnoli, Fabio Sante , , Pio da Carpi, Lionello Plato , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Plautus Pliny the Elder , , , , , , , Plotinus , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Plutarch , , , , , , , Plutarch of Athens Poliziano, Angelo , , , , , , , , Pomponazzi, Pietro Pontano, Giovanni Porphyry , , , , , , , Pozzo, G. M. Priani Saisó, Ernesto Priscian , Proclus , , , , , , , , , , Propertius, Sextus Proteus , , Prüss, Johann Psellus, Michael , , , pseudo-Cyprian Pseudo-Dionysius the Aeropagite , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Purnell, Frederik, Jr. , , , Pythagoras , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Quaquarelli, Leonardo , , , Quintilian , Rabanus Maurus , , , , , , Ramusio, Girolamo Raphael (archangel) , , Raspanti, Antonino , , , Recanati, Menahem , Reich, Hans H. , , , , , Reinhardt, Heinrich , Reuchlin, Johann , , , , , , , , Richard of St. Victor , , , , Riva, Massimo , , , Roger Bacon , Roth, Catherine Roulier, Fernand , , Ruggieri, Giuseppe Rüssel, Herbert Werner Sacchi, Bartolomeo (Platina) Salviati, Roberto Savonarola, Girolamo , , , Schefer, Bertrand Schindler, Alfred Schmitt, Charles , Scholem, Gershom , , Scoto, Girolamo Secret, François Semprini, Giovanni Seneca, Lucius Annaeus , , , , , , , Shapiro, Herman Sidonius , Silber, Eucharius Simplicius of Cilicia , , , Sixtus IV , , Socrates , , Soggin, J. Alberto Sorbelli, Tommaso Statius, Publius Papinius , Sudduth, Michael Suigo, Jacobino Susanetti, Davide Swineshead, Richard Synesius Tamani, Giuliano , , Tatian Taverna, Stefano , Tertullian Themistius , , Theophrastus , , Thomas Aquinas (Saint) , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Timothy Titus Livius Tognon, Giuseppe , , , , , , , , Torrella, Girolamo Toussaint, Stéphane , , Trevet, Nicholas Ugolino, Taddeo Ulysses , , Uriel (archangel) Valcke, Louis , Valenziani, Enrichetta Valla, Lorenzo Vasoli, Cesare , , , , , Venus , Vernia, Nicoletto Veronese, Guarino Vinciguerra, Antonio (Antonius Chronicus) , Virgil (or Vergil: Publius Vergilius Maro) , , , , Vitali, Bernardino Waleys, Thomas (Thomas Anglicus) Walker, Daniel P. , , Wallis, Charles Glenn , , Walzer, Richard Waszink, Jan H. Wellmann, E. Whittaker, Molly Widmanstetter, Johann Albrecht William of Auvergne (William of Paris) , Wimpheling, Jakob Wind, Edgar , , , , Wirszubski, Chaim , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Wolfson, Eliot R. Yates, Frances A. Zalmolxis (Zalmoxis) , , , Zambelli, Paola , , Zanardi, Zita , , , Zerubbabel , , Zeus , Zoroaster , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Zwingli, Huldrych	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaBook" }	2,165
Q: My Windows Forms program is not finding the 'app.configconnecetion' string I am new to Windows Forms and I modified the app.config file to have some connection strings, but it never finds it when I use it in code; it retuns null. <?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" ?> <configuration> <connectionStrings> <add name="MySqlConnectionString" connectionString="server=localhost;database=mydatabase;uid=root;" /> </connectionStrings> </configuration> Also I use this code to see if it's pulling something string val = System.Configuration.ConfigurationSettings.AppSettings["MySqlConnectionString"]; but val is null. Also, under the system.configuration stuff, it says that it's obsolete and prompts me to use System.Configuration.ConfigurationManager.AppSettings, but the IntelliSense does not give me option "ConfigurationManager", I only have ConfigurationSettings. I tried typing it and see if the little blue underline came up to include something but nothing comes up. What could I be doing wrong? A: This is because you're trying to use AppSettings when it's not in AppSettings. Also make sure your reference to System.Configuration is correct. * *Go into your project, right click References -> Add Reference -> .NET -> Go down to System.Configuration and add it. You'll need to switch to this: ConfigurationManager.ConnectionStrings["MySqlConnectionString"].ConnectionString; This should help illustrate the difference between AppSettings and ConnectionStrings: <?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" ?> <configuration> <connectionStrings> <add name="MySqlConnectionString" connectionString="server=localhost;database=mydatabase;uid=root;" /> </connectionStrings> <appSettings> <add key="MyAppSetting" value="Hello World!"/> </appSettings> </configuration> And then from C#: ConfigurationManager.AppSettings["MyAppSetting"]	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange" }	3,392
Boris Johnson news – live: No 10 apologises to Queen but Liz Truss tells nation to 'move on' from partygate By Felipe Alfau On Jan 14, 2022 No 10 apologises to Queen for parties on eve of Prince Philip's funeral Downing Street has been forced to apologise to Buckingham Palace following reports of two No 10 parties held on the eve of Prince Philip's socially-distanced funeral – but officials will not say if Boris Johnson knew about them. The PM's spokesman is also refusing to clarify whether it was acknowledged to the Palace that the gatherings were "social events", which would have been in breach of Covid rules at the time. It is understood the apology was made by a government official, in a telephone call – rather than in a conversation involving Mr Johnson. It came less than two hours after Liz Truss suggested Britons should "move on" from so-called partygate. Asked about the latest allegations, Ms Truss, the foreign secretary, said Mr Johnson had apologised for his actions and insisted the public should "look at the overall position we're in as a country", citing Brexit and Covid recovery as the PM's real legacy. "I think we now need to move on … and, of course, wait for the results of the Sue Gray inquiry," she told ITV News. Show latest update Campaigners say Covid fines must be rescinded amid No 10 'impunity' Coronavirus prosecutions must be stopped in light of allegations government figures broke the law "with impunity" while ordinary members of the public were punished, campaigners have said. The Fair Trials group called for the almost 120,000 fines issued so far in England and Wales to be rescinded and for all charges under Covid laws to be withdrawn, reports our home affairs editor Lizzie Dearden. "We cannot have a justice system where people in power can break lockdown with impunity while others are prosecuted and fined," CEO Normal L Reimer said. Meanwhile, figures obtained by The Independent show that 30 per cent of the Covid prosecutions so far reviewed by the Crown Prosecution Service – 803 out of 2,716 – were wrongful. Sam Hancock14 January 2022 16:08 Watch: No 10 apologises to Queen for parties on eve of Prince Philip's funeral Ex-Covid taskforce boss apologises for hosting leaving drinks Kate Josephs, formerly the head of Boris Johnson's Covid taskforce, has issued a public apology after admitting to hosting a leaving drinks in the Cabinet Office in December 2020. She said the event on 17 December was to mark her departure from the Civil Service, and included staff "gathering … with drinks, in our office". "I am truly sorry that I did this and for the anger that people will feel as a result," Ms Josephs, who is now the CEO of Sheffield City Council, said. "Sheffield has suffered greatly during this pandemic, and I apologise unreservedly." She added she was "cooperating" with the Sue Gray inquiry, but felt the need to speak out. At the time of the event, London and the southeast of England were in strict Tier 3 measures. And just two days later, on 19 December, the PM imposed an effective lockdown in the capital and vast swathes of the country. Some days later, Christmas celebrations would go on to be cancelled for hundreds of families owing to the situation. Ms Josephs finished her statement by saying she "will not be able to respond to any further questions until [Ms Gray's] investigation is complete". 'Most corrupt government ever': Public reacts to party allegations Hours after explosive reports emerged of two lockdown-breaking parties in Downing Street last April, the general feeling at a branch of Co-op where a government staffer allegedly filled a suitcase with bottles of wine was one of disappointment. The government was accused of being "the most corrupt we've ever had" as customers and passers-by reacted to the allegations outside the supermarket on The Strand, near Whitehall, reports Chiara Giordano, who spoke to members of the public in central London today. A pair of former civil servants said they were "disgusted" by the latest allegations of leaving parties being held at No 10 last April. One man, asked whether he thought the PM should resign over the string of government rule-breaking allegations in recent weeks, said: "Yes, he probably should – but as a Labour supporter, I'm quite happy for him to be here and to mess things up." Government needs overhaul after Gray's partygate report – Gove Michael Gove says changes will need to be made in government once Sue Gray's partygate report is published – but denied there is a need for Boris Johnson to resign as part of that "shake up". The levelling up secretary, speaking to ITV news during a visit to Manchester, said he could "completely understand the sense of exasperation and anger that people feel" after more reports of unlawful parties inside No 1 during the pandemic. But, he quickly added, decisions could not be made until the report by senior civil servant Sue Gray had been finalised. "Rather than a sort of drip, drip, drip of revelations, we need to have a complete, full, candid account of everything that went on … let's do that, let's do it quickly, but let's also do it with all the facts in front of us," he said. Asked if he felt embarrassed about the most recent parties being reported on, which took place last April, Mr Gove said firmly "it's not about embarrassment" and that he thinks "everybody is just understandable exasperated". Loyal to his boss, though, he said giving the British public "the truth" was more important than sacking Mr Johnson leaving his job. Timeline of alleged government 'lockdown parties' You would be forgiven for losing track of the number of No 10 parties alleged to have taken place over last two years, and when, where and how each is said to have broken various Covid restrictions. After a leaked email showed over 100 No 10 staff were invited to "bring your own booze" event in the Downing Street garden on 20 May 2020, including the PM and his wife, Carrie, MPs within his own party have also called on Boris Johnson to resign. Those calls intensified last night when the latest reported-on events were found to have taken place hours before Prince Philip's socially-distanced funeral. Here, our political correspondent Ashley Cowburn looks at all the allegations of gatherings across No 10, government and at the Conservative Party headquarters. Watch: Bizarre Boris Johnson lookalike 'protest' outside Downing St Bizarre Boris 'protest' outside Parliament PM likely very worried about 'volatile' position, says Cameron's ex-spin chief Back to partygate now. Ex-PM David Cameron's former spin doctor says he imagines Boris Johnson is feeling "deeply worried" about his position following the latest backlash. Sir Craig Oliver told BBC Radio 4's World at One programme the situation was both "incredibly volatile" and "incredibly difficult" but that the cabinet and MPs were likely wondering if it was worth booting the current leader out amid the party's current issues. They are "are probably weighing up 'are we better with him or better without him'?" he told the radio show. "At the moment there are a few unknowns and I think most of them are prepared to see what happens with Sue Gray." "I think that there's quite a sophisticated calculation that's going on at the moment," he added. Pushed on what that calculation could look like, Sir Craig said officials would be considering whether a new PM would be able to handle the country's biggest crises right now, including "the cost of living crisis or any number of other big problems that are on the horizon". What they have to ask, he said, is if "replacing somebody at this time and putting them in that difficult circumstance [is] actually going to be the best thing for them long term?" Football pundit Gary Neville joins Labour Party England football star Gary Neville joined the Labour Party "in the last few days", and is reportedly not ruling out a venture into politics. The former Manchester United captain was publicly welcomed to the party by shadow cabinet ministers Lucy Powell and Anneliese Dodds. Explaining the move on BBC's Political Thinking podcast, Mr Neville said: "I want to support Labour. I do believe that we need a progressive Labour Party, but one that actually not just looks after the left side; it has to come towards the centre." Sharing the news on social media, Ms Powell, who is shadow secretary of state for digital, culture, media and sport, said she is "very pleased" that Mr Neville has "finally" joined Labour. She also hinted that the player-turned-pundit may have a political career in store. It comes amid reports Mr Neville is not "ruling out" a run for Manchester mayor when the current incumbent, Andy Burnham, finishes up. However, asked about the rumours by the BBC's Nick Robinson, Mr Neville said he thinks he would get "eaten alive" in Westminster. Commenting on the latest No 10 party allegations today, the football pundit said: UK and EU to 'intensify' talks over Northern Ireland Protocol Stepping away from No 10 parties for a moment, foreign secretary Liz Truss insisted today there is a "deal to be done" with the EU over the post-Brexit agreement on Northern Ireland, as both London and Brussels agreed to intensify talks. The apparent thaw in relations comes after Ms Truss' first official face-to-face talks with Maros Sefcovic, the European Commission vice president, over the Northern Ireland Protocol at her official residence at Chevening, in Kent. The pair have agreed to hold further talks on 24 January, with officials also due to meet again next week for "intensified talks". But Ms Truss again refused to rule out the prospect of invoking Article 16, which would suspend part of the agreements in the protocol, if they could not agree a way forward. Our political correspondent Ashley Cowburn has more: Denial of responsibility! Yours Headline is an automatic aggregator of the all world's media. In each content, the hyperlink to the primary source is specified. All trademarks belong to their rightful owners, all materials to their authors. If you are the owner of the content and do not want us to publish your materials, please contact us by email – [email protected]. The content will be deleted within 24 hours. Felipe Alfau 601 posts 0 comments A's owner Fisher gives to coal lobbyist turned Trump-backed congressman Arceus Makes Big Change to Classic Pokemon Move Daughter describes 'helpless' wait for news of parents after Tonga tsunami	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl" }	6,487
{"url":"https:\/\/faculty.math.illinois.edu\/Macaulay2\/doc\/Macaulay2-1.18\/share\/doc\/Macaulay2\/Depth\/html\/_is__C__M.html","text":"isCM -- whether a ring or module is Cohen-Macaulay\n\n\u2022 Usage:\nisCM(A)\n\u2022 Inputs:\n\u2022 Outputs:\n\nDescription\n\nThis command merely checks if the depth of A equals the Krull dimension of A.\n i1 : A = ZZ\/2[x,y,z]; i2 : isCM(A) o2 = true i3 : A = ZZ\/2[x,y]\/(x^2,xy); i4 : isCM(A) o4 = false i5 : A = ZZ\/101[a_1,a_2,b_1,b_2,c_1]\/ideal(a_1b_1,a_2b_2,b_1c_1); i6 : isCM(A) o6 = false\n\nThis symbol is provided by the package Depth.\n\nCaveat\n\nTypically when one thinks of a Cohen-Macaulay ring or module, one is in the local case. Since the local case is not yet implemented into Macaulay 2, we compute over the ideal generated by by generators(Ring).\n\nWays to use isCM :\n\n\u2022 \"isCM(Module)\"\n\u2022 \"isCM(Ring)\"\n\nFor the programmer\n\nThe object isCM is .","date":"2021-09-22 19:54:26","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 1, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.3301878273487091, \"perplexity\": 3262.4256457097817}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": false, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2021-39\/segments\/1631780057388.12\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20210922193630-20210922223630-00655.warc.gz\"}"}	null	null
Local (current) Cape Breton > News > Local Clarke playing coy on provincial PC Party leadership aspirations SaltWire Network \| Posted: Nov. 3, 2017, 8:26 p.m. \| Updated: Nov. 3, 2017, 8:26 p.m. \| 2 Min Read SYDNEY, N.S. — Will he or won't he? Cape Breton Regional Municipality Mayor Cecil Clarke's name emerged as a potential Nova Scotia Progressive Conservative Party leadership candidate this week, not long after Jamie Baillie announced we would vacate the post. When asked on Friday, however, the current mayor of the Cape Breton Regional Municipality quickly discounted that notion, but without actually coming out and saying the word "no." "What I'm interested in is finishing what we started and that is the port of Sydney and realizing the economic opportunities that I've committed to, what council has committed to," Clarke said during a media scrum at Centre 200 for the 2019 Scotties Tournament of Hearts. "That's the leadership role I'm focused on and I'm dedicated to and seeing through." Clarke was re-elected mayor of the CBRM in 2016. Shortly after his victory, he announced his second term as mayor would be his last. "Right now my priority is the leadership required to see the port of Sydney be developed," he said on Friday. "We are working on that, we are working forward on that opportunity and that is my only focus at this time." Baillie, who has been partly leader since 2010, announced Wednesday he would be stepping down as soon as a replacement was found. Besides Clarke, Pictou East MLA Tim Houston, and Rob Batherson, a former party president, were among the replacements posed by political pundits. - The Cape Breton Post CBRM examines resources, financial options to deal with flooding issues Updated 7 hours ago \|4 min read Some Cape Breton students, parents opt out of in-person return to school due to Omicron wave Updated 16 hours ago \|5 min read New job service providers in Cape Breton set to fill void after Island Employment closure Appeal court allows Cape Breton youth to continue marijuana use Cape Breton court report for Jan. 18, 2022 Student safety: NSCC delays return to in-person classes for winter 2022 semester RCMP investigating after two community mailboxes stolen in Cape Breton community Under water again: Parts of Sydney hit with flooding following heavy rain, windstorm	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl" }	5,924
Moczydło (Osiecznica, Głębokie) – niewielkie jezioro typu linowo-szczupakowego o powierzchni 11,9 ha na północny zachód od miejscowości Osiecznica na Pojezierzu Lubuskim w województwie lubuskim, w powiecie krośnieńskim, w gminie Krosno Odrzańskie. Głębokość maksymalna 4,5 m. Głębokość średnia 3,5 m. Całkowita objętość wód jeziora to 419,5 tys. m³. Jezioro leży w otoczeniu lasów, na północny wschód od drogi krajowej nr 29. Na jeziorze gospodaruje ZO PZW Zielona Góra. Linki zewnętrzne Moczydło Jeziora w powiecie krośnieńskim (województwo lubuskie) Krosno Odrzańskie (gmina)	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia" }	1,372
\section{Introduction} \hspace{5mm} Motions on hyperbolic spaces have been studied since the end of the Fifties and most of the papers devoted to them deal with the so-called hyperbolic Brownian motion (see, e.g., Gertsenshtein and Vasiliev \cite{get}, Gruet \cite{gruet}, Monthus and Texier \cite{mon}, Lao and Orsingher \cite{l}). More recently also works concerning two-dimensional random motions at finite velocity on planar hyperbolic spaces have been introduced and analyzed (Orsingher and De Gregorio \cite{DO}). While in \cite{DO} the components of motion are supposed to be independent, we present here a planar random motion with interacting components. Its counterpart on the unit sphere is also examined and discussed. The space on which our motion develops is the Poincar\'e upper half-plane $H_2^+=\{(x,y): y>0\}$ which is certainly the most popular model of the Lobachevsky hyperbolic space. In the space $H^+_2$ the distance between points is measured by means of the metric \begin{equation} \mathrm{d}s^2=\frac{\mathrm{d}x^2+\mathrm{d}y^2}{y^2}. \label{metric} \end{equation} The propagation of light in a planar non-homogeneous medium, according to the Fermat principle, must obey the law \begin{equation} \frac{\sin \alpha(y)}{c(x,y)}=\mathrm{cost} \end{equation} where $\alpha(y)$ is the angle formed by the tangent to the curve of propagation with the vertical at the point with ordinate $y$. In the case where the velocity $c(x,y)=y$ is independent from the direction, the light propagates on half-circles as in $H_2^+$. In \cite{optics} it is shown that the light propagates in a non-homogeneous half-plane $H_2^+$ with refracting index $n(x,y)=1/y$ with rays having the structure of half-circles. Scattered obstacles in the non-homogeneous medium cause random deviations in the propagation of light and this leads to the random model analyzed below. The position of points in $H_2^+$ can be given either in terms of Cartesian coordinates $(x,y)$ or by means of the hyperbolic coordinates $(\eta, \alpha)$. In particular, $\eta$ represents the hyperbolic distance of a point of $H_2^+$ from the origin $O$ which has Cartesian coordinates $(0,1)$. We recall that $\eta$ is evaluated by means of (\ref{metric}) on the arc of a circumference with center located on the $x$ axis and joining $(x,y)$ with the origin $O$. The upper half-circumferences centered on the $x$ axis represent the geodesic lines of the space $H_2^+$ and play the same role of the straight lines in the Euclidean plane. The angle $\alpha$ represents the slope of the tangent in $O$ to the half-circumference passing through $(x,y)$ (see Figure \ref{fig1}(a)). \begin{figure} \label{fig1} \centering \subfigure[] {\includegraphics[width=5.1cm, height=6.46cm]{fig11.pdf}} \hspace{5mm} \subfigure[] {\includegraphics[width=5.95cm, height=6.46cm]{fig12.pdf}} \caption{Figure 1(a) illustrates the hyperbolic coordinates. Figure 1(b) refers to the hyperbolic triangle of Carnot formula. } \end{figure} The formulas which relate the polar hyperbolic coordinates $(\eta,\alpha)$ to the Cartesian coordinates $(x,y)$ are (see Rogers and Williams \cite{rog}, page 213) \begin{equation}\label{rel} \left\{ \begin{array}{lr} x=\frac{\sinh \eta \cos \alpha}{\cosh \eta - \sinh \eta \sin \alpha} & \eta>0,\\ y=\frac{1}{\cosh \eta - \sinh \eta \sin \alpha} & -\frac{\pi}{2}<\alpha<\frac{\pi}{2}. \end{array} \right. \end{equation} For each value of $\alpha$ the relevant geodesic curve is represented by the half-circumference with equation \begin{equation} \label{cerchio} (x-\tan \alpha)^2+y^2=\frac{1}{\cos^2 \alpha}. \end{equation} For $\alpha=\frac{\pi}{2}$ we get from (\ref{cerchio}) the positive $y$ axis which also is a geodesic curve of $H_2^+$. From (\ref{rel}) it is easy to obtain the following expression of the hyperbolic distance $\eta$ of $(x,y)$ from the origin $O$: \begin{equation} \label{dist} \cosh \eta=\frac{x^2+y^2+1}{2y}. \end{equation} From (\ref{dist}) it can be seen that all the points having hyperbolic distance $\eta$ from the origin $O$ form a Euclidean circumference with center at $(0,\cosh \eta)$ and radius $\sinh \eta$. The expression of the hyperbolic distance between two arbitrary points $(x_1,y_1)$ and $(x_2,y_2)$ is instead given by \begin{equation} \label{dist2} \cosh \eta=\frac{(x_1-x_2)^2+y_1^2+y_2^2}{2y_1y_2}. \end{equation} In fact, by considering the hyperbolic triangle with vertices at $(0,1)$, $(x_1,y_1)$ and $(x_2,y_2)$, by means of the Carnot hyperbolic formula it is simple to show that the distance $\eta$ between $(x_1,y_1)$ and $(x_2,y_2)$ is given by \begin{equation} \label{carnot} \cosh \eta=\cosh \eta_1 \cosh \eta_2 - \sinh \eta_1 \sinh \eta_2 \cos (\alpha_1 -\alpha_2) \end{equation} where $(\eta_1, \alpha_1)$ and $(\eta_2, \alpha_2)$ are the hyperbolic coordinates of $(x_1,y_1)$ and $(x_2,y_2)$, respectively (see Figure \ref{fig1}(b)). From (\ref{cerchio}) we obtain that \begin{equation} \label{sette} \tan \alpha_i=\frac{x_i^2+y_i^2-1}{2x_i} \mathrm{\;\;\;\;\;\;for\;} i=1,2, \end{equation} and view of (\ref{dist}) and (\ref{sette}), after some calculations, formula (\ref{dist2}) appears. Instead of the elementary arguments of the proof above we can also invoke the group theory which reduces $(x_1, y_1)$ to $(0,1)$. If $\alpha_1-\alpha_2=\frac{\pi}{2}$, the hyperbolic Carnot formula (\ref{carnot}) reduces to the hyperbolic Pythagorean theorem \begin{equation} \cosh \eta = \cosh \eta_1 \cosh \eta_2 \end{equation} which plays an important role in the present paper. The motion considered here is the non-Euclidean counterpart of the planar motion with orthogonal deviations studied in Orsingher \cite{O}. The main object of the investigation is the hyperbolic distance of the moving point from the origin. We are able to give explicit expressions for its mean value, also under the condition that the number of changes of direction is known. In the case of motion in $H_2^+$ with independent components (Orsingher and De Gregorio \cite{DO}) an explicit expression for the distribution of the hyperbolic distance $\eta$ has been obtained. Here, however, the components of motion are dependent and this excludes any possibility of finding the distribution of the hyperbolic distance $\eta(t)$. We obtain the following explicit formula for the mean value of the hyperbolic distance which reads \begin{eqnarray} E\{ \cosh \eta(t)\}&=& e^{-\frac{\lambda t}{2}} \left\{ \cosh \frac{t}{2}\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}+ \frac{\lambda}{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}} \sinh \frac{t}{2}\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2} \right\} \nonumber \\ &=& Ee^{T(t)} \end{eqnarray} where $T(t)$ is a telegraph process with parameters $\frac{\lambda}{2}$ and $2c$. The telegraph process represents the random motion of a particle moving with constant velocity and changing direction at Poisson-paced times (see, for example \cite{DO}). Section $5$ is devoted to motions on the Poincar\'e half-plane where the return to the starting point is admitted and occurs at the instants of changes of direction. The mean distance from the origin of these jumping-back motions is obtained explicitly by exploiting their relationship with the motion without jumps. In the case where the return to the starting point occurs at the first Poisson event $T_1$, the mean value of the hyperbolic distance $\eta_1(t)$ reads \begin{equation} E\{ \cosh \eta_1(t)\| N(t) \ge 1\}=\frac{\lambda}{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}} \frac{\sinh \frac{t}{2}\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}}{\sinh \frac{\lambda t}{2}}. \end{equation} The last section considers the motion at finite velocity, with orthogonal deviations at Poisson times, on the unit-radius sphere. The main results concern the mean value $E\{\cos \mathrm{d}(P_0 P_t) \}$, where $\mathrm{d}(P_0 P_t)$ is the distance of the current point $P_t$ from the starting position $P_0$. We take profit of the analogy of the spherical motion with its counterpart on the Poincar\'e half-plane to discuss the different situations due to the finiteness of the space where the random motion develops. \section{Description of the Planar Random Motion on the Poincar\'e Half-Plane $H_2^+$} \hspace{5mm} We start our analysis by considering a particle located at the origin $O$ of $H_2^+$. The particle initially moves on the half-circumference with center at $(0,0)$ and radius $1$. The motion of the particle develops on the geodesic lines represented by half-circles with the center located on the $x$ axis. Changes of direction are governed by a homogeneous Poisson process of rate $\lambda$. At the occurrence of the first Poisson event, the particle starts moving on the circumference orthogonal to the previous one. After having reached the point $P_2$, where the second Poisson event happened, the particle continues its motion on the circumference orthogonal to that joining $O$ with $P_2$ (see Figure \ref{fig:1}). In general, at the $n$-th Poisson event, the particle is located at the point $P_n$ and starts moving on the circumference orthogonal to the geodesic curve passing through $P_n$ and the origin $O$ (consult again Figure \ref{fig:1}). At each Poisson event the particle moves from the reached position $P$ clockwise or counter-clockwise (with probability $\frac{1}{2}$) on the circumference orthogonal to the geodesic line passing through $P$ and $O$. \begin{figure}[t] \centering \includegraphics[width=11.96cm, height=6.992cm, clip ]{fig2.pdf} \caption{In the first three figures a sample path where the particle chooses the outward direction is depicted. In the last one a trajectory with one step moving towards the origin is depicted.} \label{fig:1} \end{figure} The hyperbolic length of the arc run by the particle during the inter-time between two successive changes of direction, occurring at $t_{k-1}$ and $t_k$ respectively, is given by $c(t_k-t_{k-1})$, with $k \ge 1$ and $t_0=0$. The velocity $c$ is assumed to be the constant hyperbolic velocity \begin{equation} c=\frac{\mathrm{d}s}{\mathrm{d}t}=\frac{1}{y}\sqrt{\frac{\mathrm{d}x^2+\mathrm{d}y^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}}. \end{equation} The Cartesian coordinates of the points $P_k$, where the changes of direction occur, can be explicitly evaluated, but they are not important in our analysis because we study only the evolution of the hyperbolic distance from the origin of the moving particle. The construction outlined above shows that the arcs $OP_{k-1}$, $P_{k-1}P_{k}$, and $OP_k$ form right triangles with the vertex of the right angle at $P_{k-1}$.\\ In force of the hyperbolic Pythagorean theorem we have that \begin{equation} \cosh \mathrm{d}(OP_{k})=\cosh \mathrm{d}(OP_{k-1}) \cosh \mathrm{d}(P_{k-1}P_{k}). \end{equation} The hyperbolic distance $\eta(t)$ of the moving point $P_t$ after $n$ changes of direction is thus given by \begin{eqnarray} \label{prod} \cosh \eta(t)&=&\cosh \mathrm{d}(OP_t) \nonumber\\ &=&\cosh \mathrm{d}(P_n P_t) \cosh \mathrm{d}(OP_n) \nonumber\\ &=&\cosh c(t-t_n)\prod_{k=1}^{n}\cosh c(t_k-t_{k-1})\nonumber\\ &=& \prod_{k=1}^{n+1} \cosh c(t_k-t_{k-1}), \end{eqnarray} where $t_0=0$ and $t_{n+1}=t$. The instants $t_k$, $k=0,1,\dots,n$ are uniformly distributed in the set \begin{equation} T=\{0=t_0<t_1< \cdots <t_k< \cdots <t_n<t_{n+1}=t\}. \end{equation} This means that $\cosh \eta(t)$, defined in (\ref{prod}), can be viewed as the hyperbolic distance from $O$ of the moving particle for fixed time points of the underlying Poisson process and for a fixed number $N(t)=n$ of changes of direction. We remark that the geodesic distance (\ref{prod}) depends on how much time the particle spends on each geodesic curve (but not on the chosen direction). Of course, (\ref{prod}) depends on the number $n$ of changes of direction and on the speed $c$ of the moving particle, as well. \begin{figure}[h] \centering \subfigure[N=2, t=6] {\includegraphics[width=5cm]{2t=6n=2.pdf}} \subfigure[N=2, t=25] {\includegraphics[width=5cm]{t=25n=2.pdf}}\\ \subfigure[N=2, t=40] {\includegraphics[width=5cm]{t=40n=2.pdf}} \subfigure[N=2, t=50] {\includegraphics[width=5cm]{t=50n=2.pdf}} \caption{The set of all possible points reachable by the process for different values of $t$ is drawn. In each domain a trajectory of the process, with $c=0.05$ and $N(t)=2$, is depicted.} \label{kkk33} \end{figure} The set of possible positions at different times $t$ is depicted in Figure \ref{kkk33}. The vertices $A$ and $B$ are reached when the particle never changes direction, whereas $C$ and $D$ are reached if the deviation occurs immediately after the start. The ensemble of points having the same hyperbolic distance from $O$ at time $t$, forms the circle with center $C=(0, \cosh \eta(t))$ and radius $\sinh \eta(t)$. Since \begin{equation} \cosh \eta(t)=\prod_{k=1}^{n+1}\cosh c(t_k-t_{k-1}), \end{equation} the ordinate of the center $C$ is obtained by successively multiplying the ordinates of the centers of equally distant points at each step. For the radius, however, such a fine interpretation is not possible (the radii do not exhibit the same multiplicative behavior) but nevertheless we will study their product \begin{equation} \label{ggg} \prod_{k=1}^{n+1}\sinh c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \end{equation} because \begin{equation} \sinh \eta(t) \ge \prod_{k=1}^{n+1}\sinh c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \end{equation} and (\ref{ggg}) represents a lower bound for the circle of equally distant points at time $t$. \section{The Equations Related to the Mean Hyperbolic Distance} In this section we study the conditional and unconditional mean values of the hyperbolic distance $\eta(t)$. Our first result concerns the derivation of the equations satisfied by the mean values \begin{eqnarray} \label{bobo} E_n(t) &=&E\{\cosh \eta(t)\| N(t)=n\} \\ &=&\frac{n!}{t^n}\int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \int_{t_1}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_2 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n+1} \cosh c(t_k-t_{k-1})\nonumber \\ &=&\frac{n!}{t^n} I_n(t), \nonumber \end{eqnarray} where \begin{equation}I_n(t)=\int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n+1} \cosh c(t_k-t_{k-1}),\end{equation} and by \begin{eqnarray}\label{ser} E(t)&=&E\{\cosh \eta(t)\} \\ &=&\sum_{n=0}^{\infty} E\{\cosh\eta(t)\|N(t)=n\}Pr\{N(t)=n\} \nonumber \\ &=&e^{-\lambda t}\sum_{n=0}^{\infty}\lambda^n I_n(t). \nonumber \end{eqnarray} At first, we state the following result concerning the evaluation of the integrals $I_n(t)$, $n \ge 1$. \begin{lem} \label{integ} The functions \begin{equation} \label{integ22} I_n(t)=\int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \int_{t_1}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_2 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n+1} \cosh c(t_k-t_{k-1}), \end{equation} with $t_0=0$ and $t_{n+1}=t$, satisfy the difference-differential equations \begin{equation} \label{rrrro} \frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}I_n=\frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}I_{n-1}+ c^2 I_n \end{equation} where $t >0$, $n \ge 1$, and $I_{0}(t)=\cosh{ct}$. \end{lem} \Dim We first note that \begin{eqnarray} \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}I_n&=&\int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots\int_{t_{n-2}}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_{n-1}\prod_{k=1}^{n}\cosh c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \\ &+&c\int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots\int_{t_{n-1}}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_n\prod_{k=1}^{n}\cosh c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \sinh c(t-t_n)\nonumber \\ &=&I_{n-1}+c\int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots\int_{t_{n-1}}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_n\prod_{k=1}^{n}\cosh c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \sinh c(t-t_n) \nonumber \end{eqnarray} and therefore \begin{eqnarray} \label{18:53kinder} \frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}I_n &=&\frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}I_{n-1}+c^2\int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots\int_{t_{n-1}}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_n\prod_{k=1}^{n+1}\cosh c(t_k-t_{k-1})\nonumber \\ &=&\frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}I_{n-1}+c^2I_n. \end{eqnarray} \Fine In view of Lemma \ref{integ} we can prove also the following: \begin{teo} \label{teo32} The mean value $E(t)=E\{\cosh \eta(t)\}$ satisfies the second-order linear homogeneous differential equation \begin{equation} \frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}E(t)=-\lambda \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}E(t)+c^2E(t) \end{equation} with initial conditions \begin{equation} \label{arke} \left\{ \begin{array}{lr} E(0)=1, \\ \left. \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t} E(t)\right\|_{t=0}=0. \end{array} \right. \end{equation}\\ The explicit value of the mean hyperbolic distance is therefore \begin{equation} \label{en} E(t)=e^{-\frac{\lambda t}{2}}\left\{\cosh \frac{t\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}}{2}+\frac{\lambda}{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}}\sinh \frac{t\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}}{2} \right\}. \end{equation} \end{teo} \Dim From (\ref{ser}), it follows that \begin{equation}\label{eq} \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}E(t)=-\lambda E(t)+ e^{-\lambda t} \sum_{n=0}^{\infty}\lambda^n \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}I_n \end{equation} and thus, in view of (\ref{18:53kinder}) and by letting $I_{-1}=0$, we have that \begin{eqnarray} \label{15:58uovo} &&\frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}E(t) \nonumber \\ &&=-\lambda\frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}E(t)-\lambda \left( \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t} E(t)+ \lambda E(t) \right)+ e^{-\lambda t}\sum_{n=0}^{\infty}\lambda^n \left( \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}I_{n-1}+c^2 I_n \right) \nonumber \\ &&=-2 \lambda \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}E(t)- \lambda^2 E(t)+ c^2 E(t)+ e^{-\lambda t}\sum_{n=0}^{\infty} \lambda^n \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}I_{n-1} \nonumber \\ &&=-2\lambda\frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}E(t)-\lambda^2 E(t)+ c^2 E(t)+\lambda \left( \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}E(t)+\lambda E(t) \right) \nonumber \\ &&=-\lambda \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}E(t)+c^2 E(t). \end{eqnarray} While it is straightforward to see that the first condition in (\ref{arke}) is verified, the second one needs some explanations: if we write \begin{equation} \label{ago} \left. \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t} E(t) \right\|_{t=0}=\lim_{\Delta t \downarrow 0} \frac{E(\Delta t)-1 }{\Delta t} \end{equation} and observe that \begin{eqnarray} \label{conduco} &&E(\Delta t) \\ &&=(1-\lambda \Delta t) \cosh c \Delta t + \lambda \int_{0}^{\Delta t}\cosh ct_1 \cosh c(\Delta t -t_1) \mathrm{d}t_1+\mathrm{o}(\Delta t) \nonumber \\ &&=(1-\lambda \Delta t) \cosh c \Delta t + \frac{\lambda \Delta t}{2} \cosh c \Delta t+\frac{\lambda}{2c}\sinh{c \Delta t} +\mathrm{o}(\Delta t), \nonumber \end{eqnarray} by substituting (\ref{conduco}) in (\ref{ago}), the second condition emerges. The integral in (\ref{conduco}) represents the mean value $E\{ \cosh \eta(\Delta t)\| N(\Delta t)=1\}$ and is in fact evaluated by applying the Pythagorean hyperbolic theorem, as in (\ref{bobo}), for $k=1$ and $t=\Delta t$. The general solution to equation (\ref{15:58uovo}) has the form \begin{equation} \label{gen} E(t)=e^{-\frac{\lambda t}{2}}\left\{\mathrm{A}e^{\frac{t}{2}\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}}+\mathrm{B} e^{-\frac{t}{2}\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}}\right\}. \end{equation} By imposing the initial conditions, the constants $A$ and $B$ can be evaluated and coincide with: \begin{equation} \label{con} A= \frac{\lambda+\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}}{2\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}}, \;\;\;\;\;\;\;\;\;\;\; B=\frac{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}-\lambda}{2\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}}. \end{equation} From (\ref{gen}) and (\ref{con}) we obtain \begin{equation} \label{aitia} E(t)=\frac{e^{-\frac{\lambda t}{2}}}{2}\left\{ \frac{\lambda+\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}}{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}}e^{\frac{t}{2}\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}}+ \frac{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}-\lambda}{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}}e^{-\frac{t}{2}\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}} \right\} \nonumber \end{equation} so that (\ref{en}) emerges. \Fine \begin{oss} The mean value $E(t)$ tends to infinity as $t \to \infty$ so that the moving particle, in the long run, either reaches the $x$ axis or moves away towards the infinity. Of course, if $c=0$ we have that $E(t)=1$, and for $\lambda \to \infty$ we have again that $E(t)=1$ because in both cases the particle cannot leave the starting point. If $\lambda \to 0$ we get $E(t)=\cosh ct$ because the particle will simply move on the basic geodesic line and its hyperbolic distance grows linearly with $t$. We note that the hyperbolic distance itself tends to infinity as $t \to \infty$ because \begin{equation} \label{22agosto} \lim_{t \to \infty} \cosh \eta(t)= \prod_{k=1}^{\infty} \cosh \mathrm{d}(P_k P_{k-1})= \infty \end{equation} and (\ref{22agosto}) is the infinite product of terms bigger than one. \end{oss} \begin{oss} By taking into account the difference-differential equation (\ref{rrrro}), or directly from (\ref{bobo}), it follows that the conditional mean values $E_n(t)$ satisfy the following equation with non-constant coefficients \begin{equation} \label{17:37inglese} \frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}E_n+\frac{2n}{t}\frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}E_n-\frac{n}{t}\frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}E_{n-1}+\frac{n^2-n}{t^2}(E_n-E_{n-1})-c^2E_{n}=0. \end{equation} \end{oss} In order to obtain the explicit value of the conditional mean value $E_n(t)$ it is convenient to perform a series expansion of $E(t)$, instead of solving the difference-differential equation (\ref{17:37inglese}). In this way we can prove the following result. \begin{teo} The conditional mean values $E_n(t)$, $n \ge 1$, can be expressed as \begin{eqnarray} \label{koine} E_n(t)&=&\sum_{r=0}^{\left[\frac{n}{2} \right] }\frac{1}{2^{n}} \frac{n!}{(n-2r)!} \sum_{j=0}^{\infty} \binom{r+j}{j} \frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2r+2j)!} \\ &+& \sum_{r=0}^{\left[ \frac{n-1}{2} \right]} \frac{1}{2^{n}} \frac{n!}{(n-2r-1)!} \sum_{j=0}^{\infty} \binom{r+j}{j} \frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2r+2j+1)!} \nonumber \end{eqnarray} \end{teo} \Dim By expanding the hyperbolic functions in (\ref{en}) we have that \begin{eqnarray} \label{18:49naso} E(t)&=&e^{-\frac{\lambda t}{2}} \left[ \sum_{k=0}^{\infty} \frac{1}{(2k)!} \left( \frac{t}{2}\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2} \right)^{2k} \right. \\ &+& \left. \frac{\lambda}{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}} \sum_{k=0}^{\infty} \frac{1}{(2k+1)!} \left(\frac{t}{2} \sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2} \right)^{2k+1} \right] \nonumber. \end{eqnarray} By applying the Newton binomial formula to the terms in the round brackets and by expanding $e^{\frac{\lambda t}{2}}$ it follows that \begin{eqnarray} E(t)& = & e^{-\lambda t} \sum_{m=0}^{\infty}\frac{1}{m!} \left( \frac{\lambda t}{2} \right)^{m} \left[ \sum_{k=0}^{\infty} \frac{1}{(2k)!} \left(\frac{t}{2} \right)^{2k} \sum_{r=0}^{k} \binom{k}{r} \lambda^{2r} (2c)^{2k-2r} \right. \nonumber \\ & + & \left. \lambda \sum_{k=0}^{\infty} \frac{1}{(2k+1)!} \left(\frac{t}{2} \right)^{2k+1} \sum_{r=0}^{k} \binom{k}{r} \lambda^{2r} (2c)^{2k-2r} \right] . \end{eqnarray} Finally, interchanging the summation order, it results that \begin{eqnarray} \label{sab 10:54} && E(t) \\ && = e^{-\lambda t} \left[ \sum_{m=0}^{\infty} \sum_{r=0}^{\infty} \frac{1}{m! r!} \left( \frac{\lambda t}{2} \right)^{2r+m} \frac{(2r+m)!}{(2r+m)!}\sum_{j=0}^{\infty} \frac{(r+j)!}{j!} \frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2r+2j)!} \right. \nonumber \\ && + \left. \sum_{m=0}^{\infty} \sum_{r=0}^{\infty} \frac{1}{m! r!} \left( \frac{\lambda t}{2} \right)^{2r+m+1} \frac{(2r+m+1)!}{(2r+m+1)!}\sum_{j=0}^{\infty} \frac{(r+j)!}{j!} \frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2r+2j+1)!} \right]. \nonumber \end{eqnarray}\\ Since \begin{equation} \label{18:43violetta} E(t)=e^{-\lambda t} \sum_{n=0}^{\infty} \frac{(\lambda t)^n}{n!} E_n(t), \end{equation} from (\ref{sab 10:54}) and (\ref{18:43violetta}), we have that \begin{eqnarray} \label{mmm} &&E_n(t) \\ &&= \sum_{m,\,r:\;2r+m=n} \frac{1}{2^{2r+m}} \frac{(2r+m)!}{m!} \sum_{j=0}^{\infty} \binom{r+j}{j} \frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2r+2j)!}\nonumber \\ &&+ \sum_{m,\,r:\; 2r+m+1=n } \frac{1}{2^{2r+m+1}} \frac{(2r+m+1)!}{m!} \sum_{j=0}^{\infty} \binom{r+j}{j} \frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2r+2j+1)!} \nonumber \\ &&= \sum_{r=0}^{\left[\frac{n}{2} \right] }\frac{1}{2^{n}} \frac{n!}{(n-2r)!} \sum_{j=0}^{\infty} \binom{r+j}{j} \frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2r+2j)!} \nonumber \\ &&+ \sum_{r=0}^{\left[ \frac{n-1}{2} \right]} \frac{1}{2^{n}} \frac{n!}{(n-2r-1)!} \sum_{j=0}^{\infty} \binom{r+j}{j} \frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2r+2j+1)!}, \nonumber \end{eqnarray} and this represents the explicit form of the conditional mean values. \Fine \begin{oss} We check formula (\ref{koine}) by evaluating the mean value $E_n(t)$ for $n=0,1,2,3$. It can be noted that for $n=0$ only the term $r=0$ of the first sum in (\ref{koine}) must be considered, so that \begin{equation} E\{\cosh \eta(t)\| N(t)=0\}=\sum_{j=0}^{\infty}\frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2j)!}=\cosh ct. \end{equation} For $n=1$ both sums of (\ref{koine}) contribute to the mean value with the $r=0$ term \begin{eqnarray} E\{\cosh \eta(t)\| N(t)=1\}&=&\frac{1}{2}\sum_{j=0}^{\infty}\frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2j)!}+\frac{1}{2}\sum_{j=0}^{\infty}\frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2j+1)!}\nonumber \\ &=&\frac{1}{2}\cosh ct+ \frac{1}{2ct}\sinh ct. \end{eqnarray} For $n=2$ we have two terms in the first sum (corresponding to $r=0,1$) and the term $r=0$ in the second sum, so that \begin{eqnarray} E\{\cosh \eta(t)\|N(t)=2\}&=& \frac{1}{2^2}\sum_{j=0}^{\infty}\frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2j)!}+\frac{1}{2}\sum_{j=0}^{\infty} \binom{j+1}{j}\frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2j+2)!}\nonumber \\ &+&\frac{1}{2}\sum_{j=0}^{\infty}\frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2j+1)!} \nonumber \\ &=&\frac{1}{2^2}\cosh ct+ \left( \frac{1}{2^2 ct}+\frac{1}{2ct}\right)\sinh ct. \end{eqnarray} For $n=3$ we need to consider two terms in both sums \begin{eqnarray} &&E\{\cosh \eta(t)\|N(t)=3\} \\ &&=\frac{1}{2^3}\sum_{j=0}^{\infty}\frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2j)!}+\frac{3!}{2^3}\sum_{j=0}^{\infty} \binom{j+1}{j}\frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2j+2)!} \nonumber \\ &&+\frac{3}{2^3}\sum_{j=0}^{\infty} \frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2j+1)!}+\frac{3}{2^2}\sum_{j=0}^{\infty}\binom{j+1}{j}\frac{(ct)^{2j}}{(2j+3)!} \nonumber \\ &&=\left(\frac{1}{2^3}+\frac{3}{2^3(ct)^2}\right)\cosh ct+ \left( \frac{6}{2^3 ct}-\frac{3}{(2ct)^3}\right)\sinh ct. \nonumber \end{eqnarray} The same results can be obtained directly from (\ref{bobo}) by successive integrations. \end{oss} For each step the ensemble of points with hyperbolic distance equal to $c(t_k-t_{k-1})$ forms a Euclidean circumference $C_k$ with radius $\sinh c(t_k-t_{k-1})$ and center located at $(0, \cosh c(t_k-t_{k-1}))$. At time $t$, if $n$ steps have occurred, the set of points $C_t$ with hyperbolic distance equal to $\eta(t)$ is a circumference with center at $(0, \cosh \eta(t))$ and radius $\sinh \eta(t)$. Clearly \begin{equation} \cosh \eta(t)= \prod_{k=1}^{n+1} \cosh c(t_k-t_{k-1})\end{equation} so that the ordinate of the center of $C_t$ is equal to the product of the ordinates of $C_k$. However \begin{eqnarray} \sinh \eta(t)&=& \sqrt{1+ \cosh^2 \eta(t)} \\ &=&\sqrt{1+\prod_{k=1}^{n+1} \cosh^2 c(t_k-t_{k-1})} \nonumber \\ &\ge& \prod_{k=1}^{n+1} \sinh c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \nonumber \end{eqnarray} and this shows that the quantity $\prod_{k=1}^{n+1} \sinh c(t_k-t_{k-1})$ represents a lower bound of the radius of the circle $C_t$. \begin{teo} \label{17:02nervi} The functions \begin{equation} J_n(t)=\int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1\int_{t_1}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_2 \cdots\int_{t_{n-1}}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_n\prod_{k=1}^{n+1}\sinh c(t_k-t_{k-1}), \end{equation} where $t_0=0$, $t_{n+1}=t>0$, and $n\ge 1$, take the form \begin{equation} \label{19:39orologio} J_n(t)= \frac{t^{2n+1}c^{n+1}}{n!} \sum_{r=0}^{\infty} \frac{(n+r)!}{r!} \frac{(ct)^{2r}}{(2r+2n+1)!}, \end{equation} where $J_0(t)=\sinh{ct}$. \end{teo} \Dim We first note that the functions $J_n(t)$, $n \ge 1$, $t>0$ satisfy the difference-differential equations \begin{equation}\label{hoho} \frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}J_n=cJ_{n-1}+c^2J_n, \hspace{1.2cm} n \ge 1, \hspace{0.16cm} t>0. \end{equation} Since \begin{equation} \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}J_{n}=c \int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n} \sinh c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \cosh c(t-t_n), \end{equation} we have that \begin{eqnarray} \frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}J_{n}&=& c \int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-2}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_{n-1} \prod_{k=1}^{n} \sinh c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \nonumber \\ & + &c^2 \int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d} t_{n} \prod_{k=1}^{n+1} \sinh c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \nonumber \\ & = & c J_{n-1}+c^2 J_n. \end{eqnarray} From (\ref{hoho}), we have that the generating function \begin{equation} \label{19:37nervi} G(s,t)=\sum_{n=0}^{\infty}s^n J_n \end{equation} satisfies the differential equation \begin{equation}\label{lego} \frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}G=c(s+c)G. \end{equation} In fact, by (\ref{hoho}), we have \begin{equation} \sum_{n=0}^{\infty}s^n \frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}J_n=cs\sum_{n=0}^{\infty}s^{n-1}J_{n-1}+c^2 \sum_{n=0}^{\infty} s^n J_n \end{equation} and this easily yields (\ref{lego}). Considering that the general solution to (\ref{lego}) is \begin{equation} \label{sofia} G(s,t)=\mathrm{A}e^{t \sqrt{c(s+c)}}+\mathrm{B}e^{-t\sqrt{c(s+c)}} \end{equation} and that $G(s, t)$ satisfies the initial conditions \begin{equation} \label{matr} \left\{ \begin{array}{lr} G(s,0)=0, \\ \left. \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}G(s,t)\right\|_{t=0}=c, \end{array} \right. \end{equation} it follows that \begin{equation} \label{dod} G(s,t)=\frac{\sqrt{c}}{\sqrt{s+c}} \sinh t \sqrt{c(s+c)}. \end{equation} By expanding the $\sinh$ function in (\ref{dod}) we obtain that \begin{eqnarray} G(s,t)&=& \sqrt{\frac{c}{s+c}} \sum_{k=0}^{\infty} \frac{(t \sqrt{c(s+c)})^{2k+1}}{(2k+1)!} = \sum_{k=0}^{\infty} \frac{t^{2k+1}c^{k+1}(s+c)^k}{(2k+1)!} \nonumber \\ &=& \sum_{k=0}^{\infty} \sum_{j=0}^{k}\binom{k}{j} s^j c^{k-j} \frac{t^{2k+1}c^{k+1}}{(2k+1)!}= \sum_{j=0}^{\infty} s^j \left\{ \sum_{k=j}^{\infty}\binom{k}{j} c^{k-j} \frac{t^{2k+1}c^{k+1}}{(2k+1)!} \right\} \nonumber \\ &=& \sum_{j=0}^{\infty} s^j \left\{ \frac{t^{2j+1}c^{j+1}}{j!} \sum_{r=0}^{\infty}\frac{(j+r)!}{r!} \frac{(ct)^{2r}}{(2r+2j+1)!} \right\} \end{eqnarray} and, in view of (\ref{19:37nervi}), formula (\ref{19:39orologio}) appears. \Fine \begin{oss} We consider the quantity \begin{eqnarray} \label{sab1 11:45} \sum_{n=0}^{\infty} \frac{n!}{t^n} J_n(t) Pr\{N(t)=n\}&=&e^{-\lambda t} \sum_{n=0}^{\infty} \lambda^n J_n(t)=e^{-\lambda t} G(\lambda, t ) \\ &=&e^{-\lambda t} \frac{\sqrt{c}}{\sqrt{\lambda +c}} \sinh t \sqrt{c(\lambda+c)} \nonumber \end{eqnarray} which represents a lower bound for mean values of the radius of the circle $C$ of points with equal hyperbolic distance from the origin at time $t$. We note that the bound (\ref{sab1 11:45}) increases if \begin{equation} c^2+c \lambda - \lambda^2 >0. \end{equation} For large values of $\lambda$ the radius of the circle $C$ tends to decrease because the particle often changes direction and hardly leaves the starting point $O$. \end{oss} \section{About the Higher Moments of the Hyperbolic Distance} In this section we study the conditional and unconditional higher moments of the hyperbolic distance $\eta(t)$. Our first results concern the derivation of the equations satisfied by the second-order moments \begin{eqnarray} M_n(t)&=&E\{\cosh^2 \eta(t)\| N(t)=n\} \\ &=& \frac{n!}{t^n}\int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \int_{t_1}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_2 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n+1} \cosh^2 c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \nonumber \\ &=&\frac{n!}{t^n}U_n(t), \nonumber \end{eqnarray} where \begin{equation} U_n(t)=\int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n+1} \cosh^2 c(t_k-t_{k-1}), \end{equation} and by \begin{eqnarray} \label{10:33} M(t)&=&E\{\cosh^2 \eta(t)\} \\ &=& \sum_{n=0}^{\infty}E\{\cosh^2 \eta(t)\|N(t)=n\} Pr\{ N(t)=n\} \nonumber \\ &=&e^{-\lambda t } \sum_{n=0}^{\infty} \lambda^n U_n(t). \nonumber \end{eqnarray} At first, we state the following results concerning the evaluation of the integrals $U_n(t)$, $n \ge 1$. \begin{lem} \label{integ1} The functions \begin{equation}\label{filia} U_n(t)=\int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \int_{t_1}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_2 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n+1} \cosh^2 c(t_k-t_{k-1}), \end{equation} with $t_0=0$ and $t_{n+1}=t$, satisfy the following third-order difference-differential equations \begin{equation} \label{ro} \frac{\mathrm{d}^3}{\mathrm{d}t^3}U_n=\frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}U_{n-1}+ 4 c^2 \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t} U_n -2 c^2 U_{n-1}, \end{equation} where $t>0$, $n \ge 1$, and $U_{0}(t)=\cosh^2{ct}$. \end{lem} \Dim We first note that \begin{eqnarray}\label{agape} &&\frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d} t} U_n \\ &&=\int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-2}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_{n-1} \prod_{k=1}^{n} \cosh^2 c(t_k-t_{k-1})\nonumber \\ &&+2c \int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_{n} \prod_{k=1}^{n} \cosh^2 c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \cosh c(t-t_n) \sinh{c(t-t_n)}\nonumber \\ &&=U_{n-1}\nonumber \\ &&+2c \int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_{n} \prod_{k=1}^{n} \cosh^2 c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \cosh c(t-t_n) \sinh{c(t-t_n)}. \nonumber \end{eqnarray} A further derivation yields \begin{eqnarray}\label{kokko} &&\frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d} t^2} U_n \\ &&=\frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}U_{n-1}+2c^2 \int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_{n} \prod_{k=1}^{n+1} \cosh^2 c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \nonumber \\ &&+2c^2 \int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_{n} \prod_{k=1}^{n} \cosh^2 c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \sinh^2 c(t-t_n)\nonumber \\ &&= \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}U_{n-1}+2c^2U_n\nonumber \\ &&+2c^2 \int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_{n} \prod_{k=1}^{n} \cosh^2 c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \sinh^2 c(t-t_n).\nonumber \end{eqnarray} Since it is not possible to express the integral in (\ref{kokko}) in terms of $U_n$ and its first two derivatives, a further derivation is necessary, that, in view of (\ref{agape}), leads to the following third-order difference-differential equation \begin{eqnarray} \frac{\mathrm{d}^3}{\mathrm{d} t^3} U_n &=& \frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}U_{n-1}+2c^2 \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}U_n \\ &+&2^2c^3 \int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_{n} \prod_{k=1}^{n} \cosh^2 c(t_k-t_{k-1})\nonumber \\ &\cdot& \sinh c(t-t_n) \cosh c(t-t_n)\nonumber \\ &=&\frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}U_{n-1}+ 2 c^2 \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t} U_n+2c^2 \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}U_n -2 c^2 U_{n-1}. \nonumber \end{eqnarray} \Fine In view of Lemma \ref{integ1} we can prove also the following: \begin{teo} \label{teo42} The function $M(t)=E\{\cosh^2 \eta(t)\}$ satisfies the third-order linear differential equation \begin{eqnarray} \label{agathos} \frac{\mathrm{d}^3}{\mathrm{d}t^3}M(t)&=&-2\lambda\frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2} M(t)+(4c^2-\lambda^2)\frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}M(t)+2c^2\lambda M(t), \end{eqnarray} with initial conditions \begin{equation}\label{kairos} \left\{ \begin{array}{lr} M(0)=1, \\ \left. \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}M(t)\right\|_{t=0}=0,\\ \left.\frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}M(t) \right\|_{t=0}=2c^2. \end{array} \right. \end{equation} \end{teo} \Dim By multiplying both members of (\ref{ro}) by $\lambda^n$ and summing up we have that \begin{eqnarray} \frac{\mathrm{d}^3}{\mathrm{d}t^3}\sum_{n=0}^{\infty}\lambda^n U_n &=&\lambda\frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}\sum_{n=1}^{\infty}\lambda^{n-1} U_{n-1}+4c^2 \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}\sum_{n=0}^{\infty}\lambda^n U_n \nonumber \\ &-&2c^2\lambda \sum_{n=1}^{\infty}\lambda^{n-1} U_{n-1}, \end{eqnarray} and also \begin{equation} \frac{\mathrm{d}^3}{\mathrm{d}t^3}\left( e^{\lambda t} M(t) \right) =\lambda \frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}\left( e^{\lambda t} M(t) \right)+ 4c^2 \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}\left( e^{\lambda t} M(t) \right)-2c^2 \lambda e^{\lambda t} M(t), \end{equation} so that, after some manipulations, equation (\ref{agathos}) appears. While the first condition in (\ref{kairos}) is obvious, the second one can be inferred from (\ref{agape}) as follows \begin{eqnarray} \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}\left(e^{\lambda t}M(t) \right)&=&\frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t} \sum_{n=0}^{\infty}\lambda^n U_n= \sum_{n=0}^{\infty}\lambda^n U_{n-1} \\ &+&2c\sum_{n=0}^{\infty}\lambda^n \int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_{n} \prod_{k=1}^{n} \cosh^2 c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \nonumber \\ &\cdot& \cosh c(t-t_n) \sinh{c(t-t_n)} \nonumber \end{eqnarray} and also \begin{eqnarray} \lambda e^{\lambda t} M(t)&+&e^{\lambda t}\frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t} M(t)=\lambda e^{\lambda t} M(t) \nonumber \\ &+&2c \sum_{n=0}^{\infty}\lambda^n \int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_{n} \prod_{k=1}^{n} \cosh^2 c(t_k-t_{k-1})\nonumber \\ &\cdot& \cosh c(t-t_n) \sinh{c(t-t_n)}, \nonumber \end{eqnarray} i.e., \begin{equation} \label{10:44 lun} \left. \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t} M(t)\right\|_{t=0}=0 \end{equation} since $\left. 2c \cosh ct \sinh ct \right\|_{t=0}$=0. By differentiating twice (\ref{10:33}) and by taking into account (\ref{kokko}), we have that \begin{eqnarray} \lambda^2 e^{\lambda t} M&+&2\lambda e^{\lambda t} \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t} M +e^{\lambda t} \frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2} M= e^{\lambda t} \left( \lambda^2 M+ \lambda \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t} M \right)+2c^2 e^{\lambda t} M\\ &+&2c^2 \sum_{n=0}^{\infty}\lambda^n \int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_{n} \prod_{k=1}^{n} \cosh^2 c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \sinh^2{c(t-t_n)}, \nonumber \end{eqnarray} and therefore, by considering (\ref {10:44 lun}), we obtain the second condition of (\ref{kairos}). \Fine In order to solve the differential equation (\ref{agathos}) we need to first solve the related third-order algebraic equation \begin{equation} r^3+2 \lambda r^2- (4 c^2 - \lambda^2)r - 2 c^2 \lambda=0 \end{equation} which can be reduced to the standard form by means of the change of variable \begin{equation} \label{apocalupto} s=r+\frac{2 \lambda}{3}. \end{equation} This leads to \begin{equation} \label{parusia} s^3-s\left\{ \frac{\lambda^2}{3}+4 c^2 \right\}+\frac{2 \lambda}{3} \left\{ c^2- \frac{\lambda^2}{3^2} \right\}=0 \end{equation} to which the well-known Cardano formula can be applied. In fact, for the third-order equation \begin{equation} \label{unica via} s^3+p s +q=0, \end{equation} the solution can be expressed as \begin{equation} \label{cardano} s=\sqrt[3]{-\frac{q}{2}+ \sqrt{\frac{p^3}{3^3}+\frac{q^2}{2^2}}}+\sqrt[3]{-\frac{q}{2}- \sqrt{\frac{p^3}{3^3}+\frac{q^2}{2^2}}}. \end{equation} By comparing (\ref{parusia}) and (\ref{unica via}) it results \begin{equation} \frac{p^3}{3^3}+\frac{q^2}{2^2}=-\frac{c^2}{3^3}\left[ (2^3c^2+\lambda^2)^2 + \lambda^2(\lambda^2-3c^2) \right], \end{equation} \begin{equation} -\frac{q}{2}=-\frac{\lambda}{3}\left( c^2- \frac{\lambda^2}{3^2}\right). \end{equation} The simplest case is that of $c=\frac{\lambda}{3}$ for which the solutions of (\ref{parusia}) are $s_1=0$, $s_2=\sqrt{7}c$ and $s_3=-\sqrt{7}c$. After some calculations we get that \begin{equation} E\{\cosh^2 \eta(t) \}=\frac{e^{-2ct}}{7}\left\{1+6 \cosh \sqrt{7}ct+2 \sqrt{7} \sinh \sqrt{7}ct \right\}. \end{equation} Following Lemma (\ref{integ1}) we can prove a more general result: \begin{teo} The functions \begin{equation} K^m_n(t)=\int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n+1} \cosh^m c(t_k-t_{k-1}), \end{equation} with $t_0=0$ and $t_{n+1}=t$, are solutions of difference-differential equations of order $m+1$. \end{teo} \Dim For $m=1$ and $m=2$ this statement has already been shown above since, in Theorem \ref{teo32} and Theorem \ref{teo42}, we have obtained that \begin{equation} \frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2} K^1_{n}+\lambda \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t} K^1_{n-1}-c^2 K_n^1 =0, \end{equation} and \begin{equation} \frac{\mathrm{d}^3}{\mathrm{d}t^3} K^2_{n}-\frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2} K^2_{n-1}-4 c^2 \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t} K_n^2+2 c^2 K_{n-1}^2 =0. \end{equation}\\ We easily see that \begin{eqnarray} \label{deloi} \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t} K^m_{n}&=& K^m_{n-1} \\ &+& c\, m \int_{0}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n} \cosh^m c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \nonumber \\ &\cdot&\cosh^{m-1}c(t-t_n) \sinh c(t-t_n), \nonumber \end{eqnarray} and \begin{eqnarray} \label{talassa} \frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2} K^m_{n}&=& \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t} K^m_{n-1}+ c^2 m K_n^{m} \\ &+& c^2 m (m-1) \int_{0}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n} \cosh^m c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \nonumber \\ &\cdot& \cosh^{m-2}c(t-t_n) \sinh^2 c(t-t_n). \nonumber \end{eqnarray} In view of (\ref{deloi}) it also results \begin{eqnarray} \label{gulaxsa} \frac{\mathrm{d}^3}{\mathrm{d}t^3} K^m_{n}&=& \frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2} K^m_{n-1}+ c^2 m \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t} K_n^{m} + 2 c^2 (m-1) \left\{ \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}K_{n}^m-K_{n-1}^m \right\} \nonumber \\ &+&c^3 m (m-1) (m-2) \int_{0}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n} \cosh^m c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \nonumber \\ &\cdot& \cosh^{m-3}c(t-t_n) \sinh^3 c(t-t_n). \end{eqnarray}\\ After $(m-1)$ derivatives the following equation is obtained \begin{eqnarray} \label{deloo} \frac{\mathrm{d}^{m-1}}{\mathrm{d}t^{m-1}} K^m_{n}&=& \frac{\mathrm{d}^{m-2}}{\mathrm{d}t^{m-2}} K^m_{n-1}+ c^2 m \frac{\mathrm{d}^{m-3}}{\mathrm{d}t^{m-3}} K_n^{m} + \cdots + \nonumber \\ &&+ c^{m-1} m (m-1) \cdots (m-(m-1)+1) \nonumber \\ &\cdot& \int_{0}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n} \cosh^m c(t_k-t_{k-1})\nonumber \\ &\cdot & \cosh c(t-t_n) \sinh^{m-1} c(t-t_n), \end{eqnarray} and the next derivative gives \begin{eqnarray} \label{manthano} &&\frac{\mathrm{d}^{m}}{\mathrm{d}t^{m}} K^m_{n}= \frac{\mathrm{d}^{m-1}}{\mathrm{d}t^{m-1}} K^m_{n-1}+ c^2 m \frac{\mathrm{d}^{m-2}}{\mathrm{d}t^{m-2}} K_n^{m} + \cdots +\nonumber \\ &+& c^{m} m (m-1) \cdots 2 \nonumber \\ &\cdot& \int_{0}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n} \cosh^m c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \sinh^{m} c(t-t_n) \nonumber \\ &+& c^{m} m (m-1) \cdots 2 \cdot (m-1) \nonumber \\ &\cdot& \int_{0}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n} \cosh^m c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \nonumber \\ &\cdot& \cosh^2 c(t-t_n) \sinh^{m-2} c(t-t_n) . \end{eqnarray} The second integral of (\ref{manthano}) can be expressed in terms of the derivatives of order $(m-2)$ and lower. \\By further differentiating equation (\ref{manthano}) it turns out that, because of (\ref{deloo}), the derivative of the first integral in (\ref{manthano}) can be expressed in terms of the derivatives of order ($m-1$) and lower. The theorem is thus proved. \Fine Likewise Theorem \ref{17:02nervi}, the following theorem holds: \begin{teo} The function \begin{equation} V_{n}(t)=\int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \int_{t_1}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_2 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n+1} \sinh^2 c(t_k -t_{k-1}) \end{equation} with $t_0=0$ and $t_{n+1}=t$, satisfies the third-order difference-differential equation \begin{equation} \frac{\mathrm{d}^3}{\mathrm{d}t^3}V_{n}=4 c^2 \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}V_{n}+2c^2 V_{n-1} \end{equation} where $t>0$, $n \ge 1$, and $V_0(t)=\sinh^2 ct$. \end{teo} \Dim We first note that \begin{equation}\label{dios} \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t} V_{n}=2c \int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n} \sinh^2 c(t_k -t_{k-1}) \sinh c(t-t_n) \cosh c(t-t_n) \end{equation} and therefore \begin{equation} \frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2} V_{n}=2c^2 V_n+ 2c^2 \int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n} \sinh^2 c(t_k -t_{k-1}) \cosh^2 c(t-t_n), \end{equation} and \begin{eqnarray}\label{zeus} \frac{\mathrm{d}^3}{\mathrm{d}t^3} V_{n}&=&2 c^2 \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t} V_n+ 2 c^2 V_{n-1}\nonumber \\ &+&4 c^3 \int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n} \sinh^2 c(t_k -t_{k-1})\nonumber \\ &\cdot& \sinh c(t-t_n) \cosh c(t-t_n). \end{eqnarray} Finally, by substituting (\ref{dios}) in (\ref{zeus}), we obtain \begin{equation} \frac{\mathrm{d}^3}{\mathrm{d}t^3}V_{n}=4 c^2 \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}V_{n}+2c^2 V_{n-1}. \end{equation} \Fine \section{Motions with Jumps Backwards to the Starting Point} We here examine the planar motion dealt with so far assuming now that, at the instants of changes of direction, the particle can return to the starting point and commence its motion from scratch. The new motion and the original one are governed by the same Poisson process so that changes of direction occur simultaneously in the original as well as in the new motion starting afresh from the origin. This implies that the arcs of the original sample path and those of the new trajectories have the same hyperbolic length. However, the angles formed by successive segments differ in order to make the hyperbolic Pythagorean theorem applicable to the trajectories of the new motion. In order to make our description clearer, we consider the case where, in the interval $(0,t)$, $N(t)=n$ Poisson events ($n \ge 1$) occur and we assume that the jump to the origin happens at the first change of direction, i.e., at the instant $t_1$. The instants of changes of direction for the new motion are \begin{equation} t'_k=t_{k+1}-t_1\end{equation} where $k=0, \cdots, n$ with $t'_0=0$ and $t'_n=t-t_1$ and the hyperbolic lengths of the corresponding arcs are \begin{equation} c(t'_{k}-t'_{k-1})=c(t_{k+1}-t_k). \end{equation} Therefore, at the instant $t$, the hyperbolic distance from the origin of the particle performing the motion which has jumped back to $O$ at time $t_1$ is \begin{eqnarray} \label{gallia} \prod_{k=1}^{n} \cosh c(t'_k-t'_{k-1}) &=& \prod_{k=1}^{n} \cosh c(t_{k+1}-t_k) \nonumber \\ &=& \prod_{k=2}^{n+1} \cosh c(t_k -t_{k-1}) \end{eqnarray} where $0=t'_0<t'_1< \cdots < t'_n=t-t_1$ and $t_{k+1}=t'_k+t_1$. Formula (\ref{gallia}) shows that the new motion has an hyperbolic distance equal to that of the original motion where the first step has been deleted. However, the distance between the position $P_t$ and the origin $O$ of the moving particle which jumped back to $O$ after having reached the position $P_1$, is different from the distance of $P_t$ from $P_1$ since the angle between successive steps must be readjusted in order to apply the hyperbolic Pythagorean theorem. If we denote by $T_1$ the random instant of the return to the starting point (occurring at the first Poisson event), we have that \begin{eqnarray} \label{cisalpina} &&E\{ \cosh \eta_1(t)I_{\{ N(t) \ge 1\}} \| N(t)=n\}\\ &&=E\{ \cosh \eta (t-T_1) I_{\{T_1 \le t \}} \| N(t)=n\} \nonumber \\ &&=\int_{0}^{t} E\{ \cosh \eta (t-T_1) I_{\{ T_1 \in \mathrm{d}t_1 \}} \| N(t)=n \} \mathrm{d} t_1 \nonumber \\ &&=\int_{0}^{t} E\{ \cosh \eta (t-T_1) \|T_1=t_1, N(t)=n \} Pr\{T_1 \in \mathrm{d} t_1 \| N(t)=n\} \mathrm{d} t_1. \nonumber \end{eqnarray} By observing that \begin{eqnarray} E\{ \cosh \eta (t-T_1)\|T_1=t_1, N(t)=n \}&=&E\{ \cosh \eta (t-t_1) \| N(t)=n-1\} \nonumber \\ &=& \frac{(n-1)!}{(t-t_1)^{n-1}} I_{n-1}(t-t_1), \end{eqnarray} and that \begin{equation} Pr\{T_1 \in \mathrm{d} t_1 \|N(t)=n\}=\frac{n!}{t^n} \frac{(t-t_1)^{n-1}}{(n-1)!} \mathrm{d}t_1 \end{equation} with $0<t_1<t$, formula (\ref{cisalpina}) becomes \begin{equation} \label{17:31follia} E\{ \cosh \eta_1(t) I_{\{ N(t) \ge 1\}} \|N(t)=n\}= \frac{n!}{t^n} \int_{0}^{t} I_{n-1}(t-t_1) \mathrm{d}t_1. \end{equation} From (\ref{17:31follia}) we have that the mean hyperbolic distance for the particle which returns to $O$ at time $T_1$ has the form: \begin{eqnarray} E\{\cosh \eta_1(t) \| N(t) \ge 1\}&=&\frac{e^{-\lambda t}}{Pr\{N(t) \ge 1\}} \sum_{n=1}^{\infty} \lambda^n \int_{0}^{t} I_{n-1}(t-t_1)\mathrm{d}t_1 \nonumber \\ &=&\frac{\lambda e^{-\lambda t} }{Pr\{N(t) \ge 1\}}\int_{0}^{t} e^{\lambda (t-t_1)} E(t-t_1) \mathrm{d}t_1 \end{eqnarray} We give here a general expression for the mean value of the hyperbolic distance of a particle which returns to the origin for the last time at the $k$-th Poisson event $T_k$. We shall denote the distance by the following equivalent notation $\eta(t-T_k)=\eta_k(t)$ where the first expression underlines that the particle starts from scratch at time $T_k$ and then moves away for the remaining interval of length $t-T_k$. In the general case we have the result stated in the next theorem: \begin{teo} If $N(t) \ge k$, then the mean value of the hyperbolic distance $\eta_k$ is equal to \begin{eqnarray} \label{9:36coppa} &&E\{ \cosh \eta_k(t) \| N(t) \ge k\} \\ &&= \frac{\lambda^k e^{-\lambda t} }{Pr\{N(t) \ge k\}} \int_{0}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{k-1}}^{t} e^{\lambda(t- t_k)} E(t-t_k) \mathrm{d}t_k \nonumber \\ &&=\frac{\lambda^k e^{-\lambda t}}{Pr\{N(t) \ge k\} (k-1)!} \int_{0}^{t} e^{\lambda(t- t_k)} t_k^{k-1} E(t-t_k) \mathrm{d}t_k, \nonumber \end{eqnarray} where $E(t)$ is given by (\ref{en}). \end{teo} \Dim We start by observing that \begin{eqnarray} \label{13:49 tacchino} &&E\{ \cosh \eta_k(t) \| N(t) \ge k\} \\ &&= \sum_{n=k}^{\infty} E\{ \cosh \eta_k(t) I_{\{N(t) =n\}} \| N(t) \ge k \} \nonumber \\ &&=\sum_{n=k}^{\infty} E\{ \cosh \eta_k(t) I_{\{ N(t) \ge k\}} \| N(t)=n\} \frac{Pr\{N(t)=n\}}{Pr\{N(t) \ge k\}} \nonumber \\ &&= \sum_{n=k}^{\infty} E\{ \cosh \eta_k(t) I_{\{ N(t) \ge k\}} \| N(t)=n\} Pr\{N(t)=n \| N(t) \ge k\}. \nonumber \end{eqnarray} Since $T_k= \inf\{t: N(t)=k\}$, the conditional mean value inside the sum can be developed as follows \begin{eqnarray} &&E\{ \cosh \eta_k(t) I_{\{N(t) \ge k\}} \| N(t)=n \} \\ &&= E\{ \cosh \eta(t-T_k) I_{\{ T_k \le t\}} \|N(t)=n\} \nonumber \\ &&=\int_{0}^{t}E\{\cosh \eta(t-t_k)I_{\{T_k \in \mathrm{d}t_k\} } \|N(t)=n \} \mathrm{d}t_k\nonumber \\ &&=\int_{0}^{t}E\{\cosh \eta(t-t_k) \| T_k =t_k, N(t)=n \} Pr\{ T_k \in \mathrm{d}t_k \| N(t)=n\} \mathrm{d}t_k. \nonumber \end{eqnarray} In view of (\ref{bobo}) we have that \begin{eqnarray} E\{ \cosh \eta(t-T_k) \|T_k=t_k, N(t)=n\}&=&E\{ \cosh \eta(t-t_k)\| N(t-t_k)=n-k\} \nonumber \\ &=& \frac{(n-k)!}{(t-t_k)^{n-k}} I_{n-k}(t-t_k), \end{eqnarray} and on the base of well-known properties of the Poisson process we have that \begin{equation} Pr\{ T_k \in \mathrm{d} t_k \| N(t)=n\} = \frac{n!}{t^n} \frac{(t-t_k)^{n-k}}{(n-k)!} \frac{t_k^{k-1}}{(k-1)!} \mathrm{d}t_k \end{equation} where $0<t_k<t$. In conclusion we have that \begin{equation} E\{ \cosh \eta_k(t) I_{\{N(t) \ge k\}} \| N(t)=n\}= \frac{n!}{t^n}\frac{1}{(k-1)!} \int_{0}^{t} t_k^{k-1} I_{n-k}(t-t_k) \mathrm{d} t_k \end{equation} and, from this and (\ref{13:49 tacchino}), it follows that \begin{eqnarray} &&E\{ \cosh \eta_k(t) \| N(t) \ge k\} \\ &&= \sum_{n=k}^{\infty} \frac{n!}{t^n(k-1)!} \int_{0}^{t} t_k^{k-1} I_{n-k}(t-t_k) \mathrm{d} t_k \frac{e^{-\lambda t} (\lambda t)^n}{n! Pr\{N(t) \ge k\}} \nonumber \\ &&= \frac{ \lambda^k e^{-\lambda t} }{Pr\{N(t)\ge k\}(k-1)!} \int_{0}^{t} e^{\lambda (t-t_k)} t_k^{k-1} E(t-t_k) \mathrm{d}t_k. \nonumber \end{eqnarray} Finally, in view of Cauchy formula of multiple integrals, we obtain that \begin{eqnarray} &&\frac{ \lambda^k e^{-\lambda t} }{Pr\{N(t)\ge k\}(k-1)!} \int_{0}^{t} e^{\lambda(t- t_k)} t_k^{k-1} E(t-t_k) \mathrm{d}t_k \\ &&=\frac{\lambda^k e^{-\lambda t} }{Pr\{N(t) \ge k\}} \int_{0}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{k-1}}^{t} e^{\lambda(t- t_k)} E(t-t_k) \mathrm{d}t_k. \nonumber \end{eqnarray} \Fine \begin{teo} The mean of the hyperbolic distance of the moving particle returning to the origin at the $k$-th change of direction is \begin{eqnarray} &&E\{ \cosh \eta_k(t) \| N(t) \ge k \} \nonumber \\ &&=\frac{\lambda^k e^{-\lambda t}}{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2} Pr\{N(t) \ge k\}} \left\{ \frac{e^{At}}{A^{k-1}}- \frac{e^{Bt}}{B^{k-1}}+\sum_{i=1}^{k-1} \left( \frac{1}{B^i}-\frac{1}{A^i}\right) \frac{t^{k-i-1}}{(k-i-1)!} \right\} \nonumber \end{eqnarray}\\ where \begin{equation} \label{arkee} A=\frac{1}{2} (\lambda + \sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2} ), \;\;\;\;\;\;\;\;\;\;\;\; B=\frac{1}{2}(\lambda - \sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2} ). \end{equation} For $k=1$, the sum in (\ref{arkee}) is intended to be zero. \end{teo} \Dim We can prove (\ref{arkee}) by applying both formulas in (\ref{9:36coppa}). We start our proof by employing the first one: \begin{eqnarray} \label{9:47burro} &&E\{ \cosh \eta_k(t) \| N(t) \ge k \} \\ &&= \frac{\lambda^k e^{-\lambda t} }{Pr\{N(t) \ge k\}} \int_{0}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{k-1}}^{t} e^{\lambda (t-t_k)} E(t-t_k) \mathrm{d}t_k. \nonumber \end{eqnarray} Therefore, in view of (\ref{aitia}), formula (\ref{9:47burro}) becomes \begin{eqnarray} &&E\{ \cosh \eta_k(t) \| N(t) \ge k \} \nonumber \\ &&= \frac{\lambda^ke^{-\lambda t}}{Pr\{N(t) \ge k\}} \int_{0}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{k-1}}^{t} e^{\lambda(t-t_k)} \left\{ \frac{e^{-\frac{\lambda}{2}(t-t_k)}}{2} \left[ \left( \frac{\lambda+\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}}{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}} \right) \cdot \right. \right. \nonumber \\ && \left. e^{\frac{(t-t_k)}{2} \sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}} + \left. \left( \frac{-\lambda+\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}}{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}} \right) e^{-\frac{(t-t_k)}{2} \sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}} \right] \right\} \mathrm{d}t_k . \nonumber \end{eqnarray} By introducing $A$ and $B$ as in (\ref{arkee}), we can easily determine the $k$-fold integral \begin{eqnarray} &&E\{ \cosh \eta_k(t) \| N(t) \ge k \} \\ &&=\frac{\lambda^ke^{-\lambda t}}{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2} Pr\{N(t) \ge k\}} \int_{0}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{k-1}}^{t} \left\{ A e^{A(t-t_k)} - B e^{B(t-t_k)} \right\} \mathrm{d}t_k \nonumber \\ &&=\frac{\lambda^ke^{-\lambda t}}{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2} Pr\{N(t) \ge k\}} \int_{0}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{k-2}}^{t} \left\{ e^{A(t-t_{k-1})}-e^{B(t-t_{k-1})} \right\} \mathrm{d}t_{k-1} \nonumber \\ &&=\frac{\lambda^k e^{-\lambda t}}{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2} Pr\{N(t) \ge k\}} \int_{0}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{k-3}}^{t} \left\{ \frac{e^{A(t-t_{k-2})}}{A}-\frac{e^{B(t-t_{k-2})}}{B}+\frac{1}{B}-\frac{1}{A} \right\} \mathrm{d}t_{k-2} . \nonumber \end{eqnarray} At the $j$-th stage the integral becomes \begin{eqnarray} &&E\{ \cosh \eta_k(t) \| N(t) \ge k \} \nonumber \\ &&=\frac{\lambda^ke^{-\lambda t}}{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2} Pr\{N(t) \ge k\}} \int_{0}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{k-j-1}}^{t} \left\{ \frac{e^{A(t-t_{k-j})}}{A^{j-1}}-\frac{e^{B(t-t_{k-j})}}{B^{j-1}} \right. \nonumber \\ &&\hspace{5cm} \left. + \sum_{i=1}^{j-1}\left(\frac{1}{B^i}-\frac{1}{A^i}\right)\frac{(t-t_{k-j})^{j-i-1}}{(j-i-1)!}\right\} . \nonumber \end{eqnarray} At the $k-1$-th stage the integral becomes \begin{eqnarray} &&E\{ \cosh \eta_k(t) \| N(t) \ge k \} \\ &&=\frac{\lambda^k e^{-\lambda t}}{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2} Pr\{N(t) \ge k\}} \int_{0}^{t} \mathrm{d}t_1 \left\{ \frac{e^{A(t-t_1)}}{A^{k-2}}- \frac{e^{B(t-t_1)}}{B^{k-2}}\right. \nonumber \\ &&\hspace{4cm} \left.+\sum_{i=1}^{k-2}\left( \frac{1}{B^i}- \frac{1}{A^i}\right) \frac{ (t-t_1)^{k-i-2}}{(k-i-2)!}\right\}. \nonumber \end{eqnarray} At the $k$-th integration we obtain formula (\ref{arkee}). By means of the second formula in (\ref{9:36coppa}) and by repeated integrations by parts we can obtain again result (\ref{arkee}). \Fine \begin{oss} For $k=1$ we have that \begin{equation} \label{transalpina} E\{ \cosh \eta_1(t) \| N(t) \ge 1 \}=\frac{\lambda}{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}} \frac{\sinh \frac{t }{2} \sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}}{\sinh \frac{\lambda t}{2}}. \end{equation} It is clear that the mean value (\ref{transalpina}) tends to infinity as $t \to \infty$. Furthermore, if $\lambda, c \to \infty$ (so that $\frac{c^2}{\lambda} \to 1$) then $E\{ \cosh \eta_1(t) I_{\{N(t) \ge 1\}}\} \to e^t$. It can also be checked that if $c=0$ then $E\{ \cosh \eta_1(t) I_{\{N(t) \ge 1\}}\} =1$, since the particle never leaves the starting point. For $k=2$ formula (\ref{arkee}) yields \begin{eqnarray} \label{karamazov} E\{ \cosh \eta_2(t)\| N(t) \ge 2 \} &=& \frac{\lambda^2 e^{-\frac{\lambda t}{2}}}{c^2 Pr\{ N(t) \ge 2\}} \left( \cosh \frac{t}{2} \sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2} \right. \nonumber \\ &-& \left. \frac{\lambda}{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}} \sinh \frac{t }{2}\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}-e^{-\frac{\lambda t}{2}} \right)\nonumber \\ &=&\frac{\lambda^2}{c^2 Pr\{N(t) \ge 2\}} \left[ E\{ \cosh \eta(t)\} \right. \\ &-&\left. Pr\{ N(t) \ge 1 \} E\{ \cosh \eta_1(t) \| N(t)\ge 1 \} -e^{-\lambda t}\right] \nonumber \end{eqnarray} Since \begin{eqnarray} &&\lim_{c \to 0} \frac{1}{c^2} \left\{ \cosh \frac{t}{2} \sqrt{\lambda^2 +4c^2} - \frac{\lambda}{\sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2}} \sinh \frac{t}{2} \sqrt{\lambda^2+4c^2} - e^{-\frac{\lambda t}{2}} \right\} \nonumber \\ &&= \frac{e^{\frac{\lambda t}{2}}}{\lambda^2} Pr\{N(t) \ge 2\}, \end{eqnarray} we have, as expected, that \begin{equation} \label{13:17 bresaola} \lim_{c \to 0} E\{ \cosh \eta_2(t) \|N(t) \ge 2\}=1. \end{equation} Also, when $\lambda \to \infty$, we obtain the same limit as in (\ref{13:17 bresaola}). The expression (\ref{karamazov}) suggests the following decomposition \begin{eqnarray} E\{\cosh \eta(t)\} &=&\frac{c^2}{\lambda^2} Pr\{N(t) \ge 2\} E\{ \cosh \eta_2 (t) \| N(t) \ge 2 \}\\ &+&Pr\{N(t) \ge 1\} E\{ \cosh \eta_1(t) \| N(t) \ge 1 \} +e^{-\lambda t} \nonumber \\ &=&\frac{c^2}{\lambda^2} E\{ \cosh \eta_2 (t) I_{\{ N(t) \ge 2\}} \} + E\{ \cosh \eta_1(t) I_{\{ N(t) \ge 1\} }\} +e^{-\lambda t} \nonumber \end{eqnarray} \end{oss} \begin{oss} The result in (\ref{9:36coppa}) appears as the mean hyperbolic distance of a motion starting from the origin and running, without returns, until time $t-T_k$, where $T_k$ has a truncated Gamma distribution (Erlang distribution) with density \begin{equation} Pr\{T_k \in \mathrm{d}t_k\}= \frac{ \lambda^k e^{-\lambda t_k} t_k^{k-1} } { (k-1)! Pr\{T_k \le t\} } \mathrm{d}t_k \hspace{1cm} 0<t_k <t. \end{equation} In other words we can write (\ref{9:36coppa}) as \begin{eqnarray} \label{13:53} E\{ \cosh \eta_k (t) \| N(t) \ge k\}&=& E\{E \{ \cosh \eta(t-T_k)\}\} \\ &=& \int_{0}^{t} E\{ \cosh \eta(t-T_k) \} Pr\{T_k \in \mathrm{d}t_k\}. \nonumber \end{eqnarray} Furthermore the expression (\ref{9:36coppa}) contains a fractional integral of order $k$ for the function $g(s)=e^{\lambda s} E(s)$ \begin{eqnarray} &&E\{ \cosh \eta_k (t) \| N(t) \ge k\} \\&&= \frac{\lambda^k}{ \sum_{j=k}^{\infty} \frac{(\lambda t)^j}{j!}} \left\{ \frac{1}{\Gamma(k)} \int_{0}^{t} (t- s)^{k-1} e^{\lambda s} E(s) \mathrm{d} s \right\}. \nonumber \end{eqnarray} If the mean value (\ref{13:53}) is taken with respect to \begin{equation} Pr\{ T_\nu \in \mathrm{d}s\}=\frac{\lambda^\nu e^{-\lambda s } s^{\nu-1}}{ \Gamma(\nu) Pr\{T_{\nu} \le t\}} \mathrm{d}s\hspace{2cm} 0<s <t, \end{equation} then we have that \begin{eqnarray} \label{14:14} &&E\{E \{ \cosh \eta(t-T_\nu)\}\}\\ &&=\frac{\lambda^{\nu} e^{-\lambda t}}{Pr\{ T_{\nu} \le t\}} \left\{ \frac{1}{\Gamma(\nu)} \int_{0}^{t} (t-s)^{\nu-1} e^{\lambda s} E(s) \mathrm{d}s \right\} \nonumber \end{eqnarray} that also contains a fractional integral of order $\nu$ in the sense of Riemann-Liouville. The expression (\ref{14:14}) can be interpreted as the mean hyperbolic distance at time $t$ where the particle can jump back to the origin at an arbitrary instant (different from the instants of change of direction). \end{oss} \section{Motion at Finite Velocity on the Surface of a Three-dimensional Sphere} Let $P_0$ be a point on the equator of a three-dimensional sphere. Let us assume that the particle starts moving from $P_0$ along the equator in one of the two possible directions (clockwise or counter-clockwise) with velocity c. At the first Poisson event (occurring at time $T_1$) it starts moving on the meridian joining the north pole $P_N$ with the position reached at time $T_1$ (denoted by $P_1$) along one of the two possible directions (see Figure \ref{figsfera}). At the second Poisson event the particle is located at $P_2$ and its distance from the starting point $P_0$ is the length of the hypothenuse of a right spherical triangle with cathetus $P_0 P_1$ and $P_1 P_2$; the hypothenuse belongs to the equatorial circumference through $P_0$ and $P_2$. Now the particle continues its motion (in one of the two possible directions) along the equatorial circumference orthogonal to the hypothenuse through $P_0$ and $P_2$ until the third Poisson event occurs. In general, the distance $\mathrm{d}(P_0P_t)$ of the point $P_t$ from the origin $P_0$ is the length of the shortest arc of the equatorial circumference through $P_0$ and $P_t$ and therefore it takes values in the interval $[0,\pi]$. Counter-clockwise motions cover the arcs in $[-\pi, 0]$ so that the distance is also defined in $[0,\pi]$ or in $[-\pi/2, \pi/2]$ with a shift that avoids negative values for the cosine. \begin{figure}[h] \centering \includegraphics[width=7.6cm, height=5cm, clip ]{sfera2.pdf} \caption{Motion on the surface of a three-dimensional sphere. } \label{figsfera} \end{figure} By means of the spherical Pythagorean relationship we have that the Euclidean distance $\mathrm{d}(P_0 P_2)$ satisfies \begin{equation} \cos \mathrm{d}(P_0 P_2)=\cos \mathrm{d}(P_0 P_1) \cos \mathrm{d}(P_1 P_2) \end{equation} and, after three displacements, \begin{eqnarray} \cos \mathrm{d}(P_0 P_3)&=&\cos \mathrm{d}(P_0 P_2) \cos \mathrm{d}(P_2 P_3) \nonumber \\ &=&\cos \mathrm{d}(P_0 P_1) \cos \mathrm{d}(P_1 P_2) \cos \mathrm{d}(P_2 P_3). \end{eqnarray} After $n$ displacements the position $P_t$ on the sphere at time $t$ is given by \begin{equation} \cos \mathrm{d}(P_0 P_t)=\prod_{k=1}^{n} \cos \mathrm{d}(P_k P_{k-1}) \cos \mathrm{d}(P_n P_t). \end{equation} Since $\mathrm{d}(P_k P_{k-1})$ is represented by the amplitude of the arc run in the interval $(t_k, t_{k-1})$, it results $$\mathrm{d}(P_k P_{k-1} )=c(t_k-t_{k-1}).$$ The mean value $E\{ \cos \mathrm{d}(P_0 P_t)\|N(t)=n\}$ is given by \begin{eqnarray} E_n(t)&=&E\{ \cos \mathrm{d}(P_0 P_t)\|N(t)=n\}\\ &=&\frac{n!}{t^n}\int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \int_{t_1}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_2 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n+1} \cos c(t_k-t_{k-1}) \nonumber \\ &=&\frac{n!}{t^n} H_n(t), \nonumber \end{eqnarray} where $t_0=0$, $t_{n+1}=t$, and \begin{equation} H_n(t)=\int_{0}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_1 \cdots \int_{t_{n-1}}^{t}\mathrm{d}t_n \prod_{k=1}^{n+1} \cos c(t_k-t_{k-1}). \end{equation} The mean value $E\{\cos \mathrm{d}(P_0 P_t)\}$ is given by \begin{eqnarray} E(t)&=&E\{\cos \mathrm{d}(P_0 P_t)\}\\ &=&\sum_{n=0}^{\infty} E\{ \cos \mathrm{d}(P_0 P_t)\|N(t)=n\} Pr\{N(t)=n\} \nonumber \\ &=& e^{-\lambda t} \sum_{n=0}^{\infty} \lambda^n H_n(t). \nonumber \end{eqnarray} By steps similar to those of the hyperbolic case we have that $H_n(t)$, $t\ge 0$, satisfies the difference-differential equation \begin{equation} \frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}H_n=\frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}H_{n-1}-c^2 H_n, \end{equation} where $H_0(t)=\cos ct$, and therefore we can prove the following: \begin{teo} The mean value $E(t)=E\{\cos d(P_0 P_t)\} $ satisfies \begin{equation} \label{fuggono} \frac{\mathrm{d}^2}{\mathrm{d}t^2}E=- \lambda \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}E-c^2 E \end{equation} with initial conditions \begin{equation} \label{messaggeri} \left\{ \begin{array}{lr} E(0) =1, \\ \left. \frac{\mathrm{d}}{\mathrm{d}t}E(t) \right\|_{t=0}=0, \end{array} \right. \end{equation} and has the form \begin{equation} \label{20:27cena} E(t)=\left\{ \begin{array}{lr} e^{-\frac{\lambda t}{2}}\left[\cosh \frac{t}{2}\sqrt{\lambda^2-4c^2}+\frac{\lambda}{\sqrt{\lambda^2-4c^2}}\sinh \frac{t}{2}\sqrt{\lambda^2-4c^2} \right] & 0<2c<\lambda,\\ e^{-\frac{\lambda t}{2}}\left[1+\frac{\lambda t}{2} \right] & \lambda=2c>0,\\ e^{-\frac{\lambda t}{2}}\left[\cos \frac{t}{2}\sqrt{4c^2-\lambda^2}+\frac{\lambda}{\sqrt{4c^2-\lambda^2}} \sin \frac{t}{2}\sqrt{4c^2-\lambda^2} \right] & 2c>\lambda>0. \end{array} \right. \end{equation} \end{teo} \Dim The solution to the problem (\ref{fuggono})-(\ref{messaggeri}) is given by \begin{eqnarray} E(t)&=&\frac{e^{- \frac{\lambda t}{2}}}{2}\left[ \left( e^{\frac{t}{2}\sqrt{\lambda^2-4c^2}}+e^{-\frac{t}{2}\sqrt{\lambda^2-4c^2}}\right)\right. \nonumber \\ &+& \left. \frac{\lambda}{ \sqrt{\lambda^2-4c^2}}\left( e^{\frac{t}{2}\sqrt{\lambda^2-4c^2}}-e^{-\frac{t}{2}\sqrt{\lambda^2-4c^2}}\right) \right], \end{eqnarray} so that (\ref{20:27cena}) emerges. \Fine For large values of $\lambda$ the first expression furnishes $E(t)\sim 1$ and therefore the particle hardly leaves the starting point.\\ If $\frac{\lambda}{2}<c$, the mean value exhibits an oscillating behavior; in particular, the oscillations decrease as time goes on, and this means that the particle moves further and further reaching in the limit the poles of the sphere. \begin{oss} By assuming that $c$ is replaced by $i c$ in (\ref{20:27cena}) we formally extract from the first and the third expression in (\ref{20:27cena}) the hyperbolic mean distance (\ref{en}). This is because the space $H_2^+$ can be regarded as a sphere with imaginary radius. Clearly the intermediate case $\lambda=2c$ has no correspondence for the motion on $H_2^+$ because the Poisson rate must be a real positive number. \end{oss} \section*{Acknowledgment} The authors want to thank the referees for their suggestions which improved the first draft.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv" }	4,067
Connie Brentford is a bestselling indie author. Connie Brentford is a bestselling author who has sold over 70,000 books. Her books have landed her on the Top 100 Bestselling Author list in the paid Kindle store many times. She is also the founder of The Moonlighter's Guide, a site that helps independent authors create, publish and market their books. The goal of The Moonlighter's Guide is to help part-time authors become full-time bestsellers. Through her consulting, assistance and course instruction, she has helped hundreds of authors in their quest to build a solid writer platform. Her writing has been published in numerous online publications and she was dubbed "America's Ultimate Expert" by Woman's Day Magazine in the work from home field in 2013. She has been featured on many blogs that focus on self-publishing, online business and the location-independent lifestyle. As a digital nomad she and her husband have traveled the world full-time for over seven years. They split their time between Belize, Thailand, London in the U.K. and Las Vegas, in the U.S. She offers affordable consultations, assistance and online courses for overwhelmed authors navigating the book publishing and marketing process.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4" }	2,199
{"url":"https:\/\/academy.vertabelo.com\/course\/postgresql-insert-update-delete-commands\/advanced-features\/nulls\/is-null-in-delete","text":"Kickstart 2020 with new opportunities! - hours only!Up to 80% off on all courses and bundles.-Close\nIntroduction\nInserting and updating NULLs\n8. IS NULL in DELETE\nConditions in UPDATE and DELETE\nUpdating the list of columns in one query\nUsing values from another column\nReturn rows in INSERT, UPDATE, DELETE\nSummary\n\n## Instruction\n\nGreat! You know how to use IS NULL in an UPDATE statement. Now it's time to get familiar with IS NULL in another statement: DELETE. The command below explains why it is sometimes worth using IS NULL with DELETE:\n\nDELETE FROM student\nWHERE last_name IS NULL;\n\n\nThis command removes all students without a last name from the database. A last name is a very important way to identify a student, and a record without it is not useful. Here, we use IS NULL to check if the last_name column has a NULL in it. The query leaves only student records with existing last names in the database.\n\n## Exercise\n\nA group of students weren't scored on an oral exam, so the exam was canceled. The results from this exam have to be removed. Write a query to remove these records.","date":"2020-02-20 17:36:29","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 1, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.1876244693994522, \"perplexity\": 2140.0576697095057}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2020-10\/segments\/1581875145260.40\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20200220162309-20200220192309-00356.warc.gz\"}"}	null	null
{"url":"https:\/\/www.openstarts.units.it\/handle\/10077\/4271","text":"Please use this identifier to cite or link to this item: http:\/\/hdl.handle.net\/10077\/4271\n Title: Weighted Strichartz Estimate for the Wave Equation and Low Regularity Solutions Authors: Georgiev, VladimirD'Ancona, P.Kubo, Hideo Issue Date: 2000 Publisher: Universit\u00e0 degli Studi di Trieste. Dipartimento di Scienze Matematiche Source: P. D'Ancona, V. Georgiev and H. Kubo, \"Weighted Strichartz estimate for the wave equation and low regularity solutions\", in: Rendiconti dell\u2019Istituto di Matematica dell\u2019Universit\u00e0 di Trieste. An International Journal of Mathematics, 31 (2000) suppl.2, pp. 51-61. Series\/Report no.: Rendiconti dell\u2019Istituto di Matematica dell\u2019Universit\u00e0 di Trieste. An International Journal of Mathematics31 (2000) suppl.2 Abstract: In this work we study weighted Sobolev spaces in $\\mathbf{R}^{n}$generated by the Lie algebra of vector fields $\\left(1+\\mid x\\mid^{2}\\right)^{1\/2}\\partial_{x_{j}},\\; j=1,...,n.$ Interpolation properties and Sobolev embeddings are obtained on thebasis of a suitable localization in $\\mathbf{R}^{n}$. As an applicationwe derive weighted L$^{q}$ estimates for the solution of the homogeneouswave equation. For the inhomogeneous wave equation we generalize theweighted Strichartz estimate established in $\\left[5\\right]$ andestablish global existence result for the supercritical semilinearwave equation with non compact small initial data in these weightedSobolev spaces. Type: Article URI: http:\/\/hdl.handle.net\/10077\/4271 ISSN: 0049-4704 Appears in Collections: Rendiconti dell'Istituto di matematica dell'Universit\u00e0 di Trieste: an International Journal of Mathematics vol.31 (2000) s2\n\n###### Files in This Item:\nFile Description SizeFormat\n\nCORE Recommender\n\n#### Page view(s)\n\n989\nchecked on Dec 11, 2019","date":"2019-12-12 22:43:08","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 2, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 1, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.8650855422019958, \"perplexity\": 4201.587127363016}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2019-51\/segments\/1575540547165.98\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20191212205036-20191212233036-00324.warc.gz\"}"}	null	null
Slavoj Žižek (ur. 21 marca 1949 w Lublanie) – słoweński uczony: filozof, socjolog i kulturoznawca, marksista. Życiorys Slavoj Žižek studiował filozofię i socjologię na Uniwersytecie w Lublanie. W 1981 doktoryzował się tam. W 1986 uzyskał drugi doktorat – na . Jest profesorem w Instytucie Socjologii Uniwersytetu w Lublanie, wykłada także w European Graduate School i na uniwersytetach amerykańskich. Wprowadza do współczesnej filozofii dorobek psychoanalizy, przede wszystkim na pole analiz zjawisk społecznych, jest także komentatorem myśli francuskiego psychoanalityka Jacques'a Lacana. Inspiruje się również niemieckim idealizmem oraz marksizmem. Cechą charakterystyczną jego książek są częste odwołania do kina, literatury i sztuk wizualnych, a także kultury masowej. Znawca i komentator współczesnej kinematografii. W 2006 wystąpił w filmie dokumentalnym Sophie Fiennes Z-Boczona historia kina (The Pervert's Guide to Cinema), do którego sam napisał scenariusz. Komentuje w nim filmy – od tych z lat 30., po hollywoodzkie produkcje – Frankenstein (1931), Ptaki (1963), Matrix (1999) i wiele innych. Bohater pełnometrażowego filmu dokumentalnego Žižek! w reżyserii Astry Taylor, wyprodukowanego przez Documentary Campaign w 2005. W 2012 ponownie współpracował z Sophie Fiennes realizując film dokumentalny Perwersyjny przewodnik po ideologiach (The Pervert's Guide to Ideology). W latach osiemdziesiątych należał do . W 1990 był jednym z kandydatów do stanowiska prezydenta Republiki Słowenii. W Polsce książki Žižka wydaje m.in. Korporacja Ha!art i Wydawnictwo Krytyki Politycznej. Drukowany w polskiej prasie, głównie w "Dzienniku", "Le Monde diplomatique" i "Gazecie Wyborczej". Czterokrotnie żonaty, m.in. z , Analią Hounie (ślub w 2005) i (ślub w 2013). Ojciec Tima i Kostji. Poglądy Mimo swoich przekonań lewicowych ogłosił w 2016 przed wyborami prezydenckimi w USA, że gdyby był Amerykaninem, oddałby głos na kandydata Partii Republikańskiej Donalda Trumpa, uważając liberalną kontrkandydatkę Partii Demokratycznej Hillary Clinton za większe zagrożenie ze względu na usunięcie przez nią w cień innego, lewicowego kandydata Demokratów, Berniego Sandersa:Gniew ludu, który zrodził Trumpa, zrodził również Sandersa, i choć obaj wyrażają powszechne społeczne i polityczne niezadowolenie, robią to w przeciwnym sensie, jeden angażując się w prawicowy populizm, a drugi wybierając lewicowe wezwanie do sprawiedliwości. I tu pojawia się podstęp: lewicowe wezwanie do sprawiedliwości zwykle łączy się z walką o prawa kobiet i gejów, o wielokulturowość i przeciwko dyskryminacji, w tym rasizmowi. Strategicznym celem konsensusu Clinton jest odcięcie tych wszystkich zmagań od lewicowego wezwania do sprawiedliwości, dlatego żywym symbolem tego konsensusu jest Tim Cook, dyrektor generalny Apple, który z dumą podpisał list z poparciem dla LGBT i który może teraz łatwo zapomnieć o setkach tysięcy pracowników Foxconn w Chinach, montujących produkty Apple w niewolniczych warunkach – wykonał swój wielki gest solidarności z nieuprzywilejowanymi, żądając zniesienia segregacji płciowej.Swoje stanowisko w tej sprawie potwierdził w 2019. Žižek wyrażał również sprzeciw wobec liberalnego indywidualizmu, którego dominacja w społeczeństwach zachodnich przy porzuceniu wsparcia dla osób wykluczonych materialnie przyczyniła się do rozwoju ideologii alt-right:Zachodnia poprawność polityczna ("wokeness") zastąpiła dawną walkę klas, tworząc w efekcie liberalną elitę, która twierdzi, że chroni zagrożone mniejszości rasowe i seksualne, co ma na celu odwrócenie uwagi od jej własnej uprzywilejowanej pozycji ekonomicznej i politycznej. To kłamstwo pozwala z kolei populistycznej altprawicy przedstawiać siebie jako tych, którzy bronią "zwykłych" ludzi przed wielkimi korporacjami i "trzymającymi władzę" elitami, nawet jeśli sama również zajmuje wysoką pozycję w ekonomicznej i politycznej hierarchii.Krytykował narastający terror prawicowych reżimów w Rosji, Iranie i Izraelu, widząc w nich "wyraźne oznaki rozkładu etycznego, w którym czyny kiedyś uznawane za niewyobrażalne mogą w bardzo krótkim czasie stać się możliwe i akceptowalne". Analogicznie kierował swoje zarzuty wobec uniwersyteckiej "woke lewicy" w Stanach Zjednoczonych i Francji, gdzie jego zdaniem zaczął panować podobnie opresyjny system wymierzony przeciwko cispłciowym mężczyznom: "nigdy nie wiemy, czy ktoś z nas skończy jako »skancelowany« za coś, co zrobił lub powiedział […], czy za sam fakt urodzenia się w niewłaściwej kategorii". Twierdził też, że z powodu erozji silnej państwowości na rzecz gwałtownego rozwoju kapitalizmu kulturowy Zachód oddala się od demokracji, na rzecz porządku "postkapitalistycznego, postliberalnego i dystopijnego". Tłumaczenia prac na język polski Wzniosły obiekt ideologii, Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Wrocławskiego, Wrocław 2001, (The Sublime Object of Ideology 1989) Patrząc z ukosa. Do Lacana przez kulturę popularną, Warszawa 2003, Wydawnictwo KR, (Looking Awry: an introduction to Jacques Lacan through popular culture 1991) Przekleństwo fantazji, Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Wrocławskiego, Wrocław 2001, (The Plague of Fantasies 1997) Kruchy absolut, czyli Dlaczego warto walczyć o chrześcijańskie dziedzictwo, Warszawa 2009, Wydawnictwo Krytyki Politycznej, seria Idee (t. XV), s. 177, (The Fragile Absolute: Or, Why is the Christian Legacy Worth Fighting For? 2000) (z Dolarem Mladenem) Druga śmierć opery, Warszawa 2008, Wydawnictwo Sic!, s 322, (Opera's Second Death 2001) Lacrimae rerum. Kieślowski, Hitchcock, Tarkowski, Lynch, Warszawa 2007, Wydawnictwo Krytyki Politycznej, Seria Idee (t. IV), (The Fright of Real Tears: Krzysztof Kieślowski Between Theory and Post-Theory 2001) O wierze, Warszawa 2008, Wydawnictwo Aletheia, s. 253, (On Belief 2001) Rewolucja u bram, Warszawa 2006, 2007 Wydawnictwo Krytyki Politycznej, Seria Idee (t. I), (Revolution at the Gates. Žižek on Lenin, the 1917 Writings 2002) Kukła i karzeł. Perwersyjny rdzeń chrzescijaństwa, Bydgoszcz 2006, Wydawnictwo Branta, (Puppet and the Dwarf. The Perverse Core of Christianity 2003) Lacan. Przewodnik Krytyki Politycznej, Warszawa 2008, Wydawnictwo Krytyki Politycznej, Seria Przewodniki Krytyki Politycznej (t. III), (How to Read Lacan 2006) W obronie przegranych spraw, Warszawa 2008, Wydawnictwo Krytyki Politycznej, (In Defense of Lost Causes 2008) Przemoc: sześć spojrzeń z ukosa, Warszawa 2010, Warszawskie Wydawnictwo Literackie Muza, (Violence: Big Ideas/Small Books, 2008) Od tragedii do farsy, czyli jak historia się powtarza, Warszawa 2011, Wydawnictwo Krytyki Politycznej, (First As Tragedy, Then As Farce, 2009) Metastazy rozkoszy: sześć esejów o kobietach i przyczynowości, przeł. Marek J. Mosakowski, Warszawa 2013, Wydawnictwo Krytyki Politycznej, (Metastases of enjoyment: six essays on woman and causality, 1994) Żądanie niemożliwego, oprac. Yong-june Park, przeł. Bogdan Baran, Warszawa 2014, Wydawnictwo Aletheia, (Demanding the impossible, 2013) Rok niebezpiecznych marzeń, przeł. Maciej Kropiwnicki i Barbara Szelewa, Warszawa 2014, Wydawnictwo Krytyki Politycznej, (Year of dreaming dangerously, 2012) Pandemia! Covid-19 trzęsie światem, przeł. Jowita Maksymowicz-Hamann, Warszawa 2020, Relacja (wydawnictwo) Kłopoty w raju. Od końca historii do końca kapitalizmu, przeł. Tomasz Markiewka, Warszawa 2021, Wydawnictwo Czarna Owca, Hegel i mózg podłączony, Wydawnictwo Krytyki Politycznej, Warszawa 2021. Opracowania Tony Meyers, Slavoj Žižek Žižek. Przewodnik Krytyki Politycznej, red. i wybór tekstów Julian Kutyła, Maciej Kropiwnicki, Sławomir Sierakowski, Warszawa 2009, Wydawnictwo Krytyki Politycznej, Seria Przewodniki Krytyki Politycznej (t. X), Kuba Mikurda, Nie-całość. Žižek, Dolar, Zupančič. Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, Warszawa 2015 Wybór innych prac w oryginale For They Do Not Know What They Do. Enjoyment as a Political Factor, 1991 Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Lacan But Were Afraid to Ask Hitchcock, 1992 Enjoy Your Symptom!, 1992 Metastases of Enjoyment. Six Essays on Women and Causality, 1994 The Indivisible Remainder. An Essay on Schelling and Related Matters, 1996 Przypisy Linki zewnętrzne Žižek na stronach Lacan.com Slavoj Žižek, "Is It Still Possible to Be a Hegelian Today?" (Czy to Wciąż Możliwe Być Współcześnie Heglistą), Hegel-Lecture 2011, filmowe nagrania wykładu, Dahlem Humanities Center, Freie Universität Berlin, 2011. (YouTube, j.ang.) Absolwenci Uniwersytetu Lublańskiego Filozofowie i teoretycy marksistowscy Filozofowie współcześni Filozofowie XX wieku Filozofowie XXI wieku Freudomarksizm Słoweńscy filozofowie Słoweńscy socjolodzy Ludzie urodzeni w Lublanie Teoretycy kultury Urodzeni w 1949 Wykładowcy uczelni w Słowenii Słoweńscy komuniści	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia" }	590
Нікколо Антонеллі (; , Каттоліка, Італія) — італійський мотогонщик, переможець кількох етапів чемпіонату світу з шосейно-кільцевих мотоперегонів серії MotoGP в класі Moto3. У сезоні 2016 виступає в класі Moto3 в складі команди «Ongetta–Rivacold» під номером 23. Кар'єра MotoGP Сезон 2015 став для Ніколло проривом — він здобув дві перемоги (у Чехії та Японії), додавши до них ще два подіуми (двічі третій у Великій Британії та Сан Марино), що дозволило йому зайняти п'яте місце загального заліку. Статистика виступів у MotoGP В розрізі сезонів Примітка: * — сезон триває, дані наведено станом на після закінчення 1 етапу з 18. Примітки Посилання Профіль на офіційному сайті MotoGP Італійські мотогонщики Мотогонщики чемпіонату світу в класі Moto3	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia" }	2,012
Contents _Notes on Contributors_ _Acknowledgments_ Introduction _Isabelle Clark-Decès_ Part I Caste and Class in Liberal India 1 Demography for Anthropologists: Populations, Castes, and Classes _Christophe Z. Guilmoto_ 2 Caste, Class, and Untouchability _Robert Deliège_ 3 Great Expectations: Youth in Contemporary India _Craig Jeffrey_ 4 The Modern Transformation of an Old Elite: The Case of the Tamil Brahmans _C. J. Fuller_ 5 Caste and Collective Memory in South India _Zoé E. Headley_ Part II Cities, Cosmopolitan Styles, and Urban Critics 6 "How to Sit, How to Stand": Bodily Practice and the New Urban Middle Class _Meredith Lindsay McGuire_ 7 Global Dancing in Kolkata _Pallabi Chakravorty_ 8 Yoga, Modernity, and the Middle Class: Locating the Body in a World of Desire _Joseph S. Alter_ 9 Tourism in India: The Moral Economy of Gender in Banaras _Jenny Huberman_ 10 Crafts, Artisans, and the Nation-State in India _Mira Mohsini_ 11 Crowds, Congestion, Conviviality: The Enduring Life of the Old City _Ajay Gandhi_ Part III Cultures and Religion in the Making 12 Optic-Clash: Modes of Visuality in India _Shaila Bhatti and Christopher Pinney_ 13 Hindu–Muslim Relations and the "War on Terror" _Philippa Williams_ 14 Religious Synthesis at a Muslim Shrine _Parvis Ghassem-Fachandi_ 15 Christianity: Culture, Identity, and Agency _Mathew N. Schmalz_ Part IV Communalism, Nationalism, and Terrorism 16 The Politics of Communalism and Caste _Ornit Shani_ 17 Violence, Aggression, and Militancy: Reexamining Gender, and Nonliberal Politics _Tarini Bedi_ 18 India Burning: The Maoist Revolution _Alpa Shah_ Part V Law, Governance, and Civil Society 19 Courts of Law and Legal Practice _Daniela Berti_ 20 Law and Order: Police Encounter Killings and Routinized Political Violence _Beatrice Jauregui_ 21 Civil Society and Politics: An Anthropological Perspective _John Harriss_ 22 Discourses of Citizenship and Criminality in Clean, Green Delhi _Yaffa Truelove and Emma Mawdsley_ 23 Toward an Anthropology of Water in Mumbai's Settlements _Nikhil Anand_ Part VI From Global India to the Ethnography of Change 24 Transnational India: Diaspora and Migration in the Anthropology of South Asia _Leo Coleman_ 25 India Responds to the HIV/AIDS Pandemic: Unintended Consequences of Global Health Initiatives _Cecilia Van Hollen_ 26 Cultures of the Psyche, Politics of Illness _Sarah Pinto_ 27 Ways of Aging _Sarah Lamb_ 28 The Decline of Dravidian Kinship in Local Perspectives _Isabelle Clark-Decès_ _Index_ A Companion to the Anthropology of India The _Blackwell Companions to Anthropology_ offer a series of comprehensive syntheses of the traditional subdisciplines, primary subjects, and geographic areas of inquiry for the field. Taken together, the series represents both a contemporary survey of anthropology and a cutting edge guide to the emerging research and intellectual trends in the field as a whole. 1. _A Companion to Linguistic Anthropology_ edited by Alessandro Duranti 2. _A Companion to the Anthropology of Politics_ edited by David Nugent and Joan Vincent 3. _A Companion to the Anthropology of American Indians_ edited by Thomas Biolsi 4. _A Companion to Psychological Anthropology_ edited by Conerly Casey and Robert B. Edgerton 5. _A Companion to the Anthropology of Japan_ edited by Jennifer Robertson _6_. _A Companion to Latin American Anthropology_ edited by Deborah Poole 7. _A Companion to Biological Anthropology_ edited by Clark Larsen (hardback only) 8. _A Companion to the Anthropology of India_ edited by Isabelle Clark-Decès Forthcoming in 2011 _A Companion to Medical Anthropology_ edited by Merrill Singer and Pamela I. Erickson _A Companion to Cognitive Anthropology_ edited by David B, Kronenfeld, Giovanni Bennardo, Victor de Munck, and Michael D. Fischer _A Companion to the Anthropology of Education_ edited by Bradley A. U. Levinson and Mica Pollack _A Companion to Cultural Resource Management_ edited by Thomas King _A Companion to Forensic Anthropology_ edited by Dennis Dirkmaat _A Companion to the Anthropology of Europe_ edited by Ullrich Kockel, Máiréad Nic Craith, and Jonas Frykman This edition first published 2011 © 2011 Blackwell Publishing Ltd except for editorial material and organization © 2011 Isabelle Clark-Decès Blackwell Publishing was acquired by John Wiley & Sons in February 2007. Blackwell's publishing program has been merged with Wiley's global Scientific, Technical, and Medical business to form Wiley-Blackwell. _Registered Office_ John Wiley & Sons Ltd, The Atrium, Southern Gate, Chichester, West Sussex, PO19 8SQ, United Kingdom _Editorial Offices_ 350 Main Street, Malden, MA 02148-5020, USA 9600 Garsington Road, Oxford, OX4 2DQ, UK The Atrium, Southern Gate, Chichester, West Sussex, PO19 8SQ, UK For details of our global editorial offices, for customer services, and for information about how to apply for permission to reuse the copyright material in this book please see our website at www.wiley.com/wiley-blackwell. The right of Isabelle Clark-Decès to be identified as the author of the editorial material in this work has been asserted in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except as permitted by the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, without the prior permission of the publisher. Wiley also publishes its books in a variety of electronic formats. Some content that appears in print may not be available in electronic books. Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book are trade names, service marks, trademarks or registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publisher is not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. This publication is designed to provide accurate and authoritative information in regard to the subject matter covered. It is sold on the understanding that the publisher is not engaged in rendering professional services. If professional advice or other expert assistance is required, the services of a competent professional should be sought. _Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data_ A Companion to the Anthropology of India / edited by Isabelle Clark-Decès. p. cm. – (Blackwell Companions to Anthropology ; 8) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4051-9892-9 (hardback) 1. India–Social conditions. 2. India–Economic conditions. 3. India–Population. 4. Anthropology–India. I. Clark- Decès, Isabelle, 1956- , editor of compilation. II. Guilmoto, Christophe Demography for Anthropologists. HN683.C585 2011 301.0954–dc22 2010044401 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Notes on Contributors Joseph S. Alter has conducted academic research in India since 1981. He teaches anthropology at the University of Pittsburgh and has published a number of books, including _The Wrestler's Body_ , _Knowing Dil Das_ , _Gandhi's Body_ , and _Yoga in Modern India_. Beyond the study of yoga in contemporary practice his interests include the cultural history of Nature Cure as a system of medicine and the natural history of animals in the human imagination. Nikhil Anand is a doctoral candidate in Anthropology at Stanford University. His research focuses on the political ecology of urban infrastructures, and the social and material relations that they entail. Nikhil has previously published articles on a range of urban/environmental issues in journals that include _Economic and Political Weekly_ and _Conservation and Society_. Engaged in a variety of pedagogic and activist projects in Mumbai since 1999, he directed a collaborative documentary film project, _Ek Dozen Paani_ , in 2008. Nikhil has a Masters degree in Environmental Science from Yale University, and is a Research Associate at Partners for Urban Knowledge, Action and Research. Tarini Bedi is the Associate Director of the South Asia Language and Area Center and the Committee on Southern Asian Studies at the University of Chicago. She has a PhD in Cultural Anthropology and an MA in Political Science and is interested in questions of gender and urban patronage, urban labor, performative politics and popular culture. She is currently working on two book-length projects, one on Shiv Sena women and the other on Muslim taxi-drivers and urban change in the city of Mumbai. Daniela Berti is a social anthropologist, Research Fellow at CNRS (Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique), Paris. She is a member of the Center for Himalayan Studies, Paris, and carries out her fieldwork in North India. Her main works focus on ritual interactions, on politico-ritual roles and practices formerly associated with kingship, on Hindutva's entrenchment in local society, and on ethnography of Indian law courts. She is currently coordinating with Gilles Tarabout the Joint Programme on Justice and Governance in India and South Asia (www.just-india.net). Shaila Bhatti is currently an ESRC (Economic and Social Research Council) postdoctoral fellow in the Department of Anthropology at University College London. Over the last decade she has conducted ethnographic research on museums in India and Pakistan, with doctoral research focusing on the Lahore Museum in Pakistan. Her research and publications explore the history of the museum as well as its contemporary significance as moments of cultural and visual encounters for society in the subcontinent in terms of collections, curatorial activities, exhibition practices, and visitor interpretation. Her interests extend beyond museum anthropology to include the material and visual culture of South Asia and understanding local notions of cultural heritage, history, and identity. Pallabi Chakravorty teaches in the Department of Music and Dance at Swarthmore College, Pennsylvania. She is a visual anthropologist, Kathak dancer, and the founder and artistic director of Courtyard Dancers (a contemporary Indian dance ensemble based in Philadelphia). Her books include _Bells of Change: Kathak Dance, Women and Modernity in India_ (2008), _Dance Matters: Performing India_ (2009; coeditor and contributor), and _Performing Ecstasy: Poetics and Politics of Religion in India_ (2009; coeditor and contributor). Isabelle Clark-Decès is Director of the Program in South Asian Studies and Professor of Anthropology at Princeton University. She has been conducting research in Tamil Nadu since 1990, first working on rituals such as exorcism and funeral. Since 2008 she has been studying changes in close-kin marriages in Madurai. Her books include _Religion against the Self_ , _No One Cries for the Dead_ , _The Encounter Never Ends_. Leo Coleman is Assistant Professor of Global Studies of Science, Technology, and Culture in the Department of Comparative Studies at The Ohio State University. He has published articles on urban publics in Delhi, and is working on a book about electricity and the state in twentieth-century India. Robert Deliège is Professor of Social Anthropology at the University of Louvain-la-Neuve (Belgium) and at the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales (Paris). He has published a number of books, including _History of Anthropology_ (2006), translated in several languages, _The Untouchables of India_ (2001), _The World of Untouchables_ (1997), and _Lévi-Strauss Today_ (2004). He is currently working on the cultural changes in the 1960s. C. J. Fuller is Emeritus Professor of Anthropology at the London School of Economics. Between 1976 and 2002, Fuller carried out research among the priests of the great temple of Madurai in Tamil Nadu. Since 2003, with Haripriya Narasimhan, he has been studying the middle class in Chennai (Madras) and the Tamil Brahmans. His books include _The Camphor Flame: Popular Hinduism and Indian Society_ , _The Renewal of the Priesthood: Modernity and Traditionalism in a South Indian Temple_ , and (coedited with Jackie Assayag) _Globalizing India: Perspectives from Below_. Ajay Gandhi expects his PhD to be conferred in the Fall 2010 semester from the Anthropology Department of Yale University. His research interests in South Asia encompass labor, urban life, and popular culture. He is a research fellow at the International Institute for Asian Studies in Amsterdam. Parvis Ghassem-Fachandi is an assistant professor in the Department of Anthropology at Rutgers University. He received a Magister in Ethnologie in 1998 at the Freie Universität Berlin, and a PhD from Cornell University in 2006. He taught at Princeton University in 2006 and held a postdoctoral fellowship at the Center for Religion and Media at New York University in 2007. He has conducted ethnographic field research in Gibraltar, the United States, and India on topics including ritual, religion, violence, nationalism, identification, abjection, and affect. He is the editor of _Violence: Ethnographic Encounters_ (2009), and author of _Muslimische Heilige in Gujarat: Sufismus, Synkretismus, und Praxis im westlichen Indien_ (2008), as well as the forthcoming _Pratikriya (Reaction): Nationalism, Nonviolence, and Pogrom in Gujarat_. Christophe Z. Guilmoto is a demographer at the French Research Institute for Development (IRD/CEPED) and has worked on various aspects of social and demographic change in India. He has recently published books with his colleagues on gender discrimination in Asia, fertility decline in South India, and international migration. His current research focuses on the process of demographic masculinization at work in several Asian countries. John Harriss , a sometime member of the Department of Anthropology at the London School of Economics, is now Director of the School for International Studies at Simon Fraser University, Vancouver. He has carried out ethnographic research in India, mostly in Tamil Nadu, since his first studies there of "agrarian change" in the early 1970s. He is the author, most recently, of _Power Matters: Essays on Institutions, Politics and Society in India_ (2006). Zoé E. Headley is an associate researcher at the Centre d'Études de l'Inde et de l'Asie du Sud (CNRS, Paris). After studying Anthropology at the School of Oriental and African Studies (University of London), she received her PhD from the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales (Paris) in 2007 and held a postdoctoral fellowship at the Südasien-Institut (Heidelberg University) in 2007 and 2008. The research she conducts in central Tamil Nadu has focused on issues such as social morphology and the contemporary articulations of caste identity, interpersonal conflict and the competing forums of dispute settlement, legal, illegal, occult and divine. She is currently the coordinator of the pilot project Rescuing Tamil Customary Law (Endangered Archives Programme, French Institute of Pondicherry). Jenny Huberman teaches anthropology at the University of Missouri-Kansas City. Her research intersects with the study of childhood, tourism, and consumption. She has conducted fieldwork in North India and is currently working on a book manuscript entitled _Ambivalent Encounters: Children, Tourists and Locals along the Riverfront of Banaras_. Beatrice Jauregui is Research Fellow, Emmanuel College, University of Cambridge. She completed her PhD in the Department of Anthropology at the University of Chicago. Her dissertation, entitled "Shadows of the State, Subalterns of the State: Police and 'Law and Order' in Postcolonial India," is an ethnographic and historical examination of the everyday police practices in northern India. Craig Jeffrey teaches geography at the University of Oxford, where he is Fellow at St John's College. He has conducted academic research on youth, politics, and education in India since 1996. He is author of three recent books: _Timepass: Youth, Class, and the Politics of Waiting in India_ (2010), _Degrees without Freedom: Education, Masculinities and Unemployment in North India_ (2008, with Patricia Jeffery and Roger Jeffery), and _Telling Young Lives: Portraits in Global Youth_ (2008, with Jane Dyson). Sarah Lamb is Associate Professor and Chair of the Department of Anthropology at Brandeis University. She is the author of _White Saris and Sweet Mangoes: Aging, Gender and Body in North India_ and _Aging and the Indian Diaspora: Cosmopolitan Families in India and Abroad_ , and coeditor of _Everyday Life in South Asia_. She has been conducting research in India, especially in the northeastern state West Bengal, for more than 20 years. Emma Mawdsley is a Senior Lecturer in the Department of Geography, University of Cambridge, and a Fellow of Newnham College. She has worked on environmental politics in India since 1992, moving from rural areas to a more recent interest in urban issues and in the specific topic of "bourgeois" environmentalisms. She also works on South–South development cooperation, and global development politics more broadly. Meredith Lindsay McGuire is a PhD candidate in Anthropology at the University of Chicago. She is interested in issues of consumerism, globalization, public culture, and space and landscape. Her dissertation research, currently ongoing, concerns the production and embodiment of the new middle class in New Delhi. Mira Mohsini received her PhD from the School of Oriental and African Studies in 2010. Her research focuses on urban-based Muslim artisans in India and examines processes of both marginalization and subject formation among this understudied group. In addition to understanding the current predicament of urban artisans, she is also interested in the historical formation and organization of urban craft production in northern India. Christopher Pinney is Professor of Anthropology and Visual Culture at University College London. His books include _Photos of the Gods_ (2004) and _The Coming of Photography in India_ (2008). Current projects include _Lessons from Hell_ , a study of popular Hindu punishment imagery. Sarah Pinto teaches anthropology at Tufts University. She has conducted research in India on reproduction, traditional midwives, uncertified medical practitioners, pharmaceutical practice, trance healing, and women's psychiatric care, and is the author of _Where There Is No Midwife: Birth and Loss in Rural India_ , and coeditor of _Postcolonial Disorders_. Mathew N. Schmalz is Director of the College Honors Program and Associate Professor of Religious Studies at the College of the Holy Cross, Worcester, Massachusetts. His publications include works on Hinduism, Global Catholicism, and New Religions. With Peter Gottschalk of Wesleyan University, he is a creator of Arampur: A Virtual Indian Village on the World Wide Web (<http://virtualvillage.wesleyan.edu/>) and editor of _Engaging South Asian Religions: Boundaries, Appropriations and Resistances_. Alpa Shah teaches anthropology at Goldsmiths, University of London. Her research focuses on efforts to address socioeconomic inequality. She is the author of _In the Shadows of the State: Indigenous Politics, Environmentalism and Insurgency in Jharkhand, India_ , and her new research explores India's Maoist revolution. Ornit Shani is a lecturer at the Department of Asian Studies at the University of Haifa, where she is the director of the India Programme. She is the author of _Communalism, Caste and Hindu Nationalism: The Violence in Gujarat_. She is currently working on a research project on citizenship and democracy in India. Yaffa Truelove is a PhD student in the Department of Geography at the University of Cambridge. She has been researching and working in India since 2002. Her current research interests focus on the politics of water and inequality in urban India. Cecilia Van Hollen is Director of the South Asia Center and Associate Professor in the Department of Anthropology at the Maxwell School for Citizenship and Public Affairs, Syracuse University. Her research has focused on reproductive health policies and practices in South India. Her first book, _Birth on the Threshold: Childbirth and Modernity in South India_ (2003), received the Association for Asian Studies 2005 A. K. Coomaraswamy Book Prize for the best book in South Asia Studies. Since 2003 she has been involved in an ethnographic research project on the intersections of HIV/AIDS and reproductive health in India. Philippa Williams is a postdoctoral fellow in the Centre of South Asian Studies at the University of Cambridge. Her recently completed PhD on everyday urban politics in north India explored Muslim identity and agency in the context of intercommunity relations in Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh. Philippa's current work critically examines everyday lived experiences of citizenship and justice by India's marginalized populations, and processes and scales of "everyday peace" in South Asia. Acknowledgments I owe many grateful thanks to people whose care and attention made this work possible. Rosalie Robertson gave me the chance to edit this volume on India anthropology for Blackwell's Companion series. Julia Kirk organized the timely production of the manuscript and Ann Bone meticulously copy-edited it from beginning to end. Chris Fuller encouraged this work from the start and made substantial comments on two versions of the introduction, while I also thank Craig Jeffrey and Emma Mawdsley for their commentaries on the second draft. These three scholars led me to correct some errors of fact and of understanding. Those that remain are of course my responsibility alone. I owe many, many thanks to the 29 contributors from around the world for writing remarkable chapters on the current expressions of "modernity." All helped me sharpen my ideas about the false distinction between local and global anthropology through many stimulating emails. A faculty research grant from Princeton University allowed me to recruit the help of Erin Fitz-Henry with the final stages of the book. A former graduate student in the Department of Anthropology at Princeton University, Erin tirelessly brought her probing questions and sharp editorial skills to all the chapters. On behalf of the contributors I would like to thank her for her patience and dedication to this project. Introduction _Isabelle Clark-Decès_ This volume demonstrates the vitality of the anthropological study of India. The collection is neither primarily a comprehensive review of the broad variety of topics that have been addressed by anthropologists working on the subcontinent over the years, nor a survey of contemporary work. Rather, it is a timely investigation of remarkable, extraordinarily rapid and previously unimaginable changes taking place within Indian society. It explores how such far-reaching economic and social transformations hold implications for caste, class and gender roles, politics, religion, morality, and for the experience of modernity in India. It charts the disappearance of certain questions and the recurrence of others, exploring how ongoing discussion about growing globalization is shaping debate around new thematic focuses, emerging empirical problems, and changing ethnographic methods in the anthropological study of India. Because it is difficult to fully understand the interventions made in this book without tracing their roots back to the first part of the twentieth century, the following historical survey tracks the development of the anthropology of India from its origins as the study of a "cultural area" to its current location in the anthropology of globalization. Apart from the study of what were variously termed "scheduled tribes," "aborigines," "adivasis," "animists," or "backward Hindus,"1 anthropologists did not pay much attention to Indian society prior to Independence (but see Wiser and Wiser 1989[1930]; Wiser 1979[1936]).2 It was not, in fact, until the 1950s that the discipline adapted its field techniques and theories to the study of a "civilization" such as India (Kroeber 1953; Redfield 1957). The "culture area" concept allowed for the reduction of the subcontinent into smaller territorial and often homogeneous social units, but it was the Indian village that, in the end, became the center of anthropological analysis for at least a generation (Srinivas 1955; Dube 1955; Bailey 1957). What strikes the reader of the many monographs that came out in the 1950s and 1960s is the overwhelming preoccupation with clarifying the way intercaste and intracaste relationships functioned in the village (Marriott 1955; Mayer 1960). Relations with units outside the village (village–city, village–region, village–civilization, village–nation) were taken up by some anthropologists but mostly in order to formulate that not merely village India but India as a whole was "united in diversity," a formulation which was paradoxical in light of three facts. First, the riots and violence that both preceded and followed the partition of the subcontinent into the two sovereign states of India and Pakistan had left 1 million dead (some scholars even put this figure closer to 2 million, Guha 2007). Second, ethnic and religious minorities (Punjabi Sikhs in particular) were actively resisting the political, linguistic, and secular integration enforced by the new Indian state (Brass 1974). And third, anthropologists were increasingly taking issue with William Wiser's old and emphatic description of the cohesion of the Hindu caste system (Wiser 1979[1936]). Wiser had equated castes with occupational groups that were linked by a network of goods and services – what he called "the jajmani system." Lower castes such as carpenters, potters, blacksmiths, water carriers, sweepers, and laundrymen worked for high caste landowning families or "jajmans." Brahman priests and various sectarian castes specialized in priestly services, but most serving castes had ceremonial duties at their jajman's births, marriages, and funerals, and some religious festivals. Wiser arguably idealized the caste division of labor, emphasizing the balanced integration of rights and obligations, as well as the ritual character and redistributive function of exchange (also see Gould 1958; Harper 1959; for a critique of the anthropological interest in the "jajmani system," see Fuller 1989). But by the early 1960s anthropologists began zeroing on the nonreciprocal services provided by artisans and other specialists to landowning patrons in return for shares of grain harvest or cooked meals (Gough 1960; Berreman 1960). A few years later, they documented the system of land tenure by means of which high caste landlords leased plots for sharecropping and then extracted a major portion of that which was grown (Béteille 1969). And the argument became that jajmani obligations and intercaste relations in general ought not to be confused with relationships of solidarity. Lower castes felt no loyalty for the higher or so-called "dominant" castes that controlled most resources, and their worldviews were marginal to the Hindu Dharmic religion. The idea of India's relative unity probably could not have persisted within anthropology if it had remained static. But it did not. On the contrary, it lent itself to a more sophisticated reworking by the French scholar Louis Dumont. For Dumont, caste – not the village – was to be the focus of the anthropology of India. As early as 1957, he and the Indian anthropologist D. F. Pocock explained: "Whether a man is speaking of his own village or of another village, unless he positively specifies another caste by name, he is referring to his caste fellows" (1957:26). To these two scholars, the Indian village did not even have a "sociological reality" (1957:26). The dwelling-place of diverse and different castes, it was more an "architectural and demographic fact" than a strictly social one (1957:23). Having thrown the village out of anthropology, Dumont (1980) went on to raise the debate about caste and Indian civilization to an entirely new level. This French scholar situated anthropological understanding of Indian civilization at the confluence of ethnography and classical Indology (by and large the study of Sanskrit literature and Hinduism). Since key Sanskrit texts promoted the Brahman priest as the center of the social order, Dumont saw the "value" of the caste system to be what the Brahmans embodied and stood for: purity. He suggested that all of Indian society actively supported and surrendered to this purity, and that even those castes that had secular power (like the ancient Khastriyas) willingly subordinated themselves to the Brahmans. For Dumont, then, the continuity of Indian civilization was not a function of geographical networks between various localities and far-flung "culture areas." Continuity was in the heads of Indian people, consisting of categories that were ideological, structured, and, of course, internalized. Dumont's anthropology (1970; 1980) was also deeply structured around the imagination of difference – that is, engaged with differing conceptions of religion, self, kinship, political authority, morality, and worldview in East versus West. For him, Indian caste was not an extreme form of Western social inequality, but a unique institution that had important lessons to offer students of European and other societies. As he methodically and tirelessly repeated: "The castes teach us a fundamental social principle, hierarchy" (1980:2). Indian social categories and groups are framed in terms of either "superiority" or "inferiority" to one another. Dumont, however, insisted that these hierarchical classifications were made with regard to rank, importance, and seniority, but not power status or authority, as is the case for Western structures of stratification. The opposition of the pure and the impure "encompassed" the social and the political, a fact that explained why in Indian tradition the king (less pure) ranked below the Brahman (more pure). It is fair to say that throughout the 1970s and much of the 1980s American anthropologists working in India devoted themselves to the project of rebuking Dumont's "Homo Hierarchicus." In his review, Gerald Berreman, for example, wrote: "The characterization of caste in this book accords well with accounts provided in the written traditions of India's elites and reported by their contemporary representatives but not with the experiences and understanding of the lowly (1971b:515). To Berreman, untouchables (as dalits were then called) rejected the rationale of their lowliness, as he put it, "they view themselves as victimized and have sought to escape for at least 2000 years" (1971b:515; 1971a; but see Moffat 1979). For their part, anthropologists McKim Marriott and Ronald Inden (1977) contended that Dumont's comparative sociology was ethnocentric and that dualistic categories of purity and pollution, status and power, did not do justice to the cognitive assumptions prevalent in South Asia. Building both on ethnographic field research and Hindu textual sources (e.g. Dharmasastras and especially the laws of Manu), they claimed that South Asian persons are thought to be composed of transferable particles that form their personal "substance." Thus the Judeo-Christian notion of a unity of body, soul, mind, and conscience, thought, and action, which is summed up in the concept of the person that Dumont calls the "individual," does not apply in India. Far from being integrated into relatively bounded, unitary, and indivisible wholes – that is, far from having individuality in "our" sense of the word – the Hindus, they argued, are "dividual," breaking down when exposed to "incompatible substances." For Marriott and Inden, then, South Asian social organization was the sum of various kinds of transactions (food exchanges, marriage, worship, or words) that aimed to preserve people's "hereditary substance" (or what they called "natural code"). All these debates were key to the development of Indian anthropology not merely in the United States but in Europe and India as well, infusing the theoretical consciousness of at least two generations of scholars (Appadurai 1986b; Raheja 1988; Daniel 1984). But the questions about whether the village is a whole or a sum of parts that hang together through exchanges, the jajmani system integrative or exploitative, caste a hierarchical or transactional system were not the only questions being asked. The applied, and often more politically motivated, branch of the discipline raised its own issues. The ethnographers who specialized in the analysis and solution of practical problems took up the study of the impact of government-run development programs on Indian village life, making the case that caste stratification effectively blocked equitable distribution of the fruits of development. Joan Mencher's study of the means and social relations of production in village Tamil Nadu, for example, revealed that the local sociopolitical structure imposed severe limitations on the prospects for development, which could only be obtained by radical land distribution and the growth of cooperative farming methods (1978). The political scientist Francine Frankel's (1971) classic critique of agricultural change in five widely dispersed Indian districts demonstrated that while large landowners had benefited from new grains and technology, the landless and smallholders had made little gain. Other scholars similarly reported that the government land reforms of the 1960s had, by and large, not been effective. Powerful castes often remained above the law and could not be forced to relinquish their large landholdings. Moreover, the ponderous bureaucracy made the implementation of legislation a slow process. By the time rulings were made public and enforcement was attempted, the wealthy landowners had made arrangements that, in effect, rendered them immune to prosecution. To disclaim ownership while still maintaining control, they leased land, parceled it out to relatives, or simply changed the village accountant ledgers to satisfy the government. As for poor farmers, they frequently lost land and had to assume proletarian jobs that only further impoverished them (for an update of these debates, see Wadley 1994:163–200; Kapadia 1995:181–194). By the mid-1970s, then, the anthropological study of India either underscored the unchanging character of its civilization (timeless village economies, social structures, and cultural values) or its failure to "modernize" well. Of course, not all ethnographers depicted an absolutely rigid "traditional order." Srinivas (1969), for instance, drew attention to the factors (the fluidity of the political system, the availability of marginal land, and the processes of "Sanskritization") that enabled castes to move up and down the social hierarchy. His model of social change, however, proved to be singularly inappropriate to the description of ongoing economic transformations. In the 1970s, Indians, urban Indians in particular, were already widely embracing new occupations, new lifestyles, and new forms of social mobility (see Béteille 1969). For all its engagement with "development," the applied branch of the discipline, too, was often equally blind to the sociopolitical and economic changes that were unfolding during the mid to late 1970s: Indira Gandhi's declaration of a state of emergency which effectively suspended all civil and political rights between 1975 and early 1977, the implementation of various reservation policies, the transformation of Hindu and Muslim identities, the rise of Indian nationalism, and a class system and so on. More specifically, the basic argument that modernizing projects fell short of reforming the root causes of hunger, sickness, population growth, and poverty failed to engage the extent to which the middle classes themselves were invested in these projects. On the whole, urban entrepreneurs, rising professionals, and intellectuals supported the state's politics of development and industrial growth (Béteille 1969:204–228). If anything, they wanted to accelerate the transition to modernity through "nation building" policies and the functional reorganization of the state. The moment at which anthropologists working in India began to theorize about historical change and incorporate "real" diachronic perspectives in their research can be fixed with relative certainty. In 1981 Bernard Cohn proposed a "rapprochement" of the discipline with history (1990) and his students went on to produce ethnohistorical case studies of worship and conflict under colonial rule (Appadurai 1981) or Indian kingdoms (Dirks 1987). Of course, there is always some arbitrariness in choosing a starting point for a new development, and in some relatively objective sense anthropologists had been talking about social change in India even before Milton Singer and Bernard Cohn invited colleagues to think about it in the context of their book _Structure and Change in Indian Society_ in 1968. A year later, Srinivas published _Social Change in Modern India (_ 1969), André Béteille _Castes: Old and New_ (1969), David Mandelbaum _Continuity and Change_ (1970), and Milton Singer _When a Great Tradition Modernizes_ (1972). But it was not until the early to mid 1980s that anthropologists working in India (and elsewhere for that matter) clearly invoked that history and experience were far more important in shaping human societies than timeless structures and values. This shift eventually catapulted subaltern studies of Indian history into the center of scholarship on South Asia. In the 1970s, the term "subaltern" was adopted as a reference to colonized people on the South Asian subcontinent. In the early 1980s, "subaltern studies" developed into a vigorous critique of the historiography of colonialism and the continued dominance of Western ways of knowing and governing in India (Guha and Spivak 1988). The new and critical questions were: "How does the subaltern experience colonization?" "How does he or she resist subordination?" And, perhaps most famously, "Can the subaltern speak?" (Spivak1988). Eventually, subaltern studies became a forum for political struggles against sexism, racism, homophobia, capitalism and neocolonialism. In 1994, for example, Gloria Goodwin Raheja and Ann Grodzins Gold located women in rural Rajasthan and Uttar Pradesh theoretically as a subaltern subject. Silenced by male figures of authority as well as by colonial representations of female submissiveness, these women expressed their resentment of subordination using "hidden transcripts" within speech and song (Raheja and Gold 1994). By 2000, the reach and impact of Subaltern Studies were so strongly felt throughout the discipline that the anthropologist Saloni Mathur went so far as to suggest that it was no longer feasible to do anthropology in South Asia without attending to the questions raised by subaltern scholars (2000:89). And yet it is fair to say that today anthropologists are thinking about India less in terms of "colonial history and the specific formations of modernity it generated" (Mathur 2000:89) than in relation to the processes currently integrating its society into an international political economy and a transnational traffic of ideas, languages, and cultures. This new focus on globalization has required anthropologists to adopt ideas of identity and territory that go well beyond those used by the old "regional" or "culture area" studies of the 1960s, 1970s, and early 1980s and in post-Independence, Indian "nationalist" discourses. In very recent years, we have seen works that theorize India's cultural transformations in terms of shifting patterns of production, movement, and accumulation of capital (Xiang 2008), changing work relations in informal sector industries (de Neve 2005), emerging patterns of middle-class consumption (Jaffrelot and van der Veer 2008), the growth of information technology (Upadhya and Vasavi 2008) and diasporic communities (Leonard 2007). In addition, there is a clear and growing interest among contemporary anthropologists in developing a framework within which to study the various forms of public culture (film, television, music, dance, radio, online networks, advertising, and so on) that are spreading all across India (Appadurai and Breckenridge 1987; Appadurai 1996; 2004; Mankekar 1999; Mazzarella 2003; Sundaram 2000). The trend is definitively to map the growth of globalization on the subcontinent and locate the practices and energies that aim to affirm, and especially transcend, India's virtual borders with the First World (Assayag and Fuller 2005). Reducing the history of the anthropology of India to this brief survey entails many cuts and a good deal of simplification. But my concern here is not to write (or rather rewrite3) the history of anthropology in India so much as it is to highlight the successive conceptualizations of India developed throughout the years – India as "Hindu," "traditional," "rural," "hierarchical," "underdeveloped," "postcolonial" and "global" or "modern." It is these representations that form the primary backdrop to this volume. I would not wish to overstate this case. The contributors to the Companion are not interested in perpetuating the old "theoretical metonyms" for Indian society (Appadurai 1986a:358) not because we are more advanced than our intellectual forebears, but because the global tide of neoliberal capitalism has radically changed the conversation about India, forcing us to reflect on what is meant by the term "globalization": The impact of new economies and technologies on Indian society and life in general? Or the subjective, social appropriation of such modern developments by Indian actors? This conversation, I hurry to say, is not peculiar to anthropology. All disciplines have a stake in it, which is why I have not hesitated to solicit contributions from authors who are not anthropologists by profession. This is not to say that the contributors share a unanimous or monolithic vision of modernity on the subcontinent. In some chapters, India emerges as a society unfettered by tradition and culture – one that is vibrant, technologically sophisticated, and eager to "receive," even embrace, Western forms of consumption, recreation and entertainment. In others, however, the pitch for India's First World modernity is tempered by reports of the upper castes' continuing politic and economic advantages, the illusory successes of India's globalizing economy, and the very different experiences of modernity that are formed within it. Some contributors expose the disappointment, despair and rage of those (lower caste unemployed youth, Muslim artisans, and so on) who feel not only left behind but also victimized by state economic policies, affirmative action programs, or corporate-driven, urban-oriented economic growth. Others show how India is faced with an intense combination of tensions, which in certain spheres (electoral politics and religion in particular) is breaking into outright violence, threatening both the viability of the Indian state and its democratizing institutions. Indeed, this volume reflects a strong interest in the forms of party politics, communalist factions, civil societies, and insurgent and separatist groups that interact with the expansion of both the liberal state and the capitalist economy in India. Thus the emphasis is broadly on the relations of power and domination that neoliberal economic relations both create and exacerbate, and that often result, for many, in sustained experiences of injustice. The book, however, complicates the notion that the agents of neoliberal globalization, state, middle classes, enterprising old "elites," automatically work to legitimize inequality or succeed in doing so. In some contexts, these entities do cast a very long shadow on the conditions in which choices, resources and risks are developing, and in general the elite in this collection seem more preoccupied with consuming and watching television shows than with fighting inequality and injustice. But in others, emergent political groups, civil associations, and even downtrodden communities challenge the status quo or seem relatively "free" to find their political voice and agency for their own ends. In fact, in this volume, the state and corporations are not always the policing, governing, or exploiting figures that we might expect. We are not arguing that the political or economic machinery in India does not work or that citizens are more cunning than law officers and businesses (though at times this is clearly the case). We are only suggesting that the relationships between state, neoliberalism, the rich, and the poor are complex and multifaceted. The picture of Indian "modernity" that emerges from this volume does not follow a linear logic and just about any community (low, high, rich, poor and so on) profiled in the following pages seems actively engaged in the legitimization of capitalist, political, civil, criminal, or practical goals. And yet the Companion does not take the position that Indian modernity is simply the sum of ad hoc strategic adaptations to dynamics at home or at large in the world. It is evident to us that if the anthropology of India is going to be of relevance in this age of globalization, it has to try to understand the specific institutional, symbolic and material forms (what anthropologists used to call "culture") that mediate and transform the social relations, economic arrangements, political processes, emotional patterns, and so on that have expanded on the subcontinent over the last 200 years. Because we understand that these developments (the nation, the gradual movement from hierarchy to equality, the decline of traditional collectivism, the emergence of individualism, neoliberalism, public culture, cosmopolitan bodies and subjectivities and so on) are no mere abstractions,we retain a mode of anthropological theorizing that privileges our discipline's unique methodology – long-term field research – and basic texts – "ethnographies" or descriptions of societies generally (but not always) written by outsiders who have lived among them. Underwriting our commitment to ethnography is the belief that anthropology's unique contribution to the study of modernity is the attempt to document how across global change (colonialism, capitalism, neoliberalism, and so on), societies such as India are transformed by their own histories and the never-ending attempts of particular groups to create a world that reflects their own evaluations and self-understanding of livelihood, equity, suffering, justice and governance. These transformations and meaning-making endeavors – what add up to "modernity" in this book – are taken up in six sections below. PART I: CASTE AND CLASS IN LIBERAL INDIA We begin with the larger picture or the demographic transformations through which the realities of Indian modernity are playing themselves out. Much has been made of the point that population or caste statistics are notoriously partial, and quite often an exercise in what the French philosopher Michel Foucault called "technologies of domination." In the case of South Asia, for example, Bernard Cohn showed how British administrative concepts and practices, such as the census, had a profound impact on caste society as Indians of many levels of society exploited the colonial attempt to gain information on "race," "caste," and "religion" by claiming new titles and identities for themselves (1990; also see Dirks 2001). Christophe Guilmoto, a French demographer, comes at the debate over the "truth" and "power" of quantitative surveys from the other side of the "aisle," so to speak. Instead of treating data collection processes as instruments for the extension of power over a population, as unreliable sources of knowledge at best, he makes the radical argument that the seemingly awkward statistical categories of India's massive datasets – weird caste and tribe nomenclatures, "census villages," erratic age distributions, elastic administrative units, and so forth – offer anthropologists precious information about India's current socioeconomic conditions. To Guilmoto, India's rapidly changing demographic composition – which is largely the result of fertility declines and a tendency toward smaller families, increased longevity, gender discrimination and overall demographic masculinization – is reknitting the social fabric in ways that no ethnographic field research can afford to overlook. A basic premise of classical anthropological studies of India was that the caste system best exemplified a closed form of an ascription-based system of stratification. Anthropologists were well aware that mobility had taken place in Indian history, but it was always, they made a point of noting, groups or categories that moved either vertically or horizontally within the system (Srinivas 1969). Or it was thought that the only way that an individual could change his or her social identity or affiliation was by renouncing all attachments to people, places, and things – taking leave of family members, abnegating caste identity, giving up all possessions, performing his or her own funeral rites, begging, and constantly moving from place to place to ensure that no new attachments would develop (Dumont 1970). Robert Deliège's review of this literature looks back on the changes that have accelerated the dissociation of caste and socioeconomic status in contemporary India and its anthropology. Nowadays ideas of relative purity do not matter as much as they did in the past, equality and democratic values have undermined the practice of caste ranking, and relationships of competition for reservations in educational institutions and government jobs (India's equivalent of "affirmative action") have replaced economic interdependence between the castes. Craig Jeffrey's chapter, however, cautions that amidst imageries in the contemporary global media of India's more accessible and much improved system of education, it is also difficult to deny that vast numbers of young graduates either remain unemployed or continue to confront oppressive work conditions. Demographic growth, rapidly rising educational enrollment, and the failure of the Indian economy to create large numbers of secure jobs has created a vast problem of educated unemployment among young people living in the large state of Uttar Pradesh (UP). Bearing the brunt of the insecurities generated by the liberalizing Indian economy, these young people wait for jobs in an increasingly long period of "limbo" during which they engage in cultures of "time-pass" and certain kinds of antistate politics that we have not seen in quite the same way before. Jeffrey's argument that for the poor and lower middle classes in places such as UP, economic reforms have more commonly generated insecurity is a powerful reminder that caste, religious identity, and local economic standing continue to organize upward mobility in India. That higher Hindu castes and classes (particularly those living in the most prosperous parts of the country) are more likely to acquire quality education in selected institutions and move relatively straightforwardly into top professions or business is evidenced by C.J. Fuller's chapter on the transformation of an old south Indian elite into a new one. Fuller suggests that the factors critical to the Tamil Brahmans' long-term success in entering both educated professions (law, medicine, engineering, and information technology) and the urban upper middle class in south India and elsewhere are historically and sociologically specific. His review of these factors (for example, the Tamil anti-Brahman movement, reservations policies that do not extend to upper castes) underscores a point that will resurface in sections to come. The current transformation of Indian society does not occur in a historical vacuum. By the time novel opportunities arise (the opportunity to work in a global industry, for example) contingencies (in the form of political changes, migration and so on) and longstanding practices (in the case of the Brahmans, caste traditions of education and learning) have already positioned some groups, especially elite castes, to seize them. Studies of social reproduction and transformation tend to overlook the narratives, anecdotal sources, and other genres by which castes and communities narrate, interpret and experience historical change. As a countermove to this trend, Zoé Headley's contribution returns to the villages of past monographs to capture an oral corpus of narratives that constitutes the collective memory through which a low south Indian subcaste tries to articulate its cohesiveness and coherence in contemporary Indian society. My placement of Headley's ethnographically grounded discussion of these cultural repertoires in the same section as Guilmoto's quantitative study of the longer and deeper transformations of Indian society is deliberate. Both micro and macro perspectives are needed to understand the processes by which social groups in India are redefining themselves and making sense of the past and present in the wake of broad economic changes. Deliège, Jeffrey and Fuller make the case that such changes (i.e. the politicization of the ex-untouchables, the production of an educated but unemployed youth, and the current success of a once denigrated Brahman caste) unfold in terms of basic demographic and historical developments _and_ creative improvisations., In fact, all five contributors to this section suggest that the changes that seem most rapid are best studied by a long time approach that gives primacy to practice, resourcefulness and meaning. PART II: CITIES, COSMOPOLITAN STYLES, AND URBAN CRITICS With much of the early anthropology of India fixated on the rural village, it was not until the late 1960s that urban centers began to emerge as potential ethnographic field sites. Although New Delhi, Mumbai, Chennai and Kolkata were growing rapidly, the first anthropologists to work in cities (Milton Singer, for example) were not particularly concerned with large-scale migrations from rural to urban, nor with the ways in which immigrant populations adapted to life in densely populated quarters and struggled to cope with new forms of social networks, patterns of employment, and processes of social stratification. By and large, early urban ethnographers were not even interested in the social, economic, or ecological characteristics of Indian cities. Their primary concern was to show how towns and villages oscillated along the "continuum" of Indian civilization or functioned as opposed categories – the cities, in this view, being modern (that is, changing, plural, and mixed) and the villages, traditional (timeless, caste-bound, Hindu, and so on). Not all chapters of Part II squarely locate Indian cities at the confluence of middle-class consumption and emerging global circuits of finance and culture. Some emphasize instead the refractoriness of a city such as Delhi to expectations of modernity, paying close attention to the historical spaces, traditional commercial activities, and stories of heritage that still define the wider culture of the Indian capital. What all contributors to this section share, however, is the perception that Indian cities offer a unique opportunity to observe the performance of modernity and to listen to the debates between defenders of "capitalism" and its critics. Meredith Lindsay McGuire's chapter examines the spread of what we can call a modernist education that works to constitute a bodily performance of a new middle class in a wide range of consumption-oriented venues (call centers, coffee shops and malls) across the city of Delhi. Consuming in urban India, she argues, is not simply about having the means to shop. This activity also requires mastery of the "proper" shopping body (how to make eye contact, how to talk amiably, how to take the escalator with confidence). The Indian middle class is making a virtue out of this bodily demonstration of expertise. Likewise, Pallabi Chakravorty is concerned with the complexity of body/subject formation in the new Indian public culture. Her argument is that since transnational satellite broadcasting introduced cable television in1991, global dance reality shows aired on many Indian channels are creating not merely new genres of dance but also new gender codes, new aspirations, and new imaginings of self and nation. Because Chakravorty's critique of these shows focuses less on the domination of multinational capital in the political economy of cable TV in India than on their fans' rich and contradictory appropriations of network imagery, she discerns the implication of media in local strategies for recontextualizing nationalist agendas. The next two chapters of this section make it clear that not all city folks in India are enthusiastic about the performance and fabrication of "modern" selves described by McGuire and Chakravorty. Joseph Alter's study of the deliberate forms of bodily opposition to consumer-oriented modernity documents how a predominantly urban, lower middle-class social movement with an explicit and straightforward purpose – the promotion of postural yoga as a reform agenda for the development of a "traditional" Indian modernity – reflects a form of embodied resistance to atomized greed and self-interest. Although not concerned with bodily practices per se, Jenny Huberman's review of the literature on tourism in India and her own research in the northern city of Banaras bring to light a similar opposition to materialism. Participation of lower class and lower caste children in the informal tourist economy of Banaras, she contends, generates concerns about the emergence of a consumer-driven youth lifestyle that challenges "traditional" forms of popular culture, class habitus, and urban identity. The last two chapters of Part II remind us that the present in India is so much more than the global expansion of Western capitalism. This is especially the case for a city such as Delhi, which has a long history, including a history as a capital of several empires. This is why Mira Mohsini's chapter on Muslim artisans of Delhi argues that grasping the conditions of the urban poor, of which Muslim artisans form a sizable group, requires moving beyond the rhetoric of modernity and tradition in order to see how the decline and exclusion of such communities has occurred over longer historical stretches of time. This is also why Ajay Gandhi's chapter suggests that historical actions and historical ways of knowing continue to map the street, the bazaar and the wrestling gymnasium within Delhi's old city. Focusing on the popular classes and vernacular culture that historically have been rooted in India's "black towns" or "old cities," Gandhi's analysis of these defining spaces provides an anthropological entry point into a range of processes – from migration to fashion, masculinity to mass entertainment – that are simultaneously about both contemporary Indian culture and the historically rooted Indian city. His chapter offers a valuable corrective to predominant conventional discourses on Indian globalization, illustrating the many ways in which the residents of Indian cities can articulate key deficits in the modernizing project. In this respect Gandhi is not alone. Alter, Huberman, and Mohsini also write about people who are squarely wary of the modern obsession with consumerism, development and progress. Modernity in India may engross and fascinate shoppers at the mall and viewers of global dance reality shows but it does not spellbind everyone. PART III: CULTURES AND RELIGIONS IN THE MAKING Classical anthropological literature focused almost exclusively on Hinduism, ignoring other "Indian religions" such as Islam, Sikhism, Jainism, and Christianity. While early studies were intent on showing that Hinduism was the accumulation of vernacular systems of symbols with particular referents to specific castes, villages or regions, the old fixation on "great" and "little" traditions often promoted the primacy of Brahmanism as a general social model of Indian civilization. The persistence of this lopsided view of Hinduism explains why well into the 1980s, taxonomic schemes and models of the South Indian Hindu pantheon still placed Sanskritized gods at the top of the scale and village gods at the bottom and why Sanskritized slices of Hinduism were further pursued through studies of much chronicled temple festivals, daily household worship, life-cycle rituals, and ascetic practices (Fuller 1992). Today, the study of folk or village Hinduism has switched discipline, becoming the exclusive province of scholars of religion (but see Mines 2005; Sax 2008) and I see two reasons for this development. First, anthropologists working in India have abandoned the genre of village ethnography, a fact brought to light by my experience with enlisting contributors for this volume: not one of the some 45 scholars I consulted wanted to write on "village India." The title of Diane Mines and Nicolas Yazgi's recent volume _Do Villages Matter? Relocating Villages in the Contemporary Anthropology of India_ (2010) evidences how much the anthropology of Indian's modernity (and this, alas, applies to this volume as well) excludes the some 75 percent of Indians who live in rural areas. Second, historians of religion increasingly use anthropological field techniques to explore the religious cult of a particular Hindu deity and the experience of its devotees, and this exploration often takes them back to the village shrines and festivals once studied by social scientists. Anthropologists are not giving up on religion in India; they are ratcheting their engagement with the contemporary moment a notch higher, in directions that lead them to study both the fluidity of expanding conceptions of religious practices, and the current hardening of religious identities. Thus Shaila Bhatti and Christopher Pinney open this section by tracing the circulation of a central act of Hindu devotional worship, namely _darshana_ ("sight") in film, photography, museums, and religious imagery. Their argument is that such public visual "networks" are key to the understanding of politics and the consumer-driven economy of commodity production in contemporary India. The other three contributors to this section explore the dynamic relationship between religion and nationalist politics, all the while debating the sectarian dimensions of Hinduism, Islam, and Christianity. For anthropologists the religious and the sociopolitical have always been inextricably connected, since it is our view that religion both expresses and organizes forms of sociality, regimes of power, historical struggles, and modes of production. This is why Dumont equated the religious hierarchy of purity with the caste structure, and why Arjun Appadurai and Carol Breckenridge (1976) argued that the distribution and reception of the consecrated offerings after a Tamil temple worship publicly signals differential sociopolitical status as well as authoritative rights within the temple. However, at least since the destruction of the Babri mosque in Ayodhya by Hindu nationalists in 1992,4 the anthropological context of "Indian religion" has incorporated the increasingly violent communal conflicts associated with Hindutva (or "Hinduness" in the sense of religious extremism) (van der Veer 1994; Hansen 1999). Philippa Williams, Parvis Ghassem-Fachandi and Mathew Schmalz are well aware of the increasing ethnicization and hardening of religious boundaries in places once known for more open, holistic, or incorporative social fields. But they complicate both recent, and not so recent, anthropological conceptions of religious worlds and communities in India. Philippa Williams's chapter examines the shifting topography of Hindu–Muslim relations following recent acts of "Islamic terrorism" in India's urban centers. Williams suggests that such incidents should be situated not just against the backdrop of the recent global "War on Terror," but within a much longer history of Hindu–Muslim relations on the subcontinent. More importantly, she highlights the various interfaith "processes of amity" that habitually constitute everyday life in India, and that are too often overlooked by scholars concerned with the "spaces of enmity" which have become so visible in the wake of Ayodhya. While religion is arguably a significant and often heated axis of differentiation in contemporary India, she urges us to continue "questioning alterity" between "Hindus" and "Muslims" and to further examine the material and imaginary interrelations between Hindus and Muslims as they play out in everyday life. Parvis Ghassem-Fachandi's chapter goes further, blurring the distinction between Muslim and Hindu religious practice, by describing the processes by which such categories become playful, mobile, or malleable from the perspective of Hindu world renouncers – even nonexistent altogether. Finally, the historian of religion Mathew Schmalz questions the analytical usefulness of "syncretism" for understanding Christianity's interactions with Indian religions. His appeal that anthropologists stop thinking of Christianity in India as a foreign belief system calls for an ethnography that places greater emphasis on both Christians' strategies of practice and the nature of the relationships they presuppose. Williams, Ghassem-Fachandi and Schmalz suggest that the study of communalism and politicized Hindu nationalism requires a deep understanding of the different (and not so different) intended (and not so intended) strategies of Hindu, Muslim, and Christian actors. Hence their strong commitment to an ethnography of meanings and concrete actions that is in line with anthropology's longstanding character as a mode of disrupting such commonplace notions of pervasive "spaces of enmity," between Hindus and Muslims, for example. Because ethnography also captures things as they are unfolding, as they are acted upon on a daily basis, the conception of change that emerges here does not radicalize everyday life (Williams), or performance (Ghassem-Fachandi), or experience (Schmalz). And yet all three authors think seriously about questions of rupture and about the long-term historical transformations that are beyond ordinary agency. To say, as Schmalz does, that religious identity and experiences are the products of human action is true, but as Schmalz himself predicts, the globalized networks of communication and interrelationship that may contribute to the destabilization of Christianity's relationship to Hinduism and Indian culture in the future are neither exactly controllable nor predictable. Thus the ethnographic project he and the other authors courageously take on and endorse become commentaries on the intellectual dilemmas they face as they try to make sense of the relationship of the quotidian to broader historical contexts. Perhaps it would be better to say, as they struggle to make sense of this relationship, because this sense of struggle gives this section much of its deep interest. PART IV: COMMUNALISM, NATIONALISM, AND TERRORISM The key proposition of Part IV is that processes of state formation and electoral democracy in India remain deeply contested along ethnic, regional, and caste lines and dependent upon strategic mobilizations of violence, both material and discursive, in the pursuit of concrete goals. Ornit Shani's chapter shows how the official commitment on the part of successive Indian governments to reserving state benefits for Hindu low caste groups only, and excluding the so-called "backward" castes of other religious minorities (particularly Muslims), eventually transformed debates over social and economic inequalities into debates over religious differences and sectarian conflicts. What began as a critique of the continued dominance of the upper castes metamorphosed into communalism in the early 1980s. For her part, Tarini Bedi asks what draws Indian women to actively participate in a religious-nationalist or "right-wing" political party, Shiv Sena, that is often engaged in aggravating communalism and violence. Exploring the ways in which women frame and reframe larger discourses of democratic politics in their normalization of violence and exclusion, Bedi suggests that the varied discursive constructions of political and private behavior within a nonliberal political movement reveal less about the ideological structures that assumedly guide such politics and more about the motivations, pragmatics, and local forms of power they confer on adherents. Finally, Alpa Shah's chapter on the Maoist revolution reveals the growing strength of a movement fundamentally contesting the nature of the Indian state and the rising socioeconomic inequality it is precipitating. Analyzing India as semifeudal and semicolonial, Maoist revolutionaries boycott the electoral process and see armed struggle as the only means left to bring about radical political transformation within India. Their protracted people's war aims to seize power and replace the Indian state with a new communist structure along Marxist-Leninist lines. One of the oldest guerrilla insurgencies in the world (with a more than 40 year history), the Maoists have widespread support in the forested and hilly tracts of eastern and central India that are home to India's adivasi (or tribal) populations. In these mineral rich regions of Jharkhand, Chhattisgarh, Bihar, West Bengal, and Orissa the Indian police forces are currently waging a military offensive of an unprecedented scale to wipe out the Maoists. Shah argues that this military offensive is only likely to strengthen the social bonds between people living in the midst of the revolution to serve the revolution. The conception of change that emerges from this section is far more paradoxical and instrumental than the one discussed in Part III. Here individuals and groups actively plot to reform social, gender, and economic inequalities. And the means they use invite us to reflect on the uneasy coexistence of electoral politics and violence as modes of politics in the Indian nation-state specifically and in contemporary liberal democracies generally. PART V: LAW, GOVERNANCE, AND CIVIL SOCIETY In recent years, the anthropology of India has rediscovered its interest in cultural-political processes related to legality, legitimacy, criminality and authority, and the workings of the state (Gupta 1995; Fuller and Harriss 2001; Tarlo 2003; Hansen and Stepputat 2005). Two chapters in this section underscore that the methodological toolkit available to ethnographers – interviews, surveys, the extended case method, the recording of discourses in both formal and informal settings, the observation of routine activities, and so on – is particularly well suited for exploring how a "government" governs, exercises power, and manages its citizens through bureaucratic procedures and policies. Daniela Berti proposes an approach to governance and the administration of justice based on the ethnographic study of courts of law and judiciary cases. For her part, Beatrice Jauregui analyzes the "everyday state" and the production of order through the lens of routinized police violence in Uttar Pradesh. As anthropologists have turned their gaze back to structures of governance at local, regional, and national levels, they have not neglected the other side of the state–civil society binary. Recent decades have witnessed the emergence of novel networks of voluntary association in the Indian civil domain that have expanded the parameters of political engagement for poor and marginal groups. These networks consist of extragovernmental associations of people from multiple national backgrounds who dedicate themselves to monitoring and reforming the institutions that exercise power within national domains. John Harriss offers a critical theoretical analysis of the nature and deployment of the concept of "civil society" in India as well as the current debates surrounding it. His chapter highlights the dialectical relationship between civil society and the state, the stratification of associational life in Chennai, and the disproportionate representation of middle-class interests in South Indian civil society activism. His argument that civil society in Chennai is a "field of power" in which middle-class (and upper caste) people are often at an advantage anticipates Yaffa Truelove and Emma Mawdsley's analysis of the power relations embedded in the infrastructures, distribution, access to and costs of water in Delhi. According to these two geographers, middle classes get away with stealing water because the state remains almost entirely silent on their informalities and illegalities while at the same time actively highlighting and criminalizing the poor who engage in the same practices. Nikhil Anand's study of water shortage in Mumbai, however, suggests that the problem of unequal access to water is an opportunity to see the formation of a new public domain that marks the encounter between poor people and rational politics. His exploration of the "networks" through which "slum dwellers" can successfully mobilize to access water reveals how recent transformations in Mumbai's structures of representative democracy have transformed the forms that power relations may take for the poor. Here lies a paradox: at the very moment that the elite seem to give up on modern, legitimate politics, the poor resort to nontraditional manipulations of bureaucratic power. We cannot speak of an entirely new moral economy, for as Harriss's chapter cautions, the Indian middle class continues to enlighten the poor about progress and development, but one thing is sure: the post-Independence system of modernity – based on a traditional ideal view of social norms, responsibilities and obligations – is not represented in this volume. Governance, as defined and theorized in Part V, then, is a wide and loose space within which strategies of rule, control, and socialization are constituted. This space includes the often problematic and contradictory manifestations of the state, the interaction of the state and other forms of regulation (for example, law, civil activism), and the ways in which ordinary citizens find means (legal or not) to cause the state to act in certain ways. Because governance consists of controlling practices, the state (and its policing apparatus) here looms as a critical object of research – "critical" but not exclusive. For while contributors to this section make abundantly clear that the notion of the citizen as a protected holder of rights is more ideal than real, they also evidence that Indian citizens may usurp or at least tamper with the functions of the state. PART VI: FROM GLOBAL INDIA TO THE ETHNOGRAPHY OF CHANGE Lately anthropologists have promoted an aggressive discourse of globalization and its effects upon local communities. The world is in constant motion, things are unstable, and except for public discourses there are no cultures, and therefore no differences, left. The last section of this volume bears witness to the rapid movement of people, images, values, and financial transactions across India's borders. But it also echoes the message of previous contributions, namely that the traffic in culture makes possible new practices and meanings that refute any simple equation between globalization and homogenization. Leo Coleman surveys recent anthropological studies of Indians abroad, examining their "divergent trajectories" in different countries and focusing on the ways in which Indian emigration, particularly post-Independence migration to the United States and Britain, has affected nationalism, fundamentalism, and citizenship in contemporary India. Cecilia Van Hollen's chapter explores another consequence of the increase in transnational trade, travel, and migration in the twenty-first century. As the world becomes more interconnected, the greater risk of infectious disease transmission also increases the need for transformations in public health policy. Van Hollen shows how the interventions made by experts often continue to further entrench relations of domination and inequality that have long been observed by anthropologists of Indian development. A South Indian public health program initiated to prevent mother-to-child HIV transmission gives low-income women little choice whether to get tested or not, and those discovered to be HIV-positive are placed in an extremely precarious position within the family. A well-intentioned program can further exacerbate gender inequalities and discrimination against women because it fails to consider that the diagnosis of HIV in the West and in India is not altogether the same sort of endeavor. The final three chapters of this volume outline some of the cultural complexities and contradictions involved in the circulation of new models of selfhood, aging, and marriage in India. Sarah Pinto considers overlapping dialogues on "personhood" in both the history of anthropology and the history of psychiatry in India. She demonstrates how even a single case of distress may contain many "voices" which, when taken together and unraveled, can powerfully illuminate contemporary psychiatry's long history of grappling with power and difference between Indian cultural forms and medical languages, the plurality of forms of healing, and multiple ideas about the self. Pinto's chapter suggests that the complexities of contemporary clinical practice in India require a nuanced ethnographic sense of patients' kin networks, gender dynamics, religious models, and everyday lives, and that such ethnographic considerations can help us undo any facile sense of difference based upon crude distinctions between "Western medicine" and "Indian culture." The rise of old age homes and new state laws to mandate parental care are taken by many in India to represent a transformation involving not only aging per se, but also core cultural and moral visions surrounding the family, gender, personhood, and the very identity of India as a modern nation and culture. Yet Sarah Lamb's chapter on new ways of aging in Bengal today documents that cultural concepts (of service, for instance, or life cycle) are incorporated into the running of the institutions designed for elder care. Loosening any fast and hard opposition between culture and modernity, Lamb suggests that what we take as traditional concepts are already modern in some sense. My own chapter attempts to explain the decline of the so-called "Dravidian kinship system" in Tamil Nadu. While demographic trends, negative models of consanguinity, and positive models of youth autonomy and romantic love certainly factor into the breakdown of close-kin marriages in Tamil Nadu, my analytic object is a mode of conceptualizing this breakdown which is not developmental. It is a retreating process from the usual models of family change, we might say, that I seek to map, and it is in the service of this exercise that I draw together diverse sorts of evidence (marriage payments, rise of dowry) bearing on both the complexities and counterlinearities of changing marriage practices in Tamil Nadu, and the ways that such changes are experienced by Tamil youth. We hope that this volume will raise provocative questions about the shape of modernity in India, and about the histories, social practices and cultures of young people, elites, rural low castes, urban middle classes, Muslim craftsmen, policemen, civil-minded folks, clever slum settlers, diasporic professionals, HIV-afflicted women, mental patients, the elderly, and so on. In showing some of the ways in which globalization in India is mobilized and put into existential motion in concrete places throughout the subcontinent – dance floors, yoga mats, internet cafés, tourist sites, old towns, Muslim shrines, Christian churches, political platforms, voting booths, courts of law, police stations – we also hope that the chapters will inform and prove useful to the people we study, to teachers, to students and to all those who are trying to make sense of the diverse experiences of modernity in the twenty-first century. NOTES 1 Little known today outside Britain and India, Verrier Elwin (1902–1964) was arguably the foremost and undeniably the most influential ethnographer of India's tribal peoples. A self-trained anthropologist who began his career in India as a missionary, Elwin was unique in the powerful public voice he gave tribals in both colonial and postcolonial India and in his lasting impact on administrative policies toward them (see his biography, Guha 1999). 2 One can go back to the late eighteenth century, however, and trace the partial origins of anthropology in the colonial documentation of the social, political, economic, and religious practices of Indian society (caste and village, in particular) in revenue reports, historical works, censuses, surveys, government gazetteers, district manuals, and so on. For an excellent account of these British "ethnographic" records of Indian society see Cohn 1968, 1990; Dirks 2001. 3 For recent interpretations of this history see Fuller and Spencer 1990; Das 2004; Uberoi et al. 2007. 4 Hindu nationalists actually campaigned to "liberate" a temple in Ayodhya. Defying all historical evidence, they alleged that this temple was the original birthplace of Lord Ram, and had been "desecrated" by the sixteenth-century Moghul emperor Babar, who built the Babri mosque on its remains. Hindu nationalists portrayed the "liberation" of the temple as an attempt to avenge the "humiliations" of centuries of Islamic rule: reclaiming this temple became symbolic of a cultural cleansing that would permit "India" to recuperate its supposedly pristine Hindu heritage. 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Milton Singer and Bernard Cohn, eds. Pp. 3–28. Chicago: Aldine. 1990 An Anthropologist among the Historians and Other Essays. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Daniel, E. Valentine 1984 Fluid Signs: Being a Person the Tamil Way. Berkeley: University of California Press. Das, Veena, ed. 2004 Handbook of Indian Sociology. New York: Oxford University Press. De Neve, Geert 2005 The Everyday Politics of Labour: Working Lives in India's Informal Economy. New Delhi: Social Science Press. Dirks, Nicholas. B. 1987 The Hollow Crown: Ethnohistory of an Indian Kingdom. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 2001 Castes of Mind: Colonialism and the Making of Modern India. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Dube, S. C. 1955 Indian Village. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Dumont, Louis 1970 Religion, Politics and History in India. Leiden: Mouton. 1980 Homo Hierarchicus: The Caste System and Its Implications. Mark Sainsbury, Louis Dumont, and Basia Gulati, trans. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Dumont, Louis, and D. F. Pocock 1957 Village Studies. Contributions to Indian Sociology 1: 23–41. Frankel, Francine R. 1971 India's Green Revolution: Economic Gains and Political Costs. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Fuller, Christopher J. 1989 Misconceiving the Grain Heap: A Critique of the Concept of the Indian Jajmani System. _In_ Money and the Morality of Exchange. Jonathan Parry and Maurice Bloch, eds. Pp. 33–63. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 1992 The Camphor Fame: Popular Hinduism and Society in India. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Fuller, Christopher J., and John Harriss 2001 For an Anthropology of the Modern Indian State. _In_ The Everyday State and Society in Modern India. Christopher J. Fuller and Véronique Bénéï, eds. Pp. 1–30. London: Hurst. Fuller, Christopher J., and Jonathan Spencer 1990 South Asian Anthropology in the 1980s. South Asia Research 10(2):85–105. Gough, Kathleen 1960 The Hindu Jajmani System. Economic Development and Culture Change 9(1):83–91. Gould, Harold A. 1958 The Hindu Jajmani System: A Case of Economic Particularism. Southwestern Journal of Anthropology 14(4):428–437. Guha, Ramachandra 1999 Savaging the Civilized: Verrier Elwin, His Tribals, and India. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 2007 India after Gandhi: The History of the World's Largest Democracy. New York: HarperCollins. Guha, Ranajit, and Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, eds. 1988 Selected Subaltern Studies. New York: Oxford University Press. Gupta, Akhil 1995 Blurred Boundaries: The Discourse of Corruption, the Culture of Politics and the Imagined State. American Ethnologist 22(2):375–402. Hansen, Thomas Blom 1999 The Saffron Wave: Democracy and Hindu Nationalism in Modern India. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Hansen, Thomas Blom, and Finn Stepputat, eds. 2005 Sovereign Bodies: Citizens, Migrants, and States in the Postcolonial World. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Harper, Edward B. 1959 Two Systems of Economic Exchange in Village India. American Anthropologist 61(5):760–778. Jaffrelot Christophe and Peter van der Veer, eds. 2008 Patterns of Middle Class Consumption in India and China. New Delhi: Sage India. Kapadia, Karin 1995 Siva and Her Sisters: Gender, Caste, and Class in Rural South India. Boulder: Westview Press. Kroeber, Alfred L. 1953 The Delimitation of Civilizations. Journal of the History of Ideas 14:264–275. Leonard, Isaksen Karen 2007 Locating Home: India's Hyderabadis Abroad. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Mandelbaum, David G. 1970 Society in India: Continuity and Change, vol. 1. Berkeley: University of California Press. Mankekar, Purnima 1999 Screening Culture, Viewing Politics: An Ethnography of Television, Womanhood, and Nation in Postcolonial India. Durham: Duke University Press. Marriott, McKim, ed. 1955 Village India: Studies in the Little Community. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Marriott, McKim, and Ronald B. Inden 1977 Towards an Ethnosociology of South Asian Caste Systems. _In_ The New Wind: Changing Identities in South Asia. Kenneth David, ed. Pp. 227–238. The Hague: Mouton. Mathur, Saloni 2000 History and Anthropology in South Asia: Rethinking the Archive. Annual Review of Anthropology 29:89–106. Mayer, C. Adrian 1960 Caste and Kinship in Central India: A Village and Its Region. Berkeley: University of California Press. Mazzarella, William 2003 Shoveling Smoke: Advertising and Globalization in Contemporary India. Durham: Duke University Press. Mencher, Joan P. 1978. Agriculture and Social Structure in Tamilnadu. Delhi: Allied. Mines, Diane P. 2005 Fierce Gods: Inequality, Ritual, and the Politics of Dignity in a South Indian Village. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Mines, Diane P., and Nicolas Yazgi, eds. 2010 Do Villages Matter? Relocating Villages in the Contemporary Anthropology of India. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Moffatt, Michael 1979 An Untouchable Community in South India: Structure and Consensus. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Raheja, Goodwin Gloria 1988 The Poison in the Gift: Ritual, Prestation, and the Dominant Caste in a North Indian Village. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Raheja, Goodwin Gloria, and Ann Grodzins Gold 1994 Listen to the Heron's Words: Reimagining Gender and Kinship in North India. Berkeley: University of California Press. Redfield, Robert 1957 Thinking about a Civilization. _In_ Introducing India in Liberal Education. Milton Singer, ed. Pp. 3–15. Proceedings of a conference held at the University of Chicago, May 17–18, 1957. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Sax, William S. 2008 God of Justice: Ritual Healing and Social Justice in the Central Himalayas. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Singer, Milton B. 1972 When a Great Tradition Modernizes: An Anthropological Approach to Indian Civilization. New York: Praeger. Singer, Milton B., and Bernard S. Cohn, eds. 1968 Structure and Change in Indian Society. Chicago: Aldine. Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty 1988 Can the Subaltern Speak? _In_ Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture. Cary Nelson and Lawrence Grossberg, eds. Pp. 271–313. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Srinivas, M. N. 1955 The Social System of a Mysore Village. _In_ Village India. McKim Marriott, ed. pp. 1–35. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 1969 Social Change in Modern India. Berkeley: University of California Press. Sundaram, Ravi 2000 Beyond the Nationalist Panopticon: The Experience of Cyberpublics in India. _In_ Electronic Media and Technoculture, John Thornton Caldwell, ed. Pp. 270-294. Piscataway, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Tarlo, Emma 2003 Unsettling Memories: Narratives of the Emergency in Delhi. Berkeley: University of California Press. Uberoi, Patricia, Nandini Sundar, and Satish Deshpande 2007 Anthropology in the East: Founders of Indian Sociology and Anthropology. New Delhi: Permanent Black. Upadhya Carol, and A. R. Vasavi, eds. 2008 In an Outpost of the Global Economy: Work and Workers in India's Information Technology Industry. New Delhi: Routledge. van der Veer, Peter 1994 Religious Nationalism: Hindus and Muslims in India. Berkeley: University of California Press. Wadley, Susan. S. 1994 Struggling with Destiny in Karimpur. 1925–1984. Berkeley: University of California Press. Wiser, William H. 1979[1936] The Hindu Jajmani System: A Socio-Economic System Interrelating Members of a Hindu Village. New York: AMS Press. Wiser, William H., and Charlotte V. Wiser 1989[1930] Behind Mud Walls, 1930–1960. With a sequel, "The Village in 1970," and a new chapter by Susan S. Wadley, "The Village in 1984." Berkeley: University of California Press. Xiang, Biao 2008 Global "Body Shopping." Princeton: Princeton University Press. PART I Caste and Class in Liberal India CHAPTER 1 Demography for Anthropologists: Populations, Castes, and Classes _Christophe Z. Guilmoto_ The profusion of data that statistical agencies routinely disseminate about India is expected to conveniently sum up the behaviors and whereabouts of more than a billion people.1 But this wealth of information may also hide India's diversity behind a long list of national or regional indicators that do not accurately reflect the changing circumstances of individuals and local communities. While survey and data collection processes are notoriously partial, and at times unreliable, the seemingly awkward statistical categories of India's massive datasets – weird caste and tribe nomenclatures, "census villages," erratic age distributions, elastic administrative units, etc. – offer precious tools by which to describe and explore India's demographic diversity, tools that anthropologists have, much to their detriment, by and large avoided. Despite the prevalence in India of overly positivist narratives based on such statistics (the kind of which most humanistic social scientists are wary), anthropologists have much to learn from demography. Just as demographers are coming to better understand the importance of contextualizing the social conditions under which survey research is conducted, anthropologists may yet find innovative ways of using such research for more elaborate interpretations of contemporary Indian life. This chapter reviews some of the key sources and monitoring tools available for describing India's population and its rapid demographic and socioeconomic transformations. It starts with two sections devoted to the nature of geographical and social categories, followed by a more detailed examination of the major dimensions of the current revolution in family structures, marriage patterns, and reproduction. The last two sections explore gender and socioeconomic inequality. However, an inventory of statistical resources documenting social change in India would be incomplete without a brief history of India's population statistics, which accounts for part of their apparent opacity. In countries with long statistical histories, social groupings tend to coincide with statistical categories. In contrast, India's statistical history is much younger, and many defining sociopolitical concepts such as age or caste membership are still being renegotiated within the statistical realm by actors and institutions. The wide distance that often exists between local categories and official nomenclatures is a legacy of this short history that began only during the colonial era. The establishment of solid and stable relationships between the state and its subjects is indeed relatively recent in India. While the _Arthashastra,_ a treatise on statecraft, economic policy and military strategy dating from the Mauryan period (fourth century BCE) clearly encouraged rulers to engage in head counts and other measurements for tax purposes (Boesche 2002), no record has survived of these proto-statistical enquiries, and we are left with no quantitative assessment of India's demographic experience until the period of Mughal rule, during which a few administrative surveys were conducted in North India, such as the sixteenth-century _Ain-i-Akbari_. During this period, pivotal life events in village communities such as births, unions, and deaths often went unrecorded and oral genealogies passed down through the generations, too, have rarely offered the detailed information necessary to reconstruct historical population change. It is only with the arrival of the Portuguese that some localities started recording baptisms or funerals. From the end of the eighteenth century onwards, British forays into India's power structures were gradually accompanied by the introduction of new monitoring tools such as local surveys, head counts and a growing number of thematic reports. In the nineteenth century, Manuals and Gazetteers, for instance, produced long lists of quantitative and qualitative information, incorporating caste distribution, population figures, land areas and revenues, as well as cattle, into the summary of colonial resources. By the end of the nineteenth century, civil registration and modern census-taking (starting from 1871–2) provided the first reliable sets of population statistics. The exhaustive survey of the whole population, including the forgotten poor and the low-status groups, was in itself a breakthrough in India's statistical history. These were later complemented by a growing list of various surveys covering agriculture, famine conditions, socioeconomic behavior, and health practices, which became standard after Independence. The census itself hardly changed after the end of colonial rule, even if data tabulation gave a larger priority to economic circumstances and followed new official categories (new administrative units, "scheduled" groups, etc.). However, the coupling of the 2011 census with the establishment of a centralized national population register, which combines demographic and biometric information for all individuals aged 15 years or more, inaugurates a new biopolitical era in India's bureaucratic history with as yet unpredictable consequences for statistical reliability. Along with the relatively modest penetration of government apparatuses into people's lives that characterizes India's "soft state" approach, the recent and somewhat exogenous origin of its statistical institutions goes a long way toward explaining why the resulting statistics appear still incomplete and, at times, depressingly unreliable today. Take the central notion of age introduced during the first census rounds of the nineteenth century, which makes age still widely misreported today, or consider the huge number of unreported births and deaths missing from statistical tables in spite of a civil registration act introduced in 1866.2 Similarly, we should not expect a reliable estimate of average income levels from available statistical agencies, nor could we try to guess the number of Brahmans in the country without resorting to now infamous colonial surveys taken more than 70 years ago. The truth is that in the absence of in-depth anthropological studies of survey conditions in India, the process of data gathering still remains something of a mystery. We have no description of the specific social interactions between populations and surveyors that lead to the creation of "statistical data" during a census or a survey, leaving mostly to statisticians the responsibility to assess data quality and to document so-called survey errors or response biases. These apparent flaws in the dominant statistical narrative stem from both a generous dose of indifference to official questioning and an equally large semantic gap between statistical nomenclatures and relevant social categories. The indifference stems especially from the restricted capacity of government agencies to concretely influence individual circumstances. In addition, the gap between the formal statistical categories and local notions of social coding is a further cause for the statistical infelicities regularly reported by statisticians and demographers. The rumination on alien and supposedly context-free categories by surveyors and surveyees alike has often led to random meaning and unpredictable survey results (Guilmoto 1992). Moreover, sensitive categories such as religion or mother tongue have at times generated their own controversies and disputes (Brass 1979; Jones 1990), forcing statisticians to shed their veil of ignorance to recognize the independent role of social mobilization in the process of information production. Two divergent attitudes toward statistical information have developed among scholars, in which we recognize on the one side a somewhat spontaneously positivist orientation that easily degenerates into a blind faith in empirical data, and on the other a _de rigueur_ postmodern mistrust fueled by the colonial filiation of the statistical enterprise. For all their respective convenience, these two positions lead to frustrating results. Many data can, in fact, be fruitfully extracted from India's information bases, but only after a proper filtering. Data bear some of the marks of the complex social interactions that accompanied their production, and what follows is an attempt to listen to their convoluted "voices." The statistical narrative in India is probably less hegemonic than usually thought. Reports and tabulations resemble, on the contrary, a formidable palimpsest in which the imprints of opinions, norms, and behaviors need to be carefully sorted out. REGIONS: SOCIOLOGICAL AND ADMINISTRATIVE DEFINITIONS India's external boundaries are stable, but they also remain contested, and all maps published in India are obliged to include several border areas that have been outside of Indian control for decades and peopled by Chinese or Pakistani nationals. Within India, large inner tracts have also temporarily slipped from full administrative control (Naxalite presence is estimated to affect a quarter of Indian districts). The country is officially divided into 28 states, 6 union territories and 1 national capital territory. These units of various sizes (the largest state, Uttar Pradesh, would be the world's fifth most populous country) are further divided into 626 districts ( _zila_ ). Further down the administrative scale, the political grid becomes far more heterogeneous. The 5,463 smaller administrative units of 2001 correspond mostly to _tehsils_ and _taluks_ , but several states have their own units such as _mandals_ – circles – or communes. These units are probably the most appropriate for comparing with data collected during fieldwork.3 Cultural geographers will find it difficult to use administrative toponyms as an indicator of real regions. Almost no state carries the name of a historical Indian region, and most use convenient geographical neologisms or resurrected Sanskrit toponyms introduced since Independence.4 Almost no famous cultural region name commonly used by individuals and communities to identify their origin has found its way into the administrative grid. No map would bear mentions of Doab, Kathiawar, Kongu Nadu, Malwa, Konkan, or Malnad. As a result, toponyms that are crucial to regional identities are poorly known outside their region of origin, and people have often adopted the new acronyms ("UP-walla" for inhabitants of the Uttar Pradesh). It is, however, interesting to note that some of these forgotten historical appellations figure prominently among the newly proposed "postlinguistic" divisions such as Vidarbha, Bundelkhand, or Telengana states. This suggests the inception of a new regional assertiveness going beyond the linguistic division fought for during the 1950s and the further adjustments later conceded for political reasons. At a lower level of the administrative structure, local politics has often disrupted the mainly technocratic enterprise of dividing districts into viable administrative units. Tamil Nadu provides an eloquent example, with intense redistricting operations since the 1950s that have seen the emergence of 32 new units out of the original 13 districts. During the 1980s and 1990s, its districts were also often rechristened, using names of persons with specific political connotations, from the little-known politician Pasumpon Muthuramalinga Thevar (Sivaganga district) to the outsider figure of Ambedkar (Vellore district). Uttar Pradesh has recently entered the name game by creating new districts bearing names of distinct dalit flavor, such as Kanshiram Nagar, Gautam Buddha Nagar or Jyotiba Phule Nagar – with some districts being renamed after each election. The huge majority of Indian districts, however, bear the name of their urban headquarters. In itself, this single trait perfectly encapsulates the typical urban bias of the local administration of a predominantly rural country such as India. Areas are further divided into urban and rural areas, and India's urbanization level stood at 27.8 percent in 2001. The definition of urban areas is the object of bureaucratic and political considerations, with rural localities regularly being absorbed into town areas and simultaneously some small towns being reclassified as rural units (Ramachandran 1989). Within towns, a process of reclassification has turned traditional urban _mohalla_ (neighborhoods) into new statistical wards or renamed _Nagar_ (subdivision). This overall urban percentage, rather low by international standards, is a feature common to all of South Asia, where urbanization is still an incomplete process. While labor-intensive agriculture and nonagricultural activities have helped to retain the local workforce in spite of wide land inequalities, the caste-based and regional segmentation of the urban labor market acts as a further brake on migration streams toward cities.5 Rural population density in the Indo-Gangetic plains reaches extremely high levels above 1,000 persons per square kilometer, comparable to levels observed elsewhere in deltaic Asia or Western Europe. Moderate urbanization rates also conceal the existence of the highly densely populated "rural areas" in Punjab and Kerala that have most characteristics of the peri-urban landscape _desakota_ observed from Indonesia to East China: density, proximity to towns, intensive agriculture, industrial activities, and strong growth potential. Within cities, the same classificatory problem also plagues the more recent "slum" category, aimed at identifying neighborhoods or tenements lacking basic urban amenities ("poorly built," "congested," "unhygienic", "lacking in proper sanitary and drinking water facilities"), but to which are also added areas "notified" (i.e. registered as slums) by local authorities. While the 2001 census counted more than 40 million people living in urban slums, the official proportions of the slum population ranged in 2001 from a record high 50 percent in Mumbai to less than 10 percent in cities like Patna, Bhopal, and Lucknow, a discrepancy that suggests variations in slum nomenclature that are primarily the result of local administrative decisions. The variety of rural settlements across the country is not easy to classify, given the differing political histories and ecological characteristics of those zones. The classification of villages as political units, used for tax purposes by local rulers and by the colonial administration, was recently reinforced by the local devolution of power ( _Panchayati Raj_ ) introduced during the 1990s. However, census villages are more numerous and heterogeneous units than political units ( _gram panchayat_ ). The sizes and shapes of villages vary greatly across the country, ranging from dense and spread-out populations in lowland Kerala to sparse and isolated settlements in Western Rajasthan. As a result, the average size of 593,643 populated "census villages" recorded in 2001 – India's administrative structure also includes a large number of "uninhabited villages" – ranges from fewer than 400 inhabitants in Uttarakhand to more than 10,000 in Kerala.6 Villages are usually multicaste, but often with one socially or numerically dominant _jati_ (subcaste). In fact, the caste composition of neighboring villages often appears rather heterogeneous. Moreover, the intense geographical segregation within the village means that castes and groups at the top and the bottom of the local hierarchy are clearly demarcated in space. Lower status groups are at times relegated to a distant satellite hamlet such as the Tamil "cheri", and they therefore share very little of the central village's amenities and infrastructures such as schools, drinking water facilities, or places of worship. Consequently, an individual village rarely reflects accurately the actual diversity of its cultural micro-regions, making it difficult for anthropologists to claim that one given locality is representative of its region in some statistical sense. SOCIAL BOUNDARIES: PLURALITY, FLUIDITY, AND AMBIGUITY Ever since the colonial period, statistics in India have been replete with social and cultural markers that help to define and classify subpopulations.7 No country in the world, in fact, can pride itself on a similar multilayer classification of its population into language groups, castes and tribal groups, and religion – not to mention region and country of birth – which also serve as indirect markers of social identity. These data are duly collected by census and other statistical organizations and tabulated in scores of official publications. However, they rarely fail to cause academic frustration and perplexity. This section cannot pretend to render justice to the serpentine history of these classificatory systems. Categories old and new were gradually introduced from the nineteenth century onward, starting with relatively straightforward nomenclatures already tested in British surveys such as language and confession. More vernacular ( _desi_ ) categories, such as the elaborate taxonomy of religious sects and of individual caste and tribal groups, appeared simultaneously and were hybrid constructs that underwent repeated rounds of statistical and political fine-tuning. These original categories largely failed to provide robust tools for social classification because of the menacing fluidity in social identification and group membership that may threaten the statistical project at its very foundations. Over the years, census agents learned to their dismay that rumors, deliberate social mobilizations about the way census questions should be answered, or the mere impact of social change were enough to significantly alter previously clear-cut boundaries. The elasticity of language, religious, or caste boundaries often seemed to negate the entire classificatory enterprise by forcing statisticians to redraw the list of their categories at each survey. Even if some categories from the original nomenclature did not survive the end of colonial rule, many other concepts had a life of their own over the years. Some "sociocultural" identifiers frequently used in survey questionnaires, such as mother tongues and religious affiliations, are the source of interesting statistical tables. However, they owe their complex sociological status to their mixed colonial and _desi_ origins. It is only after several decades after its inception that religious and linguistic definitions took stronger contours in the census, and social mobilization was a crucial element in this process – Punjab may be considered as a test case, since its spatial boundaries, official language and script, and religious communities were subjected to decades of refashioning after the late nineteenth century, from the founding of the reform Hindu sect Arya Samaj, in 1875, to the more recent Akali or Sikh movement in the early twenties of the twentieth century (Jones 1990). Bihar languages such as Maithili or Bhojpuri provide yet another case of late recognition. Caste classification has long been the most complex statistical enterprise in India. In particular, the boundaries of endogamous caste groups have been deeply reshaped by numerous episodes of caste redefinition, and as a result, the size of some of the caste groupings has increased through the gradual absorption of groups of similar status.8 An obvious example of caste redefinition concerns the scheduled castes (SC) and scheduled tribes (ST), which are policy-oriented categories that feature prominently in statistical tables. Similarly, linguistic and religious categorizing has been simplified over the years, but it has gradually allowed a vast majority of the population to fall into stable classificatory units. The outer boundaries of many groups are still a matter of contention, and new language groups or caste affiliations are bound to slightly disrupt the stability of the usual nomenclature. Firmer ethnic definitions have also led to demands for separate states, such as those put forward by Bodos or Gorkhas in Northeast India. The strong statistical "robustness" of the SC/ST categories vis-à-vis almost any measurable dimension of India's society (from its spatial distribution to its socioeconomic disparities) suggests that the apparently extreme internal heterogeneity of these bureaucratic constructs matters less than their profound differences with the rest of the population. That low-caste Sikh Mazhabi could be meaningfully lumped together with Bengali Namasudra and Malayali Pulayar in the single all-comprehensive list of SC (or dalit) communities is, in itself, an anthropological wonder, given these groups' widely differing practices, beliefs, and so forth. Other unlikely sociological collages include the "Muslims," whose members are recruited from Kashmiri Shaikh to Mappilas in Kerala, and the "tribal populations" dispersed all over the country in often very isolated settings. Apart from being politically loaded – an erroneous estimate of Muslim population growth led, for example, to the 2004 dismissal of an otherwise accomplished census commissioner – these categories do, however, display distinct predictive capacities when it comes to socioeconomic features and demographic behavior. An anthropological critique of these categories leading to their repudiation would run the risk of losing invaluable tools by which to assess the extent of social inequity in India. Apart from scheduled castes and tribes (almost a quarter of India's population), the rest of the "Hindu population" represents a large group of people (probably more than 60 percent of the population) that has been statistically indistinct ever since the last caste tabulations were published in the 1931 census. Ever since the 1989 protest around the report of the Mandal Commission on backward groups, the new category of "other backward classes" (OBC) has slowly crept into the statistical machinery (Chalam 2007). It is a composite category intended to bring together low-caste communities that are not scheduled castes and its local definition led to a lot of political bargaining in view of the many potential benefits of OBC membership. Nevertheless, the recent emergence of this new grouping indicates two important dimensions of India's social categorizing paradigm. The first one is that criteria used to delineate OBCs have been to a large extent socioeconomic and based on the poverty, education, and occupation profiles of each concerned _jati_. The additional and more sociological yardstick used to define OBCs (viz. "social backwardness," manual labor, and early age at marriage) is no doubt far more blurred than the original definition of dalit communities as outcastes (or untouchables), and several rural "dominant castes" such as the Jats in Haryana have, as a matter of fact, even found their way into the list of backward classes. A second aspect that needs to be underlined is that social backwardness has remained an inherited collective attribute rather than an individual or household-level acquired characteristic. Bureaucratic classification has retained caste membership as a primary definition for socioeconomic vulnerability, in spite of the increasing heterogeneity between caste members (often illustrated by the counterexamples of the "creamy layer" and the "poor Brahman family"). While socioeconomic position does to a significant extent coincide with caste membership, the system clearly reifies caste divisions and posits economic upward mobility as a threat to the political stability of the classificatory system. Keeping in mind the numerous difficulties in matching statistical concepts with sociological categories, we will now turn to the examination of what available demographic information can tell us about social arrangements, starting with family structures and marriage patterns. CHANGES IN FAMILY AND POPULATION STRUCTURES The family structure is one institution that social scientists have monitored with great attention since Independence (Shah 1998; Uberoi 2005). The joint family and its definition (common residence, commensality, joint ownership, ritual bonds, etc.) constitute an area in which anthropologists and demographers tend to differ because of the gap between the extended family network and the actual household registered in surveys. In fact, surveys and censuses have repeatedly shown that nuclear arrangements have always predominated over joint family arrangements in India. When they exist, the life span of joint families tends to be short because of the risk of partition following widowhood, family dispute, marriage, and migration. But the rather slow change observed across India in complex family patterns – 18 percent of Indian households included two or more married couples in 2001 against 20 percent in 1981 – is often regarded as a demonstration of the resilience of long-established family institutions and kinship systems. Moreover, a large number of nuclear families also include members of three different generations (J. Singh 2005). Seen from inside, family structures have, however, been completely reshaped by demographic change. Households – usually defined by the use of a common residence and kitchen – are today smaller (4.8 persons per household) and older than at any time in the past. Apart from the specific effects of migration, India's changing demographic structure, as shown by mortality and fertility declines, has played a key role in these transformations. The household population has aged because of lower mortality risks and also because of the gradually declining number of children (Rajan and Aliyar 2008). The proportion of parents and grandparents is consequently rising, and this is directly reflected in the average composition of households. The probability of having surviving grandparents or great-grandparents has increased significantly, while in contrast, the average number of grandchildren has declined. The number of siblings people have, a direct function of the average number of children born to women, has reduced to one brother and one sister on average – as opposed to four in the past. Single-child families are also common in many settings, including rural areas of Kerala or Tamil Nadu, and their proportion is bound to rise with fertility continuously going down. The average number of kin, when we enlarge this definition to incorporate paternal branches, has also diminished. Thus, with three children per woman on average, everybody has on average eight paternal first cousins and siblings. However, this number reduces to three in smaller families (with two children per woman on average). Some 50 years ago, the average number of siblings and first paternal cousins was no less than 35. The reduction in the number of kin would appear even more drastic if we were to include second-degree cousins on the paternal side, giving an idea of the dramatic reduction in family size entailed by fertility decline. The institution of the family as an almost inexhaustible resource pool for support, connections, and other "weak links" has been eroded by new reproductive choices and the rise of the small family norm. However, a vector of new forces is now influencing family structures. The positive impact on household size of the increased longevity of adults and the elderly has canceled out other factors, including the declining number of sons, the elevation in the age at marriage, the increasing frequency of divorce, and the impact of migration. The combination of slowly declining numbers of multigenerational households and the reduction in the average number of children is resulting in a rapid reduction in the number of close family members, and it is not yet clear how this will impact current modes of sociability and their potential extension toward other family members (including affines), caste fellows, neighbors, friends and colleagues. Age is the most fundamental information on India's population structures, yet it is probably one of the most poorly estimated in surveys and censuses, since only a minority of people in the population know their exact age. Age is also at the core of the demographic change, which primarily entails, as we have seen, a rapid reduction in the youth population and an increase in the average age of a household member. It can also be translated into the four _ashrama_ stages of the classical tradition, with men passing successively through the stages of _brahmacharya_ (student), _grhasta_ (householder), _vanaprastha_ (retirement), and _sannyasa_ (renunciation). In the ancient demographic regime characterized by low survivorship rates, reaching the last two stages was reserved for only a tiny proportion of the population. But today, adulthood in India is now a period characterized by the largest possible access to new resources, in view of both changing economic opportunities and a unique feature of demographic recomposition. The population factor at play in contemporary India is what East Asia specialists have referred to as the "demographic dividends" – the rapid rise of the working age population in areas where proportions of children are fast declining, and where the elderly still constitute a small proportion of the population. As a result, the share of working adults and their ratio to "dependents" (children and the elderly) is reaching a historic high in the current period, and this singular age transition has been associated with a massive "demographic bonus" comprised of higher saving rates and higher investment in human capital (education, training, healthcare, etc.). Low-fertility India will enjoy several decades during which the share of the unproductive population will be at its lowest in the overall population, and this will give working adults a considerable leverage on household matters and on the economy as a whole. One of the consequences of this situation is that investments in children's education have become a primary concern for parents, especially given the declining value of inherited status and assets, and the severe competition on the job market. The shift from the inheritance of traditional features of social capital to extensive investments in human capital represents one more example of changing family strategies. Changes in age structures have rather different implications in terms of support for the elderly (Cohen 1999). The extended family has always been the major, if not the only, site for long-term support (Rajan 2008). Recent socioeconomic progress, however, has not been accompanied by a parallel development in old age support systems. Pension benefits are available for only a limited part of the mostly urban workforce, and no more than 33 percent of the elderly were reported in 2004 to be economically independent. The growing number of elderly adults has created a new type of intergenerational pressure on married couples, forcing them to divert a larger portion of their resources (housing, income, time, etc.) toward their aging parents. Combined with this, the smaller average number of children results in a rapidly increasing probability among adults that they will have to take care of a surviving elderly parent – a trend bound to exacerbate potential generational conflicts and the perception of the elderly as a "burden" to the family. This is a clear case of the failure of traditional institutions – from local family arrangements to widow-receiving religious places such as Vrindhavan in Uttar Pradesh – to cope with changing demographic structures, and of the slow and inadequate response by the market or government forces to the growing need for old age support (see Lamb, chapter 27 in this volume). NUPTIALITY AND MARRIAGE PATTERNS Despite the near total absence of marriage statistics – marriage in India being a private ceremony which is rarely officially registered – demographic surveys document in detail several traits of the marriage system. We can monitor for instance the gradual increase in the average age at first marriage among Indian women, standing at 13 years in the 1930s, when the government implemented the Child Marriage Restraint Act (Sarda Act) and reaching 18 years today. The age gap between spouses remains pronounced today (five years). Unsurprisingly, higher female age at marriage is closely associated with other developmental variables such as urban residence, higher education, and higher income group. The regional patterning of these variations indicates that women marry significantly later in Kerala or in Goa than in Bihar or Rajasthan. However, in spite of these transformations, the female age at first marriage appears rather low in India. Marriage is, moreover, almost universal – less than 2 percent of men and women do not marry – and divorce and remarriage are relatively rare, even if there are large variations across castes and communities. In fact, the pressure to marry and to bear children early remains a very distinctive feature of India's demographic regime that has barely been affected by the forces of social change. Details on many other important facets of nuptiality patterns are missing from statistical sources. Nonnormative or less frequent features such as divorce, remarriage, levirate, concubinage, polygamy, and same-sex unions are almost absent from available statistics. Another key dimension of nuptial arrangements left out of surveys relates to the dowry and other marital transfers. The top-down diffusion of the dowry model from the higher castes to the rest of the population is as well known as it is poorly attested by survey measurements. The same can be said of the regional diffusion of dowry practices toward parts of East or South India where the bride price system had earlier prevailed (Srinivasan 2005). What nevertheless appears obvious is that this longstanding regional dimension of kinship patterns (Karve 1953) has been eroded by a rapid process of regional and social homogenization. Dowry exchange has almost everywhere become a crucial tool in avoiding the perils of a hypogamic misalliance, or a marriage in which the bride is of higher status than her husband. It may be noted that a heightening of the investment in dowry for women parallels that of the educational investments in children mentioned earlier, and corresponds to a structural shift in family strategies. A dimension of Indian nuptiality patterns that is reflected in demographic data is the prevalence of village exogamy (Singh 2005). As a result, women's migration patterns in India appear to be more intense than men's – a feature that seems at odds with the severe restrictions that are otherwise placed on female mobility. Caste endogamy is, however, another characteristic of marriage systems that surveys can rarely document, even while genetic studies of the biological makeup of caste groups in India and the extent of "mixture between ancestral populations" are gradually getting more precise (Reich et al. 2009). If we were to assume that the boundaries of the caste groups have roughly remained the same over the years, demographic change would have few consequences for strict endogamy as long as the population did not diminish, as among the Parsis. It is rather the increasing economic differentiation within endogamous groups that may jeopardize the system: parents are less and less likely to find "suitable" (economically compatible) brides or grooms within their close circles, and have to resort to more anonymous search procedures, such as matrimonial advertisements. An obvious casualty of this growing need for economic isogamy is the declining prevalence of cross-cousin and other intrafamily marriages in South India, which still account for a third of the unions in Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, and Tamil Nadu. Fertility reduction and economic heterogeneity have induced a steady decline in the practice of consanguine unions (Caldwell et al. 1988). While arranged marriages widely predominate, the rise in the incidence of marriages by personal choice (so-called "love marriage") in both urban and rural areas of the country remains unfortunately a matter of statistical uncertainty (see Clark-Decès, chapter 28 in this volume). REPRODUCTION AND FERTILITY TRANSITION Most observations on changing family structures refer to the central component of demographic change that has affected Indian society since the 1960s, viz. the gradual decline in the number of children born to Indian women.9 Before this period, women in India had an average of six births, of which a significant proportion of the children died before adulthood. This fertility level in the past was on the whole rather moderate in view of the early marriage patterns and the absence of contraception. Early widowhood was the only visible check on fertility, although lesser-known factors – such as overly low fecundity, deliberate abstinence, or lower frequency of intercourse along with abortion – account for the relatively low levels obtained in the past (Mandelbaum 1974; Patel 1994). The ancient demographic regime, characterized by both early and high fertility, but also by high death rates and short length of life, underwent a first transitional phase after 1920 when mortality levels started declining. The family planning campaigns launched by the government beginning in the 1960s, as well as the pressure felt by expanding families because of the increase in the number of surviving children, are the sources of the gradual fertility decline observed since 1970. At the same time, changing social and economic conditions have reduced the value of child labor while swelling the cost of care and education, first in urban areas and other socioeconomically more advanced regions such as South India, and later on in Punjab. Today, 40 years of fertility transition have brought several regions to fertility levels lower than those observed in many Western countries, but the decline is far from over. In several areas, especially in the Hindi Belt, the average family size remains above 3.5 children per woman. Education, urban residence and socioeconomic uplift did facilitate the gradual diffusion of the small family norm. However, interestingly enough, economic growth per se has played but a secondary role in this, and it may be observed that educated and well-off women in Uttar Pradesh have today more offspring than illiterate Tamil women: the cultural patterning of fertility disparities has now been recognized as a central trait of India's demographic system (Dyson and Moore 1983), in which regions with a higher status for women and more bilateral kinship systems have acted as pioneers of the Malthusian revolution. A recent illustration of this cultural nexus is the abrupt fall in fertility rates observed in Andhra Pradesh, a region otherwise characterized by a rather mediocre overall level of human and economic development. These comments suggest that the much publicized government intervention in family planning had a favorable impact only in areas where social change – fueled by urbanization and off-farm employment, the rising returns on educational investments in children, and a more open political space – had already reshaped gender arrangements and family structures. Increases in age at marriage and the gradual spread of contraception are additional expressions of these transformations, not their causes. The crux of demographic change is probably found at the junction of endogenous forces of social change and exogenous government initiatives, during historical moments in which empowered women and couples are in a position to withstand the formidable inertia of traditional institutions. Survey data provide accurate summaries of demographic outcomes and their immediate determinants. But in order to understand changes in reproductive strategies themselves, the processes are rarely better captured than by contextual field studies focusing on the locus of demographic choices: women's lives, family cycles, local traditional institutions, and in the backdrop, government infrastructure (Säävälä 2001; Jeffery and Jeffery 1997). GENDER IMBALANCES In a society whose gender order is at the core of processes of social differentiation, day-to-day discrimination and violence against women lie hidden beneath most measurable outcomes or recordable behaviors and attitudes, and cannot be exhaustively captured by statistical indicators.10 Nevertheless, standard population statistics have long provided detailed imprints of India's most remarkable singularity in enforcing a demographic gender order: women's survival depends on larger household priorities in which their lives are systematically undervalued. While India is not the only country in Asia where the courses of women's lives are partly determined by patriarchal bias, it displays several unique features in the way gender discrimination is demographically implemented.11 From the nineteenth century onward, foreign visitors observed local gender practices that had a potential bearing on demographic structures such as widow immolation, unhealthy delivery practices, and selective infanticide. But colonial censuses at the end of the century gave statistical flesh to these often superficial insights by demonstrating that India's population had an unexpectedly large male majority. This elevated sex ratio (ratio of males per females) was the source of endless discussion among statisticians, who often tended to attribute it to selective underenumeration. It was in the late 1960s that the apparent female deficit was clearly demonstrated to be the consequence of unusually high female mortality. From early childhood until late in adult life, women in India experience lower survival rates than men: as newborn victims of infanticide, as children suffering from parental discrimination, as pregnant women dying during delivery, or as adult or elderly women deprived of family care. Recent studies have also shown how mortality risks are higher among widows without filial support and without private property – a cruel indication of the intimate relationship between survival chances and economic worth (Chen 2000). Yet sex differentials in mortality have shrunk over the last two decades, and female life expectancy is now higher than that of men. But this evolution toward greater gender equity in health and care has been accompanied by a most striking deterioration of female life chances _before_ birth. In the past, the male bias was first expressed among children by preferential treatments toward boys, resulting in higher mortality risks among girls due to poorer nutrition intake and lack of adequate care, with female infanticide restricted to small regions in Gujarat or Punjab. These traits of the old discriminatory regime have partly vanished and the recent process of demographic masculinization corresponds mostly to a rapid modernization of the discriminatory system since the 1980s, a change fostered by the emergence of prenatal sex selection. The combination of rather liberal abortion laws introduced in 1971 with the introduction of prenatal diagnosis techniques based on amniocentesis or ultrasonography has caused a large number of women to resort to sex-selective abortions in order to avoid the birth of unwanted daughters. The resulting sex ratio at birth has therefore gradually increased from a biological level of 104–106 to values above 110 in the country as a whole since 2000, with extreme values well above 120 registered in Punjab, Haryana, or Delhi. Such levels presuppose a high level of preference for a son, backed by a dense healthcare structure, consisting in particular of private clinics where cheap ultrasound and abortion services are offered, and a rather low fertility level, which tends to exacerbate the perceived need for prenatal sex selection (by raising the probability of remaining sonless among small families). From a sociological viewpoint, it has further been shown that excessively wide sex ratios are associated with three factors: regional patterns, with clear hotspots of birth masculinity emerging from the regional maps, anthropological features associating specific communities such as Sikhs, Jains or Jats with elevated sex ratios, and household prosperity related to both dowry inflation and lower fertility. Today's inordinate proportions of male births will automatically translate into rising male surpluses among adults in the future, and the associated phenomenon of marriage squeeze has already been observed in Northwest India. Ironically, the preference for sons and the resulting numerical gender imbalances will undermine some of the foundations of the patriarchal ideologies and practices. The mounting risk of male nonmarriage and of failure to perpetuate the patrilineage will force families to relax their endogamous rules, probably putting a brake on dowry inflation for the same reason. In fact, while the potential macro-impact of future surpluses of unmarried males is still widely debated, anthropologists should soon observe within families and communities a vast array of transformations in gender arrangements (dowry, inheritance, rituals, caste endogamy, etc.) to accommodate the changing position of marriageable daughters in a predominantly male society. SOCIOECONOMIC INEQUALITY The definition of India's socioeconomic structure has long been a cause of disagreement between economists, sociologists, and historians. Some difficulties encountered when trying to use a fixed socioeconomic scale result from the transitional nature of an occupational structure that has combined remnants of feudalism with transnational capitalistic formations and also from the lingering debate on the respective importance of status hierarchy and economic stratification (the Marx versus Weber dilemma) in determining the nature of inequality in India (Gupta 1993). A long tradition associated with "the mode of production debate" has also existed in Indian scholarship focusing primarily on the specific nature of the agrarian class structures. The census classification of peasant communities into "agricultural laborers" and "cultivators" is a reflection of this concern, even if in-depth surveys have to incorporate many more indicators – such as tenure arrangements, or cultivated and irrigated areas – to capture the significant dimensions of rural inequality. The rapid but as yet incomplete shift from rural feudalism toward a more typical class system has further complicated the picture, and categories used to classify the nonagricultural workforce are often inadequate to capture the class stratification. Data on occupational structures are often of limited use in characterizing local economic levels, and other indirect socioeconomic indicators – such as literacy and infant mortality derived from a wider social development perspective – are often preferable for defining local socioeconomic profiles. This statistical inadequacy has in particular fueled the never-ending debate on the size and boundaries of the new Indian middle class that epitomizes the country's recent economic surge. The interest in India's expanding middle classes proceeds, however, less from a sociological interest in rapidly changing political and class structures than in the rise in disposable income and the resulting expansion in the consumption market with its peculiar Indian flavor. A more strictly economic definition of the middle class itself is made difficult by the large number of workers from the rural and urban informal sectors who rely on multiple and irregular sources of income, in a country where the quality of income estimates is remarkably poor. The appreciation of socioeconomic disparities in India across regions or social groups requires, therefore, resorting to various proxies that go far beyond the standard definition of income groups or occupational structures (Cassen and McNay 2004). Consumption indicators are often the most effective substitutes for lack of direct economic measurements: for instance, the statistical figures indicating that India's poverty rates have almost halved during the last two decades – contradicting the more pessimistic scenarios pointing to the slight rise in overall inequality – are, for instance, determined by household expenditure estimates rather than by real income series. Regional consumption expenditures are therefore among the most reliable sources to assess average economic conditions. While these poverty indices are of crucial importance at the national and international levels to monitor the progress of India's economy, they can also be used locally to identify households that are eligible for specific economic schemes. Estimates of nutritional status provide yet another proxy of social and economic development. Consumption and nutrition patterns remain, however, difficult and expensive to ascertain in the course of surveys. As a result, we often rely on basic indicators such as housing quality or household goods and amenities (toilet facilities, color TV, bank account, etc.). Educational characteristics are also useful indicators of disparities in human development levels across communities or regions, especially as they also reflect local dysfunctional infrastructures. Several official categories based on social and spatial definitions (scheduled castes, notified slums, etc.) may also be used to identify vulnerable populations. Definitions such as these are based on group membership and would thus appear inadequate to capture individual family circumstances. However, the convergence between India's social, spatial and economic dimensions ensures that collective social characteristics often turn out to be reliable predictors of the economic status of individual households. Along with caste, gender is the other central axis of stratification and accounts for a large share of the interindividual variations in employment and earnings even after controlling for lower female education levels (Das 2006). Social norms that discourage women from seeking jobs are reinforced by a segmented labor market that discriminates against them. In fact, the porosity between income stratification and labor segmentation, on the one hand, and caste and gender arrangements, on the other, is an additional testimony to the strong embeddedness of economic structures in society, calling for a joint anthropological and socioeconomic approach in understanding the underpinnings of inequity and poverty in India. But adequate field-level studies of economic deprivation and social exclusion remain in short supply (Kumar 2000; Krishna 2004). CONCLUSION The information base appears scattered in India, and its categorical foundations suffer from serious defects that tend to discourage use by social analysts. These deficiencies, however, should not prevent anthropologists from appropriating available data. Despite their Byzantine format inherited from decades of statistical and political transactions, statistical agencies provide a mass of often underutilized data that shed indispensable light on changing sociodemographic conditions. On the face of aggregated statistics, the forces of social change and the impact of the exploding market economy seem to have only marginally blurred local and regional heterogeneities. Socioeconomic change has indeed hardly displaced the deep structures of Indian society described by the first field studies of the 1950s, in spite of the decades of economic growth, migration, urbanization, and demographic transition. As elsewhere, the inertia of social structures acts as a brake on spatial and social mobility, and India's new geography so far has only weakened its entrenched cultural patterning. This almost inert macro-picture does, however, obscure the crucial transformations that are already affecting localities, villages, families and individuals documented by field studies. Within families, mortality and fertility declines have directly affected both individual life courses and household reproductive cycles, and are irreversibly altering the demographic base of social organization in India, while economic development has profoundly altered the set of available opportunities. New individual and household strategies as well as economic mobility are a further source of inflection affecting the structure of households and communities. This should constitute an avenue for richer exchanges between demographers and anthropologists. Aggregated or averaged indicators are seldom sufficient indicators to evaluate the local impact of the forces of change, especially as transformations tend to be heavily clustered in specific regions, localities or social groups. Only micro-perspectives can render justice to the pace of change and their articulation with local social structures. Both the factors and the implications of demographic change on individuals, households and communities are usually missing from standard demographic analyses and their interpretation is only possible by close observations typical of local qualitative surveys. This appears especially true for India where traditional institutions – compared to market forces and government interventions – continue to play a major role in shaping demographic behaviors. At the same time, statistical indicators provide a necessary backdrop to assess the intricacies of family and community dynamics and point to some of the most significant implications of current changes in age and gender compositions. No anthropologist should therefore venture into the analysis of local change without a preliminary understanding of regional trends and differentials that is today made possible by accessible sociodemographic data, trying to focus on disaggregated figures whenever possible to avoid the local fallacy of national averages. Long-term transformations in the demographic regime over the last 50 years such as fertility decline or increased spatial mobility have manifestly affected anthropological systems and deeply reshaped families and communities. Moreover, several well-established demographic trends at play today – such as shrinking family networks, population aging, demographic masculinization, migratory pressure or delayed marriage to name a few – clearly point to some of the inevitable structural dimensions of future social change that will impact the contours of Indian society at every scale. No one should be surprised, for instance, to learn that difficulties in marrying one's sons in Punjab, spending years abroad among Malayalis or caring for one's elders in Tamil Nadu will force a rapid transformation in India's family patterns. However, only anthropologists can tell us the ingenuity and flexibility through which social systems will cope with these changing circumstances. APPENDIX: GOING FURTHER Basic data on the distribution of the population and its main characteristics are found in decennial censuses, the next round of which is scheduled for March 2011. The census office (Office of the Registrar General) remains the major source of data and maps for population totals and socioeconomic characteristics such as age, sex, marital status, occupation, religion, mother tongue, educational level, or household amenities. Special tabulations are also available for states and rural/urban areas along with scheduled castes and tribes. Additional village statistics on infrastructures and amenities are also collected every 10 years. An annual series of measurements of demographic trends is collected by the Sample Registration System, which compensates for the inadequacy of the civil registration system. However, the most elaborate information on reproductive patterns (nuptiality, childbearing, mother and child health, nutritional status, sexual activity) is located in the results of the regular National Family and Health Surveys, the last round of which was conducted in 2005–6. These surveys include also valuable information on domestic violence and AIDS. Additional demographic surveys such as the District Level Household Survey provide further information on nutritional status, health behaviors and health facilities, while HIV/AIDS statistics fall mostly under the purview of the National AIDS Control Organisation. Nonnormative arrangements such as divorce and remarriage, abortion, homosexual relationships, polygamy, nonmarital childbearing and caste exogamy tend often to be downplayed in official statistics and are only described in recent innovative qualitative surveys (Koenig et al. 2008). More information on economic characteristics of Indian regions and social groups is available from the regular survey rounds of the National Sample Survey Organisation. While these surveys focus mostly on employment, income, consumption patterns, and landholdings, they also document various aspects of social life such as housing, health behavior, migration patterns, education, and nutrition. In-depth and more innovative studies are also published by the National Council of Applied Economic Research. Its recent India Human Development Survey explores, in particular, issues of caste membership, gender relations, and social capital. The Anthropological Survey of India has limited recent publications in social anthropology since its somewhat unfashionable People of India series published in the 1990s. While many language data are found in census tables, in-depth linguistic studies are also conducted by the Central Institute of Indian Languages. NOTES This chapter has benefited from comments and suggestions by Rémy Delage, Ines G. Zupanov, and the editor. 1 India's population will be 1.21 billion inhabitants in 2010, according to United Nations estimates. According to the same set of estimates, India will have the world's largest population by 2030, thereby outstripping China. 2 A large proportion of the population tends to report age in round numbers such as 50 or 60. Similarly, the frequency with which births and deaths remain unreported renders the use of civil registration statistics often impossible. 3 Studies of India's demographic history include Davis 1951; Guha 2001; Visaria and Visaria 1983. See Dyson et al. 2003 for a survey of current issues. Sopher 1980 and Ahmad 1999 provide elaborate interpretations of India's social and cultural geography. 4 English names of towns and cities have increasingly reverted to their _desi_ (vernacular) equivalent, from Shimla to Thiruvananthapuram. 5 On migration, see in particular Chari et al. 2003; Breman 1996; Deshingkar and Farrington 2009; Racine 1997. On nomadism, see Rao and Casimir 2003. 6 Mencher 1966 provides the example of a masterly study of the social and ecological configuration of rural settlements in South India. 7 On population statistics in India and related issues, see Appadurai 1994; Cohn 1987; Brass 1979. For a recent restatement of colonial knowledge, see Roy 2005. 8 In its valiant attempt to update colonial surveys, the Anthropological Survey of India identified no fewer than 4,635 distinct caste groups in the early 1990s (K. Singh 1992). 9 On nuptiality and fertility changes in India, see Caldwell et al. 1988; Guilmoto and Rajan 2005; Visaria 2005. 10 A typical finding of surveys on violence reflecting prevailing patriarchal norms is the high level of acceptance of wife battering in India. 11 The discussion in this section borrows from Guilmoto 2009. See also Miller 1981; John et al. 2008; Patel 2006. REFERENCES Ahmad, A. 1999 Social Geography. New Delhi: Rawat. 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Dharma Kumar and Meghnad Desai, eds. Pp. 463–532. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. CHAPTER 2 Caste, Class, and Untouchability _Robert Deliège_ One of the best-known facts about Indian society is that its social organization is dominated by caste. To many scholars, and likely even to the nonspecialists, caste has been imagined as a quintessentially Hindu phenomenon – the social expression of the religious traditionalism that characterizes Indian society and an all-pervading institution that permeates the whole of social relations. In both academic scholarship and popular writings, India was for a long time imagined to be a timeless, unchanging, and apolitical society in which religion was omnipresent – an omnipresence that was either glorified for providing spiritual wisdom lacking in the West or vilified for keeping the country economically "backward" and materially deprived. Whether celebrated or criticized, however, theorists of India tended to assume that the country was completely different from the West, and that the religious underpinnings of caste played a crucial role in India's economic stagnation, forming a kind of straightjacket that inhibited any kind of initiative (Bayly 1999:11). To a large extent, this view even lay at the core of one of the most sophisticated analyses of Indian society, Louis Dumont's _Homo Hierarchichus_. Reemphasizing the common dichotomies between East and West as fundamentally irreconcilable entities, Dumont opposed holism to individualism, and held up caste as a clear example of the former. Whereas autonomous individuals constituted Western societies, he argued, castes made up Indian societies, and as a result, Indians thought of themselves, first and foremost, as members of corporate groups. Such representations of Indian society were typical of the Orientalist tradition that considered India primarily through its sacred literature – a practice somewhat akin to analyzing European society exclusively through the Bible. When social anthropologists arrived on the scene, they tended, for the most part, not to contest such representations, and even ended up reinforcing them with concepts like "system" and "structure" – ideas that perpetuated the implicit assumption that social order is imposed upon individuals who are passive and static agents (Wiser 1936). Again, while Westerners were imagined to be modern and active, Indians were constructed as stagnant and passive. It was within this context that caste came to be understood as an all-encompassing institution whose ideology of hierarchy pervaded every aspect of social life. The relations between men and women, juniors and seniors, men and gods, and wife-givers and wife-takers, for example, were all read through the lenses of hierarchy and purity. Indians were thus implicitly imagined to be incapable of developing social relations outside of these rigid hierarchical strictures, and India itself was constructed, at least by some, as a world devoid of social change, economic development, equality, compassion, and communal solidarity (Gupta 2000:178; but see Béteille 1966a; 1966b). In the last few decades, however, it has become increasingly difficult to sustain that Indian society is fundamentally stagnant, that Hinduism constitutes an obstacle to economic progress, or that caste is determinative of all possible relations in India. Indeed, it would be very hard today to argue that a country undergoing such steady and rapid economic growth is preoccupied primarily with matters of ritual pollution! In spite of these dramatic changes, however, India is far from having become a fully secularized society, and religious values continue to play an important role in the various fields of social life. And what is true of religion is even truer of caste: Far from having disappeared altogether, it remains an important part of a modern and democratic society – a reality that explicitly defies the predictions made by modernist sociologists beginning in the 1950s during another period of secularization that has numerous parallels to the contemporary period. Shortly after Independence, Indian sociologists began to devote considerable attention to the changes their society was undergoing (Uberoi et al. 2007). At the time, many of them considered that caste was inherently opposed to modernity, and thus, an institution of the past that would inevitably disappear. Democracy and equality, they thought, could not possibly tolerate a social organization based on hierarchy and inequality. Fifty years later, however, this prophecy has not yet materialized, and caste has shown itself to be perfectly able of adjusting to political democracy, economic development and the modernization of values. In what follows, I will argue that caste remains a potent force in Indian modernity, and is perhaps as strong as ever, but to survive within contemporary conditions, it has had to considerably adjust itself. We shall also examine the relationship between caste and class, the dilution of the ideology of ritual purity, and the struggle of contemporary untouchables. CASTE TODAY: CHANGING DEFINITIONS In very broad terms, we can define caste as a closed (endogamous) status group (see Mines and Lamb's excellent definition 2010). Such a definition is obviously very general, but it will allow us to make certain kinds of comparisons between different cross-cultural realities. If it can be admitted that Indian castes have something peculiar, they also share common features with similar institutions elsewhere in the world. The other advantage of such a broad definition is that it offers a general idea of what a caste is: as a closed status group, a caste is a group of people who are believed to hold common characteristics (either real or putative), access to which is strictly limited by birth. One becomes a member of a caste group by birth, and one marries a person of the same group. The members of a caste are thought to be fundamentally different from people of other groups, though this difference is purely social, since the members of different castes differ very little from one another in physical appearance. At the same time, however, as commonly observed in similar groups, people often rationalize their claims to separate identities by naturalizing their characteristics – that is, by biologizing the idiom through which they talk about their differences. Despite the fact that there are no objective criteria by which to distinguish the members of one caste from those of others, many Indians continue to claim that caste differences can be recognized on physical appearances alone. The last advantage of such a definition is that it allows us to consider caste in historical perspective: if caste remains an important institution in contemporary Indian society, it has nevertheless lost many of its earlier characteristics (see the exploration by Dirks (2001) of the "career of caste" in colonial and postcolonial India). The magnitude of the characteristics that have been lost becomes apparent once we consider more precise criteria of caste definition, such as those provided by Indian anthropologist M. N. Srinivas (1962; 1965; 1971; 1976). For Srinivas, caste is a localized, endogamous, and hereditary group that is associated with a trade and that occupies a special position in a hierarchy. Relations between castes, according to him, are governed by the concepts of pollution and purity that, for instance, characterize the rules of commensality. Srinivas's definition is derived from the French sociologist Célestin Bouglé, who distinguished three major features to characterize the Indian castes, namely endogamy, hierarchy, and hereditary specialization. By examining each of these criteria in some detail, we will come to see that at least two of them no longer adequately describe caste as it currently exists in contemporary India. According to the first criterion, caste is traditionally associated with an occupation or at least with a specific ritual task. There are castes of blacksmiths, washermen, sweepers, potters, tanners, barbers, and, of course, peasants, to name but a few. The relationship between caste and profession is a complex one, but traditionally, all washermen belonged to a caste of washermen, all leatherworkers to a caste of tanners or shoemakers, all carpenters to a caste of carpenters, and so on. The opposite, however, was not always true: all members of a caste of carpenters did not necessarily work with wood and many members of specialized castes practiced agriculture as their primary activity. Since the emergence of modern professions, however, in the last century or so, the match between caste and occupation has lost still more of its texture: There is, of course, no caste of pilots, or of factory workers or medical doctors, and members of these professions are recruited from a wide range of castes. This is a crucial factor in understanding the contemporary changes: Castes that were previously interdependent are now in active competition with one another for jobs in previously nonexistent labor sectors. Despite the fact that traditional occupations largely continue to be exercised by members of certain castes to the exclusion of all others, the diversification of occupations related to modernity has transformed traditional caste interdependence into mutual rivalry and, at times, outright competition. Today everyone aspires to a better life and as a result, the struggle for attractive occupations has become a major issue in contemporary caste struggles. One can even say that the rationale behind caste associations lies in the limited access to the organized sector of the economy, one of their main aims being to help their members to climb the social ladder. The second traditional characteristic of caste is its hereditary nature, as these occupational specialties were preserved and passed on through inbreeding or endogamy. In India, marriage traditionally united two persons belonging to the same caste, and this has largely remained the case. Among the different criteria of caste definition, this closedness is clearly the one that has proven most resistant to change. Although we lack accurate statistics on the matter, the vast majority of marriages continue to be endogamous, and that is true for all classes of society. Intercaste marriages remain rare, and the phrase "caste no bar," which appears in certain matrimonial advertisements in the English press, can be said to apply only to a very small fraction of all marriages. In contemporary India, then, much as in the past, married people belong to the same caste, as do their offspring, and as a result, caste remains a "closed group" to which one belongs by birth and by birth alone. Inbreeding is thought to protect people from the dangers of the outside, since all members of the caste are imagined as sharing a common substance (Marriott and Inden 1977; Daniel 1984). The very term _jati_ , which is the most common vernacular term used to refer to caste, means something like "species." A carpenter from Kangra, for instance, once explained that castes are like species of wood, by which he meant that the blood of one caste is fundamentally different from that of another (Parry 1979). This fear of external contamination has led to a certain separation between castes that remains alive in India today, as members continue to see themselves as different from members of other groups and to confine their kinship relationships to the caste. While intermarriage thus remains taboo, and a certain social distance between groups continues to be actively maintained, in everyday life these separations are not nearly as pronounced as they used to be. Whereas in the past, for example, higher caste members often refused food prepared by lower caste members, and were commonly unwilling to drink water offered by the lower castes, in recent decades these restrictions have lost much of their force, and they no longer constitute a major issue in intercaste relations. These first two features of the definition of caste, hereditary occupational specialization and endogamy, lead naturally to the third: hierarchy. After all, a group that is both specialized and closed will not be self-sufficient, and will necessarily require the existence of other groups with other specializations. A caste of launderers, for example, cannot live without farmers to pay them or carpenters to maintain their houses, ploughs or carts. Traditionally, this interdependence was an absolutely essential feature of the caste system. The various groups that made up the system depended on each other religiously, politically, and economically, though that did not mean that they all enjoyed the same social status. (Interdependence, of course, is not the same thing as equality.) As Dumont observed, caste was the expression, via social organization, of this ideology of hierarchy, around which the whole society revolved and according to which men were inherently unequal, everyone fulfilling the role most appropriate to his or her rank. This sort of hierarchy, however, was probably never clearly practiced in actual social life, and in the contemporary period it has become even less visible on India's social landscape. Today, there is no formal hierarchy that determines the position of everyone, and contemporary changes have only further diluted the importance of such a schema: The weakening of interdependence and the democratization of political life have led to the formation of rival blocs that do not look at each other in hierarchical terms, but simply as different and rival (Béteille 1996). Their mutual struggles are now less over questions of superiority than over how to ensure their members a decent life. The pure and impure ideology The dichotomous opposition between purity and impurity is common in the world's religions, but in India it was used to rationalize and legitimize the very foundations of the social structure, and in this section we shall see how it was applied within the social order. As we shall see, the rules of pollution have been significantly reduced during the last century, but to understand them, we can present here a rather ideal-typical version, close to what existed in the past. In particular, the superiority of Brahmans was explained according to the standards of purity: in order to approach and serve God, Brahmans should, it was thought, wherever possible, be preserved from the impurities of the world, which were imagined to be particularly highly contagious. Brahmans therefore lived constantly preoccupied with purity, and in some cases this preoccupation made their life particularly tedious: a woman, for instance, once told an anthropologist that she bathed every time she heard the word "sandal," and, in some families, people did not dare to give the cows the banana leaves on which they ate so as not to contaminate the milk (Harper 1964). In order for the upper castes to remain pure, and because of the highly contagious nature of impurity, it was necessary that certain sections of society specialize in the treatment of impure matters – particularly death, bodily substances, and demons. Castes of grave diggers, street sweepers, tanners, scavengers, shoemakers have therefore been labeled as "untouchables" and consigned to the bottom of the social hierarchy. Their traditional specialization rendered their members as permanently impure, whatever their actual occupation. This opposition between Brahmans and untouchables could therefore be regarded as the projection onto the social structure of the dichotomy between purity and impurity. This social hierarchy was also expressed in terms of diet and customs, both of which vary according to caste. Brahmans, for example, are mostly vegetarian, as are other upper castes who are likewise vegetarian, but who may also eat fish, eggs, mutton or even chicken. At the other end of the social ladder, lower castes, almost always meat-eaters, ate very "impure" meat like pork and beef, and in the past the most despised even occasionally ate carrion. Even some Brahman customs which do not seem directly related to ritual pollution have enjoyed a positive value, and as such, were often associated with the upper castes: thus, for example, the prohibition of widow remarriage was strictly enforced by upper castes, but was adopted by lower castes willing to improve their social status. In everyday life, hierarchy was reflected by the degree of reciprocity in social relations: when two castes were sociologically closed, most relationships between their members were reciprocal and symmetrical. Within the caste, or at least the subcaste, people had a status more or less similar and tended to be equal, and thus could share food and water. On the contrary, between castes that were socially far apart, inequality was clearly marked, and social interactions were more limited. For example, castes of Brahmans could give food and water to all other castes, but they did not accept anything from them. Until quite recently, many South Indian restaurants advertised that their cooks were Brahmans, and indeed some Brahman castes specialized as cooks. At the bottom of the social hierarchy, untouchables traditionally could not give food or drink to anyone. But between these two extremes, the situation was less clear. Some kind of reciprocity existed between the middle castes – a clear sign of the weakness of status differences between them. The greater the structural distance between two castes, the weaker the interactions between them. Substantialization Soon after Independence, as already mentioned, it was commonly argued that caste would disappear with the inevitable modernization and democratization of society, which would invariably usher in new ideas about equality and individuality. Things, however, did not happen that way. India became a democratic and modernizing society, but caste, far from disappearing, adjusted well to modern conditions. Within modern India, caste fulfills new functions and plays new roles, but it remains strong. While all kinship and affinal relations are still managed by caste (because of the persistence of endogamy already mentioned), we might summarize its transformation by saying that economic interdependence between the castes has weakened, and has increasingly been replaced by relationships of competition; that social hierarchy has been undermined by equality and democratic values; and that ideas of relative purity do not matter as much as they did in the past. Castes, in other words, have radically changed, and more importantly, as we will see, they have undergone a process of "substantialization" by which they are more and more becoming rival ethnic blocs pitted against each other in the fight to obtain access to scarce resources. While castes remain strong, however, it is important to remember that they do not stand alone. India today knows political parties, trade unions, religious associations, service clubs, and all kinds of other organizations that mobilize people in ways that transcend caste. Thus, while strong and increasingly substantialized, caste identity is but one among many. Let us now look more closely at some of these transformations. CASTE, CLASS, AND PRODUCTION Caste society was a particular mode of the division of labor: each caste had a specific economic function and was thus dependent on the others for the fulfillment of related tasks. However, the relationship between certain castes and professions is anything but straightforward. According to G. S. Ghurye (19691932]), a significant proportion of the names of castes were also the names of trades. So, for example, the term Kallar means "thief" in Tamil, Bhangi means "garbage man" in Hindi, Bhandari means "barber" in Oriya, and so on. In the past, only members of washermen castes could wash clothes, and only members of barber castes could shave and cut hair. The opposite, though, was less true: all members of a caste of washermen did not necessarily wash clothes and all the "blacksmiths" were not working iron. The discrepancy between a caste's traditional occupation and the actual professions of its members is nowadays far greater than it was in the past (see C. J. Fuller, [Chapter 4 below). Even in the past, however, the correspondence between caste and profession was far from perfect. In the early twentieth century, for example, while over half of the washermen (Dhobi) or oil pressers (Teli) followed their caste occupation, just over 10 percent of Brahmans were priests and only 5 percent of Chamar worked as tanners. Most of the latter worked as laborers, and a number of castes, like the Pallars of Tamil Nadu (who are mainly agricultural workers), had no specific ritual function at all. Since most of the modern occupations (bus drivers, medical doctors, factory workers, etc.) are not associated with a caste, the relationship between caste and profession has now become even looser than it was in the early twentieth century. Despite many local variations, in the past the "Hindu jajmani system" (or caste-based division of labor) was characterized by a number of key features: First, families representing different castes of a village depended heavily on each other. Second, the relationships between those families were hereditary: a man inherited his father's rights and, on principle, he had no right to sever that relationship. Third, every family of a village, except the untouchables, was entitled to all the services available in the village by virtue of a hereditary link. Fourth, if the recipient of a product or service himself was a member of a caste of service, he would simply provide services to representatives of the other castes to which his own was bound. A washerman, for example, washed the clothes of the barber, who, in return, shaved the members of his family. If the beneficiary was a farmer, he would then pay for services received in kind – that is, in grain at harvest time. Remarkably, the compensation did not depend on the amount of work performed, but was fixed by tradition, and thus each family received a fixed quantity of grain at each harvest, regardless of the work actually provided. Moreover, they were also entitled to a series of gifts at festivals and family celebrations (see Raheja (1988) on the ethnography of gift-giving in a North Indian village). The jajmani system clearly shows that caste was not cut off from material realities. On the contrary, the cultivating castes, as soil owners, dominated the social life of villages. To be dominant, according to the Indian anthropologist M. N. Srinivas, a caste had to own a substantial part of the soil of a locality, to be numerically important, and to thus control a portion of an area's economic and political resources. The dominant caste, as the main producer of agricultural goods, was central to village life, where it reproduced the power of the king. In actual fact, Brahman priests often depended upon the cultivators' offerings, and thus ranked lower than the owners of the land. In parts of India, such as the Tanjore district studied by André Béteille (1966a) and Kathleen Gough (1960), the Brahmans were indeed castes of landowners, but that was not the case everywhere. For instance, some castes with relatively low ritual statuses, like the Kallars, came to dominate areas like the Ramnad and Madurai districts. Everywhere in India, in fact, there were large castes of non-Brahman cultivators-owners that fit this definition of "dominance," including the Jats and the Rajputs in north India, the Patidars in Gujarat, the Marathas in Maharashtra, the Kammas and Reddis of Andhra Pradesh, the Okkaligas and Coorgs in Karnataka, the Nayars in Kerala, and the Vellalars in Tamil Nadu. All of these castes, and many others, combined a clearly marked presence in whole areas with a certain numerical strength and a relatively high ritual status. For the most part, these castes have been able to maintain their importance in contemporary political life, and have become active both politically and economically. The concept of dominant caste allows us to reexamine Indian society in terms of class. If caste can be understood as a closed status group, a social class denotes people who occupy a common position in the process of material production. Factory workers, for instance, can be labeled as a social class. However, social classes are not necessarily self-conscious groups capable of social action, and therefore it is questionable that they constitute a relevant tool for analyzing Indian society. To many observers of India, caste has consistently trumped class when it comes to social mobilization in India (Bayly 1999:343). For much of history, agricultural laborers belonging to various castes, for example, tended to ignore their common interests and were little capable of joint social action. High castes and landowning groups, on the other hand, were generally much more conscious of their economic dominance and capable of maintaining it through means both ideological and coercive. In recent decades, however, the working classes, both industrial and agricultural, have also organized themselves in various ways, and contemporary Indian workers have a fairly high rate of trade union membership (Holmström 1976:65) Broadly speaking, we could say that there is a vague correspondence between caste and class orders, since while the upper castes tend to be economically and politically dominant, the lower castes tend to be dominated. But as soon as one tries to go beyond such very broad truths, things become considerably more complicated. First of all, castes are by no means homogeneous entities: among Brahmans, for instance, one finds rich and powerful people, but also quite poor priests with just enough to make ends meet. Among the many peasant castes, the socioeconomic differences are equally great, since there are numerous small farmers who remain barely able to support their families. Second, even if classes are analytically identifiable in traditional rural society, they did not, by and large, form communities capable of joint action. Agricultural laborers, for instance, belonged to many different castes and did not think of themselves as a united bloc of workers. This lack of identification was compounded by the fact that in many instances, mobilization in rural India was "vertical" – that is, farm workers tended to take up the quarrels of their masters and to therefore oppose other laborers. Class in rural India, therefore, was not a very efficient mobilizing force. In summary, then, we can say that the problem of class in rural India has historically been twofold: first, castes have corresponded only very imperfectly to social classes, and second, the analysis of Indian society in terms of classes has been particularly fraught because of the nonrecognition of such categories by Indians themselves (Moffatt 1979). However, class analysis may be increasingly useful today, as institutions like trade unions, employers' organizations, and political parties explicitly concerned with class interests are on the rise. In most of their labor transactions, factory workers now regularly ignore their caste differences, and if the latter are not completely irrelevant to their understandings of industrial problems, they remain decisively secondary to class interests (Holmström 1976:80). Similarly, at the other end of the spectrum, the upper classes have become more and more capable of horizontal mobilization, and now work to defend their economic privileges as a class. UNTOUCHABLES AND THEIR FIGHT The history of low caste movements also shows that those castes have been remarkably adaptive and changing (Mendelsohn and Vicziany 1998; Omvedt 2006; Michael 2007). Far from accepting their lot, as soon as it became possible most of the lower castes fought tooth and nail to improve their status and position within society. To take but one famous example, the first census of the Indian population in 1871 was the cue for endless petitions and demands from all sorts of castes that wished to improve their names or status. This was soon followed by many low-caste movements such as the breast-cloth controversy (Hardgrave 1969:23), the creation of caste associations, the fusion of subcastes, the numerous changes of caste names, the Sanskritization process (Srinivas 1971; Charsley 1998), religious conversions (Lynch 1969; Mosse 1999), economic development, and so forth. The lowest castes, however, were not the most active in this first stage, since their extreme poverty and state of semislavery did not allow much room for maneuver. Yet they, too, took advantage of the slightest possibility of becoming involved in a process of upward mobility, working either as domestic servants for European families or as members of the police and armed forces. These possibilities were only open to specific individuals or families, but they encouraged the emergence of a tiny elite that, in some cases, tried to organize the rest of the caste. This was clearly the case with semi-untouchable castes such as the Izhavas and Nadars of South India, but even at the very bottom of society there were also attempts to get organized as soon as the beginning of the twentieth century. In Kerala, for example, one can mention the name of Ayyankali (1863–1941), who fought on behalf of the Pulayas. Not all castes, of course, knew leaders of this type, but many untouchables began to actively refuse to fulfill the traditional polluting duties demanded of them. Little by little, they refused to remove dead cattle, to play drums at funerals, and to clear away night soil. At the same time, they also gave up some ancestral practices such as eating carrion. Thus, untouchables started to rub off the traditional marks of pollution attached to them, but in the places where they were still dependent on high cultivating castes, they did not always have the opportunity to do so, and as a result the process was slower. Meanwhile, during the twentieth century, the rural economy was undergoing a process of monetization that contributed to severing the traditional links between master and servants. Whenever a problem arose, the farmers refused to maintain their laborers and the hereditary links between their families were cut off. Very often, this resulted in economic hardship for the laborer; but it also meant greater freedom. The political circumstances were also favorable to such a change: the formal abolition of slavery, the spreading of democratic egalitarian ideas within the Indian population, Christian ideology, and nationalist ideals combined to give the untouchables more independence, helping them to assert their rights and to understand the unnaturalness of their oppression. The religious legitimacy of untouchability was also called into question by social reformers like Gandhi. It has become fashionable today to reject Gandhi's action in favor of untouchables. Nevertheless, the Mahatma had much more influence than is now claimed by some people. Among other things, he made untouchability an essential issue within the Congress Party, and all Indian nationalists were soon aware that the removal of untouchability was a condition for the constitution of a truly democratic society. The nationalists were well disposed toward the demands of untouchables, and the latter were granted several kinds of advantages. It is remarkable to note, for example, that Dr Ambedkar,1 who was not a member of Congress, and who was even an enemy of it, was nevertheless appointed, thanks to the party, as a member of the Constituent Assembly, and later became Law Minister in the first Nehru cabinet – feats that he accomplished despite severe electoral defeats and majority untouchable support for the Congress Party. This open-mindedness of the Congress allowed Ambedkar to be as influential as he was in the drafting of the Constitution of Independent India, and he was thus able to secure the whole system of reservation in favor of the untouchables (Zelliot 1992; Omvedt 2006). Even though untouchability persisted, it is undeniable that large sections of the middle classes were genuinely against caste discrimination; more basically, in the first decades after Independence, people said that caste had to go altogether. All of these elements combined to transform the struggle of the untouchables into what Parry (1970) called "the Koli dilemma." The first generation of assertive leaders were very keen to adopt the status symbols of the higher castes: they advocated vegetarianism, and the wearing of the sacred thread, and some went so far as to forbid their widows to remarry (a practice common among the high castes). Generally speaking, in those early years, they fought on the ground of ritual pollution, claiming that they did not deserve to be considered ritually impure. While they argued that the status of their own caste was undeservedly low, they did not reject the basic idea of ritual pollution (Moffatt 1979; Deliège 1997). However, when the British and later the state started to grant advantages to those who were socially backward, the strategy of upward mobility had to be changed, and it became necessary to claim very loudly that one was deprived and poor. The younger generations cared less and less about older symbols and simply wanted to get jobs, loans, and land to improve their material conditions. Despite the fact that as early as 1936 the temples of Travancore were thrown open to all castes and most temples became accessible to untouchables, it wasn't until independence that the formal practice of untouchability was rendered illegal and punishable by law. These formal, legal measures were not always applied, however, and they did not translate into a sudden and total end to untouchability. Nevertheless, they had important consequences: untouchables could go to school or to the temple; they could take buses and trains like any other citizen, could enter restaurants, dress properly, walk on roads, apply for jobs, etcetera. And they did all of this. As a result, the younger generation no longer considered the formal practice of untouchability to be the real issue. This lack of concern was particularly clear from some of the attitudes I was able to observe while conducting fieldwork in the 1980s and 1990s. While most people refused to do scavenging work within the villages, they were all keen on having jobs as _municipal_ scavengers. The fact that such jobs are as polluting as the traditional duties (and perhaps even more so) was not particularly relevant to them, since a salaried job with social security was their only preoccupation. In fact, none of the municipal scavengers I met during my fieldwork considered his job to be ritually defiling, and some were even proud of it (Searle-Chatterjee 1981). Even today, untouchables may still be refused entrance into a temple, insulted, or forced into various forms of dependency, but on the whole there has been a considerable change, and indeed a tremendous improvement in their situation. Education and employment As we have begun to see, the question of ritual pollution soon, in the course of the twentieth century, ceased to be an essential issue, and the whole ideology of pollution became less and less persuasive among the higher castes. Many Brahmans became Westernized, urbanized and influenced by democratic ideas (see Fuller 1999 and Fuller, Chapter 4 below) and were thus less prone to invoke traditional religious ideas to account for social inequality. Very few, for example, would still claim that the condition of untouchables is due to their deeds in a previous life (Maloney 1975). At the economic level and in an initial phase, the untouchables were not rivals to them and therefore did not constitute a threat to their position within society. This was very different from the case of the middle and low non-untouchable castes, which were much more threatened by the upward mobility of the lower castes. It is thus no surprise to hear that the so-called "atrocities" committed against untouchables today are increasingly conducted by those castes that fear competition from the untouchables (Deliège 2002:11). Many fights are no longer essentially caste conflicts, but are linked to issues of land control. Those who come into conflict are very commonly newly rising peasant communities, including untouchables, that are sociologically close to each other (Mines 2005; Clark-Decès 2007), and who are much more concerned by the economic competition from the lower castes than by traditional questions of ritual purity. This is not particularly surprising given the fact that, according to traditional ritual criteria, these middle castes are not much purer than the untouchables, since they mostly eat meat, worship the same deities, and live in very similar conditions. They would thus hardly claim to be the defenders of an orthodox ritual purity. Generally speaking, then, we can say that higher castes are no longer much concerned about questions of ritual pollution. Although some conflicts may still be expressed in traditional ritual idioms, these idioms tend to hide deeper economic and political realities. As I have suggested, the question of ritual pollution is no longer what people are ready to fight over. The Paraiyars of Valghira Manickam, in Tamil Nadu, were quite aware of this (Deliège 1997). They were mostly poor people, from backward areas. Yet, they were little concerned with the practice of untouchability. People would endlessly tell me that their main preoccupation was economic, and they pointed to such-and-such an untouchable medical doctor who was well off and met no discrimination whatsoever. Again and again, I was told that untouchability was a problem of the past and that it was now almost completely forgotten. Although such a view was not always supported by the facts (indeed, I soon discovered cases of discrimination), the point remains that untouchability was not the main preoccupation of the people. Their main concerns, almost universally, had to do with their material conditions, their ongoing poverty, and their desire for education and employment. During my fieldwork among Pallars and Paraiyars, I observed many other practices and moments that further demonstrated the extent to which the question of ritual pollution was no longer fundamental. Untouchables, for example, took water from the same wells as the higher castes and members of the latter drank water given them by untouchables, even entered their homes. By the time I left the field in the 1990s, most of the traditional instances of untouchability had either fully disappeared or were in the process of disappearing, and people increasingly viewed their plight solely in terms of economic and cultural deprivation. While one could argue that their economic situation is largely the result of their traditional destitution at the bottom of the Indian social hierarchy (a view that has considerable truth to it), there are also many other castes that live in conditions similar to those of the former untouchables, and the gap between them is becoming narrower. The reservation policies in favor of the scheduled castes have contributed to improving their lot. The scheduled castes Today, as we have begun to see, untouchability _sensu stricto_ is mostly a problem of the past. As such, it remains interesting to the sociologist or the historian, but it retains little real practical existence. The whole issue, in fact, has been transformed by recent historical developments and, in particular, the modernization of society. Today's untouchables are very different from their forefathers, and to a large extent, can no longer be considered untouchable in the strict sense of the term. The scheduled castes are a recent avatar of the former untouchables, and they are the outcome of protective measures in favor of the lower classes within Independent India. These measures have had considerable effects. First and foremost, they have contributed to creating a new category of people, and more specifically, to transforming what used to be a relative and open social category into an absolute and closed one. Whereas in the past the line between untouchable and non-untouchable was ill-defined and even fluid, the consolidation of the category "scheduled castes" has created a situation in which one is now either decisively within or outside the list of scheduled castes. If you are within, you are entitled to protection from the state. If you are outside, you have to rely on yourself. The solidification of this category has had quite drastic consequences. What, for instance, is the difference between an agricultural laborer from a scheduled caste and another from a non-scheduled caste? Both earn similar wages and live in similar conditions. It may well be that members of a scheduled caste is are insulted from time to time, but their lives are not radically affected by these insults, and furthermore, members of the non-scheduled caste may also be despised, even if no derogatory caste names are thrown at them. Moreover, the government usually gives non-scheduled communities fewer opportunities to improve their lot. All other things being equal, then, it is often (but not always) better to be member of a scheduled caste. Unfortunately, however, this kind of situation does not favor class solidarity. As we saw earlier, the latter is far from absent from contemporary India but it is also always challenged by caste, and as we have already seen, caste clashes tend to oppose castes that are structurally and economically very close. The Valaiyars of Alangkulam village in Tamil Nadu, for example, are resentful toward the Pallars, who live in similar conditions but who are members of the scheduled castes (Deliège 2002:4). Thus the strategy of "divide and rule" that was once used by the British to strengthen their power has now been used to divide the most backward classes, and it has not even succeeded in creating a sense of solidarity among the scheduled castes themselves (also see Mosse 1999). This is perhaps not at all surprising, since if one takes caste as the primary criterion for socioeconomic assistance, then caste remains a major issue. The reservation policy has undoubtedly had some positive results, and has contributed to the creation of a small, but significant elite among the scheduled castes. However, by and large, the beneficiaries of these policies often belong to the "creamy layer" (Deliège 1999:197) and are not actually poor. The Paraiyars and Pallars among whom I lived, for example, bothered little about medical colleges or the Indian Administrative Service, and would certainly have preferred some help to send their children to the primary school or to get a loan in order to buy a bullock cart: most of those people, in fact, had never received any help from the government, yet they continued to struggle to better their lives – becoming masons, factory workers, brickmakers, bullock cart drivers, etc., all without any kind of government help at all. It was precisely these sorts of private initiatives that were not recognized (or stimulated) by the reservation policy, which is mainly oriented towards government jobs. Generally speaking, then, we can say that that policy has had some impact on the constitution of an elite among the scheduled castes. Inasmuch as this has been the case, the gap between the untouchables and the other rural castes has been partly filled. But this is only true from an economic point of view, since, as we have seen, the very categorization of the untouchables as scheduled castes actually strengthened the differences between them and the rest of the population, and therefore they were further removed from the rest of society. Even after 50 years of protective measures, then, while the economic gap has narrowed, the sociopolitical gap has widened. As many previous forms of discrimination have disappeared, new problems have emerged, such as resentment against the people who are considered to be overprotected by the government. Thus, while the system of reservations initially aimed at bridging the gap between two categories of the population, it has only partially succeeded in doing so, and has even created new forms of separation. A system that is based on the recognition of caste cannot lead to its suppression. Dalitism It has become a well-known fact that forms of discrimination have persisted within the most modern sectors of the economy, for instance in medical colleges and within the civil service. However, one should rather call this a new form of discrimination rather than a persistence of the old, and as such, it is more a consequence of the frustration that the protective measures have inevitably provoked within the majority of the population than a traditional form of discrimination: people who are poor but non-untouchables naturally feel resentful toward the beneficiaries of the system. In any case, it has little to do with ritual purity. On the untouchables' side, this new type of conflict has led to the formation of a class of intellectuals, who are mostly beneficiaries of the system of reservation. In the 1990s, this new class started to adopt a much more radical position and called themselves _dalits_ , "the oppressed," even though in comparison to the rest of the Indian population many of them could not be considered as such. Among the dalits who write to the newsletters, one finds doctors, engineers, editors, chairmen, commissioners, directors, professors – all titles that testify to the progress made by some people who can hardly be labeled "oppressed." This development has revealed another set of paradoxes: First, people started to become much more assertive and even aggressive at precisely the moment when the overall condition of untouchables had significantly improved, or at least when the question of untouchability had lost much of its significance. Second, those militants were by no means the worst victims of society. On the contrary, most of them were the beneficiaries of its system of reservation and, so to speak, they constituted an elite. In spite of these facts, however, dalit activists continue to depict the condition of the untouchables as if it had not changed for centuries, claiming that the condition of their brethren is worse than ever. They even tend to minimize the importance of economic problems and to read all of Indian social reality in terms of caste and caste struggles. Although they occasionally adopt Marxist terminology, it is almost always applied to castes or caste groups: Brahmans are the exploiters, dalits the exploited. Yet this kind of analysis is hard to sustain. Brahmans can by no means be thought of as a homogeneous class group, and furthermore, in purely socioeconomic terms, dalit militants cannot be considered exploited or even underprivileged, since many of them are educated. This advantage does not prevent them from speaking in caste terms and to construe caste identity as prevailing over everything else. Their idea is simply that if one is born into a low caste, than that low status means that one is oppressed regardless of education, income and occupation. By insisting on the overarching importance of caste group, the dalits have thereby eclipsed other, more subtle economic realities, since if all members of a caste group are oppressed whatever their material condition, then real economic disabilities somehow become secondary. The dalit ideology does not seem to be oriented toward the annihilation of caste or poverty but toward the constitution of a society that recognizes the dalits' own caste groups and guarantees them some privileges. They reject the consensual view of society that was formerly advocated by the leaders of the nationalist movement, and struggle to be recognized as a caste. They are sometimes even more caste-minded than the most orthodox Hindus! To them, all of society is nothing but an amalgam of castes fighting against each other, and they are particularly vocal about speaking on behalf of the oppressed, whom they claim to represent. Although there are strong differences between new groups that use the dalit label, they are mostly intellectuals interested in advancing a strategy of confrontation between themselves and the rest of society. Toward this end, they have adopted a new type of Manichean discourse, advocate a dichotomistic us/them view, see society as made up of enemies, and do not hesitate to use abusive terms to refer to all those who do not support their views (Heuzé 2006). The very claim that one should now use the term _dalit_ instead of any other is a good illustration of their strategy. As late as the 1990s, the vast majority of people had never heard of that word; and yet they were then told that it is how they should call themselves. This terminology, however, is not neutral, and tends to promote a more conscious, militant and aggressive view of society. In other words, this ideology is perhaps more a way of creating further differences than a reflection of current problems, since the idea behind it is to maintain a deep gap between the untouchables and the rest of the population in order to claim further protective measures and privileges. The recent attempts to promote a " _dalit_ theology" or " _dalit_ Human Rights" exemplify this attempt to conceive the dalits as one people and one culture – an attempt that has also involved rewriting history in a way that could be termed, "dalitocentrism." According to this view of history, the untouchables are described as the first rulers and landowners of the country, who had to be dislodged by foreign invasions. They even view themselves as true Buddhists who had been forcibly converted to Hinduism. Although this is purely rhetorical, and even mythological, this kind of new history is repeated again and again. CONCLUSIONS The problems that people at the bottom of Indian society have now to face are not caste problems. Discrimination based on ritual pollution has perhaps not totally vanished, but is clearly on the wane. On the contrary, the mechanization of agriculture is likely to lead to the unemployment of more and more agricultural laborers, whatever their castes. Of course, members of untouchable castes will be the first to suffer from this, but this is in spite of their caste. In other words, all agricultural laborers will be affected and some will have no affirmative action to protect them. The effect of the liberalization of the economy on the lowest sections of the population is still a matter of debate, but again, it will not be linked to caste identity. The fact remains that caste tends to play a growing role in contemporary India. However, this situation is perhaps less the continuity of tradition than a recent outcome linked to the post-Independence situation. In modern India, it is not relative purity that lies at the basis of caste struggles. Castes now fight because they have to compete for limited economic and political resources. This is also true of untouchables, who may become a major force within Indian politics. NOTE 1 Bhim Rao Ambedkar (1891–1956), born an untouchable, became an important leader of the untouchable movement (Zelliot 1992). A graduate of Columbia University, he remains a very respected figure in contemporary India. REFERENCES Bayly, Susan 1999 Caste, Society and Politics in India from the Eighteenth Century to the Modern Age. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Béteille, André 1966a Caste, Class and Power: Changing Patterns of Stratification in a Tanjore Village. Bombay: Oxford University Press. 1966b Closed and Open Social Stratification. 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Paris: Aux Lieux d'Être. Holmström, Mark 1976 South Indian Factory Workers: Their Life and Their World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lynch, Owen 1969 The Politics of Untouchability: Social Mobility and Social Change in a City of India. New York: Columbia University Press. Maloney, Clarence 1975 Religious Beliefs and Social Hierarchy in Tamil Nadu, India. American Ethnologist 2:169–192. Marriott, McKim, and Ronald B. Inden 1977 Towards an Ethnosociology of South Asian Caste Systems. _In_ The New Wind: Changing Identities in South Asia. Kenneth David, ed. Pp. 227–238. The Hague: Mouton. Mendelsohn, Oliver, and Marika Vicziany 1998 The Untouchables: Subordination, Poverty and the State in Modern India. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Michael, S. M. 2007[1999] Dalits in Modern India: Vision and Values. New Delhi : Sage. Mines, Diane P. 2005 Fierce Gods: Inequality, Ritual and the Politics of Dignity in a South Indian Village. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Mines, Diane P., and Sarah E. Lamb 2010 Seven Prevalent Misconceptions about India's Caste System. _In_ Everyday Life in South Asia. 2nd edition. Diane P. Mines and Sarah E. Lamb, eds. Pp. 153–155. Bloomington : Indiana University Press. Moffatt, Michael 1979 An Untouchable Community in South India: Structure and Consensus. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Mosse, David 1999 Responding to Subordination: The Politics of Identity Change among South Indian Untouchable Castes. _In_ Identity and Affect: Experiences of Identity in a Globalising World. John R. Campbell and Alan Rew, eds. Pp. 64–104. London: Pluto Press. Omvedt, Gail 2006[1995] Dalit Visions: The Anti-caste Movement and the Construction of an Indian Identity. Hyderabad: Orient Longman. Parry, Jonathan 1970 The Koli Dilemma. Contributions to Indian Sociology (NS) 4:84–104. 1979 Caste and Kinship in Kangra. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Raheja, Gloria Goodwin 1988 The Poison in the Gift: Ritual, Prestation and the Dominant Caste in a North Indian Village. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Searle-Chatterjee, Mary 1981 Reversible Sex Roles: The Special Case of the Benares Sweepers. Oxford: Pergamon Press. Srinivas, M. N. 1962 Caste in Modern India and Other Essays. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. 1965[1952] Religion and Society among the Coorgs of South India. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. 1971 Social Change in Modern India. Berkeley: University of California Press. 1976 The Remembered Village. Berkeley: University of California Press. Uberoi, Patricia, Nandini Sundar, and Satish Deshpande 2007 Anthropology in the East: Founders of Indian Sociology and Anthropology. New Delhi: Permanent Black. Wiser, William 1936 The Hindu Jajmani System: A Socio-Economic System Interrelating Members of a Hindu Village Community in Services. Lucknow: Lucknow Publishing House. Zelliot, Eleanor 1992 From Untouchable to Dalit: Essays on Ambedkar Movement. Delhi: Manohar. CHAPTER 3 Great Expectations: Youth in Contemporary India _Craig Jeffrey_ In October 2004, I was chatting with a group of students over hot milk outside the Meerut law courts, Uttar Pradesh (UP), north India. I was describing an interview I had given with a journalist about unemployment in the United Kingdom. One of the students present responded by telling a story, one I heard repeated many times. The story centers on two characters: one, Rampal, a man in his early thirties, who was studying in the local degree college (Meerut College); the other, Jaibir, a former classmate of Rampal, who had obtained a position in the Indian Administrative Services. Both men were lower middle-class members of the Jat caste, a middle-ranking caste that is fairly numerous in western UP. In the story Jaibir returns to Meerut every so often to see his family. The first time he returns he has just finished civil service training and has recently acquired a position as a Sub-Divisional Magistrate. He sees Rampal outside the Meerut College gate and asks him what he is up to. Rampal replies, "Well, I'm studying and doing a bit of student politics." Five years later, Jaibir has become a District Magistrate in south India. Jaibir returns to Meerut, sees Rampal again outside the college gate, and asks him how things are going. Rampal replies, "Well, I'm studying and doing a bit of student politics." Another five years pass, and by this time Jaibir has secured the lofty position of Commissioner and traveled abroad. Again, Jaibir comes back to Meerut, sees Rampal beside the college gate, and asks him how he is getting on. Rampal replies, "Well, I'm studying and doing a bit of student politics." Although Rampal was an imaginary character, there were numerous men in their twenties, and even thirties, in Meerut who had spent long periods hanging out either at the gate of Meerut College or at one of the many other popular spots around the city where students meet to talk. In this chapter I use a discussion of the cultural and political strategies of Rampal and his peers as a basis for making broader points about youth in contemporary India. I argue that the liberalization of the Indian economy has complicated young people's ability to navigate their teens and twenties. But I also suggest that youth have not been passive in the face of blocked mobility: they are active culturally and politically. YOUTH IN INDIA Roughly one in three people in India are aged between 10 and 24 (Population Reference Bureau 2010). The slow erosion of prior certainties about the structure of families, careers, and residential patterns has imbued "youth" in India with a significance that it arguably did not possess 30 years ago. Moreover, the lowering of the minimum voting age in India from 21 to 18 in 1989, and parallel moves to allow formal political activity at a younger age, have increased possibilities for youth mobilization. Yet youth have been "off the map" in standard accounts of the anthropology of India. Either commentators have argued that youth is a meaningless social category in India, because people are assumed to move directly from childhood to adult roles (Verma and Saraswathi 2002), or else assumptions have been made about young people's behavior on the basis of stylized depictions of age "roles" (see critical discussion in Dyson 2008). It is high time for youth to be folded into accounts of social, cultural and political change in India. Any attempt to integrate youth into anthropology faces the problem of definition. In the political sphere in India it is common for people in their thirties – even their forties – to label themselves youth (Jeffrey 2009). From a different perspective, ethnographic work has pointed to the difficulty of establishing when (or if) "children" become "youth" (Dyson 2008). Moreover, people's status as "youth" may be reversible, as they move back into education or parental homes, for example. Such complexity has led many researchers to stress the arbitrary nature of any age-based social categories; young people's relationship to local idioms of biological maturity may be so difficult to fix as to render hard definitions impossible (Johnson-Hanks 2002). Notwithstanding these difficulties, I operate with a working definition of youth as people in their teens and twenties, a definition that overlaps at least to some extent with local apprehensions of youth in UP. It must be borne in mind, however, that the relationship between "youth" as an analytical category and "youth" as a locally deployed idea is fluid and variable. It is possible to identify three analytic sets of "youth" in India, thus defined (Jeffrey 2008). First, there is an increasingly thin upper stratum of youth, mainly men and probably accounting for no more than 2 percent of the overall youth population in India, who acquire high quality education in elite institutions and move relatively straightforwardly into secure salaried employment, often within the professions or business. Concern in the West over the movement of jobs from Europe and America to India has provoked growing interest in this upper middle class, who are concentrated within metropolitan regions of India and comprise a tiny fraction of the overall youth population. Recent research on the young men, and smaller set of young women, among the elite has focused on the emergence of more complicated pathways to adulthood (Fernandes 2006), the cultural politics of consumption (Fuller and Narasimhan 2007; see also Lukose 2005), and the rise of identity politics (Nisbett 2007). A second set of young people in India lack access to secondary school education and engage in unpaid household labor or poorly paid manual, service, or industrial work outside the home, often in grueling conditions. According to International Labor Organization statistics, 35 percent of women and 50 percent of men aged between 15 and 19 in India are in low-paid employment (Population Reference Bureau 2010), and a very large section of the remaining young people are occupied in unpaid domestic labor (e.g. Niewenhuys 1994; Gold and Gujar 2002; Dyson 2008). The experiences and strategies of working children and young people have been described in research on child labor (Weiner 1991), child trafficking (Manzo 2005), and young people's agricultural work (Nieuwenhuys 1994; Dyson 2008). A third set of young people is comprised of those who have completed secondary school education but who have not moved swiftly into secure salaried occupations. The combination of a rapid increase in people's investment in education and a shortage of salaried employment for high school and university matriculates has created a vast problem of educated unemployment among young people. This problem became much more visible and intense in the 1990s and early 2000s in India, as a result of three factors: demographic growth, rapidly rising educational enrollment, and the failure of the Indian economy to create large numbers of secure jobs (Ul Haq 2003; Chowdhry 2005; Jeffrey et al. 2008). Educated unemployment affects young women as well as men in India. Educated women seeking paid work often suffer from a type of double subordination in India, as young people excluded by economic and political structures from secure salaried jobs and as women seeking to challenge gendered ideas that restrict their access to paid employment outside the home (A. Miles 1998; R. Miles 2002). But evidence from areas as diverse as Punjab (Chowdhry 2005), Tamil Nadu (Anandhi et al. 2002), and Madhya Pradesh (Heuzé 1996) suggests that young men experience their joblessness most acutely. This reflects strongly gendered schooling and employment strategies wherein parents tend to privilege boys' schooling over that of girls (Chopra and Jeffery 2005) and prioritize finding paid work for their sons (Jeffrey et al. 2008). The pressures operating on young men also reflect the emergence of transnational and regional discourses that construct youth in general, and unemployed men in particular, as wayward, dangerous and apathetic (Stambach 1998; McDowell 2003; Mbembe 2004). _T IMEPASS_: BLOCKED MOBILITY IN UTTAR PRADESH The challenges facing educated unemployed young men are especially evident in Uttar Pradesh. UP is the most populous state in India with a population of 160 million in 2001. It is also one of the poorest states, and India's economic reforms since the early 1990s have increased inequalities between UP and more prosperous regions. Between 1947 and the mid-1980s, India's approach to macroeconomic planning combined a leading role for the private sector in economic decision-making with state intervention aimed at promoting growth through widespread development efforts (Chandrashekhar and Ghosh 2002). In the face of a growing fiscal crisis, however, the Indian state began a program of economic liberalization in the mid-1980s which intensified in the early 1990s. Young men coming of age in the early 2000s in UP faced a "perfect storm" of socioeconomic trends the cumulative effect of which has been highly unsettling. Three processes merit particular attention. First, there was a bulge in the population of youth in UP in the 2000s; in 2001 there were nearly 50 percent more young men (21.9 million) in the age category 15–29 than there were in the age category 30–44 (14.7 million) (Registrar General and Census Commissioner of India 2004; see also Lloyd 2005; Jeffrey et al. 2008; Joshi 2009). Second, there has been a decline in the standard of secondary and higher education in UP, partly as a consequence of liberalization. Until about 1990, the public sector was becoming more important within higher education. But the fiscal crisis of the UP government in the 1990s, allied to neoliberal economic reforms introduced in the early 1990s, eroded government higher educational provision. Government colleges and universities typically lack teaching aids and equipment, catering facilities, and basic amenities. A vast gulf has opened up in UP between a tiny upper stratum of higher educational institutions offering internationally acclaimed qualifications, and the mass of poorly funded government and private institutions catering to the majority of the population, including men like Rampal belonging to the middle-ranking Jat caste. Third – and no less crucially – economic reforms have led to a diminution in opportunities for employment. In the 1990s and early 2000s, the UP state government responded to a rising state fiscal deficit by reducing the number of new positions created within government bureaucracies. By the late 1990s, the number of government employees was actually declining within education (Jeffery et al. 2005), and, in 2001, the World Bank made an annual 2 percent cut in the size of UP's bureaucracy a condition of continuing aid to the state. Moreover, liberalization failed to generate private sector employment in UP, at least until the early 2000s. UP's industrial base has declined rapidly, and most parts of UP have not witnessed a growth in the IT industry. The drying up of flows of cheap government credit has also reduced opportunities for entrepreneurialism (Chandrashekhar and Ghosh 2002). In 2004 and 2005 I conducted research with young men who were studying in the UP city of Meerut, many of whom described themselves as "unemployed," "underemployed," or "waiting for work." I talked especially to students in Chaudhry Charan Singh University (CCSU) and Meerut College (MC). Most of my interviewees belonged to the middle-ranking Jat caste, which controls landownership and has better access to local state officials than do other caste groups. But I also interviewed substantial numbers of dalits and Muslims and a few upper castes, who were Brahmans or Rajputs. In addition to the roughly 100 young men whom I interviewed, I spoke to about 15 young women studying in Meerut. It is therefore important to note that my account of young masculine styles reflects conversations and participant observation with men supported by shallower field research among the young women I was able to interview. Almost all of my young male informants had spent at least two years applying for secure salaried work, and some had been on the job market for over a decade. Government jobs were the most sought after because they are notoriously secure and offer a multitude of benefits, including a pension and access to subsidized healthcare and education. Yet the scale of the employment crisis meant that there were often several thousand applicants for a single low- or middle-ranking government position, and those who obtained posts were invariably the ones with the right connections in the relevant bureaucracy. In addition, young men studying in Meerut usually lacked the social contacts required to obtain well-paid private jobs in metropolitan India and the well-developed English language skills necessary for IT and outsourcing positions in Delhi. The failure to acquire secure salaried work not only jeopardized young men's economic standing but also threatened their ability to marry and thereby fulfill norms of adult masculinity. The parents of young men unsuccessful in government employment examinations found it difficult to arrange the marriages of their sons. Ninety-four percent of those living in four hostels in MC and two CCSU hostels were unmarried and most of these men said that they were unlikely to marry in the next five years. In response to unemployment, some upper and middle castes left higher education after completing their first degree and returned to farms or small businesses run by senior family members. Other rich students in Meerut drew upon social contacts with fellow caste members living in urban western UP to obtain temporary private employment in the Meerut informal economy: part-time, insecure and very poorly paid jobs, but positions which provided a measure of respectability. The most common response of students to their inability to obtain government employment, however, was to remain in formal education, accumulate degrees and continue to apply for government jobs. Young men typically depended on their parents, and sometimes also their siblings, for the money required to remain in higher education. Most students were furious about the scale of youth unemployment, decline in educational standards, and diminishing value of their degrees. When I worked in Meerut briefly in the mid-1990s, teachers and students in MC and CCSU referred to a drop in standards in higher education. By 2004, despondency had intensified. A withdrawal of funds for higher education in UP, combined with endemic educational "corruption," meant that classes in MC were often short, infrequent and disorganized. Extracurricular activities and educational facilities were woefully poor; for example, there were six computers for 16,000 students in MC in 2004. Students in CCSU, as at MC, obtained the majority of their knowledge off-campus, in private tutorials or from textbooks, often written by their teachers. The reputation of both MC and CCSU outside Meerut declined rapidly after the late 1990s; many advertisements for private sector jobs in Delhi in the early 2000s included a note that "Meerut students need not apply." A side-effect of this socioeconomic malaise was a preoccupation among young men with the problem of how to spend time. Students often referred to a feeling of having "too much time" or of being "lost" in time and space. During many conversations, educated unemployed young men said that they tried to stave off this sense of unstructured time through various forms of "timepass" (passing time), such as playing badminton, reading newspapers, or simply mooching about the campus and city. As one student told me, to a chorus of approval from the others present at the conversation, "What is there to do in Meerut College but sit around, chat, and _timepass_?" Because of the poor quality of the hostel rooms occupied by many students, much of this self-conscious _timepass_ occurred on the street. Young men spent long periods of each day hanging out on street corners and at tea stalls reading newspapers, making friends, and drinking tea (see Gandhi, chapter 11 in this volume). A pressing concern with time among young men is connected to the higher educational curriculum in Meerut. The British set up a system of learning in schools and colleges that prioritized examinations and privileged subjects that bore little relation to students' milieu (Kumar 1988). Reflecting this history, the MC curriculum was organized around rather arcane subjects – such as nineteenth-century British military history – and focused on the accumulation of facts. Many students said that they had abandoned any attempt to learn a subject "properly"; they simply "crammed" in the immediate run-up to examinations. This type of pragmatic attitude to university education is indicative of young men's general sense that to be at college was itself a form of _timepass_ while one waited for one's life to really start. Indeed, to string out their studies and prolong the time over which they could claim to be students, many young men had accumulated three or more degrees – four students I met at CCSU had eight separate postgraduate qualifications. Voicing the feelings of many others, a young man in his late twenties at CCSU said that he was "just studying for the sake of it [ _vaise_ ]." _Timepass_ was strongly gendered. Young women were typically unable to participate in the types of public _timepass_ in which young men engaged. Parents, professors and urban society at large considered it inappropriate for unmarried young women to "hang out," except in certain public spaces, such as the sweet shops and confectionary stores near MC and CCSU. _Timepass_ also had a strong spatial dimension. MC students, especially, found their environment crowded with symbols of educational decay: the uneven wall around the cricket ground, half-built because the administration pocketed the money, and the decrepit gymnasium, once the best facility in western UP, for example. What particularly galled many students was the vivid contrast between such torpor and the signs of speed and prosperity that surrounded the campus on all sides, for example the advertisements for motorcycles just outside the campus and the signs for expensive private colleges in Delhi. In addition to evoking the problem of surplus time, educated unemployed young men in Meerut commonly used the term _timepass_ to express a feeling of being relegated to a subordinate position in the race ( _daur_ ) for power; they felt "left behind." Indeed, students who had been in Meerut for many years were apt to contrast their own apparent stasis with the busy rhythms of college. Term tests, annual examinations, and the arrival of new students in the hostels punctuated students' experience of _timepass_ , providing a nagging reminder of their broken trajectories. As I have argued elsewhere (Jeffrey 2010), discussions of _timepass_ not only reflected young men's frustrations: they were also implicated in youth cultures. _Timepass_ was a mode of self-expression that bears at least a family resemblance to the "cultural styles" described by scholars who worked in the Center for Contemporary Cultural Studies in Birmingham in the 1970s (Willis 1977; Hebdige 1979). Other work on cultures of young male idleness around the world points to the potential for male "hanging out" to create opportunities for cultural assertion (Chakrabarty 1999; Weiss 2002; Mains 2007). Dipesh Chakrabarty (1999) discusses various "spots" ( _addas_ ) in urban West Bengal, often street corners or tea stalls, in which apparently listless young men meet to talk, play, and develop identities. Likewise, Ranjani Mazumdar (2007) argues that the young _tapor_ _ı_ (loafer) of Bollywood films is often depicted as a hero who challenges received social categories through uncompromising behavior on the street. As the work of Chakrabarty and Mazumdar leads us to expect, in Meerut _timepass_ occurred at various city "hubs" ( _adda_ ) and involved young men in developing distinctive masculinities. The Hindi word _adda_ can mean meeting place, workplace, site, stand, station (for vehicles), or perch (for birds). In Meerut, young men tended to gather at hangouts which were connected to flows of traffic and information from outside the city. Around 8 a.m. and again in the evening, educated unemployed men often stood around together at the main street intersection near the Meerut courts, near MC. In CCSU, they often congregated around a string of tea stalls on the major road near the university. These spaces of male social exchange provided _addas_ in a double sense: a "perch" from which young men could view the movement of goods, images and people in and out of Meerut and a "meeting place" for unemployed young men keen to expand their networks of friends and contacts. These spaces were also sites of social mixing, in which men from different backgrounds developed friendships, including alliances across caste and religious backgrounds. The sharing of salty snacks and tea, and the passing of cigarettes from one mouth to another among dalits, middle castes, and Muslims, amounted to a temporary suspension of caste ideas of pollution through the sharing of food or contact with another's saliva (Nisbett 2007:940ff.). Unemployed young men were keen to distinguish their activities from those of working-class youth in Meerut. The word _timepass_ , because it is derived from an English word – "pastime" – suggested their distinction from working-class cultures. Students often counterposed an image of civilized, accomplished, purposeful _educated men_ passing time about the city against a vision of ill-mannered, embarrassing uneducated men, standing about aimlessly. Such discourses recall Walter Benjamin's (1973) distinction between the Parisian _flâneur_ , an upper middle-class wanderer and dilettante sampling the city's delights, and the _badaud_ (gawper), a working-class rubberneck, who becomes violently involved in the events he witnesses. In a somewhat similar manner, students depicted themselves as relatively intelligent and removed observers of urban scenes – the connoisseurs of _timepass_ – and contrasted this self-image with a picture of slack-jawed uneducated youth. Such narratives helped young men to deflect public criticism of their hanging out onto a set of young men – the urban "illiterates" – whom students felt were the ones who were _really_ wasting time (and they sometimes distinguished between _timepass_ and _timewaste_ ). The prevalence of such statements highlights the dangers of romanticizing _timepass_ cultures, which also perpetuated caste and religious prejudices. For example, middle castes sometimes used the terms "uneducated," "dalit," and "Muslim" interchangeably when discussing the _timewaste_ of the urban poor. This occurred especially in moments of tension, for example where a cross-caste sexual liaison had come to light. At the same time as distinguishing their _timepass_ from that of the urban poor, unemployed young men also drew attention to the difference between their activities on Meerut street corners and the leisure practices of upper middle-class students in the city. Young men spoke disparagingly about "silver spoon" or "high class" students from upper middle-class, urban backgrounds, who had not been pushed into _timepass_ but had the money required to engage in ostentatious forms of consumption, such as eating at the new metropolitan-style restaurants around the city. Another reason why it is important not to romanticize _timepass_ cultures is that they tended to reproduce exclusionary ideas about gender. Some young men made repeated references to sexual activity performed as a means of _timepass_ or referred to the importance of "eve-teasing," a euphemism for sexual harassment, as a means to pass time. In a manner that again recalls Benjamin's discussion of the _flâneur_ , others imagined themselves as judicious observers of "scenes" laid out for their titillation across Meerut (Abraham 2002; Osella and Osella 2000; Rogers 2008). Socially constructed meanings about gender and sexual difference also came across in the manner in which young men discussed the different places where they pass time in Meerut. Young men sometimes referred to a gender division of leisure between, on the one hand, the starkly arranged tea stalls in which they most commonly hung out and, on the other, the confectionary stores frequented by young women. On one occasion, several men referred in a disparaging tone to a nearby group of smartly dressed young women as "ice-cream students," a phrase that distilled their suspicion of the urban rich and their female peers. Performances of _timepass_ in Meerut therefore offer a compelling example of the contradictions of youth cultures, a theme that surfaces in several other studies of young people in India (Osella and Osella 2000; 2007; Nisbett 2007; Dyson 2008). Through cultivating identities as _timepass_ men, unemployed students fashioned a confident lower middle-class masculinity that to some extent bridged caste and religious divides and provided some succor in the face of economic exclusion. But young male _timepass_ cultures were liable to fragment along caste and religious lines, and they reproduced local assumptions about young people's gendered roles. EVERYDAY YOUTH POLITICS Recent research within and outside India has pointed to unemployed young men's more overt political action. Following the classic work of Karl Mannheim (1972), scholars have argued that the very marginalization – or "liminality" – of youth may allow them to challenge historical injustices, sometimes through reference to age-based or generational inequalities. Educated unemployed young men, in particular, often possess the time, motivation and skills required to orchestrate student demonstrations. The unemployed have been in the vanguard of several political upheavals in India, especially a widespread social movement in the early 1970s led by the politician and social reformer Jai Parakash (JP), the Narain movement in Bihar (Masani 1979). What is also emerging in recent research is the role that unemployed youth often play at the local level in managing processes of political change. Krishna's (2002) study of political brokerage in western India shows how educated unemployed young men often channel their energy into working as intermediaries between the poor and the state. In a similar vein, Nandini Gooptu (2007) has described unemployed young men's involvement in informal urban politics in West Bengal, and Gerard Heuzé (1996) made similar points in research in Madhya Pradesh in the 1990s (Hansen 1996). The particular propensity of unemployed young men to engage in informal political activity points to the potential value of the conceptual work of Partha Chatterjee, especially his writing on "political society." Chatterjee makes a distinction in India between civil society – which he defines as "those characteristic institutions of modern associational life originating in Western societies that are based on equality, autonomy, freedom of entry and exit, contract, and] deliberative procedures of decision making" – and political society, "a domain of mediating institutions [and activities] between civil society and the state" (1998:59). During the colonial period, opposition to the British occurred mainly though a nationalist elite operating according to the associational principles of civil society. But by at least the early twentieth century, the possibility of a different mediation between the Indian people and the state was emerging. This nascent political society consisted of a wide range of popular maneuvers and strategies targeted against colonial rule and often coordinated by political brokers and nonparty political formations. For Chatterjee, political society in the postcolonial era refers to a space of everyday politics wherein different sections of the population compete for state goods, often through adopting paralegal and violent tactics, and frequently via reference to the moral characteristics of their "community" (see Harris, [chapter 21 in this volume). Chatterjee's account of subaltern politics foregrounds the type of ordinary political work conducted by many young people in India – including unemployed young men – who typically lack direct access to influential politicians and do not belong to formal civil society associations. But Chatterjee perhaps exaggerates the distinction between the "political" and the "civil," a point that emerged strongly in my research among unemployed youth. One of the effects of unemployment in Meerut in the early 2000s was to spur male students to engage in politics. There was a small number of dalits and Muslims who occasionally worked as political mobilizers on and around the campus. There was also a set of self-interested middle caste "leaders" ( _net_ ā) who sought positions on the CCSU student union and then tried to make money from their political influence (Jeffrey 2009). But perhaps the most important group of young men in terms of everyday politics on campus was a set of middle caste youth who referred to themselves as social reformers and engaged in a broad range of politicking. There were between 20 and 30 self-styled social reformers in Meerut College and Chaudhry Charan Singh University in 2004, and I interviewed nine of these men. Consideration of the experiences of a Jat young man named Vipin provides insights into their activities. I first met Vipin in MC in September 2004. He was in his early twenties at the time and came from a moderately prosperous farming family living in a village about 60 miles from Meerut. Vipin attended primary and secondary schools close to his rural home before enrolling in MC in 2000. Vipin had no interest in contesting the elections that are regularly held for the CCSU student union. Nor did he aspire to political office. Indeed, with no apparent sense of irony, Vipin described himself as a "nonpolitical politician." Vipin explained that his actions cannot be equated with _r_ ā _jnit_ ī ("politics"), which he defined as the self-interested competition for government posts, and _net_ ā _gir_ ī ("leadership"), which denoted cultivating useful political contacts and building a student following for selfish purposes. Much of Vipin's energy went into instigating student demonstrations in MC. The specific character of these protests varied widely – one day Vipin might be berating an official for expelling a fellow student, another he might be complaining about a lack of trees on campus – but they tended to cohere around three common themes. First, Vipin protested the costs of higher education for students. In 2004, students were especially concerned about the expense associated with obtaining admission to higher education institutions affiliated to CCSU. Admission to private institutions with CCSU affiliation was organized such that 50 percent of places on courses were reserved for students with high merit in admissions examinations and the remaining 50 percent, termed the "management quota," could be disbursed at the whim of a college's private managers. In practice, even those high on the merit list had to pay large bribes to enter professional courses in private institutions, and the amounts that students had to pay for management quota seats were sometimes as high as 200,000 rupees, equivalent to the annual salary of a government high school teacher. Second, Vipin protested corruption ( _bhrusht_ ā _ch_ ā _r_ ). Akhil Gupta (1995) has argued on the basis of field research in the 1980s in Bulandshahr district, UP, that ordinary people in north India tend to regard misappropriation of government funds by state officials as unacceptable, immoral and "corrupt." Gupta shows that local people's critiques of "corruption" are a central means through which north Indians articulate political goals, express their sense of marginalization, and define what they regard as acceptable state practice. My work in Meerut supports Gupta's conclusions in many respects: students were eagerly involved in perpetuating a public culture of anticorruption protest, where corruption was principally defined, as it is in much of the social science literature, as the abuse of public office for private gain. While middle caste social reformers and other students tended to regard all instances of university officials earning private money from their positions as corrupt, they were especially infuriated when administrators' malpractice interfered with students' progress through higher education or their capacity to acquire jobs. For example, concerns over corruption erupted especially violently in August 2006 in CCSU when it emerged that the university registrar had economized on the cost of administering degree examinations by subcontracting the grading of postgraduate dissertations to school students, allegedly as young as eight – a revelation that brought students into the streets to burn their degrees. Third, Vipin and other social reformers launched protests against the harassment of students. Some of these protests referred to harassment by traders in the city. In 2004, there was a street battle between students and shopkeepers in one of Meerut's main bazaars after a trader insulted a senior Meerut student. More commonly, students' vitriol was directed at the police. The first police raid of a college hostel in Meerut occurred in 1929 – the police were looking for "firearms and criminals" (Mittal 1978). By the 2000s, such raids had become a regular feature of university life, and students resented this invasion of their privacy. Young men were angry about the failure of the police to inform the university administration about raids, and they were equally furious about perceived police heavy-handedness. This simmering resentment boiled over in December 2002 when the police killed a student allegedly involved in criminal activity, and again in July 2004, when Vipin organized a student protest concerning the police's failure to investigate the murder of an MC student on campus. A remarkable feature of the political protests instigated by Vipin was the extent to which the mobilization involved people from a variety of caste, class, religious, and, to a lesser extent, gender backgrounds. Middle caste social reformers often worked alongside politically motivated unemployed young men from the dalit community on campus, for example to garner support in advance of a protest. They also often contacted upper caste (Brahman and Rajput) students living outside of college and university, who frequently had good contacts in local newspaper offices and could therefore help to publicize a campaign. Moreover, young women, some of whom had connections high up in the district administration, often assisted with the most prominent student campaigns organized by middle caste social reformers. Reflecting this breadth of participation, Vipin and his peers paid little attention to caste, religion and gender during their campaigns. "Youth" as a political category sometimes overtrumped other forms of identification. As important as formal public mobilization for Vipin and other social reformers was informal political networking: energetic efforts to petition local officials to act in the students' interests. On a typical day, Vipin might help a student to acquire a degree certificate by haranguing a university registrar, follow up on a complaint against the police lodged by a classmate, and discuss the problem of guns on campus with the District Magistrate. In all these interactions, Vipin traded on his reputation for relatively selfless "service" and for being able to influence the hearts and minds of other students. Vipin's political brokerage also occurred outside Meerut. Like other social reformers I interviewed, Vipin made regular trips to his village and surrounding rural areas to hold workshops among rural youth on social questions, especially unemployment, youth rights, and environmental issues. Beyond these practical endeavors to assist other students and young people, social reformers also imagined themselves as "cultural brokers." Vipin said that his action on behalf of students would play a type of pedagogic function in the college and wider society, illustrating for his peers the importance of working together to counter entrenched forms of power. Vipin was also concerned with the related challenge of instilling in students what C. Wright Mills (1959) called a "sociological imagination": the capacity to link personal struggle with broader processes of social transformation. Vipin said that students in Meerut needed to recover the spirit of the nationalist movement, when students across India were imagined as having developed a shared sense of rights and responsibilities. Vipin was rather uninterested in trying to give institutional form to his political activity. But three other social reformers had established a cell of the avowedly communist Naujawan Bharat Sabha (NBS) in 2004 to coordinate their work within and outside Meerut. These men had collected literature on the NBS, maintained contact with NBS cells in other colleges, and pasted photographs of the NBS hero Bhagat Singh around Meerut. Bhagat Singh (1907–1934), often referred to as "Shaheed [martyr] Bhagat Singh" was a freedom fighter influenced by communism and anarchism who became involved as a teenager in a number of revolutionary anti-British organizations. He was hanged for shooting a police officer in response to the killing of a veteran freedom fighter. A small group of social reformers in Meerut did much to promote the image of Bhagat Singh around the city. The work of social reformers within and outside institutions such as NBS sometimes bore fruit. For example, sustained protests over fee hikes in 2002 led CCSU to backtrack on a proposal to hike tuition fees. Similarly, student demonstrations regarding the "corruption" of high-level university officials influenced the UP government's eventual decision to remove two vice-chancellors from their positions at CCSU in 2002 and 2006. Moreover, middle caste social reformers were occasionally able to stage-manage wider demonstrations regarding the privatization ( _nij_ ī _karan_ ) of education, social inequality, and the politics of environmental change. But social reformers were usually unable to generate sustained, widespread collective student protests in Meerut on key national and international questions, for example regarding poverty, illiteracy, and capitalist change. Even the most reform-minded students in the 2000s were largely concerned with a narrower student or youth agenda and, within this, with issues that directly affected their studies and employment prospects. Meerut students occasionally explained their lack of attention to national and international issues by describing a regional division between "Delhi student politics," in which students more routinely displayed the type of sociological imagination that Vipin desired, and "Meerut student politics," wherein students' immediate concerns were paramount (Krishnan 2007). Students' lack of success also reflects reluctance on the part of political parties to invest scarce resources in mobilizing students in Meerut in the context of the absence of a student union in Meerut's largest college, MC. The lack of more prolonged, effective mobilization also reflects the extent to which collective protests were undermined by more mercenary student leaders (Jeffrey 2008). There was a set of about 20 lower middle-class men in Meerut, also educated unemployed, who made substantial amounts of money by colluding with university bureaucrats and government officials over illegal admission to the university, the disbursement of contracts for university buildings, and the distribution of higher educational jobs. The activities of these men practically and morally jeopardized the efforts of social reformers to banish corruption from higher education, reduce the costs of college and university, and reduce police harassment. Thus far my account broadly resonates with Chatterjee's (2004) outline of everyday politics in India. But, whereas Chatterjee emphasizes the uncouth and violent nature of subaltern protest, I was struck by the civility of student protests in Meerut. This came across during discussions with social reformers about their political tactics. Social reformers frequently said that the top officials in the district are people with a sense of fairness, who could be won round through making legally accurate arguments in a civilized manner. Students often told the District Magistrate (DM) and Senior Superintendent of Police (SSP) about the misdemeanors of low-ranking state officials, policemen, or university teachers in the expectation that the high-ranking officer would intervene on students' behalf. This appeal above the heads of lower officers is part of a wider genre of north Indian politics (Corbridge et al. 2005) and also had a strong performative element: students would pretend that they believed in the integrity of the DM or SSP in an effort to ingratiate themselves with the higher official even where they knew that the officer was in cahoots with subordinates. The legal acuity and urbanity of social reformers came across especially clearly in the letters they wrote to top officials. Letter writing was a central means by which students chivvied representatives of the state. The letters made frequent references to legal norms and were also polite, grammatically correct, and written in a rather high-flown Hindi. The following letter composed by a friend of Vipin's for the District Magistrate in Meerut is indicative: 10th February 2005 Sir, Time and time again, it has been evident that there are multiple irregularities [ _aniyamitat_ ā _yen_ ] in the nature of admission to Bachelors of Education degrees at CCSU. Time and time again, various enquiries have been made. But there has been no public report. As a result, up until now, nothing has been fully satisfactory [ _santoshjanak_ ]. The affiliated colleges are receiving recognition from the university, and, at the same time, the university is not giving admission to those who have acquired entry through the proper mechanism; also, fees are being collected from students who have been admitted while there is nothing in the way of facilities within the institutions. The university administration has granted admission into its affiliated private colleges in the wrong way. [...] This must be evidence of collusion [ _mil_ ī _bhagat_ ] between the university and the owners of the private institutions. Although fee collection is the responsibility of the university, the owners of the private institutions in league with the university are collecting greater fees. Finally, it is the demand of all students that whether the private management, university or workers are at fault, strict action be taken against them. Otherwise, the students will be forced to launch a movement. Yours, United Students Chaudhry Charan Singh University Meerut There were clear limits to such apparent respect for the law and proper conduct, even among social reformers, who were probably the most genteel of the students active in politics in Meerut. Vipin and his fellow reformers occasionally tried to suggest through their tone and comportment that the failure of an official to cooperate might have violent consequences. Students and officials occasionally came to blows, most notably in October 2004 when some social reformers were caught up with university toughs in an attempt to punch senior CCSU officials, and "converted the VC's office into a makeshift boxing arena" ( _Amar Ujala_ 2004). Indeed, when student social reformers were unable to achieve their task through visiting university or government officials, they often engaged in public demonstrations of strength. They laid siege to the office of the principal or vice-chancellor to prevent people from either leaving or entering the building ( _gher_ ā _o_ ) or barred professors' access to sections of the university to stop classes from taking place ( _band_ ). Other common protests took the form of roadblocks ( _r_ ā _st_ ā _roko_ ), processions ( _jal_ ū _s_ ), hunger strikes ( _bh_ ū _k_ _hart_ ā _l_ ), or sit ins ( _dharna_ ). Sometimes protesters simply shut down CCSU or MC altogether. But even during the most violent protests, students appeared keen to abide by the law and maintain an educated demeanor. Students wanted to distinguish their actions from the violence they associated with uneducated politics. They also argued that violent and illegal protest would be needlessly risky. In sum, educated unemployed young men were often involved in politics at the local level. Their political practice bears some similarity to the type of activity that Chatterjee (2004) imagines as constitutive of political society: it occurs outside of formal associations, often involves paralegal tactics, and tends to entail the deployment of a particular group identity – such as "students" or "youth" – as a basis for claiming rights vis-à-vis the state. Yet Chatterjee perhaps overdraws the distinction between civil society and political society. Student politicos such as Vipin sometimes made use of formal associations, for example the NBS, to pursue their goals. More importantly, a preoccupation with legality and gentility ran through the actions of social reformers. Unemployed young men straddled the civil and the political. CONCLUSIONS The liberalization of the economy has profoundly altered the lives of young people in India. For a small elite, and those living in the most prosperous parts of the country, new opportunities for economic aggrandizement have emerged (Fuller and Narasimhan 2007). But for the poor and lower middle classes in places such as UP, economic reforms have more commonly generated uncertainties. What we are witnessing in contemporary India is a particular articulation of age with power wherein people in their late teens and twenties are bearers of some of the most intense social insecurities. Youth is not only a lens through which to understand the vicissitudes of liberalization (Osella and Osella 2000; Lukose 2005), but is also a means for us to apprehend subjective and affective dimensions of socioeconomic transformation. Consideration of unemployed young men in Meerut points to the close connection between economic subordination and a sense of temporal and spatial disorientation. Young people are not passive in the face of their subordination, however; they actively and creatively renegotiate their position. In Meerut, unemployed young men were fashioning a type of middle-class masculine style centered on the practice of passing time. This culture entailed using the idea of being "in limbo" to assert one's superiority in relation to the uneducated urban working class and to upper middle-class city dwellers. Finally, I have pointed to the political nature of youth. Young men in Meerut were occasionally coming together across class and religious lines to protest against the state's failure to provide for its young population. A public culture of antistate dissent took shape on the campus intersections and tea stalls of Meerut in which formal politics and many local representatives of "the state" were pilloried as agents of disorder and in which an alternative vision of citizenship flickered into life (Gupta 1995). It is important to note the essentially urbane nature of the local political action that emerged out of _timepass_ , and to question accounts of Indian politics that separate the "political" from the "civil." Rather than being straightforwardly violent and anomic as an earlier generation of work on unemployed youth tended to suggest (Coleman 1965; Dore 1976), many young men in Meerut held rather conservative views. They wanted to live in a civilized, ordered, and fair society in which people could study, work, and marry in peace. They want to be "educated" – a word that in India suggests so much more than simply possessing a high school pass (Jeffrey et al. 2008). Before we celebrate this civilized politicking too much, however, it also relevant to note that young men's conservatism extended to their views on gender and caste. It is also important to note that the activities of students that I have described were not well linked to youth struggles elsewhere. There are resonances between these conclusions and those of others working on youth in contemporary India. For example, scholars working with upper middle-class metropolitan youth and with the poor have also noted the importance of novel youth cultures built around bodily comportment and everyday social practice (Lukose 2005; Dyson 2008). Another theme traversing different studies of youth in India is that of space and place. In numerous locations young people are transforming city spaces through graffiti and art (Favero 2005), through the manner in which they occupy urban space (Chakrabarty 1999), or as a result of their efforts to blur the boundaries between the rural and urban (Osella and Osella 2007). The potential for comparing youth activity in different parts of India is growing. But there is a pressing need for further research on young people. We still know rather little about young women (Lukose 2005) and rural youth (Anandhi et al. 2002; Dyson 2008). Moreover, a methodological hubris characterizes much anthropological research on Indian youth wherein ethnography is fetishized as a source of knowledge. Most anthropological accounts of young people pay little attention to the wider political-economic context of young people's strategies and fight shy of any attempt to triangulate their "ethnographic data" with broader survey or quantitative research. Moreover, the vast majority of studies provide only a snapshot of young people; we require longitudinal, or at the least long-term, work on youth in India. Finally, the time is also ripe for more studies that enroll young people in the process of carrying out research, for example through the construction of learning collectives (Sangtin Writers and Nagar 2006), policy-oriented research, and efforts to combine research and teaching. REFERENCES Abraham, Leela 2002 "Bhai-behen," True Love, Time Pass: Friendships and Sexual Partnerships among Youth in an Indian Metropolis. 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Madison, Soyini 2005 Critical Ethnography: Ethics, Methods and Performance. London: Sage. Mains, Daniel 2007 Neoliberal Times: Progress, Boredom, and Shame among Young Men in Urban Ethiopia. American Ethnologist 34(4):659–673. Mannheim, Karl 1972 The Problem of Generations. _In_ The New Pilgrims: Youth Protest in Transition. Philip Altbach and R. Laufer, eds. Pp. 101–138. New York: David McKay. Manzo, Kate 2005 West Africa's Children: Trafficking, Slavery and Uneven Development. Area 37(4):393–401. Masani, Minoo 1979 Is JP the Answer? Delhi: Macmillan. Mazumdar, Ranjini 2007 Bombay Cinema: An Archive of the City. Minneapolis: Minnesota University Press. Mbembe, Achille 2004 Aesthetics of Superfluity. Public Culture 16:373–405. McDowell, Linda 2003 Redundant Masculinities? Employment Change and White Working Class Youth. Oxford: Blackwell. Miles, Ann 1998 Women's Bodies, Women's Selves: Illness Narratives and the "Andean" Body. Body and Society 4(3):1–19. 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Willis, Paul 1977 Learning to Labour: How Working Class Kids Get Working Class Jobs. Farnborough: Saxon House. Wright Mills, C. 1959 The Sociological Imagination. Oxford: Oxford University Press. CHAPTER 4 The Modern Transformation of an Old Elite: The Case of the Tamil Brahmans _C. J. Fuller_ In seeking to explain why modern capitalism had failed to develop in India – in contrast to western Europe and America, where the Protestant ethic was seen as decisive – Weber famously argued that other-worldly Hinduism and the caste system were preventive factors. "The net effect of the religious sanction of caste upon the spirit of economic activity is diametrically opposite to that of rationalism," and the caste system's "vocational ethic" is "traditionalistic, rather than rational" (Weber 1978:436). Elsewhere he argued that because the caste system was alien to rational economic organization, it impeded members of one caste from taking up the activities of another caste, although the system was sufficiently adaptable to allow them to take up new occupations closely related to their traditional ones (Weber 1967:111–117). In an incisive review of Weber's thesis and its enormous influence on the subsequent sociology of India, Subrahmanyam shows that generalizations about the caste system and its associated "traditional" values have been repeatedly advanced to explain India's economic stagnation and failure to "modernize" (1996:22–26). Since the mid-1990s, some generalizers – turning old notions on their head – have switched their attention to India's rapid economic growth and looked for traditional traits, such as Brahmanical philosophizing, that might explain success in "virtual" technology and hence in the development of a service economy based on information technology (IT). Needless to say, the new generalizations are as weak as the old ones, which persistently depended on uncritical assumptions about "tradition" and "modernity." As Subrahmanyam comments, the old generalizations were also inconsistent with empirical research demonstrating that the economic action and values of particular groups of Indian businessmen or workers, or indeed any occupational groups – even those belonging to specific castes – were very variable and never were fully determined by caste traditionalism. Since Weber wrote about India, nearly one hundred years of scholarship have shown that the relationships between caste and economic development, or between caste and class, are more variably complex than even his sophisticated arguments allowed. Indeed, it is tempting, especially for anthropologists whose stock in trade is ethnographic particularism, to reject all grand generalizations of Weber's kind as inimical to careful enquiry and analysis. Yet it is important to keep the big questions in mind, even when they are broken down to a more manageable size, and I shall try to do that in this essay, which focuses on one particular caste group, the Tamil Brahmans of south India. The reservations policy (India's equivalent of "affirmative action") is intended to improve access to education and employment for traditionally low-status "backward" castes, especially dalits (the former untouchables). Even though this policy has been partly successful, members of most backward castes are still underrepresented in high-status, well-paid jobs and more generally in the educated, professional, urban middle class, whose size has grown rapidly under economic liberalization. Conversely, of course, people belonging to traditionally high-status "forward" castes are overrepresented in this class. This assertion cannot be confirmed in detail, however, because official statistical data on caste inequality are full of "shortcomings and silences" (Deshpande 2003:109). Moreover, no figures exist to reveal which particular castes are most strongly represented in the middle class. Nevertheless, the Indian middle class is distinctive "because of the peculiar way in which class is intertwined with caste and community in contemporary Indian society" (Béteille 2003:81). Certainly, the social superiority that once seemed to be the birthright of Brahmans as traditionally the highest caste is rarely, if ever, acknowledged by other people today. Furthermore, there are a lot of poor, badly educated Brahmans who do menial jobs, as well as a lot of rich, well-educated non-Brahmans in elite positions. The available evidence strongly suggests, however, that many Brahman communities throughout India are overrepresented in the modern, increasingly class-based, socioeconomic elite. It is a reasonable assumption that this phenomenon is explained by both "positive" reasons to do with the history and sociology of Brahmans (and other forward castes), as well as "negative" reasons related to factors impeding the backward castes' mobility. For Tamil Brahmans, as this essay seeks to explain by focusing on the positive reasons, their transformation from an old elite into a new one is especially notable. TAMIL BRAHMANS: INTRODUCTORY BACKGROUND Tamil Brahmans are the main subject of this essay, although there are minorities of Telugu and other Brahmans in Tamil Nadu as well.1 Conversely, a significant minority of Tamil Brahmans have long resided outside the Tamil country, especially in neighboring regions of south India. Most Tamil Brahmans belong to the larger Smarta or Aiyar group, or the smaller Sri Vaishnava or Aiyangar one. In the 1931 census (the last to enumerate caste in detail), Brahmans collectively were approximately 2.5 percent of the Tamil country's population; Tamil Brahmans were approximately 1.9 percent. These proportions are respectively equivalent to about 1.5 and 1.2 million out of Tamil Nadu's population of 62 million as recorded in the 2001 census. Since the medieval period, the Brahman minority has constituted the core of the Tamil country's social, cultural and religious elite. "Brahman," however, has to be understood as a changing historical construct. During the colonial period, from the late eighteenth century, the Brahmans' status and power were consolidated. Their identity as a distinct caste also strengthened, initially owing to British policies shaped by orientalist notions of Brahmanical "tradition" as the keystone of south Indian society, and later because the Brahman versus non-Brahman opposition became increasingly prominent in Tamil Nadu (Dirks 2001; Pandian 2007). What "Brahman" signifies today is still changing, especially as caste becomes "ethnicized" and inequality loses its public legitimacy.2 In the past, the majority of Brahmans were settled in the paddy-cultivating zone of the river valleys, where they mostly owned land, some being very wealthy landlords or _mirasidar_ s. From the mid-nineteenth century, Tamil Brahmans – as well as Telugu Brahmans from modern Andhra Pradesh – progressively migrated from their villages to Madras and other urban centers to seize new educational opportunities, especially in English-language education, and to obtain jobs in the colonial administrative, legal, and educational systems. Non-Brahmans' resentment about Brahman predominance in these jobs was the initial stimulus for the anti-Brahman movement. Early on, too, Tamil Brahmans were very well represented in the still small fields of medicine and engineering. During the twentieth century they became particularly prominent in engineering, which has been significant for their success in IT, because India's engineering and technology-based industries, and its engineering colleges, have been the foundation for the rapidly expanding IT industry. In the early twentieth century, some Tamil Brahmans left the south for Bombay, Calcutta and other urban centers in search of employment. Especially after Independence, many Tamil Brahmans found jobs in Delhi and elsewhere in India in the central government bureaucracy and public sector; banking and accountancy also became popular professions for them. Furthermore, despite the widespread belief (shared by many Brahmans themselves) that they are not good businessmen, Tamil Brahmans have been setting up successful businesses since the 1920s, including some of Tamil Nadu's largest industrial companies, as well as some of the new IT companies. Indeed, Brahman "preeminence" among Chennai's "industrial leaders" has been marked for 40 years or more (Harriss 2003:331; cf. Singer 1972:ch. 8). In many other private sector companies run by non-Brahmans, too, Brahmans are well represented among the managerial staff. Throughout the twentieth century, emigration from Tamil Nadu to the rest of India increased, but in recent decades overseas migration has also grown significantly. Although the Tamil Brahmans' overall economic position has improved over the long term, not all have been equally successful, of course. Many Brahmans did and do work as clerks, factory workers, shop assistants, cooks or priests, or in other low-status, low-salary jobs, and lots of them are therefore fairly poor. Tamil Brahmans in general increasingly regard themselves as a predominantly urban, educated middle-class caste, but they can be approximately divided into upper-middle and lower-middle sections. The upper middle class of educated professionals primarily exemplify elite continuity and they are the main subject of this essay. The explanation for this continuity mainly lies in a combination of interacting factors that may be itemized as follows. The first factor is actually the non-Brahman movement and the reservations policy, which have made Brahmans look for new opportunities. The second is caste traditions of education and learning, and the Brahmans' modern educational success. Related to this success is the improved status of Tamil Brahman women, which requires separate consideration. The third factor is the unusual facility and speed of Brahman urban migration, and a fourth, closely related factor has to do with the Brahmans' position in the social structure. The fifth and last factor is the Tamil Brahmans' "cultural capital" and their own collective self-esteem. THE NON-BRAHMAN MOVEMENT AND RESERVATIONS The British colonial government in India relied heavily on its predecessors' administrative systems, and literate Brahmans, alongside men from other high-ranking castes, were key personnel in the Madras Presidency's bureaucracy. At first, the most powerful Brahman bureaucrats were Deshastha Brahmans, who had migrated from Maharashtra as Maratha power expanded southwards. In the mid-nineteenth century, however, Deshasthas ceded their superiority to Tamil and Telugu Brahmans, who responded vigorously to the colonial government's expanding demand for educated, English-speaking "natives." Brahmans left their villages in ever increasing numbers to move to Madras and other towns, partly "pulled" by the demand for their services, as well as other new educational and employment opportunities, and partly "pushed" by indebtedness and other economic difficulties. By the early twentieth century, Brahman literacy rates, in Tamil or Telugu and English, were much higher than for other groups, and the tiny Brahman minority held a hugely disproportionate number of official posts, especially senior ones. Thus, for example, between 1870 and 1918, around 70 percent of the graduates of the University of Madras were Brahmans, and in 1912 among Deputy Collectors, Sub-Judges and District Munsiffs (all high positions for Indians), Brahmans accounted for 55, 83 and 73 percent of the appointments respectively (Irschick 1969:12–19). Most Indian judges and senior lawyers at Madras High Court were also Brahmans. Moreover, Brahmans were not only the majority of high-ranking Indians in the colonial state system, they also largely controlled the still young Indian National Congress in south India, so that in 1917, among the 15 members from Madras on the All-India Congress Committee, 13 were Brahmans (Pandian 2007:93–94). Hence in Madras, more than anywhere else in India, the British raj was also a Brahman raj, and the nationalist movement was a largely Brahman affair. Non-Brahmans – or more exactly their small educated, urban elite – increasingly resented this extraordinary situation and in 1916 they issued their Non-Brahman Manifesto, which set out the case against Brahman dominance; they also founded the Justice Party to represent non-Brahman interests. In 1921, the government introduced a quota system to raise non-Brahman recruitment, which slowly reduced Brahman overrepresentation. Before Independence, politics in Madras was mainly competition between Congress, whose leaders included Brahmans, and the Justice Party. By the late 1940s, non-Brahmans mostly controlled Congress, the Justice Party had been replaced by more radical Dravidian organizations, and Brahman political power was steadily ebbing away. The non-Brahman Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam party was elected to power in Tamil Nadu in 1967; since then, with only brief interruptions, the DMK or its rival the All-India Anna Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam have ruled Tamil Nadu and Brahmans have been largely absent from state politics. DMK and AIADMK governments have implemented an extensive reservations policy and since 1980, 68 percent of jobs in government service and the public sector, and places in professional colleges, have been reserved for the non-Brahman Other Backward Classes, the scheduled castes (dalits) and scheduled tribes. As a result, not many Brahmans now work for the Tamil Nadu state government. Even before caste quotas really began to bite in the 1930s, some Tamil Brahmans sought jobs in the private sector and some left south India. Hence not all Brahman movement out of government employment or emigration from Tamil Nadu is attributable to the reservations policy. Even so, reservations and anti-Brahmanism more generally "forced [Brahmans] to rechannel their energies and interests into other areas of employment," such as business and commerce. Many also moved for higher education and employment, so that "the non-Brahman movement had the effect of forcing many Tamil Brahmans out of the province and into the all-India sphere" (Irschick 1969:355–356). After Independence, many went to Delhi to work for the central government and, in the late 1960s, some high-ranking Tamil Brahman officials apparently took revenge on DMK politicians by denying them approval for major industrial development projects in Tamil Nadu (Barnett 1976:266–267). In the long run, Tamil Brahmans who moved for education and employment tended to gain some advantages over those who stayed at home; for example, they learned how to live and work with people from all over India and communicate with them, particularly in Hindi and English. Extensive competence in English is indeed vital for their middle-class cultural capital. Moreover, as we shall see, migration became such a significant part of Tamil Brahman life that many, if not most, middle-class people living in Tamil Nadu came to have relatives living elsewhere. This collective migratory experience became particularly advantageous when economic liberalization began in the 1990s and new private sector companies, including foreign-owned ones, sought to recruit large numbers of professional staff who could readily work anywhere in India or even overseas. Moreover, in Chennai in 2003–5, Haripriya Narasimhan and I found that most younger, upper middle-class people were so confident about job prospects in the expanding private sector, especially but not only in IT, that they had turned their back completely on government and public sector employment, even in the central government, because pay and promotion prospects were seen as poor.3 For our Brahman informants, reservations added another disincentive, but in practice, since they did not want government jobs, they were scarcely affected. All Brahmans complain about the reservations policy and it does affect poorer Brahmans, who are more likely to look for relatively secure government jobs. For upper middle-class Brahmans, however, reservations no longer matter very much, which reflects their virtually complete detachment from the state – a complete reversal of the Brahman raj of a century ago. EDUCATION In south India in the past, a high proportion of Brahman males, unlike members of other castes, were literate in vernacular languages and sometimes Sanskrit, and learning was always highly valued by Brahman caste traditions. These attributes crucially encouraged and enabled Brahmans to respond to new educational and employment opportunities, so that they could establish themselves in the colonial state's bureaucratic, legal, and educational systems. Administration and law were old service professions in India in which Brahmans had always been prominent, and much the same applies to teaching. Hence there was considerable continuity between the Brahmans' old roles as literate service people and their new occupations that required formal qualifications. In Madras around 1900, Brahman lawyers and bureaucrats, many with law degrees, were very numerous, which might suggest that Brahmans had an inherited affinity for law and administration. In some families, that probably was true. In general, though, Brahmans dominated these professions not because they were constrained to pursue occupations traditionally associated with their caste, but because so many of them had good connections with men already in place and had gained the requisite qualifications. The latter attainment was plainly linked to their caste traditions of education, learning and literacy, but the Brahmans' inheritance was advantageous primarily because it enabled them to seize new opportunities, rather than just to continue in their old ways, as the other two principal learned professions, medicine and engineering, best illustrate. Medical and civil engineering colleges opened in Madras in the 1850s and, after the university was founded in 1857, legal, medical, and engineering education were all regulated and improved. As is well known, Hindus, especially Brahmans, have or had a traditional antipathy to medicine, owing to pollution from corpses and bodily fluids; dissection, a key part of medical education, was particularly problematic. In Bombay and Calcutta, as well as Madras, these problems emerged when medical colleges first opened. But nowhere did they remain severe for very long and, by the 1890s, Brahman student enrollment in Madras's medical college was steadily growing. Engineering student numbers then were relatively low, mainly because employment prospects were worse than in law or medicine. All the same, nineteenth-century Madras engineering college reports noted Brahman preponderance and one regretted that no students came from the "artisan classes [which] should have the greatest natural aptitude" for engineering, or from non-Brahmans as a whole. Unlike medicine, engineering provokes no concern about ritual pollution, but it is akin to low-status artisans' work and lacks any traditional occupational precedent for Brahmans. Nevertheless, like medicine after initial reluctance, engineering was hardly ever seen as degrading and, in all three professional colleges in Madras, Brahmans were greatly overrepresented. Thus Brahmans were between 60 and 80 percent of the law, medicine and engineering students early in the twentieth century, before their proportion roughly halved by the late 1930s, when caste quotas had had an impact.4 After the 1930s no reliable statistics exist, but the Brahman percentage of students has certainly fallen further. Nonetheless, the available evidence suggests that Tamil Brahmans, in comparison to their small population size, are still disproportionately well represented in the educated professions, not least as engineers, who now vastly outnumber doctors and lawyers. The key point is that for Brahmans themselves, medicine and engineering have been esteemed as learned professions like law; all three belong to the same category as modern, English-language, credential-based professions that are well-paid and prestigious. Hence these professions, like others requiring high educational qualifications, were and are deemed eminently suitable for Tamil Brahmans, who have typically regarded themselves as intellectually superior to other communities. Indeed, among Tamil Brahmans today, their presumptive success in the modern professions is much more commonly invoked as a sign of their caste superiority than ritual purity, Vedic scholarship or other traditional attributes. Leaving their own claims about superiority aside, however, it is clear that the caste tradition of learning, as well as historically high standards of literacy and education, have been prolonged into the present day and have been crucial to the Brahmans' relative advantage over other castes, which has declined but has not vanished. Yet this is not just a history of continuity in education and employment, as if caste traditionalism were determinant; it is also a history of how Tamil Brahmans exploited old advantages to invest in modern education and enter a range of new professions, both those that resemble their old literate service roles and those that do not. THE POSITION OF WOMEN Among Tamil Brahmans, the position and status of women changed radically during the twentieth century. Pre-puberty marriage used to be the norm and most girls actually were married as young children; they went to live with their husbands after coming of age. In 1929, however, the Child Marriage Restraint Act (known as the Sarda Act after its sponsor) fixed the minimum age for marriage at 14 for girls and 18 for boys throughout British India. Fierce opposition to the Sarda Act came from conservative Tamil Brahman men, who insisted that pre-puberty marriage was an essential part of Hindu or Brahman tradition as laid down in religious law, but their legislators in Delhi could neither block the Act nor get Brahmans exempted from it (Sreenivas 2008:75–77). In the debate about pre-puberty marriage between conservatives and reformers, who were often non-Brahmans, men argued about girls as symbols of Brahmanhood, but women's voices were rarely heard. Actually, conservative views were probably as widespread among women as men, and when Haripriya and I have interviewed old Brahman women who were married before puberty, opinion has been divided about whether child marriage was good or bad. In any case, though, in the early twentieth century, in all "respectable" families, girls were married before puberty, typically to men who were about 10 years older. These girls were rarely educated beyond primary school level, even if their husbands were English-speaking graduates, although some of them studied at home, supported by relatively enlightened husbands or other family members. Despite the furore over the Sarda Act, pre-puberty marriage started to decline and, by the late 1940s, it was uncommon among most Tamil Brahmans, whose girls normally married in their teenage years. The change in marriage customs was accompanied by rising standards of female education, as more and more Brahman girls completed secondary-school or college education. Around the 1970s to 1980s – starting among urban, educated, middle-class Brahmans – attitudes to daughters were altering again. In the smaller families that became the norm, the old preference for sons over daughters faded quite rapidly. Higher education became standard for girls and, by the late 1980s, their usual age of marriage had risen to the early twenties. For Tamil Brahmans, in common with many other Indians, improved female education and delayed marriage are widely perceived as indexes of a modern, middle-class way of life and a rejection of old-fashioned traditions. All this means that a high proportion of young women today have attended college, whereas their mothers typically had only secondary education and their grandmothers only elementary education. In practice, too, a lot of Brahman women, as well as men, are now qualified for a wide range of professional jobs. It remains true that more men than women graduate with high-status professional qualifications – notably in engineering and IT – and although women often work outside the home, they normally give up their jobs after marriage, especially when they have children. Nonetheless, in families based on companionate marriages – which are ideally partnerships between affectionate, congenial individuals and are now the norm for the educated middle class – the reduction in gender inequality compared with a century ago has been dramatic, and change in the position of women is a significant element in the Tamil Brahmans' transformation into a modern, middle-class elite. MIGRATION AND URBANIZATION From the mid-nineteenth century onward, as already mentioned, Tamil Brahmans were leaving their villages. Emigration began earlier in some river valley areas than others, but by the mid-twentieth century, Tamil Brahmans had become a predominantly urban group. A very striking feature of the caste's urban migration has been its speed and completeness, both at the aggregate level of the caste as a whole, and at the family and individual level. The original, one-way movement out of a village frequently inaugurated a rapid process of personal and familial urbanization, so that a first-generation migrant's children, who probably spent most of their lives in an urban locality, separated themselves completely from rural life. Hence villagers have often become fully fledged urbanites within the span of one or two generations. To be sure, the Brahmans' urban transformation was not always easy, but it was facilitated by the village social structure (discussed below) and the Brahmans' typical attitude to agriculture and land. The ownership and control of land mattered greatly to Brahman mirasidars for social, economic and political reasons, but they were patriarchal landlords, not farmers committed to agriculture as a means of livelihood, and they hardly ever got down into their fields. Nowadays, some Brahman landowners have become modern, capitalist farmers, but they are unusual. Urban Brahmans have normally taken little or no responsibility for family land, which is either managed by relatives still in the village or rented out to tenants; otherwise and much more often, the land has been sold. Brahmans who no longer own rural land rarely display any sentimental regret. Particularly compared with members of non-Brahman peasant cultivator castes – many also now living in urban areas – the Brahmans' detached or even disdainful outlook helped them to quit their lands and rural life relatively easily. Now, as in the past, Tamil Brahmans often migrate between urban centers or circulate around them, especially when in jobs that require regular transfers. In recent decades, significant numbers have migrated to foreign countries. The United States is the preferred destination, although many Tamil Brahman emigrants are in the Middle East, as well as Europe, Southeast Asia and Australia. The IT industry has added a new dimension to migration. It has helped to increase the numbers leaving India, but unlike, for instance, the doctors or manufacturing engineers who migrated permanently to America after 1965, IT professionals commonly go back and forth, or return to India for good after several years abroad. All this long-term geographical mobility means that a large proportion of Tamil Brahmans live outside Tamil Nadu. In addition, almost everyone in the urban middle class has relatives scattered across India and overseas, whose aid – for example, in finding out about college places or job vacancies – may be invaluable. Regional, national and international kinship networks therefore provide significant "social capital" for Tamil Brahmans. Also salient is that extensive migration has not been impeded by the marriage system. Most Tamil Brahmans continue to arrange marriages within their caste or subcaste, using their networks to find far-flung partners who fit contemporary "class" criteria of education and employment; equally vital today is the couple's potential happiness. Endogamous companionate marriage reproduces both caste and class as status systems; it also sustains the Tamil Brahmans' sense of their own distinct identity, which is reinforced by a tendency to retain their own cultural and religious customs – such as vegetarianism or Brahmanical ritual observances – wherever they live in India or abroad. Migration has been more prevalent among Brahmans than any other Tamil group except, possibly, the banking caste of Nagarattars (Nattukkottai Chettiyars) and the Anglo-Indians, who commonly strive to leave India. In sum, the overall outcome of the Tamil Brahmans' exodus from the countryside and their onward movement to and between other towns and cities in India, and later abroad, is that migration and urbanization are fundamental to their modern history and contemporary social organization, both in empirical reality and in how they imagine and represent themselves. These features in turn contribute to their unusual adaptability to different environments and their successful exploitation of new opportunities in a modern society and economy demanding mobility and flexibility. SOCIAL STRUCTURE In their villages in the river valleys, Brahmans lived in their own segregated quarter, the _agraharam_. The Sanskrit term _agrahara_ denotes a royal donation of land or a village to Brahmans, and ideally – and often in historical fact – the Brahmans' land was given to them by kings and exempted from tax. Non-Brahmans of diverse castes lived in the main village settlement, often but not always called the _ur_ , and dalits or untouchables lived in an exterior _cheri_ or "colony." This spatial separation is an important dimension of the Brahmans' position in the Tamil social structure and their relationship with other castes. Gough described the agraharam in Kumbapettai, near Thanjavur, which she first studied in 1951–2 (1960; 1981: part 2). Kumbapettai's agraharam consisted of one street inhabited exclusively by Brahmans, who made up 36 households in 1952. The village Brahmans, said Gough, "exhibit a high degree of internal interaction and external exclusiveness" (1960:35). Their exclusiveness was reinforced by severe restrictions on access to the agraharam. Thus non-Brahman and dalit laborers came to the back door of a Brahman house to collect their wages, and dalits did not enter the agraharam street at all. Non-Brahmans had been forbidden to wear footwear in the agraharam or while standing before a Brahman, but at the time of Gough's fieldwork two assertive non-Brahman schoolboys deliberately broke the rule by walking through the agraharam in shoes. Non-Brahmans had earlier been excluded from Brahman houses, but by the 1950s they worked in them as servants, but did not enter the kitchen. The Temple Entry Act passed in 1947 meant that members of all castes had the legal right to go into the Vishnu and Shiva temples in the agraharam, but in practice they did not do so and the old ban on their admission was still observed. Brahman women and young children in particular rarely mixed with people from other castes. Women never went to the non-Brahman part of Kumbapettai and had never even seen the dalits' colony. Brahman men moved around more freely and could enter non-Brahman houses, as some did to have sex with non-Brahman women; they could not eat in non-Brahman houses, however, and had to bathe before reentering their own homes. Brahmans never entered the dalit colony, not only to avoid pollution but also because dalits believed that if they did, the whole colony would suffer serious misfortune. When Gough restudied Kumbapettai in 1976, eight non-Brahman families lived in the agraharam, all non-Brahmans could move freely through it, and in general all the old restrictive rules about pollution and caste interaction "had become much more attenuated" (1989:357). When Haripriya and I visited Kumbapettai in 2005, the agraharam housed only six Brahman families, who were outnumbered by non-Brahmans. Other ethnographic literature – as well as the material recently collected by Haripriya and myself – confirms that the state of affairs in Kumbapettai in the 1950s was fairly typical of Tamil Brahman villages in the mid- twentieth century and probably earlier, and that most of the changes since the 1950s have occurred similarly elsewhere. The distinctive feature of Brahman villages in Tamil Nadu is that they were hierarchically partitioned into three sections – Brahman agraharam, non-Brahman ur and dalit cheri – with a sharpness hardly found anywhere else in India, except in parts of coastal Andhra Pradesh. As Béteille's ethnography (1965) most plainly shows, caste – or more precisely these three caste groupings and the relationships or nonrelationships between them – were mapped on to and constituted by village social space with a firmness and clarity that could have escaped nobody living there. Significantly, the word _ur_ , as Daniel (1984:67) comments, connotes "home" or, in Indian English, "native place." Hence there is a strong sense in which the ur is home, the heart of Tamil local society, whereas the agraharam and cheri are not. Admittedly, the settlement units denoted by ur or other terms translatable as "village" vary somewhat. All the same, in any unit called an ur, non-Brahmans make up the core population, even though in some contexts an agraharam – but never a cheri – is encompassed by the ur. From a sociological standpoint, all castes were and are fully part of Tamil Nadu's social structure. Yet they have not been integrated into it in the same way and to the same degree. Thus Brahmans were in many respects above and apart from the society constituted by the non-Brahman bulk of the population, so that the Brahmans' superiority was formed less by unequal, complementary relationships with inferiors than by independence from them; that in turn corresponded ideologically to the concept of the ideal Brahman as an ascetic renouncer and as a transactional strategist who accepts only perfect gifts and refuses all others. In a different way, of course, untouchables were below and apart from the rest of society, and the cheri's separation from the ur mirrors their traditional exclusion from Tamil society except as servile inferiors. The other castes needed their labor and services – for example, as scavengers or drummers at festivals – but doing such work reconfirmed the untouchables' degraded status and their ambiguous exclusion from the social whole. To put it briefly, Tamil rural society was first and foremost constituted by non-Brahmans in their ur, whereas Brahmans in their agraharam were above it and dalits in their cheri were below it. Coupled with their detached attitude to land, the Brahmans' partial independence from rural society also facilitated their urban migration. As Barnett (1976:25) argued, the Brahmans' "position and status [were] independent of their residence in any given local area," whereas for non-Brahmans, especially higher castes, "rank was directly dependent on village economic and ritual dominance," so that their urban migration involved movement into a riskier, socially unstable environment. In terms of status, Brahman urban migrants therefore had less to lose than most non-Brahmans. Contemporary anti-Brahmanism has strengthened the notion that all Brahmans originally came from north India and that as a collective noun "Tamils" denotes only non-Brahmans. Yet Brahmans, too, often claim northern ancestry and emphasize their differences from other castes, notably with reference to the dichotomy between Sanskritic and Tamilian (or non-Sanskritic) culture and religion. The sociocultural divide between Brahman and non-Brahman that is still very marked in Tamil Nadu has as much to do with Brahman attitudes as non-Brahman ones. For dalits, the position is completely different, because their struggle for civil rights has been focused on ending discrimination against them, so that they can join the society from which they have been excluded, often most vigorously by non-Brahmans whose local dominance is threatened. The dalits, to oversimplify, want to be included in Tamil society alongside non-Brahmans, whereas Brahmans prefer to stay out; this is despite, or perhaps even because, exclusively Brahman agraharams have vanished, whereas rural dalits still overwhelmingly live by themselves in their colonies. In urban areas, Brahmans cannot stay apart from other people as they could in village agraharams, and in Tamil Nadu's towns and cities their neighbors normally include plenty of non-Brahmans. The same applies elsewhere in India; thus, for example, Tamil Brahmans living in Mumbai invariably have neighbors from different regions of India, many of whom are not Brahmans. _A fortiori_ , it is even more true for Tamil Brahmans overseas, like the professional, middle-class people in America, who mainly live in ethnically mixed suburbs. Chennai, however, is a special case, because more Tamil Brahmans live there than in any other single place, so that although they are still a minority, Chennai is the city that they can call their own. A contiguous belt of inner southern suburbs are regarded as Brahman areas. In the suburb of T. Nagar (Theagarayar Nagar), for example, a survey in 2005 showed that nearly 50 percent of residents were Brahmans, and Auclair's smaller surveys in the 1990s produced even higher figures – between 63 and 75 percent – in T. Nagar, Adyar and Mylapore (1998:239). Caste is important in south Chennai's housing market and one outcome is that in many apartment blocks Brahmans ensure that they form a large majority of the residents. Even in the city, therefore, Brahmans can live in "residential collectivities" offering "protection and security" (1998:241). Despite some complaints about too much gossiping by neighbors, most Tamil Brahmans whom Haripriya and I have met regard Chennai as a good place to live, although no public or semipublic space in a city – even a mainly Brahman housing complex in south Chennai – can ever become an exclusive space segregating Brahmans from other castes like agraharams in the past. The Brahmans' partial independence from Tamil non-Brahman society, as expressed by the separation between agraharam and ur, cannot define without modification the Brahmans' position within contemporary urban society and their own collective understanding of it. Thus it is as obvious to Brahmans as anyone else that they have forever lost their old hierarchical privileges, which are no longer acknowledged by the rest of society or legally recognized by the state. Nonetheless, their relative autonomy within the social structure gave Tamil Brahmans a potential advantage in freeing them from the constraints of a caste-based society and economy in the nineteenth century and thereafter, so that they could more easily adapt to new environments. Furthermore, their autonomy has continued to benefit them inasmuch as the Brahmans' geographical mobility is unhindered by any wish to maintain roots in local Tamil society. CULTURAL VALUES AND SELF-ESTEEM When Tamil Brahmans praise Chennai as a place to live, they frequently mention its cultural life, especially performances of classical Carnatic music and classical dance, Bharatanatyam. As performed today, both Carnatic music and Bharatanatyam date from the early twentieth century and both were mainly created by Brahmans in, respectively, the Madras Music Academy in Mylapore and the Kalakshetra dance academy in Adyar. The two art forms are still mostly dominated by Brahmans, almost everyone in Tamil Nadu regards them as quintessentially Brahmanical, and the Tamil Brahman diaspora cultivates them with particular passion as intrinsic to their cultural identity. For Brahmans, classical music and dance belong to a pan-Indian Sanskritic "great tradition" that is broadly cultural, not just religious in the narrow sense. This tradition stands in ideological opposition to the autochthonous Dravidian, Tamil tradition associated with non-Brahmans. In empirical reality, no sharp distinction exists between the two traditions and, as Singer (1972:chs. 3–5) discovered when he tried to identify the Sanskritic "great tradition" in Madras, it is impossible to define it or its components unambiguously. However, there is a consistent tendency in Tamil Nadu to identify Sanskritic culture as the core of "civilized," high culture, which in many respects is deemed Brahmanical because it is high, rather than high because it is Brahmanical. For this reason, members of the mainly urban upper middle class are predisposed to identify their own cultural values as Brahmanical, and upwardly mobile non-Brahmans, as well as Brahmans, are attracted to those values. In effect, in this context Sanskritization is a means to upward class mobility, rather than caste mobility. Yet these Brahmanical cultural values have become increasingly dissociated from Brahmans as a social category, precisely because the upper middle class includes numerous non-Brahmans. That in turn means that esteem for Brahmanical cultural values among this class is not incompatible with the premise that, for its non-Brahman members, Brahmans themselves are no longer acknowledged as superior. Respect for Brahmanical values, in other words, does not have to be coupled with deferential respect for Brahmans. This disconnection is linked to the disintegration of the old caste system, because as the Brahmans have lost their former status and power, Brahmanical values have become detached from their caste, so that they are now available to non-Brahmans as well and are only metaphorically connected with the caste system as it used to be. For Tamil Brahmans themselves, however, the two kinds of respect ought to go hand-in-hand and elite non-Brahmans are actually endorsing Brahman superiority, even if they do not see it that way. Although nobody says so aloud nowadays, the vast majority of Brahmans continue to take their own superiority for granted – as many if not most non-Brahmans know. That superiority, in the Brahmans' own eyes, is expressed by their cultural refinement, among other qualities, but what is most specifically emphasized today is superior intellect and intelligence. Especially but not only by people working in the IT industry, mathematical ability is stressed, and sometimes people even talk about the great mathematician Srinivasa Ramanujan as if his genius were the Tamil Brahmans' hereditary birthright. Such talk should probably not be taken too seriously, but it does matter that virtually all Tamil Brahman parents assume that their children, both boys and girls, will be naturally good at mathematics, often seen as the supreme academic subject. The overall outcome is a collective self-confidence in their own ability in mathematics and, more generally, in all academic subjects, which – though impossible to quantify – must contribute to overall scholastic achievement. That conversely reinforces assumptions about intrinsic superiority and adds to collective self-esteem, which in turn contribute to the Tamil Brahmans' ability to maintain their own identity in different sites of migration. In functional terms, Brahmanical culture is an asset in flexibly adapting to life and work in a globalized world. Much the same applies to religion. In the modern era, next to no "secularization," in that term's broad sense, has occurred among Tamil Brahmans. Most are Hindus who believe in and practice their religion in conventional ways (though new styles, such as devotion to modern gurus, have developed), most are fairly strict vegetarians, and many though not all observe traditional purity and pollution rules to some extent. These religious customs and practices, which have been modified over time, have never seriously impeded the modern transformation of the Tamil Brahmans; rather, they too have helped to sustain the group's own identity in diverse social environments and circumstances. COMPARISON AND CONCLUSION This essay has explored a series of factors critical to the Tamil Brahmans' long-term success in entering educated, professional employment and the urban upper middle class in Tamil Nadu, the rest of India, and most recently overseas. These factors, to recapitulate briefly, are anti-Brahmanism, which made Brahmans look for new opportunities, often outside Tamil Nadu; the longstanding tradition of learning and high levels of literacy and education, which now characterize women as well as men; the rapidity and completeness of urban migration and urbanization, and their role in shaping the caste's collective experience; the Tamil Brahmans' relative autonomy within the social structure and separation from other castes; and, finally, their possession of cultural capital and collective self-esteem. The interacting combination of these factors, rather than any of them by themselves, primarily explains the Tamil Brahmans' transformation from an old elite into a new one that possesses many of the key attributes needed for success in an increasingly globalized modern society and economy, notably high educational standards, occupational flexibility, spatial mobility, adaptability to unfamiliar regions of India and foreign countries, and enhanced status for women within a relatively more egalitarian family structure. The story of the Tamil Brahmans plainly raises the issue of comparison with other groups, especially Brahmans or other "old elite" castes. Inadequacy of data makes proper comparison difficult, however; moreover, even if all the data were available, we can reasonably assume that the combination of factors pertinent to the modern transformation of other groups is both as specific and complex as it is for Tamil Brahmans, so that analysis would be made problematic by numerous, partly independent variables. Nonetheless, to conclude this essay, some indicative remarks are appropriate. In the Madras Presidency a century ago, Telugu and Tamil Brahmans were in a quite similar position. In coastal Andhra, as well as in the Tamil country where many were settled, "secular" Niyogi Telugu Brahmans were landlords living in agraharams, who were migrating to towns and cities for education and employment like Tamil Brahmans. On the other hand, Tamil Brahmans probably benefited from their concentration in the districts of the Presidency's heartland that now form Tamil Nadu. In the long run, too, Telugu Brahmans have been less successful in entering the educated, professional, urban upper middle class. Compared with Tamils, fewer Telugu Brahmans went into medicine and engineering, and even in law and administration they tended to lose out, especially in Madras city, to the more numerous, better organized Tamil Brahmans, who saw themselves as superior to the Telugus and also occupied many of the senior government positions in the Andhra country. After Independence and the formation of Andhra Pradesh in 1956 – partly the outcome of Telugu resentment about Tamil dominance – the Telugu Brahmans' position actually worsened because coastal Andhra had no large city of its own. Telugu Brahmans therefore had to leave their own region, typically for Madras (which became an increasingly Tamil city), Bangalore (where Tamil Brahmans were also numerous) or Hyderabad (which was dominated by Muslims). Those who did migrate to these cities often prospered, but the successful proportion was smaller than among Tamil Brahmans. It is also salient that Telugu Brahmans tend to have a weaker sense of their own distinctive identity, so that some of them have actually merged into other south Indian Brahman groups. Ethnographic and historical evidence about Telugu Brahmans is sparse, making detailed analysis impossible, but it is reasonably clear that their regional political history has hindered Telugu Brahmans in comparison with Tamil Brahmans.5 The Nambudiri Brahmans of Kerala contrast strikingly with Tamil Brahmans. Less than 2 percent of Kerala's population are Brahmans, of which more than half are Tamil Brahmans who have lived there for centuries. Among the indigenous Brahmans, Nambudiris formed a tiny elite of wealthy landlords who traditionally enjoyed extremely high status, most famously expressed in the patrilineal Nambudiri men's right to form sexual partnerships with women from lower castes, especially the matrilineal Nayars. Malabar (north Kerala) was under British rule, whereas Cochin and Travancore (central and south Kerala) were princely states, but similar changes took place throughout the region during the colonial period. Nambudiris, however, turned their back on all modern change, especially education; most of them "using religious purity as their justification... withdrew haughtily to their estates, and refused to allow their sons and daughters any form of modern education" (Mencher 1966:189–190). The Nayars, around 15 percent of Kerala's population, are a high-ranking, non-Brahman, landowning caste with a military tradition. Nayars reacted to change very differently from the Nambudiris; instead, like Tamil Brahmans, Nayars sought out modern education and employment, and often migrated to urban areas. In the precolonial period, a high proportion of Nayars were literate in Malayalam and, in the early twentieth century, though well behind the Tamil and Telugu Brahmans, Nayar male literacy rates were the third highest in the Madras Presidency (Irschick 1969:16–17). Nayars from Malabar were more likely to go to Madras than those from Cochin and Travancore, whose rulers developed their own educational and administrative systems. Particularly in Travancore, though, Tamil Brahmans dominated the bureaucracy and resentment of them strongly encouraged Nayars to pursue modern education, although competition with prospering Syrian Christians was also significant. As more Nayar men became bureaucrats and other professionals, so they also campaigned for family reform and opposed Nambudiri sexual exploitation of their women (Fuller 1976:127–137). In the early twentieth century, the Nayar reform movement reciprocally influenced young Nambudiri men and radical change eventually began. By the early 1960s, Nambudiri families varied "from the rare ones that still seem to belong in the early 19th century to those where all castes move freely [and] both boys and girls are educated, and are in essence hardly recognizable as Namboodiri establishments" (Mencher 1966:192). Today, to the best of my knowledge, Nambudiris are well represented in the educated, professional urban middle class. So too are Nayars, although Christians on the whole are doing better. In earlier years, though, non-Brahman Nayars, not Nambudiri Brahmans, most resembled the Tamil Brahmans in how they transformed themselves. Like Tamil Brahmans, Nayars had a caste tradition of education and literacy, but many other factors lying behind their educational and professional success – such as their relationships with Nambudiris, Syrian Christians and immigrant Tamil Brahmans – were totally different.6 Other comparable cases on which some relevant data exist include the Chitpavan Brahmans, who have been more successful in modern education and employment than the Deshastha Brahmans in Maharashtra (Patterson 1970); the small Saraswat Brahman group from coastal Karnataka, who migrated in sizeable numbers to Bombay and Madras (Conlon 1977); and the Kanya-Kubja Brahmans in Uttar Pradesh, who are well represented in the educated professions, but also include a large body of ordinary farmers (Khare 1970). In Bengal, from the colonial period to the present day, the urban middle class has been mainly drawn from the _bhadralok_ , the social elite primarily composed of Brahmans, Baidyas and Kayasths; the bhadralok can certainly be regarded as an old elite that has become a new one, but the caste distinctions within it are fairly unimportant. The north Indian Kayasths who served as bureaucrats for Hyderabad's Muslim rulers had variable fortunes during the colonial and postcolonial periods, for some successfully entered the new learned professions, but many others did not (Leonard 1978). A spectacular example of an elite emergent during British rule is the tiny community of Parsis, who prospered extraordinarily in Bombay but suffered considerable decline after Independence (Luhrmann 1996). For other cases, too, some documentation exists, but without plentiful data – and space for discussion – little is gained by extending the list. If all these cases could be compared, however, we would certainly see considerable variation in which old elites turn into new ones and how fully they do so, as well as in the sets of factors underlying these transformations. Most probably, a tradition of education and literacy – rather than Weber's narrower "vocational ethic" – has almost always been a critical factor in predisposing a caste group to take up modern education and employment, often not closely related to its traditional caste occupations, and this may be the one generalization that holds good for all cases – even though, as the Nambudiris show, a traditionally learned caste may reject modern education. Beyond this factor, however, each and every case may have its own particularities. This essay has explored how and why the old elite of Tamil Brahmans has become a modern one that is overrepresented in the Indian urban upper middle class, but no easy extrapolations about other Brahman and forward caste groups can be made, and no simple policy measures to reverse the position could be implemented. NOTES This essay is based on research carried out with Haripriya Narasimhan. I am very grateful to Haripriya for extensive discussion about the essay; for valuable comments on earlier versions, I also thank John Harriss and participants in seminars in Britain and the United States. Financial support for the research from the UK Economic and Social Research Council is gratefully acknowledged. 1 The Tamil-speaking region of the Madras Presidency became Madras state after Independence and was renamed Tamil Nadu (Tamil Nadu) in 1969. The name of its capital city was changed from Madras to Chennai in 1996. In this essay, the current names are used for the state and city, except where the historical context requires "Madras." The same convention is applied to other places with changed names, such as Bombay, now Mumbai. 2 The large literature on Tamil Nadu's history, much of it focused on caste politics and the Non-Brahman movement, is a primary source for this essay. The main historical works include Barnett 1976; Irschick 1969; Pandian 2007; Suntharalingam 1974; Washbrook 1976, 1989. Other sources include Chuyen 2004; Singer 1972. Much of this essay's content is discussed in more detail in Fuller 1999; Fuller and Narasimhan 2007, 2008a, 2008b, n.d. 3 Most of the field research on the middle class in Chennai in 2003–5 and among the Eighteen-Village Vattima subcaste of Tamil Brahmans in a village, as well as in Chennai, other Indian cities, and the United States in 2005–8 was carried out by Haripriya Narasimhan, although Fuller accompanied her for part of the time. 4 The figures come from the annual _Report on Public Instruction in the Madras Presidency_ , 1854/5–1939/40; cf. Fuller and Narasimhan n.d. for more details. 5 Velcheru Narayana Rao has kindly supplied me with information about Telugu Brahmans. 6 Filippo Osella has kindly supplied me with information about contemporary Kerala. REFERENCES Auclair, Christine 1998 Ville à vendre. Voie libérale et privatisation du secteur de l'habitat à Chennai (Inde). Pondicherry: Institut Français de Pondichéry. Barnett, Marguerite R. 1976 The Politics of Cultural Nationalism in South India. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Béteille, André 1965 Caste, Class, and Power: Changing Patterns of Stratification in a Tanjore Village. Berkeley: University of California Press. 2003 The Social Character of the Indian Middle Class. _In_ Middle Class Values in India and Western Europe. I. Ahmad and H. Reifeld, eds. Pp. 73–85. New Delhi: Social Science Press. Chuyen, Gilles 2004 Who is a Brahmin? The Politics of Identity in India. New Delhi: Manohar. Conlon, Frank F. 1977 A Caste in a Changing World: The Chitrapur Saraswat Brahmans, 1700–1935. Berkeley: University of California Press. Daniel, E. Valentine 1984 Fluid Signs: Being a Person the Tamil Way. Berkeley: University of California Press. Deshpande, Satish 2003 Contemporary India: A Sociological View. New Delhi: Penguin Viking. Dirks, Nicholas B. 2001 Castes of Mind: Colonialism and the Making of Modern India. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Fuller, C. J. 1976 The Nayars Today. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 1999 The Brahmins and Brahminical Values in Modern Tamil Nadu. _In_ Institutions and Inequalities: Essays in Honour of André Béteille. Ramachandra Guha and Jonathan P. Parry, eds. Pp. 30–55. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Fuller, C. J., and Haripriya Narasimhan 2007 Information Technology Professionals and the New-Rich Middle Class in Chennai (Madras). Modern Asian Studies 41:121–150. 2008a Companionate Marriage in India: The Changing Marriage System in a Middle-Class Brahman Subcaste. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute (NS) 14:736–754. 2008b From Landlords to Software Engineers: Migration and Urbanization among Tamil Brahmans. Comparative Studies in Society and History 50:170–196. N.d. Traditional Vocations and Modern Professions among Tamil Brahmans in Colonial and Postcolonial South India. Forthcoming. Gough, Kathleen 1960 Caste in a Tanjore Village. _In_ Aspects of Caste in South India, Ceylon and North-West Pakistan. E. R. Leach, ed. Pp. 11–60. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 1981 Rural Society in Southeast India. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 1989 Rural Change in Southeast India, 1950s to 1980s. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Harriss, John 2003 The Great Tradition Globalizes: Reflections on Two Studies of "The Industrial Leaders" of Madras. Modern Asian Studies 37:327–362. Irschick, Eugene F. 1969 Politics and Social Conflict in South India: The Non-Brahman Movement and Tamil Separatism, 1916–1929. Berkeley: University of California Press. Khare, R. S. 197 The Changing Brahmans: Associations and Elites among the Kanya-Kubjas of North India. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Leonard, Karen I. 1978 Social History of an Indian Caste: The Kayasths of Hyderabad. Berkeley: University of California Press. Luhrmann, T. M. 1996 The Good Parsi: The Fate of a Colonial Elite in a Postcolonial Society. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Mencher, Joan P. 1966 Namboodiri Brahmins: An Analysis of a Traditional Elite in Kerala. Journal of Asian and African Studies 1:183–196. Pandian, M. S. S. 2007 Brahmin and Non-Brahmin: Genealogies of the Tamil Political Present. Delhi: Permanent Black. Patterson, Maureen L. P. 1970 Changing Patterns of Occupation among Chitpavan Brahmans. Indian Economic and Social History Review 7:375–396. Singer, Milton 1972 When a Great Tradition Modernizes. London: Pall Mall Press. Sreenivas, Mytheli 2008 Wives, Widows and Concubines: The Conjugal Family Ideal in Colonial India. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Subrahmanyam, Sanjay 1996 Institutions, Agency and Economic Change in South Asia: A Survey and Some Suggestions. _In_ Institutions and Economic Change in South Asia. Burton Stein and Sanjay Subrahmanyam, eds. Pp. 14–47. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Suntharalingam, R. 1974 Politics and Nationalist Awakening in South India, 1852–1891. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Washbrook, D. A. 1976 The Emergence of Provincial Politics: The Madras Presidency, 1870–1920. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 1989 Caste, Class and Dominance in Modern Tamil Nadu: Non-Brahmanism, Dravidianism and Tamil Nationalism. _In_ Dominance and State Power in Modern India: Decline of a Social Order, vol. 1. Francine R. Frankel and M. S. A. Rao, eds. Pp. 204–264. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Weber, Max 1967[1917] The Religion of India: The Sociology of Hinduism and Buddhism. New York: Free Press. 1978[1920] Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology. Berkeley: University of California Press. CHAPTER 5 Caste and Collective Memory in South India _Zoé E. Headley_ India is an excellent case of "too much" social structure, infinite hierarchy and a superabundance of the past in the present. Arjun Appadurai, paraphrasing Maurice Bloch Since Bernard S. Cohn's landmark essay in 1962, "An Anthropologist among the Historians" (Cohn 1987), the dialogue between history and anthropology has shaped many of the methodological approaches and theoretical orientations of the social sciences of South Asia (Sivaramakrishnan 1995). Contemporary scholarship on caste in modern India has been addressing for some time now the uses of history in the making of modern caste identities within the wider context of the socioeconomic changes that began during the second half of the nineteenth century (Silverberg 1968). These studies have, by and large, focused on the numerous printed caste histories authored by the new emerging elites who began competing in a public arena in which the criteria of ritual purity and traditional occupation were giving way to economic dominance and political representation. These new features of caste society under British rule, largely shaped by colonial categories and, to a lesser extent, nationalist ideology, led to a new genre of publications – the caste history – which sought to commensurate local mythology and regional history with new forms of social status sought after by these groups. However, the processes of collective upward social mobility at work under colonial rule varied significantly according to the prior ritual ranking, traditional occupation, and economic situation of each group but also, as several authors have shown, a particular dynamic existed in South India, and more specifically in Tamil Nadu, which contributed to shaping the aspirations and strategies of upward social mobility (Washbrook 1975; Rudolph and Rudolph 1984). The well-studied ascension of the Nadars, for example, who rose from a very low traditional occupation (tapping the sap of various species of palm tree for the making of toddy, an alcoholic beverage) and ritual status to become, in less than a century, an economically well-to-do and politically significant group in Tamil Nadu, showcases the practical and ideological uses to which historical narratives were put during their impressive social, economic and political ascension (Hardgrave 1969a; 1969b; Templeman 1996). In this chapter, I explore the ways in which the past has been used for the construction of social identities in contemporary India not through published caste histories, as has generally been the case, but through a very different medium: a corpus of oral narratives shared by the members of a south Indian subcaste. This corpus, which I have come to view in the course of my study as the "collective memory" (Halbwachs 1950; 1994) of the Pramalai Kallar subcaste (hereafter PK), displays very different sets of concerns and representations than those emerging from printed sources, and this at several levels. Indeed, many studies on the ideological and pragmatic uses of the past by local elites and caste associations in the modern period bring to the fore the adaptations, distortions, and reinventions that the authors have worked into their publications and pamphlets in order to suit the social aspirations and ideological constraints of their time. The lingering assumption is that if the urbanized caste elites are producing these hybrid (at best) or artificial (at worst) histories in order to keep up with the new hierarchies created by colonial policies of classification and enumeration, and more recently, to profit from various measures of positive discrimination, then this probably means that they do not possess other (dare we say, more "authentic"?) forms of the past. Whether this assumption is a disguised resurgence of the infamous ahistoricism of Indian culture is beside the point of this essay, but it does appear that in the scholarship on the uses of the past in the making of modern caste identities the existence, and, more precisely, the coexistence of different kinds of past which serve to define the present of the given group in different ways have been somewhat overlooked (Ali 1999; Appadurai 1981; Bloch 1977; Geertz 1973). Therefore here, rather than shifting our gaze from the histories published by local elites to oral narratives recounted by villagers, thereby simply displacing the lacunae, I will describe in the first part of this chapter the array of historical culture which I have been able to identify among the Pramalai Kallar, whether material or narrative, whether scarce or abundant, whether authoritative or mundane. The purpose of this chapter is not simply to get back to good old oral tradition of bygones but also to account for very recent forms of remembrance of the past – shaped by new technology and influenced by globalization – which exist alongside printed media. Though the typology of the past presented below is specific to the PK in terms of its factual and semantic contents, the different regimes of historicity within which its members locate their past and negotiate their present are not exclusive to the subcaste, but more broadly characteristic of a large number of rural backward castes. In the second part of this chapter, I will narrow my focus to the oral form of the past which circulates today among the Pramalai Kallar subcaste. Though limitations of space prevent me from including excerpts of the narratives, the description of the central narrative patterns of each main theme of the corpus will be sufficiently detailed for the reader to grasp the differing dialogical processes embedded within the narratives. In the concluding section, through several concrete examples, I will illustrate how collective memory serves to articulate the sociohistorical coherence of the birth group in its contemporary environment. THE PAST(S) MADE PRESENT AMONG THE PRAMALAI KALLARS Most students and scholars of South Asia will be familiar with the PK through the monograph _A South Indian Subcaste: Social Organization and Religion of the Pramalai Kallar_ (1986[1957]) by Louis Dumont, better known for his much discussed theoretical magnum opus _Homo Hierarchicus_ (1966). Over half a century has gone by since the French anthropologist walked the dusty roads of the Kallar Nadu, the PK's traditional territory lying west of the sacred city of Madurai which they still dominate numerically and socially.1 Understandably, Dumont's name means little to young generations of PK, busy with educational and professional opportunities of which their grandparents had not dreamt. Sometimes an elder will remember that a foreigner, neither British nor a man of the robe, came to speak to his father or uncle about their practices and traditions, even took photos here and there – such interest bearing testimony, I was told, to the significance of PK customs and values. However, the printed words of Dumont's monograph are of next to no interest. Regarding what is printed about them, they are far more preoccupied by the intermittent media exposure which portrays them as socially backward and physically violent – a blatant reminder of their status as "DNCs," the de-notified classes of the Criminal Tribes Act (CTA).2 Their alleged proclivity for cattle theft and highway banditry, which led them to be classified by the CTA during the last three decades of British rule, as well as their ambivalent position in rural Tamil society and literature as the quintessential dangerous guardians, still inspire fear and folklore in this region. The PK share this menacing aura both with the Kallar caste and with the Tevar caste-cluster comprising the Kallar, Maravar, and Agamudayar castes which together constitute the numerically dominant rural backward castes of the southern districts of Tamil Nadu. Physical presence of the past The PK's traditional territory bears next to no material traces of their presence and influence since the sixteenth–seventeenth centuries, when they gradually evicted the local upper castes. The oldest buildings pointed out by PK villagers are almost consistently temples, which are not, in this region at least, perceived as landmarks of dominance of one social group over another. Instead, the tangible features of their presence in this region take the shape of statues of a prominent Tevar political leader, Pasumbam Mutramalingam Tevar (1908–1963), as well as of numerous billboards advertising various PK caste associations and minor political parties. In the early 1990s, however, PK caste association leaders sought to redress the absence of any significant "historical" landmark by constructing a memorial pillar commemorating a violent confrontation in the 1920s with the British forces that left 16 PK dead in the town of Perungamanalur. Local activists compare the Perungamanalur incident to the Jallianwala Bagh massacre,3 thereby infusing the yearly commemoration with a flavor of colonial martyrdom. This commemoration, which adopts official protocol (a moment of silence, posing of wreaths, solemn speeches), began as a gathering of caste associations but over the years has attracted mainstream political parties who seize this occasion to court PK electoral support. This memorial pillar has introduced a regime of historicity until then unknown, that of a "place of remembrance" or "realm of memory" (Nora 1996), which mostly serves the aspirations of the politically active sections of this community. Historical artifacts are also scarce. The most common objects invested with some antiquity have a religious function, whether they be representations of the deities or the temples' sacred chests. Colonial sources mention a so-called traditional boomerang said to have figured among the gifts given to the bride and described as a symbol of the "tribal" origin and therefore uncouth nature of the subcaste (Francis 1914; Thurston and Rangachari 1987[1909]). These had long disappeared at the time of Dumont's fieldwork and today hold no historical importance or symbolic value. A set of artifacts, however, are of importance for PK self-representation in a definite historical past. These objects are the heirloom of one of the traditional headmen of the subcaste and consist of three copperplates and various objects symbolizing the judicial authority of the caste headman over his people – all given by a Nayakkar sovereign.4 Though most PK have never seen the objects, many are aware of the recognition of the traditional judicial sovereignty of the headman over his caste folks. This existence of such "material proof" of their independence is used to justify the fact that, in certain circumstances, they feel entitled to keep the state out of their caste affairs. For instance, the violent opposition to the election of dalit panchayat (village council or court of law) presidents in their traditional territory was explained in the following terms: "At the time of the Muvenders, we were kings and after that even Tirumalai Nayak of Madurai recognized our valor and independence, so tell me why today we should bow to the government and accept their elections of dalit presidents?" Though we will find an echo of the subordination of political power in the oral narratives, the antagonism with the dalits is not addressed directly by any narrations or other forms of remembrance of the past so far as I was able to ascertain.5 A typology of the narrations of the past If the material traces of the past are scarce, the diversity of the narrative material encountered is wide-ranging in terms both of genre (myth, tales, and official history) and of media (printed, recorded, and oral). In Table 5.1 I have sketched a typology of the narrations of the past among the PK in terms of content, medium of transmission, degree of circulation, and terms of reference applied. The past as formulated by school textbooks has not been included in the following overview, as the historical trajectories of individual castes are not part of the official curriculum. However, by comparing the narratives collected in 1949 by Dumont and those I recorded between 1999 and 2004, I was able to establish that the most palpable impact of the historical metanarratives taught in schools on PK oral tradition is the inclusion of historical figures and dates largely absent from the narratives over a half a century ago. Table 5.1 Typology of the past in Tamil as used by the Pramalai Kallars I will articulate my description of these different forms of the past according to the second entry, the medium of circulation, since it allows for a clearer and more succinct approach to the data. I will begin by examining the printed caste histories, then turn to the more recent trend of recording sung versions of the past, and finally examine the central subject matter of my contribution – the oral tradition. A century of caste histories: from texts to tapes Though the _j_ ā _ti varal_ āṟ _u_ (caste history) genre emerges during the second half of the nineteenth century alongside the development of caste associations (Caroll 1978; Washbrook 1975), no caste history was authored by a PK before the second half of the twentieth century. The earliest published caste history concerns not the PK specifically, but the Kallar caste as a whole. This short book, titled _Kallar Carittiram_ (Kallar history), was published in 1924 by a Kallar from Tanjore, Na. Mu. Venkatasami Nattar. The Kallar predicament is framed according to a fairly common metanarrative of that period: a martial community whose origins extend back far into Tamil history and who, "despite their loss of power and diminished status, have not lost their intrinsic qualities of courage and bravery" (Nattar 1924: 35). The author makes ample use of the dominant cultural and ideological representations of the Tamil Renaissance, such as an ardent fervor for the Tamil language, an insatiable taste for its literature, and a strong rejection of all things considered non-Dravidian (Irschick 1986; Ramaswamy 1997). A lengthier publication addressing specifically the history of the PK and written by a member of the subcaste, P. Muthu Tevar, was published in 1976. During my fieldwork, a tattered copy was occasionally presented to me with the following kind of comment: "Your questions and doubts, the things you ask about, you will find all the answers here; Muthu Tevar has said it all." And indeed, there is much in this book that is not common knowledge: dates, places, etymologies, excerpts from devotional literature, etc. The choice of the title _Muvender Kul Tevar Samuda Varalaru_ (The social history of the Muvender Kul Tevar), reflects a short-lived aspiration of political unity between the castes sharing the "tevar" title (Kallar, Maravar, and Agamudayar). However, despite the author's display of a common caste _puranam_ (an account of the origin and history of a particular caste), political leaders have never been able to mobilize this social unit for electoral purposes. The latest genre of caste history adopted by PK caste associations and Tevar caste federations6 have borrowed from new technologies to propagate their vision of the past to the largest number and as loudly as possible! These recordings, mostly audio tapes but very recently CDs also, are sold during political rallies and temple festivals and are rarely listened to at home, but played in public places or during special occasions. The texts are sung and come in two genres. On one hand, those whose melodies are plagiarisms of popular Tamil film songs have texts exalting the glorious martial past of the three "brother" castes (Agamudayar, Maravar, and Kallar) and calling them to reunite under the banner of a local political party. Other recordings rely on traditional musical forms ( _bajan, villupp_ ā _ññu_ 7) and narrate the history of local shrines and deities as well as the history of the PK subcaste. Their content is in sharp contrast with published caste histories: there are no quotes from the epics or devotional literature, no etymological discussions, no references to secular authors. Instead, we hear precise details on the local territorial divisions as well as the deities and lineages that structure them, and by and large, the general facts (names, dates, places, events) these recording disseminate are taken to be historically accurate. Oral tradition and collective memory The narratives of the oral tradition remain the most common and immediately accessible forms of the past. Within this genre, the PK differentiate between narratives dealing with specific localities and lineages, which are generally referred to as _katai_ (story) and those which pertain to the subcaste as a whole, generally labeled _varal_ āṟ _ru_ (history). The latter repertoire can be divided into three main themes: the genesis of the birth group, the foundation of the territory (Kallar Nadu), and the subordination of rulers. I have come to apprehend this body of narratives as the collective memory of the PK since the narratives address the largest number of people and circulate more fluidly than other forms of representation of the past. Indeed, this form of the past is a potential pool of reference, or resource, constantly accessible to all and it is as such that it is "collective" because at any given moment any PK can appropriate its content in his or her definition or counterdefinition of his belonging to this subcaste. As was indicated in the typology, the designation "collective memory" or even "memory" is never used by the PK themselves, and there has not been, until now, any systematic collection, whether printed or recorded, of this corpus. My description and analysis here is based on a selection of some 40 narratives I have singled out from a wider corpus I collected between 2000 and 2004. The process through which I have put together this corpus needs to be explained. In the first stage, the collection of these narratives was done unintentionally, or rather, unsystematically. The stories cropped up here and there, sometimes during informal conversations or again during interviews about matters other than local caste history. They were told to me by both men and women in order to help me understand specific aspects of the present situation of the subcaste. They were recounted to explain why they have often been distrustful of the state or again to describe why they entertained a good or bad relationship to such and such a caste – basically to clarify why they viewed themselves as both strong and weak, both within and at the periphery of Tamil society. I gradually began to realize that these narratives, which were recounted in an explanatory manner, were not isolated historical anecdotes, but formed a substantial oral corpus. However, when during the second stage of the collection process I began to direct my interviews specifically to these narratives, the men and women I questioned would often tell me to look at "the" book, listen to "the" tape, ask somebody else. They seemed not to attach much value to what many felt to be informal, or better, "uninformed," knowledge of the PK past. However, it was generally possible to move beyond this initial show of modesty to discuss and record their versions of the past. I then went on, during the third and final stage, to compare the corpus I personally collected to the narratives recorded in several colonial sources (Nelson 1989[1868]; Turnbull 1895; Oppert 1893; Francis 1914), as well as those dispersed in Dumont's monograph. It was therefore possible in several instances to pinpoint transformations of narrative patterns, to identify continuities and also to determine a number of disappearances of narratives recorded over the previous century. The genesis of the birth group(s) The narratives of the origin of the PK subcaste should not be isolated from those concerning the other morphosociological units which also define belonging to the birth group. Indeed, when questioned on their origins, my PK interlocutors would, depending on a certain number of contextual factors, shift the scale of their narratives along a wide-ranging sociological continuum of collective identification.8 And it became apparent that the PK have stories to tell regarding not only the origin of the PK subcaste but also of the Tevar caste-cluster and of the lineages. Conversely, they are (now) silent regarding the genesis of the Kallar caste.9 I will begin by describing the narrative of the largest sociological unit, the Tevar caste-cluster and then examine the genesis of the subcaste. However, I will not examine here the numerous origin tales of the lineages that do not concern the PK collectively. The story of the origin of the Tevar caste-cluster borrows from a well-known Indian myth: the seduction of Ahalya, the wife of a sage, Gautama, by the god, Indra.10 Though the myth has had many elaborate retellings in numerous Indian languages throughout the centuries, the PK have been narrating a rather summarized version since the beginning of the twentieth century or so,11 which they do not associate with any of its illustrious literary sources, such as the Ramayana or the Kathasritsagara: Sage Gautama has left his wife in their forest retreat to go off on a long trip when one day Indra passes by. The god is struck by Ahalya's beauty and they end up in each other's arms. The specificity of the PK's appropriation of this myth is the presence of offspring from the illicit union. The PK go on to describe a scene when Gautama returns to discover three little boys: "the first one was brave and stood facing Gautama; he was therefore named Ahamudaya" ( _aham_ referring to the bravery of the eldest son); "the second one climbed up a tree and was named Maravar" ( _maram_ refers to the tree); "and the last one hid behind a large rock and was then named Kallar" ( _kal_ referring either to the fact of hiding as a "thief" or to the "rock" itself). Two rather significant variations also circulate today. In one, there is no sexual intercourse but quite oppositely the pious Ahalya obtains three children as a boon from Indra for her prayers and penance. The intention of this variant is very clear and even sometimes stated directly by the narrators: the three brothers are not the illegitimate offspring of a lustful wife, but the sons of a virtuous mother. The second variant sees not three, but four children born from the illicit union: Vellala, Agamudaya, Maravar, and Kallar. This version is a direct echo of the Tamil proverb "With time, a Kallar may become a Maravar who may become an Agamudayar who may become a Vellalar." The proverb does not link these four castes in any manner, but rather implies that the worst caste (here the Kallars) can better themselves and gradually progress toward the noble agriculture castes (here, the Vellalars). The contrast between the origin of the Tevar caste-cluster and the origin of the PK subcaste is striking on several counts. Instead of the timeless setting of a sage's forest retreat, the PK locate their origin within a precise geographical and sociological landscape; and instead of a unique narrative, there are at least three narrative sequences, with numerous minor variants: 1 A rivalry breaks out between an elder brother and a younger brother (generally both named) over the share of the harvest or an inheritance which then turns into an open conflict. 2 The younger brother, proud and independent, leaves his native home and searches for a new land in which to set up his livelihood. West of Madurai, he finds either work as a watchman ( _kavalkarrar_ ) or land to cultivate, and settles there. 3 Over time, from this settlement emerges the PK subcaste. The generic older brother referred to is the Ambalakarrar, another Kallar subcaste, whose stronghold is located around Melur, a town northeast of Madurai. The common feature between the Tevar origin myth and these narrations is the lowest rank in the birth order held by the protagonist closest to the narrator: "Kallar" is the youngest of the Tevar brothers and the PK are the younger brothers of the Ambalakarrars (and actually address them as such). Dumont recounts a fairly elaborate narrative of the separation from the Ambalakarrars. Here the inferiority of the younger brother does not stem from the age distinctions between sons of the same union, but from the difference of status between sons of first and second marriage. What was understood at the time by Dumont's main informant was the illegitimate status of the younger brother. This explanation would justify the inequality of inheritance and the fact that the "migrants" did not retain the "Ambalan" title, given only to the elder, but that of "Tevan" (Dumont 1986:148–150). Such an interpretation was never spontaneously recounted during my fieldwork, and though I consciously sought out similar understandings, I systematically drew a blank. Interestingly, there is yet another instance, which will be examined below, where the illegitimate origin had been erased from collective memory. At the time of his fieldwork in 1949, Dumont was already describing these understandings as uncomfortable for those who recounted them. It is therefore reasonable to assume that the inferior status of the offspring of a second or illegitimate union has definitively been erased from PK collective representations of the origins of their subcaste. The foundation of territory The narratives of the conflict and separation from the Ambalakarrars constitute the prelude to the narrations of the foundation of PK territory, though these two sets of narratives are rarely recounted sequentially. The narratives of territorial occupation describe the three stages of PK settlement in their traditional territory: their arrival, the conflict with the local castes, and the eviction of the original occupants (see Table 5.2). There are many narratives, which vary slightly from one locality to the next, and which always include precise localities and specific protagonists. In numerous narratives, the PK protagonist(s) comes to a given locality to exercise his traditional occupation as a watchman ( _kavalkarrar_ ). There is also a mirror narrative in which the protagonists are not men but deities12 with very similar narrative sequences. Table 5.2 Narrative sequences of the foundation of Pramalai Kallar territory Whereas one main narrative dominates in the divine register, there are many in the human register. However, whether it is a battle between gods or men, there is no mythological or legendary justification for the right to this land: it is just a question of winning the conflict. These narratives serve to explain the overall numerical and social domination of the PK over the other castes in the area now known as Kallar Nadu, but also the delocalization of a lineage due to the endless elder–younger conflicts. The same narrative might be presented one day as the origin myth of a given lineage and the other as the foundation tale of a given locality. Relations with rulers This final theme brings together narratives that address the relationship of the PK with the different kings and rulers with whom they have come into contact over the centuries. A chronological ordering of these narratives can be done, though they are never given as such by the PK themselves: the Muvenders (that is the Chera/Chola/Pandya dynasties), the Muslim "invaders," the Nayak kings of Madurai, and finally the "white men," the British colonial officers. The description of the relationship to the three great south Indian dynasties is gradually yielding to the repeated assaults of the stereotypical rhetoric of the Tevar political associations which promote the three brother castes as direct descendants of these Chera/Chola/Pandia dynasties. At the beginning of the twentieth century, such a royal origin was not suggested, and at the time of Dumont's fieldwork the PK appeared as foot soldiers for the Chola kings. Though the notion of this royal descent is now taken for granted, it remains largely devoid of narrative content. Conversely, narratives surrounding the relation to the Nayak dynasty abound. These oscillate between two main themes. On one hand they depict a Nayak ruler, or one of his agents, unsuccessfully attempting to collect land taxes and assert authority over the PK. On the other hand, another set of narratives puts forward different scenarios involving Tirumalai Nayak, an enlightened royal figure who, it is believed, came to recognize the independence and valor of the PK This theme plays out through a variety of intrigues (involving jungles and palaces as well as thieves and tigers) that all end with the Nayak ruler acknowledging the sovereignty of the PK within their traditional territory. It is in such a context that the copperplates, described at the beginning of the essay, are presented as the "material proof" of their traditional leader's rightful ownership of royal symbols of authority. Though the narratives about the Muslims and the British are distinct from one another, they present nowadays a common narrative pattern – that of the resistance, if not the victory, of the locals (the PK) over the foreign invaders (Muslim or British). Substantial transformations have occurred in the description of the relationship with the Muslims which aim at distancing the PK from their traditional ties to the Muslims. For example, the narrations found in the late 1940s recounting intermarriage between both communities have taken a radical turn and are now recounted as instances of rape. I will come back to this issue in the closing section of this chapter as it will allow us to apprehend how these narratives of the past help the PK to negotiate their selves in the present. Regarding the narratives recounting the colonial period, quite a few depict the injustice of the CTA, the resistance such as the case of the Perungamanalur shooting described earlier, while others attest to the astuteness of the PK in outsmarting the colonial oppressor. All in all, these narratives recounting the relationship of the PK to the various kings and rulers they have encountered over time depict a proud community fighting for its independence. Ironically perhaps, it is precisely these sets of narratives that have been most permeated by exogenous historical metanarratives, such as those transmitted through secondary-school textbooks and political slogans. Indeed, as pointed out earlier, the PK are gradually incorporating historical figures (i.e. Malik Kapur) and chronological dating (i.e. "400 years" in reference to the Nayak rule of Madurai) that were previously absent from their narratives. NEGOTIATING THE PRESENT THROUGH COLLECTIVE MEMORY In this concluding section, I will examine several instances which illustrate how these narratives operate as a regulating category of relationship and help to maintain, and sometimes repair, the boundaries between "we" (the PK) and "them" (the other castes). More generally, within a given symbolic reality, which is both meaningful and normative, collective self-representation operates by contrast, and its continuity depends on the maintenance of its internal divisions and external boundaries. Therefore, the function of collective memory is fundamental for the social coherence of a group that has to integrate various statuses and roles into a coherent image of self (Cohen 1994). As such, it operates as a narrative device to serve the coherence of the group and may occasionally become itself a subject of modifications, as collective self-representations are readjusted and rearticulated. Through the narrations described here, the PK have been able to incorporate and translate constraints and modifications that they have come to handle over time. This is very much a dialogic relation: the narratives constituting PK collective memory generate features of collective self-representation, and, over time, transformations of the latter will induce a selection from the memorial corpus to be preserved or discarded. This discursive exchange does not situate itself in some essentialized sphere of the researcher's overstretched imagination, but operates through palpable individual voices. The dialogue is not spontaneous and is generally engaged in only when an aspect of the group's self-representation is questioned or threatened. These narratives can, depending on the context, serve to legitimate traditional claims and practices but also, oppositely, can become cumbersome or even embarrassing and therefore be modified or even suppressed. Let us briefly take three examples of these differing dialogical situations. The narratives describing the internal divisions of the birth group all display a central concern for an elder brother/younger brother relationship ( _annan-tambi oravu_ ): the origin myth of the three Tevar brothers places the Kallar as the youngest brother; the origin of the PK subcaste is described as the result of the departure of the younger brother (the PK-to-be) following a conflict with his elder brother (the Ambalakarrar); and numerous lineage foundation stories, not examined here, recurrently indicate elder brother/younger brother competition and ultimate separation. The values attached to the elder/younger distinction in the Tamil setting are very rich, so much so that it would take at least another article to describe the full array of their linguistic and structural features, as well as numerous folktales which play out the dynamics and tensions. Basically, this _annan-tambi oravu_ revolves around a hierarchical distinction based on age, is characterized by a variety of nonreciprocal practices found throughout the Dravidian kinship system,13 and is extended, at least among the PK, to the internal divisions between temples as well as between villages. The sociolinguistic value attached to the elder–younger distinction is clearly one of nonreciprocity and ultimately of hierarchy. And it is this principal of totality in nonreciprocity which is the subject of the narratives of the internal divisions of the PK, in which the latter most generally play the role of the younger brother. How can these narratives be understood in the context of a subcaste all too well known for its pride and thirst for local dominance? By taking a step back, these narratives of collective memory can actually be seen to form a complementary and coherent pattern. As we have seen, the narratives concerned with the internal divisions within the caste portray the PK as the younger brother, and ultimately the inferior one. The PK have handled this situation by establishing their own territory within which the immediate constraints of such an inferior position are felt only in the most distant and symbolic manner. Furthermore, their inferior status is reversed in the narratives concerned with the external boundaries of the group, which portray the PK as the symbolic elder who has driven away all exogenous forces that questioned its local dominance. This is the case in the following example. During my fieldwork, the PK (who, like a number of other so-called backward castes, are known for their deeply entrenched antagonistic relationship with the dalits) were under the scrutiny of the media and the Tamil government for violently opposing the election of dalit presidents in several reserved panchayat constituencies in which their subcaste is numerically and socially dominant.14 Their actions and reactions in resistance to the implementation of local democratic processes were condemned as backward, retrograde, and barbarous. The topic was extremely delicate at the time and when we did discuss it, the PK avoided the issue of the violence perpetrated against the dalits, and were prepared to discuss only their reticence toward the state elections themselves. In the course of our discussions, they almost systematically left out the dalits, but instead insisted on a more general trait of their own self-representation – their historical independence. The repeated reference was to their resistance to the Nayaks who ruled Madurai in the seventeenth century. According to the different narratives recounted in this context, the Nayaks did not succeed in collecting taxes from the PK, and the ruler, generally identified as Tirumalai Nayak, yielded to the PK's force of character. Some villagers added that the existence of royal copperplates, described earlier, was proof that Nayak rulers recognized their independence and valor. These narratives and the reference to the copperplates from the past serve to justify and even legitimate the fact that many feel entitled to keep the state and its policies out of their caste affairs and territory. The third example demonstrates a different dialogical situation between the group's self-representation and collective memory. The narratives which describe the relationship between Muslims and the PK were, at the time of fieldwork, in the process of being considerably altered. These transformations were discernible through comparisons with versions of the same narrative found in colonial sources and in Dumont's monograph, but also through direct observation of the discussions and debates they generated. The PK have had a special bond with Muslims, and several narratives describe the initial conflicts and subsequent reconciliations between the PK and the Muslims. Fifty years ago, these narratives were used to explain why male members of this subcaste practiced circumcision ( _mar kalyanam_ ), why PK women wore a jewel said to be traditionally Muslim ( _karugamani_ ), and moreover, why they exchanged kin terms.15 Nowadays, circumcision has become largely symbolic and the karugamani jewel seen as completely out of fashion. Increasing numbers of PK are aware of the national and international stigmatization bearing down on the Muslims and feel awkward or even sometimes embarrassed when questioned by a foreign anthropologist about the nature of their relationship. This is evident in a number of transformations that reflect this growing discomfort: what once was a marriage between a Muslim man and a PK woman, for example, becomes a rape; similarly, reconciliation and exchange of symbols of respect are reimagined as theft or expulsion. These examples illustrate how the collective memory of the PK can filter, modulate and recontextualize the past, thereby maintaining the coherence of the subcaste's representation of itself through time by renegotiating its subordinate position and internal divisions, strengthening old boundaries (as in the case of the dalits), but also legitimating the creation of new ones (as in the case of the Muslims). Overall, this corpus of narratives has the capacity to integrate different gradients of superiority and inferiority, and of interior and exterior, which allow the PK to negotiate their way through the present. De-constructing the past in order to highlight its contemporary re-construction by those it serves has become a prized activity of many researchers in the social sciences of South Asia, but I hope to have left the "re"-s and the "de"-s of historical constructions to others, since these serve to create a before and after imagery that belies the ongoing processes I have observed through the narratives of PK collective memory. In this essay, I have engaged in the ongoing voluble disciplinary exchange between anthropology and history by addressing an issue of crucial import for the understanding of the dynamics of social morphology in contemporary India, that is the issue of the uses of history in the formation of caste identities. Though common sense, it appeared necessary to begin by spelling out that the PK, just like any other social group, do not have a single version of their past accessible through one kind of medium but different forms of remembrance of the past differently manifested. As I have shown, among the PK, the past is made present in different ways, depending on the context in which it is invoked and the purpose for which it is redeployed. And indeed, the members of the subcaste access and (re)negotiate their past through oral narratives, printed and recorded caste histories, and, to a much lesser extent, historical landmarks and material artifacts. The narratives on which I have focused in the second part of this chapter embody a very different medium of construction, discussion and negotiation of caste identity that has largely been ignored in the scholarship on the making of modern caste identities. Though it is true that now there is no major caste that has not found its historian (Venkatachalapathy 2010) and that the _j_ ā _ti varal_ āṟ _ru_ ("caste history") publications are important in understanding the ideological and pragmatic uses of history in contemporary India, we must not lose sight of the fact that these are produced by local elites largely for political purposes. The social identities negotiated through the narratives of the past that constitute the collective memory of the PK stand in sharp contrast to those profiled in print. The processes of production and transmission of this uninformed knowledge of the past produces caste identities that are not completely dependent on the tropes of the postcolonial predicament. NOTES 1 Louis Dumont spent two years in Tamil Nadu doing fieldwork for his French doctoral dissertation, during which he spent eight months with the PK. He completed his monograph in 1954 and the first French edition appeared in 1957. Michael Moffat's English translation appeared almost 20 years later, in 1986. Hence the English reader had access to Dumont's later theoretical work _Homo Hierarchicus_ (1966, translated into English in 1970) 16 years before the publication of his ethnography of the Pramalai Kallar. 2 Over 150 tribes and castes were branded criminals by birth and subjected to constraining and discriminatory measures under the Criminal Tribes Act, which was implemented in North India in 1871, Bengal in 1876, and finally the Madras Presidency in 1911 (Radhakrishnan 2001; Souza 2001). The PK fell under the yoke of the "fingerprint law," as they refer to it, in 1919 and were not released from it until 1949. 3 During the Jallianwala Bagh massacre, April 13, 1919, British soldiers opened fire on a large – unarmed – crowd gathered in a public garden in Amritsar, and left hundreds of people killed and injured. 4 Mukkuppari Tavamani Kalyani Tevar is the PK headman. He is the eleventh holder of the royal title "Tirumalai" bestowed upon his ancestor Pinna Tevar by Tirumalai Nayakkar (1623–1659). The Nayak sovereign issued the three copperplates – still held by the headman's family – as well as a carpet, a pair of wooden sandals and a jar for sprinkling water used in the administration of justice. 5 However, at the time of my fieldwork, the social climate was so tense that people resorted to a relatively empty, even meaningless, language to speak of PK–dalit relations in my presence. 6 The purposes of PK caste associations are relatively diverse (cultural, medical, religious), whereas caste federations have regional political ambitions. 7 The _villupp_ ā _ññu_ or "bow-song" ( _vil_ bow, _p_ ā _ññu_ song) is a traditional Tamil musical genre found in south Tamil Nadu. On this genre see Blackburn 1988. 8 When a PK uses the exclusive form of personal pronoun "we" ( _nange_ ) while discussing with the researcher issues of collective identity and belonging, he or she could be referring to the numerically smallest birth group, the _kutumpam_ (family), to the _pangali_ (consanguines), the affines ( _maman-maccunan_ ), the _vagaira_ (lineage) as well as to the PK as a whole. But also, he or she might be referring to the Kallar caste, the Tevar caste-cluster or even the numerically largest and most "recent" category of collective identification, the MBC (Most Backward Class). There is no space here to describe the discursive and structural features that form the texture of each of these units individually, but as one may intuit, they are defined by varying combinations of criteria as diverse as affection, positive discrimination, affinity, governmental policy, precedence, genealogy, kinship, etc. 9 Several narratives were circulating in the late 1940s but I was not able to trace any retellings. 10 Wendy Doniger provides an interesting discussion of different versions of the literary versions of this myth, which she compares to the seduction of Aclmena by Zeus (1999:88–111). 11 I have not found any trace of the use of this myth in the Jesuit archives or in the early colonial descriptions of the PK. However, it begins to be recorded at the beginning of the twentieth century (Thurston and Rangachari 1987[1909]; Nattar 1924). 12 The story of the battle between Peykammen Karuppusami (the local god) and Pechiammal (the intruder) aided by her older brother Virumandhi. Pechiammal's victory, though treacherous, is celebrated every year by the PK. 13 In Tamil, you find a first level of distinction between elder brothers and sisters and the younger brothers and sisters. This distinction is also mirrored in the terms used for the brothers of the father, their wives, as well as for the mother's sisters. A hierarchical discrimination is instituted by the practice which requires the younger siblings to address the elder by his kinship term whereas the elder sibling will address him by name, a definite indication of either intimacy and/or inferiority. Furthermore, between non-kin, the use of the term "elder brother" is a mark of respect, whereas that of "younger brother" can prove demeaning or insulting (see Clark-Decès, chapter 28 in this volume). 14 The Panchayati Raj institutions are local government bodies operating at the village level. Following policies of positive discrimination, certain constituencies are reserved for dalits candidates, scheduled tribes, and women. Members of the PK subcastes were involved in several violent clashes in at least two constituencies of south central Tamil Nadu during which several dalit candidates died. 15 The practice recorded by Dumont was for Muslim men to address young PK women as "granddaughter" and for the latter to address the former as "grandfather." I also recorded another practice, gradually being abandoned, of PK men addressing their Muslim counterparts by the respectful term of "maternal uncle." REFERENCES Ali, Daud, ed. 1999 Invoking the Past: The Uses of History in South Asia. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Appadurai, Arjun 1981 The Past as a Scarce Resource. MAN (Royal Anthropological Institute) 16(2): 201–219. Blackburn, Stuart 1978 The Kallars: A Tamil Criminal Tribe Reconsidered. South Asia (1):38–51. 1988 Singing of Birth and Death: Texts in Performance. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Bloch, Maurice 1977 The Past and the Present in the Present. MAN (Royal Anthropological Institute) 12(2):278–292. Caroll, Lucy 1978 Colonial Perceptions of Indian Society and the Emergence of Caste(s) Associations. Journal of Asian Studies 38(2):233–250. Cohen, P. Anthony 1994 Self Consciousness: An Alternative Anthropology of Identity. London: Routledge. Cohn, S. Bernard 1980 History and Anthropology: The State of Play. Comparative Studies in Social History (22):198–221. 1987 An Anthropologist among the Historians and Other Essays. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Doniger, Wendy 1999 Splitting the Difference: Gender and Myth in Ancient Greece and India. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Dumont, Louis 1966 Homo hierarchicus. Essai sur le système de castes. Paris: Gallimard. 1986[1957] A South Indian Subcaste: Social Organization and Religion of the Pramalai Kallar. Michael Moffatt, trans. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Francis, W. 1914 Madras District Gazeeteers – Madura, vol. 1. Madras: Government Press. Geertz, Clifford 1973 The Interpretation of Culture. New York: Basic Books. Halbwachs, Maurice 1950 La Mémoire collective. Paris: Albin Michel. 1994[1925] Les Cadres sociaux de la mémoire. Paris: Albin Michel. Hardgrave, L. Robert 1969a The Nadars of Tamil Nadu: The Political Culture of a Community in Change. Berkeley: University of California Press. 1969b The New Mythology of Caste Change. Journal of Tamil Studies 1(1):61–87. Irschick, F. Eugene 1986 Tamil Revivalism in the 1930s. Madras: Crea. Nattar, Na. Mu. Venkatasami 1924 Kallar Carittiram. Trichinopoly: Natukkaveri. Nelson, H. John 1989[1868] The Madura Country: A Manual. Madras. Nora, Pierre 1996 Realms of Memory, vol. 1: Rethinking the French Past; vol. 2: Conflicts and Divisions. New York: Columbia University Press. Oppert, S. Gustave 1893 Original Inhabitants of Bharatvarsa or India. London: Archibald Constable. Radhakrishnan, Meena 2001 Dishonoured by History: "Criminal Tribes" and the British Colonial Policy. Hyderabad: Orient Longman. Ramaswamy, Sumathi 1997 Passions of the Tongue: Language Devotion in Tamil India, 1891–1970. Berkeley: University of California Press. Rudolph, I. Lloyd, and Rudolph, H. Susanne 1984 The Modernity of Tradition: Political Development in India. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Silverberg, James, ed. 1968 Social Mobility in the Indian Caste System: An International Symposium. The Hague: Mouton. Sivaramakrishnan, K. 1995 Situating the Subaltern: History and Anthropology in the South Asian Studies Project. Journal of Historical Sociology 8(4):395–429. Souza, D. Dilip 2001 Branded by Law: Looking at India's Denotified Tribes. New Delhi: Penguin. Templeman, Denis 1996 The Northern Nadars of Tamil Nadu: An Indian Caste in the Process of Change. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Thurston, Edgar, and K. Rangachari 1987[1909] Castes and Tribes of Southern India, vol. 3. New Delhi: Cosmo. Turnbull, T. 1895 Account of the Various Tribes of Cullaries in the Countries of Madurai, Sivagnana. _In_ Geographical and Statistical Memories of Madura and Dindigul. B. S. Ward, ed. Madras. Venkatachalapathy, A. R. 2010 More Kshatriya than Thou! Caste and Ritual Ranking in Late Colonial Tamil Nadu. _In_ Ritual, Caste, and Religion in Colonial South India. Michael Bergunder, Heiko Frese, and Ulrike Schröder, eds. Neue Hallesche Berichte, 9. Halle: Franckeschen Stiftungen. Washbrook, David 1975 The Development of Caste Organizations in South India 1880–1925. _In_ South India: Political Institutions and Political Change, 1880–1940. Christopher J. Baker and David Washbrook, eds. Pp. 150–203. New Delhi: Macmillan. PART II Cities, Cosmopolitan Styles, and Urban Critics CHAPTER 6 "How to Sit, How to Stand": Bodily Practice and the New Urban Middle Class _Meredith Lindsay McGuire_ INTRODUCTION On a warm afternoon in November 2009, I walk into a Barista coffee shop in Defence Colony, an upscale neighborhood in south New Delhi. Copies of English-language newspapers litter the tabletops. From the television affixed to the wall comes the muted sound of NDTV: PROFIT, an English-language financial news channel. Around me, college girls in tank tops brush highlighted strands of hair from their eyes as they text furiously on iPhones. A couple flirts over cold coffee, she in a kurti and skinny jeans, he in a button-down with a Ralph Lauren Polo logo. Conversations are in English with the occasional dash of Hindi. "What _bakwaas_ , I told him to meet here at noon," one of the college girls grumbles. When the waiter appears, I order a small Caffe Americano for 45 rupees – three times the cost of a simple lunch (dal, chapati, vegetable curry) at the _dhaba,_ or makeshift food stall, on the main road nearby. I am waiting to meet with Nikhil, a 25-year-old man who has worked for five years at American-process call centers. Formerly, Nikhil was a customer service agent, tracking down defaulting debtors among customers in the United States. Now he works as a trainer in the nearby suburb of Gurgaon, teaching customer service skills at a company that answers technical support calls from internet users in the US. Having interviewed over two dozen working trainers since the start of my research, I am learning that this career path, from service agent to trainer, is typical in the business process outsourcing (BPO) industry. So, too, is Nikhil's temptation to go freelance. At our first meeting a week ago, he spoke of a rumor that a prominent Indian restaurant chain is looking to retrain its workforce. If Nikhil were free to bid on the contract, his professional experience would make him a top contender for the job. Obviously, an Indian restaurant chain has no need for the sort of Voice and Accent workshops that Nikhil regularly teaches at the American-process call center. What does recommend him is his expertise in "personality development and enhancement" (PDE) training. Among call center trainers, PDE serves as an umbrella term for a variety of kinesthetic pedagogies – teaching strategies that focus on bodily movement. PDE trainers believe that changing the way the body moves also changes the way the mind operates. That is, they claim that the cultivation of particular bodily dispositions produces new sorts of mental attitudes. "Attitudinal training," is how another trainer, Siddharth, explained it to me. When pressed for detail, he added, "You know, how to stand, how to sit, how to talk, how to conduct yourself." At American-process call centers, these workshops address how to sit, stand, talk, and conduct oneself with Americans. But in the past few years, PDE training has become increasingly popular outside call centers, in Indian organizations that serve Indian clientele. The trainers whom I interviewed have led workshops for modeling schools, leadership clubs, and various businesses that populate the shopping malls and new entertainment complexes of New Delhi. Many of these businesses are oriented toward a sociality premised on practices of conspicuous consumption. That is, PDE trainers are finding work outside the call center in spaces that draw the same crowd as the Barista coffee shop chain: spaces indelibly associated with India's new middle class. This kind of urban space is _new_ in both the literal and metaphorical sense. Coffee chains, shopping malls, cineplexes, pizza parlors – all of these first appeared in India in the mid-1990s, and in public discourse, they often serve as a shorthand for the new middle class and the new, postliberalization India (Mankekar 1999). PDE trainers literally teach people how to inhabit – how to _move_ – in these new urban spaces. And as I am learning through my ethnographic fieldwork, these spaces, in turn, also evoke and condition the bodily practices taught by trainers. For example, at Barista, one of the college girls at the table nearby smiles at me when she accidentally catches my eye. In one PDE training manual that I have been given, this sort of eye contact between strangers is highlighted as a skill that may prove difficult for some trainees to acquire, and is also described and endorsed as indicative, and generative, of confidence. PDE is an explicit intervention at the level of bodily dispositions. Its growing popularity in the spaces of the new middle class suggests that these spaces demand something particular of the bodies therein. Much of the extant literature on India's new middle class focuses on its consumption practices in these spaces: where and what new middle class consumers buy, and how such consumers talk about their purchases. But as the circulation of PDE suggests, new middle class consumption cannot be understood in isolation from bodily practice. To work and shop in a new urban space, one must know how to work and shop in it, and this knowledge is neither given nor obvious. In this chapter, I show how this knowledge is _embodied_ knowledge, produced at multiple sites. Through an examination of new urban spaces, explicit programs of bodily training, and cinematic representations of new middle class people and places, I argue that the production of the new middle class entails the production of a new middle class body. INDIA'S NEW MIDDLE CLASS What is the new middle class, and how might an attention to bodily practice advance our understanding of it? Empirically, the new middle class is a slippery category. Any attempt to define precisely its socioeconomic parameters is complicated by the vast disparities in income and educational level within the category of people self-identifying as middle class (Oza 2006). This difficulty is not unique to India, of course; scholars of class in the United States have noted that the application of this category is so broad that it actually serves to obscure important socioeconomic differences (Rose 1986; Stacey 1998). "Middle classness" is always as much a project or claim as an empirical, socioeconomic category. My informants, for instance, seem personally invested in claiming a new middle class position; they agree that there _is_ a "new" middle class and often cite, as evidence of this class, consumption practices of their own (like shopping monthly for new clothing) that they would not have been able to afford five or ten years ago. At the same time, none of them suggests that they were anything other than "plain old" middle class, so to speak, in the earlier era. That is, while the postliberalization economic boom has made some people wealthier – and also, as I argue below, has engendered a new way of _performing_ middle class subjecthood – it remains debatable whether the total number of people who identify as middle class has grown since the 1980s (Fernandes 2000b). That said, the empirical difficulties of locating the new middle class coexist with a consistent narrative (both popular and academic) about its birth and nature. The new middle class is broadly understood as that group of affluent English-speaking workers who have benefited from, in the words of economist Gurucharan Das, "the opportunities opened by technology and globalization" (2001). Call center workers are iconic members of this new middle class, and not only because they so often are featured in newspaper editorials about the promises and pitfalls of the "new middle class lifestyle." By definition, their employment is the result of a series of economic reforms (referred to, in popular parlance, as "liberalization") that commenced in 1991 and triggered an influx of foreign commodities and multinational companies. These companies were eager to take advantage of the untapped middle-class consumer market, but many also established back offices in India to employ the country's educated English-speakers, whose skills could be more cheaply purchased than that of their Western counterparts (Deutsche Bank Research 2006). Its forms of employment are not the only key characteristic of the new middle class. The economic reforms and the outsourcing boom that followed are broadly understood to have marked a fundamental shift in the Indian socioeconomic landscape and the middle class itself. The Indian media often frame liberalization as a final rejection of the model for national development articulated by Prime Minister Nehru in the 1950s, in which industrialization and social programs would be the key engines of Indian modernization. "People at large recognised that the socialist dream was irreparably broken," one journalist writes of the decision to liberalize (Joshi 2004). In turn, scholars have noted a broad, concomitant shift in citizenly and social values, particularly in regard to constructions of the middle class and its role in the life of the nation (Chatterjee 2004; Mankekar 1999). Through the 1980s, the role of the middle class was closely associated in the popular imagination with Nehru's modernization project. Characterized by an ethos of citizenly solidarity with the poor, middle-class Indians were cast as the agents and overseers of industrialization and developmental schemes for rural communities, and also as the guardians of a normative morality that preserved the social fabric of the modernizing nation (Chatterjee 1993; Fernandes 2000a; Mankekar 1999; Mazzarella 2003; 2005). In this vision, "the _urban_ middle classes were relatively invisible" (Fernandes 2006:37, emphasis added).1 That is, the middle class was not meaningfully imagined as urban. In its moral dimension, this class was linked intimately to the space of the home, while its role in public life was imagined in terms of the nation. Indeed, middle-class voices often framed themselves as universal or normative voices, able to speak for all of India (Mazzarella, personal communication, October 14, 2008). Now, however, the economic opportunities afforded by liberalization appear to have given birth to a new kind of middle class – urban, upwardly mobile, characterized by entrepreneurial drive and aspirational consumption practices (Mazzarella 2005; Fernandes 2006). This middle class is the agent of the Indian nation in a _global_ milieu. Its dexterity in multinational workplaces and its world-class tastes in a global market of consumer goods make it uniquely equipped to "negotiate India's new relationship with the global economy in both cultural and economic terms" (Fernandes 2000b:90). The denizens of the new middle class are not always glossed as heroic, though; they are also maligned as being "dedicated to shopping malls, hedonist, self-absorbed, secure in their smug cocoons" (Nanda 2007). Their normative values seem to concern the ethics of consumerism rather than morality. They are not the cultivators of a national social order, but of what to wear and where to buy it. The _new_ middle class therefore is a very different construct from earlier configurations. I argue here that it is constituted by consumer and entrepreneurial practices played out in public, and that it can be thought of as _performative_ – comprised, as Leela Fernandes argues, of "a range of representational practices centered around particular characteristics of consumption, style, and social distinction" (2006:141). For instance, new middle class Indians may make coffee at home, but drinking coffee is not, in itself, a new middle class practice. However, by visiting a particular restaurant (a Barista, or a food court in a mall) to drink coffee, members of this class perform their class position. Drinking coffee in these open and visible spaces becomes a key practice through which people declare their membership in a new middle class, and thus constitute a new class category. But while I argue that the new middle class is constituted precisely by such practices, I also propose that consumption is not the only or most useful lens through which to view these practices. If consumers in new urban spaces perform class through the ways in which they consume, then the spread of PDE training in new urban spaces underscores the fact that this performance, like all performances, is constituted by _bodily dispositions_ (Goffman 1959). Moreover, the popularity of PDE training suggests that not all performances or bodily dispositions are considered equally desirable in these spaces. To understand the new middle class, then, we must also examine how people learn to inhabit the spaces in which the new middle class is performed and produced. We must investigate the production of new middle class bodily practice. THE BODY AS SOCIAL CONSTRUCT Anthropological studies of the body encompass a huge range of concerns (see Lock 1993 for a useful overview) but in this brief review, I confine my discussion to five social theorists who have been instrumental in shaping anthropologists' examinations of how bodies mediate culture. Broadly put, their work illustrates three conceptual approaches to the body as social product: the body in practice; the body as a symbol or metaphor for society; and the body as an apparatus assembled by power and realized through spatial practice (Scheper-Hughes and Lock 1987). Any anthropology of bodily practice must begin with Marcel Mauss, the first theorist to draw attention to the profoundly social nature of bodily movement. Mauss's uncle, Émile Durkheim, had previously posited (in the highly influential _The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life_ ) that the physical body exists in an antagonistic relationship to the social body, its sensual individualism forever troubling the internalized societal ideals that unite us into a singular society. Mauss, conversely, sees all uses of the physical body as wholly social products. Mauss (1973[1936]) argues that differences in the practices of social groups are neither accidental nor insignificant. For example, he observes that different nationalities of people perform the same physical acts (swimming, resting, walking) in very different ways. He calls these different ways of bodily practice "techniques of the body," and emphasizes how such techniques are always _culturally_ acquired (1973:70). By learning to swim or sleep in a certain way, we are enculturated. Each person's body, as an assemblage of cultural practices, thus encodes an entire complex of cultural meaning, "assembled for the individual... by all his education, by the whole society to which he belongs, in the place he occupies in it" (1973:76). With this argument, Mauss establishes the body, and bodily practices more particularly, as salient sites for anthropological investigation. While Mauss mentions the instance of Frenchwomen who emulate the gait of Hollywood actresses, he is most interested in those bodily practices acquired without awareness of the profoundly cultural nature of the technique, through unconscious acts of emulation. For instance, an American waiting in line at a ticket counter in a New Delhi railway station might be startled to discover that the person behind him has chosen to stand nearly on his heels. How much distance we maintain from those around us is a bodily practice that is cultural. But without exposure to places where the correct distance is figured differently, few of us would realize that our own notion of the correct distance is not universal. Indeed, most of us cannot recall having been told what the correct distance should be – we simply learned it through watching and mimicking authority figures such as our parents. Mauss calls this bodily learning process "prestigious imitation" (1973:73). This _naturalized_ or _nonexplicit_ process whereby we unconsciously learn what is proper is also how social authority, more generally, reproduces itself. Mauss's work thus directs us to examine how the bodily practices cultivated in PDE training programs also circulate prestigiously outside training programs – in televisual and cinematic images, and in the actual bodies of trainees once they leave these workshops and visit new urban spaces in the role of consumers. In such spaces, they may serve as unconscious role models to other shoppers. Since Mauss, anthropologists have proposed numerous frameworks for understanding the body as a social construction. Among those who have studied the symbolic dimensions of the body (Lévi-Strauss 1966; Turner 1969), one of the most influential theorists is Mary Douglas, who famously proposed that the body is a "natural symbol" of human societies. That is, we understand and experience our bodies in a way that mirrors our understanding and experience of the society in which we live, and the social categories of this society are reflected in the categories through which we know our bodies. Because the body is the expression of the relationship between the individual and the social, our bodily practices have much to say about society. In times of crisis, when society is threatened, citizens will subject their own bodies to strict disciplinary measures. Conversely, Douglas writes, "If there is no concern to preserve social boundaries, I would not expect to find concern with bodily boundaries" (1996[1970]:74). Our bodies also reveal our perception of our position _within_ society. That is, it is through our bodies – our physical practices and dispositions – that we perform our social position. Douglas gives the example of professional critics, like academics and artists, who may cultivate "a carefully modulated shagginess" in their personal style and a "bodily abandon" that reflects their self-understanding of being outside the mainstream (1996:77). This proposition is helpful when thinking about how trainers, trainees, and other members of the new middle class comport themselves in various spaces. By attending to their physical demeanor in malls and coffee shops and also in other sorts of spaces (for instance, local markets), we can elucidate how new middle class subjecthood might be differentially articulated within various class-marked contexts. Douglas's model insists that body and society cannot be understood apart from each other – and that bodily practices bear an immediate connection to the organization and experience of society. However, although Douglas is careful to state that the relationship between the individual body and the social body is mutually productive, her emphasis on the social body often obscures how the sensing, feeling, individual body works to inflect social categories. Indeed, although both Mauss and Douglas imply that power is at work in the transmission of bodily practices, they remain vague on how we might conceptualize the precise relationship between bodily techniques and power. Anthropologists interested in questions of the body and power often turn to the work of Michel Foucault, Pierre Bourdieu, and Michel de Certeau. While the complexities of these scholars' arguments defy brief summaries, all three share a concern with how bodily practices are constituted – given meaning and made intelligible – by relations of power that are encoded in particular _spaces_ and locations. Indeed, they variously argue that our bodily practices reflect not only our society but also our embedded place within a particular configuration of power. In the work of these theorists, the ways in which our bodily practices locate us so precisely within relations of social power is never reflected upon or explicitly acknowledged. That is, while Mary Douglas argued that a person's bodily practices express his understanding of his own place within society, our bodily demeanor is not simply the product of our conscious choices and attitudes. Bourdieu (1990) posits that from the moment we are born, we begin to learn and embody a particular class position. The food our parents provide for dinner, the music they play when preparing it, the words they use to speak to us, all shape what Bourdieu calls our _habitus_. Broadly glossed, habitus is the flexible conglomerate of bodily dispositions constituted through the sum total of all our experiences in life – a "system of structured, structuring dispositions... which is constituted in practice and is always oriented towards practical functions" (1990:52). Habitus shapes our actions and perceptions in accordance with our position within the broader framework of social class and power relations. Bodily practices are a constitutive element of habitus; our techniques of the body express our entire upbringing and lifeworld. Moreover, the _spaces_ in which we move accrue meaning through these bodily practices; meanings are never fixed in space itself. But the fact that our practices give meaning to space does not mean that we consciously invest spaces with meaning, or that all spaces are equally available to all forms of practice. Bourdieu's work thus directs us to consider, among other things, the differential availability of new urban spaces and the differential "success" of PDE training among people who hail from various backgrounds. Another approach considers the way in which specific sorts of spaces and particular histories of power work to _produce_ our bodily practices. Foucault (1978) argues that in modernity, bodies are produced through institutional discourses that teach us how to think about and know our bodies in particular ways. The bodily practices that we develop are neither natural nor precisely cultural; rather, they are disciplinary techniques whereby we render ourselves knowable and legible to the relations of power. Foucault also situates these bodily practices within particular spaces, but these spaces are _institutional_ – organized and imbued by a history of power relations. He gives the example of Bentham's Panopticon, a prison in which a single guard is able, from his post, to view all of the inmates. Aware of this all-seeing gaze, prisoners discipline themselves, internalizing the guard's gaze and behaving compliantly although they have no proof that he is actually watching. They thereby become their own jailers. This theory elucidates how bodily practices bear an unconscious relationship to the operation of power within particular (and particularly organized) spaces.2 It proves helpful in conceptualizing how the production of new middle class bodies, and embodied subjectivities, must be contextualized in terms of particular spaces and relations of power. But over and above the structure of space, we must also consider how bodies _negotiate_ space. De Certeau (1984) grants an active role to the body in the constitution of space, urging us to consider how subjects tactically maneuver through the city. He introduces the notion of "spatial practice" to capture the negotiations occurring between people (users of space) and the formal organization of space. These negotiations may create unplanned connections and facilitate forms of affect unsanctioned by dominant logics or strategies (such as, say, the architect's plan). They thereby continuously remake the meaning of space itself. Now, when considering how a suite of bodily practices has spread through a set of spaces marked as new middle class, we must ask not only how these practices are related to the new middle class, but also how these practices relate, work to produce, and are informed by the spaces themselves. THE INDIAN BODY While the works of Mauss, Douglas, Bourdieu, Foucault, and de Certeau have proved foundational to anthropological studies of the body, studies of India often draw from very different theoretical lineages to contemplate questions of the body and power. Chief among these are the vast literatures on caste and colonial and postcolonial India. Theorists informed by these bodies of work have struggled, then, with a very different sort of question: is the Indian body inherently _different_ from other sorts of bodies? That is, are Indian bodies incommensurable with conceptual categories (e.g. "the individual") that were developed in European and North American social theory to discuss bodies and subjectivities? Ironically, this question presupposes the possibility of an _essentialized_ Indian body – and this supposition, in turn, precludes full consideration of the relations of power that produce different sorts of embodied subjectivities. What often emerges, then, is a basic essentialism that sorts Indian bodies into "traditional" and "modern" types, in which "modern" signifies nontraditional or Westernized (and therefore, by implication, inauthentically Indian) bodies. These essentialized categories have roots within the British colonial project. British colonialists were fascinated with the relationship of caste and bodily practice. Their fascination first generated such rigid classifications of Indian "types." British civilians in India chronicled and marveled at the complex rules of bodily comportment and purification that devout Hindus followed (Collingham 2001). Various colonial administrations proved no less interested, commissioning detailed ethnographies as official state projects (Cohn 1996). However, as Edward Said (1978) reminds us, such attention is not innocent: the colonial project depends on the continual production of an essential difference between colonizer and colonized. Put more simply, to justify their rule of India, the British first needed to cast Indians as standing in _need_ of British rule. Thus the interest displayed by the British in "Indian bodies" was always, simultaneously, a project of difference-making that worked to support a notion of Indians and India itself as fundamentally different from the people and civilizations of Europe. Indeed, histories of colonial India suggest that power struggles between Britons and Indians often took the form of interventions in Indian bodily practice. These interventions, be they in the form of Indian resistance to colonial rule or British technologies of governance, routinely schematized Indian bodies into traditional and modern types. For example, Prakash contends that British programs of inoculation, medical treatment, and hygiene extended the colonial administration's control over the populace by "[dislodging] the body from indigenous beliefs and practices" and resituating it within a configuration of modern subjecthood that made it more accessible to disciplinary techniques of the state (1999:136). Pinney (2004) discusses an explicit project to alter Indian bodily practices and construct a more modern or "universal" Indian subject through the inculcation of new perspectival practices in the arts – new ways of _looking at_ and _seeing_. Meanwhile, anticolonial struggles co-opted British claims about the "difference" of Indian bodies to construct a more modern, universal sort of body, better able to enter into and help constitute a nationalist, Indian community. Prakash (1999) offers an example of this in _brahmacharya,_ the discipline of governing bodily desires that was formerly associated with Brahman (high caste, Hindu) students. In response to British rhetoric about the sickliness engendered by Indian bodily practices, Indian nationalists reconfigured and sought to popularize bodily practices of male asceticism. They explicitly argued that specific techniques of the body including the conservation of semen and sexual energy would not only produce a newly vigorous, masculine subject, but also constitute the grounds on which a vital, modern (Hindu) nation could come into being (Gupta 2001; Hansen 1999). Whether held by British or Indian subjects, colonial beliefs about the essential nature of the traditional Indian body were politically charged, produced amidst complex relations of power that depended on the continual iteration of Indian difference. But even in the postcolonial era, difference retained its allure. In his seminal study of the caste system, _Homo Hierarchicus_ (1980[1966]), Louis Dumont made two claims that have proved extremely influential in framing subsequent studies of the Indian body. First, he argued that the binary of pollution and purity structured the Hindu belief system and, by extension, all of "traditional" Indian society. The dualism of pollution and purity thereafter became a key framework for examinations of Hindu society (Milner 1994). This is not a grossly vulgar framework for studies of Hindu bodies; many Hindu rituals and religious narratives theorize the body in terms of purity or lack thereof (Alter 1992; Holdredge 1998). However, it is an ill-fitting framework for the study of non-Hindu bodies, and bodily practices unmarked by religion. It also seems troubling that the Indian body has been so routinely subsumed into this larger taxonomy, becoming only one object of interest among many. This tendency may stem from Dumont's second contention: that the category of the individual, as Western social theorists understand it, does not exist as a meaningful category within traditional Hindu society (Dumont 1980). In Dumontian studies, bodily practices and their meanings are merely pieces of evidence, to be weighted alongside other sorts of (non-bodily) evidence, all of which testify in various ways to a higher or broader conceptual system. That is, such approaches see bodily practices only as reflections of a social order, rather than as the means through which a conceptual system is assembled and perceived. Dumont's proposition has generated vigorous debate among anthropologists (Mines 1994). Many ethnographers have found it helpful when thinking about how their informants discuss and make sense of their own bodies. For instance, in her study of bodies and aging in rural north India, Sarah Lamb discovers that "much of what Bengalis in Mangaldihi perceived and discussed as their 'bodies' included wider processes and substances than those directly tangible or limited to their own bodily boundaries. Properties of one person's body existed in others' bodies, in the places they lived, and in the objects they owned and handled" (2000:13). In such work, we see that conceptual categories like individualism do not map neatly onto _all_ embodied subjectivities in India. But the mushrooming number of gyms and plastic surgery clinics in New Delhi suggests that very different understandings of the body simultaneously flourish within the nation's borders. Here I argue that new middle class practices illustrate the inadequacy of a Dumontian framework for the investigation of embodied subjectivities in contemporary urban India. India's new middle class is recognized precisely by its members' strident and visible claims to individuality – their "hedonist, self-absorbed" behavior "in their smug cocoons" (Nanda 2007) and their "uninhibited, pragmatic, and amoral" public displays (Das 2001). The challenge for anthropologists, then, is to resist sorting subjectivities into static categories like "traditional" and "modern," which assume meaning only in contradistinction to each other, and in implicit reference to authenticity or its lack. Instead, we should examine the multiple ways in which Indian subjects navigate and constitute their own embodied subjectivities _within_ particular spaces and relations of power. The new middle class is a complex historical socioeconomic formation. Bodily practices are one key element in the constitution of new middle class subjectivities. Below, I analyze how such practices are learned and reproduced in three key sites. First, I consider the concrete sites associated with the new middle class – in particular, the malls and shops where entrepreneurial and consumer ambitions are on display – and I ask how these spaces solicit and condition particular bodily practices. Second, using examples from PDE training manuals and interviews with trainers in the Delhi area, I examine how people conceive and perceive "proper" bodily practice in such spaces. Finally, I discuss less explicit models of new middle class bodily practice through an examination of how popular Hindi films imagine and represent new middle class spaces and bodies therein. PRODUCING NEW MIDDLE CLASS BODILY PRACTICES It was Nikhil's suggestion to meet at Barista, which is lucky for me. Had this choice been mine, it would smack of naive clichés, for Barista is the stereotypical new middle class "cocoon." Established in 1997, Barista is neither the largest nor oldest national coffee chain in India (both those honors go to Café Coffee Day, which predated Barista by a year). Nevertheless, it regularly pops up in popular media as a shorthand for the "newness" of postglobalization India and its middle class. An Indian composer, interviewed about his recent soundtrack, explains: "The challenge was to make Bismil's poetry accessible to the MTV-Barista generation" (Singh 2009). A journalist reporting on various types of coffee contends, "Barista Lavazza is a part of the new India. And the new Indian Meeting Place" (Muthalaly 2008). There is certainly something indisputably new about the mission of Barista and its brethren: they are popularizing coffee, traditionally a staple of _south_ Indian diets, in the tea-crazed north. But the "newness" signaled by coffee shops far exceeds this empirical point. A pamphlet distributed by the Coffee Board of India attempts rather weakly to explain how such shops might come to encode the aspirations of a new India: "The coffee pubs in the Indian metros are the social milieu where the bold and the beautiful get together... For the Indian youth, chilling out at a [coffee] pub is more of a lifestyle expression" (Book of Indian Coffee, quoted in Nargundkar 2006). _Lifestyle_ is an interesting word, here. As I wait for Nikhil (forgetting my Delhi etiquette, I arrived precisely on time, and therefore too early), I notice an American woman who sits reading on the couch at the back of the room. She introduces herself to me as Lisa, a recent college graduate who has come to Delhi to do volunteer work in a slum community. When asked about Barista, she remarks, "I was kind of surprised. It's basically a Starbucks... the service is kind of slow. But it's nice to have a place to just sort of chill." For an American, the comparison to Starbucks may seem natural. On my first visit to Barista, I made the unconscious assumption that the similarities in products on offer extended to a similarity of practices. Upon entering, I walked down the central aisle, past seated customers to left and right, to the glass counter at the back, where I attempted to place my order. The puzzled cashier asked me to sit down so someone could take my order and then deliver my coffee to me. So Barista may look like Starbucks, but rarely, if ever, do you find customers queuing at the counter: there is no routine practice in Delhi coffee shops in which commuters pop by for a coffee "to go." Indeed, on my daily visits to various Baristas for my caffeine fix, I have rarely seen anyone sitting alone at a table except for foreigners. It seems that one visits a Barista not to procure coffee so much as to sit and socialize while drinking coffee, and more importantly, to be _seen_ drinking coffee in this place. Ironically, then, these consumers may desire the slow service that Lisa noted! Perhaps one also visits so one can _watch_ others drink their coffee. When an interviewer asked Karan Johar, the Hindi film director, why he chose to set his film about an extramarital affair in New York instead of India, he answered thusly: "You can't meet in Barista for an affair, but you can meet at a Starbucks, because no one will see you at some discreet Starbucks in New York" (Motwane 2007). Johar's casual remark actually suggests a key proposition: in Barista and spaces like it, people are always (felt to be) watching. Indeed, walking into the Defence Colony Barista underscores this feeling. The ground floor is long and narrow, with round tables scattered around a central aisle. The glass wall that faces the market proper was recently frosted to obscure the view, but the space nevertheless exerts a unidirectional pull toward the front door. As newcomers enter, customers seated at the small, round tables glance toward the entrance. Those seated with their backs to the door briefly turn around, too. The space feels theatrical, although the frosted front window now clearly announces that the performance is not meant for casual passersby. Generally speaking, the new urban spaces of Delhi are specifically designed to maximize this kind of visibility – the visibility of customers _to each other_. Baristas offer only one example of this; the new shopping complexes in Gurgaon and Delhi offer many others. Ansal Plaza was the first mall to be built in the Delhi area; it is composed of two glass-sided buildings that curve together into the shape of a horseshoe around an outdoor amphitheater where shoppers sit, in pleasant weather, to drink coffee or eat ice cream. Particularly at night, those sitting in the amphitheater have a clear view of consumers strolling from store to store inside the buildings. Since it was constructed in 1999, more than 40 malls have followed in the Delhi area, and increasingly their designs encode a concern for visibility within the _interior_ of the buildings. Large windows like Ansal Plaza's are uncommon; indeed, the exteriors of many malls bear giant advertisements for products and the shops inside, lending them the appearance, from a distance, of misshapen boxes done up in wrapping paper. But of the 14 malls I have visited – each of them either recommended to me or patronized by my informants – all but one feature a central point from which consumers enjoy an expansive view of various floors and shoppers throughout the building. DLF City Centre, the first mall built in Gurgaon (in 2001), may have provided a template in this regard. It consists of three floors wrapped around a central open space, which, on the ground floor, has seating for shoppers who wish to look up. Inevitably there is something for them to look at: shoppers on the second and third floor seem drawn to the railing, where they stand gazing down, up, or across at their fellow consumers. The architecture of these malls can seem odd to those accustomed to a different, more horizontally oriented mall archetype. When an American expatriate who lives and works in Gurgaon learned that my fieldwork would require me to spend a considerable amount of time in the malls around his house, he expressed his pity for me, adding, "Those places are like fishbowls." His prior referents for malls are those built on a model that first became popular in American suburbs during the 1950s and 1960s. The interior space of these malls mimic the physical plan – and, so architects of the time hoped, the feeling of community – popularly associated with main streets in small American towns (Cohen 1996). Typically, such malls have long, winding corridors and benches and greenery scattered throughout the building. Delhi-area malls, conversely, demonstrate an architectural emphasis on verticality and an encompassing visibility provided from a single central point. Thus these spaces do not suggest a concern with the solicitation of communal feeling so much as they solicit _performances_ from those who inhabit them: one is constantly aware, when strolling the corridors of these malls, that others may be watching from a number of directions. As in the Barista, it is important that one is _seen_ consuming, and that one can _watch_ others consume. And the question of what one buys in these spaces thus becomes no more important than the question of _how_ one buys. Performing one's belonging in new urban spaces requires mastery of numerous skills.3 It is difficult to move through such malls if one is not accustomed to escalators and elevators. After successfully negotiating movement between floors, shoppers must negotiate how to comport themselves _within_ stores. Regular patrons of music stores like Planet M, or department stores like Shopper's Stop and Big Bazaar, know that the goods on display are to be browsed at one's leisure, carried to and tried on in the fitting rooms, and then taken to the counter for purchase, _by the consumer_. Indeed, a call center employee, Anjali, tells me that she prefers to patronize malls instead of local markets because, although the goods may be more expensive, "nobody bothers you in the shops [at malls]." But knowledge of how to shop without someone "bothering" you is not obvious to those who have shopped before only at local markets, where shopkeepers dispense products from behind a counter, and oversee customers' interactions with these products at every point until purchase. Navigating the vast number of goods on display in stores at shopping malls takes a certain kind of consumer confidence and savvy. One day, I accompanied a trainer named Shena to Select City Walk mall in south Delhi. A group of three women in saris trailed behind us through Pantaloons (an American-style department store), talking among themselves. I made some remark about the unusual drape of one of the women's saris. Shena said she would wager money they were tourists from some small town. "You can spot these people," she whispered. "They just _stare_." As I continued to watch them, I realized she was right: occasionally the women would touch an item of clothing, but on the whole, they engaged very little with the merchandise, and spent most of their time simply looking. When I saw them later in another section of the mall, they carried no purchases. Financial constraints may have prevented them from purchasing anything. But the formal qualities of new urban spaces also demand particular practices and attitudes from shoppers. Without skill in these practices and attitudes, malls can be difficult and intimidating places in which to shop. Personality Development and Enhancement modules explicitly teach people in new urban spaces how to embody practices and attitudes appropriate to these spaces. PDE began as a minor aspect of call center training; trainers have explained to me that until 2005 or 2006, it was rarely considered a key part of preprocess training (i.e. training for new recruits). Instead, PDE programs were developed for "problem" workers (those who, after three or six months, continued to fail to meet performance expectations); customer service agents who wished to advance to managerial positions; and managers whose seniority made them likely candidates for overseas business trips. One trainer, Neeraj, shared a telling anecdote about the necessity of PDE for this latter group: There have been certain fuck-ups which have happened when Indians travel abroad, certain cultural differences, so those are addressed through personality development... because business could be lost. Like, one particular call center lost a few million dollars because the business development head went for a formal sit-down dinner to the States and picked up the bottle of water instead of pouring it to the glass, yeah, stuck it to his mouth and drank it. In the last few years, however, PDE training has developed into its own industry, and now constitutes a key skill necessary to find training work outside call centers. In practice, PDE training includes a range of holistic methods. Some of the more surprising methods mentioned or used by my informants include Alexander Technique,4 free movement, yoga, clowning, role-playing, dance, and even fire-walking. But no matter the actual content of their own PDE modules, trainers justify their pedagogies in terms of the intimate link between mental and bodily practices. That is, they use kinesthetic training to cultivate particular bodily dispositions that produce a new attitude in trainees. At American-process call centers, PDE training is claimed to engender attitudes (e.g. openness, confidence, and amiability) that help employees establish rapport with American customers. This training often starts with the reification of trainees' bodily practices as essentially Indian. Training manuals might preface passages on American customs with exercises that ask trainees to brainstorm, individually or in groups, about Indian customs that a foreigner might find surprising or strange. This explicit exercise in objectification might be complemented by modules that elucidate American qualities by comparing and contrasting American bodily practice in reference to Indian bodily practice. For example, in a discussion of the American paradigm of professionalism, the (ostensibly objectionable) intimacy connoted by lengthy intersex eye contact in India is contrasted with the respect connoted by steady eye contact between the sexes in the United States. Training programs in call centers therefore build a typology of both American and Indian bodies – but only _certain kinds_ of Indian bodies. The specificity of this Indianness first reveals itself in the process of deciding whom to hire for call center service agent positions. A trainer for American-process call centers laughingly told me about an employee of a domestic-process call center who wanted a job at one of the better paying, American-process companies. The applicant immediately ruined his chances by introducing himself with the phrase, "Myself, Kamlesh" – a common, colloquial introduction derived from Hindi word order, and glossed by trainers as Indian Variant English rather than the more desirable Standard English. But, the trainer added, that wasn't all: he entered the room and sat down "like a doodh-waala" [milkman]. His bodily demeanor, as much as his way of speaking English, marked him as unfit for employment. The implication that only a particular sort of Indianness is fit for training and employment in call centers was made even more explicit in the description of a course offered by NIIT, a firm that specializes in training workers for multinational firms. The first goal of their seminar for future customer service agents read: "Overcome Indianism" (NIIT 2006). Indeed, many trainers perceive it to be harder to coach trainees who do not hail from a major metropolis. One trainer, Gayatri, suggests to me that recruits from outside the metros are willing to work harder than people from the cities: "His family's expectations are a lot out of this guy, he's a very hard worker, he cannot afford to lose a job." But she also acknowledges that they pose different challenges than trainees from the metros, particularly in terms of attitudinal or behavioral training: "He comes from a small place, so [his] thinking is small." Indeed, the idea that "tier two" recruits are more difficult to train seems to carry the status of a well-known fact among industry experts. As one among numerous examples, UTVi news channel ran a report in 2008 that attributed the growing number of complaints received by call centers from American customers to an increase in the number of service agents who do not hail from major cities. An unnamed expert, when interviewed, told the reporter: To train, you know, somebody from Mumbai compared to training somebody from Surat is again the same issue... there's going to be a slight variation of quality of the output, to an extent because of Tier Two cities, and the way to address it, if you ask me, is patience. And more investment in terms of training by the organizations. (Sharma and Bharadwaj 2008) This "problem" of the nonmetro trainee might be glossed as a dearth of that cosmopolitanism or _urbanism_ that defines the new middle class. Nikhil thus defends the importance, even in American-process call centers, of PDE training _over_ voice and accent: "You send me someone from Meerut," he says, referring to a small city a few hours outside Delhi. "How he says his _R's_ , what does it matter? With the right attitude, he could say what he liked." The insufficiently cosmopolitan "attitudes" of Tier Two trainees must be addressed through behavioral training that also operates at the _physical_ level, through the kinesthetic modifications of PDE. The performative aspect of this physical modification is implicit. As Gayatri says when discussing Tier Two recruits, "Maybe we are trying to convert people into something they're not. Language is an issue, or, I think somewhere I also feel that you know, if I have had a death in my family, and I go to work, how can I suddenly switch off and be all cheerful?" By implying that PDE training might pose a challenge to Tier Two recruits because they have a more difficult time "switching off" their true feelings, Gayatri underscores the ostensibly urban or cosmopolitan nature of this performance. That is, while call center workers may be iconic new middle class citizens, the _production_ of a call center worker – and of a new middle class subject – apparently entails not just shopping and coffee-drinking, but also the production of a certain sort of new middle class _bodily demeanor_ that enables a whole way of being. PDE training manuals used outside call centers do not, of course, schematize bodily practice into non-Indian and Indian types. However, they do assemble a theory of how bodily practices, detached from the specificity of actual bodies, operationalize particular traits and values. Sections on attitude are complemented by schematic renderings of bodily practices and the values to which they correspond. For example, diagrams of the throat illustrate how the voice is produced, while accompanying text describe the physiological causes that correspond with emotional tension and cause the voice to sound "tight" or "hostile" to customers. "If there is tension in the throat, there is tension in the voice, and tension in the air between you [and the customer], too," reads one manual. Conversely, amiability and confidence are also generated and transmitted to customers through proper posture, breathing, and the relaxation of throat muscles: "If you feel comfortable, the customer will feel comfortable." Training manuals used in workshops in new urban spaces seek to cultivate qualities including confidence, assertiveness, composure, and approachability, often glossing these as the constitutive elements of leadership and successful communication. These same traits and values also appear regularly within discursive constructions of the new middle class – the entrepreneurs and consumers whose world-class tastes and ambitions will steer India successfully through the perilous terrain of the global market. PDE training manuals offer a sort of explicit blueprint for how a new middle class subject might be _physically_ assembled. Ideas of new middle class practice and new urban space are also informed by the circulation of images and ideas about such spaces and the people who patronize them. Literary and journalistic portrayals of call center workers dwell at length on their consumption and leisure activities within new urban spaces; for instance, in Chetan Bhagat's bestselling novel _One Night at the Call Center,_ the employees have dates at the Pizza Hut in a nearby mall and take their mid-shift break at "Bed Lounge and Bar," where they lie across beds and gulp kamikaze shots to a throbbing soundtrack of "French-African-Indian fusion." Hindi films also often picture their heroes and heroines in new urban spaces – be they drinking coffee at Barista (e.g. _Kya Kool Hain Hum_ , 2005) or Café Coffee Day (e.g. _Fashion_ , 2008), or, during an outing to the mall, fighting against the evils of smoking ( _Ghajini_ , 2009) or vanquishing an evil contract killer ( _The Killer_ , 2006). In Mauss's terms, these images and narratives offer models for prestigious imitation; they shape perceptions of new urban spaces and offer socially authoritative visual cues about how to inhabit these spaces even for audiences that will never enter a PDE workshop, mall, or Barista. To this end, the most telling representations are those that portray heroes and heroines who do not "belong" in new urban spaces. In _What's your Rashee_ (2009), Anjali, a girl from a small town, meets her potential suitor, Yogesh, at a coffee shop in an upscale Mumbai hotel. The environment clearly unnerves her. She reacts with physical awkwardness when helped into her chair, looks askance at the ornately folded napkin, and slumps in her seat. In an effort to fit in with her surroundings and meet Yogesh's expectations, she attempts to speak English, but her ungrammatical sentences confuse her suitor and the waiter. She drinks her cold coffee very quickly and with overstated enthusiasm. Later she tries to smoke a cigarette, but lights the wrong end, and explodes into coughing. Anjali's inability to perform her belonging in this space registers as a terrible physical awkwardness. Ultimately Yogesh confronts her, and tells her she does need to try to be something that she is not. She then relaxes into a natural and more charming posture, but ultimately Yogesh weds another woman – the thoroughly cosmopolitan Sanjana. _Mumbai Mere Jaan_ (2008) offers a more pointed critique of the bodily practices demanded by new urban spaces. Thomas, who sells coffee from a makeshift stall on the Mumbai sidewalk, has a fascination with the perfume samplers set out for customers at a local mall. He takes his wife and daughter to the mall, where, after loud protest and the gawking of a security guard, they overcome their fear and board the escalator to the shop. Inside, Thomas's wife exclaims and points at various items. Understanding that there is a particular way to walk through this shop, Thomas instructs her to "Walk quietly, now," and to cease staring and gesturing so obviously. However, when he picks up the perfume sampler and sprays his underarms, he draws the critical notice of a salesman who recognizes him as the man who "comes every day to spray on perfume for free, and then leaves." The salesman calls security, and Thomas and his family are driven from the mall at a run, in sharp contrast to the leisurely strolls of the shoppers they pass. This episode preys on Thomas's mind. Later, he begins to call in bomb threats to malls across Mumbai, waiting outside to witness, with evident pleasure, the frantic exit of legitimate mall-goers. In the most striking sequence, he enters a mall shortly before his bomb threat is reported to security. Standing at the railing on the second floor, Thomas looks down into the central space of the mall. As the bomb threat is announced on the loudspeaker, new middle class shoppers abandon their easy loitering and begin to sprint for the exit. But Thomas stands perfectly still. He has taken possession of the visibility inherent in this architectural space to witness and oversee his triumph: the violent alteration of new middle class shoppers' bodily practices. Thomas has forced these shoppers to run in the same fashion that a working-class street vendor must run when caught in a mall by security. But his moment of victory only underscores the fact that it takes a bomb scare to make such bodily practices acceptable in this space. CONCLUSION Since the mid-1990s, India has witnessed the proliferation of malls, multiplexes, coffee shops, and other new urban spaces for consumption and leisure, which scholars often have scrutinized for clues about new middle class consumption. I have argued here that the concern for visibility encoded in the architecture of these spaces suggests that such consumption practices should be viewed as performative. That is, being and becoming new middle class is not simply about having the ability and desire to spend money at the local mall. Consumption in new urban spaces also requires mastery of particular physical practices that exhibit one's knowledge of the "proper" way to shop. Realizing this is as simple as standing by an escalator in an Indian mall. During my fieldwork, I have seen streams of shoppers, bags in hand, step confidently aboard the stairs. But I also have seen visitors approach with visible trepidation, making several abortive half-steps before successfully boarding the escalator (or, in rare instances, turning away entirely) – just as Thomas's wife and daughter did when boarding the escalator in _Mumbai Mere Jaan_. In _Mumbai Mere Jaan,_ Thomas's daughter and wife shrieked and giggled with fear as they approached the stairs. In real life, those that hesitate to board the escalator do so quietly, often with visible embarrassment. It is not a coincidence, I think, that many of these people also carry no purchases with them. Knowing how to shop in a mall is as much about knowing how to board an escalator as it is about knowing how to exchange money for a product. It is only through the mastery of such bodily practices that one can perform one's class position within these spaces. Thus one's discomfort in boarding an escalator betrays far more than mere unfamiliarity with a particular type of equipment. It marks one's body as incongruous with the very spaces and practices that define the new middle class. PDE training offers an explicit template for these practices and the assembly of the new middle class body more generally. Training manuals and trainers' pedagogical ideologies reveal how certain bodily practices encode an entire complex of new middle class values (e.g. cosmopolitanism, confidence, and assertiveness) that are perceived to be available only to particular, and particularly sited, bodies. Cinematic and literary representations of the new middle class offer other, frequently complementary visions of new middle class spaces and the bodies that belong in these spaces. They also offer stark representations of bodies that do not belong. In the decision of a coffee vendor to spray perfume in his armpits, or in a girl's slumped posture and awkward hesitation as a man pulls out her chair to seat her at a restaurant, we see quite clearly that new middle class spaces demand certain kinds of bodily practices – and that, conversely, the bodily practices attendant on inhabiting new middle class spaces work to constitute the new middle class itself. NOTES 1 Under Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi's limited liberalization reforms and proconsumerist policies, the urban middle class became increasingly visible in public discourse, and aspirational consumption began to assume importance as a hallmark of middle-class status (e.g. Fernandes 2000a; 2000b; 2006; Mazzarella 2003; Oza 2006). 2 Foucault's understanding of bodily practice is premised on a larger theory of modernity, characterized by the emergence of forms of institutional governance and surveillance. In this historical moment, he argues that the body functions as a site for the deliberate cultivation of particular physical attitudes and dispositions that render it amenable to "optimization" through normalizing processes of spatial and temporal organization. In particular reference to the problems of reading a Foucauldian modernity in India, see Prakash 1999. 3 The first challenge that confronts the American ethnographer in a New Delhi shopping mall is figuring out which stores are where. Security guards posted throughout the mall rarely know the name or location of any shop outside the immediate vicinity of their posting (which, in itself, seems a telling insight: most security guards cannot afford to shop at the mall, and apparently they do not make a regular practice of strolling freely through the mall, either). Furthermore, most malls usually have only a single shop directory, and finding this directory can take a very long time; no one seems to know what it is or where it might be located. The evident assumption is either that most mall patrons come regularly enough that guidance is not required, or that they have little interest in making quick visits to the mall to patronize a particular shop, but will stroll through the mall and discover shops' locations for themselves. 4 Alexander Technique is a physical pedagogy premised on the idea that physical and mental dispositions are mutually productive. Practitioners believe that "many different types of underperformance and even ailments, both mental and physical, can be alleviated... by teaching the body musculature to perform differently" (Tinbergen 1991:xiv). Originally developed by an Australian actor in the early twentieth century, it is now disseminated through various licensed training centers the world over. REFERENCES Adiga, Arvind 2008 The White Tiger. New York: Free Press. Alter, Joseph 1992 The Wrestler's Body: Identity and Ideology in North India. Berkeley: University of California Press. 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Medical Anthropology Quarterly (NS) 1(1):6–41. Sharma, Rohan, and Tania Bharadwaj 2008 BPO Troubles. UTVi News, June 21. Singh, Harneet 2009 Yes, I Was Restless for Success. Indian Express. Mar 29. At www.indianexpress.com/news/yes-i-was-restless-for-success/439883/0 (accessed July 2010). Stacey, Judith 1990[1998] Brave New Families: Stories of Domestic Upheaval in Late-Twentieth-Century America. Berkeley: University of California Press. Tinbergen, Nikolaas 1991 Introduction to the Alexander Technique: From a Lecture by Nikolaas Tinbergen. _In_ The Alexander Technique: How to Use Your Body without Stress. Wilfred Barlow, ed. Rochester, VT: Inner Traditions/Bear. Turner, Victor 1969 The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. CHAPTER 7 Global Dancing in Kolkata _Pallabi Chakravorty_ Arjun Appadurai (1997) has recently observed that the main feature of globalized public culture in India is the explosion of print and electronic media. Emphasizing the role of film, television and video technologies that lie at the heart of the transformation of India's public sphere, he has described the rise of a culture of celebrity and consumption inextricably linked to the economic reforms of the mid-1990s. Implemented under the banner of "liberalization," these reforms have opened up a consumption-led path to a transnational culture saturated with media, images, texts, and oppositional ideologies (Appadurai and Breckenridge 1995). This globalization of Indian national culture has had far-reaching impacts on classical dance forms, such as Kathak and Bharatnatyam, as well as on folk forms like the martial art practice of Kalarippayattu (Zarilli 1995). My previous work on one such classical dance form, Kathak, examined the democratization of Kathak within the context of this "public culture" and its growing popularity among middle- and lower middle-class women in urban and semi-urban areas. In _Bells of Change_ (Chakravortry 2008), I argued that the globalization of India's public sphere has given rise to a heterogeneity of voices that is refashioning the classical dance of Kathak in multiple ways. This work also showed how explosion of new media on cable television and the participation of a wide cross-section of dancers (including diaspora dancers) in workshops and festivals have collectively disrupted the singular ideology of Kathak as the high culture of an authentic Indian or Hindu identity. This chapter builds on my previous argument by exploring the ways in which the globalization and Bollywoodization of Indian culture have given rise to various new dance genres, particularly dance contests on television reality shows. After first reviewing the anthropological literature on dance, and on Indian dance in particular, I focus on one such reality show, _Dhum Machale_ , in order to suggest that dance reality shows are opening up new public spaces for contestations and reaffirmations of identities in contemporary India. More specifically, these dance genres are reconfiguring narratives of middle-class respectability by producing new identities for women from various socioeconomic strata in urban India. DANCE IN ANTHROPOLOGICAL ANALYSIS Despite its peripheral status in the discipline, early anthropologists, including Bronislaw Malinowski, Edward Tylor, and Franz Boas, showed some interest in dance, if only to stress its social or cohesive and integrative functions in non-Western societies. Later, the study of dance bifurcated into two related fields – dance ethnology and dance anthropology, the former focusing on historical and comparative perspectives, and the latter on scientific generalizations about human cultures (Grau 1993). A significant interest in dance anthropology was laid out in the 1960s and 1970s, when scholars such as Adrienne Kaeppler, Joann Kealiinohomoku, Anya Royce, Judith Hanna, and Drid Williams began to emphasize not merely the social function, but the form and structure of dance in society (Reed 1998). Viewing both dancing and bodies as socially constructed entities, these scholars reformulated dance as a "culturally structured movement system" (Grau 1993:25; Farnell 1995; Kaeppler 1985), with the aim of understanding the "lived body," "processes," "functions," and "symbolic systems" (Snyder 1990). Influenced by Boasian cultural relativism, the ethnoscience of the 1960s, and ideas of competence and performance derived from the theories of Saussure and Chomsky (Kaeppler 1991), anthropologists of human movement produced ethnographic studies of dance that drew on ethnoscientific structuralism (Kaeppler 1967; 1978), semiotics theory (Williams 1981), and psychobiological theories of dance (Hanna 1979). In all of these formulations, dance was envisioned primarily as a "system of communication" that could be analyzed through the categories of etic and emic, the semantics of body languages, or the sharing of emotion. In the mid-1980s and 1990s, Victor Turner (1987), Richard Schechner (1985), and William Beeman (1993), among others, worked to incorporate dance, ritual, theater, festival, and carnival into the field of "performance studies." These studies called attention to the Eurocentric biases that had long been inherent in the categories of "dance" and "theater," pointing out, for example, that theatrical activities are rarely separated from dance in many non-Western cultures. This performance model of culture shifted the central analytic focus of dance studies from movement systems and the cultural cohesion of shared symbols to processes of cultural contestation and change. Much of this development in dance anthropology was also linked to current debates in modern linguistics (Williams 1991), as can be seen most vividly in John Lewis's study of Brazilian Capoeira (1992; 1995) – a complex genre that includes elements of martial arts, music, dance, theater, ritual, and sport. Using movement analysis derived primarily from Peircean semiotics, Lewis highlighted the contested and polysemic nature of all cultural production, and in so doing, departed definitively from earlier functionalist understandings of dance that emphasized shared meanings and integrated ethos and worldview. Around the late 1980s and early 1990s another significant paradigm shift occurred in both dance anthropology and other fields of dance scholarship. As Reed noted (1998), studies of the politics of dance and the relations between culture, body, and movement then came to the fore. Drawing on the works of Pierre Bourdieu, Michel Foucault, Maurice Merleau-Ponty, and Judith Butler, this new scholarship underscored, to put it somewhat broadly, the importance of human agency, intentionality, and resistance. In the writing of these poststructuralist and postmodernist theorists, the body became a key locus of dance analysis (Foster 1986; 1995; Morris 1996), and one that was envisioned primarily either as a technical tool for the enumeration of political agendas or a text on which various politics were played out or inscribed. This conceptualization of the body "as text" (which continues to underpin the notion of choreography for theatrical concert dances from ballet to modern to postmodern works), however, did not adequately theorize the interactive processes of performance and the contextual basis of meaning-making through dance. Many studies, still implicitly structured by the Cartesian binary, simply reified the body as the primary analytical category in the study of dance – a critique that has been advanced most forcefully by theorists like Cynthia Novack (1995:179). This is a problem that unfortunately persists in dance studies today, as scholars continue to focus on isolated individuals and bounded bodies. INDIAN DANCE AND SOCIAL THEORY Anthropological studies of dance in India can be traced to Milton Singer's well-known work _When a Great Tradition Modernizes_ (1972). Singer conceptualized performances such as prayers, rituals, recitations, rites, ceremonies, and festivals as the elementary constituents of culture and, therefore, the definitive units of observation. These performances, he argued, were always secular and sacred, religious and artistic. Analyzing cultural performances as "cultural media" that included various modes of communication, both linguistic and nonlinguistic, Singer argued that every kind of performance, whether song, dance, or drama, communicated and expressed the gist of Indian culture. As he observed, "Study of the different forms of cultural media in their social and cultural contexts would... reveal them to be important links in that cultural continuum which includes village and town, Brahman and non-Brahman, north and south, the modern mass media culture and the traditional folk and classical cultures, the Little and Great Traditions" (1972:76–77). But the little and great traditions (translated as "folk" and "classical") that so intrigued Singer came under scrutiny by scholars of Indian culture in the 1980s. Joan Erdman's (1987) work on Uday Shankar, for example, opened up important debates surrounding nationalism, history, and the construction of Indian dance around the categories of "classical" and "folk." She argued that by recontextualizing Indian dance as the pure expression of an "authentic Indian identity," the dance revivalists of the 1920s and 1930s had left little room for modern dance pioneers like Uday Shankar. Influenced by Russian ballerina Anna Pavlova and French pianist Simon Barbiere, Shankar invented a new Indian dance form in the first part of the twentieth century that was popular in the West, but widely rejected by Indian critics because it did not neatly fit the nationalist categories of "classical" and "folk." In a similar vein, the groundbreaking work on the _devadasis_ (female temple dancers) of South India by Amrit Srinivasan (1985) highlighted the processes by which the Anti-Nautch social reform movement of the 1890s stigmatized the devadasis as prostitutes, considering them menaces to society. The systematic campaign against both the devadasis and _tawaifs/baijis_ (north Indian courtesans) on the part of both the educated Indian elite and their Christian missionary counterparts essentially transformed their dances into "shameful practices" (see Walker 2004 and Chakravorty 2008 for an elaboration on the dance of the tawaifs/baijis). Prior to Srinivasan's seminal research on the history of Indian dance, its development was often portrayed as a linear, continuous trajectory that began with the Sanskrit treaties of the Natya Shastra (Sanskrit treatise on the performing arts) and that remained relatively unchanged throughout the centuries. After Srinivasan, however, contemporary scholars began to highlight the inherently _constructed_ nature of classical dance narratives such as Bharatnatyam and Kathak, as well as the marginalization of both the devadasis and the tawaifs/baijis. The traditional practitioners of Bharatnatyam, the devadasis, have remained the focus of much dance scholarship during the last few decades, as the relationships between colonialism, nationalism, history, and the renaming of Sadir (the dance of the devadasis) as Bharatnatyam have increasingly been scrutinized from various perspectives (Allen 1997; Kersenboom-Story 1987; Meduri 1988; 1996; O'Shea 2007). Frederique Marglin (1985), for example, explored Odissi, another classical Indian dance, as a practice of the devadasis of Orissa, focusing particularly on a semiotic analysis of the devotional rituals carried out by the devadasis in temple precincts. Similarly, Kersenboom-Story (1987) and Srinivasan (1985) explored the lives and dances of the devadasi under precolonial and colonial rule, and Meduri (1996) further demonstrated how the devadasi became the central figure in debates around womanhood, sexuality, and national identity in India. As more and more voices enriched the discussions around Bharatnatyam, the disagreements at times grew heated. In particular, the stories of Rukmini Devi (an Indian theosophist and dancer 1904–1986) and Balasaraswati, the twentieth-century pioneers of Bharatnatyam who inhabited two very different sociopolitical spaces (the former a reformer and part of the social elite; the latter from the devadasi lineage) produced both exciting and factionalizing discourses that resulted in polarization along several axes: brahmans versus non-brahmans, middle class versus hereditary practitioners, Krishna Iyer (a Tamil lawyer, freedom fighter, and classical artist who fought for popularizing the dying art of Bharatnatyam in South India, 1897–1968) versus Rukmini Devi (Meduri 2001). O'Shea's recent book (2007) on Bharatnatyam even analyzed its spiraling trajectory from devadasi practices to competing discourses on identities that are simultaneously regional, national, and global. This body of scholarship, grounded in postcolonial history, has been particularly useful in showing the suppression of subaltern history by an elite nationalist narrative of Indian dance, which constructed both national identity and middle-class sensibilities in ways that arguably erased the presence of the subaltern (Ram 2009). These studies have removed the cultural practice of dance "from the realm of the exotic custom, the festival, the ritual, and the like and into the center of the historical problematic, [recognizing] that the rituals and festivals are sites in which larger and more dynamic fields of discourse (singular), larger and more powerful hegemonies, are being constituted, contested and transformed" (Dirks et al. 1994:6). GLOBALIZATION OF INDIAN DANCE Indian dance is now deeply engaged in a mushrooming visual culture driven by new media and new consumers, and created by fundamental changes in the nation's economic and cultural spheres. Some of the greatest impacts of these changes can be seen in Bombay films, which were reconstituted as Bollywood in the 1980s. According to Daya Kishan Thussu, "The combination of national and transnational factors, including deregulation of the media and communication sectors, the availability of new delivery and distribution mechanisms, as well as growing corporatization of the film industry, have contributed to [the] global visibility of popular Indian cinema" (2008:97). The global prominence of Bollywood arguably began in 1994 with the film _Hum Aapke Hain Koun?_ (Who am I to you?), a musical that focused on two weddings and that played for almost a year, grossing more than a stunning $30 million. The expansion of the Bollywood market to the United States, Canada, the United Kingdom, the Middle East, and the East Asian countries is a tale of spectacular marketing success. The dominance of Bollywood cinema over all other aspects of cultural production deemed Indian, especially music, dance, and fashion, is particularly significant, and linked to a "cultural conglomeration involving a range of distribution and consumption activities from websites to music cassettes, from cable to radio" (Rajadhyaksha 2008:20). The dramatic expansion of television since the early 2000s, along with the emergence of cable networks such as Zee, Sony, and Star, have provided publicity engines for the rhizome-like circulation of Bollywood films, and especially the song and dance sequences (Thussu 2008). In fact, the song and dance sequence (renamed the "item number" in the 1990s) is a central aspect of Bollywood's culture industry today, which usually features an overly sexualized dancing girl known as the "item girl." Sangita Shresthova (2008) has explored the powerful cyclical migration of dance from films to live staged performances to films and then back again to stage. The film dances once deemed frivolous and lowbrow by the middle classes in India as compared to the classical concert dances are now regularly taught in dance schools along with the classical forms. The live staged performances of the film dances are a big draw in India and among the diaspora, and circulate now as authentic Indian identity. The result, she argues, has been a dynamic transformation of a medium (called "filmee dance," or dance choreographies from films), influenced by existing classical and folk performance traditions, to a medium called Bollywood dance which has, in turn, influenced performed expressions of Indianness (2008:245). This constant movement of dance from one medium to another, or from one cultural context to another, has resulted in a coalescing of various dance genres into perpetually hybrid formations. LEARNING TO DANCE FROM BOLLYWOOD The music was blasting from a laptop and the youthful faces were moving to the music with shakes, breaks, jumps, twists, and turns. The instructor with a trendy cap on his head and a sleeveless T-shirt that revealed well-muscled arms shouted, "Drop to the floor!" The dancers clad in jeans and sneakers dropped horizontally on the floor from a vertical position with an easy slide. They were moving constantly with furious energy and sweating profusely. The ceiling fan seemed decorative, wholly inadequate for the hot and humid air of a Kolkata summer. I was standing awkwardly in the small room with my notebook and microcassette player trying to record what I was seeing, hearing, and experiencing. I was immersed in a world of new practices and new ways of knowledge transmission between dancing bodies. In the dance halls of Mumbai or dance classes such as the one I was visiting in south Kolkata, students learn "item numbers" from choreographers who are teaching hundreds of students in various locations during rehearsals for shows or through workshops for polishing techniques. In many of these dance classes, the laptop is a constant source of information. It was certainly one of the biggest investments for the choreographer whose class I was observing. He explained the importance of the laptop for him: I looked up movements by famous Bollywood dancers like Hritik Roshan and if a movement is appealing I copy and put it on my dancers. This is not a new invention. I personally learned a lot of moves from just watching Michael Jackson videos. I copied a move then practiced a lot. I love dancing and would practice for hours. I was always a dancer. Now I want to be a famous choreographer. The dancers in his class came from varied dance backgrounds. Many had Indian classical training, many had Western training (though the term "Western" is nebulous and can mean anything from hip hop and salsa to Bollywood freestyle), and many were self-trained. Although, the dancers I was observing resembled the backup dancers of Bollywood, they were mostly local dancers with dreams of making it to Bollywood. They were young, ambitious, flexible and adept at learning any steps or movements presented to them. A very talented dancer and a participant on the television dance reality show _Dhum Machale_ (which will be explored in more detail in subsequent sections) explained: I began with Ananda Shankar's school of modern dance. I then studied the classical dance style of Odissi for a long time. However, I was always attracted to Western dance. I looked at ballet on television and studied it on my own. I also tried to do moves used by gymnasts. Television was a source of inspiration. Now I am studying to learn Western dance. The dance classes like the one I was visiting in South Kolkata resemble the dance halls of Mumbai. In the dance studios in Mumbai (such as Satyam in Juhu), dancers and choreographers gather to choreograph and practice "item numbers." The cultural landscape of dance halls in Mumbai reflects the new style of dance practice in Indian cities such as Kolkata. This evolving texture of daily dance routine is different from the system of practice such as _riyaz_ or _abhyas_ (the structure and ideology of dance practice) associated with classical training (see Neuman 1980; Chakravorty 2004). The dance halls are impersonal commercial spaces much like the neutral cubic studios in the Western world; although they are not new in Mumbai, many have sprung up in recent years due to the demands of a new breed of dancers and choreographers. These aspiring halls of fame have mirrored walls, are often air-conditioned, and have replaced the tabla player, musicians, and gurus of a typical dance context with DJs, big stereo systems, the choreographer and her assistant, and a schedule to keep track of the renters. For the dancing girls or backup dancers of Bollywood films (previously known as "extras," now as "junior artists") dance training is a fluid concept. None of the choreographers and dancers I spoke with in Mumbai mentioned being taught by gurus or dance teachers, as was once customary among classically trained dancers (although that, too, is changing, as classical training merges with workshops and dancercise – a fusion of dance and exercise classes). The younger dancers could not, in fact, give me any specifics about their training. Many said they learned from television and were not familiar with classical dancers or film choreographers of an earlier generation who were also classical gurus (such as Lachchu Maharaj, Sitara Devi, Gopi Kishan, and Sohanalal). Classical forms were, to most of them, simply exotic relics of the past. As the Bollywood choreographer Geeta Kapoor has explained, young people mostly learn their moves from fashion shows, music videos, or Bollywood numbers on television, whereas in earlier periods, they would have been trained in Bharatnatyam, Kathak, folk styles, and so forth. In Bollywood, the changes are not only apparent in the nature of the dance practice once associated with traditional embodied aesthetics, but in the negotiations with new editing techniques and computer graphics, as well as in the representations of bodies that are inspired by commodity images. These sculpted dancing figures very often replicate fashion models, as fashion shows and film dance numbers increasingly run together. The emerging embodied aesthetics of Bollywood dancers and choreographers thus form an intertextual field that represents decontextualized bodies in music videos, fashion shows, and films.1 These bodies are not embedded in any particular cultural aesthetics. The dancing bodies are instruments on which movements are crafted using cut-and-paste techniques, as various movements are uprooted from specific contexts and remixed to produce an "item number," reflecting the commodity-oriented consumption practices of a global Indian modernity (Chakravorty 2009). The deeply rooted disciplining of the mind and body (associated with _riaz_ or _abhyas_ ) that molded Indian dance subjectivities are now unmoored from such mix-and-match kinetics and aesthetics. The classroom in South Kolkata is also part of this new discursive dance field of fluid borders and aspiring choreographers and dancers, and this new dance in India is part of a larger movement of democracy ushered in by the economic liberalization that began in the late 1980s, but really took off only in the last decade. REFRAMING THE EROTIC: TELEVISION TALES Television has played an important role in democratizing the cultural sphere (Gupta 1998; Mankekar 1993; Ninan 2000). The development of state television (Doordarshan) for "education, information and entertainment" established the state's role as the official patron of culture, and the birth of Doordarshan in 1959 was integral to the larger nationalist project of building a modern nation-state. The "holy triad" of public service broadcasting – education, information and entertainment – was reiterated by the various committees formed by the government to design guidelines for Doordarshan programming (Gupta 1998:35; Ninan 2000). Although Doordarshan had the lofty goals of maintaining "territorial integrity, national integration, secularism, maintenance of public order, and upholding the dignity and prestige of Parliament, state legislatures and the judiciary," it was not until 1982 that it attained real significance as the government's preeminent media organization (Ninan 2000:8). In 1982, Doordarshan introduced the nationwide coverage called the National Programme, which connected Delhi to other states. The National Programme had the explicit goal of disseminating news, information and entertainment for the forging of a "modern national culture" (Mankekar 1999). The mid-1980s to the early 1990s saw the dramatic expansion of television transmitters to various parts of the country in a renewed attempt to create a pan-Indian national culture. Television was meant to disseminate "high culture" that would educate the general population and raise their cultural tastes and values. Its main function was to disseminate nationalist themes and social messages. Classical Indian dance and music thus found regular expression as exemplars of authentic, _national_ Indian culture. The various regional dance styles such as Bharatnatyam, Kathak, Odissi, and Manipuri became symbols of "unity in diversity," forming the backbone of a pan-Indian national ideology. Folk dances were also presented, but the emphasis remained on classical traditions and the promotion of "high culture." However, with the introduction of transnational satellites, there was a marked change in national television programming. The number of channels that became newly available offered viewers, for the first time, the ability to choose between various television programs. This, in turn, created a huge shift in cultural production that relied more on advertising and marketing budgets than on spreading national consensus. The production of slick images and texts became the hallmark of television productions. Many channels initially imported programs from America such as _Dallas_ and the _Oprah Winfrey Show_ , among others, but soon channels like Sony and Star reverted to Indian versions of the imports in order to retain the attention of Indian consumers. As Mankekar explains, Transnational images of commodities were modified in response to "local" images, aesthetics, and narratives. For instance, when Pepsi was launched in India, its first few advertisements cleverly incorporated hegemonic, nationalist representations of "tradition" (symbolized by Hindi film celebrity Juhi Chawla doing a classical Kathak dance) as well as "modernity" (in the figure of Goan pop star Remo Fernandes). (2004:417) Kathak was thus used in the advertisements to represent an authentic Indian tradition, even while it sold an American product. Such advertisements suggested that regardless of one's cultural identity in India, every community is unified through its participation in new consumption practices like drinking Pepsi. Cultural production was thus closely tied to commodity production, and the glamorous image of a dancing Juhi Chawla was now competing with the amateur production of classical dances on national programming. The Pepsi ad also demonstrated that private corporations were emerging as important supporters of the national arts, pushing the traditional arts into new and contested cultural domains in which the line between artistic production and commodity production had become blurred. This transformation ushered in significant changes in the classical dance aesthetics that could no longer be bounded by the past codes and conventions of classicism (Chakravorty 2008). The arrival of cable networks created a significant shift in the narratives of modernity and identity in India. Dance programs such as _Footloose_ and _Boogie Woogie_ on cable networks in the 1990s started the trend of showcasing a new kind of commercial dance genre in which Bollywood, classical, folk, rap, break, and disco were packaged for consumption by the young. These shows followed a dance competition format with jazzy sets and disco lighting and a panel of celebrity judges. For instance, in _Boogie Woogie_ (the longest running dance talent show in Indian history), Bollywood dancer, choreographer, and actor Javed Jaffrey worked as the permanent celebrity judge for the show. Here, performers as young as six or seven amused the audience with spicy numbers incorporating everything from hip hop to Kathak. There were no cash prizes for the performers, but heaps of applause from the judges and a live audience. The popularity of _Boogie Woogie_ (which ended in 2009) forged an alternative narrative of dance in India that seemed to be for everyone, both experts and amateurs, and that released Indian dance from the more austere conventions of classicism. One of the most popular shows in the NDTV empire is called _Imagine_. NDTV, launched in 1988, is one of the most esteemed television channels in India. It has a market share of around 30 percent, the highest among English-language television channels in India. In addition, it has three national news channels and has recently forayed into the infotainment sector with NDTV Imagine and NDTV Good Times. _Imagine_ featured a dance show for teaching Bollywood "item numbers" to an imagined television audience using a group of live dancers directed by the famous Bollywood choreographer Saroj Khan. In addition to the usual glamorous stage settings of reality television programs, the show had a huge icon of the dancing image of the Hindu deity, Nataraja. The merging of "item numbers" with an emblem of classical Indian dance (Nataraja) again highlights, with particular intensity, the porous boundaries of Indian dance today. Well-known images of glamorous fashion models and beauty queens now compete with traditional images of dance (i.e. of Radha, the principal consort of the god Krishna) as symbols of Indian womanhood. The ideals of youth, beauty, femininity, and modernity are part of a clarion call for a new generation of Indians who have been fed by the media frenzy of celebrity culture. The "new Indian woman" is not constructed only through beauty pageants (Rajan 1993), but represented as performing a blend of classical dances and freestyle Bollywood dances. The key to this new reconfiguration is the merging of tradition with the consumption of commodities to create a new kind of cosmopolitan subject. Thus the sensibilities of womanliness associated with the aesthetic of _sringara rasa_ (erotic emotion) in classical Indian dance is juxtaposed with the images of fashion models wearing designer clothes, accessories, and other indexes of the modern cosmopolitan woman. REMIX AND DANCE REALITY SHOWS Dance reality shows on television form a burgeoning genre of dance practice in India which fuses Bollywood freestyle with Western forms and traditional Indian dances such as classical and folk. A new aesthetics of continuous "remix" (which cross-cuts classical and folk, Bollywood dance, and other hybrid forms that exist in-between) is replacing the past codes and experiences of Indian dance (associated with _bhakti_ (devotion), _bhava_ (feeling, mood), and _rasa_ (aesthetic emotion). These shifts, in turn, index changing notions of "Indianness" and Indian national identity. Remix was originally invented by DJs mixing various musical tracks to create new hybrid forms. The "remix" genre is also associated with dance forms like break and hip hop that embrace notions of play, innovation, and mixing as they travel globally and morph into different forms (Osumare 2002). The practice of remix is now integral to Bollywood and other emerging genres such as dance reality shows. The remix genre is creating new dancing bodies that are no longer bounded by geographical boundaries or boundaries between high and low culture. In this form and practice of dance in India, high and low, classical and folk, Indian and other cultural forms come together to produce endless hybridity. I suggest that remix is the quintessential postmodern experience of pastiche, in which the lines between culture and commodity are blurred (Jameson 1991; 1998; Harvey 1989). This present condition is marked by the postmodern indeterminacy of the body, which exists in a state of flux between the experiential-subjective and objective continuum (Csordas 1994). Thomas Csordas argues that embodiment encapsulates our lived experiences of indeterminacy, where the body cannot be simply reduced to representation, or objectification of power. Nor can it be reduced to biology or individual consciousness. Body in social theory emerges as the "existential ground of culture" (1994:6). The dance reality show _Dhum Machale_ on the television channel ETV Bangla provides an example of a discursive space for the construction of new modes of dances that embody consumerist subjectivities. These dancing bodies are no longer confined to a singular notion of erotic associated with _sringara rasa_ (or erotic aesthetic emotion of the classical dances) but blur the distinction between experiencing emotion and producing commodity. Purnima Mankekar (2004) examines the role of the erotic in contemporary Indian culture. She looks at the relationship between erotics and the consumption of commodities and the reconfiguration of gender, family, caste, and nation. She details the eroticization of commodities through images, texts, billboards, television, and films in the late twentieth century that stimulate the onlooker to desire, possess, or purchase the product. She shows the conjunction between erotic desire and the desire to consume, and calls it a "commodity affect." There is a symbiotic relationship between television, films, and the production of "commodity affect" (2004:408). The pleasure of consumption is not just about acquiring something, but about gazing upon that thing and desiring to display it. Thus a new kind of subjectivity is produced: an active, sexual, consuming subject full of desires. I explore how this new kind of erotic and consumerist aesthetic desire is produced through the dance reality show _Dhum Machale_ in ETV Bangla. ETV is a Bengali-language regional television channel based in Kolkata. The show _Dhum Machale_ was launched on this channel in 2008 and continued through 2009, airing during prime time three times a week. It was designed to be a concoction of humor, dance, emotional drama, and artistic talent. The staging of the show was set up like a Bollywood event with strobe and technicolored lighting, and the backdrop used elaborate lighting designs to create the gaudy visual extravaganza of Bollywood blockbusters. The costumes were wide-ranging, and full body painting was often used for dramatic effect. The music was generally inspired by film and the songs were in either Bengali or Hindi. The presentations were short and concise, and followed the format of the "item numbers" in Bollywood. A panel of celebrity judges sat on one side of the stage, two of them well-known choreographers in the city and the third a film director. Each contestant, who was selected after many rounds of auditions, was assigned a choreographer and provided with backup dancers for choreographing the pieces. Before each dance sequence, the dancer and her or his choreographer were introduced by the host. They walked in side by side, often holding hands to the applause of a live audience. Then the camera cut to the dance sequence with the spotlight on the dancer. The dance sequences had interludes where one or two co-hosts provided comic relief, often creating a comic supertext that ran counter to the dance narrative on stage. The emphasis of the show from the very beginning was not on showcasing proficiency in one technique, but on versatility. The numbers ranged from African, jazz, Tagore, folk, hip hop, Bharatnatyam, Kathak, Bollywood, and styles that were in-between. The show had certain themes such as "street scenes," "courtesan," "cabaret," etc., and they showcased a particular choreography on a particular dancer. The song selections were chosen by the choreographers to focus on the themes. The show thus provided a televised platform for unknown dancers and choreographers who would otherwise seldom have had such an opportunity. _Dhume Machale_ arguably created a polysemy of intertextual experiences that facilitated competing emotions. The sense of time and space was multidimensional, since the show was not live, but pretended to be. It was even more confusing for me as I began watching the show in India and continued in the United States via satellite television. The television screen was just one of the frames through which I watched. The other frame was the actual stage in the television studio. On that stage, the emotional experience for the viewer ranged from being obviously contrived to being utterly spontaneous. And the most commonly contrived emotion was the collective experience of loss felt by viewers, judges, and participants alike during the elimination rounds. The importance of collective experience was emphasized in the show. The host always talked about the elimination rounds in terms of losing a family member. The dancers showed their ties to "tradition" and to the elders in society by doing _pranam_ or bowing to the stage and to the judges (as their gurus). They embraced their choreographers as if they were best friends and longingly asked the audience to vote for them. Despite the competitive nature of the show, the importance of family and friends was continuously highlighted, as the camera focused in on family members in the audience or short interviews with them during the show. At the same time, the pressures of competing and winning were obvious for the dancers and choreographers. There were interviews with them after losing a round where they spoke candidly to the television audience about the problems they faced during practice sessions and performances. Sometimes the dancers spoke about their difficulties with a particular choreographer, or the choreographer complained about an insincere participant. Altogether, the episodes were emotionally charged, and the dancers and choreographers were all playing to win. There was a viewer's choice award that was different from the actual award for the show. It was worth seven lakhs of rupees (enough money to buy a small apartment in an outer suburb of Kolkata). As one of the contestants reminded the judges and the audience after she lost in the final round, it was never about the money, but about succeeding. Desire, aspiration, and success were the key emotions of this show. The contestants came mostly from middle- and lower middle-class backgrounds and spoke about their aspirations of becoming famous. This kind of aspirational desire forms the larger emotional landscape for the new Indian youth in the market-driven economy, as William Mazarella (2003) has elsewhere discussed. Bollywood dance practice and its derivative versions showcased in the television reality show genre (such as _Dhum Machale_ ) is a potent engine for producing this new kind of desire and aspiration. New desires and aspirations molded through these dance performances on television reality shows produce new disembodied subjectivities in contemporary India. On a more fundamental level these kinds of disembodied subjectivities are connected to the "crisis of the quotidian" (Wolputte 2004:260). Accordingly, the habituations and daily routines that gave structure, routine, and continuity to experience are constantly interrupted through travel, information overload, or multitasking. Postmodernists call it the crisis of memory. A new kind of fleeting and marketed reality dominates the sensory world of the audience and the performer today with the captivating auras of success and celebrity. Dance reality shows are at the heart of these emotional dramas that are simultaneously contrived and real, and in which the pleasures of dancing are transformed into various strategies of winning and losing guided by the promise of transformation. Thus they produce a range of transitory and competing emotions that do not yet have a discursive configuration. As production values take center stage in the global circulation of dance, dance reality shows present to us the entanglement of emotion, desire, and eloquent bodies that sway precariously between morality and desire. The negative association of desire and consumerism is voiced by an Indian citizen in these words: One of the negative influences of cable is the excessive desire for consumer goods, compared to our time. People are more career-minded, but not necessarily as a result of cable. In the past the capacity to desire something was limited. Our "chaibar aasha" (capacity to desire) was limited and we asked for very little and our eagerness for wanting things was limited. Now even 10–12 year olds constantly want this and that. Their eagerness to want things is immense. (quoted in Ganguly-Scrase and Scrase 2009:154) SEXUAL POLITICS AND DANCE DESIRES Dance reality shows open up new anxieties and debates about desire, consumerism, morality, and sexuality that impact middle-class sensibilities. Much like an earlier period of nationalist discourse, women's bodies have emerged as central to these contestations, and dance reality shows such as _Dhum Machale_ , in particular, have become public battlegrounds for young women and their mothers. (Although males are also well represented in the reality show genre, my focus is only women here.) Many young women use these shows to claim a new modern identity no longer bounded by the nationalist construction of respectable women (or _bhadramahila_ ). In fact, the nationalist construction of Indian women as repositories of tradition and spiritual identity is being turned on its head by a new generation of women and men in India, who are engaged in redefining femininity (and masculinity) through the dancing of different narratives of the new Indian democracy. This became particularly evident to me during my interactions with the contestants of dance reality shows in dance classes, coffee shops, and shopping malls. Once I sat down to talk with one of the contestants in her modest living room in a not so fashionable part of South Kolkata. She was one of the youngest contestants (who were generally between 18 and 30). In her miniskirt and highlighted hair, she looked at once ambitious, well groomed, and vulnerable. Her mother came in during our conversation with tea and snacks for me, and because there was an immediate rapport between us, she felt like inviting me to lunch. The stories tumbled out from mother and daughter, and I felt both their conflicts and angst and their sense of pride and accomplishment. The mother told me in detail that her daughter was a regular participant in dance contests, and that she had won many gold medals. The dance competition on ETV, _Dhum Machale_ , was a great opportunity for her daughter to showcase her talent. But there were conflicts with the choreographer, she said, and both mother and daughter were unhappy about the choice of costumes for the show. Both of them narrated to me their embarrassment about a particularly revealing costume that the daughter had once been asked to wear – a problem that had been compounded by the fact that the string of the dress snapped during the performance. Related sentiments regarding costumes were similarly expressed by another contestant, as well as a general disapproval by university professors that she chose to be part of a commercial television show. During many of my interviews with the contestants and their mothers, I learned how the schools and colleges have been openly hostile toward these students, even going so far as to encourage other classmates to avoid their company. The sexual morality of the contestants of reality shows has been repeatedly scrutinized and questioned by academic authorities in public schools and colleges, and generally speaking, contestants and their families have been treated as corrupting influences on the academic environments of schools and colleges. In the context of this ongoing social transformation in India, Ruchira Ganguly-Scrase and Timothy Scrase observe: "The struggle to preserve middle-class culture and identity in the face of great social change highlights the way in which cultural politics is at the core of middle class opposition to neoliberal reforms and, moreover, these cultural struggles take place as much within the relative privacy of the home, as in the public sphere" (2009:152). Although this is partially true for a section of the middle classes, the narratives of these mothers and dancers actively contest these sentiments and clearly recognize the possibility of class mobility in the new economy – attitudes that were repeatedly apparent to me during my conversations not just with mothers and contestants but with producers, recruiters, and choreographers. All of them routinely expressed the importance of platforms such as _Dhum Machale_ in providing opportunities to talented young adults who were not from well-connected or rich families. Many contestants and their choreographers even pointed out that the platform had allowed them to launch their dance or acting careers. Many from the small towns saw this as an opportunity to realize their dream of buying an apartment in Kolkata or a car. One contestant's mother and grandmother both asserted that their daughter/granddaughter's life would not follow their own; according to them, the time had arrived for women to pursue their own desires. Others articulated their ambivalence about past codes of morality by explaining that those codes had denied them opportunities. Despite the fact that they did not blindly embrace the dictates of the market or uncritically celebrate commercial platforms like _Dhum Machale_ , they saw the reality television show as opening a crack in the door that might finally allow them to participate in India's future – a door that had been fully shut for them in the past. CONCLUSION This chapter has mapped the development of dance in anthropological discourses concerning Indian culture and identity. As I have argued, in the Indian context, scholars trained in postcolonial history and anthropological theory have productively analyzed forms of dance in terms of national history, identity, gender, and resistance, but have paid little attention to the impact of media and the emergence of new hybrid forms. Focusing on the Bollywoodization of Indian culture and the reformulation of Indian dance as the practice of "remix," I have tracked the emergence of new genres such as "dance reality shows." The unmooring of Indian dance from the past authoritative narratives of classicism has created new debates about cultural authenticity and middle-class respectability. The popularity of Bollywood in the global circulation of Indian dance has given rise to new genres of Indian dance and new identities of womanhood. The new generation of dancers and dance makers or choreographers has put fusion of various dance styles at the center of their identity formation. The aesthetics of "remix" has produced intercultural and intertextual bodies that are versatile and global and are not confined to any particular tradition or aesthetic. Bollywood dance practice and its derivative versions showcased in the television reality show genre such as _Dhum Machale_ are potent engines for producing these new kinds of hybrid consumerist identities. The Bollywoodization of culture has led to new career possibilities in Indian dance for middle-class and lower middle-class women. In earlier days, such dance careers were confined to hereditary practitioners and the women of exclusively elite and affluent families. The broadening of this dance context has allowed young women (as well as men) to explore new career opportunities by participating in venues like reality television shows. However, at the same time, these opportunities have also been seen as exploitative engines of the neoliberal economy that are leading to excessive desire and the erosion of morality. Thus dance reality shows are among the new public spaces in which heated narratives of gender, class, sexuality, and democracy are being brought actively into debate. One might even argue that the mushrooming Indian dance reality shows are not only changing past categories of Indian dance, but altering both past gender codes and the cultural narratives of Indian modernity at large. NOTE 1 The word intertextual is associated with postmodern culture. It denotes meaning that is formed through referencing another text or media. In Mankekar's (1999) description of the intertextual field of Indian public culture (which is also hypervisual in nature) it ranges from billboards dominating cityscapes, to novels and magazines, the proliferation of television channels and the ubiquitous presence of popular cinema. REFERENCES Allen, Matthew H. 1997 Rewriting the Script for South Indian Dance. Drama Review 41(3):63–100. Appadurai, Arjun 1997 Modernity at Large. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. 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Zarilli, Philip B. 1995 Repositioning the Body: Practice, Power, and Self in an Indian Martial Art. In Consuming Modernity: Public Culture in a South Asian World. Carol Breckenridge, ed. Pp. 183–215. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. CHAPTER 8 Yoga, Modernity, and the Middle Class: Locating the Body in a World of Desire _Joseph S. Alter_ We delude ourselves into thinking and believing that we are highly intellectual, civilized and progressive... Selfishness and self-aggrandisement are having their full sway... The idea of possession has become so deep rooted in man that in this mad race, the real man, the real soul, is completely forgotten and neglected. Mool Raj Anand, _Health Crisis Grips the Nation_ As it has developed over the past 40 years, the Bharatiya Yog Sansthan (BYS) is a predominantly urban, lower middle-class social movement designed to provide an encompassing, holistic "yogic" solution to a complex set of social, moral and psychosocial problems in modern India. As an organization with a very explicit and straightforward purpose – to promote the practice of postural yoga as a reform agenda for the development of a "traditional" Indian modernity – the history of the BYS can be analyzed to better understand the way in which postcolonial modernization has been conceptualized as a problem by a clearly defined and important segment of India's urban population. Conversely, it is possible to understand why it is that modern yoga is thought to provide a singular embodied solution to what is, by definition, an open-ended and rather disarticulated set of social, economic, and cultural problems. Yoga is a form of embodied practice that is, in many ways, iconic of globalization and the manifold mutations of meaning that are characteristic of postcolonial, postmodern transformations of culture. It is at once exemplarily "ancient" in the sense that the practice of yoga – if not in any given instance, most certainly in the "aggregate abstract" – invokes a history of philosophy in South Asia that has been several thousand years in the making. At the same time, as the example of Bikram Choudhury's Hot Yoga franchise industry, as well as retail clothing lines and yoga exercise equipment make clear, the practice of yoga has been branded, fetishized, dislocated from "India" and completely integrated into the global market economy. As a form of embodied practice, yoga is amazingly flexible. It can be made to mean and be almost anything from science and medicine – as stipulated by the Government of India – to a purely physical regimen for fitness and wellness, as will be highlighted in this chapter. But yoga can also be practiced as a form of internal alchemy, spiritual philosophy, and as a way of trying to change the nature of reality as such. Given this range of applications and the spectrum of different contexts within which these applications take shape, the academic literature on yoga cuts into the subject from different angles. Comprehensive studies of modern yoga have been published by Alter (2004; forthcoming), De Michelis (2004), Strauss (2005) and Singleton (2008). There are a number of translations of, and commentaries on, the "ur" text of yoga, Patanjali's _Yoga Sutra_ (Miller 1996; Whicher 1998), as well as studies of the "classical" literature more broadly in both modern and traditional permutations (Eliade 1969; Jacobsen 2005; Samuel 2008; Varenne 1976). David Gordon White (2009; 2003; 1998) has provided the most up-to-date and comprehensive treatments of the relationship between yoga, _Tantra_ (esoteric ritual practices), and alchemy in South Asian history. Given the phenomenal global popularity of yoga today, and the many different articulations of local practice, it is hard to imagine, but important to keep in mind, that the organizing principle of the Bharatiya Yog Sansthan is quite unique. Instead of focusing on the development of individual proficiency, skill or aptitude, members of the Sansthan are enjoined to practice yoga in public parks in order to promote and popularize basic _asana_ and _pranayama_ (breathing exercises), so that the collective practice of yoga will result in the development of healthy, moral and embodied spiritual consciousness in the population at large. To this end, the BYS mottos are "Universal Brotherhood" and " _Jio or Jivan Do,_ " which is translated into English as "Live and Enliven." Underlying these mottos and the admonition to live purposefully is a clearly articulated class-based critique of modernity, as modernity is thought to be negatively characterized by alienation, anomie, misplaced priorities, immorality, and directionless progress. Although the rhetoric of the BYS is all-inclusive and nationalistic in scope, it is a social reform movement based on priorities that emerge from the anxieties and frustrations of a specific segment of the lower middle class: small business owners, retail merchants, service sector employees and government workers in the vast network of government bureaucracies in Delhi and various regional state capitals. Social class is a framework of analysis that is problematically applied in the Indian context in part because differences based on wealth, occupation and education are categorical and extreme, but even more so because the so-called "middle class" encompasses a vast range of significant social, cultural, political and economic distinctions within the parameters of India's political economy (Rudolph and Rudolph 1987). Government census data indicates that approximately 75 percent of the population in India is poor, living on the equivalent of $2 a day, and approximately 42 percent live below a stipulated poverty line with daily incomes lower than $1.25 a day. This must always be kept in mind when talking about the "middle" class. Given dramatic economic growth, however, it is also estimated that the new middle class includes 300 million people. With 5 percent of the total population controlling nearly 40 percent of the nation's wealth, this fraction has come to be defined in terms of political power, on the one hand, and economic power, on the other (Fernandes 2006; Jaffrelot and van der Veer 2008). Clearly the designation "middle class" as it is applied to a vast urban population that represents a small fraction of a country with phenomenal disparities in wealth is something of a misnomer. In conjunction with this, the distribution of wealth among the so-called middle class covers a very large range, with 16 percent of the wealth being distributed among just 1 percent of the total population. According to the National Council of Applied Economic Research, middle-class incomes range from 35,000 rupees to 140,000 rupees and above per month, although a more calibrated range (Sengupta 1998 in Fernandes 2006:76) delineates five segments within the middle class ranging from destitute (earning 16,000 rupees and less) to very rich (earning 215,000 rupees and above). Particularly at the lower end of the spectrum, there is an important distinction between the working class and the aspiring lower middle class; a distinction based on the kind of work being done as much as on income per se (Gooptu 2001) Needless to say, income as a measure of the distribution of wealth is a crude marker of class ranking (see Deshpande 2003; Sridharan 2004), but it serves to make an important point, namely that the middle class, however "homogeneous" as a consumer demographic, reflects significant disparities, distortions and differences. What I would like to suggest is that the common interests and values that might be said to characterize the lower middle-class – education, healthcare, housing, and transportation, for example – are more clearly reflected in terms of anxieties and frustrations than in terms of goals, aspirations, and achievements. In essence, profound ambivalence is what characterizes the attitude of a vast spectrum of the urban population, especially those at the lower end of the income range. In important ways this builds on contradictions that are more endemic to the middle class as a whole. Although the BYS embodies many unique features, it reflects the historical development of Indian middle-class identity in several ways. Lila Fernandes has delineated three specific characteristics of this identity during the colonial period, each of which anticipates the Sansthan's concerns as a lower middle-class social reform movement. First, the middle class emerged as a function of modernity and in relation to modern institutions – English-language education, professional employment, and vested interest in the politics of the state – rather than through a gradual "organic" transformation of traditional elites. Second, the new middle class came into being based on "an emerging set of political claims of public representativeness that this group made within the realm of democratic civic life" (Fernandes 2006:2). Third, and perhaps most directly relevant here, the middle class defined itself, in terms of a politics of distinction, in opposition to the colonial state on the one hand, and as different from and yet able to represent marginalized groups on the other. As Fernandes points out, along with various differences within the spectrum of this particular social demographic, what might be called the "dependent derivative distinctiveness" of the middle class manifested itself in terms of "uncertainty and contradiction" on various levels of both rhetoric and activism. Without trying to precisely delineate who constitutes the lower middle class in terms of absolute criteria such as level and language of education, occupation, and income, they are, in most general terms, the target consumer of Tata Motor's new Nano – "the people's car." This car was priced at a mere 115,000 rupees (US$2,400) at the time of its market debut in 2009, and is designed to provide the "masses" – who have been recklessly driving motorized two wheelers – with an affordable, economical, and perhaps somewhat larger and "safer" four-wheeled alternative. In 1967 when the Bharatiya Yog Sansthan was founded, "middle class" was most certainly a misnomer – as it had been throughout the nineteenth century – but class dynamics in the Nehruvian planned economy were somewhat more straightforward and scaled back than they are now. In a word, income distribution within the middle class was far less extreme, and the economic focus was on planned production rather than free market consumption. Anyone who has had the pleasure of owning a vintage 1958 Ambassador, manufactured by the erstwhile state enterprise Hindustan Motors – and virtually the only car on the road for the duration of all five-year plans – will immediately appreciate both the nature and the extent of the difference, and yet also appreciate the degree to which both the Ambassador and the Nano, like the middle class itself, incarnate, unto themselves – but more so in relation to one another – comparable contradictions, paradoxes and ambiguities. The story of the BYS fits into this historical space, a space that is defined by the moral problem of consumption, consumerism, and industrial market production. While the invocation of iconic automobiles combines irony and pathos, if not also nationalist nostalgia, it is analytically purposeful rather than simply descriptive since the change from Ambassador to Nano defines a trajectory of progress that parallels the development of a lower middle-class attitude toward modernity at large. In most general terms this attitude – which will be fleshed out below – may be characterized as a profound sense of embodied anomie and visceral ambivalence with respect to the relationship between things of cultural value and modern material things which are signs of distinction. What is at issue here is certainly not categorical antipathy toward progress, development and prosperity; rather, as the epigraph shows, it is a broader sense of disaffection with regard to the way in which forms of progress, development and prosperity are experienced and incorporated into one's sense of being in the world. One's sense of being in the world is a problem that the Bharatiya Yog Sansthan has addressed in terms of health in general, but more specifically with reference to a set of embodied practices that are designed to bring about social reform. However utopian it may seem, the BYS is the nominal, institutionalized designation for a social movement that takes shape in public urban parks when lower middle-class men and women engage in an hour-long routine of structured _asana_ and _pranayama_. Full stop. That is it. Beyond this, the Sansthan has developed into a formal organization with institutionalized structures, but it is still conceptualized as a noncommercial, public, decentralized, nonhierarchical organization that can solve a spectrum of social, moral and political problems through structured action, incremental growth, and personal transformation. The structure and function of the organization is simple, and based on a model established by the founders in 1967. One person teaches another person how to do yoga. This person teaches others, and continues to practice with those he or she has taught or from whom he or she has learned. As in the first instance, which took place in a park near Delhi University, teaching and practice is done in urban parks between 5 and 6 a.m. and is designed to attract public attention. As more and more people "join" – membership is not registered, since the ideal of open public inclusiveness is taken quite literally – they break off, "colonize" new, uncharted urban spaces, and begin to teach and practice in an ever expanding network of parks. Since 1967 this network of _yog sadhan kendra_ has expanded from one to 1,800 locations in more than 25 cities throughout India. The practice of _asana_ and _pranayama_ every morning by "hundreds and thousands" is meant to establish a way of living and being in the world that provides a solution to the manifold problems of modernity at large, and consumer-oriented desire in particular. Since 1967 the BYS has become more institutionalized and bureaucratic. However, this has taken a very specific and limited form. Yog sadhan kendras function as community and neighborhood level organizations that sponsor and coordinate "camps," thematic day-long workshops, and, less often, educational tours to ashrams and yoga retreats in the Himalayas (see Alter 2008). Although religious teachers are often called on to give lectures at camps and workshops, the BYS defines itself as nonsectarian; as concerned with spirituality and moral well-being rather than with religion as such. To facilitate the further growth and development of _yog sadhan kendras,_ the BYS publishes a quarterly magazine, _Yog Manjari_ – yoga in bloom. The content of the magazine reveals a great deal about the BYS as a social reform movement and will be examined in detail below. Whereas the magazine has been published since 1968, a second manifestation of bureaucratic institutionalization is found in a more recent "bricks and mortar" campaign to establish a massive yoga university in Delhi. This has been partially realized in the construction of a large, eight-story office cum convention complex in Rohini, one of the many new development areas in the western part of the city. Although the BYS "convention center" in Rohini represents the geometric growth of the movement, and a massive expansion of the modestly appointed three-room office facility in Shalimar Bagh, the expansion is largely in terms of scale and scope. As such it reflects certain contradictions and paradoxes in the project as a whole, but the new industrial size of the complex does not signal any change in philosophy, which remains focused on people doing yoga together, and the calculus of 1 + 1 incremental growth. Within the expanding range of activities and facilities, what is most noteworthy about the BYS as a social movement is the consistently clear and elaborate relationship that is articulated, in both rhetoric and action, between philosophy, practical morality, and physical fitness. Although BYS rhetoric is often reductively simple with respect to goals and methods – practice yoga to promote mental and physical health – articles in the quarterly magazine, all of which are written by members, reflect rich, complicated and conflicted engagements with consumerism and modernity. Invariably, these problems – of desire, distinction and difference – are thought to be resolved through the embodied practice of _asana_ and _pranayama_. In a manifesto entitled _Health Crisis Grips the Nation: Analysis and Solution_ written 10 years after the BYS was founded, Mool Raj Anand clearly articulates central themes, connecting middle-class aspirations and consumerism to bio-moral problems. "By any yardstick the present state of affairs cannot be considered progress or civilization. The reverse is obviously the truth. We are going from bad to worse and becoming more and more unhealthy, uncivilized brutes and animalistic" (1977:7). While undoubtedly inspired by the crisis rhetoric of Emergency Rule, Anand's vitriol is rooted in a larger critique of post-Independence development and is directed against a moral economy of self-serving consumption and the markets – and free marketers – that feed desire by producing refined goods that brutalize, corrupt and intoxicate: "innumerable factories of unlimited size, mostly producing armaments, artificial beauty aids, highly sophisticated luxury goods... cannot be termed as symbols of civilization and progress... They are heartless, merciless and have dead conscience. Their aim is to exploit, plunder, and make material gains in the name of progress" (1977:7). Needless to say, the "highly sophisticated luxury goods" that were available in India in 1977 were limited and produced within the strictures of a planned socialist economy. In light of this, the free market supply and demand liberalization of the past two decades would be viewed by Anand – who criticized political Independence as covert enslavement – as a pathetic postcolonial end game of exploitation, plunder and animalistic self-brutalization. While Anand is explicitly critical of free market economic exploitation, and abides by a socialist ideal of equality, his real concern is with morality and ethical reform, not money, labor and class struggle. His goal is to work against consumption, as an ethic of consumption animates and impacts the middle class. Consumption, as the BYS views it, involves a combination of abstract desire for material things in general and a more literal internalization of things as such. It is with reference to the lateralization of consumption that the body is most directly implicated. "The idea of possession has become so deep rooted in man that in this mad race, the real man, the real soul, is completely forgotten and neglected. Our bodies which are the temple of God have been converted into dustbins... and subjected to [the] greatest violence man has ever known" (Anand 1977:5). Along these lines, it is no exaggeration to say that from the perspective of the BYS, anxiety about the moral consequences of modernity is somaticized. Wealth leads to consumption; consumption to anxiety; and anxiety to alienation, stress, distress and poor health. Reversing this logic, health reform is a means by which the body can work against a central imperative of modernity and restore the moral wealth of healthy poverty. "Unlike suicidal millionaires who toss and turn on one-foot deep Dunlop pillows [a popular brand of mattress]... there are persons dressed in rags, living in thatched cottages, sleeping even on bare floors [who] are healthy in body and mind" (Anand 1977:11). A cynic might justifiably say that hitching its wagon to the horse of yoga enables the middle-class member of the BYS to have its cake, let "them" (those who are really poor) eat cake, and say you should not eat it too – but there is a way in which yoga physical philosophy does more than somaticize a rhetoric of penury and romanticize the virtue of poverty. No small part of this is because yoga physical philosophy can be enacted by the lower middle class as a distinctly "traditional" articulation of modernity in India that cuts through all differences of class, status and community to produce a common experience that is alternative to the soulless imperative of free market growth and prosperity. Key to the delimited success of the BYS is the creed of "universal brotherhood" which speaks directly to the underlying social dynamics of generic group cohesion, but has nothing whatsoever to do with yoga physical philosophy per se. However, the idea of shared group values and cooperation is directed against self-aggrandizement and greed, and the ethical principles of collective action build on what are essentially personal virtues and individual character traits that draw on yoga philosophy and are operationalized in the regimen of practice. Those features of "traditional" yoga philosophy that are directly relevant to the construction of an alternative modernity are understood in terms of practical ethics and bio-morality. Drawing on a very common hagiography of yogic ideas, the BYS places a great deal of emphasis on the application of _yama_ and _niyama,_ the first two limbs of the "eight limbed" _ashtanga_ scheme whose delineation is often attributed to the sage Patanjali. Regardless of their actual antiquity, _yama_ and _niyama_ are taken to define very specific ways of being in the world, and have been reworked in numerous articles and essays in _Yoga Manjari_ to have particular relevance for middle-class individuals who are at odds with, or ambivalent about, the priorities of free market modernity. _Yama_ and _Niyama_ are interesting and important precisely because they blur the lines between morals, ethics, spirituality, hygiene and health, and because they establish a framework for being in the world that is reinforced through the regular practice of _asana_ and _pranayama_ as a direct extension of encompassing disciplinary practices. _Yama_ includes five bio-moral principles: nonviolence, truth, not stealing, control of one's senses, and greedlessness. _Niyama_ builds on these principles with an explicit focus on self-discipline, and encompasses five principles: cleanliness, contentment, austerity, spiritual self-reflection, and surrender of the self to god. In both _yama_ and _niyama_ the body is directly implicated in what are often regarded as simply ethical or moral questions, thus making the observance of these principles a holistic and intimate visceral exercise rather than a disarticulated abstract adherence to a set of idealized rules. While each principle is regarded as important, the BYS places special emphasis on those features that have become directly relevant to the problems of modernity – the problem of violence, the problem of sensuality, the problem of greed, the problem of honesty, and, most broadly, the problem of bio-moral contamination, for which it offers procedures for both internal and external self-purification. An examination of how each of these is reflected in the literature of the BYS anticipates the way in which _asana_ and _pranayama_ are conceptualized as the means by which to completely somaticize yoga philosophy and establish new coordinates for well-being, albeit within confines and constraints long established by the "protestant ethic" and the "wealth of nations." Very often the BYS editorial board publishes special theme issues, the themes almost always drawing directly from delineations of _ashtanga_ yoga, or else highlighting pervasive societal problems for which yoga is thought to provide answers. Volume 26, no. 1, of _Yog Manjar,_ published in the second quarter of 2003, is a special issue devoted to "Nonviolence." Significantly, the issue contains an editorial that frames the problem of violence in terms of interpersonal relations, embodied feelings, and physical acts. This is followed by an article by the general secretary of the BYS on the meaning and practical application of nonviolence in everyday life. The body of the magazine is filled with a dozen articles focusing on specific features of nonviolence, most of which are concerned with ancillary problems of anger, frustration, competitiveness and pride. Characteristically, there are an equal number of articles in the special issue outlining forms of _asana_ and _pranayama_ that promote health and help in the development of comprehensive nonviolence. One article explicitly points out how nonviolence can be embodied and thereby enacted as a way of being in the world. "In today's world of self-gratification, physical health has declined along with mental health and emotional balance... Our bodies produce a number of different kinds of acid; when one or the other kind increases, the result is imbalance and the person becomes angry... _Asana_ restore physical and emotional balance" (Sayni 2003:34). A special issue on "Truth," published in the second quarter of 2004, does not focus as much on questions of gross embodiment as do some others, but it clearly frames the problem of being honest in terms of a subtle yogic critique of modernity at large. S. C. Dutta, a regular English-language contributor to _Yog Manjari_ , focuses on the way in which the three _guna_ (strands of nature) – _sattva_ (purity), _rajas_ (passion), and _tamas_ (ignorance) – "contaminate our desires" and "steep us in a quagmire of sensory gratification and illusion." The _guna_ permeate our consciousness and animate our minds with feelings of lust, anger, avarice, ignorance and vanity. "These five enemies are always prowling in the wilderness of _sansar_ to catch their game. In this _bhavsagar_ – worldly ocean – these sharks, whales and crocodiles are devouring the human beings. To go across the ocean of life and death, divine virtues like compassion, non-violence, truth, innocence, purity and selfless devotion alone can come to our rescue" (Dutta 2004:10). The point here is that modernity is understood to be a unique manifestation of the "wilderness of reality," and that yoga in general – and truth in particular – inculcates the means by which to escape the quagmire of sensory illusion that implicates human experience in reality as such. A special issue dealing with the problem of "Acquisitiveness and Greed," published in the third quarter of 2005, builds directly on the logic of yoga philosophy in general by emphasizing the inherent value of renunciation and simplicity and the importance of satisfying basic needs rather than feeding desire. One article focuses on the specific relevance of this principle to the contemporary situation: "In the materialistic world of today even our mental condition has become dependent on materialist concerns and interests. Anxiety, stress and mental illness have increased dramatically. The shadow of emotional distress afflicts the body in the form of many diseases such as depression, hypertension, peptic ulcers, diabetes and cancer" (Singh 2005:10). _Yama_ in general, and a regimen of practice based on the virtue of "greedlessness" in particular, functions as a critique of modern materialism with a concern for health reform. Echoing the sentiments of Mool Raj Anand writing in 1977, the picture on the front of the 2005 special issue shows a man in deep distress, chained and handcuffed to gold coins, a flat-screen TV, a cellphone, computer, and a neat suburban house (and, somewhat more enigmatically, to a stretch limousine and an executive helicopter). Most significantly, the radical antimaterialist rhetoric of the BYS cuts to the heart of middle-class consumerism, but does not take shape as a dogmatic, ideological appeal for extreme austerity. After all, the BYS attracts urban, middle-class men and women who are not, in any meaningful sense, aspiring to live "like sages in the forest." They aspire to an English education for their children, among other things. Many of them will end up buying a Tata Nano. Nevertheless, as a critique of consumerism, _aparigraha_ (nonpossessiveness) is taken to heart because of the way in which an attitude of greedlessness, renunciation and austerity is embodied. Whether greed is manifest in terms of actual patterns of consumption – desire for a Nano or a three bedroom flat in Noida – is not nearly as important as how greed in the abstract is dealt with as an individual problem of well-being in a context where materialism is an issue of public health. In conjunction with the problem of desire is an ancillary dynamic of class distinction and relative wealth, which is where the problematic misnomer of middle-class uniformity becomes a key issue. The sociological dynamics of upward mobility are structured by greed – cloaked in various euphemisms – and the class dynamics of this involve a constant quest for competitive advantage on many fronts that include cultural and "real" capital: education, training, certification, promotion, migration, and lucrative investments, among other things. Competitive advantage is reflected in patterns of consumption, a fact that is now dramatically visible in urban India (Derné 2008). Although it is not addressed directly in the BYS literature, the embodiment of greedlessness provides a way to become reconciled to the fact that desire can never be fulfilled and invariably produces disappointment, except in those rare instances in the "class struggle" where greed reaches its absolute limit, and manifests itself as a near perfect illusion. What the BYS provides is a way to inhabit a world of desire by focusing on the inherent materialism of the body, and – clichéd as it sounds – on the wealth that is reflected in good health. Here an ethnographic anecdote provides an illustration. The man who coordinates the activities of the yog sadhan kendra in Nehru Park in South Delhi is a pharmacist. I got to know him quite well during the course of several months when I joined him and a small group of others – a travel agent, a security officer with the Criminal Investigation Department, several men who worked in a ministry office near the Lok Sabha, and a woman from a nearby residential colony who came with her unmarried daughter – for the hour-long routine of _asana_ and _paranayama_ every morning at 6 a.m. Learning that I was traveling to the Himalayas, the pharmacist became very excited about the prospect that I would be able to locate and collect twigs from a specific species of high-altitude tree that he had heard made an excellent natural substitute for both standard Colgate brand toothpaste and toothbrushes, and also provided – or so he was told – a healthy alternative to the more astringent _neem_ twigs commonly available from most dry goods retailers. His interest in the twigs was defined by the intersection of a welter of consumer options – Ayuvedic, Unnani, herbal, and "standard" – with which he, as a pharmacist, was all too familiar; and by the fact that he placed value on the health benefits of something that was not a commodity in the branded and commercialized world of his day-to-day enterprise. That he valued the twigs in question did not in any sense mean that he did not, at the same time, invest considerable time and energy in being a successful retail pharmacist, selling, among other things, Colgate toothpaste to his middle-class customers. The value of bio-morality is nowhere more clearly expressed than in _brahmacharya_ , the control of one's senses and the practice of celibacy. On the one hand celibacy is understood, fundamentally, in terms of the inherent return on investment value of semen and female generative fluids. In a special issue devoted to this aspect of _yama_ , Dr Nilima, writing in English, points out: "Semen and female generative fluid exist in the body like butter in milk, oil in oil seed, sweetness in sugar and fragrance in flower. By preservation of semen, the body develops a sweet odor. When not destroyed, it mixes in blood and spreads all over the body. This produces radiance, strength, brightness, intelligence and all signs of youthfulness" (2006:13). On the other hand, seemingly mundane – and to some extent involuntary – actions and activities take on moral significance in relation to maintaining celibacy. Constipation and indigestion are linked to the moral problem of sensuality. Dr. Nilima points out, for example, that one should not eat food in excess, not eat stale food, abstain from tea and coffee, and "avoid drinking hot milk before going to bed as it causes wet dreams and semen loss." Following this injunction he points out that "one should urinate and wash one's hands, face and feet before going to bed." While prescriptions for maintaining celibacy might seem rather odd and enigmatic with reference to the logic of sensual modernity, they fall into place when understood with regard to the structure of yoga physiology as articulated by the BYS, often drawing on either the Ayurvedic literature or else elements of classical Samkhya philosophy. The editorial in the special issue on _brahmacharya_ makes this immediately clear by framing the problem of sensuality and balanced control of the senses in terms of a discussion of the 11 sensory "instruments" of the body. The terminology used in the editorial follows the logic of Samkhya delineation, referring to the five _jnana indirya_ (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and skin), the five _karma indriya_ (voice, hands, feet, anus, and genitals) and _manas_ (mind). As such, the _indriya_ are both sense organs and the intrinsic capacity of the organs to sense and make sense of the world that is external to the self. From the vantage point of yoga, sensory perception necessarily requires restraint, and restraint per se maps onto the body with reference to the organs of perception. In other words, celibacy is not, by any means, simply a function of behavior on the one hand and thoughts on the other; it is all 10 forms of sensory perception in between action and the mind. Consequently, it makes perfect sense – so to speak – that the special issue on celibacy has a short essay entitled "I am your tongue," in which the author, Dr Ramesh Kumar, speaks to the many ways in which this "sensory organ" – which tastes the flavor of Colgate, _neem_ twigs and less astringent things – is implicated in health (R. Kumar 2006). While the thrust of the discussion in the special issue on celibacy is sensory control in the abstract, it is linked to the problem of desire for things, and the desire for sensory gratification in modernity. As Krishna Kumar puts it in an article on regimen and practice, "Today's environment is especially threatening. City life is so overstimulating that every step presents a new and more difficult challenge" (K. Kumar 2006). While the articles and editorials in _Yog Manjari_ provide a clear perspective on the philosophical orientation of the BYS, the organization is not really concerned with the construction or programmatic articulation of a distinct and discrete worldview. Historically linked to the nationalist Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, it would be simplistic and inaccurate to conflate the BYS with the RSS, or conclude that the former is concerned only with a specific – and perhaps covert – expression of Hindutva ideology. As I have pointed out elsewhere (Alter 2004), the RSS has a rather ambivalent attitude toward the practice of yoga and the embodiment of bio-morality, being much more concerned with clearly articulated forms of masculinity in sports and martial arts. Although inspired by certain elements of RSS ideology (see Alter 1997), the BYS has evolved into an organization that is more concerned with a particular form of class struggle with modernity, and with health, than with nationalism per se. Another way of putting this, quite simply, is that the BYS is much more directly concerned with a biology of moral reform than with an ideology of "Hindu" virtue, even though the "biology" in question invokes the authority and relevance of Vedic _shastras_ (technical knowledge) and a range of Sanskrit sources. Obviously there are many discernable biases and problems with the way in which members of the BYS come to view the world, and to focus in this chapter on the body as the locus of social reform is by no means an attempt to contrive an apologist perspective on the historical fact that many of the founding members were militantly pro-Hindu. However, by locating the body at the center of a struggle over the problem of desire, this lower middle-class organization enables its members to feel as though they are part of an organization that does, in fact, establish the means by which to establish a healthy "universal brotherhood." The means to this end is the daily morning practice of _asana_ and _pranayama_ in public parks. The sequence of _asana_ and _pranayama_ is clearly delineated and members quickly learn each posture and exercise as part of a set. Typically members spread out a plastic groundsheet and blanket in rows and columns oriented toward the group leader, and perform the routine in "drill" formation. What matters is the experience of embodied practice, and, in particular, the collective social action of a group of people doing yoga together. _Asana_ and _pranayama_ restore individual health and well-being, but also orient the body toward modernity in a way that mitigates problems of desire, violence, greed, sensuality, stress, anger, and frustration, among other things. To this end, approximately half of the articles in each issue of _Yog Manjari_ detail the technique for performing a specific _asana_ or _pranayama_ and explain the particular benefits in relation to a spectrum of stated or implied problems. _Makrasana_ , one of the sequences of prone postures, involves laying flat on one's back with arms outstretched and knees bent. As both knees are brought down to the ground together on one side of the body, the head and neck are twisted in the opposite direction while keeping the shoulder blades flat to the floor. This gives the spine an axial twist along its whole length. In addition to "curing diabetes" and "normalizing blood pressure," the mechanics of the _asana_ "prevent constipation" and have "a beneficial effect on the abdominal muscles and the colon" (Ram 2004:17). _Halasana_ , which is near the end of the prone posture set, involves laying flat on one's back and then lifting one's legs up, over and behind one's head, while keeping feet and legs together and one's head and shoulders flat on the ground. As the spine is bent and the back muscles stretched, "one is absolutely relieved of fatigue. Body gets relaxed and doubly energized... Due to the flow of blood to the face, it gains an extra luster. The pressure on the throat improves the function of the vocal cord...Since the internal organs are pressed, they get strengthened. Due to the impact on the pancreas, diabetes is cured. It gives relief in gastric trouble and constipation" ( _Yog Manjari_ 2005) _Agnisar pranayama_ , a breathing exercise, involves sitting in a lotus posture with one's hands on one's knees, and spine and neck erect. Breathing in and holding one's breath, a _mool bandh_ is applied by contracting the sphincter and the muscles of the perineum. While maintaining _mool bandh_ , exhale and relax the abdomen. Then draw the root of the navel back toward the spine. When the limit of this motion has been reached, extend the navel and abdomen outward, before drawing the root of the naval back inward again in a sequence that stimulates the abdominal organs. This exercise helps to reduce abdominal obesity, cures constipation and strengthens the action of _apana pran_ which "helps in the proper excretion of waste matter" ( _Yog Manjari_ 2004a) _Mayurasana_ provides a good example of how the performance of a posture orients the body toward a specific, albeit mundane, problem of modernity: overeating and indigestion caused by the consumption of unhealthy, "poisonous" foods. The _asana_ technique entails supporting the full weight of the body with one's hands flat on the ground and one's elbows pressed directly into the abdomen on either side of the navel. The body is held rigid and balanced on the forearms with the legs and feet extended as the peacock's tail. Based on the logic that a peacock regularly eats poisonous snakes "[the practitioner can assimilate] even the most poisonous food... [This _asana_ ] increases appetite and reduces obesity... It eliminates worms in the abdomen... It purifies the blood [and] regulates the blood circulation, as a result of which our body becomes resplendent and lustrous" ( _Yog Manjari_ 2004b). Just as _mayurasana_ helps with the digestion of unnatural "poisonous" foods, Raj Nath Malhotra provides the following rationale for practicing _pranayama_ in the fresh morning air: Late night works/parties hangover are overcome by our _sadhaks_ by inhaling plenty of oxygen in the morning and once again becoming alert and fit for the day's work... Inhaling a good quantity of oxygen in the morning blocks the toxic fumes that we breathe daily... Most of our weight problems can be traced to emotional imbalance due to stress of life. Inhaling air filled with oxygen curbs obesity. (Malhotra 2003) Whereas _pranayama_ is concerned with inhalation and the internal manipulation of _pran_ as a mechanism of purification, _pawanamuktasana_ , which is performed roughly midway through the sequence of prone postures, completes the circle and provides an unambiguous example of how the BYS is directly concerned with the "gross" – as distinct from the subtle – physiology of desire and sensory control. _Pawanamukta_ means the release or removal of wind, and the asana causes one to pass gas by massaging the colon. By assuming a "fetal position" the sphincter muscles are relaxed and one's knees push up against the abdomen, forcing the gas out. "When the foul gas is expelled, one gets rid of uneasiness. The abdomen feels a sense of relief and disorders of the heart and lungs are alleviated. [The] productive organs are strengthened and nocturnal emission [of semen] is stopped" (Yog Manjari 2003:29). CONCLUSION While the BYS regimen has not changed from when it was first developed in 1967, there have been significant changes in India, and many of these changes are linked to patterns of consumption that have directly affected the middle class. The primary concern of the BYS with a daily routine of _asana_ and _pranayama_ has enabled the movement to easily adapt to changes in the profile of the nation's political economy, since the "solution" that embodied yoga provides is one that relates to a spectrum of social problems and changing circumstances. When it was founded, the orientation of the movement was nationalistic in the sense that those involved felt they were engaged in reform that would benefit "society" as a whole; their point of reference was, significantly, the Nehruvian economic plan for growth and development, and their critique of this plan – and its fallout – framed the practice of yoga in terms that were self-consciously national. The BYS was founded three years following Nehru's death and one year after Indira Gandhi became prime minister. As stated explicitly in the literature, the founders of the organization felt that they needed to establish a framework for living that would, in some sense, protect India from the onslaught of foreign modernity and confront the problems of modernity with solutions drawn from Indian traditions. These concerns fall into line with some aspects of the Nehruvian agenda, but the founders of the BYS were at once more Gandhian in their radical critique of modernity and unreflexively chauvinistic in claiming tradition in terms of "Hindu" ideals. In any case, the change in political leadership, while not of paramount importance unto itself, points to a larger set of political and economic crises that frame the development of postcolonial Indian modernity in terms of nationalism: the border conflict with China in 1963, the 1965 war with Pakistan – and another in 1971 – and the implementation of massive agricultural reform, among other things. In 1977, 10 years following the founding of the BYS, and in the closing months of Emergency Rule, Mool Raj Anand articulated a powerful nationalist critique of the country's bio-moral health. From the vantage point of the BYS, national political crises such as the border conflict with China and the Emergency are only important to the extent that they are symptomatic of moral problems that are at once larger and more pervasive and also much more intimately experienced. As a social movement that came into being 20 years after 1947, the BYS clearly articulates a set of distinctly postcolonial concerns about the direction of Indian independence, and, perhaps more importantly, the place of the middle class in relation to a range of changes that reflect the dynamics of Indian modernity. Although questions of nationalist pride have helped to structure the BYS, and undoubtedly remain important on a number of levels, the popular appeal of the organization has to do with the way in which it provides a means by which those who feel profoundly ambivalent about modernity – alienated, seduced, pressured, and consumed – can come to terms with their place in it. A general conclusion that can be drawn from this is especially significant in the present environment of free market liberalism where commodities such as the Tata Nano are being vigorously marketed to a "new" class of increasingly wealthy consumers. Simply put, consumption in general, and the desire to consume the wealth of goods and services that are now being produced in India, reflect a national crisis that is much more immediate, in the view of BYS members, than any war with Pakistan, and more pressing as a problem than perceived threats to Hindu traditions. Quite apart from whatever the patterns of projected consumption might portend for the masses at or below the poverty line – who will, one way or the other, have the last word – those who are members of the BYS articulate and seek to embody a profound critique of capitalism as a philosophy of life. Implicated in the social system of class – based on relations of production, wages, labor and markets – they stand apart and both voice and embody their opposition to the systematic displacement of value onto things, as this process of displacement feeds desire and undermines health and well-being. From this vantage point, the change from a closed to an open economy reflects a change in market scale, to be sure, but also changes in the nature and degree of displacement in the relationship among things, their loci of value, and the bodies of those who consume and produce commodities. While the trajectory of change in modern India is clear and unambiguous, and there are many who applaud the many examples of growth and development since the early 1990s, the BYS serves as a reminder of the many ways in which even those who are most intimately vested in the prospect and promise of modernity – and perhaps most directly those in the middle of it all – are profoundly concerned about the problem of how to inhabit a postcolonial world that is defined by nationalism and animated by capitalism. A significant number of those who fall into the lower middle class work toward a solution to this problem by means of the embodiment of value and the productive relations of social value that ensue through the performance of _asana_ and _pranayama_ in public parks. REFERENCES Alter, Joseph S. 1997 A Therapy to Live By: Public Health, the Self, and Nationalism in the Practice of a North Indian Yoga Society. Medical Anthropology 17:309–335. 2004 Yoga in Modern India: The Body between Philosophy and Science. Princeton: Princeton University Press. 2008 Yoga Sivir: Performativity and the Study of Modern Yoga. In Yoga in the Modern World: Contemporary, Transnational Perspectives. Mark Singleton, ed. London: Routledge. Forthcoming Sex and Masculinity in Modern India. New Delhi: Penguin. Anand, Mool Raj 1977 Health Crisis Grips the Nation: Analysis and Solution. New Delhi: S. R. Chawla. Derné, Steve 2008 Globalization on the Ground: Media and the Transformation of Culture, Class and Gender in India. New Delhi: Sage. De Michelis, Elizabeth 2004 A History of Modern Yoga. New York: Continuum. Deshpande, Satish 2003 Contemporary India: A Sociological View. New Delhi: Penguin. Dutta, S. C. 2004 Know Thyself. Yog Manjari 27(1):10. Eliade, Mircea 1969 Yoga: Immortality and Freedom. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Fernandes, Lila 2006 India's New Middle Class: Democratic Politics in an Era of Economic Reform. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Gooptu, Nandini 2001 The Politics of the Urban Poor in Early Twentieth-Century India. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jacobsen, Knut A. 2005 Theory and Practice of Yoga: Essays in Honor of Gerald James Larson. Leiden: Brill. Jaffrelot, Christophe, and Peter van der Veer 2008 Patterns of Middle Class Consumption in India and China. New Delhi: Sage. Kumar, Krishna 2006 Brahmacharya ki sadhana. Yog Manjari 29(2):8. 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CHAPTER 9 Tourism in India: The Moral Economy of Gender in Banaras _Jenny Huberman_ INTRODUCTION Over the last decade tourism has emerged as a leading industry in India.1 Between 1996 and 2008, foreign tourist arrivals increased from 2.29 million visitors to 5.37 million, and the foreign exchange earnings they generated rose from an estimated US$3 billion to a staggering $11.5 billion, making tourism the third largest foreign exchange earner behind the information technologies and textile industries.2 During this time, the number of domestic tourists also rose dramatically from an estimated 140.12 million in 1996 to 562.92 million in 2008.3 This increase in foreign and domestic tourism must be understood within the context of larger socioeconomic changes – coinciding, as it has, with periods of unprecedented prosperity in the global economy, the "opening of the Indian skies" and the coordinated development of new tourism circuits in India, and the steady growth of an urban Indian middle class who increasingly want to travel for "pleasure" as well as for pilgrimage (Kant 2009:24).4 This increase has also occurred alongside sustained efforts to both diversify and standardize the tourist product. With the launch of the Incredible India! campaign in 2002, the Ministry of Tourism has been actively marketing the country as a destination with "multiple" attractions and "world class amenities" (Kant 2009:24). These efforts have led to the development of a much more diverse tourist clientele. There is now an impressive range of offerings for spiritual tourists, cultural tourists, adventure tourists, medical tourists, and even commercial tourists who come to India to do business. For example, in addition to being promoted as a place for Hindu pilgrimage and "spirit seeking by Westerners," there has been a concerted effort to market India as a "Mecca" for Buddhist travelers, particularly those coming from East Asian countries such as Japan (Kant 2009:116). The state of Rajasthan has also become one of India's top tourism destinations in large part because of its ability to capitalize on the splendor of its 'exotic' and 'royal' past (Henderson and Weisgrau 2007). With the development of adventure tourism, the Himalayan regions in the north have become key destinations for trekking, mountaineering, and white-water rafting, while the beaches and canals of Kerala have emerged as one of the most highly trafficked tourist destinations in the south – supplementing Goa as a favored place for "fun in the sun." Over the last several years, the Department of Tourism has been promoting "village tourism" in the northeastern states of Uttaranchal, Ladakh, and Chhattisgarh as part of broader attempts to increase domestic tourism by developing "new experiences" and "attractions" for India's urban middle class (such as "chasing the monsoon" or having a "plantation holiday") (Kant 2009:110). Medical tourism has emerged as another significant new market. Each year thousands of tourists are offered "state of the art" facilities and "world class care" for considerably less than they would pay at home, and by 2012 the industry is projected to generate some US$2 billion (Kant 2009:166). Finally, because the fastest growing segment of the tourism market stems from business meetings and conventions held in cities like Bangalore, Delhi, Mumbai, and Kolkata, increasing efforts have been put into revamping the images of India's cities in ways that reflect a more cosmopolitan and "confident nation" (Kant 2009:112). As the tourism industry has developed over the last decade it has not only engendered new tourist places and spaces; it has also brought significant changes to the everyday lives, struggles and opportunities of many of India's citizens. In this chapter my goal is first to discuss how the scholarship on tourism in general, and on tourism in India in particular, provides a framework for analyzing these changes, and second, to argue that we can refine our understandings of the impacts of tourism in India if we pay closer attention to gender. To illustrate this latter point, I draw from my own anthropological research in the northern city of Banaras to demonstrate the pivotal role that gender plays in both structuring children's participation in the informal tourist economy and shaping the ways that city residents render the impacts of tourism meaningful. THE STUDY OF TOURISM Since the early 1970s, the study of tourism has provided scholars with a valuable entry point through which to explore processes of social change. Anthropologists, sociologists, political economists, historians, geographers, cultural studies scholars, and even social psychologists have all contributed to a vast literature on the topic. Here, I can only point to a few of the issues and debates that have framed this field of inquiry and in so doing, suggest their relevance for understanding tourism in contemporary India. Broadly speaking, the scholarship on tourism has been organized around three thematic foci: the impacts of tourism on "host societies," the motivations of tourists, and the encounters that take place between tourists and 'locals.'5 Some of the first analyses of the impacts of tourism came from geographers and anthropologists who were primarily interested in debunking the idea that tourism provides "a passport to development" (deKadt 1979). These scholars convincingly argued instead that the global tourism industry is more aptly conceptualized as a form of "neocolonialism," since it perpetuates economic asymmetries and creates a "periphery" of Third World leisure destinations that benefit very little from the flows and investments of transnational capital (Britton 1980; de Kadt 1979; Jafari 1974; Matthews 1977; Nash 1989; Perez 1980; Turner 1976; Turner and Ash 1975). Subsequent scholars, working in anthropology (Palmer 1994), sociology (Bhattacharyya 1997; Mellinger 1994; Silver 1993), geography (Weightman 1987), and cultural studies (Hutnyk 1996), argued that tourism also reinscribes forms of colonial domination through its representational practices. Inspired in large part by Edward Said's critique of Orientalism, these studies demonstrated how colonial discourses of "exotic" or racialized "others" are recouped in attempts to market destinations and populations. Despite their apparent disregard for the perspectives and experiences of those who live in "host societies" (which arguably represents a discursive erasure of the ex-colonized), these kinds of approaches importantly situated the study of tourism within a larger set of critiques regarding representation, current geopolitics, and asymmetries within the global political economy. By the late 1970s and early 1980s, other anthropologists concerned with the impacts of tourism on "host societies" became increasingly interested in documenting the ways that tourism precipitates both the decline and revival of "traditional" cultural practices (Cameron 1987; Crystal 1989; McKean 1989; Pi-Sunyer 1977; Smith 1989; Stanton 1989). Some argued that tourism disrupts local ways of life, and results in "culture loss" through "the commodification" of traditional practices and rituals (Crystal 1989; Greenwood 1989). As anthropologist Davydd Greenwood proposed in his early research on tourism in Spain, the "commoditization of culture in effect robs people of the very meanings by which they organize their lives" for when a ritual "is turned into an explicit paid performance" it loses its believability (Greenwood 1989:179). Other anthropologists, however, have noted the way tourism can rescue ritual practices from the brink of extinction by providing locals with new resources and incentives. Instead of a loss of culture and tradition, therefore, they argued that tourism actually facilitates its "re-invention" (Cameron 1987). For instance, in his now classic essay on the impacts of tourism in Bali, anthropologist Phillip McKean described such processes as a form of "cultural involution." Drawing on Geertz's notion of agricultural involution, he documented the ways that tourism encouraged the Balinese "to maintain their skills as carvers, musician and dancers in order to have funds for modernization" (McKean 1989:126). From a disciplinary perspective, these studies are perhaps most interesting for what they reveal about the ways that anthropologists have conceptualized the relationships between culture, commodification and authenticity. While early scholars like Crystal and Greenwood argued that commodification threatened the authenticity and integrity of cultural systems and identities, by the 1990s, anthropologists were questioning such findings. What matters most, they came to see, is people's abilities to play an active role in decision-making processes. This, for example, was proposed by anthropologist Betty Duggan in her research with the Eastern Cherokee, in which she explored how the Cherokee have adapted their "native crafts" to suit the tastes of tourists. Because they have largely been able to control these changes, she argues, "the authenticity of these productions does not seem in doubt" (1997:31). This leads her to a more general conclusion: "An authentic culture is not one that remains unchanged, which seems impossible under any condition, but one that retains the ability to determine the appropriateness of its adaptations" (1997:31). Research on the impacts of tourism has, therefore, engaged a broader set of questions about the processes and politics of social change. The second domain of research has been largely influenced by the development of leisure studies and early anthropological work on pilgrimage and ritual. Overwhelmingly, these studies have focused on "the tourists" and "the metropolitan centers" which produce them (Boorstin 1962; Borocz 1996; Cohen 1973; 1974; Dann 1989; Dichter 1981; Graburn 1983; 1989; MacCannell 1976; 1992; Pearce 1982; Thurot and Thurot 1983), using the study of tourism as a way to pose larger questions about the relations between the spread of capitalism, patterns of consumption, and the formation of particular kinds of modern and postmodern subjectivities. Early critics, such as the historian Daniel Boorstin, argued that tourists were frivolous pleasure seekers, who, like so many other late modern subjects, were driven by a desire for contrived and sensationalized representations of reality, or what he referred to as "pseudo-events" (Boorstin 1962). This depiction was vehemently challenged by sociologist Dean MacCannell. In his seminal text, _The Tourist: A New Theory of the Leisure Class_ (1976), MacCannell famously argued that the tourist is akin to a modern day pilgrim who is driven by a quasi-sacred quest for authenticity. However, as tourist attractions are, borrowing Erving Goffman's language, notoriously "staged," and attempts to get "backstage" frequently unsuccessful, MacCannell argued that the tourist's quest for authenticity remains elusive. Although groundbreaking at the time, MacCannell's argument was also problematic. As subsequent scholars were quick to point out, not all tourists are driven by a quest for authenticity. As Maxine Feifer, for example, noted in her description of the "post-tourist," some travelers actually delight in the staged quality of tourist attractions and instead of seeking the authentic, treat tourism as a series of games with multiple texts (Feifer 1985; for further discussion of post-tourism see Rojek 1993). Alternatively, sociologist John Urry proposed that tourism results not from "a search for authenticity," but rather, "from a basic binary division between the ordinary/everyday and the extraordinary" (1990:11). Taking its departure from Foucault, Urry's work led to a sustained exploration of the ways the tourist gaze has been variously constructed across different social and historical contexts (Urry 1990; 1997) – raising important questions about when and why certain objects or places become tourist attractions, and how these attractions are constructed in opposition to everyday life. While Urry's early work prioritized "the gaze" as the dominant mode of consuming tourist attractions and places, more recently he and other scholars working within the disciplines of geography, sociology, and anthropology have begun to explore the processes by which tourist destinations and experiences are consumed, performed and continually reconstituted through embodied social practices and relations (Bærendholdt et al. 2004; Bruner 2005; Coleman and Crang 2002; Edensor 1998; 2001; Franklin 2003; Rojek and Urry 1997). Indeed, they have argued that "tourism is not so much about going places as it is about particular modes of relating to the world in contemporary cultures... it is the corporeal and social _performances_ of tourists that make places 'touristic' " (Bærendholdt et al. 2004:2). This analytic turn is promising, in part, because it also stands to broaden our conception of who is, or who can be, a tourist. In so doing, it may inspire scholars to reach beyond "the metropolitan centers" and pay closer attention to the touristic practices of people who have not been traditionally recognized as members of a mobile leisure class. As tourism involves not only relating to places but to people, the third main body of tourism research has focused on the encounters that take place between tourists and locals. Here again, anthropologists have made substantial contributions by exploring how these "contact zones" (Pratt 1992) and experiences are structured and mediated by both macro- and micro-level forces and relations (Adams 1996; Brennan 2004; Bruner 2005; Chambers 2000; Lanfant et al. 1995; Little 2004; Ortner 1999). Some anthropologists have tended to emphasize the power asymmetries that animate these encounters and the "processes by which transnational spaces distribute opportunities and inequities to the individuals who work and live within them" (Brennan 2004:17). Others have shown, on the other hand, how the identities of tourists and locals can become intimately intertwined. In her fascinating analysis of tourism in Nepal, for example, anthropologist Vincanne Adams invokes the concepts of "seduction" and "mimesis" to describe the ways Sherpas "construct their identities" in relation to the desires of Western visitors. "In this space of seduction," she explains, "among many Sherpas and Westerners one finds a conviviality of power – where both seducer and seduced agree to the obligations of reciprocal exchange, however temporary, because they share the meanings exchanged in signs and images" (1996:76). Adams's work is particularly important because it moves beyond the "authenticity debate" by challenging the idea that tourism workers, as MacCannell argued, "stage" representations for tourists, and thereby lead a life that is split between a contrived "front stage" and a more authentic "backstage."6 As Adams argues, " 'the idea of authenticity' is itself problematic; there is no more 'authentic' place of identity in a 'backstage' region, no identity that is hidden from even the most causal Western observer" (1996:76). Perhaps even more importantly, though, Adams reminds us that in order to understand the complexity of these encounters, anthropologists must not only pose questions about material and political economies, but explore the ways that economies of signs, meanings and desire animate exchanges between hosts and guests. Each of the three domains of research discussed above provide distinctive entry points for analyzing tourism as a complex social, political, economic and cultural phenomenon, and they each foreground different kinds of questions. Studies on the impacts of tourism have asked us to consider how tourism generates new forms of opportunity and exploitation, and how it leads to processes of social and cultural change. For anthropologists, this has also involved reflecting upon the ways we conceptualize and theorize these processes. Does commodification, for instance, necessarily undermine the integrity of cultural systems? Or is the perceived antimony between market forces and the coherence of cultural life based upon a particularly Western capitalist view of the world that others may not share?7 The relationship between commodification and cultural authenticity has also been a preoccupation for those interested in studying the motivations of tourists. This body of research has raised some very interesting questions about how tourists' desires, subjectivities and forms of consumption may be reflective of a larger set of socioeconomic shifts within late modern society. This research has shown that the "creative destruction" of modern capitalism can, on the one hand, lead tourists to pursue authenticity in other places and people, or alternatively, it can generate much more "playful" attitudes toward reality, representation, and truth. Finally, it may be argued that anthropological analyses of encounters between "hosts" and "guests" have made some of the most useful contributions to the study of tourism precisely because they speak to both kinds of questions. Instead of privileging one perspective, these studies ask how the lives of tourists and locals become mutually intertwined and they examine the myriad forces and relations that end up mediating their encounters. TOURISM IN INDIA The emergence of the tourism industry in India has generated a small but significant body of scholarship which has been informed by the research discussed above. Scholars have been concerned with analyzing the impacts of tourism in India, with interrogating the politics and practices of tourism, with exploring the changing motivations of tourists, and with analyzing the ways encounters unfold between tourists and locals in India. For instance, in his study of transnational counterculture, anthropologist Anthony D'Andrea explores how Pune and Goa have become nodal destinations for mobile Western expatriates seeking alternative lifestyles and expressive individualism. Focusing on the rise and popularity of the Osho International Mediation Resort in Pune, and the emergence of "Techno trance tribalism" in Goa, he shows how these towns have become cosmopolitan sites that offer expatriates new possibilities for self-realization and experimentation. As he explains, "Techno dance and New Age spiritual movements" provide these "global nomads" with a way of critiquing "modern institutional-ideological regimes" but at the same time, they generate their own "problematic contradictions and blind spots" (D'Andrea 2007:3). One such contradiction, according to ethnographer and geographer Arun Saldanha, has to do with the way race plays out in Goa's white counterculture. Having conducted fieldwork in the village of Anjuna, Saldanha argues that instead of fostering an environment of racial inclusivity, the global rave scene in Goa represents a site of interracial collision, where "stark segregation" exists between white and Indian tourists (Saldanha 2007). John Hutnyk's book _The Rumor of Calcutta_ also critically interrogates the politics and practices of Western tourism in India. Writing from the disciplinary perspective of cultural studies, he explores how Westerners, and particularly low-budget backpackers and volunteer workers hoping to serve the "city's poor," have perpetually framed the city as both a site of radical alterity and a location in which to practice Western charity. According to Hutnyk, the practices and technologies that these visitors rely upon to engage the city and its inhabitants "deserve no alibi." As he puts it, "Tourism and charity in the 'Third World' represent the soft edge of an otherwise brutal system of exploitation" (1996:ix). There is no doubt that Hutnyk's analysis makes a brilliant contribution to the literature on tourism in India and represents cultural studies at its best. However, as he is primarily concerned with making an argument about the exploitative nature of global tourism, and focuses his analysis on the ways Westerners _represent_ and perceive the city of Kolkata through a rather limited set of "perceptual technologies," his analysis fails to attend to the more complex interactional dynamics that so frequently configure tourists' experiences in India. For instance, Hutnyk has a fascinating discussion of how the trope of the market manifests itself through budget travelers' "obsessive bargaining" practices, their stingy spending habits, and their bad faith expressions of charity (1996:68). However, he fails to consider (and again, his analytic provides little room for doing so), how the trope of the market also influences tourists' perceptions of themselves, and leads tourists to continually complain that they are "being treated as commodities" or "walking dollar signs." Without paying attention to this dynamic, it is virtually impossible to adequately understand and analyze the experiences of budget travelers in India. Nor does Hutnyk explore how the representations and rumors perpetuated by Western visitors are received, appropriated or challenged by the people whom they go to "serve." By contrast, in his ethnography of the boatmen of Banaras, anthropologist Assa Doron demonstrates how tourism workers can actively manipulate touristic representations to their "own advantage." While he, too, recognizes the "uneven power relations" that animate interactions between hosts and guests, he suggests that they do not entail "the passivity and subordination of locals" (2008:164). Similarly, my own research, which also derives from the city of Banaras, has explored the various strategies employed by children in their efforts to earn money from foreign tourists. In particular, it has examined how the children who work as guides and peddlers along the city's famous riverfront attempt to augment their earnings by playing upon tourists' fears, anxieties, and desires for personal recognition (Huberman 2006; 2008). Such examples not only raise questions about what exactly is being consumed by tourists, but also suggest that the object of consumption, whether it be a "charitable" experience or an intimate encounter, is often produced through the convergence of multiple forms of value. This is something that David Geary has addressed in his research on the development of the Buddhist circuit in Bodh Gaya (2008; 2009) in which he clearly shows how Buddhism has generated a new spiritual and material economy for the state of Bihar. Exploring both the spatial politics of heritage sites, and the ways that different forms of value and capital converge in their production, he explains that the "branding" of Buddhism in Bihar has been accomplished through "new financial partnerships and technical collaborations with foreign governments such as the United States and Japan" (Geary 2009:167). In fact, one of the main motivations behind the campaign, he points out, has been to attract a growing market of Japanese tourists who are increasingly characterized as "less workaholic and more leisure-oriented" (2009:172). Through her research on the Periyar Tiger Reserve in Thekkady, Kerala, anthropologist Tapoja Chaudhuri also demonstrates how tourism development in India involves a complex conjuncture of global and local forces, and multiple forms of capital. Heralded as the only "success model" of the Indian Eco-Development Project, Chaudhuri examines how the Reserve generates a "distinct universe" of social networks and alliances ranging from local level community participants and bureaucrats, to state actors, to global institutions such as the World Bank and Global Environmental Facility. In her analysis, Chaudhuri pays particular attention to the way "fictive kinship" and "emotional attachment" become "active tropes in building commitment towards protecting natural resources" (2009:3). In so doing, she again draws attention to the ways tourist attractions may be produced and sustained through sentimental as well as economic "investments." Finally, in a recent collection of essays edited by Carol Henderson and Maxine Weisgrau, a number of anthropologists and historians have contributed to the study of the heritage industry in Rajasthan. These scholars have explored how the heritage industry has generated new contests over resources and representations, and have argued that in the case of Rajasthan, the emphasis on royalty as it is embodied by the "romantic Rajupts" has "obscured other groups, sites, cultures and identities from being represented" in accounts of the present and past (Edensor 2007:xvii). As Henderson and Weisgrau note, "That which was once locally and proudly heralded as 'modern' is now bulldozed to create an imagined vision of the past, as occurred in Rajasthan's state capital of Jaipur in 2000, with the destruction of retail stalls in the city centre to restore its 'old' look" (Henderson and Weisgrau 2007: xxx). While these scholars are deeply concerned with the ways that tourism generates new forms of essentialism and Orientalism, they also draw attention to how such representations become active sites for contestation and ambiguity. In fact, many of the essays explore how local people "use tourism to (re)present themselves, wield political influence, acquire status, make money and shape tourist space" (2007:xix). At the same time, these authors are not at all blind to the limits of such maneuvers, emphasizing that tourism in Rajasthan has led to very uneven economic development and has generated a "dual economy" that vividly displays the disparities between the tourists and the "toured." A further contribution of the volume is that many of the essays are focused on domestic tourism, which, prior to Tim Edensor's 1998 _Tourists at the Taj_ , received little attention from anthropologists. As such, they raise some timely questions about how India's growing middle class is appropriating tourism as a practice to produce and define their class identity in new ways. Clearly, all of these studies demonstrate how tourism is changing life within contemporary Indian society, and how these changes may be approached from a variety of analytic perspectives. However, there remains little discussion of the ways gender influences these changes.8 This is significant, I argue, because as tourism scholars elsewhere have pointed out, gender norms often play a central role in mediating the changes precipitated by tourism (Swain 1989; 1995). As such, the neglect is more than a topical oversight; it may actually preclude more refined understandings of the impacts of tourism in India. In the following account, taken from my fieldwork in the city of Banaras, I discuss some of the ways gender norms both structure children's participation in the informal tourist economy and influence how residents of the city render the impacts of tourism meaningful. TOURISM IN BANARAS: EN-GENDERING CHANGE Located in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh along the gently curving banks of the Ganga River, Banaras has long been a popular destination for foreign travelers. In the mid-sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the town attracted merchants and explorers who were variously awestruck, inspired, and revolted by the religious spectacles and "idolatry" they witnessed (Eck 1993). By the end of the eighteenth century and throughout the nineteenth, when the city was officially under British rule, Banaras, and its riverfront in particular, came to be regarded as one of the "must see" destinations on "the standard traveler/tourist route" (Cohn 1996:6), and was even heralded as India's "most picturesque city" (Caine 1890). With the counterculture movement of the 1960s and 1970s, Banaras emerged as a popular destination for "hippie" and "shoestring" travelers. Many of these travelers preferred to rent houseboats on the riverfront rather than reside in the city's upscale tourist hotels located in the Cantonment Area. However, since the mid-1980s, as a second wave of low-budget tourists have been backpacking their way through India, the area surrounding the riverfront of Banaras has become increasingly developed. Instead of renting houseboats, tourists now have access to a plentiful array of inexpensive riverfront lodging, as well as shops and restaurants which cater specifically to the tastes and desires of this foreign clientele. The development of the foreign tourism industry in Banaras has precipitated changes in the physical, social and economic organization of the city. My research focuses on the children who live near the riverfront and who have entered the informal tourist economy. In the year 2000, I went to Banaras to begin studying the children who work as unlicensed peddlers and guides near Dasashwamedh Ghat, which is one of the most highly trafficked landings along the riverfront. Most of the girls and boys who do this work are between the ages of seven and fourteen. They peddle postcards, souvenirs, tea, and _diyas,_ the small floating candles that are sold to both pilgrims and tourists as offerings to the goddess Ganga Ma. In many cases, boys also earn money through guiding and commission work which involves taking tourists around the city and escorting them to various shops and restaurants in the bazaar. Though the caste affiliation of these children is varied, most of them come from the _mallah_ , or "boatman" caste. Their fathers and kinsmen usually work as hired oarsmen, earning between 50 and 100 rupees a day (US$1.20–2.60), but they sometimes own their own boats, employing others to take passengers out for them. In many families, mothers also generate income by selling garlands to pilgrims or by working as domestic servants in middle-class homes. From the time I began my research, I encountered foreboding narratives about the way that foreign tourism is "ruining" these children. As I was repeatedly told, "Children go bad from doing this work"; "They earn too much money in this line"; "They become attached to goods in the bazaar"; "They become greedy"; "They become arrogant and stop respecting their parents." Thus, initially, these responses suggested an unequivocally grim view of the corrosive impacts of tourism. However, what I ultimately came to realize is that such concerns do not apply to girls and boys in the same way. Indeed, most of the time, girls are spared these charges of corruption, and instead of being criticized for these "vices," they are often praised for their virtue. How are we to account for these differences? Girls serve One place to start is by looking at the way the lives of girls and boys are shaped by very different gender norms and expectations, which not only present girls and boys with different practical limitations and opportunities, but directly influence the ways in which they perform their roles and render their actions meaningful. As Leela Dube has observed, "Pre-pubertal girls can generally play with boys and other girls on streets and in parks, courtyards, and other open spaces." Moreover, in "poorer sections of the population," they often work outside of the home. However, with the onset of puberty girls are usually withdrawn from the labor market, and prohibited from playing with boys in public spaces (Dube 2001:108). Sylvia Vatuk suggests that this is because in Hindu India, "concern about how daughters turn out ( _nikalna_ )" primarily centers upon their "sexual purity" (1990:77). "In most cases," Vatuk concludes, "the purity of girls is preserved by imposing "strict restraints on their freedom of movement and by close supervision of their associations and activities" (1990:77). This observation clearly applies to the girls who work on the riverfront. By the time they reach the age of twelve or thirteen and are considered sexually mature ( _say_ ā _n_ ā _)_ and hence sexually corruptible, they are withdrawn from the ghats and prohibited from continuing this work. As I was repeatedly told, "girls are the honor of the house; if something happens to them, it is a disgrace for the whole family." Moreover, even when prepubescent girls do work on the riverfront, they are subject to strict forms of spatial discipline and a kind of surveillance with which boys do not have to contend. Girls are almost always confined to selling their goods on the ghats where they are surrounded by the watchful eyes of kinsmen and neighbors. This restricted mobility, in turn, translates into restricted earnings by preventing girls from participating in the far more lucrative enterprises of guiding and commission work. Thus, if girls do not fall prey to criticisms of "excessive spending," "self-indulgence," or developing "attachments to goods in the bazaar," as boys so frequently do, it is, at least in part, because they have neither the means nor the opportunities to do so. They also avoid these criticisms because of the different ways they imbue their work with meaning. For example, girls frequently legitimate their presence on the riverfront by emphasizing that desperation, not desire, has brought them to the ghats. As one young female postcard peddler remarked, "Some people work because it is their hobby and others work because they have no choice. I didn't do it as a hobby. I did it because there were troubles at home." In this regard, the challenge for these girls is not just, as Bourdieu describes it, to "make a virtue" out of their necessity to work (Bourdieu 1980:54), but to continually demonstrate that necessity is precisely what renders their work on the riverfront virtuous. To spend money on treats for oneself would clearly undermine this effort. These girls, however, also configure their work in this economy as much more than just an act of necessity, frequently casting their involvement as an act of service ( _sev_ ā) and devotion, and in many cases using their "conspicuous parsimony" (Appadurai 1986:30) as a way to prove themselves as virtuous daughters. As one of the girls who sold tea on the ghats explained, "If I do this work and give my money to my parents then I will get merit and my future will be good. Mother and Father are like gods; we should do what they say." Of course, girls derive other more pragmatic benefits from doing this work: they enjoy being able to get out of the house, to partake of the hustle and bustle of the ghats, to socialize with their friends, and in some cases, to even divert some of their earnings toward personal consumption and pleasures. However, for the girls these "perks" are not ends in themselves. This stands in marked contrast to the ways boys understand their participation in this informal economy. Boys spend While boys also invoke the "troubles at home" narrative, they use it much less frequently in their representations of work and self, often citing other reasons for pursuing tourists. First, they emphasize that they have an obligation to earn, even if their parents have the means to provide for them. They do not want to be shamed for just "sitting idly" and "eating without earning." Indeed, the threat of this rebuke animated many of our conversations, and on several occasions I heard this charge being wielded by angry mothers and fathers. In this respect, like the girls, the boys also attempt to use their work and earnings as a way to prove themselves as caring and responsible family members. However, in contrast to the girls, the boys also place much more emphasis on the fun and "fantastic" elements of working with foreign tourists, and in many respects, they seem much more imaginatively invested in this informal economy. For them, working with foreign tourists leads to fantasies of striking it rich, of consuming and experiencing new pleasures in the bazaar, and of achieving fame by having one's name and reputation, if not one's actual self, travel to distant lands. Many boys talk proudly of the way they have "made a name" for themselves by doing this work, noting that "people in all the corners of the world have come to know and remember them." They also speak gleefully about their escapades through the city, their abilities to "live and spend like kings," and the freedom they enjoy. Even though the riverfront can be a difficult and sometimes violent space to navigate, the boys take pride in the fact that they are not beholden to anyone else's orders or commands. Finally, many of the boys view this work as an opportunity to integrate themselves into a new network of social, economic, and political relations. The boys hope that by guiding foreign tourists they might make enough money and contacts to eventually move off the ghats and establish their own businesses in the bazaar, or develop alliances with powerful men who might be able to help them "advance" their positions in the future. And yet, despite the pleasures and possibilities associated with this work, many people in Dasashwamedh worry that these boys are being "ruined" by their involvement in the foreign tourist economy. Instead of viewing the boys' migration from the riverfront to the bazaar as a source of potential enrichment and empowerment for the future, they view it as symptomatic of a troubling new orientation toward work and leisure. These boys are often accused of "loafing" rather than laboring, and many people suggest that they have lost touch with the work world of the ghats where traditionally _mallah_ masculinity was cultivated through calloused hands and physical labor. People in Dasashwamedh also suggest that these boys have become alienated from the leisure world of the ghats. Indeed, what seems particularly troubling to people in Dasashwamedh is the idea that these boys have developed a new conception of "the good life" that seems to defy their lower-class and lower-caste habitus. Instead of identifying with the more wholesome parochial pleasures associated with the riverfront, people maintain that these boys prefer to emulate Bollywood lifestyles through their consumption in the bazaar. As one woman who ran a bead kiosk above the riverfront observed, Children before used to pay a lot of attention to physical exercise, they were always playing on the ghats, swimming, they were strong. But the young boys who work with tourists today are not like this, they earn money, they wander around in the bazaar, they go see movies and after seeing them they simply believe that they are movie stars! They want to live in that style. They are always wearing first class jeans and T-shirts. They want to be comfortable, they want to eat everything in the bazaar and not work too hard. This is what they like. In her insightful writings on popular culture and identity in Banaras, the anthropologist Nita Kumar reminds us that roaming the bazaars of Banaras has long been regarded as a favorite pastime and source of pleasure for young boys and men. Such practices, she suggests, are part of a unique cultural system which "revolves around an understanding of 'Banarsipan,' [Banaras-ness] as a source of meanings for activities and concepts" (1988:8). Banarsipan refers to such activities as indulging in local pleasures, pursuing _masti_ or the joy of life, and developing a carefree attitude towards money and wealth (1988:82). However, when people in Dasashwamedh reflect upon the behaviors and practices of these boys, they do not regard them as culturally lauded expressions of Banarsipan. From their perspective, roaming seems to have given way to a pathological fixation with commodity consumption, and the "carefree" attitude toward money and wealth seems to have been replaced by a profound attachment to riches and luxuries.9 This attachment, moreover, is rendered doubly problematic by the perception that the boys' income, as well as lifestyle, is ultimately unsustainable. As one former guide in his late thirties remarked, "What will they do when they become big and the tourists don't love them anymore, and they don't get so much money? They will still be longing for these things. Then what will they do?" These kinds of queries often conclude with allusions to a "dark future," not only for the boys, but also for the families whom they are expected to support. As one mother concluded when we were discussing her son's involvement with guiding and commission work, "Sons are our walking sticks in old age; if they break so will we." CONCLUSION: GENDER, SPACE, AND IDENTITY The examples above clearly demonstrate the pivotal role gender plays in mediating the impacts of tourism. While both girls and boys have entered into the informal tourist economy in Banaras, their participation and experiences, as well as the reactions they evoke, remain very different. The restrictions imposed upon these girls, as well as their own attempts to portray themselves in a positive light, provide people in Dasashwamedh with some hope that although tourism may be changing life in the city, it is not changing it _too_ much: a daughter's virtue and a family's honor still matter more than the imperatives of profit or the ability to consume commodities in the bazaar. Thus, perhaps paradoxically, the girls who work in this informal economy, and who traffic in this highly male public sphere, testify not just to the impacts of foreign tourism, but to the capacity of people in Dasashwamedh to reproduce cultural meanings and values that provide their lives with a sense of familiarity and order.10 As I have suggested, girls' role stands in sharp contrast to that of the boys. While the boys' participation in the informal tourist economy is also informed by enduring cultural logics and relations, they are much more frequently perceived as representing change. Moreover, the changes with which they are associated are routinely linked to the larger "ills" of Indian Modernity. For onlookers in the neighborhood, these boys vividly embody rapacious consumerism, the unceasing pursuit of money and luxury, and the loss of "traditional" values. Rather than suggesting a "carefree" Banarsi attitude toward money and wealth, their spending practices inspire concerns about the emergence of a new consumer-driven identity which increasingly places the bazaar and Bollywood, as opposed to the riverfront and Banaras, at the center of its production. Thus, if these boys evoke anxiety it is not only because they _represent_ the corrosive impacts of foreign tourism, but also because they _provide_ people in the city of Banaras with an opportunity to reflect upon more pervasive changes that are perceived as reconfiguring traditional forms of popular culture, identity, and experiences of urban life. NOTES 1 The development of the tourism industry in India has primarily been a postcolonial phenomenon. The Department of Tourism was established in 1958 and throughout the 1960s and 1970s, the Government of India incorporated tourism development into its successive five-year plans. However, it was not until the mid-1980s, with the emergence of the seventh five-year plan, and the beginnings of the liberalization of the Indian economy, that tourism was officially accorded industry status and was actively promoted for private sector investment as well (Hathi 1998). 2 According to the Government of India's Central Statistical Organization this means that tourism accounts for 5.6 percent of India's GDP: <http://mospi.nic.in/cso_test1.htm> (accessed Aug. 2010). 3 These statistics come from the Ministry of Tourism Market Research Report 2008: www.tourism.gov.in/statistics%5Cstatistics.htm (accessed Aug. 2010). 4 Obviously, pilgrimage is also a pleasure-oriented pursuit. My point here is simply that the tourism industry has been actively involved in catering to and also cultivating the secular desires of a new traveling leisure class. 5 In his book, _Anthropology of Tourism_ , Dennison Nash has also discussed "three basic perspectives" that have shaped the anthropological literature on tourism. As he suggests, these perspectives have led "anthropologists to look at tourism as a form of development or acculturation, as a personal transition and as some kind of social structure" (1996:16). 6 For another attempt to "move beyond such limiting binaries as authentic–inauthentic, true–false, real–show, back–front" see Bruner 2005:4. 7 If so, they may provide paradigmatic examples of the kind of "false consciousness" that Marshall Sahlins argues has frequently afflicted the anthropological project. For, by "ignoring the constituted symbolic quality of [their] own institutions" and by participating in a trade and a science which is premised upon a "self conception of capitalism" (Sahlins 1976:54), anthropologists studying tourism have often posited an _unquestioned_ antinomy between commodification and the integrity of the cultural order. 8 Maxine Weisgrau's essay "Sickly Men and Voracious Women: Erotic Constructions of Tourist Identity" (2007) provides a notable exception here. 9 This was often expressed through such statements as "Boys go bad from guiding because they develop a desire for money and goods in the bazaar." 10 This also recalls Duggan's observation that it is not change per se that is deemed problematic by local communities involved in tourism; rather, the crucial issue is whether or not people feel they have the capacity to play an active role in controlling and managing the changes precipitated by tourism (1997:49). 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CHAPTER 10 Crafts, Artisans, and the Nation-State in India _Mira Mohsini_ INTRODUCTION In the heart of South Delhi, there is a venue where artisans, tourists, families, food vendors and government officials can be found mingling in the confines of a large outdoor space. This venue is called Dilli Haat, and it is architecturally designed to resemble the traditional rural marketplace ( _haat_ ), with permanent stalls built out of red brick and temporary stalls built like tents. It is a well-known place to purchase handicrafts directly from artisans who come from all over India. In any one trip to Dilli Haat, the visitor can see shawls from Kashmir, paintings from Bihar and Orissa, carpets from Mirzapur, woodwork from Saharanpur, saris from Tamil Nadu and embroidered textiles from Assam. Artisans can rent stalls for a period of two weeks and have the opportunity to interact with consumers, who are mostly middle-class Indian families and foreign tourists – the types of consumers with whom most artisans otherwise have little interaction. The simple idea behind Dilli Haat, which is a government initiative, is to cut out middlemen and thereby allow artisans to earn more income. Overall, Dilli Haat has been a success both in terms of generating revenue for Delhi tourism and in providing an urban-based venue for artisans to sell directly to buyers. Dilli Haat is not the only venue where artisans can interact directly with urban Indians and foreign tourists. The Crafts Museum in Delhi, under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Textiles, is an even older testament to the government's efforts to promote Indian handicrafts. The museum was established in the 1950s and was built in a manner to evoke Indian village life, so as to provide visitors a glimpse into the contexts in which many handicrafts are produced (Greenough 1996). For a period of one month, acknowledged artisans from all over India can take up residence in the museum and provide visitors with "live" demonstrations of their skills, as well as sell their products. As government-sponsored venues, both Dilli Haat and the Crafts Museum seek to promote Indian artisans and their diverse crafts and thus are symbolic of the government's position as the foremost patron of crafts in India today. Although such patron–client relationships have been the norm on the subcontinent for centuries, they were frowned upon by the colonial administration as being corrupt practices (Cohn 1983), much to the detriment of artisans and crafts. Following Independence, many nationalists saw the utility of the state as a key player in promoting and reviving handicrafts production. Since the 1980s, the monopoly of the state as patron of the crafts has been somewhat "democratized" by increased export opportunities and the globalization of the handicrafts market (Liebl and Roy 2003). However, the system has shifted such that entrepreneurs and businessmen have benefited, largely at the expense of artisans who remain marginalized and at the bottom of the production chain. Even though government-sponsored venues such as Dilli Haat and the Crafts Museum still claim to provide outlets for artisans to sell their crafts in an urban and globalized marketplace, increasingly entrepreneurs and businessmen are muscling their way into these venues as well, while the vast majority of artisans in India are struggling to sustain a craft-based livelihood. The objective of this chapter is to shed light on artisans in India by first providing a general overview of the state of crafts, and then discussing the findings of anthropological research conducted with artisanal groups. There are three broad themes that emerge from ethnographic work on artisans: (1) The importance of local knowledge systems to the lifeworlds of artisans; (2) the formation of identities among artisanal groups; and (3) the marginalization of artisans, particularly women, in a context where the terms of production are often dictated by globalization and neoliberal orthodoxies. Following an exposition of these themes in the anthropological literature, the chapter will continue with a discussion of the convergence of nationalism and handicrafts in India, which has resulted in the construction of a romanticized notion of the Indian artisan as a symbol of the nation-state. The rhetoric that has arisen around handicraft production is beginning to be addressed, but it is an issue that deserves further exploration in order to understand the marginalization of many artisans in India today. The chapter will conclude with a brief ethnographic sketch of Muslim artisans in India, who continue to be excluded from the rhetoric of the nation-state, living and working on the margins of society. CRAFTS AND ARTISANS IN INDIA: AN OVERVIEW The handicraft sector in India is the second largest employer following the agricultural sector. Even at a very conservative estimate, at least 9–10 million craft workers are employed in this industry, including part-time workers, while a more liberal estimate would place the number at 20 million (Venkatesan 2009a:34). The demand for handcrafted goods has been on the rise, particularly because of increased export opportunities. As a result, large numbers of people are entering the sector by taking up short-term apprenticeships and learning basic craft skills. The effects of this influx of new labor into handicraft production are that wages are steadily decreasing, as are levels of skilled craftsmanship – a process referred to as deskilling. The percentages of male and female artisans constituting varying age groups (e.g. from 15–25, 26–40, etc.) are approximately equal, although there tends to be a higher proportion of women working with textiles, particularly embroidery (Ameta 2003; Mies 1982; Wilkinson-Weber 1999). In 1993, in one of the most comprehensive surveys conducted on the handicraft sector,1 10 groups of distinct craft mediums were identified: textile (carpets, other floor coverings, other textiles); cane and bamboo; wood; metal; stone; straw, grass and leaf; leather; glass; clay and ceramics; ivory, bone, horn and shells. Many of the craft products are not just aesthetically valuable artifacts but are also functional objects for the domestic household or for ritual use during various ceremonies and festivals. The handicraft sector is marked by immense diversity and therefore is not amenable to an easy definition. Liebl and Roy suggest that the difficulty of defining the parameters of the handicraft sector is in large part due to the variety of government agencies involved in its promotion. Putting these complications aside, handicrafts can be defined as products produced with "(i) manual labor with minimal or no input from machines; (ii) a substantial level of skill or expertise; (iii) a significant element of tradition; and (iv) history of survival in significant scale." (Liebl and Roy 2003:5367). The handicrafts sector is of considerable value to the Indian economy. The size of its market in 1998–9 was estimated to have grown to approximately US$5.6 billion, of which one-third consisted of exports, while the remainder represented production for the domestic market. The production of crafts has been traditionally group specific, hereditary and often subject to the myriad of observed codes of inter- and intragroup relationships specified by caste and other group-specific customs. The survey on the handicrafts sector indicates that approximately 70 percent of artisans are Hindu, while Muslims (23 percent), Sikhs (2 percent), Christians (4 percent) and others (1 percent) constitute the rest. Of these, over two-thirds belong to the lowest castes (Ameta 2003). Also according to the survey, artisans are spread throughout the country, though the rural areas account for about 76.5 percent of all artisans, and urban areas for the rest. Most significantly, 98 percent of all handicrafts units and 96 percent of all artisans form part of the so-called "unorganized" household sector, which means that all but 4 percent of artisans are household members producing crafts jointly in their homes. Only 3.2 percent of household units employ nonhousehold artisans; thus nonhousehold artisans account for 3.1 percent of the total artisan workforce (Ameta 2003). What is quite explicit in attempting to define the parameters of the craft industry is that it primarily constitutes India's so-called "informal economy." This is a sector defined by flexible labor practices, irregular employment, lack of social security, and, especially, its peripheral location vis-à-vis state regulatory mechanisms – although the informal economy does not completely evade the purview of the state (De Neve 2005) and has been referred to as a "shadow-state" (Harriss-White 2003). In India today, the informal sector is marked by the prevalence of home-based self-employment, where the use of family labor is common and networks of community and kin often form primary relations of exchange. Indeed scholars are now suggesting that the informal sector is no longer a transitional phase between precapitalist and capitalist modes of production, but instead an entirely separate economic system based on its exclusion from circuits of capital, whereby there is "a clear trend towards self-employment as the main source of livelihood for the informal labour force" (Sanyal and Bhattacharyya 2009:40). ETHNOGRAPHIC ACCOUNTS OF ARTISANS IN MODERN INDIA Studies on crafts and artisans in India range through a variety of perspectives and disciplines, such as development-oriented studies, surveys and sociological studies, anthropological and ethnographic accounts, and "coffee table" glossies, to name a few. What is sorely missing, however, is a comprehensive attempt to review the scholarly literature on the lives and experiences of people who are part of the craft industry. Geert De Neve suggests that "the informal sector still constitutes the least researched part of India's economy" and that "while agricultural labour (which still constitutes a large part of this work force) has received a good deal of scholarly attention over the past decades, India's industrial workshops and factories remain by and large unexplored" (2005:8). Recently there have been quite a number of studies on India's industrial working classes, where fieldwork has been conducted in factory and workshop settings (Parry et al. 1999). But when it comes to understanding the predominantly home-based artisanal informal sector, research is often limited by notions of an ideal rural village where the movements and agency of artisans (or the subaltern in general) are often absent or romanticized. This shortcoming has led to a myopic view of crafts and artisans in India, an issue that will be discussed later in the chapter. Before doing this, I will address some of the contemporary work on craft and artisans in India that will add to the general overview of crafts I have discussed above. However, as my endeavor here is limited to foregrounding some of the focal themes that have emerged from studies of craft and artisans, the review is not exhaustive and concentrates mostly on anthropological studies that are situated in villages, towns and urban centers.2 Perhaps what best encapsulates the first major theme in anthropological studies of crafts and artisans – examinations of "local knowledge" systems – is the following passage by Fredrik Barth: "Our [anthropologists'] focus... should be on the work of social and cultural construction of reality: those are the crucial processes that generate our object... we should focus on how cultural knowledge is produced, the processes of its 'construction' read as a verb, not as a substantive" (1993:6–7). This focus on the production of cultural knowledge, rather than the object itself, and the meanings attributed to such knowledge in specific contexts has been one approach to the study of craft production. Jan Brouwer's ethnographic study (1995) of an artisan caste consisting mostly of goldsmiths, known as _viswakarma_ , in the state of Karnataka sets out to understand the worldview of this group of artisans from their own forms of local knowledge and concepts. For example, within the cosmology of the _viswakarma_ , the qualities of completeness and perfection lie only with the divine, so there is no place for such qualities in the material world, as this would be akin to death. Therefore, goldsmiths will often present their patrons with incomplete objects, which they will complete only once they have begun producing a new object. Thus the production of work is never continuous but instead is fragmented based on local conceptions of completeness and perfection (Brouwer 1999). For any sort of development program to be effective, he goes on to argue, it is imperative to understand the local knowledge systems of these producers, who often engage with economic and global processes on their own terms. Similarly, albeit with a focus on material culture, Christensen (1995) has worked with a community of potters in South India in order to understand modes of expression through the production of craft. She focuses on the cultural significance that artisans attach to the processes and various stages of creating material objects. In a sense she is not only interested in the production of cultural knowledge from the perspective of potters, but also in the social life of things (Appadurai 1986) and how material, crafted objects are also imbued with agency (Gell 1998). In another study of artisans in north India, Deepak Mehta's (1997) ethnography of Muslim weavers, known as Ansaris, in rural Uttar Pradesh demonstrates how a coherent reality is culturally constructed by the interweaving of work and nonwork activities, particularly through Islamic idioms. Prayers that are recited during the production of cloth are also recited at important life-cycle ritual ceremonies, such as circumcisions and funerals, thereby reinforcing the communal identity of this weaving community. A strong focus on local conceptions that constitute the weaver's lifeworld, however, tends to limit the ethnography's engagement with processes beyond localized knowledge systems, such as the impact that local and global economic processes have had on weaving practices (Ciotti 2007). The second broad theme in anthropological studies of crafts and artisans in India concerns the formation of identities among artisanal groups. The famous weaving and sari production center of Banaras has received a fair amount of scholarly attention. Nita Kumar's study of the artisans of Banaras seeks to interpret how the identities of this working-class group have shifted over a hundred-year period between 1880 and 1986. Kumar situates her study of artisans in Banaras within the scholarship of subaltern studies, which seeks to recover forms of agency of nonelite actors throughout India's colonial and postcolonial history. The objective of the study, therefore, is to "recover the fullness of lower-class life" in Banaras (Kumar 1988:7). Kumar accomplishes this objective by using the lens of "leisure" to discuss the emergence of a class consciousness defined as _banarsipan_ , or Banaras-ness, that transcends the fact that some artisans are Muslim and others are Hindu. In another study of weavers in Banaras nearly two decades after the publication of Kumar's pioneering work, Christopher Lee further nuances aspects of identity formation among this group of artisans. With particular reference to Muslim sari weavers in Banaras, Lee argues that Kumar generally falls into the trap of essentializing the Muslim identity as "a largely undifferentiated, monolithic group; any differentiation is treated simply as a result of Sunni–Shia differences or as a by-product of economic class, wherein wealthier, educated Muslims practice a Salafi-inspired Islam and working-class Muslims practice a 'local Islam' " (Lee 2005:178). Lee suggests that beyond essentialized religious identities, which are often promoted by homogenizing nationalist discourses to substantiate "communalism" (Pandey 1992), the formation of other subjectivities based on adherence to cultural codes of etiquette ( _adab_ ) and ways of remembering the past also constitute "ways-of-being" artisans in Banaras. Manuela Ciotti's (2007) recent "ethno-history" of the Banaras weaving industry has also looked into the emergence of working-class identities through social mobility. The study focuses on the Chamar (leather workers) community outside Banaras and describes how this group of so-called "untouchables" became upwardly mobile by learning weaving from Muslim artisans in Banaras in the mid-nineteenth century. In the period before independence, Chamars were able to learn the craft in workshops owned by Muslim weavers, since the latter did not practice the norms of purity–pollution restrictions. However, with the sharp decline of the weaving industry in Banaras since the 1990s, both Muslim and Chamar weavers have seen a significant decline in their socioeconomic positions, and both groups have either abandoned their craft or been forced to eke out a marginal existence as weavers. In addition to the work on artisans in Banaras, there are few other ethnographic accounts that seek to study the current conditions of urban artisans. Of the limited urban-based studies of craft production, the majority focus on the third broad theme – the marginalization of artisans in contexts often dictated by globalization and neoliberal orthodoxies. Clare Wilkinson-Weber's ethnography (1999) of the Lucknow embroidery industry, known as _chikan-kari_ , is one of the most comprehensive studies of urban artisans in India to date. Taking a Marxist-feminist perspective, Wilkinson-Weber argues that over the past two decades the terms of production within this industry have markedly shifted from highly skilled male artisans doing intricate embroidery work to low-skilled women who are paid meager piece-rate wages. The highly skilled male artisans have either left the craft in order to pursue other jobs and trades, or have become middlemen within the industry as businesses are increasingly established to produce _chikan_ embroidery for the tourist market. On the other hand, Wilkinson-Weber argues that women have been relegated to household production where they are considered second-class artisans (and citizens). These women "learn to make one stitch only, an instance of de-skilling that is consistent with the intensification of production for a mass-market" (Wilkinson-Weber 2004:288). In another study of urban-based artisans and craft production, Peter Knorringa (1996) explores the threats faced by the informal sector of leather artisans in Agra's footwear industry. Until the 1990s, the footwear industry functioned quite effectively within the realm of the informal economy, in which both home and workshop based production was prevalent. With India's market reforms and liberalization during the 1990s, this industry has been adversely affected by competition from plastic footwear and loss of export markets. As a result of such threats, fewer workshops are in operation and artisans are forced into overcrowded home-based production, where wages are meager and employment insecure. The characteristics of the informal handicraft sector in Lucknow and Agra resonate with what Jan Breman (1996) has called the increasing "casualization" of labor – a trend that is also apparent in De Neve's (2002) study of the incorporation of household production units into global economic production regimes, of which the tourist economy is an important aspect. Maria Mies's account of lace-makers in Andhra Pradesh (1982), while not urban-based, takes a Marxist-feminist framework to understand women's work in the handicraft sector, which is often described as "invisible labor." Mies refers to the trend of women producing for the global economy from the household as the "housewifization" of the economy. Similarly, with regard to women's embroidery work in Punjab, known as _phulkari_ , Maskiell (1999) observes that the shifts in capitalist relations of production during the colonial period resulted in increased informalization and segregation of women in this handicraft sector. To summarize: The first theme to come out of studies on artisans is what one might refer to as "local knowledge." It is argued that artisans, as creators of objects that are imbued with aesthetic value (Coote and Shelton 1992), organize their worlds according to conceptions that are not separate from the processes of creation and production. Thus, as anthropologists, if we are to understand the worldviews of others, then we must consider, as Barth would have it, not only the instantiation of cultural knowledge, but also the processes by which that knowledge is generated. A second broad theme to emerge from studies of artisans is the ways in which multiple identities are formed within this working-class group. The conjunction of history and anthropology proves to be a fruitful method for teasing out the nuances of artisan identity, whereby artisans are portrayed as actors with agency, but who can still coalesce under a working-class ethic (De Neve 2005).3 This kind of agency has been denied to artisans in both past and current writing, since this group is portrayed as silent and marginal contributors to economic production and is often subsumed under the homogenizing category of "craft community" (see below; Venkatesan 2002; 2006). The third broad theme to emerge is related to the increasing marginalization of artisans and their crafts, which is attributed to changing relations of production in an era of commercialization and globalization. Within the blurred boundaries of this informal economy, it has been observed that women's work in particular is increasing, but their skills and work-value are decreasing such that they are further marginalized. With the prevalence of a tourist economy, along with competition from cheaper manufactured products and greater reliance on export markets, artisans' work is pushed toward the uncertain edges of an already uncertain informal economy. In the study of crafts and artisans in India, another theme is emerging in ethnographic studies that seek to problematize certain categories, such as "traditional Indian craft" or "craft community," which up until now have not been seriously interrogated. In her ethnography of the Lucknow embroidery industry, Wilkinson-Weber has pointed to one of the major insufficiencies in current research on handicrafts in India. She writes, "What is surprising is the comparative scarcity of anthropological or historical accounts that take a more critical approach, not only to the understanding of South Asian handicrafts as economic activity, but also to the kind of rhetoric that has arisen around them" (2004:281) Similarly, Soares and Osella remind us that it is imperative "to pay attention to the genealogies of discourses (academic, state, 'official', global, as well as those of our research subjects and interlocutors), which might become authoritative and normative" (Osella and Soares 2009:2). To date, only a limited number of studies have explored the ways in which the rhetoric of crafts production in India has become authoritative and normative. These studies challenge concepts such as "craft community" and address the various levels of discourse that are involved in craft promotion and revival initiatives (Bundgaard 1999). Venkatesan argues that the discursive production of categories such as "craft community" and "traditional Indian craft" serve, above all, to deny agency to artisans, whereby the latter are viewed as being in need of development interventions based on craft revival initiatives. These categories have been produced within domains of what Venkatesan calls the "craft world," which is similar to Bundgaard's (1999) notion of "art worlds." The craft world is a space made up of "development practitioners, government officials, museum staff and buyers, as well as... politicians" (Venkatesan 2006:83), who usually come from elite segments of Indian society. It is the actors within the craft world who have defined what constitutes both "traditional Indian craft" and "craft communities," and as such, both categories become "a romantic fiction bearing little relation to the ways in which craft producers conceptualize their identities and interact with each other" (2006:64). Craft worlds, then, are discursive spaces set apart from artisans who have no voice or power when it comes to defining such spaces. However, Venkatesan argues that artisans do appropriate the language of the craft world in order to pursue their own goals. From her ethnography of Muslim weavers in Tamil Nadu, Venkatesan provides an example of artisans negotiating the discursive spaces of the craft world by looking at how two artisans, both of whom won the prestigious national award for highly skilled artisans, differently approached the state for further assistance. In a letter asking the government for monetary assistance to build a house and a shed for training weavers, one artisan used the kind of language that appealed to the sensibilities of the craft world by presenting herself "as someone who is struggling to preserve an age-old industry for the sake of future generations" (Venkatesan 2009b:90). A second artisan also wrote a letter seeking monetary assistance to purchase land in order to build a house, but unlike the first artisan, he equated his national award and his skills with monetary entitlements and the right to live a better life – he did not seek assistance in order to save a dying craft. With reference to the second artisan, Venkatesan writes that he "was acting against the spirit of the traditional Indian craft" (2009b:91). The result of both letter-writing campaigns was that the first artisan who engaged with the discourse of the craft world received money from the government, while the second artisan did not. Thus what emerges from Venkatesan's study of a South Indian mat-weaving community is the interplay between actors constituting the elite craft world and artisans who attempt to engage with the discourse of the craft world. Artisans are portrayed as actors with agency, who can act effectively, and not simply as passive and voiceless producers succumbing to an overwhelmingly globalized world. In addition to presenting artisans as actors with agency, Venkatesan (2009a) also inquires into the history and rise of the Indian craft world, a genealogical exercise that interrogates the rhetoric of handicrafts production and demonstrates the close connection between nationalism and crafts in India. It is to this very important theme that I devote the next section. ARTISANS AND THE NATION-STATE There is no doubt that Dilli Haat, and to a lesser extent the Crafts Museum, are two of the most visible and well-known government initiatives to promote handicrafts and artisans. They represent the diversity of Indian culture and heritage and place this diversity on display for both domestic and foreign consumers. But the confluence of crafts and representations of the nation-state stretches much further back than the founding of Dilli Haat or similar craft exhibitions and fairs that are part of the postcolonial landscape in India today. The discursive relationship between artisans and the nation-state is most clearly demonstrated in the independence movements of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In particular, it was Gandhi's adoption of _swadeshi_ , or the notion of self-sustainability, which upheld the artisan as the catalyst of rural development. The spinning wheel, which would turn homespun cotton into locally hand-loomed cloth ( _khadi_ ), was the most potent symbol of the anticolonial struggle and of independent India (Tarlo 1996). The symbolic power of khadi, and weaving, and its synonymy with the nation's struggle against colonialism, are evidenced in one of the early postcolonial projects that set out to revive Indian crafts: the National Handicrafts and Handlooms Museum in Delhi (now commonly known as the Crafts Museum). Greenough writes that, "hand-loomed cloth ( _khadi_ ) had a privileged place in the museum's conception, reflecting the unique role of hand spinning and weaving in nationalist practice" (1996:218) It may be a coincidence that during the independence struggles in India, a group of writers, poets and activists in Britain coalesced to form the Arts and Crafts movement as a reaction to, and condemnation of, the alienation of the worker as a result of industrialization. Nevertheless, the movement also romanticized nonindustrial work, and the plight of the Indian artisan was taken up as a cause for concern among the movement's proponents (Venkatesan 2009a). Ananda Coomaraswamy, who was part of the Arts and Crafts movement, produced numerous written works on South Asian art that also captured the pre-Independence nationalist view of the synonymy between crafts and the nation. His plea was that the Indian craftsman must not only be saved from the prospect of extinction due to colonial policies and the onslaught of modernity, both of which were held to be in stark opposition to traditional values, but the craftsman should also be upheld as representative of India as a nation (Coomaraswamy 1909). Venkatesan writes that, for Coomaraswamy, "Indian craft was timeless, materializing, not an individual's vision but a community's, indeed an entire nation's" (2009b:80). The notion that artisans and their crafts existed as "timeless" cultural artifacts in bounded "communities" was echoed in early ethnographic studies of Indian villages. The early anthropological pursuit in India, which was initially conducted under the aegis of classifying "the natives," imagined India as primarily constituted by so-called village republics, organized in concert with the principles of a Brahmanical Hindu worldview (Inden 1990). These anthropological studies had buttressed this ideal of India through village ethnographies that described and rationalized the logic of the caste system within bounded villages, without paying much attention to the impact of colonial policies and interventions on the construction of caste identities (Cohn 1996). Within such early studies, the depiction of the Indian craftsman was central to describing the purported cohesiveness of the caste system, since the relationship of the low caste craftsman to others in the village exemplified the idealized conception of _jajmani_ , a system based on the exchange of goods and services. Mandelbaum describes jajmani with the following example: "A family of farmers gets its metal tools from a particular family of the blacksmith jati and in return the blacksmith family gets a share of the farmer's crop at harvest. The relationship is supposed to be – and often is – durable, exclusive and multiple" (1970:162). In subsequent historical and anthropological work, however, it has been shown that the jajmani system was perhaps an invented tradition and not a pristine marker of the "traditional village." The jajmani system, some scholars argue, was not even a system at all, but instead was infused with tensions between groups and had been incorporated into a cash economy since at least the seventeenth century (Fuller 1989). Nonetheless, the romanticized notion of the rural artisan was etched into the nation's consciousness as a symbol of the real and authentic India. The rural artisan was also someone who needed to be protected from modernity, whether in the form of colonialism or later in the form of globalization. Although Gandhi's vision for India's development was cast aside in favor of Nehru's industrial modernization programs, Gandhi's philosophy of promoting traditional village industries was still incorporated into national policy after Independence. One of the leading women in the independence movement and a follower of Gandhi, Kamaladevi Chattopadhyay, led the way in establishing many of the leading government and nongovernmental organizations involved in the development and advancement of the handicraft sector, including the Central Cottage Industries Emporium and the Craft Council of India. Thus the establishment of the postcolonial state seems to have retained the view that craft production and its revival is first and foremost an issue of rural development. From the days of the independence movements up till the present time, the rural craftsman has been associated with India's ancient and predominantly Hindu heritage, and has come to symbolize the Indian nation-state. In order to understand the position of artisans in modern India, it is important to recognize the development of the so-called Indian "craft world" and its close affiliation with both anticolonial struggles and later, following Independence, the rise of nationalism. While many artisans struggle to sustain a craft-based livelihood, the politics of representation and the rhetoric of handicraft production continue to promote the artisan as a symbol of both the diversity and unity of the Indian nation-state through national award schemes, exhibition venues and various countrywide and international craft fairs that showcase "traditional Indian craft." This form of promotion encourages, in particular, middle- and upper-class Indians to buy "ethnic chic," to decorate their homes with traditional handicraft objects, and to wear handcrafted textiles (Greenough 1996). Venkatesan suggests that many Indian consumers buy handcrafted objects because they "seek to resolve their feelings of unease and disquiet about the world in which they live – of industries, alienated labor, lifestyles that leave no time for the simple pleasures of making – through the consumption of objects made by 'traditional craft producers' " (2009a:7). But the homogenizing and reifying tendencies of the Indian craft world, through the construction of static categories such as "traditional Indian craft," not only deny the agency of artisans but also deny authenticity to those artisans who do not fit into such idealized narratives. THE CASE OF MUSLIM ARTISANS IN URBAN INDIA One of the lasting constructs of the symbiosis between crafts production and the nation-state is the location of the Indian artisan. As producers of aesthetic, ritual or functional objects, true Indian artisans are portrayed as residing in villages and as being fully integrated into an idealized vision of rural life; a way of life that is also under assault by various external forces. During the decades preceding Independence, the _swadeshi_ movement created the powerful image of the rural artisan as being the crux of India's independence struggle as well as a beneficiary of postcolonial rural development. Within this discourse, the rural artisan was "representative of the 'real and traditional India' " and needed to be saved and protected from "the evils of capitalism and faceless mass production" (Venkatesan 2002:2). Even today, the discourse of the rural artisan permeates government policy, as evidenced by the preamble of a brochure published in 2007 by the Ministry of Textiles, which states that handicrafts "started as part time activity in rural areas." Greenough explains that it is predominantly village industries that have featured prominently in the government's successive five-year plans, as a result of which they are "allowed to persevere more or less unmolested by industrial competition" (1996:243). However, a major implication of both the independence movement's promotion of homespun cloth and the national campaigns' preoccupation with village industries was that those movements necessarily excluded artisans and crafts that had historically resided in and produced from India's urban centers. With reference to the decline of _chikan_ embroidery in Lucknow, Wilkinson-Weber succinctly argues: "The success of Mahatma Gandhi's campaign to enshrine _khadi_ (homespun cloth) as the cloth and costume of choice for Indians over and above more luxurious textiles also may have dampened interest in _chikan_ for at least some of its previous consumers" (2004:292). Although a detailed historical account of the rise of urban-based crafts in India is beyond the scope of this chapter, a brief account will suffice, since as suggested by the statistical data presented at the beginning of this chapter, nearly a quarter of artisanal production occurs in urban areas. The bulk of urban-based crafts emerged with the rise of so-called Islamicate states in northern and central India, beginning in the thirteenth century. Urban centers such as Delhi became increasingly cosmopolitan, as scores of refugees from central and western Asia sought safety from the devastating Mongol invasions (Wink 1997). Many of these émigrés included artisans seeking refuge and patronage, or those who were attached to the retinue of nobles and other elites who sought safety at the Delhi court. The organizational traditions that came along with these immigrant artisans, such as centralized production systems consisting of royal workshops ( _karkhana_ ) controlled by the court, provided long-term sustenance for urban crafts (Verma 1994). As urban centers grew, so did the demand for luxury goods (Miller 1992), which were produced in workshops affiliated with members of the elite classes and the royal courts; it is reported, for example, that one of the thirteenth-century ruling sultans of Delhi employed 12,000 artisans at court (Raychaudhuri and Habib 1982:90). With the ascent of Mughal power in the sixteenth century, the patronage of urban artisans was extensive, and the system of imperial workshops reached its zenith. With the growing presence of Europeans and their interests in establishing trading rights, Indian court culture, both Muslim and non-Muslim, became even wealthier, thereby patronizing diverse craft forms, often to meet ceremonial requirements, such as embroidered textiles, jewelry, and carpets (Asher and Talbot 2006:186). Throughout these centuries, urban-based craft production was vitally linked to the political and economic structures of Indian Islamicate society. The majority of urban artisans were Muslims, but Hindus also formed a sizable proportion of craft producers. The bulk of these artisans catered to the urban demand for luxury goods that was generated by the cultural and aesthetic sensibilities of Indian Islamicate society. But as the political and economic tides shifted, first with the Mughal Empire's disintegration, then with the establishment of British colonial rule, and finally with Independence and partition (which resulted in the migration of large portions of the urban middle and upper classes to Pakistan), the Islamicate cultural and aesthetic sensibilities that had dominated the urban crafts scene gradually lost their preeminence. Equally detrimental was the breakdown of traditional patronage structures that had sustained urban-based artisans for centuries. Today, the bulk of urban artisanal production is still done by Muslim communities, but they are living and struggling on the margins of society (Sachar 2006). Thomas Blom Hansen notes that while most urban Muslims are engaged in petty trades or in occupations such as weaving, carpentry and metal work, "these businesses are small, low-investment, and as a whole outside, if not wholly excluded from, the new economy in India" (Hansen 2007:51). Indian Muslims in general have also endured a long history of being castigated as the "Other" – whether labeled as foreign invaders or as thinly disguised Muslims who are really Hindu (Viswanathan 1998; Vatuk 2008) – in both Orientalist representations and Indian nationalist historiography (Prakash 1990; van der Veer 1993). With the rise of Hindu nationalist movements and events such as the destruction of the Babri Mosque in 1992 and the Gujarat riots in 2002, when thousands of Muslims were killed, it is evident that Indian Muslims continue to remain the "Other" (Hansen 1999). Indeed, all over India there is a heightened suspicion of Muslims in general, with police raids on Muslim businesses becoming more widespread. Many Muslim artisans have also been affected by the consequences of events such as the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001, since fewer buyers are now willing to conduct business with Muslim producers. One artisan from Delhi told me that whenever she puts forth an application for a government-sponsored scheme intended to benefit artisans, she expects her paperwork to be delayed because she is Muslim. Although some Muslims artisans have been able to gain a certain amount of access to the craft world – one example being the mat weavers described by Venkatesan (2009a), who were officially classified as a "traditional craft community" by Kamaladevi Chattopadhyay in 1953 – most Muslim artisans remain outside the narratives of the nation-state in which the rural and predominantly Hindu artisan figures as a symbol of the real and authentic India. To conclude this chapter, allow me to recount the story of one artisan who lives and works in Old Delhi to illustrate this sense of acute marginalization felt by many Muslim artisans.4 Mansoor is a master craftsman in a form of embroidery known as _zardozi_ – or gold embroidery – which once served as the diplomatic currency between the Chinese and the Byzantine empires. It arrived in India in the thirteenth century, fully embedded in the courtly culture of gift-giving rituals of the Muslim founders of the Islamicate Delhi Sultanate. The craft reached it zenith in the eighteenth century, between the disintegration of the Mughal Empire and the full control of the subcontinent by the East India Company, when Islamicate culture was adopted by many successor states throughout the country. The craft almost disappeared in the wake of the mid-nineteenth century mutiny, only to be resuscitated as a symbol of the "Orient" for British imperial assemblages or at various world fairs held in Europe or North America in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Since Independence, it has faced both the brunt of the anti-urban bias of the ruling elites and a growing national amnesia concerning Indian Muslim civilization. Mansoor is proudly cognizant of his lineage as an artisan and recalls that his great-great-great-grandfather had embroidered textiles for the coronation ceremony of the last Mughal emperor, Bahadur Shah Zafar. Since then all his ancestors have maintained the brilliance of the zardozi art and passed down the skills to their children. Indeed, even today Mansoor can produce work of high quality, which he refers to as authentic zardozi from the days of the Mughals: intricately embroidered caps, belts and handbags with floral and animal motifs. Yet even in Dilli Haat, the stalls of zardozi artisans rarely display this kind of work. Instead, handbags embroidered with beads and sequins in a style of embroidery called _ari_ , which requires less skill than zardozi, are much more common. And Mansoor is fully aware of this reality as well. He had once displayed his finely crafted belts and handbags in a major crafts fair where customers mocked his work: some joked that the intricately embroidered belts looked like cowbells. Mansoor did not have the opportunity to explain that these belts would have adorned the costumes of noblemen, even less than a century ago. Perhaps to the usual consumer a belt is just a belt, no different from a cowbell, or at best an outdated relic that serves no function. But for Mansoor the belt and the handbags represent much more than material objects or commodities. These are objects that define Mansoor's sense of self; they constitute his identity by the fact that they represent a link to a past where an artisan's worth was measured by the display of superior skills through intricate craftsmanship. For many artisans like Mansoor, the past holds meaning and reinforces a sense of oneself as authentic. The reiterations of Mansoor's association with the courts of Bahadur Shah Zafar and the "days of the Mughals" through his family history is not some nostalgic longing for a bygone time, but a continual assertion of his identity as a highly skilled artisan, particularly in defiance of those marginalizing forces that continually deny him the possibility of being an authentic Indian artisan. NOTES 1 The Census of Handicraft Artisans – Phase 1 was commissioned by the Office of the Development Commissioner (Handicrafts), Ministry of Textiles, and carried out by National Council of Applied Economic Research (NCAER). 2 Although this review is limited to the Indian context, studies of craft and artisans in other parts of the world are valuable comparative resources, particularly for understanding how globalization and neoliberal economic policies have tended to further marginalize artisans and their communities. For a review of this literature, see Scrase 2003. 3 There is little research conducted on this topic with regard to rural craftspeople. When it comes to rural artisans, the question of identity is subsumed under the vast literature on caste, whereby an artisan's identity is predominantly conceptualized within the framework of "jajmani" relationships. Contemporary anthropological fieldwork conducted with rural craftspeople tends to focus on their relationships within industrialized forms of production, thereby associating them with the working classes. Thus the "working-class" association covers both urban as well as more rural artisans in terms of identity formation. 4 The following vignette is based on my doctoral fieldwork among Old Delhi's Muslim artisans, conducted between July 2006 and October 2007. REFERENCES Ameta, H. R. 2003 Census: Handicraft Artisans 1995–96. _In_ Celebrating Craft: A Symposium on the State of Handicraft. At www.india-seminar.com/2003/523/523%20census.htm (accessed Dec. 16, 2009). Appadurai, Arjun, ed. 1986 The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Asher, Catherine B., and Cynthia Talbot 2006 India before Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Barth, Fredrik 1993 Balinese Worlds. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 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CHAPTER 11 Crowds, Congestion, Conviviality: The Enduring Life of the Old City _Ajay Gandhi_ When I began fieldwork in Old Delhi, I was frequently disoriented. A number of visitor's guides to the area had been published, describing, for example, the Meena Bazaar. They detailed historical monuments in the vicinity, but were unhelpful in explaining much else. Though this part of Delhi was many years old, its present uses differed markedly from those at its genesis. The Meena Bazaar's seventeenth-century material surroundings, for example, were obscured by centuries of demolition and improvisation. Moreover, it was not the kind of place that easily lent itself to mapping. Like many Delhi residents, I frequently consulted a map book produced by the Eicher company, which broke down the city into manageable parts. But in its pages covering the old city, the gaze from above – the promise of clean lines and ordered spaces – was betrayed by the street, where everything blurred. Still I didn't lose hope: guidebooks and maps are, after all, for tourists and residents. Surely, trained in anthropology and armed with an inventory of native culture, I could do better. Yet here I confronted another hurdle. Anthropologists of India, whether based in rural villages or urban settings, tend to focus on a particular community. But Delhi's old city, exemplified by a space like the Meena Bazaar, was not defined by a caste, class or religious group. It was clearly a plural space, lacking a distilled set of rituals, or an all-encompassing culture. I started trying to make sense of the area, as proper scholars do, by delineating the bazaar's physical boundaries and official status. On its eastern end, bordering a major road, Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose Marg, street hawkers sold counterfeit Dolce and Gabbana belts and bright girls' frocks. On its western end, adjacent to the steps of a major mosque, the Jama Masjid, other peddlers proffered Urdu pamphlets and towels. One obvious fact quickly presented itself: the bazaar's limits were not conclusively bracketed. Hawkers spilled onto the Jama Masjid's steps, even congregating at its entrance. At the other end, petty entrepreneurs unofficially elongated the market, curling out onto the main road. In between, running north and south, there were stalls selling DVDs, used auto parts and blankets. The lack of definition as to the bazaar's physical limits extended to the legal status of those making a living there. Meena Bazaar acquired its name from some low-slung brick stalls, east of the Jama Masjid, where tenants had official leases. Most of the area's commerce, however, occurred through the illicit subdivision of these stalls, as well as the sidewalk's occupation by _patri-walon_ , or pavement hawkers. These people, invariably men, cemented their claim over the Meena Bazaar through tacit agreements with officials and influential locals. Some of these entrepreneurs possessed legal documentation, while others did not. When asked by the police or ethnographers in the area, hawkers dutifully presented various _parchis_ , or official slips. It was just that this paperwork was often counterfeit. It would have been feasible, still, to mentally domesticate the Meena Bazaar if it served one kind of function: as a place of dubious or more respectable kinds of commerce. But the longer I was there, the clearer it became that the area was also a testing ground for leisure and politics. On its eastern end, adjacent to sellers of forest medicine and aphrodisiacs ( _jari-booti_ , _sande ka tel_ ), was a wrestling ground. Every Sunday, from competing _akharas_ or wrestling gymnasiums in the area, young men locked arms and sought to tumble one another to the ground, before a large crowd. Nearby, also on the weekend, _kabooter-wallahs_ , or pigeon-fanciers, gathered. They inspected caged birds and traded advice and insults with neighbors whose _kabooters_ they raced on nearby rooftops. Teenagers often played cricket on one side, with improvised wickets and bats. The ball occasionally landed in the middle of the hawkers and crowds. Next to them, masseurs ( _malish-wallahs_ ) clustered on a dusty expanse, vigorously rubbing half-naked men splayed on jute mats. In the middle of the bazaar was a grassy expanse framing the tomb of a nationalist leader, Maulana Azad. On a regular basis, political leaders utilized his grave as a place to gather the party faithful, and air official grievances and accomplishments. These events were supplemented by large demonstrations that occurred against the backdrop of the mosque. Led or sanctioned by the leader of the Jama Masjid, the Shahi Imam, these protests sometimes included burning effigies, and were followed by a procession through neighboring areas. These political spectacles could articulate local complaints about the Delhi Police's treatment of Muslims, or speak to global events, such as Israel's occupation of Palestine. I could at this point have concluded that the Meena Bazaar was a place defined by the Muslim community. There was certainly demographic and material evidence to support this hypothesis. Bordering the Meena Bazaar on its southern periphery were dense alleyways and cramped buildings, winding unpredictably and ending abruptly. These residential neighborhoods, termed _mohallas_ , were indeed predominantly Muslim. In the immediate vicinity of the bazaar were a number of _dargahs_ , or tombs of Sufi saints. Bordering the Netaji Subash Chandra Bose Marg, for example, adjacent to dozens of stalls selling coats and birds, was the Dargah Kalimullah, a popular Old Delhi shrine. Yet these shrines were not simply patronized by Muslims. Hindus, Jains and Sikhs were known to flock to them, praying to the interred saints for a child, relief from black magic, or simply a job. At night within the Meena Bazaar, after the hawkers and stall owners left, hundreds of casual laborers rested on the open ground. Mostly Hindu, these migrant workers were among the tens of thousands who worked nearby in Old Delhi's wholesale bazaars. The Meena Bazaar was also a place for members of different communities to wander and rest during the day. Proletarian Hindus, from far-off villages and towns, were to be found strolling amidst the bazaar's hawkers, alongside families from Delhi's other Muslim-dominated areas, such as Seelampur and Jamia Nagar. How, then, was I to make sense of the Meena Bazaar, and by extension, Old Delhi? The official definitions and academic theories one would ordinarily use to decipher this kind of urban sociality seemed, at first glance, inadequate. Repeatedly, I discovered that Delhi's old city contained activity with imprecise boundaries and little official sanction. Pavement to be used for walking was used for leisure and commerce; hawkers proliferated despite court rulings and police orders. Moreover, people used Old Delhi for all kinds of activities: for political rabble-rousing and their weekly sport, to collectively articulate their anger as well as to browse for children's clothing. A park, bazaar, or mosque's function often gave way to varied, unpredictable uses. And finally, there was no sociological community or singular culture that defined this space. The area's makeup defied historical continuity or neatly bounded identities. Muslims tracing their ancestry to the time of Old Delhi's precolonial rulers, the Mughals, lived amidst Hindu migrant laborers, who could remain in India's capital for several months or longer. Punjabi refugee traders who arrived in Delhi in the 1940s shared bazaars with Muslim merchants from Uttar Pradesh, who had settled in the old city in the 1980s. Part of the answer to the anthropological riddle that was Old Delhi lay in undoing my assumptions about how "Indian culture" or the "Indian city" worked. My fieldwork began as a study of male migrant workers working in the old city's wholesale bazaars and day-labor sites. But I found it difficult to restrain my fieldwork just to these laborers. Their lives – what films they watched, whom they took loans from, how they worked – were deeply intertwined with others, such as traders, brokers, and policemen. I followed the connections between these people, who were both radically different from, and also dearly dependent on, one another. In this way, I came to understand Delhi's old city, within the larger megalopolis, as embodying a unique demographic and cultural space. The old city was the haunt for the vernacular, unskilled urban underclass; it was also the repository for "authentic" food and popular culture. Later, learning about similar precolonial urban formations in India – in places as varied as Bhopal, Ahmedabad and Lucknow – I was struck at their similarity to Old Delhi. In particular, three kinds of iconic spaces found in Old Delhi were also manifest elsewhere: the street, the bazaar, and the wrestling akhara. They provide useful anchor points for this chapter, which argues for the resonance of the old city in India's urban past and future. I will delve into my own ethnographic research on these sites later, drawing on related anthropological studies elsewhere. Beforehand, I will discuss the historical evolution of Old Delhi, and more broadly, the Indian old city. THE HISTORICAL EMERGENCE OF THE OLD CITY In many ways, the absence of a conceptual vocabulary useful for deciphering Delhi's old city was not surprising. When the British arrived in earnest in Delhi during the eighteenth century, this area was not even assigned to the past. It was simply Shahjahanabad, after Shah Jahan, who built a new capital for his Mughal empire in the seventeenth century. Like dense medieval cities elsewhere, from Paris to Damascus, this was a walled city, fortified against regional competitors. The British, like colonizers elsewhere, at first fell for the oriental splendor of the natives. Delhi was assigned a charm and gravitas similar to courtly cities such as Lucknow (Gupta 1981; Oldenburg 2001). By the mid-nineteenth century, the British Empire had consolidated its rule over India's many kingdoms and principalities. The Mughal emperor, Bahadur Shah Zafar, like his predecessors, occupied the Lal Qila, or Red Fort, adjacent to the Meena Bazaar. But by the mid-1800s, he was merely one of innumerable native figureheads, beholden to British interests. Colonial administrators of this era were unlike the early profiteers of the East India Company, who had donned native costume and mingled with locals. This self-consciously modern ruling class was highly influenced by nineteenth-century European thinking on race, hygiene and governance. The influence on Indian city-space was crystallized after a native rebellion against British rule in 1857. This was ruthlessly put down via a shock and awe campaign, especially in north Indian cities. Delhi's walls were punctured and entire neighborhoods were demolished, before the eviction of purportedly subversive natives (Gupta 1981). An ethos of management, separation and control between colonial and native elites and the popular masses became increasingly hegemonic in Indian cities. British administrators and Indian businessmen definitively moved out of medieval urban areas. The latter were increasingly termed the "black town," native quarters, or old city, where the mass of Indians lived. Thereafter, and arguably until the present day, places like Shahjahanabad became negatively defined, in terms of what they lacked. Shahjahanabad thus became Old Delhi. Like other precolonial spaces, its winding alleyways and congested bazaars were counterposed to the "white town" or new city (Prashad 2003). The British amplified the construction of these residential enclaves after the 1857 rebellion. Modern city-life was embodied in the Civil Lines, neighborhoods carbon-copied across India. In the black town, there was no singular vantage point by which the city could be apprehended; social groups mixed wildly; and domestic chores were transacted on the street. By contrast, in the Civil Lines, officials and the native bourgeoisie lived in neat bungalows on a grid layout. This organization was preordained on an abstract map, and defined against the old city's opacity. Strict rules were detailed as to who was let in, what activities they could carry out, and what they might wear (Legg 2007). Indians could not wear native dress in such city zones, and the few allowed to reside there adopted anodyne Western customs. Social life moved away from the street, into regulated private enclosures, none so prominent and ritualistic as the private club. This was the haunt of civil and military officers in many Indian cities, replete with genteel tennis courts, parade grounds and gaming rooms. The demarcation from Delhi's old city was made more concrete with the construction of New Delhi. Designed as the British Raj's new imperial capital, it was officially consecrated in 1911. The new city was another space defined by control and segregation – the Civil Lines writ large. At the heart of India's new capital, the secretariat and parliament were a metaphor for urban governance. Monumental and imposing, they were designed to awe the native into submission (Hosagrahar 2005). Because city space was increasingly articulated in the language of planning, places like Old Delhi were relegated to the sociology of stereotype and rumor. The black towns where the vast majority of Indians still lived were simply seen as unhygienic, opaque and dangerous. Municipal governance was largely oriented toward the military cantonment areas and the Civil Lines. Infrastructure improvements bypassed the native quarters, leading to further decrepitude and confirming the bias against it. The prevailing mood is summarized in a mid-twentieth century guide to Delhi designed by the American Red Cross (1942) for Western visitors. In it, the new city's axial roadways and wide boulevards are clearly indicated and labeled. In contrast, the entire area of Shahjahanabad is simply blotted out with diagonal lines, and labeled "OUT OF BOUNDS." After 1947 came the period of Indian independence. But the return to native sovereignty was not manifested by reinhabiting the old city. Places like Old Delhi remained, for municipal officers and urban planners, invariably trained in the Western style, places of disease, criminality and sectarian tension. Fear and lack of interest still excised such areas from civic consciousness, such that in modern maps of Lucknow, the old city was simply left blank (Hjortshoj 1979:33). Yet Indian elites, such as Jawaharlal Nehru, the first prime minister, were melancholic about the old city's decline. This was a sentimental discourse about the old city's charms that somewhat qualified its decrepitude. In other Indian old cities, a similar narrative surrounded former black towns. Lucknow, for example, endured rapid demographic transformations and decay from the mid-nineteenth century. Yet the city's middle class and intelligentsia latched onto the precolonial city as the repository of indigenous values and culture (Oldenburg 2001). Such sentimentality consigned places such as Old Delhi to history, over which the city's inheritors were zealous guardians. To go to the old city from the new city was, in the prevailing narrative, to step back in time. The black town in this way lent depth and authenticity to the new city's residents. But it fit imperfectly into the ruling class's script of the modern city. Old Delhi's temporal rhythms, popular culture, and proletarian composition, for example, maintained the city's walls in symbolic if not material terms. Outside of them, India's vision for the urban future was realized elsewhere, in the construction of modernist cities. These included purpose-built industrial townships such as the "steel towns" of Bhilai, Rourkela, Bokaro and Durgapur, and provincial capitals such as Bhubaneshwar, Gandhinagar and Chandigarh (Roy 2007). These cities, planned by Indian and Western architects after the 1950s, were paeans to the promise of a universal modernity. Orderly and hygienic urban space was supposed to incubate a generation of self-disciplined citizens. Notably, this new urban resident was to be secular, free from the shackles of caste or religion. In the minds of many Indian planners, a deracinated city-dweller was ideal because mass culture had been shown to clash with urban living. For native technocrats, culture was all too often revealed to be "obscurantist" and "backward." Timeless identities and age-old grudges were commonly articulated in the black town, where religious institutions and the plebeian masses were to be found. It was, for example, in the old city that spectacular episodes of sectarian violence in north India had occurred in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (Pandey 1992). Because urban modernism so enthusiastically planned, inscribed and mapped, it is often tempting to see these intentions as reality. But if grandiose blueprints were shared by all of these cities' architects, so was the inevitable reckoning. Modernist cities in India were beset from the beginning by failures and deficiencies. Rather than circumventing quasi-colonial hierarchies, Chandigarh's city plan, overseen by Swiss architect Le Corbusier, hardwired them into the very location and size of residents' houses (Kalia 1999). Instead of bypassing caste identities, Bhilai's steel town reified them by making them a condition of work and residence (Parry 1999). Designed as a secular utopia, Rourkela's industrial township became associated with outbreaks of Hindu–Muslim violence (Roy 2007:150–155). The reengineering of Indian city-space in terms of secular citizenship or universal modernity seemed to fail, stymied by an antimodern excess called culture. It may come as little surprise – given anthropology's association with colonial dictates – that culture in its pure and undisturbed sense was sited in the Indian village. Colonial officials, doubling as ethnologists, needed to make sense of the village so as to master crop production and revenue extraction. Well into the twentieth century, anthropologists saw the rural village as the default site of sociality in the region. In the work of some of India's foremost anthropologists, such as Verrier Elwin and M. N. Srinivas, politics, religion and kinship unfolded in their natural setting – pastoral climes all. For them, the village setting was not incidental but at the heart of conclusions about social life. Srinivas, for example, argued that the village played as decisive a role as the family or religion in the making of Indian personhood (1952). For most of his career, Elwin endeavored to defend rural tribals from the corrupting influences of technology and modernization (Guha 1999). We can see that the old city was bypassed by the official fixation on new modernist cities, and the anthropological predisposition toward the village. When India's black towns did enter the scholarly or official consciousness, it was as a kind of awkward residue or charming remainder. And in this respect, comparison between such popular urban spaces, unlike villages or modernist cities, was rarely made. On the one hand, the black town no longer embodied, as cities universally do, the vanguard or cosmopolitan. Each subsequent expansion of Indian urbanity was planned as a final riposte to the precolonial city. From the nineteenth century, the imagination of urban India moved from the old city to the colonial cantonment and Civil Lines. From there it gravitated to twentieth century modernist cities such as Chandigarh and New Delhi. As urban India's economy has transformed through globalization, status and worldliness is increasingly embodied by privately built cities such as Gurgaon, on New Delhi's periphery. For all of their differences, these cities oscillate between monumental spaces for spectacle – the parade ground, public memorial, and shopping mall – and closely monitored interiors – the private club, information technology cubicle, the middle-class drawing room – for interaction (Mazumdar 2008). As a result, the modernist city, seen as a universal form, is often analytically interchangeable with others of its kind. Shopping malls or gated enclaves in Hyderabad and Kolkata may be compared; outsourcing firms in Chennai and call centers in Chandigarh can be placed into the same frame. The modernist city could be comprehensively and comparatively theorized because it was devoid of local color. On the other hand, villages were like one another because they lugged enormous cultural baggage. For most of the twentieth century, anthropologists working in one of India's millions of villages could make it representative of wider caste dynamics and religious identity. But popular practices among the urban masses, unfolding in former black towns, exhibited both a paucity and a surfeit of culture. From a conventional perspective, the old city was neither universal enough to be a proper urban space, nor representative enough of Indian culture. Thus the Indian old city was largely ignored by anthropologists, with a few exceptions (Lynch 1969; Khare 1984; Kumar 1988). Given all of this, we might imagine that the Indian old cities of Meerut and Bijapur disintegrated; or that the black towns of Aligarh and Aurangabad are empty relics. Often, it is rather the opposite. For anthropological purposes, the Indian black town is important in two respects. To begin with, it is the product of historical patterns that endure in certain craft industries, consumption practices, and ethnic configurations. Such enduring economies – often found in the conjunction of local castes attached to particular industries – propel economic traffic in the larger urban area, and maintain patronage of the old city's religious monuments and cultural _melas_ , or festivals. Across north India especially, the old city remains an important node for wholesale trade, pilgrimage and popular self-understanding. The black town in this way often plays a decisive part in differentiating the larger city against its myriad competitors. It is often in such spaces that "the 'fact' of a Banarasi, a Mirzapuri, a Lakhnawi, a Hyderabadi" is realized, in "folklore literature, daily colloquialisms, styles of dress, food habits, leisure activities" (Kumar 1991:198). Yet the black town is not an island unto itself. A second reason why precolonial city spaces, bypassed by official energies and the middle class, are important is that they are conduits for widely circulating practices. Indeed, the challenge for an anthropological understanding of any Indian black town is that it is simultaneously particular and representative of a wider urban modernity. In some sense, however specific their genealogy – Agra, Jaipur and Amritsar, for example, having developed under medieval Muslim, Hindu, and Sikh patronage – old cities are often more similar to each other than to the new cities now hemming them in. As I will explain later, this has something to do with the circulation of labor, commodities, and leisure through popular urban areas. To apprehend such things, to begin to evolve a conceptual language for the Indian old city, we must avoid seeing the black town at a conceptual remove. Arguably, other disciplines reenact the urban planner's gaze by looking at the city from above, as if it perfectly corresponded to the master plan or Google map. In this way, geographers, historians and architectural scholars examining Old Delhi have perhaps unwittingly confirmed colonial disdain for the black town. Such scholarship has told us less about what is happening in such spaces, and much more about its representation as a space of decay, danger, and deviance (Hosagrahar 2005; Legg 2007). If we are to avoid conceiving of the Indian old city as impenetrable – the black town as a black box – we make use of the anthropological toolkit, and therefore stay close to the ground. In a place like Delhi's old city, this is appropriate. The air-conditioned coffee shop may be the iconic haunt of India's aspirational classes – a place where one watches oneself being seen by others, at a remove (see McGuire, Chapter 6 in this volume), but one will search in vain for such places in the black town. There, public culture is transacted right on the street, in _chai_ stalls and _paan_ stands, and there is hardly any possibility for discreet retreat. Contra the new city's segregated layout, the black town's bazaars are heterogeneous and porous, demanding a different kind of urban temperament. And if nightclubs and multiplexes are the twenty-first century sites of leisure, other spaces, such as that of the wrestling akhara, still remain well-worn rites of passage for men in the old city. These quotidian spaces often associated with the black town – the street, the bazaar and the akhara – are useful points of departure in attempting to make sense, as I tried to do, of the Meena Bazaar. In the following sections, I will detail some of the people and practices found in these spaces in Old Delhi. Each of these spaces has longstanding roots in urban India, yet has, in different ways, been seen as dangerous, inefficient or obsolete. Drawing from my ethnography in this area, and supplemented by anthropological research into similar practices and places, I will argue for the enduring life of the old city in contemporary India. THE STREET Old Delhi's street, as I discovered, is not a restrained space. Eating, haggling, defecating, policing, hawking, campaigning, and prostituting: there is hardly a financial deal, political statement or bodily activity that did not occur right on the street. On Chandni Chowk, the area's main commercial thoroughfare, my path was frequently interrupted by a political rally. Local parties would set up a tent and dais on this street, in front of a municipal office, the town hall. Where vehicles ordinarily skirmished, hundreds of the faithful sat, awaiting speeches (and perhaps more fervently, the food served afterwards). On Gali Mata Wali, men rolled carts loaded with kerosene burners, chickpeas and potatoes. With thick smoke blowing over hungry passersby, they doled out some of the area's culinary favorites, such as _tikkis_ , fried vegetable discs containing potatoes and peas, served with a tamarind sauce or ketchup. As the sun set and the old city was washed over by inky darkness, Urdu Road, bordering the Meena Bazaar, became dotted with prostitutes. This was no red light area; just a regular street, used to drive and hawk and beg during the day, where single women with bright makeup and bold stares stood at night. On such streets, no enduring division could be made between public and private activities (Appadurai 1987:17). Arguments conducted on the mobile phone mingled with devotional songs spilling out of temples. Men had their ears cleaned and stubble trimmed over the sidewalk drain, alongside commuters waiting for the next municipal bus. Over the course of my fieldwork in Delhi's old city, it was impossible to predict when a presence would endure or disappear. I periodically returned, for example, to a few tea stalls squatting on the street, prime venues for gossip and rest. More than one such stall, overseen by men by virtue of their dogged return to the same spot over years, suddenly vanished. I heard shopkeepers in the old city and residents narrate how tiny religious idols, placed next to an electricity transformer, evolved into a tiny shrine, and then, years later, a hulking temple. The same fluidity applied to the legitimacy of a street person or structure. Bicycle rickshaws, outlawed by the Delhi courts time and again, nevertheless proliferated in the old city. Several landlords and businessmen I met were guilty of "encroachment," the official term for unofficial infrastructure. Their hotels, now three stories instead or two, and their shops jutting past their perimeter and eating into the sidewalk were, nevertheless, here to stay. The owners would, when faced with official pressure, "regularize" them, by paying a fee and obeisance to officialdom. The Indian city's street, it should be clear, is not the same symbolic ground on which the storied flâneur of nineteenth-century Paris roamed. There, as described in Charles Baudelaire's iconic fiction, the man about town roamed, studiously avoiding a predetermined route or final destination (Benjamin 1983). There was, in Paris and other Western cities, a clear distinction between the pedestrian sidewalk and the arcade where goods were on display. For Delhi's officials, too, the pedestrian pavement, clear and clearly demarcated from the vehicular road, residential colony and commercial space, was an abstract ideal. This was part of the modernist dream, of urban life's orderly division of labor. Yet the street in Delhi's old city was enacted differently. Ending abruptly, colonized by entrepreneurs, uneven and broken, its unpredictable route was traced by Old Delhi's residents through crowds, vehicles, stray animals and much more. And yet despite the appearance of chaos to the outsider, the longer I spent there the more I saw that there was a kind of internal logic. As in many Indian black towns, this most undifferentiated of urban spaces was precisely allocated and occupied: to a cigarette seller here, to a public phone vendor there, and to the enterprising and strong-armed everywhere. In these ways, the old city's street was not a place where, as with the Parisian flâneur, the pedestrian could mentally retreat from the crowd, gazing undisturbed at the arcade. The European daydreamer, both lost in and aloof from the crowd, gave way to the self-conscious and ever vigilant Indian. In my experience, Old Delhi's street was the venue for endless negotiation; likewise, for the workers and residents I knew there, the street was the terrain for gossip, deals and threats. The Indian street, for ethnographer and resident alike, involved involuntary intimacy and exchange, a total immersion of seeing and doing in which one could not, like the Parisian flâneur, forget oneself. Old Delhi's streets were perhaps the most democratic in the entire city, open to all comers: educated and impoverished, engineers and junkies. This is not an unimportant point. New Delhi was defined by gates and _chowkidars_ (night watchmen), where police posts and concrete walls frosted with broken glass separated out different kinds of people. In contrast, if there is a singular feature that connects India's myriad black towns, it is their startling heterogeneity. In this respect, my disorientation as an outside ethnographer trying to decipher Old Delhi's Meena Bazaar was not far removed from the mutual unintelligibility of its residents. Similarly, in Old Lucknow's streets, "people do not conform to any single social system, tradition, or standard of public conduct through which their diverse identities can be mutually understood" (Hjortshoj 1979:35). Perhaps counterintuitively, it was the active lack of interest that myriad kinds of people showed to one another on the street that offered, especially for the urban proletariat, some entertainment and a resting place, a conduit of news and opportunity. Consider the case of Rahul. A _mistri_ or construction laborer, who assisted a mason, I met him at Haus Qazi Chowk, close to the Meena Bazaar, along with dozens of fellow migrant laborers, their tools and paintbrushes arranged before them. As the old city came to life, cows, rickshaws and cars circumnavigated this roundabout, where several wholesale bazaars – selling paper, iron, kites and tools – converged. The men, almost all of them migrants from Uttar Pradesh, Bihar and Rajasthan, were usually between their early twenties and late forties. As day-laborers, they were entirely at the mercy of contractors, who inconsistently offered painting, plumbing or masonry work. The men began their vigil early in the morning, by 7 a.m. By 1 p.m., whatever work that was to arrive had come. On many days, the numbers of men remaining at Haus Qazi Chowk testified to the lack of work, at least of the consistent kind. When I met him, Rahul was a young man in his early twenties, not yet sufficiently skilled at his work to become an _ustad_ or _guru_ , a master who would train others. Like the other young men at his day-labor site, or _mandi_ , by midday, if no work was to be had, he started roaming Old Delhi's streets. He usually had very little money in his pockets; his aim was hardly ever to buy something or fulfill a task. As with his fellow migrants, whatever pleasure there was to be had was in _timepass_ , referring to the state in which someone could be doing something better or productive. A middling 1980s Bollywood film, recycled in one of the nearby cinemas, that such men watched to bide the afternoon, was _timepass_. In a similarly unenthusiastic way, squatting with friends in Haus Qazi Chowk listening to a meandering story was also _timepass_. But _timepass_ did not simply refer to an activity done in downtime. I also heard it termed the condition of an entire class of underemployed and frustrated men. Shopkeepers and policemen at Haus Qazi Chowk, for example, dismissively termed migrants like Rahul _sadak-chaap admi_ , street-formed guys, or _pavement-log_ , pavement people. Moderately educated or skilled, but lacking job opportunities in goernment service or the private sector, hundreds of thousands of men like Rahul were to be found in the streets of Indian cities. Loitering at traffic intersections, clustered around _chai_ stalls, they are among many considered to be " 'wanderers,' 'useless men' or people engaged only in ' _timepass_ '" (Jeffrey et al. 2008:169; see also Jeffrey, Chapter 3 above). Among their numbers are the countless drivers, cleaners, and peons who physically overwhelm the city but in its cultural consciousness are absent from it. I heard Rahul sometimes refer to his life and those of his friends in the same pejorative vocabulary hurled at them by their social betters. Describing himself as illiterate and careless, this could be done with irreverence – as if he didn't care – but also bleak self-assessment. Usually in debt, hobbled by illness and insecurity, Rahul's fellow workers also talked of their doomed fate and wasted lives. Here _timepass_ was not simply a few transitory hours or months, but a default state of being (see Craig, Chapter 3 in this volume). But this does not mean that Rahul retreated from the streets. For him, the street was the only guaranteed place to rest one's head, while away the time, and find an opportunity. The Indian street in this respect has long been overwhelmingly male and popular, an exception to the strict "spatial etiquette" of the city's other public spaces (Srivastava 2007:185). Referring to nineteenth-century Banares, in Uttar Pradesh, one author notes that "recreation for lower-class males frequently consisted of simply 'roaming' the streets of the _mohalla_ " (Freitag 1989:123). Historically in Lucknow's old city, "the street itself was a destination and an event," a place to gossip, mingle, and barter (Oldenburg 2001:viii). It is also in the black town's streets that a wider public culture has long circulated. In the 1960s, in Agra's old city, the radio was the primary conduit for news, as well as the "nationalized cult of the popular movie song" (Lynch 1969:168). In the 1980s and 1990s, the television set, attached to the tea stall or a shopkeeper's shelf, became the venue around which the masses huddled, to compulsively watch television serials (Rajagopal 2001). During my time in Old Delhi, the primary medium for communication and entertainment had shifted to the mobile phone. Even men of humble means such as Rahul had, or shared, a mobile phone, on which they rang distant relatives, downloaded ringtones, and listened to cricket matches. The acoustic cacophony of the old city's street was thus given an added dimension by this conduit to elsewhere. Visually, the old city's street was similarly overwhelming. Sensational murder stories and Hindi newspapers could be found in front of sidewalk vendors, and ads for English classes and sexologists plastered urinals and walls, reaffirming the street's male character (Srivastava 2007). Though the street's association with the "floating population" or popular masses is pervasive, it is not absolute. Scholars have, by way of contrast, tracked the middle-class _addas_ of Kolkata, congregations of friendly gossip, often conducted on the street itself (Chakrabarty 2000). And the street's iconography – with billboards for the affluent and storefronts for the middle class – presumes a stratified population (Appadurai 1987:19). Nevertheless, as the black town's underclass ethos has seeped into other parts of the city – through slums on public land, for example – elites have generally retreated into their drawing rooms (Mazumdar 2008). Thus I was not surprised that Delhi's municipal authorities, when performing their role as the guardians of law and order, often turned to the old city's street to demonstrate their vigilance. Very Important Persons, or VIPs, constitute an important political caste in modern Delhi, and when they toured the old city, Rahul and his ilk were cleared beforehand by the police; prior to national holidays and election polls, they were shunted into shelters; after shopkeepers complained about pavement encroachment, the laborers were forced to retreat to nearby parks. These prosaic street clearances that I saw echoed an official obsession in post-Independence India, made most visible during the Emergency from 1975 to 1977. At that time, Indira Gandhi, the prime minister, suspended democracy, and bureaucrats effected the "beautification" of Delhi's streets, through the removal of slums and pavement dwellers, and the planting of trees (Tarlo 2003). The Indian street has in this way been a repeated target of official rationalization, but it is hardly the only such space. In the next section, I will describe the bazaar, another space that both quintessentially defines the Indian old city, and has long been targeted for elimination. THE BAZAAR I first met Hamid, a father of two, at his "fancy" jeans stall, in the Meena Bazaar. He had a small enclosure, amidst others selling clothes and music cassettes, and further away, blankets and coats. Hamid's situation was rather typical in the area. Like many other traders and hawkers in Delhi's old city, he procured his commodities through personal networks. In Hamid's case, goods were obtained from two cousins who had clothing workshops in east Delhi. When he was a young child in the 1970s, his father had another stall, one among hundreds clustered haphazardly around the entrance of the Jama Masjid. During the Emergency in November 1975, his father lost his stall and his wares to the underside of a bulldozer. This was done in the name of the same beautification imperatives that cleared Old Delhi's streets of its underclass. At the Jama Masjid, after riot police battled with traders and had cleared offending structures, the city's plan was to build six-story residential and commercial buildings surrounding the large mosque (Krafft 1993:103). The following year, Delhi's municipal authorities sought to placate the Meena Bazaar's aggrieved traders by building 370 shops to the east of the mosque. By the 1980s, Hamid's father sensed an opportunity to make more money in east Delhi, where other Muslims from the old city had been shifted after the 1960s. A thriving subcontracting industry had blossomed there, and Hamid's father handed over his Meena Bazaar stall to a friend, in return for a nominal fee. Things continued like this until the late 1990s, when Hamid's father became ill and his business fortunes declined. He sought to end the agreement over his stall in the Meena Bazaar, but his partner refused to vacate the premises. After much bickering, Hamid's father and the squatter came to an agreement to share the premises. At the time of my fieldwork, Hamid sold jeans a half-meter away from two men who sold scarves and towels, having unofficially partitioned the space between them. But the issue of disputed ownership over the bazaar had not disappeared. From the 1990s, the Delhi government revived its concerns over precisely the kinds of illegal encroachment that Hamid's family had been implicated in. The official buzzword was no longer "beautification"; blueprints instead heralded "heritage conservation" of the Jama Masjid area. The twenty-first century plan is a descendant of the one aborted in the mid-1970s, though slightly more grandiose. A modern, glitzy shopping mall is planned for where the Meena Bazaar stands, complete with an underground parking lot. Once again, the Meena Bazaar traders – at least the ones with legal entitlement – are to be moved, this time to a new, sanitized location kilometers away. As a result of the thicket of documentation traded between Hamid's family and their stall's occupier over the years, each possessing different proofs of their entitlement in the Meena Bazaar, there was much jockeying over who would obtain the new commercial plot. Why was the Meena Bazaar, in the twenty-first century, still the object of official reform? Like all of Old Delhi's bazaars, it seemed to embody two sets of problems. At one level, these bazaars seemed even in their physical form to embody illegality and unruliness. Furthermore, the people managing these spaces were seen as insular, and their commercial practices dubious. The bazaar economy was, in the view of policy-makers, an embarrassing halfway house between primitive accumulation and proper modernity. During my time there, Old Delhi's bazaars, in the wider urban consciousness, were associated with _milawat_ , or adulteration, _nakhli_ , or counterfeit objects, and _heri-pheri_ , or fraudulent behavior. At the Khari Baoli spice bazaar, local policemen told me about the adulteration of purportedly pure spices with lead, and of dairy products with caustic soda. In the old city's Lajpat Rai electronics bazaar, stolen goods were recycled, fake brands assembled, and counterfeit compact discs hawked (Sundaram 2010:93–94). For these reasons, in the official discourse of economic efficiency, civic transparency, and public safety, these bazaars were emblems of Indian backwardness. The 1970s plan to displace the Meena Bazaar in favor of high-rise buildings, and the twenty-first century plan to build a shopping mall there, were premised on a notion of universal modernity. Yet the bazaar, in many ways, is neither geographically specific to India, nor an intermediary phase of development. The bazaars found in Old Delhi – catering to the demand for tractor parts or Viagra, to those seeking wedding cards as well as bathroom tiles – function according to a logic found in bazaars, souks, kasbahs and street markets in other parts of the world. Such spaces are defined by legal malleability, such as the canny ability of street hawkers to be both highly visible and, at moments of official scrutiny, suddenly vanish. Such markets are selectively porous; they depend on geographically dispersed actors who can access different source products and end consumers, yet trading, brokering and laboring are often done through intimate networks. Indeed, attempts to rationalize such spaces often fail, whether in India or elsewhere, because purchasers, transporters, and marketeers are deeply interdependent in terms of kinship relations. Paradoxically, the very enmity between Hamid's family and his neighbor in the Meena Bazaar conspired to frustrate the municipality's attempt to build a mall. I witnessed numerous small-scale protests in the bazaar, where traders and hawkers, who ordinarily sparred over stall or street space to sell their wares, vented their frustration collectively. Many of these market players were related and had distant cousins or uncles in common, for example. The consequence of this organic solidarity – paradoxically balanced by contentious self-interest – within the Meena Bazaar was that, just as it had decades earlier, official redevelopment during my time in Old Delhi became mired in interminable delays. That so many of the features of the Indian urban bazaar are to be found in settings elsewhere is to be expected. After all, the genealogy of the contemporary bazaar can be traced to the precolonial _qasbahs_ , _mandis_ and _ganjs_ that connected Indian cities to commercial centers outside the subcontinent (Vidal 2000). North Indian cities such as Bareilly and Mirzapur had longstanding bazaars linking the Indian subcontinent and destinations elsewhere in Asia (Bayly 1998). In this sense, India's post-1991 engagement with global markets, after decades of state socialism, is not a novel historic development but rather a reengagement with world commerce, then as now transacted in cities. Terms such as informality, frequently used to encapsulate both bazaars and street hawking, elide the different historical conditions and political dispensations under which they emerge. The bazaars of most of India's black towns are neither illegitimate remainders of the formal market, nor comprehensive replicas of previous eras. For example, Old Delhi was, even during the Mughal era, an important commercial center, with speciality markets for brass, iron, fireworks, and grain (Peck 2005:181). Yet most of its contemporary bazaars are situated in former residential areas. These bazaars were built by Punjabi refugees who flooded the area after Partition divided India and Pakistan in 1947. In some cases, as in the Lajpat Rai electronics market, traders who had lost their businesses in Pakistan petitioned the government to convert areas, in that case a park, into commercial zones. Other old city markets, such as the Katra Neel textile bazaar, Tilak Bazaar chemical bazaar, and the Kashmiri Gate auto parts bazaar, have a more recent history. Each of these bazaars has hundreds of traders operating out of precolonial residential areas. Often, the grand _havelis_ , or mansions, of noble families were converted for processing, storing and displaying goods. As a result, the bazaar landscape – in both historical and material terms – of Delhi's old city is uneven and fragmented. In these ways, Old Delhi's bazaars are not intermediate stages heading inexorably toward capitalist forms. Marxist and neoclassical theories posit that premodern, semifeudal, and inefficient forms of commerce give way to more rational, efficient, and formal ones. Yet what is striking about the bazaar is that it has coexisted easily with different economic and political dispositions. After 1947, the Indian state, beholden to socialist five-year plans and import-substitution policies, emphasized the indigenous copy and manufacture of consumer goods. Despite the state's symbolic emphasis on large, state-owned "public sector units," much of Indian socialism's material output depended on endless chains of small-scale outsourcing, often in cramped urban areas such as Delhi's old city. Especially after the 1970s, Old Delhi's bazaars became dominated by small-scale workshops and processing units, making everything from jeans to gardening tools. From the early 1990s, India charted a different economic course, liberalizing imports and encouraging foreign investment. The information technology park, intellectual labor, and invisible transactions conducted over the fiber-optic cable became glorified. Bypassed was the socialist emphasis on the factory, physical labor and material quotas. On the consumption side, shopping malls became coveted, not the colony market of the planned city, and certainly not the black town's bazaar. Yet once more the seeming irrelevance of the bazaar was overstated. Many people, both those of prospering classes who can afford its goods, as well as the aspiring who cannot, flock to the mall; yet few buy anything there. Escalators, outsized billboards, and multiple levels constitute a space where one watches and is watched at a judicious remove. The shopping mall in the new city remains an institution that one engages in on the surface, where people go to hang out, browse, but also exit empty-handed (Mehra 2009:155). When I asked Hamid, in the Meena Bazaar, if his business was not suffering due to the explosion of mall options, he told me that people go to the shopping mall to eat and browse, not to buy things. This was especially true of his clientele, such as college students and lower middle-class government employees, for whom buying "fixed price" jeans at a mall would have been prohibitively expensive. An intriguing aspect of the debate around the Meena Bazaar's future was that, though it contained a range of different Muslim and Hindu actors, it was seen by municipal authorities as a Muslim _ilaka_ , or area. This exemplified another constitutive tension of the bazaar: its cosmopolitan admixture, alongside a symbolic overidentification with particular ethnic or religious groups. Trade in specific areas, around particular commodities, tends in Old Delhi to be consolidated around kinship ties. Certain bazaars have longstanding Jain cliques, while in others, such as the old city's grain market, Hindu merchant castes from Punjab and Haryana play a decisive role (Vidal 2000). By contrast, in Kolkata, it is the Marwari caste, originating in Rajasthan, which often dominates trade in bazaars, and in Mumbai, Gujarati trading castes. For the modern nation-state, the association of the bazaar with one community has frequently been seen at cross-purposes with the abstract ideal of the free market. The hegemony of Gujarati, Marwari or Punjabi traders has been thought of as encouraging price-fixing, hoarding and smuggling. The bazaar traders' collective self-interest was seen to hinder national interest. In the nineteenth century, for example, British colonial authorities looked with suspicion at the Marwari traders in Kolkata's bazaars. Marwaris were thought to have parasitical intentions vis-à-vis the larger population, their bazaars being places of opaque dealings and illicit offshoots, such as gambling (Birla 2009:171). This colonial sentiment is echoed in the contemporary desire of municipal authorities to rationalize seemingly opaque and dangerous bazaars. The irony may be that the bazaar is far more porous than its parochial mythology suggests. The calendar and print bazaar around Old Delhi's Chandni Chowk and Nai Sarak is less defined by its dilapidated physical setting than by "a web of relationships extending beyond and between individual sites" across India (Jain 2007:78). Nearby, in the Katra Neel textile bazaar, 60,000 workers act as a conduit for more than 10 percent of the entire country's cloth trade (Krafft 1993:107). Bazaars, then, can be said to be open to, and indeed dependent on myriad kinds of workers, brokers, and traders. But this is not to say that everyone has the disposition to thrive in the bazaar. A tolerance for manifold bodies in a finite space and a quick-witted disposition are mandatory. The bazaar's participants learn to master "the crowds, the helter-skelter, and the constant buzz of joking conversation... which finds its prime exemplification in the market" (Geertz 1960:49). Despite the fact that Hamid sold clothes from a tiny stall, he supported his ailing father and immediate family through significant retail sales. Asked about how he generated such traffic despite his poky surroundings, Hamid elaborated to me on how a good trader reads people and anticipates their needs. He knew that people came to Old Delhi's bazaars for their _mahaul_ , their mood or atmosphere. In colony markets elsewhere in Delhi, and especially at the new shopping malls, commerce was comparatively impersonal, with indifferent vendors, and an emphasis on the transaction. In Old Delhi's bazaars, in contrast, touts attached to particular stalls or shops aggressively eyed passersby, offering them – plaintively, insistently – things which they might not need. In these bazaars, it was incumbent on both trader and customer to shroud commerce with barter, wheedle, and gossip. Hamid himself was a master at this art, joking with customers and flattering them into buying. We have discussed the black town thus far as it contrasts, in scholarly writing, with both the village and the modernist city. However, the old city's bazaar is not, for those within, simply an intermediary between the rural hinterland and more developed metropolis. Especially for migrant workers and lower middle-class brokers, the bazaar is not a partial urban segment, but rather the city itself. So might argue Anis, a man in his mid-forties, who shuttled twice a month from his home in Moradabad to Delhi, where I met him. Anis was from a city in Uttar Pradesh, whose claim to fame was its brassware industry. Historically, much of Moradabad's brass production and distribution was done by Muslims, and Anis eked out a living procuring brassware at home. He had over the past decade carved out a profitable niche supplying higher end brassware to merchants in Chawri Bazaar, a large market to the west of Jama Masjid. This bazaar is mere minutes' walking distance from the Meena Bazaar, but configured differently. Chawri Bazaar, in a long street that once was the haunt of courtesans and eunuchs, is the center of a profitable wholesale paper and wedding cards market; a smaller proportion of traders specialize in brassware. The market for these goods is regional, and the traders themselves predominantly Hindu. For Anis, who rarely ventured out of Old Delhi when making his visits from Uttar Pradesh, the capital's bazaar felt both familiar and somewhat different from those of the old town in Moradabad. Things moved more quickly in the capital, he claimed, and people were not as patient. At home, he was identified according to his neighborhood, the schools he sent his children to, and the model of car he drove. It was in Delhi that he realized that he was actually something else: a person from Moradabad, a UP- _wallah_. In Delhi's old city, the micro-politics of his home city mattered little. In the bazaar, he met loaders from Rajasthan, brokers from Madhya Pradesh, and shopkeepers from the Punjab. And from this truly national space, he carried news and ideas back to Uttar Pradesh. On his visits to the capital, Anis scrutinized the styles of brassware sold in the Chawri Bazaar, of utilitarian or decorative kinds, to be used in kitchens or temples. These hints prodded him into demanding certain changes from artisans and producers in Moradabad, so he could stay ahead of changing fashions. The urban bazaar was, for Anis, a source of inspiration and information, a place that foreshadowed new developments back home. There was little contradiction for him in being attentive to the latest styles and techniques, sometimes informed by global trends, and the constant negotiation of his business networks, many of which involved his relatives. As in the old city's other bazaars, an orientation toward the world and the maintenance of kinship ties were not in conflict (Jain 2007:175). It is in this respect that for intermediaries like Anis, the old city's bazaar was not a halfway house between the village and the modern city but, simply, the city writ large. An anthropologist examining the footwear bazaars of Agra in the 1960s, where low-caste Jatavs were employed in the leather industry, similarly found that "the market is a center of communication both within the city, and between the city and hinterland villages... Jatavs who meet friends there in a tea, sweets, or wine shop, and often pass a few minutes gossiping on the street" (Lynch 1969:44). In this way, the two spaces we have explored thus far, the street and the bazaar, indistinguishably merge material profit, social conviviality, and fleeting leisure. We now look at a final distinguishing aspect of the Indian old city, the akhara, an urban site more explicitly defined by leisure. THE AKHARA A _dangal_ or wrestling tournament echoes, at first glance, the street or bazaar. Vendors offer snacks and quotidian items such as combs and handkerchiefs, and men squat on the ground gossiping. And like the street, meant for movement, or the bazaar, intended for selling, the old city's dangal exceeds its original design. The dangal often takes place in simple settings: a square dirt pit, ringed by men seated in plastic chairs or on the ground. As the match is about to start, all other activity ceases. A series of matches fought between two men of various ages and weight classes will begin. The wrestlers, often dressed simply in their _langot_ , or underwear, will lock arms. Using their ingenuity and sheer strength, they seek to topple their opponent to the ground. I met Nadeem, a former _pehlawan_ , or wrestler, at the Sunday dangal in Old Delhi's Meena Bazaar. Then in his mid-fifties, he lived in Chitli Qabar, a mohalla adjacent to the Meena Bazaar, and owned a small hotel and restaurant. He was often to be found in the mornings in the kitchen of his restaurant, a small establishment with a few uneven tables and plastic chairs. On the wall opposite the kitchen was a framed photo of him from his wrestling heyday, in the 1980s. His chest buff and shinny, with a shock of black hair, Nadeem the wrestler was clearly a confident young man. His self-assurance was rewarded; twice, he won the Mr Delhi Competition. Like many former wrestlers, he bore tell-tale physical signs. Used as a young man to a high fat and protein diet, Nadeem had gained significant weight in his middle age, and his left ear had imploded into a cauliflower shape from too many blows to his head. Riding his scooter through the cramped alleyways, his girth threatened the easy passage of other vehicles, but somehow no one toppled over. A well-respected figure in his locality, Nadeem sent his two sons to a local akhara or gymnasium in Matia Mahal. A small enclosure hidden behind a snack shop, this wrestling club was simply decorated, with a dirt pit, some old dumbbells, and a truck tire attached with a rope to a tree. Despite being in the middle of a congested area, the akhara was surprisingly quiet, a respite from the racket outside. An anthropologist in Varanasi's old city recounted this soothing feature of the akhara, standing in "contrast with the thick, dense smells and harsh sounds of urban life that waft and resonate in the back galis" (or alleys) (Alter 1992:30). The Matia Mahal akhara was one of roughly a dozen in Delhi's old city. I started going to these gymnasiums because some of the traders and residents in the area were former wrestlers, and as patrons, they were involved in the gymnasiums. Moreover, migrant laborers working in Old Delhi's wholesale bazaars frequently attended the Sunday dangals. Some of the akharas were within Hindu enclaves, such as Sita Ram Bazaar, and others, like the one attended by Nadeem's sons, were in Muslim mohalas. The akharas were never homogeneous, though each was predominately either Hindu or Muslim in composition. Despite the regular matches held publicly in the Meena Bazaar, and the numerous wrestling clubs scattered across Old Delhi, almost all the wrestlers I met felt that it was a declining activity. Nadeem offered, in the course of several meetings, some explanation. Communities no longer, as in the past, pooled resources to buy the expensive nuts and dairy products required for wrestlers to become robust. Government subsidies for training were dwindling, the jobs offered former wrestlers through a "sports quota" increasingly scarce. And young men in the vicinity were increasingly attracted to more "modern" forms of fitness and leisure, especially body-building. This, Nadeem complained, has resulted in men whose bodies became hollow ( _khokhla_ ) and minds purely motivated by narcissism and selfishness, in terms of showing off to others ( _dusron ko dhekane ke liye_ ). True _pehlawans_ practiced their sport, he maintained, for the glory of the community, and to build _desh ka naam_ , or the name of the nation. Being relatively impoverished and lacking employment, the old city's wrestlers were known to work as local toughs ( _goondas_ ), turning out tenants for landlords and intimidating crowds for political candidates. These were common complaints among wrestlers in north India, of the sport's decline and neglect (Kumar 1988; Alter 1992). Yet despite this narrative of entropy, the akhara continued to be a defining feature of public life in Old Delhi. Traders from nearby bazaars, who lived in huge mansions in south Delhi and sported the latest mobile phones, were at outward glance far removed from such popular pastimes. But some continued longstanding practices within the bazaars of sponsoring akharas, and they showed up to dangals to garland match winners and present trophies. These acts of patronage and recharging social capital constituted one of the ways in which wrestling was part of the wider urban world, inextricably connected with the prosperity of the bazaar. Conversely, for the migrant laborers from elsewhere, wrestling was part of the popular circulation of ideas about manhood, sexuality, and self-discipline, or in other words, the male ethos of the street. In Old Delhi's "footpath pornography," or cheap, sensationalist literature sold on the street, advertisements for products that promised a wrestler's physique were plentiful (Srivastava 2007). This leisure economy could be sustained because it echoed, for these men, their knowledge of akharas elsewhere, especially in Uttar Pradesh. Indeed, Indian wrestling has generally been associated with the peasantry and proletariat: lower-class Hindus, "backward" castes such as Jats, and Muslims. Akharas are thus urban spaces where notions of masculine strength and purity circulate. In particular, wrestlers are seen to embody self-restraint – among the more sublime ethical values that Nadeem believes that his sport imparts – and excess (Alter 2002). They are commonly seen to embody the virtues of self-restraint and bodily control, most markedly in celebration of the wrester's celibacy. Beyond their physical strength, wrestlers benefited during the precolonial period from courtly patronage, and, in the modern period, have been associated with influential if unscrupulous politicians. Wrestlers' bodily surplus and political connections allowed them to be deployed in cities such as Mumbai, where the local Hindu-nationalist political party, the Shiv Sena, used akharas to mobilize its plebeian young cadres (Hansen 1996). It may be this many-layered fascination with the wrestler that propelled hundreds of men to throng the dangals at the Meena Bazaar on Sundays. For these men, attending such matches was a primary form of communal leisure. On the grass adjacent to the main road, men who would otherwise be loading and transporting wholesale goods sat gossiping and eating roasted peanuts sold by vendors. In this way, to participate in or watch wrestling was to take part in a longstanding economy of enjoyment in the old town, defined by _shauk_ , or passion and taste (Kumar 1988). Nadeem, as a respected wrestler in the locality, knew the committee comprised of the elder statesmen of Old Delhi's wrestling akharas, who organized matches in the Meena Bazaar. Though he lamented wrestling's decline, he was among the hundreds who attended matches and appreciated that it was a venue for disseminating notions of hard work ( _mehnat_ ) and masculinity ( _mardanagi_ ). I found that this was also true among younger residents of Delhi's old city. Nadeem's elder son, an ambitious and English-savvy 17-year-old named Mahmood, saw no contradiction between the akhara he attended, and the other seemingly nontraditional activities he carried out: attending a body-building gym, taking a software course at a technical college, and working as a bouncer at a Delhi nightclub. Aware of the range of entertainment and leisure options at his disposal in the megalopolis, he nevertheless stuck with his akhara training. Sure, he told me, he was teased by some of his classmates for wrestling, and when he showed emotion they joked about the wrestler's hot temper. But one could not become a man sitting behind a computer, he told me. A place for honest exercise, to build a balanced moral temper, and to enjoy camaraderie: there were many compelling reasons why the akhara, despite predictions of its imminent extinction, even by its adherents, would be likely to have an enduring life in the old city. CONCLUSION I began with a typical space within the Indian old city, Delhi's Meena Bazaar. I have sought to develop in this chapter an analytical language by which we could anthropologically make sense of such urban enclaves. Three spaces have been explored here: the street, the bazaar, and the wrestling gymnasium, or akhara. In varied ways, these spaces, though longstanding in the popular areas of myriad Indian cities, have been assumed to be imperfectly realized, deficiently formed, or soon to disappear. The street, a proletarian space which has been the primary site of public culture for the urban masses since the nineteenth century, has been repeatedly cleaned up by officials; scholars have increasingly turned their attention to the shiny interiors and grand facades of the modernist city. Yet we have seen how the street is still a vibrant and important space for people such as the day-laborers of Delhi's old city. The Indian bazaar has long been likewise viewed as dangerous and opaque, soon to make way for properly regulated zones and truly modern commercial spaces. Yet Old Delhi's bazaars remain powerful centers for regional trade. Their complex patterns of brokers and agents have not been displaced by the promise of the transparent market. Finally, we have looked at the wrestling akhara, a commonly found feature of the Indian black town. Though, like the street's and bazaar's protagonists, the akhara's wrestlers may claim to be neglected or marginalized, it remains a constituent aspect of the urban leisure economy. Of course, the street, bazaar and akhara are not only to be found within India's many precolonial black towns. Nor are these the only defining features of the old city; we could as easily have examined the street performers, religious institutions, and cultural _melas_ or festivals, also concentrated in such areas. Rather, by examining certain parts of Old Delhi, I have sought to focus on some of the constitutive aspects of urban modernity found in the black towns of India. Though they inform the routines and aspirations of the majority of Indian city dwellers, they are often neglected in scholarly literature that privileges village life, the middle class and modernist spaces. An understanding of the street, bazaar and akhara, in my view, provides an anthropological entry point into a range of processes – from migration to fashion, masculinity to mass entertainment – that are seamlessly about contemporary Indian culture as well as the historically rooted Indian city. REFERENCES Alter, Joseph 1992 The Wrestler's Body: Identity and Ideology in North India. Berkeley: University of California Press. 2002 Nervous Masculinity: Consumption and the Production of Embodied Gender in Indian Wrestling. _In_ Everyday Life in South Asia. Diane Mines and Sarah Lamb, eds. Pp. 132–145. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. American Red Cross 1942 A Guide Book to Calcutta, Agra, Delhi, Karachi and Bombay. American Red Cross of the China-Burma-India Command. Appadurai, Arjun 1987 Street Culture. India Magazine 8(1):2–23. Bayly, C. A. 1998[1983] Rulers, Townsmen and Bazaars. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Benjamin, Walter 1983[1973] Charles Baudelaire: A Lyric Poet in the Era of High Capitalism. Harry Zohn, trans. London: Verso, Birla, Ritu 2009 Stages of Capital: Law, Culture, and Market Governance in Late Colonial India. Durham: Duke University Press. Chakrabarty, Dipesh 2000 Provincializing Europe: Postcolonial Thought and Historical Difference. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Freitag, Sandra 1989 Culture and Power in Banaras: Community, Performance, and Environment, 1800–1980. Berkeley: University of California Press. Geertz, Clifford 1960 The Religion of Java. Glencoe: Free Press. Guha, Ramchandra 1999 Savaging the Civilized: Verrier Elwin, His Tribals, and India. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Gupta, Narayani 1981 Delhi between Two Empires, 1803–1931. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Hansen, Thomas Blom 1996 Recuperating Masculinity: Hindu Nationalism, Violence and Exorcism of the Muslim "Other." Critique of Anthropology 16(2):137–172. Hjortshoj, Keith 1979 Urban Structures and Transformations in Lucknow, India. Ithaca: Cornell Program on International Studies in Planning. Hosagrahar, Jyoti 2005 Indigenous Modernities: Negotiating Architecture and Urbanism. London: Routledge. Jain, Kajri 2007 The Economies of Indian Calendar Art. Durham: Duke University Press. Jeffrey, Craig, Patricia Jeffery, and Roger Jeffery 2008 Degrees without Freedom? Education, Masculinities and Unemployment in North India. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Kalia, Ravi 1999 Chandigarh: The Making of an Indian City. Rev. edition. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Khare, R. S. 1984 The Untouchable as Himself: Ideology, Identity, and Pragmatism among the Lucknow Chamars. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Krafft, Thomas 1993 Contemporary Old Delhi: Transformation of a Historical Place. _In_ Shahjahanabad/Old Delhi: Tradition and Colonial Change. Thomas Krafft Eckart Ehlers, ed. Pp. 93–119. Delhi: Manohar. Kumar, Nita 1988 The Artisans of Banaras: Popular Culture and Identity, 1880–1986. Princeton: Princeton University Press. 1991 Urban Culture in Modern India: World of the Lower Classes. _In_ The City in Indian History: Urban Demography, Society and Politics. Indu Banga, ed. Pp. 191–205. Delhi: Manohar. Legg, Stephen 2007 Spaces of Colonialism: Delhi's Urban Governmentalities. Oxford: Blackwell. Lynch, Owen 1969 The Politics of Untouchability: Social Mobility and Social Change in a City of India. Delhi: National Publishing House. Mazumdar, Ranjani 2008 Spectacle and Death in the City of Bombay Cinema. _In_ The Spaces of the Modern City: Imaginaries, Politics, and Everyday Life. Gyan Prakash and Kevin Kruse, eds. Pp. 401–423. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Mehra, Diya 2009 Campaigning against Its Eviction: Local Trade in New "World-Class" Delhi. _In_ Dissent and Cultural Resistance in Asia's Cities. Melissa Butcher and Selvaraj Velayutham, eds. Pp. 148–167. London: Routledge. Oldenburg, Veena Talwar 2001[1984] The Making of Colonial Lucknow 1856–1877. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Pandey, Gyanendra 1992 The Construction of Communalism in Colonial North India. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Parry, Jonathan 1999 Two Cheers for Reservation: The Satnamis and the Steel Plant. _In_ Institutions and Inequalities: Essays in Honour of André Béteille. Ramachandra Guha and Jonathan Parry, eds. Pp. 128–169. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Peck, Lucy 2005 Delhi: A Thousand Years of Building. Delhi: Roli Books. Prashad, Vijay 2003 "Shelter" in Modern Delhi. _In_ Regional Modernities: The Cultural Politics of Development in India. K. Sivaramakrishnan and Arun Agrawal, eds. Pp. 143–162. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Rajagopal, Arvind 2001 Politics after Television: Religious Nationalism and the Reshaping of the Indian Public. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Roy, Srirupa 2007 Beyond Belief: India and the Politics of Postcolonial Nationalism. Durham: Duke University Press. Srinivas, M. N. 1952 Religion and Society among the Coorgs of South India. London: Oxford University Press. Srivastava, Sanjay 2007 Passionate Modernity: Sexuality, Class, and Consumption in India. Delhi: Routledge. Sundaram, Ravi 2010 Pirate Modernity: Delhi's Media Urbanism. London: Routledge. Tarlo, Emma 2003 Unsettling Memories: Narratives of the Emergency in Delhi. London: Hurst. Vidal, Denis 2000 Markets and Intermediaries: An Inquiry about the Principles of Market Economy in the Grain Market of Delhi. _In_ Delhi: Urban Space and Human Destines. Emma Tarlo, Véronique Dupont, and Denis Vidal, eds. Pp. 125–139. Delhi: Manohar. PART III Cultures and Religion in the Making CHAPTER 12 Optic-Clash: Modes of Visuality in India _Shaila Bhatti and Christopher Pinney_ Throughout 2009 a striking advertisement dominated many television channels in northern India. Any mofussil (provincial) television viewer who had fallen asleep during evening load-shedding (i.e. a power cut) was likely to be woken in the early hours of the morning when their ceiling fan spluttered into life, followed shortly by their television. The increasing glow of the cathode ray tube would bring testimony of a new breakthrough in personal protection: the Nazar Suraksha Kawach, the Amulet that Protects against Nazar. Available as an "amulet," "locket," or "bracelet," the Nazar Suraksha Kawach could be purchased for 2,375 rupees, by check, credit card or cash on delivery with a 30-day refund guarantee. A series of vignettes dramatized the predicaments faced by those who went through life without protection. Young children develop fevers, cars have accidents, marriage arrangements are imperiled and the market values of shares decline precipitously. These generalized anxieties are then given empirical substance in a series of brief dramatizations. A young woman narrates how after she had finished her M.Com studies she was engaged to one Krishna Aiyar, a software engineer in Bombay. The engagement date was fixed, she was very happy, but then one day an affine came and went on and on about how wonderful the boy was. Three days later she received a phone call from the groom's family to say the engagement was canceled. Her father speculated that perhaps this was the result of _nazar_ , and gradually everyone forgot about the affair. But the young woman saw an advertisement for the protective device, secretly bought it, wore it, and is now happily married. A middle-aged man narrates how he was formerly immensely wealthy and one day fell under the nazar of his _bhabhi_ (elder brother's wife): we see a middle-aged woman projecting a current of malevolent force from her eyes toward the unwitting recipient. On reaching its destination it produces a sinister red halo around the head of the victim. His business suffers and he is at a loss to explain this until his pandit (here "Hindu priest") tells him that his bhabhi has given him _buri nazar_. He then pulls up a concealed locket that he wears around his neck and gestures to an amulet that hangs from a stand on a table behind him, pulsing its waves of blue protection. The advertisement targeted anxieties about nazar – the evil potential of vision, usually motivated by jealousy, made manifest by an excessive admiration and appreciation, and resulting in fever or the inability to eat. The amulet, the advertisement assures the viewer, is a technological advance on the numerous vernacular Indian strategies to protect from nazar – the application of a black spot ( _kala tika_ ) on a child's face, the concealing of knives, and the hanging of chilies and a lime from the lintels of doors and from the rear bumpers of vehicles. The Shri Divya Rishi Sansthan, a suitably official-looking institute peopled by men in white coats, has been conducting "scientific research" into "evil eye shading techniques" which offer a "powerful _suraksha_ " (just like a "bulletproof jacket") which absorbs "negative energy." The positive energy radiated by the amulet is visualized in the advertisement as a blue oval or circle protecting the vulnerable – the young, the plump, the wealthy. This advertisement draws attention to the important role played by visual practices in contemporary India, where the amulet's protective capacity underlines the existence and potentiality of negative properties of looking that jostle with the positivity of vision, which has received more attention in anthropological work on India. DARSHAN: DEVOTION AND RECIPROCITY Indian acts of looking, particularly in the religious context of _puja_ (worship), have frequently been conceptualized within the "regime" of _darshan_. First promulgated within academic discourse by the Sanskritist Diana L. Eck (1981), the notion of darshan was advanced as an encompassing Hindu mode of engagement with the divine, and by implication the wider world. "When Hindus go to a temple," Eck wrote, "they do not commonly say, 'I am going to worship,' but rather, 'I am going for _dar_ ś _an_ ' " (1998:3). This may be doubtful as a statistical generalization, but it gives an insight into the strength of the claim made on behalf of this "ethnosociological" mode of visuality, one that fused with the emergent broader "visual turn" within the social sciences during the 1980s. The translation of Hindu practice into a matter of _dar_ ś _an dena_ and _dar_ ś _an lena_ (giving and taking darshan) lays the ground for what Eck terms "sacred perception," that is "the ability truly to see the divine image" (1998:6), and the observation that "India is a visual and visionary culture" (Eck 1998: 10). The "giving" and "taking" direct our attention to the mutuality that lies at the heart of darshan, the desire both to see the deity and to be seen by the deity in the hope of receiving blessings and plenitude. In an important early article examining visual interaction in Hinduism, Lawrence Babb (1981) perceptively analyzed this reciprocation of gazes. In the hugely successful mythological film _Jai Santoshi Ma_ (1975), camerawork and editing, as Babb observes, stage the mutuality of looking between devotees and gods: "Our attention... is drawn especially to the goddess's face, which appears at the bull's-eye of a large, rotating disc. When the camera shifts to the goddess's perspective, we find ourselves looking downward at the worshippers who, in their turn are gazing back at us" (Babb 1981:392). Babb also drew attention to the "liquid logic" that informed some Indian visual practices. Radhasoamis, for instance, conceptualized a _drishti ki dhar_ or "current of sight," a "fluid-like seeing" (1981:391), which conjoins guru and disciple. The worshipper who "drinks" the deity participates in a relationship of "flow" characteristic of what McKim Marriott termed the "social fluidarities" of Indian life (1990:3). This is a central idiom in what Babb terms the visual "transaction" that lies at the heart of worship and which involves a "closure" between worshipper and deity: "the devotee surrenders through intimacy, and establishes identification with the deity" (1981:396). Darshan, however, should not be conceptualized as an exclusively visual phenomenon. It is, as Eck argues, more than just the act of disembodied looking; it involves rather, "imaginative and constructive activity, an act of making. It is not simply the reception of images on the retina" (1998:14). The necessarily hermeneutic protocols of all practices of looking connect vision with a broader human sensorium, and seeing, as Eck further writes (following Arnheim, but in a manner which echoes Walter Benjamin), "is not a passive awareness of visual data, but an active focusing upon it, 'touching' it" (1998:15). Eck, however, does not go beyond this to suggest a visuality that reconnects the vision with other somatic sensations, which Pinard (1991) critiques as a downplaying of the gustatory dimensions of Hindu worship, while Pinney (2004) stresses the mutual tactility of the vision that binds devotee and deity through an experience akin to Merleau-Ponty's "double sensation" in which the sensation of touching and being touched are co-present. The move is toward a tactile vision that operates within an expanded sensorial field that has been described by Pinney as "corpothetic" (2004:194). This is a neologism intended not to reify South Asian visuality but rather link it with visual practices in other societies as part of a general "counterhistory of visuality" (Pinney 2002:359). Corpothetics is concerned with aesthetics not as the product of disembodied vision, founded on the separation between the image and viewer, but rather, on the complex fusion of image and embodied beholder in a somatics of the image as body. Interestingly here, darshan, despite initial discussions referring to it as a "Hindu" concept, also names a practice that exceeds the sphere of "religious" practice. As Eck noted, "In addition to the _dar_ ś _an_ of temple images and sacred places, Hindus also value the _dar_ ś _an_ of holy persons, such as _sants_ [saints], _s_ ā _dhus_ [holy men], and _sanny_ ā _sins_ [renouncers]. When Mahatma Gandhi traveled through India, tens of thousands of people would gather wherever he stopped in order to 'take his _dar_ ś _an_ ' " (Eck 1998:5). The possibility of having darshan of holy persons, pilgrimage sites and political figures maps a larger space not circumscribed by Hinduism, and indeed darshan is part of a larger lingua franca and is a term which one will hear uttered, for instance, by Jains and Muslims. This larger space is also gestured to by Sandria Freitag (2001) in her discussion of the darshanic quality of the mutual reliance between viewer and viewed in delineating the hierarchy of power and patronage in performances that were part of Mughal courtly culture. She shows how the power of the gaze was associated with royalty but this had no value, efficacy or integrative force without finding its counterpart in the audience or performers who would partake in and return this gaze. Vision in South Asia, it seems, has never been concerned with just looking: it has always sought in many arenas to incorporate other senses and emotions, uniting vision with the somatic while concurrently diminishing the distance between subject and object. NAZAR: LOOKING AS POISON AND CURE The act of viewing is not conceptually limited to that which comes under the rubric of darshan, or indeed more general practices of _dekhna_ (seeing). Vision in South Asia, as elsewhere, is "polyscopic" (Taylor 2002:297) and evidence of its multiplicity and _ambivalence_ is apparent in the usages of the term _nazar. Nazar_ manifests the multiple nature of the _pharmakon_ (the untranslatable zone of the cure _and_ poison). The _pharmakon_ is a term used by Plato in the _Phaedrus_ , and catches Jacques Derrida's attention because of its fluidity and reversibility. In a resonant passage, Derrida points to the manner in which "in the most striking manner the regular, ordered polysemy that has, through skewing, indetermination, or overdetermination, _but without mistranslation_ , permitted the rendering of the same word by 'remedy,' 'recipe,' 'poison,' 'drug,' 'philtre,' etc." This doubleness, Derrida continues, " _is a difficulty inherent in its very principle_ , situated less in the passage from one language to another, from one philosophical language to another, than already... in the tradition between Greek and Greek" (Derrida 1981:72). Nazar is characterized by a precisely similar doubleness. In its negative incarnation – as in _nazar lagana_ – it denotes a destructive form of the "evil eye." Whereas darshan describes a gaze that should be reciprocated, nazar as poison must be deflected if deleterious consequences are not to follow. Throughout India, nazar is presumed (as the television advertisement indicated) to be one of the most common factors causing minor ailments, failure in a business or social venture, bad luck and general decline. Individuals often discuss who may be the culprit, speculating that it was such and such because "usski nazar toh hai bhi bahut burri" ("his/her way of looking is very bad"). Indians from across many social strata exhibit anxiety at the possibility of being caught by the evil eye ( _nazar lagjani_ ) and will be familiar with protocols designed to remove the evil eye ( _nazar utharna_ ). Some, of course, are rationalists who will dismiss this as _andhvishwas_ ("blind belief" or superstition). Routinely, many will place a small dot of black _kajal_ (creamy soft black soot) behind the ears of any child in need of protection, hang a protective device of green chilies and a lime, strung on a thread, from a door lintel or window jamb, tie a black rag, or an old shoe, to the rear bumper of a vehicle, or paint the words "burri nazar wale tera muh kala" ("evil eye people your mouth is black") as protection. The most common antidote is known as _mircha varna_ whereby seven dried red chilies are rotated clockwise seven times around the body of people who have been afflicted by nazar, once anticlockwise, and then they are passed between their legs, after which the chilies are burnt. The strength of the subsequent flame and choking smoke provide evidence for the strength of the nazar that has been removed. Often when someone has made an effort with his or her appearance for a social function a family member will say "nazar se baachna" ("keep safe from nazar"). Clearly, an element of risk is attached to nazar, a risk associated with disjunctures between classes, and kin of different statuses, but equally nazar can often be an everyday and immediate threat from domestic helps: householders may make a point of ensuring that helpers are always offered a share of food as a "countermeasure." We should also be aware of the way in which the concerns of the current "visual turn" were prefigured by the Orientalist concerns of an earlier colonial social science for which the ethnography of the evil eye proved compelling. _Punjab Notes and Queries_ was a monthly periodical founded and edited by Richard Carnac Temple from 1883 to 1887, with the stated mission of being "devoted to the systematic collection of authentic notes and scraps of information regarding the country [of India] and the people." One note considered to be "authentic" is that of nazar. Appearing in the Folklore Section, over the months there is an accumulation of information on the practices and beliefs that surrounded this aspect of vision in Punjab. In the first issue of 1883 a note by Denzil Ibbetson entitled "Black a Protection against Evil Eye" linked the use of black to iron as the "real charm" whose "virtues have been extended to its colour," as a form of protection against nazar. Ibbetson documented how "a house under construction _should_ always be protected by the presence of an iron pot; though a _ghará_ ('earthen pot') painted black, being cheaper and answering nearly as well, is often substituted as a _nazar wattu_ , or evil eye destroyer." Ibbetson also recorded the extension from iron to the use of the color black that revealed itself to him in a conversation: "Sáhib – 'Why don't you keep that pretty child's face clean? A little black keeps off the evil eye' " (1883:3). In _Punjab Notes and Queries_ , nazar became the staple of contributions by W.Cocburn, who regularly recorded his encounters across the Punjab. Cockburn noted that the use of _kajal_ is said to be particularly effective, since dark colors are "considered by natives who are fond of gay colours to be the most likely to cause dissatisfaction in the mind of the observers" (1884a). Cockburn also presented an account of the involuntary nature of nazar that remains useful: In the matter of ordinary _nazar_ the argument is, that the human mind is so constituted that covetousness is involuntary; that is to say, that a man blind of an eye... is almost certain on observing another with a particularly fine pair of eyes, to be led to think of his own, and wish involuntarily that he had such a pair: in this case he will have cast _nazar_ on him, which unless counteracted is sure to result in something serious affecting his health. If, however, the blind man's attention has been distracted by the other's having put _kájal_ (lamp black) on his eyelids, or by a scar on his eyebrows, or by a piece of white thread hanging there from, or anything else of that sort calculated to distract the attention, the idea of a fine pair of eyes would have been conveyed to the mind in combination with one of those defects, and would have induced, and as involuntary as the fine eyes did covetousness, an element of dissatisfaction which is fatal to _nazar_ , as I observed before, absolute satisfaction. (1884a) Cockburn then stresses the apotropaic value of "distraction": "people born with deformations (for instance double thumbs or bald men) are considered lucky for they possess 'natural distractions.' " Likewise, tying an old rag to the left arm, or if a suspicious look is detected the pretense "to limp or contort his visage and spasmodically grasp his elbow or ankle as though he were in pain" can redirect unwarranted attention (1884b). Less theatrical, but more elegant, is the case of carrying a "gaudy handkerchief." As Cockburn writes, "My sub-assistant... showed me one with a broad red border, and black checks in the centre, which he informed me was first-rate for this purpose" (1884d). This apotropaic asymmetry is reported to be the reason for producing deliberate defects in objects such as spoiling or irregularity of patterns on ornamental clothes and the misspelling of words or blotting of characters in literature (1884c). Nazar has, up to this point, been invoked in its negative manifestation, as a malevolent mode of visuality. Nazar, poisonously incarnated, embodies an intense anxiety about the potential effects of vision and being seen in South Asian society. However, nazar also has a _curative_ face as a "poetics of sight" (Taylor 2002:297). Vishvajit Pandya (1998) documents how nazar acts as a key mode of social interaction and the dominant idiom for the appreciation and preservation of the artistic and architectural traditions of Kachch in Gujarat. Woodman Taylor identifies two types of intense "penetrating" gazes – one being _drishti_ and the other _nazar_. In nazar he detects a form of visuality that has poetic resonances dating to the Persianate court culture of the Mughals in which the articulation of nazar in poetic stanza allowed sensual proximity and proclamation of feelings between individuals in public that were otherwise forbidden by social mores. This ability of nazar to overcome cultural boundaries (and in so doing draw attention to visual practices which are not confined within faith communities) around private/public conduct through a penetrating gaze was adopted by romantic Indian cinema, where the meeting of nazar ( _nazar milana_ ) extended beyond visual acknowledgment of the other. The "holding" of each other's gazes by the hero and heroine at opportune moments marked the peak of emotional expression, and remains so. Both producers and viewers alike understand this interlocking of the gazes to signal the inauguration of romance and release of emotions. Taylor also suggests that the gaze is aurally and symbolically embellished in the lyrics and music of film songs, heightening the emotive quality of nazar. This sense of vision as more than simply looking, as a dimension of the sensorium through which the viewer seeks to feel, touch and hold the image through the gaze and other bodily senses, recalls the multisensorial aspects of darshan and is something that the polyscopic visualities of South Asia demand, and viewers of the films expect. INTER-OCULARITY: IN SEARCH OF THE SECULAR? Despite this talk of popular romantic film, the framing of visuality has continued to rely on "religion" and on practices associated with civilizational traditions. Can we conceive of visuality in "secular" terms that will mirror, if not an impossible Nehruvian detachment from "religion," then at least the messy "cubist" complexity of contemporary Indian public life? One candidate for this was the notion of "inter-ocularity" as espoused by Appadurai and Breckenridge (1995). This was the visual analogue of Bakhtinian "intertextuality," which stressed the ways in which reading and the interpretation of texts ineluctably involved the presence of other texts (Bakhtin 1981). Appadurai and Breckenridge positioned inter-ocularity and inter-visuality as a force texturing and directing the public gaze in South Asia within a new landscape of what they termed "public culture" (1995) characterized by the consumption of "new" media. Mass media in South Asian modernity operating within the inter-ocular is envisaged as a complex of different visual arenas (global and local) interacting and impacting on each other. Appadurai and Breckenridge describe this as a field "structured so that each site or setting for the socializing and regulating of the public gaze is to some degree affected by the experience of other sites" (1995:12). This visual complex captures the "cross-referencing" element of seeing, in which the visual field is influenced by migrating genres (narratives, styles, textures, objects) between media and technologies that are local and transnational, creating new contexts and meanings for each. This Indian public modernity is a zone of cultural debate that elides oppositions of "high" and "low" culture, and eschews the reduction of consumption and interpretation to the kinds of hierarchies of distinction with which anthropologists might be familiar (e.g., as in Bourdieu 1984). Public Culture as an analytic paradigm is attentive to the experience of consumption as a subjective and embodied experience and the manner in which visual consumption permits diverse groups within South Asia to communicate as a "public." "Public" here does not signify a homogenized entity but shared cultural sentiments, expressions and feelings that cut across boundaries of cultural groups, social class, religion, and even nationality to create an arena of cultural debate. Public culture can take many forms: Appadurai and Breckenridge (1995) identify cinema, television, sport spectatorship, restaurants and the museum, which are related by inter-ocular themes and images. Museums are explicitly identified by Appadurai and Breckenridge (1992) as part of public culture, but it is necessary to ask whether museums, to take one example, can really be considered places where South Asian citizens reflect and debate national identity, culture and history. For Rustom Bharucha, Appadurai and Breckenridge's "non-dialectics of seeing" (Bharucha 2000:13) prevent them from acknowledging the reality and social dynamics that surround the "colonial relics" and "bureaucratic nightmares" (2000:12), as he describes museums in South Asia. One might also dispute the desire to locate "inter-ocularity" as the product solely of the consumption of modern and transnational visual forms, textures and styles (Appadurai and Breckenridge 1988; 1995). In India there are enduring visual practices and arenas that disrupt the juxtaposition of the "archaic/modern." The transformation or replacement of old ways of seeing into new "spectacularized" forms of visuality should not be so hastily presumed, for as Bharucha notes, "the back and forth temporalities of seeing Indian artefacts, both within and outside the boundaries of the museum" (2000:13–14) impact visual consumption, making it ambiguous in terms of modern/traditional practices. Pinney's (2004) work on popular chromolithography has also stressed the "recursive" nature of image production: in a world where no image is ever sedimented as "old," every image persists as a potential solution to future problems. A HISTORICIZED VISUALITY Diana Eck, whose seminal work on darshan was adduced at the beginning of this account, has rightly been critiqued by Denis Vidal for the conflation of "arguments drawn from domains as diverse as the Vedic texts or... Hindi films," a conflation which can only be justified by a mode of analysis that "assumed that all these examples can be considered as equally representative of a specific manner of seeing, more or less associated with Hinduism" (Vidal 2006). Eck's method might be conceptualized as "territorial" in a Latourian sense, inasmuch as it subordinates historical transformation to the putatively persistent ethics of a region, in this case India, ruled by a dominant practice, in this case Hinduism. Latour (1993) asks whether anthropology must be "forever condemned to study territories, rather than networks?" If it is not, what might a "networked" anthropological analysis of Indian modes of visuality look like? Well, first it might wish to draw attention to the role of contingency in the constitution of practice, rather than the effects of supposedly suprahistorical forces such as Hinduism or Indian-ness. In other words, it would seek first and foremost to become _historicized_. We shall explore the consequences of such an approach presently. Secondly, a "networked" approach would seek to understand the contemporary changing idioms through which questions of visuality make themselves apparent within India. A historicized account of visuality would draw our attention to changing practices and the manner in which practices such as darshan, and nazar are of necessity historically entangled. In the age of mechanical reproduction visual practices have been most commonly entangled with technologies of imaging such as photography, cinema, television, and the internet. Although earlier accounts attempted to subordinate these new technologies to a territorial understanding of culture (e.g. Gutman 1982), it is clear that technologies frequently precipitated reactions that consolidated practices in ways that demand a theorization of them as _neo_ traditional. Photography, for instance, brought with it a potentially radical new aesthetic. Aspects of this – such as the dramatically individuating properties of the photographic studio and camera's spatiality – were enthusiastically embraced by Indian elites who sought out portraits of themselves as individuals or conjugal couples and in the process fast-tracked new "prophetic" subject identities in advance of those available in the social realm. Jacques Attali (1985) has argued that music, in certain circumstances, acts in advance of social reality – its code is "quicker" than that of society as a whole; its prophecy operating on a semiological frontier. Photographic self-presentation embraced this prophecy, and also granted access to the networks and flows in which fluid beings open themselves up to forms of identification which are fundamentally undecided in the absence of the image. Other photographic potentialities include what Walter Benjamin (1999) referred to as its "dynamite of the tenth of a second" (feeding into the "optical unconscious") and what André Bazin described as its "screening" rather than "framing" of subject matter (cited by Rajadhyaksha 1987:53). Photography's screen-like border created a "cut-off-ness" that European and North American elite practitioners would celebrate for its revolutionary optical potentiality. Indian vernacular photographic practitioners – for whom, as Ashish Rajadhyaksha has argued, the screen posed a formal "ethical" problem ("Indian artists... faced massive formal, really _ethical_ problems when in the nineteenth century they encountered European technologies that emphasized the Renaissance still-frame" (1987:53) ) – often sought a reassertion of value and hierarchy, and one of the chief modes of this was symmetry as a decorative sign rather than by-product of perspective, and the flattening out of depth. The most obvious marker was the arch, a theatrical and architectural device that permitted the partial suspension of the "screen" in favor of the "frame." Many aspects of the colonial technology of representation were "simply drained out" in Indian responses. Later Indian uses of still photography (for instance by Lala Deen Dayal) were also characterized by a move away from perspectival representation, "flat planes actually resisted potentially disruptive perspective forcelines" (1987:56). The painting of the surface of the image was another strategy which facilitated the restoration of a temporal extension and of a hierarchy abolished by photographic instantaneity. Rajadhyaksha draws our attention to an Indian _reaction_ against many of the features of photography, which in other "localizing" traditions (such as, for instance, in the Soviet Union) were embraced and came to constitute the currency of avant-garde practice. In cinema we can see a similar preoccupation with what Walter Benjamin termed the "cultic," for the gods also enjoyed appearing in movies, right from the earliest opportunity in 1913, in Phalke's _Raja Harishchandra_. This convergence of cinema with devotional scopics in India is apparent in many other Phalke films. In his 1918 film _Shri Krishna Janma_ , the Devanagri calligraphy of the title transmutes into a floral script, and then, superimposed on this, Vishnu's spinning _sudarshan-chakra_ (wheel and weapon) appears. Within this, in a further _mise-en-abyme_ , we see the young Krishna (played by Phalke's daughter) appear to dispense darshan – the boon of looking at and being looked at by the gods. "It is as if," Suresh Chabria comments, "the temple and cinema hall are merged" (1994:107). Immediately after this sequence, a foregrounded group of silhouetted devotees appears at the bottom of the screen, as a prosthetic extension of the cinematic audience. We see them beseeching the gods, their backs seamlessly joining those of the audience. A title then appears, "All human efforts having turned out futile the Almighty God is never at a great distance when prayed for sincerely and wholeheartedly." Vishnu, in his Sheshayi Naga (or serpent) form, rises majestically from the waters, following which a series of shots interpose the supplicants' and Krishna's gazes. As Ashish Rajadhyaksha comments, "Every shot is along the perpendicular axis of the gaze, emphasizing it and reciprocating from within the frame" (1987:70). In this foundational moment in the history of Indian scopic regimes, we see two sets of practices aligning themselves with each other: the audience, bringing its "ritual" scopic – _darshanic –_ expectations, finds itself _invited into this new space to repeat a familiar set of responses_. By contrast with the above narrative of conjuncture, we can see "inter-ocularity" working to produce _disjuncture_ almost a century later during the course of the 2004 general election. Politics in India during that year dramatized in a particularly compelling manner the continuing relevance of Guy Debord's theory of spectacularization (1983), the alienating spectacle of politics that was mediated through projection of images about India and its future. What is at stake here is not iconography and content but the ontology of the image: the spectacle as externalized. It is this conflict that the 2004 election brought to the fore. Following an extensive advertising campaign featuring glossy images of prosperity, the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) coalition government went to the polls in April–May 2004 with the slogan Bharat Uday, translated nationally into English as "India Shining." It lost that election to a Congress coalition, one of whose prominent candidates claimed: "We are polishing the exterior, but the interior is starving" (Sunil Dutt in _India Today_ , May 19, 2005, p. 28). The election campaign staged a struggle between surface and interiority, reflectivity and textures that absorb sheen and stickiness. However, for our current purposes, most relevant was the vulnerability of the India Shining campaign. This was dramatized in mid-April when 21 women died in a stampede at a BJP rally in Lucknow, the Prime Minister Atul Behari Vajpayee's constituency in the Lok Sabha (elected lower house of the Indian Parliament). Initially this seemed like a small tragedy of the kind that appears every few weeks in the India press ("Sari dole in Vaypayee seat turns messy," the _Hindustan Times_ reported on April 13). But the symbolic potency of the event quickly became apparent. The deaths occurred when organizers of a birthday celebration for Vajpayee's election agent Lalji Tandon started to throw saris into a crowd and pandemonium broke out. It then became apparent that the women who attended this function, and who had been bussed in from nearby slums, had been forced to pay 20 rupees (about 50 US cents) each for registration and transportation. In return they were promised saris worth 500 rupees and a lavish lunch. On April 15, three days after the tragedy, the _Times of India_ ran a photograph of the mass cremations of the 21 under the Blakean headline, "Shining, shining... burning bright," recalling Debord's claim (as Greil Marcus phrases it) that "society organized as appearance can be disrupted on the field of appearance" (Marcus 2002:8). On the following day, when the death toll had risen further, the Indore _Free Press_ ran a lead story under the headline, " 'Shining India' has dark patches: Vajpayee" with an insert that Vajpayee's personal assets totaled 5.8 million rupees (approx. US$130,000). Vaypajee was quoted as conceding that "this incident has come as a shock" and that "India has many aspects, some that shine and others that are still in the dark." "Shininess" was vulnerable on many fronts: much of the rural population found it difficult to reconcile it with the "darkness" of an electricity-poor existence. In central India, where Pinney researched during 2004, district towns were allocated only six hours of electricity, and villages two or three if they were lucky. The then Madhya Pradesh BJP Chief Minister Uma Bharati's regime had complemented the national India Shining campaign with its own advertising jingle: "kali raat biti, mehnat jiti" (dark nights are over, hard work has paid off). But this was somewhat undercut by the fact that outside of the state capital of Bhopal most cities and nearly all villages were in near permanent states of darkness. Villagers were able, during the two or three hours when there was electricity, to receive terrestrial television but it was only one channel making only ghostly appearances through blizzards of interference. Their India was not shining. As in the pirated Nigerian videos described by Brian Larkin in which shine transforms into indistinct forms that can hardly be glimpsed through the screen of poverty, rural viewers experienced "a material screen" characterized by "poor transmission, interference and noise" (2004:291). Metropolitan glamour, as in Nigeria, to cite Larkin again, "fades into pulsating, pure light. Facial features are smoothed away, colours are broken down into constituent tones and bodies fade into one another" (2004:307). But this differential access to the luxuries associated with a "shiny" lifestyle was also transacted by what might be termed a "cosmological" vulnerability. For angry dalits, the alliance of light, splendor and prosperity that _uday_ invoked was synonymous with the _tej_ (glow, splendor or brilliance) that is central to high caste narratives of heroism (such as that associated with the warrior figure Tejaji. Tejaji's lustre (to which his name refers) comes from his caste-defending honor and his role as a _satyavadi_ , or truth speaker, the implication being in high caste narratives that lower castes cannot be relied upon to be lustrous and truthful. SOMATICS AND SUBJECTIVITY Despite the fact that in certain domains there is a powerful somaticism in which surface and inside are fused in volatile bio-moral "dividuals," what is most evident in Madhya Pradesh village discourses is a dualism which devalues the surface in favor of internal truths. So, for example, two of the most prevalent chromolithographs to be found in rural areas show (firstly) Hanuman pulling open his chest to reveal his interiorized devotion to his master and mistress, Ram and Sita, and (secondly) Ravidas cutting open his chest to reveal his sacred thread. This latter image participates in the contested high caste _Bhaktamala_ narrative of this deity as a fallen Brahman, and much as Chamars (dalits whose traditional caste occupation was leatherworking) might refute the hierarchical ideology implicit in this story, no one disputes the relationship of surface to interior. They reject the political moral, but they do not contest the morphological principle that things that are buried and are seen have an ontological priority. In rural central India we can differentiate between, on the one hand, a high caste, Brahmanic semiotics of indexicality embodied in the idiom of ś _ruti_ ("of what was heard") and, on the other hand, a dalit, subaltern aesthetics of superabundance embodied in the notion of _prakat_ or _prakatan_ (manifestation). Central here is not the nature of representation but the fact that it is a possibility, a manifestation. Central Indian dalits are in a state of becoming, and appeal to a _visual_ system to progress this becoming. Dalits' political transitivity is announced in a series of grievances that demarcate a fluid and problematic subjectivity. Some of this is articulated in the language of entitlement: they lack the land, and the property, that they ought to have. But, as importantly, it is also advanced through a discourse of incompleteness that proposes an insufferable inhumanity. One autodidact political radical cataloged some of these for us: "Thakurs [Rajputs or ruling caste in Northern India]) who won't eat _roti_ [bread] or drink water that has been corrupted by Dalits; Thakurs who smash _matkas_ [earthenware pots] because Dalits have touched them; Thakurs' refusal to let Dalits ride horses during marriage processions, insisting that they go by foot or tractor." Images partner this emergent (incomplete and repressed) subjectivity in both pedagogic and performative ways. Some images are prized for their instructional narratives that are granted an authorizing power. For Chamars, images of the deities Ramdev and Ravidas provide complex texts for the mediation by the community's intellectual leaders of the ethics of the surface and a politics of equality and citizenship. Some images of Ravidas depict him cutting his chest open to reveal a sacred thread, proof of his Brahman status in an earlier life, an event associated with a conservative text, the _Bhaktamala_. This is a key image in articulating the somatic as a fulcrum between different ethical-political worlds. In the _Bhaktamala_ version the outside signifies Ravidas's impossible, putatively Chamar, powers. The inside reveals his "true" high caste identity. The image, of course, plays out this materialization of a previously hidden truth. The relationality is inverted by many dalit intellectuals as part of their critique of high caste oppression: 99 percent of all Indians are _kharab_ (rotten), one claims, "politics in the village has been fundamentally perverted by Thakur violence; and high caste people are like roses: they appear to be beautiful on the outside but they are studded with cruel thorns. They are high only in name just as the rose is beautiful but encrusted with thorns." The most popular images of Ravidas, however, depict him as a cobbler hard at work and visually narrate an anti- _Bhaktamala_ politics. A key episode in these images concerns a Brahman who, while in Banaras to make offerings for a Rajput friend, needed shoes and visited Ravidas, who said he'd make the Brahman a pair of shoes if in return he would offer a betel nut to the Ganges. The Brahman made his offering for the Rajput and almost forgot to offer Ravidas's betel nut. When he did so and tossed it casually into the river, Ganga Mata appeared to personally receive the offering. For central Indian Chamars the moral of the Ganga Mata story – and here they can claim the support of an alternative text, the _Ravidas Ramayan_ – is that the corrupted hierarchy of the quotidian world has an extramundane shadow in which the superiority of Chamars is recognized. The Brahman may have mistakenly thought that his own status and that of his Rajput friend was higher, but Ganga Mata was under no such illusion. By delinking this episode from the _Bhaktamala_ fallen-Brahman deus ex machina, Chamars cede validation of hierarchy away from humans toward the gods. Humans (especially Brahmans and Thakurs) don't understand how things really are: only the gods do. This lesson in becoming is mediated through mass-produced paper images. But just as these images work toward the constitution of new dalit subjectivities, dalits constitute these images: it is their consecration of the image, their offering of marigolds, coconuts and incense to the images, and the repetitive devotional darshanic attention to these pieces of paper (one trace of which is the gradual accretions on the surface of the images) that make these _bhagvan ke photo_ , or photos of the gods, images capable of doing this work. The circulation of images of previously marginal figures to much wider subaltern audiences is a key political vector. For many, these chromolithographs become the focus of private performance designed to create an intimate and tactile space between the devotee and the surface of the image. For others, the images become a screen in front of which more public performances are enacted. We can see a parallel mutual becoming in the prominent role that goddess possession plays in rural dalit political struggles. This form of intense and visceral divine manifestation is most visible in dalit communities. A (largely calendrically determined) nexus of processions conjoin and disjoin villagers in various ways and this is one stage on which the intense enfleshed aesthetics of dalit shamanism are mobilized in claims that it is they who make the presence of the gods more manifest and that consequently they who have a more legitimate claim to speak for Hindu practice in this local setting. These dramatic performative interventions, which are also central to the becoming of dalit political subjectivity, always occur in spaces that are already demarcated by mass-produced paper gods. Chromolithographs of goddesses (Kali, Durga, and so on) are displayed in the corner of the front room of the _ghorla_ , or shaman, and demarcate the extramundane space in which the animated goddess will appear. The _ghorla_ thrashes – teeth chattering and body swaying, holding a bowl of burning coals and a sword – and enfleshes the printed images in front of which this performance occurs. Here we see (as earlier with Mughal nazar) how visuality lies at the heart of certain politically significant performativities. These local struggles for visibility and validation find a national echo in the proliferation of Ambedkar statues and Ambedkar parks which dalit communities and state governments are actively promoting. Small suited figures of Ambedkar are commonly to be seen in dalit slums, often associated with legal claims to residence on squatted land. In Lucknow, the state capital of Uttar Pradesh, the Bahujan Samaj Party leader Maywati has spearheaded the creation of a vast 27-acre Ambedkar Udyan which fuses early Buddhist architectural styles with the landscape ambition of Mughal cities. Currently her state government is locked in a legal dispute about the construction of a similar park costing 550 million rupees in Noida on the outskirts of Delhi. Its opponents decry the destruction of forestland and the misuse of funds: for its proponents the monumentalization of Ambedkar is a key element in a broader project of public acknowledgment through a visual domination of urban landscapes. An anthropological account of modes of visuality in contemporary India would want to record William Mazzarella's wonderful discussion of the "rurally imagined transparency machine" precipitated by the March 2001 _Tehelka_ exposé of Defence Ministry corruption in the then BJP government through the use of hidden video cameras, with the footage then posted on the internet. A cameraman reported overhearing villagers saying that a new device had been invented in which "[ _sab ka_ ] _brashtachaar nanga ho jaata hai_ ([all] corruption is made naked)... a kind of x-ray machine which exposed naked anyone's corruption the moment they came in front of it" (Mazzarella 2006: 488), and that this was the reason the prime minister had not been seen in public for several days. We might add to this productive incarnation of surveillance the recent use by protestors in Indian-Administered Kashmir of camcorders as an alternative to guns. Danish Shervani was viciously beaten by Indian troops in early 2008, a beating captured by several co-protestors, ready to capture what Benjamin called "fleeting and secret images." "Abuses by the security forces were recorded and posted on the Internet," a report in the _Economist_ noted. "The clips speak for themselves." However, machines which reveal all have produced different and much more widespread anxieties in contemporary India. "Voyeur Alert!" and "The Death of Privacy," headlines in the _Times of India_ in 2005, describing the placing of spycams in a girls' hostel in Pune, are typical of hundreds of similar such stories that have flooded the Indian press in recent years. This anxiety is so pronounced that it has already been monumentalized in three films: Mahesh Bhatt's 2005 sensationalist and prurient _Kalyug_ ; Buddhadeb Dasgupta's 2007 _Ami, Iyasin Ar Madhubala_ , whose English title is _The Voyeur_ ; and Anurag Kashyap's huge 2009 hit _Dev. D_. While these films all convey a sense of the potency of visuality, we are a long way from the mutuality and tactility of darshan. These films' concerns are perhaps closer to the anxieties of the evil eye, which the Nazar Sauraksha Kawach – with which we opened this chapter – seeks to assuage. But here we confront the limits of an anthropology committed to "cultural" readings, unable perhaps to recognize the global anxieties that the technics of scrutiny and surveillance generate. These anxieties about privacy may appear as universal as they are local. In a parallel manner, we might note here that the Nazar Suraksha Kawach, which has served as a sign of locality in this account, can also be refigured as a trace of a network: these are made in Turkey and their "bulletproof jacket" protection is the consequence of "3,000 year old Anatolian glass crafting techniques." _Aa Dekhen Zara_ (Come Let's See) (2009) details the experiences of the central character – Ray Acharya – with a Hasselblad camera he inherited from his father and which produced images foretelling the future. When he photographs lottery shops, the lists of the future winning numbers appear when he develops the prints. When he photographs racehorses training, the prints revealed their positions at the finishing post. And portraits of certain people, when developed, appeared dark and unreadable, prophesying their death. Another film released in 2009, _Shadow_ , was advertised with an image of the blind central character wearing dark glasses above the (English) slogan "He cannot see in _real_ life but he can see in _reel_ life." This further maps the prophetic potential of the lens that links technics to what is yet to pass. Earlier we asked how an anthropology of visuality in India might liberate itself from "territorializing" assumptions and understand visual practices in terms of "networks." One further, and final, aspect of this might entail an attempt to understand the intimate dependency of practices that may otherwise appear to be opposed. We have already encountered one specific example of this in the _pharmakon_ of nazar, which points to both the potential positivity and negativity of vision. Indicative of a range of other possible illustrations is the increased popularity of images of Kamadhenu, "a winged creature with female head and body of a cow," to which Sandria Freitag alludes (2007:313). Nominally "Hindu," the image's epidemiology, Freitag suggests, cannot be understood apart from the circulation of Shia images of Buraq, a winged creature with a woman's head and horse's body which carried Muhammad to heaven, and which in the context of the first month of the Islamic calendar that also marks a period of mourning for Shi'a Muslims (Muharram) carries _tazias_ or replicas of tombs in the procession (2007:311). Both images are "community specific" but locked intimately in a struggle for supremacy. But to such cases might be added the far broader issue of visibility and invisibility, conceptualized not simply as antinomies but rather as different points on a single spectrum of the possibility of being made visible. It was in such a spirit that Latour and Weibel (2002) suggested the productivity of the term _iconoclash_ to denote the common arena invoked by those invested in images (positively in the case of iconophiles, and negatively in the case of iconoclasts). It is with a similar desire that this contribution offers the term _optic-clash_. REFERENCES Appadurai, Arjun, and Carol Breckenridge 1988 Why Public Culture? Public Culture 1:5–9. 1992 Museums are Good to Think: Heritage on View in India. _In_ Museums and Communities. Ivan Karp, Christine M. Kreamer, and Steven D Lavine, eds. Pp. 34–55. Washington DC: Smithsonian Institution Press. 1995 Public Modernity in India. _In_ Consuming Modernity: Public Culture in a South Asian World. Carol Breckenridge, ed. Pp. 1–20. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Attali, Jacques 1985 Noise: The Political Economy of Music. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Babb, Lawrence A. 1981 Glancing: Visual Interaction in Hinduism. 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Punjab Notes and Queries 1(7):51. 1884d Note 930. Folklore Section. Notes and Queries 1(11):124. Debord, Guy 1983 Society of the Spectacle. Detroit: Black and Red. Derrida, Jacques 1981 Dissemination. Barbara Johnson, trans. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Eck, Diana L. 1981 Darsán: Seeing the Divine Image in India. 1st edition. Chambersburg, PA: Anima Books. 1998 Darsán: Seeing the Divine Image in India. 3rd edition. New York: Columbia University Press. Freitag, Sandria 2001 Visions of the Nation: Theorizing the Nexus between Creation, Consumption, and Participation in the Public Sphere. _In_ Pleasure and the Nation: The History, Politics and Consumption of Public Culture in India. Rachel Dwyer and Christopher Pinney, eds. Pp. 35–75. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. 2007 South Asian Ways of Seeing, Muslim Ways of Knowing: The Indian Muslim Niche in Posters. Indian Economic and Social History Review 44(3):297–331. Gutman, Judith Mara 1982 Through Indian Eyes. 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Taylor, Woodman 2002 Penetrating Gazes: The Poetics of Sight and Visual Display in Popular Indian Cinema. Contributions to Indian Sociology 36:297–322. Vidal, Denis 2006 Darshan. _In_ South Asian Studies Keywords (School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London). At www.soas.ac.uk/southasianstudies/keywords/file24803.pdf (accessed July 2010). CHAPTER 13 Hindu–Muslim Relations and the "War on Terror" _Philippa Williams_ Between November 26 and 29, 2008 India's financial urban center, Mumbai, was the target of coordinated bombing and shooting attacks which took place at more than 10 landmarks in the city, including Mumbai's main railway station, the luxury Taj Mahal hotel and the city's Jewish center. The attacks resulted in the deaths of over a hundred people and were captured in real time, transmitted to audiences around the world on 24-hour television news channels and internet websites. The national and international media portrayed this event as "India's 9/11" and thereby directly aligned these acts of terrorism with the politics of the so-called global "War on Terror."1 A few months earlier, in September 2008, five bomb blasts were detonated in close succession within public market and office spaces of India's capital city, Delhi, killing 25 people and injuring an additional 90. Less extensive but nonetheless violent and coordinated assaults on public spaces and transport networks were also enacted in Jaipur, Ahmadabad and Bangalore in 2008, Hyderabad in 2007 and Varanasi, and Mumbai in 2006. The alleged perpetrators of these attacks have been linked to Islamist organizations such as the Pakistan based Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT) and the Bangladeshi organization Harkat-ul-Jehadi Islami (HuJI), as well as Indian based groups, namely the Students' Islamic Movement of India (SIMI), and its offshoot, the Indian Mujahideen. Despite the different historical and political backgrounds of these organizations, there is a tendency for public and political opinion to unquestioningly locate the attacks within a broader global context concerning "Islamic Terrorism" that is currently being shaped by the so-called "War on Terror" (Oza 2007; Jones 2009). Accordingly, national discourses around Muslim and Hindu enmity are aligned with the apparent incommensurability of "Islam" and "the rest" (Huntington 1993). Such an interpretation, however, belies a more nuanced and complex history of Hindu–Muslim relations in India, while simultaneously obscuring everyday relational realities and subjectivities. A more grounded perspective is required – one that situates recent Islamist violence within the broader context of Hindu–Muslim relations in India. Following the Partition of the Indian subcontinent in 1947, India became one of the world's largest multicultural democratic nations. And today, India shares its most significant borders with the majority Sunni Muslim states of Pakistan and Bangladesh. According to the 2001 census, India's majority religious population of Hindus accounts for 81.4 percent of the national populace, while Muslims represent the largest religious minority at 12.4 percent. Meanwhile, Christians (2.3 percent), Sikhs (1.9 percent), Buddhists (0.8 percent) and Jains (0.4 percent) comprise much smaller relative populations. Muslims therefore constitute the nation's largest minority religious community vis-à-vis the majority Hindu population; they also occupy the best part of India's borderlands. These national and regional demographic realities inform not only intercommunity interactions in India, but also lived experiences of identity, democracy, citizenship, and justice. Anthropology has traditionally looked at caste as the primary organizational structure of life in India (Dumont 1980). This focus has unwittingly afforded centrality to India's Hindu population, while ideologically and academically marginalizing Muslims and other religious groups from consideration. But in recent decades and particularly in urban areas, religious identity has become progressively recognized as an important differentiating identity, especially within India's public spaces and concerning everyday as well as electoral politics. Despite a national constitutional commitment to secularism, in reality the most important imaginations of the nation continue to be religious ones (van der Veer 1994: 22). Questions concerning the cultural articulations of religion have attracted extensive academic engagement (such as Geertz 1960; Durkheim 1995[1912]). This chapter works from the assumption that religions are not "primordial identities" – not, that is, unquestioningly inherited, immutable and static, but instead transformed and mobilized within constantly changing political situations. As Peter van der Veer contends, "there is no such thing as Hinduism or Islam. Instead, there are Hindu and Muslim religious discourses that try to establish their authority in changing societal configurations. They are internally divided and fragmented as well as contested by 'external' secular discourses" (1994:197). While religions undoubtedly facilitate a sense of continuity through space and time for both believers and outsiders, they cannot be divorced from the political processes in which they are produced and managed (Doniger 1991; van der Veer 1987:299). By looking closely at Hindu and Muslim relations, this chapter will be particularly concerned with how religious identities are experienced and articulated within multicultural public contexts.2 The three sections that follow contextualize and critique conceptions of Hindu–Muslim relations in India. First, I examine the centrality of what I call "spaces of enmity" in the making and marking of Hindu–Muslim relations, paying attention to both material and imagined experiences, the local and national contexts of Hindu–Muslim violence in recent decades, and the different explanations offered by scholars to account for this violence. Second, I suggest that a preoccupation with large-scale material violence between Hindus and Muslims acts to obscure an everyday intercommunity landscape that is more commonly characterized by what I term "processes of amity" – or those spaces of "everyday peace" in which cooperation and coexistence prevail, even as they are shaped by and against memories, discourses, and performances of violence. And third, I recommend "questioning alterity" to further nuance understandings of intercommunity interactions. Drawing on the assumption that we are always marked by multiple kinds of difference and that religious difference does not always take center stage, I explore the complex interactions of syncretic, liminal and intersubjective identities that both encompass and transcend religious identification. Finally, while appreciating the diverse ways in which religious identity may be experienced and transcended in everyday life, the chapter returns to reflect upon the ways in which Muslim identity has progressively aligned with processes of socioeconomic and political marginalization in contemporary India and beyond. The corollary is that for many Indian Muslims, religious identity does constitute a significant marker of difference that shapes everyday experience and agency. SPACES OF ENMITY Since the late 1980s, relations between Hindus and Muslims in India have been dramatically reconfigured in the context of a changing national political landscape. Following Independence, the Indian Congress Party sustained almost uninterrupted power at the center under Nehru. However, the progressively corrupt, inefficient and factional politics asserted under Indira Gandhi and subsequently, her son, Rajiv Gandhi, contributed to the party's decline in popularity in the mid to late 1980s. The organizational and ideological vacuum left by the Congress Party thereby facilitated the rise of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and members of the Sangh Parivar who set about reworking the nationalist imagination in an explicitly Hindu image. The central objective of Hindu nationalism is to create political unity among the Hindus, which requires the imagination of an ethnically homogeneous community with a singular Indian citizenship. Toward this end, the BJP explicitly declared allegiance to the project of Hindutva, "Hinduness," and celebrated a glorious unbroken Hindu past (Jaffrelot 1996). In reality, however, this history was a fabrication designed to serve the ideological and political interests of the Hindu cultural revivalists who emerged during the 1920s, such as M. S. Golwalker and Veer Sarvakar, who sought to recuperate Hindu cultural strength by emphasizing notions of virility, pride, and masculinity vis-à-vis both the government and Muslims. Thomas Blom Hansen has extensively examined the contours of this variety of cultural nationalism to demonstrate how since the 1980s the Hindu nationalist movement has successfully exploited and redefined these entrenched historical definitions of the Hindu community – definitions motivated by a perpetual vindication of Hindu bodies, both male and female, which are imagined to be in need of constant protection (2001:181). As Hansen explains, "the identification of the Other as Muslim is instituted and repeated endlessly by Hindu nationalism" (1996:152). Similarly, Arjun Appadurai (2006) argues that the exorcising of the Muslim Other is symptomatic of the majority's "anxiety of incompleteness" – that is, the feeling that the minority, however small, is hindering the realization of a pure and untainted national ethos. Drawing on Sigmund Freud, he goes on to argue that a "narcissism of minor differences" can even drive majorities to become predatory in an attempt to eliminate that difference. The irony, of course, is that the "majority's" existence depends upon the "minority's" presence, for it is against this population that it draws strength and constructs a cohesive self-image. In the 1990s, India's political landscape experienced a state of flux. With the Congress no longer in power, the Janata Party briefly came to the center. In 1991, then prime minister V. P. Singh decided to implement the recommendations of the Mandal Commission by providing employment and education reservations for Other Backward Castes (OBCs) in addition to dalits and scheduled castes (SCs). In so doing, he presented a significant challenge to the consolidation of the Hindu nationalist movement. The execution of the recommendations of the Mandal Commission provoked huge resentment from the middle and upper Hindu castes, who perceived their inherited, as well as government entitlements to be under threat. In the face of a potentially fracturing Hindu electorate, the minority Muslim community represented an expedient "Other" against which the BJP and ultra-right-wing organizations successfully worked to mobilize a pro-Hindu/Hindutva ideology and to strengthen the Hindu majority (see Shani, chapter 16 in this volume). It was in this political context that 300,000 members or sympathizers of fundamentalist Hindu organizations desecrated the Babri masjid (mosque) at Ayodhya on December 6, 1992. The Babri masjid was built in the sixteenth century after the desecration of a Hindu temple on the site which Hindus believe represents the exact birthplace of Lord Ram, one of India's most important Hindu gods. The aspiration to reconstruct a temple on the site came to represent the restoration of Hindu pride and spurred the growth of Hindu nationalism (van der Veer 1994; Nandy 1995; Desai 2002). The repercussions of the event were widespread on a scale not seen since Partition. The demolition triggered violence across west and north India over the following four months and resulted in the deaths of 1,700 people and the injury of at least 5,500 more. Contemporary politicians continue to make efforts to draw political mileage from the so-called "Mandir" issue, which is remembered annually in political and public spheres. The city of Mumbai in western India was one of the worst affected by rioting in the immediate aftermath of events at Ayodhya, as well as by a second round of violence a month later in January 1993. The riots were predominantly located in majority Muslim, working-class and slum districts of the city such as Jogeshwari, Bhoiwada, Dharvari, Kurla and Kherwadi, among others. But it was the city's Muslims who disproportionately bore the brunt of the violence to persons and property; 650 Muslims and 200 Hindus were killed in riots that were instigated and encouraged by the local Hindu right party, the Shiv Sena, and the BJP. On March 12, 1993, which coincided with the last Friday of the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, ten bombs were detonated across the city within a period of two hours. They were planted strategically and exploded in a series in the vicinity of important city buildings, including the Bombay Stock Exchange. The serial bomb blasts were interpreted as isolated acts of Muslim terrorism and less widely recognized as forms of retaliation in the context of the intense Hindu and state-led aggression against the city's Muslims. Much has been documented about the state's uneven response to the alleged Muslim perpetrators and victims as compared to those behind the city's riots (Hansen 2001). The Srikrishna Commission was set up to investigate the causes of the riots and to restore a sense of justice among the city's Hindu and Muslim victims. But the rise to power of the Shiv Sena in the 1995 Maharashtra state elections and the BJP in the 1998 national elections ensured that when the report was finally published in 1998, such was the grip of the Hindu right on political and ideological power that justice could not be fully realized for Mumbai's marginalized Muslim populations. In 2002, 10 years after the desecration of the Babri masjid, North India once again witnessed intense episodes of Hindu–Muslim violence, particularly in Gujarat's urban centers, such as Ahmedabad and Vadodara, as well as in smaller towns and rural settlements. The violence occurred in the aftermath of a fire that broke out in a carriage of the Sabamarti Express train at Godhra, which resulted in the deaths of 58 Hindu pilgrims and _kar sevaks_ (volunteers/religious workers). The pilgrims and kar sevaks were returning from Ayodhya, where they had been helping to rebuild a Hindu temple on the site of the demolished Babri masjid by the deadline set by the Hindu right organization, the Vishva Hindu Parishad, of March 15, 2002. The fire was widely understood to have been started by Muslims, although this has never been conclusively proven. Narendra Modi, then BJP Chief Minister of the state, condoned the conspicuous anti-Muslim violence as a justifiable reaction, even though the retaliatory violence far exceeded the scale of the apparent provocation. Over 2,000 Muslims were killed and at least 100,000 homeless people were forced to seek shelter in inadequate refugee camps. While members of the Hindu right claim that the violence across the state was spontaneous, human rights groups have consistently proposed an alternative picture of the calculated strategies devised by members of Hindu right groups such as the VHP and Bajrang Dal to target Muslims (Varadarajan 2002; Engineer 2003; Lobo and Das 2006). They argue that these actions had the tacit permission, or in some cases the active collusion of police and local authorities. To reinforce the physical violence against Muslims, an economic boycott was imposed on Muslim shops and businesses in the state, which continued in the aftermath of the Gujarat riots (Breman 2002). Despite numerous public enquiries and court cases, the politicians behind these "riots" remain in power. Explaining violence These periods of high-profile Hindu–Muslim violence have prompted social scientists to comment on the increased proliferation of "communal violence" in South Asia. Collective violence is generally constructed as "spontaneous" or "instinctive" "eruptions" of violence, which may or may not be attached to certain primordial identities or "communities." Often described as "riots" in the South Asian context, collective violence refers to that which takes place in the public arena, and is enacted by citizens rather than by agents of the state. In reality, however, collective violence is seldom merely "impulsive," and construing it as such risks depoliticizing events which are more often located in complex socioeconomic and political contexts. In an attempt to explain this apparently growing propensity toward violence, social scientists have sought answers in aspects of both Hindu and Muslim identity, intercommunity economic competition, and politics (Nandy 1995; Engineer 1995: Kakar 1996; Brass 1997; Varshney 2002; Wilkinson 2004). Two general patterns of thought can be broadly said to characterize this literature. The first conceptualizes ethnic violence as the inevitable product of capitalist modernity and the failed rationale of secularism. (Nandy 1990; Tambiah 1996; Engineer 1995; Kakar 1996). The second looks away from such large-scale ideologies toward accounts that reveal relational dynamics within civil society and political arenas (Varshney 2002; Brass 2003; Wilkinson 2004). An exemplar of the first trend, Engineer (1995) argues that economic development is inevitably associated with a degree of violence directly related to the pace or stage of development. Development generally brings significant shifts in, and even complete transformations of socioeconomic and political structures. Within a capitalist framework, the benefits of "development" are particularly uneven and patterns of exploitation and injustice between communities are often accentuated. In India, the arrival of colonial rule constituted a significant socioeconomic shift in which Hindus typically availed themselves of administrative and government jobs, while Muslim interests on other hand suffered. Muslim ruling classes were feudal and could not adapt so easily within an emergent industrializing economy; unable to keep pace, Muslims clung more resolutely to their religious identity and community. Engineer contends that this set up an ideological confrontation in which the Hindu community perceived the Muslim minority community's assertion of their primordial identity to be "fanatical" and highly "communal." In response, the Hindu majority raised the slogan of its religion being threatened and circulated propaganda that reinforced their community's need to consolidate ranks and engender the unity required to meet minority aggression (Engineer 1995:17–18). Engineer concludes that with the rise of competitive communalism, in part stimulated by processes of modernity, such as migration, urban growth and related increases in crime, religion has come to acquire a prime role in Indian politics. Ultimately, Engineer determines that modernizing developments initiated by colonial rule stimulated a progressive shift from cooperation between Hindus and Muslims to competition – a shift that has resulted in the proliferation of collective violence in postcolonial India. Introducing a psychoanalytical perspective, Kakar (1996) is more skeptical about the influence of religion in politics, focusing instead on "communalism." He identifies communalism as that state or condition in which "a community of believers not only has religious affiliation but also, social, economic, and political interests in common, which may conflict with the corresponding interests of another community of believers sharing the same geographical space" (Kakar 1996:186). The forces of modernization and globalization, he argues, are central to the rise in communal violence, especially in urban settings. Feelings of loss and helplessness accompany dislocation and migration from rural areas, and cultural ideals and values are pronounced as irrelevant in a progressively homogenized modern world. Together these represent threats to identity, and are particularly conducive to heightening group subjectivities around belonging (Kakar 1996:187). For Ashis Nandy too, there can be no doubting that "the incidence of communal riots has been increasing consistently in India over the last four decades" (1995:6). Like Engineer and Kakar, Nandy perceives the increase as the consequence of modernity; but he points the finger at one particular aspect of Nehru's modernist project: secularism. The antisecularist argument is that communal riots did not take place in traditional India because traditional religiosity led to principles of tolerance and coexistence. By seeking to separate politics from religion, secularism is responsible for sabotaging traditional religious principles and communal harmony in India. With the advent of modernity, communal riots in India have increased because of the link between secularism and amoral politics. Nandy's position rests on the assumption that secular individuals are devoid of both morality and spirituality, and that a secularist approach is therefore not as effective as a religious one at establishing morality through institutions and laws. The second set of explanations privileges civil society as the locus of investigation, and argues that the nature of social networks that cross group boundaries is crucial to understanding why violence erupts in some areas and peace prevails in others. Despite their public differences, Brass (2003) and Varshney (2002) both concur that violence is predominantly located in India's urban localities. Brass (2003) documents the production, proliferation and regeneration of Hindu communalism as the main cause of Hindu–Muslim conflict in India, demonstrating how trivial quarrels between Hindu and Muslim parties sometimes escalate into riots. Whether or not these quarrels result in violence can be explained, he argues, by the networks of men with money, convictions, incentives, local knowledge and daring who constitute an "institutionalized riot system" that actively "produces" a riot (Brass 2003). Brass contends that riots are _engineered_ to maintain communal tensions and consequently support for militant Hindu nationalism (2003:9). Varshney (2002) departs from Brass's thesis by placing explicit emphasis on understanding the possibilities for peace rather than for violence. In order to isolate the conditions that prevent riots, Varshney compares three pairs of largely similar Indian cities. In each of the pairs, one of the cities witnessed "communal riots" while the other did not. His central finding is that the key variable determining whether violence will erupt or not in a given location is the strength or weakness of intercommunal civil society. As he explains, "the pre-existing local networks of civil engagement between the two communities stand out as the single most important _proximate_ cause [of rioting]" (2002:9). In cities where communities are linked by strong institutional ties, a preventive mechanism is already in place to prevent ethnic _conflict_ , which is inevitable, from spiraling into ethnic _violence_ , which is not inevitable. Conversely, in cities where such ties are limited, any provocation or misunderstanding has the potential to generate widespread disturbances. As a counter to Brass, Varshney argues for the function of an "institutionalized peace system" in determining the interethnic atmosphere of a city. In agreement with the positions held by both Varshney and Brass that ethnic conflicts are "far from being relatively spontaneous eruptions of anger," Wilkinson shifts his analytical scrutiny toward the politicians who often plan ethnic riots for their political advantage (2004:1). He contends that politicians also have the means to prevent violence if they so wish. If reelection for the party in power hinges on Muslim support, then it is unlikely that riots will take place. Parties representing elites within ethnic groups employ antiminority protests, demonstrations and physical attacks to precipitate riots and encourage the consolidation of a majority Hindu identity. This line of argument suggests that the BJP in Gujarat sought to profit from the state elections that took place soon after the riots. The resulting polarization of Hindus and Muslims effectively united the Hindu vote, which went almost exclusively to the BJP, therefore ensuring their victory at the polls in 2002. The commonplace understanding that Hindu–Muslim difference customarily leads to conflict, if not violence, contributes to what Shail Mayaram has termed a "ready explanatory framework" (1997). When any kind of conflict arises between Hindus and Muslims it is naturally interpreted by the media and public opinion as a "communal clash." This scenario presented itself in the city of Ajmer in the state of Rajasthan when, in 1998, a pilgrim wanted to exchange something that she had bought at a Sindhi-owned store in Dargah Bazaar. The customer and store owner began to argue, drawing a crowd and causing the police to intervene. The encounter was understood by the police as a dispute between a "Muslim" customer and a "Hindu" store-owner, and they responded accordingly. As the conflict escalated, clashes between the police and bystanders intensified, and ultimately, the government administration imposed a curfew. However, as Olsen (2005) contends, the media and dominant public construction of the event as a "communal clash" belied local residents' far more nuanced understanding of events. Working-class Muslim women refused to frame the events through the lens of religious identity, instead reiterating how amicable intercommunity relations were in the city, and emphasizing their _relation_ to others in society rather than their distance. These marginalized voices portrayed the incident as a conflict between the police and the public, not between Hindus and Muslims. Juxtaposing "situated knowledges" (Haraway 1991) with media and more popular constructions of events therefore firstly highlights the different scales across which Hindu and Muslim relations are interpreted, and the relative influence these discourses have on public and political imaginations. Secondly, it importantly challenges dominant perceptions of violence by drawing attention to the "processes of amity" that also characterize Hindu and Muslim relations. I expand upon this latter insight in the next section by turning to look at the different modes of nonviolent intercommunity exchange. PROCESSES OF AMITY Localized and material violence may certainly characterize aspects of some Hindu–Muslim interactions in India, but it would be misleading to foreground physical violence as the principal mode of intercommunity relations. On an everyday basis the vast majority of India's Hindus and Muslims live together peacefully. I use the term "processes of amity" to refer to different and ongoing modes of everyday interactions and coexistence that encompass practices of friendship, empathy and tolerance, as well as moments of dispute and conflict that do not result in violence. As process, I show that practices of everyday amity demand effortful, relentless and creative labor. Despite constituting the daily norm, the everyday living together of Hindus and Muslims has received consistently less attention than has intercommunity conflict. The mechanics of neighboring have seemingly inspired less interest than the technicalities of bloodshed. Not only does everyday peace more appropriately represent everyday Indian life, but also understanding the workings behind everyday coexistence may offer important insights into why material violence occurs in some instances and places, and not in others. Accordingly, there have been calls from a small but growing number of anthropologists and social scientists for research to engage more critically with concepts of peace and coexistence (Varshney 2002; Mayaram 2006; Ring 2006) and where violence does not occur (Didier 2004) in South Asia. Contrary to traditional approaches, the idea of "peace" does not represent a negative or static state in opposition or contrast to conflict and violence. Rather, peace concerns the presence of "something" that might be more effectively conceptualized as a "process"; the dynamic and positive function of interactive relationships. Peace as "process" is neither imagined nor experienced as a kind of uniformity through space and time, effortlessly maintained in an idyllic everyday, based upon cooperation, community and the absence of self-interest. To the contrary, opposition, antagonism, conflict or the potential for conflict might actually be integral to the shaping of peace in different settings. The process of everyday peace is therefore far from passive, entailing a range of micropolitical labors and strategies, and actively employed in the pursuit of all possible means toward the nonviolent resolution of conflicts. "Everyday peace," then, is not necessarily a condition of pristine interreligious harmony, but is instead more often produced out of and against the "routinization of violence" (Pandey 2006). Gyanendra Pandey asserts that routine violence is not just marked by the "display of spectacular and brutal acts of aggression," and the legacies these embody more broadly, but it also "occurs in the construction and naturalization of particular categories of thought, in history and in politics" (2006:15). In a similar vein, Shubh Mathur's (2008) "ethnography of [Hindu] fascism" argues that Hindu nationalism follows not a political or economic logic, but a cultural one. The cultural logic and institutional power of Hindutva is so entrenched in everyday life that official and unofficial anti-Muslim violence has become "background noise," while popular and academic discourses function as "cultural amnesia" (2008:ix). A focus on patterns of everyday coexistence may draw attention to the more ordinary and commonplace exchanges between Hindus and Muslims. However, as Veena Das (2007) cautions, a research perspective on the everyday also risks obscuring the disruption and alienation that lies beneath the everyday, as routine violence becomes concealed in the act of living or simply surviving. Research on "everyday peace" should therefore also consider the ways in which physical and psychological, as well as historical and immediate, violence informs everyday intercommunity life. Anthropologists have typically explored concepts of "everyday peace" within settings generally regarded as ethnically or racially homogeneous (Sponsel and Gregor 1994). Significantly less research has been directed toward understanding the production of peace within communities of religious difference. However, a body of work that counters this deficit is emerging. The study by Laura Ring (2006), for example, carried out on life in an apartment building in the Pakistani capital of Karachi, provides useful insight into the everyday mechanics of neighboring between individuals and groups of different ethnic and religious backgrounds. By demonstrating how relationships across multiple and shifting identities are characterized by various modes of symbolic and material exchange, her research highlights the heterogeneity of everyday experience and agency in the continual reproduction of peace. Reproducing everyday peace may involve both conscious and unconscious acts of individuals and groups as they participate in processes of intercommunity exchange. In 2006, the city of Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh experienced twin bomb blasts; the first at the main railway station and the second within the complex of a popular Hindu temple during evening worship. The perpetrators were immediately suspected within local and national public spheres to be Muslims and from Pakistani or Bangladeshi Islamic organizations. The aftermath of these bomb blasts was therefore characterized by an atmosphere of anticipated tension, in which it was feared that impressionable Hindu youths would respond to calls by right-wing Hindu parties to retaliate against what appeared to be acts of terrorism by Islamist groups. However, contrary to popular concerns, violent conflict did not result – an outcome that, as I argue elsewhere, may be attributed primarily to the conscious actions of the temple's priest and a prominent Maulana in the city. These key city personalities struck up a public partnership, through which they collectively appealed to city residents to maintain their communal harmony (Williams 2007). In connection with the critical role played by agencies in maintaining the peace, the articulation and reiteration of a particular discourse was also important.3 More specifically, the religious leaders actively evoked the rhetoric of "Hindu–Muslim brotherhood," which speaks to both a collective imaginary and an everyday reality in the city. The notion of "Hindu–Muslim brotherhood" is often attributed to the presence of intercommunity economic ties generated within the city's silk sari industry. Hindus have traditionally controlled the transaction and sales aspects of the industry, while Muslims represent the majority of the production workforce. Although in reality the balance is far more nuanced, this crude distinction persists in hierarchically structuring the brotherhood that exists between Hindus and Muslims. The rhetoric of "Hindu–Muslim brotherhood" therefore has the potential to both describe and inspire the reproduction of everyday relations in the industry, and in Varanasi more generally, however it also conceals the processes of exploitation and inequality that shape these relationships. Further emphasizing the role that discourse plays in constructing everyday peace, Carolyn Heitmeyer (2009) focuses attention on everyday living together in Gujarat three years after widespread anti-Muslim violence. In the small town of Sultanpur, she observes that, unlike in nearby cities such as Ahmadabad and Vadodara, Hindus and Muslims continued to coexist and to forge close intercommunity relationships even in the face of the violence. As she points out, women from different religious backgrounds easily worked and gossiped together in one of the city's beauty parlors; and a female Muslim shopkeeper in a "mixed" neighborhood attracted customers from both Hindu and Muslim backgrounds, who came to her shop not only to buy provisions, but to exchange gossip with members of her family. Constructing and reinforcing notions of Hindu and Muslim coexistence were various "normalizing" discourses that functioned to externalize acts and agents of violence from Sultanpur life. Despite being paralyzed for more than two months by riots, residents nonetheless persistently maintained that "Sultanpurma shanti che _"_ ("there is peace in Sultanpur"). Ordinary citizens routinely reiterated the discourse of "communal harmony," and local residents took great pride in their town as a haven from the noise, pollution, and communalism of the larger urban centers nearby. In so doing, these discourses rhetorically restored notions of peace within everyday life. Friendships between Hindus and Muslims are by no means uncommon in the everyday Indian landscape. In a village not far from Varanasi, for example, Manuela Cicotti (2008) describes the friendship between a Muslim barber called Islam and Jannu Lal, a Chamar weaver. Their friendship grew out of their own fathers' brother-like relationship. Jannu Lal is one of very few Hindu weavers still working for a Muslim master weaver in the area; indeed, he learnt his trade from Muslims and has a long history of good relations with local Muslim weavers. Belonging to the formerly "untouchable" Chamar caste, Jannu Lal found working with Muslims who did not practice "untouchability" much easier than working with Hindus who did. As a Chamar, the practice of untouchability meant that Jannu Lal always used a Muslim barber, since Hindu barbers declined to assist him. And Islam was one such barber who offered his services to people from a range of backgrounds. Positioning this friendship within the local social landscape reveals how their relationship has to an extent been shaped by experiences of marginalization within their own respective communities. But the two men are also tied together through acts of reciprocity which extend to their families as well. Cicotti describes how when Islam became a grandfather, Jannu Lal would send cow's milk to his friend. Islam later reciprocated this act with buffalo's milk when Jannu Lal's last son was born. Cicotti suggests that such a relationship was not simply forged out of their respective experiences of marginality, but emerged from, and was bolstered by, a relationship of exchange, more aptly encapsulated by the north Indian expression of _len-den_ (take and give). This mutual exchange engenders emotional support and assistance with everyday activities for these men, the practice of which reinforces their relationship. Jannu Lal and Islam may recognize their religious differences, but these fade into the background as their relational similarities are more richly experienced. Religious differences have shifting consequences over time, as Kathinka Froystad's (2005) account of the changing friendship between Jalal, a Muslim doctor, and two upper caste Hindu brothers, Pramod and Tilak, suggests. The relationship between Jalal and Tilak emerged when Tilak began promoting medicines and tonics for a pharmaceutical company at Jalal's clinic in the city of Kanpur, Uttar Pradesh. The two men enjoyed each other's company and so began meeting at their private residences as well as in a professional context. It was through Tilak that Jalal also came to know Pramod, the older of the Sharma brothers. Froystad (2005) suggests that Tilak and Jalal's friendship was rooted in their mutual liking, but also in their mutual utility. For Jalal, the Sharmas offered a source of insight into a particular middle-class Hindu way of life, as well as the contacts and support which he lacked, having become alienated from his own family. Meanwhile, with his clinic in a majority Muslim mohalla, Jalal was able to provide the Sharma brothers with information about a locality and social segment about which they had little knowledge. Following the tension and riots sparked by the demolition of the Babri masjid, Froystad observed that the opinions these men formed about their respective friends became increasingly communalized, as each became suspicious of the other's intentions. These anxieties were, for a short time, shaped more by national discourses and character tropes, and less by the knowledge they had developed through their personal interactions. Their relationship cooled, and Jalal in particular began to question Tilak's amity. However, as the immediacy of the riots faded, the friends resumed contact and slowly restored their trust in each other. Froystad's observations over the course of five years reveal how intercommunity friendships, like any friendships, undergo periods of temporary distancing as well as closeness. In this case, national and local events threatened to compromise their intercommunity trust. But ultimately the strong bond informed by their mutual affection and utility meant that wider events did not terminate their friendship. These modes of intercommunity amity demonstrate how religious differences are frequently transcended in everyday life and exchange, and how people differentially relate to themselves and others within shifting social and spatial contexts. The next section therefore questions the extent to which religious difference actually structures social relations in South Asia. QUESTIONING ALTERITY Framing India's Hindu and Muslim relations with respect to "spaces of enmity" and "processes of amity" does run the inevitable risk of religious essentialism, permanently foregrounding the importance of religious difference in everyday relational life. Moreover, talk of "Hindu" and "Muslim" relations presupposes the idea of cohesive "communities" that are clearly demarcated and constitute respective organic wholes. As such, the term "community" suggests that "Hindus" and "Muslims" have always been coherent, constant, aligned in material and ideological terms, and invested in long-term common interests. In reality, however, such "communities" are never quite so cohesive or coherent, since they are shaped by intersecting complexities around caste, class, sect, gender, sexuality, and age, among other axes of identity and experience. This section questions Hindu–Muslim alterity by exploring some of the ways in which identities go "beyond" Hindu and Muslim. It draws on anthropological perspectives to show that social boundaries are configured, reconfigured and blurred along shifting lines of identification. In this section, I consider how Hindus and Muslims collectively constitute physical and imaginative spaces by highlighting the existence of "plural identities," "shared spiritual space and liminal identities," and "interreligious subjectivities". In the end, however, I suggest that while other individual and collective identities commonly transcend religious boundaries, the idea of religious difference endures – a difference that is more acutely and critically felt by India's Muslims. The first challenge to notions of Hindu–Muslim difference concerns the _plural or multiple identities_ that structure individual and collective everyday experiences. Drawing on her fieldwork from the 1980s in the north Indian city of Varanasi, Nita Kumar (1988) demonstrates that artisans were more often united through their common identity as artisans and Banarsis than they were divided as Hindus and Muslims. She argues that the cultural spaces of Banaras contributed to an inclusive milieu in which everyone adopted the Banaras _miti_ (the earth of Banaras) and Banaras _masti_ (the joy of life). Its inhabitants shared a way of life (Banarsipan) that was characterized by simplicity, carefreeness, contentment and love. Banarsis were, and to an extent still are, devoted to leisure, music, _melas_ (festivals), processions, celebrations, wrestling, bathing, _bhang_ (a preparation derived from the hemp plant, used especially during Hindu festivals such as Holi), and Sunday outings to the countryside ( _bahri alang_ ). In Kumar's terms, religious identities are part of larger identity complexes and questions of Hindu–Muslim difference do not always take center stage. Similarly, in the north Indian village of Arampur in Bihar, Peter Gottschalk (2000) has documented how communal identities constitute one of multiple modes of group identification that become more or less pronounced in different temporal, social and spatial conjunctures. Gottschalk proposes that this provides a more nuanced account than Kumar's notion of "composite" identities in that there is no one overarching identity to which everyone in the village relates. Taking as his example the meaning of a well in the village, known by Hindus as _hathi ku'a_ (elephant well) and by Muslims as _hath ku'a_ (hand well), he demonstrates that although constructed through distinct communal and linguistic lenses, the well is represented in relation to a range of narrative identities that are not necessarily communally defined. If the social life around the well, then, were to be interpreted solely through religious identities or intercommunity relations, a spectrum of equally, if not more significant identities and agencies would likely be overlooked. That Hindu and Muslim identities are sharply distinct is further challenged by the presence of _shared spiritual spaces and liminal identities_ in India. In a rural village in Karnataka, Jackie Assayag (2004) has shown that Muharram is celebrated not only by Shia and Sunni Muslims, but also by Hindus, who refer to it as _Imam Jayanti_. These groups celebrate both in their own divergent styles and collectively, coming together, for instance, on the ninth day around a fire, on which salt is thrown and wishes for future well-being are made. In a more localized scenario, Assayag points to the village of Yamanur in which Hindus and Muslims both worship and serve at a place known indiscriminately as the temple ( _gadi_ ) of a Hindu guru and the dargah of a Muslim saint. Here the "avatara of Vishnu and an intercessor or Allah are rolled into one in the person of an ascetic who... was enrolled simultaneously under the ochre banner of Vaishnaivism and the green banner of Islam" (Assayag 2004:152). While there is no doubt that the sacredness of the saint transcends religious affiliation and communal identity, Assayag cautions against romanticized notions of syncretism and communal harmony. Instead, he prefers to frame these relations more pragmatically as an example of dynamic "integrated acculturation," in which interrelations give rise to shifting configurations around religious connections and differences. Back in Arampur, Gottschalk similarly documents the existence of shared spiritual spaces, as the common worship of the dead unites the living in a way that crosses communal boundaries and generates intercommunity activities, perspectives and identities. Devotees may differentiate between specific religious traditions when identifying the authority of "dead healers," but communal differences are discounted when portraying the efficacy of these men. Moreover, when villagers from different backgrounds debate the relative impact of various Hindu and Muslim ghosts over each other, they do so without antagonism and do not communalize opinions. As Gottschalk describes this situation, "the recognition of religious identity does not necessarily denote conflict, but at times only an awareness of difference" (2000:151). Within Rajasthan's Meo population, too, Hindu and Muslim identities have traditionally occupied ambiguous, liminal positions, as their beliefs and practices draw upon both Hinduism _and_ Islam. Shail Mayaram (1997) has extensively shown how the narratives of the Meos, who are officially recognized by the contemporary Indian state as Muslims, reveal a multifaceted world in which heterodox Shaivism, Vaishnava Bhakti and tantric beliefs and practices are intertwined with those derived from Shia and Sunni Islam. Historically, this doctrinal openness facilitated dialogue with other groups and offered a challenge to the hegemony of upper class Hindus _and_ Muslims. In rural areas, the Meos also participated in unusually fluid religious practices, as part of which some of them worshipped as Hindus and others as Muslims. While Mayaram's ethnography demonstrates the historically liminal nature of Meo identity, it also importantly portrays the dominance of shifting state narratives. Since Independence, the Meos' intermediate identity has been rendered progressively unambiguous, as state powers impose collective identities that are recognizable within a mainstream context that draws group distinctions primarily on the basis of religious subjectivities. In India's cities, extensive urbanization, rapid migration and the rise of civil and political society have reconfigured relations between individuals and groups, bringing them together in new and more intense ways. Even while religion maintains its significance in private and public spheres, different connections and identities may also be facilitated through political and civil networks that give rise to what might be termed "network identities," or identities that intersect with or transcend religious distinctions (Mayaram 2006). For example, as Arjun Appadurai (2002) has shown, religious "communities" working within nongovernmental organizations for the well-being of Mumbai's poor often forge common ambitions. Similarly, my fieldwork in north India pointed to the collaboration of Hindus and Muslims under the banner of different trade and artisan organizations. Indeed, India's progressively fractured electoral landscape means that party political leaders must successfully build alliances between party workers and voters that cut across religious subjectivities in order to secure power. RELIGIOUS IDENTITY MATTERS? Even while questioning the extent to which religious differences structure everyday lives, however, it appears difficult to move entirely away from the position that religious identities matter, particularly in the Indian public milieu. The fact that communal identities are not the only "identity narratives" or that they exhibit blurred boundaries does not diminish the reality that in contemporary multicultural India religious differentiation constitutes a significant axis of recognition. What has so far been less extensively addressed, however, is the degree to which Hindu–Muslim difference also coincides with matters of power, as religious identities align with demographic, socioeconomic, educational, and political inequities. For India's Muslims, being the most significant numerical minority vis-à-vis the majority Hindu population significantly informs not only constructions of the self, but perceptions and realizations of citizenship and justice in the everyday. As the Sachar Committee reported in November 2006, India's Muslims experience widespread and pervasive patterns of socioeconomic, educational, and political marginalization. The results were established in comparison with all other socioreligious communities in India, which documented that Muslims more often faired worse than scheduled castes. Importantly, the research revealed that Muslims perceived processes of discrimination by the state and other members of society through the lens of their being Muslim. Both my own fieldwork and that of other researchers in urban north India (for example, by Jeffrey et al. 2008; Kirmani 2008) presents a reality in which Indian Muslims respond to processes of marginalization with characteristically "defensive agencies." By this I mean agencies that largely draw upon community-based resources and capacities to sustain or improve their everyday. In a context in which the Hindu right has vociferously and openly accused Muslims of benefiting from minority appeasement, and acted with aggression (if not violence) toward sections of this population, in general Muslims have not assertively countered these actions. Rather, individuals and groups have been typically cautious about attracting unwanted attention, and have sought less conspicuous strategies for survival, but ones that nonetheless engage in and create public multicultural spaces. This observation is of course challenged by sporadic but very public acts of urban terrorism committed in recent years by Islamist activist organizations. Such actions have heightened feelings of fear and insecurity among Hindus and Muslims. Islamic radicalization is more often understood in sensationalist, abstracted terms that perceive Islam as incompatible with modernity and thereby detach processes of radicalization from local political phenomena. The political anthropologist Irfan Ahmad argues emphatically that the actions of Islamist organizations, such as SIMI or its subsidiary, the Indian Mujahideen, should be embedded and interpreted within the local socioeconomic and political environment. Ahmad (2009) argues that the radicalization of SIMI emerged as a desperate response to the ascendance of virulent, anti-Muslim Hindu nationalism since the mid-1980s. Islamist activism is therefore intimately connected to the practices of the Indian state and its failure to protect the Muslim minority against violence, as well as economic and social marginalization. Contextualizing Islamist activism importantly demonstrates its situated roots in modern Indian politics, particularly with respect to Hindu–Muslim relations, and the role of the state. But while distancing the global "War on Terror" from the Indian experience of Islamist activism on the one hand, it is important to appreciate the interacting impact of discourse and action across different scales on the other hand. Indeed, the notion of "Muslim threat" propagated by Hindu nationalists in India has found new expression in a post-9/11 world, where the trope of "Islamic terrorism" has been appropriated to legitimize Indian national and regional security measures (Oza 2007) and border policing (Jones 2009), with renewed vigor. Meanwhile, in everyday public spaces, Indian Muslims are increasingly sensitive to their outwardly Islamic appearance and how other non-Muslims may unfavorably perceive this. Young adult men in particular are cautious not to attract accusations of being a "terrorist" and feel that their physical and aspirational mobilities have been further constrained in recent years as national and global discourses interact to reinforce conceptions of the Muslim "Other" (see Jeffrey et al. 2008; and on Muslim women's mobility see Khan 2007). CONCLUSION This chapter has examined the topography of Hindu–Muslim relations in India within the context of the so-called War on Terror. It has cautioned against simply interpreting recent "Islamic" terrorist attacks on India's urban centers as direct responses to _global_ politics. Instead, it situates Muslim hostility within India's long history of Hindu and Muslim antagonism. First, I examined intercommunity relations through "spaces of enmity," demonstrating that India's minority Muslim community has been especially vulnerable to anti-Muslim Hindu nationalist aggression – a reality that has reinforced its experiences of marginalization by the state and society. Second, I argued that an excessive preoccupation with large-scale Hindu–Muslim violence has obscured more commonplace and everyday "processes of amity." Perhaps precisely because patterns of intercommunity friendship, coexistence and collaboration are so commonplace, they have not undergone comparable ethnographic interrogation. Given the fact that intercommunal "processes of amity" and "spaces of enmity" are not distinct, but mutually constitutive, I further suggested that future research on intercommunity dynamics should pay closer attention to patterns of "everyday peace," coexistence and friendship in India across different spaces and scales of experience. And third, I drew upon ethnographies that document the ways in which everyday subjectivities "go beyond" notions of Hindu and Muslim, revealing the plural, shared, liminal and intersubjective nature of all identities. In light of India's recent political history and shifting geopolitical events, however, I concluded by reflecting on the ways in which religious identity, at once complex and shifting, represents a significant axis of differentiation in particular spatial and temporal contexts. In contemporary India this is especially so for India's minority Muslims whose religious identity coincides with experiences of material inequality and discrimination. Anti-Muslim politics propagated by Hindu nationalism and the so-called War on Terror have interacted in recent years to amplify feelings of Muslim insecurity and marginalization. In nuancing understandings of Hindu and Muslim relations beyond notions of either intercommunity enmity _or_ intercommunity amity, it is critical to first locate such experiences within wider socioeconomic and political contexts, and second, to take account of the characteristically unequal distribution of power between Hindus and Muslims that directly informs individual and collective realizations of justice, equity and citizenship in everyday India. NOTES 1 The so-called War on Terror refers to the "war" that was declared by the Bush administration in the wake of attacks by al-Qaeda on New York and Washington DC on September 11, 2001. As such it encompasses the political action and rhetoric associated with the subsequent invasion by, and ongoing presence of the United States and the United Kingdom in Afghanistan (2001) and Iraq (2003). 2 This chapter does not engage with Hindu and Muslim relations from the perspective of private religious beliefs and emotions; however, it appreciates that these undoubtedly inform such interactions. 3 It should be noted that while agency proved a critical mobilizing factor in maintaining peace in this particular circumstance, as Paul Brass (2003) has pointed out, agency might also explain violence and acts of retaliation in different settings. This emphasizes the importance of appreciating the broader socioeconomic and political context in which the events take shape. REFERENCES Ahmad, Irfan 2009 The Secular State and the Geography of Radicalism. Economic and Political Weekly 44(23):33–38. Appadurai, Arjun 2002 Deep Democracy: Urban governmentality and the Horizon of Politics. 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CHAPTER 14 Religious Synthesis at a Muslim Shrine _Parvis Ghassem-Fachandi_ In the formative years of anthropology in the United States, Alfred Kroeber famously defined culture as an inherently hybrid phenomenon that over time accepts many foreign elements without usually keeping a trace of their origin and diffusion (1923: passim, esp. 66). His "superorganic" view of culture was instrumental in creating the subject matter of the discipline and its subsequent interests in bricolage, cultural synthesis, hybridity, interculture, and creolization. A close examination of the ways in which the history of cultural anthropology is currently written, however, reveals that such fluid and syncretistic concepts of culture have been forgotten and what is remembered instead are the more conservative conceptions of bounded cultures, civilizational coherence, and closed symbolic systems. Because notions of whole and pure traditions have not had much credibility for some time, "syncretism," and its suggestions of former authenticity, as Stewart and Shaw point out, has become "a contentious term" (1994:1). Nowadays we hear far less about culture as infiltrated, or contaminated, than about culture as collage, as fragmented or even invented (Stewart and Shaw 1994:2) To scholars of Indian religious practices, problems with "syncretism" are different: either indicative of composite cultural traditions (Ahmad 1973; 1976; 1981; Burman 1996), religious ecumenicalism (Nandy 2002:61–128), liminality (Ahmad and Reifeld 2004), or multiple religious selves or identities (Mayaram 1997). Such scholars also urge us to rethink the associated category of "tolerance." Nandy, for example, argues that the colonial experience altered notions of religion and religiosity among Indian middle classes. What used to be "religious faith," that is "a way of life, a tradition which is definitionally non-monolithic and operationally plural" (2002:62) became "religious ideology" or "a sub-national, national, or cross-national identifier of populations contesting for or protecting non-religious, usually political or socioeconomic, interests" (2002:62). For his part, van der Veer suggests that the perception of "folk culture" and "popular religion" in India as particularly tolerant is a projection of a notion of liberal multiculturalism onto a traditional society (1994:201; 2002:224–225). By contrast, other scholars argue that the unique religious syntheses between Muslims and Hindus in India are rapidly vanishing because of an inherent impulse toward perfection within Islam (Robinson 1983). Eaton (1993) criticizes this claim on grounds that it privileges orthodox Islam in the process of Islamicization and ignores the multiplicity of views and practices by Islamic scholars, theologians, and Sufis segmented on the subcontinent in space and time. Metcalf counters it as well when he points out that processes of redefinition and revival of Islam on the subcontinent are closely tied to dynamics of upward mobility (1999:130). More recently, scholars have looked at the practice of Hindu visits to Muslim sites of worship, particularly in areas where communal posturing and Hindu nationalist stirrings have become pronounced (Hayden 2002:205–219; Gold 2005; Ghassem-Fachandi 2008). In states such as Gujarat, religious tensions between Hindus and Muslims have been smoldering for a long time, but this has not prevented Hindus from going to Muslim shrines. Although visits of Hindus to Muslim shrines is a traditional practice – continuing today as well as documented by ethnographers of diverse historical periods – such ongoing expression of religious combination or syncretism has suddenly become puzzling again and seems to be in need of explanation. When applied to South Asia, the notion of syncretism, if understood as cultural synthesis between "Hindu" and some other religious tradition, is complicated by scholars' reticence to define "Hinduism" in simplistic ways (Sontheimer and Kulke 1989; Dalmia and von Stietencron 1995). The same resistance to simplification holds for what is referred to as "Islam" on the subcontinent. Scholars of religion, historians, sociologists, and anthropologists alike construe many Muslim communities as "liminal" in order to underscore their ambiguous position in local symbolic economies of status and form, such as the Sidi in Gujarat (Basu 1994; 2004) or the Nizari Ismaili (Khan 2004). Sometimes the same religious phenomenon is interpreted in diametrically opposed ways – for example, as either "indigenization of Islam" or "Islamization of the indigenous" (Werbner and Basu 1998:19), depending on the intrinsic preconceptions and biases the scholar brings to the question of cultural form and origin. In comparison to a historian of religion, for example, an anthropologist engaged in ethnographic field research will in all likelihood prioritize experience-near concepts differently from experience-distant ones, as the analysis of religious form must include a view of how subjects experience, make sense of, and classify their own religious practices. For example, while some scholars construe Muslim shrines visited by Hindus and other non-Muslims (as well as shrines at which Hindus officiate) as signs of integration between opposed religious traditions, Hindu nationalists see them as material evidence of former iconoclasm by Muslim rulers (Hayden 2002:214). In other words, the same empirical fact is interpreted as evidence either of cultural or religious synthesis or of oppression. The latter interpretation is a common narrative in the western state of Gujarat. The fact that Hindus and other non-Muslims visit these sites, so the argument goes, has to do with the hidden address of the subverted supernatural entity, which lurks beneath and inside the site and which preceded the coming of Islam. According to Hindu nationalist propaganda, all these sites used to be Hindu or Jain and were violently converted. The sacred entity, however, remains unambiguously "Hindu," and must be reclaimed and liberated at all cost. In this way, localized practices are frequently in the process of being redefined through selective erasure and inscription of distinctions, which owe their force to communalist rhetoric and politicking, electoral campaigns, or state administrative practices that privilege binaries such as Hindu–Muslim. Such redefinitions are not carried out solely by a Westernized Indian middle class, but also by an upwardly mobile lower middle class strongly resentful of the latter. Many upwardly mobile Muslims from similar class backgrounds participate in a similar process. For them, all shrine worship is a sign of decadence – for example, by Muslims following the more orthodox religious style of the Tablighi Jama't (Ibrahim 2009:184–187). Shrine worship is defined not as an Islamic practice at all, but as a steep fall from it, unacceptable and ultimately "Hindu." Both the Hindu nationalist and the pietistic Muslim views converge in the denial of the many historical transformations through which practices today considered "Islamic" or "Hindu" have passed. Since shrine worship has been an institutionalized, traditional practice for centuries, these views are not exactly or simply "conservative." Instead they must be understood as transformations in the understanding of the nature of religion, redefined through global discourses on Islamic practice, law, and identity, as well as new vectors of territory, population, and citizenship. These kinds of cases are typical of what Stewart and Shaw have called "anti-syncretism" (1994:7), an antagonistic relation to what is perceived as an illegitimate ambiguity, and a stark defense of unambiguous origin and religious boundaries. What is distinctive in the case of Hindu nationalism in Gujarat is that only those interpretations of hybrid forms which in some way benefit the signifier "Islam" are derided, not religious fusion as such. While Hindu nationalists acknowledge processes of cultural synthesis on the face of it, for Hinduism is by definition all-encompassing, Indian Islam is not supposed to be privy to this tolerance. In this way, the contribution of Islam to composite traditions is erased. Indian Muslims are represented as rejecting assimilation, and their religious traditions are viewed as incapable of the syntheses that make such forms and styles possible. Cultural elasticity is singularly reserved for the signifier "Hinduism." In an act of bad faith, Hindu nationalists affirm cultural multiplicity, while at the same time deeply resenting it for rendering Hinduism soft and weak. The Tablighi Jama't, in turn, considers itself aloof from narrow political goals. Shunning overt nationalist posturing, this movement prefers instead to stress notions of a global community of Muslims and a pietistic definition of Islam that transcends local forms. While claiming to eschew politics, however, the effects of activities on the ground are very much politically relevant. The new religious style rejects local customs such as shrine worship and thus all devotional forms of worship that, like Hindu _bhakti_ traditions, are capable of incorporating members of other religious traditions. It also abjures life-cycle rituals, and the mediating role of religious preceptors and other traditional institutions (Metcalf 1999: passim, esp. 133). More significantly, in both cases, that which anthropologists of the French _Année Sociologique_ school referred to as _le sacré_ – the sacred with the quality of being conceptually outside of society and transcending its logic – is understood to belong to respective religious communities alone. This notion of the sacred no longer expresses society, but a specific group within that society. In this way, the sacred has become secularized and part of the ethnoreligious categories of the modern nation-state or of a global Muslim community respectively. It is in the rationalized and ultimately secular quality of both modern Hindu as well as modern Islamic religious forms, despite their appeal to tradition and their mutual opposition, that the greatest similarities and convergences are found. Although this chapter does not deal with questions of politico-religious division between Hindus and Muslims, it nonetheless points to related questions indirectly from a different ethnographic vantage point. MUSLIM SHRINES All over South Asia, the historical synthesis of Islamic mystical Sufi teachings and their localized institutional inscription become expressed at Muslim graves of dead saints called Pir. Buried in countless mausoleums or shrines, called _dargah_ s, grand or small, famous or forgotten, these dead saints of the past are believed to be alive in the present, their power and piety radiating from the sites into the surrounding landscape. In this way, Muslim shrines are sacred spaces whose appeal is turned toward a local population, which for generations has established routinized relationships to them, similar to other such supernatural spaces in the local sacred geography. Ritual practices at such shrines are often described as "popular Islam," "vernacular Islam," or "lived Islam" in order to distinguish the mass phenomena of folk practices from more normative forms of Islamic religiosity. But this division between the legal canon of the Shari'a and devotional forms of religiosity bespeaks an old unresolved tension within Islam and the interpretation of the Qur'an itself. Scholars of South Asia have pointed to an inherent distinction in Islamic notions of religiosity between the esoteric path ( _batin_ – stressing the hidden dimensions of existence) and the exoteric path ( _zahir_ – its outwardly forms) as equally valid strategies for religious perfection (Schimmel 1982:17–26; Das 1984; Ewing 1988: 1–22; Frembgen 1993:11–137). The Pir are venerated, propitiated, and worshipped by laypeople, including a large and diverse array of non-Muslim groups. Some shrines are specialized in animal healing and protection, such as Haji Pir in Kutchh (Gujarat) – a patron saint of the pastoralist Hindu Bharwad community; others, such as Satya Pir in Bengal, are said to aid merchant classes of all religious backgrounds in their economic endeavors (Stewart 2000). A comprehensive list would be long and the creative effusion astonishing. Frequently such shrine complexes include living descendants of the saints who officiate. The interactions and activities between religious specialists and their lay clientele express a complex set of underlying conceptions about devotion and submission, as well as embodied practices of intimacy and hierarchy (Werbner and Basu 1998: 3–30). Besides religious functions, such shrines and their active caretakers specialize in ritual and magical services geared to the needs of a local population, engaging in spirit exorcism, folk psychiatry, conflict mediation, shamanist healing, miracle work, and dream interpretation (Kakar 1982:15–52; Pfleiderer 1981; Ewing 1997, Basu 2004; Flueckiger 2006). In this way, Islamic practices and conceptions have become indigenized and incorporated into local cosmologies (Gaborieau 1993; Frembgen 1993:30).1 The popular Pir, and the site of his dargah, can be a local authority to be reckoned with, although his territorial jurisdiction is still considered merely a spiritual one (Digby 1986:63). The relationship between worldly and otherworldly authority is expressed frequently in regional myth, legend, and traditional sayings, as well as in conceptions of miraculous powers alternatively called _barakat_ , _karamat_ , or _chamotkar_ (the latter term is often used by Hindus).2 Buried saints at shrines and their living descendants are believed to possess such extraordinary powers. For larger and more important shrines, tales and songs of heroic exploits circulate on recorded tapes and pamphlets that are sold at street stands nearby. It is significant that many local Pir, especially in rural areas, are not simply figures of benevolence and compassion, and role models of normative Islamic behavior. They can also be carriers of supernatural danger. In the spiritual genealogies ( _silsila_ ) of many shrines, for example, one frequently encounters the stories of _jungli pir_ , a recurrent figure (Werth 1998:89; Ghassem-Fachandi 2008:110–116, esp. 115). Jungli Pir is often described as having harmed or killed locals via mystical powers, usually by accident or by a sudden burst of anger. It is not uncommon for visiting mendicants to propitiate this particular saint's powers. In short, similar to the peripatetic Hindu ascetics ( _sadhu_ s, _saniassin_ s), the figure of the Pir can be highly ambiguous, and locals fear an irrational outbreak of his anger. There is an obscurity hovering over many a saint, as carriers of qualities that are not genuine to normal residents of this world and that are, at times, excessive and inassimilable to instrumental usage. What becomes readily clear in these depictions is that what propels many such institutions are not modern forms of religious identity, or questions of conversion, but the existence of invisible and extraordinary forces that are believed to manifest themselves at particular sites, and in particular bodies. Muslim dargahs, and the people buried in them, are products of collective expectations and hopes by a local population that seeks help in everyday matters, and protection from harm. On the one hand, a price has to be paid by visitors for such unique access. It includes the not always easy direct personal contact with extraordinary individuals – an endeavor that has its own dynamics and carries its own risks. On the other hand, the Pir, as living descendant of a spiritual line of saintly preceptors and part of a Sufi order, has to navigate a local world of political ups and downs and many dead ends, all the while being observed and evaluated for competence and skill by local visitors. The saint has to produce a charismatic authority on the basis of ideas and values that are shared collectively. In this way, the influence of such religious preceptors often transcends religious divisions, without necessarily canceling them outright. SPACES SET APART The material I turn to now is based mainly on ethnographic fieldwork that I began in 1995–6 in the village of Gotarka in northern Gujarat, in western India, and that I have continued through occasional visits over the last 15 years. Gotarka is a village with approximately 5,000 inhabitants. It is situated not too far from the border with Pakistan, and like any other village in the area, it hosts a series of temples, shrines, and other places of worship frequented by diverse castes and communities. The two main religious institutions of the village are a Hindu temple dedicated to the god Ram, and a popular Muslim dargah. Both institutions are claimed to be of significant historical age, part of wider pilgrimage networks and visited by traveling guests from far away. They are situated about 100 meters apart from one another, separated by a large village ground used for festivals and other village functions. In the following, I will use the word "temple" to refer to the Ram temple, and "shrine" when referring to the Muslim dargah. As elsewhere in India, bureaucratic affairs in both religious institutions are run by administrative trusts set up after Independence. While the trust that runs the temple consists mainly of members of the local Lohana Thakker community, an enterprising Hindu merchant community, and members of urban-based Jains, the shrine is mainly supported by the Malik, a Muslim community not situated within the village itself but living in surrounding areas.3 The Malik trace their origins to Muslim groups immigrating into India from Syria a long time ago and consider themselves the traditional rulers of the area. Inhabitants of the village of Gotarka, Hindu or Muslim, allude to the fact that the Malik were traditionally raiders and warriors, and sometimes describe them as hot-blooded and of a dangerous character. By contrast, the Muslim inhabitants of Gotarka, the Fakiri community, are considered a different kind, cooled by the divine powers of the Pir. If typical stereotypes about Muslims circulate in Gotarka, as they do in many other places in Gujarat, they are usually reserved for the Malik, not the local Fakiri community. This tendency is overdetermined, part of a complex local symbolic economy of quality and character, and not necessarily always apparent in the actions of individual members of these two respective Muslim communities. The Ram temple is said to have been founded by a traveling renouncer-saint, Swamiji Maharaj, who also gives the temple its name Swamiji Maharaj Jagia – the place of Swamiji Maharaj. It includes a shrine dedicated to him, displaying the saint's footprints, which are the main sacred attraction of the temple. The Muslim shrine, too, was founded by a traveler, a Muslim renouncer-saint by the name of Mohab Ali Shah. His tomb (mausoleum) is the center of the dargah.4 After Mohab Ali Shah settled in the area, another saint arrived, who today is considered his younger spiritual brother, Shah Kidar Bapu. As the local idiom goes, Mohab Ali Shah and Shah Kidar Bapu were "milk brothers." This is not a reference to biological kinship but an idiomatic expression of their spiritual closeness and common spiritual descent.5 THE FIRST EXORCISM: PACIFYING THE WILDERNESS The circulating narratives of both foundational figures, Swamiji Maharaj and Mohab Ali Shah, are practically isomorphic. At the time when they arrived in the virginal area, the land was wild and uncultivated. It was pregnant with dangerous animals and supernatural beings, such as the _dakan_ , a flesh-eating female spirit-monster who is said to have resided in a deep lake exactly at the site where the Muslim shrine compound is located today. The saints settled in the forest and, living on a diet of only milk and water, meditated for many years unperturbed by the dangers around them, spreading cool and calm. In this way, the landscape was domesticated and dangerous animals such as tigers and supernatural beings were subdued. Thus pacifying the wild with the sheer power of their will, they defeated all ghosts and demons, allowing men to settle and to engage in agriculture. The Hindu temple and the Muslim shrine are together the largest landholding institutions in the area even today. This is due to land grants, which were given by the Muslim rulers (the _Nawab_ s) of the nearby towns, Varahi and Radhanpur. During British colonial rule both towns were the center of small Princely States. Most villagers of Gotarka were farmers and lived by cultivating these lands.6 The Nawabs of Radhanpur and Varahi, and their relation to "Mahabali Pir," appear frequently in local legends and stories. When villagers speak of the relationship between the two village saints – one "Hindu", the other "Muslim" – they stress the similarity of their respective natures (inherent qualities), and that they were close friends. In the form of address by villagers, both are referred to simply as _Bapuji_ (literally father, respectful for elder), and on the face of it, no other qualification is mentioned. It is apparent that both saints are seen as sovereign entities independent and somewhat aloof from all more immediate worldly matters, such as local political affairs or state politics. What is significant is the absence of competition via the local village inhabitants: one saint's sovereignty does not seem to impinge on the other. Sometimes their relationship is expressed through reference to the idea of having been "milk-brothers." Some villagers even opine that Mohab Ali Shah was really a Hindu and only later converted to Islam; others hold that Shah Kidar Bapu, the saint's younger brother, was really Swamiji Maharaj. Although these stories vary, the main narrative structure is always the same: a saint arrived in virginal land that had to be domesticated, and only after it was civilized could others arrive and live there. SPIRITUAL GENEALOGY There are more parallels between the two institutions. At both the Muslim shrine and the Hindu temple, living spiritual descendants of the founding saints officiate as world-renouncers today. The renouncer is ideally without possession, and the institution circulates and redistributes wealth from richer to poorer devotees, using funds for village construction that supposedly benefit all. There is no overt competition between the two institutions and the relation between the spiritual preceptors is amicable, yet there is conflict about succession among, and within, the respective institutions. While at the temple Dearamdasji is currently the _gaddipati_ , at the shrine Hydaid ali Shah Pir, alias Varsi Bapu, is holder of the _gaddi_ (seat, throne). The living descendants in both institutions are strictly celibate ( _brahmacharya_ ), like a sadhu or saniassin, and these terms are used frequently in both institutions. Unlike in many other Muslim shrines throughout India or Pakistan, for instance the Mira Datar Dargah in the neighboring district of Mehsana (Pfleiderer 1981:198), at this shrine the spiritual descendants do not trace kinship biologically to their founding saint. The silsila (spiritual genealogy) describes a symbolic kinship relation of the living descendants to the founding Pir, Mohab Ali Shah. At the shrine all Pir whether dead or alive are part of Mohab Ali Shah's spiritual genealogy and are objects of worship. While the Pir are laid to rest near the mausoleum of Mohab Ali Shah in the Dargah compound, the living descendants reside in the nearby Darbar (literally, "king's court"). Nonetheless spiritual kinship is often expressed in an idiom approximating biological kinship. The Pir's status as celibate is one of the main reasons given by the large local Hindu following for why the Gotarka-Pir are considered true world-renouncers, true saniassin with special powers. After inauguration into the Madari Sufi order, the freshly backed Pir has to live for many years as a world-renouncer under his spiritual preceptor, and will eventually inherit the throne (gaddi – hereditary seat) only after the death of its current holder.7 The gaddipati always comes from outside of the village and preferably from far away in order not to be involved with local communities. The silsila (chain) is a _spiritual_ genealogy, and this fact is strongly affirmed by all visitors to the shrine. Unlike the temple, the shrine has separate mausoleums for all main spiritual descendants of the Gotarka-Pir, who are integrated into a larger cult and included in the daily _loban_ ritual. This worship ritual consists of elaborate incense burning, common at Muslim shrines throughout India. The shrine caretaker (the _mujawar_ , or priest) carries the lit incense from the main grave of Mohab Ali Shah to his spiritual descendants buried around him, then to the living descendants of the founding Pir, and finally to all other waiting devotees and visiting mendicants. If visiting devotees are not attracted to one of the living descendants of the shrine, and feel shy about addressing the founding saint, Mohab Ali Shah, himself in their prayers ( _dua_ ), they can choose to address another particular saint, who can mediate on their behalf. Thus, if the mediation to God through the prophet Muhammad is eclipsed institutionally through the intermediary Pir Mohab Ali Shah, the logic of this process is carried even further afield through other local intermediaries, all of whom are part of the founding Pir's spiritual genealogy. This multiplication of divine personages creates an entire pantheon of possibilities, and visitors have much to say about the diverse characteristics and qualities of these various saintly figures, alive or buried. Similar to ideas about the relationship between worshipper and divine image in the Hindu tradition, where the devotee can choose a particular form or expression, here, too, the Pir most intently addressed in prayer and practice is chosen by the visitor. The mujawar (priest or caretaker), or one of the living spiritual descendants, offers expertise and specialized knowledge concerning the exploits and deeds of these saintly personages in legends and myths. The shrine and the temple distinguish themselves in the parallel functions they perform for the local population and for the frequent pilgrims and travelers passing through the village. Most visitors will insist on going to _both_ institutions, and the Swami at the temple and the Pir at the Darbar will usually send visitors to the other institution to pay their respects to the living descendants. Thus, while villagers interact with both institutions on a daily basis, nonresident visitors, too, are moving in and out of them. Given the atmosphere of religious divisions within contemporary Gujarat, this is a rather unique situation and never fails to astonish especially urban visitors, who usually interpret it as an expression of religious authenticity and a sign of divine grace. Not purity, but the perception of inimitable singularity is the mechanism underlying the production of authenticity. Villagers in Gotarka are keenly aware and proud of this fact. There is nonetheless a marked tendency of Muslim visitors to be shy about entering the inner sanctum of the Ram temple, but the local Pir never fail to instruct and encourage them to visit the spiritual descendants of Swamiji Maharaj, the Swami and holder of the gaddi at the temple. This shyness is not an expression of rejection of the belief in the god Ram, but an expression of respect and even concern about polluting the temple – a fear that, however, was never explicitly expressed to me. After the Gujarat violence, only Hindu residents of nearby villages and towns with a longstanding habitual practice, or Hindu visitors from outside the state of Gujarat, visited the Muslim shrine. While the temple is at once a shrine of the renouncer-saint Swamiji Maharaj, it is also a Ram temple, and thus involved in religious recitations of the Ramayan epic. During the yearly temple festival (the _mela_ ), the Pir of the shrine is invited to hold an address in the temple compound. I witnessed one such address in the mid-1990s, when the _khalifa_ (vice regent, second in command) of the shrine expounded on the higher values of Guru–disciple and Piri–muridi relationships (spiritual preceptor–disciple relationship), stressing the analogy between Hindu and Muslim versions of devotional authority. The Dargah, however, specializes in spirit exorcism, and it is the success in releasing afflicted mendicants from evil spirits and bodily ailments that created the local fame of Mahabali Dargah. These exploits are detailed in musical recordings invoked on tapes sold in Radhanpur and Varahi, thus communicating local folklore in aesthetic form. Most seekers of exorcism are Hindu women from middle range to lower caste backgrounds, communities such as the Rabari, the Thakker, the Ahir, the Patel, and the Thakor – communities that in Gujarat's rural symbolic economy are considered aligned in status ( _ter tensali_ communities). In particularly difficult cases the afflicted will be brought to the living descendants of the shrine institution who will then act as exorcists. BIOGRAPHIES The "biographies" of the Pir are carefully managed affairs. Becoming a world-renouncer means to sever all ties to the world, to family, caste, and community. Personal names and surnames are abandoned – the latter are indicative of caste affiliation and frequently also of geographic origin. After initiation one is to enter ideally into a realm that transcends such worldly attachments. The sociological parameters of a past life become the material of the bricoleur constructing a narrative whose plot is the ascent to world renunciation. Hence nothing is more difficult than making a living Pir talk about his biographic past, since such an inquiry demands subverting the carefully crafted narrative that has been substituted for, or has become immersed with, his worldly life before departure into a permanently liminal position of renunciation. Details are obfuscated in the telling, or rendered willfully contradictory, and the narrative forms approximate the template of how the decision of a world-renouncer is conceived of elsewhere. The past often becomes schematic, the telling of an ideal image. This is not due to a lack of humbleness. The past is of no relevance to the Pir, who has become a living descendant of Mohab Ali Shah. In broad strokes, the narrative situates the person who will become a Pir in a mundane context. He then encounters a profound crisis, like a natural calamity, an earthquake, or a fire, that shatters his narrow world. This event inaugurates a series of transformations culminating in his turning away from the world toward the reality of God. Every narrative includes long periods of fasting and meditating in wild surroundings, and magical tales about the proximity to supernatural powers. After this period of isolation, the Pir reenters the world, but now he is no longer _of_ the world; while remaining in it, he offers his services. But there is another angle from which the biographies of the Pir become relevant. Since the beginning of the 1990s, rumors spread in northern Gujarat about illegal border crossings of Muslim terrorists from Pakistan who would hide among local Muslim communities. When the current gaddipati of the Muslim shrine initially came to Gotarka from Makanpur (Uttar Pradesh) and was inaugurated as khalifa (second in command) he was accused by the local police of being a Pakistani spy and not a Muslim neophyte of the Madari Sufi order. With the help of local Hindus these accusations by the police were soon dispersed. But the Pir's inability, or unwillingness, to produce any kind of evidence that recorded his worldly identity and origin as an Indian citizen made him suspicious in the eyes of local authorities in Radhanpur. Like many citizens in India, and many villagers in Gotarka for that matter, he possessed no identity card and resisted adamantly disclosing his actual family's whereabouts in Uttar Pradesh. Eventually, in 1996, he showed me with great pride his new identity card. It said that his name was Hydaid Ali Shah Pir, the son and khalifa of Hazrat Akbar Shah Pir, his spiritual father, descendant of the Gotarka-Pir, and his Guru. The identity card did not depict the biological kinship of an Indian citizen to his biological or sociological parents somewhere in Uttar Pradesh, but the silsila, the spiritual kinship to the line of the Gotarka-Pir. Akbar Shah's grave is located today in the shrine compound and his own will be there one fine day too. Curiously, he had managed by whatever means to make the state recognize his otherworldly identity. RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THE PIR AND HIS FOLLOWERS The two institutions of world renunciation, the temple and the shrine, are dear to the villagers in Gotarka. They are the main attractions bringing visitors from outside, and despite the ideal aloofness from worldly matters, much of local politicking passes through these two institutions. It is generally understood that the institutions do not simply mediate conflicts and attract visitors, but also redistribute wealth in the form of monetary gifts, labor, and agricultural produce. The relationship between the living descendants of the institutions is cordial and close, and somewhat formal during public events. Sporadically, uncooked food is exchanged between the shrine and the temple; I, for example, was personally asked several times to carry some vegetables, like cauliflowers, if I were to pass through the village. During the Gujarat pogrom in 2002, in which violence against Muslims spread to the nearby regional town of Radhanpur, a mere 17 kilometers away from the village, Swami Dearamdasji and Hydaid Ali Shah Pir performed a _bhumi-puja_ , a worship ritual of the earth. They chose the center of the large open village ground separating the shrine from the temple to perform this ritual. This collective act was geared toward countering the immense psychological pressure felt in the state to participate in the contagious atmosphere and foment conflicts between Hindus and Muslims. The two religious preceptors were successful. To date, no villager has witnessed a severe lasting conflict between Hindus and Muslims that followed the Hindu nationalist script so prevalent in the state. DAILY ACTIVITIES The Pir are visited daily by a large number of people – devotees, pilgrims, and recurrent seekers – and there is much to say about the personal relationships they develop with some of these visitors. The most challenging work for the living descendants of Mohab Ali Shah is the public managing of the potentially tense social situations that sometimes arise when these diverse sets of visitors sit together and share tea, communicating their wishes, questions, and sometimes not-so-humble demands. All visitors, whether Hindu, Muslim, Jain, upper or lower caste, men or women, demonstrably relinquish all authority to the Pir. The management of time and space is entirely his doing and his absolute prerogative. The Pir always decides who sits where, who stands up, who can leave, and whose problem will be discussed next. He dominates the social situation completely. Everything is bent toward this absolute hierarchy expressed in comportment, sequence, speech, and behavior – a strenuous experience for some visitors. In an opportune moment he may turn to a visitor, asking the reason for his or her stay, and then either resume a string of conversation abandoned 10 minutes earlier or introduce a new subject of discussion. The Pir manages the social situation at the Darbar, and he is the axis around which all attention turns. These daily productions, however, are nonetheless no stiff affairs. While the Pir must recognize the social hierarchies in which he occupies the apex, he at the same time has the opportunity to manipulate the situation, as he sees fit – not unlike a traditional king holding court. Varsi Bapur was particularly gifted in this daily labor, a true virtuoso at public play. He was particularly bent on managing people's religious origins. Skillfully and never bereft of wit, he intentionally indulged in the absurd, teasing and invariably arriving at some sort of productive confusion. This unique behavior was considered a sign of his proximity to Allah, as he was considered _masti_ – that is, intoxicated from the proximity to God. To many villagers, this was also a form of entertainment. Proximity to Allah, following the classic Sufi imagery of the moth seeking warmth and light around a flame, renders the mind blessed with a special form of madness. These performances, for which he is well known, are embarrassing for some and funny to others. More than mere entertainment, by exaggeration and hyperbole, absurd reversals and persiflage, they display the way the world of men, of _dunyadar_ , looks from the other side, from the position of a Pir – someone ideally external to that world and closer to the reality of God. SPECIALIZED SET OF FOLLOWERS: _B_ _ALKE_ AND _M_ _URID_ Finally, it is necessary to focus briefly on relationships between the institution of the Gotarka-Pir and particular groups of devotees. There are two distinct categories of routinized Muslim followers of Mahabali Pir, each of which holds traditional relationships to the institution: the largely poor Fakiri community with little or no land of their own; and the Malik community, many of whom are small to middle-size landowners, and who aspire rather assertively to local Rajput (or powerful) status. All Fakiri in the village of Gotarka live in immediate proximity to the Dargah and the Gotarka-Pir at the Darbar.8 They trace their origins to the founding saint of the shrine and consider the Pir to be literally of the same substance as they are. The Fakiri collectively are Mohab Ali Shah's _balke_ (spiritual children) and as such, they share in his liminal status. The living descendants of Mohab Ali Shah, such as Pir Akbar Shah Bapu, have an intimate and emotional relationship to the Fakiri, filled with affective intensity. When a Fakiri contestant lost in a village panchayat election, Akbar Shah met with his flock in the Darbar, and wailed bitterly over the humiliation along with members of the community. When a prominent member of the community was injured in agricultural labor, the Pir, together with many retainers, visited the injured party's house, offering words, prayer, and monetary gifts of solace. In former times, I was told, the Fakiri were not farmers, but tended to all the bodily needs of the living Gotarka-Pir. They cleaned the Dargah and the Darbar, and even today the Gotarka-Pir can order a Fakiri at any time to do specific chores, or to massage his feet, or to prepare the tobacco. This close relationship also translates into spontaneous showering of love by the Pir over his spiritual children, his balke. The unique Pir–balka relationship does not pertain exclusively to the Fakiri community, but can also be established between special individuals of other communities (Hindu or Muslim) and the Pir. This follows a typical local logic: all human beings are the spiritual children (balke) of the Pir. The Malik, on the other hand, who live in towns and villages nearby, trace their special relationship to the institution of the Gotarka-Pir through a war against a Hindu king fought long ago in Sind (today Pakistan), in which they were utterly defeated. Fleeing from the catastrophe, they came into what is today Gujarat, and asked the Gotarka-Pir for protection. He granted them stay and refuge. It was then that they swore their allegiance to the gaddipati, who allowed them to settle in the area. The Malik are proud of their warrior past and thus disliked by many Hindus of the village, who claim to remember violent raids by the Malik community just a few generations back. The Malik community shows their veneration and devotion to the Gotarka-Pir differently than the Fakiri. Instead of proximity and intimacy, their relations are characterized by ostentatious gift giving. The Malik perform devotion to the Gotarka-Pir as if they were interacting with a king, honoring and indulging their Pir through precious gifts – Varsi Bapu enjoyed each visit a great deal. In many ways, this practice follows the logic of the sacrificial gift (Parry 1986). The Malik do not want to come too close to the Pir because that would require them to give themselves more completely to the institution. They give in order not to have to give themselves. By contrast, the Fakiri have nothing to give, and thus offer themselves completely to the institution. Nonetheless, individual members of the Malik community are free to engage in more intimate relations with individual Pir, following the blueprint of Pir–balka relations outlined above. While both sets of relationships are unequivocally hierarchical, the Pir–balka relationship combines hierarchy with intimacy, and the emotional charge allows for the expression of many ambivalences. CONCLUSION The Gotarka-Pir are characters in a religious institution that has existed for generations. Their style of religious behavior follows a matrix of values shared by all groups in the village alike: the veneration of extraordinary personages, living or dead, whose qualities are expressions of the divine. Based on an unambiguous hierarchy between men-in-the-world and world-renouncers, such an institution can easily appear rigid in its conservatism. The act of delegation between devotees and religious preceptor, however, has the effect of freeing the devotee from the need to internalize religious norms of selfhood and identity as propounded by the modern state. The result is a palpable difference concerning questions of religious identity and practice. The syncretistic character of these practices, if "syncretistic" is indeed the right word, is not based on a "tolerant worldview" in the sense of a programmatic _Weltanschauung_ or a multicultural ethos or any such thing. There can be no audience for such "tolerance," nor are enlightened self-representations particularly valued. Local conceptions are not much taken in by abstract ideas of cultural admixture. Instead villagers are absorbed in the idea of world renunciation and the possibilities it presents. What fascinates the rural population is the example of a living proximity to God and the opportunity to experience this extraordinary quality through concrete face-to-face relationships. The secret of the mutual imbrication of communities lies in the nature of the social space that successful religious actors such as the Gotarka-Pir are able to occupy: a liminal space ideally set apart from and external to society, or at least at the threshold to something beyond it. While the Pir are empirically involved in village matters, they ideally stand in a relationship of externality to it. Their behaviors are closely scrutinized and they must beware to behave according to their otherworldly status and composure. On the level of world renunciation, the divisions of the world are always represented from an external viewpoint – they must be left behind, without thus negating them outright. Instead of negation, the social divisions are the concrete material, which manipulated are formed into instances of play, reflection, and persiflage, that ultimately enable the transcendence which the audience so appreciates. It is this anchoring and mediating function that allows religious authorities to performatively go beyond worldly divisions of which the Hindu–Muslim binary is just one possible example. The Pir can do so because their charisma is based on ideas about renunciation, celibacy, and other embodied practices that are taken seriously by all villagers alike. In many ways, it is the inhabitants of Gotarka, including Hindus, who produce their local Pir, and not vice versa. Other social divisions, such as those between competing castes, rich and poor, state administrator and local resident, colonial official and local peasant, might have been more important in former times. Today, however, in the context of democracy and the stiff wind of Hindu nationalist ideology, the most important division that needs to be eclipsed is that between Hindu and Muslim. Consequently, this particular division, with which all villagers are intimately familiar, is overtly transgressed in the context of the shrine, which is not to say that such was the shrine's function when it was founded, or that it is reducible to this today. In this, Varsi Bapu, a virtuoso, has achieved great mastery. A true Pir and world-renouncer does not need to cling to the narrow ideas of religious sectarian identity held by some of his visitors. The fact that Hindus visit and venerate him establishes the local authority of the shrine, allowing him to transform social and cultural capital into religious prestige. Varsi Bapu is always bent on showing the visitor that there is something absurd about the ordinary, and something higher or sublime about the extraordinary. To achieve such a success is, however, based on labor that the Pir have to engage in daily. I mentioned the carefully managed biographical narratives of the Pir, the unique style of charismatic labor performed as divine intoxication through provocative and transgressive play, an elaborate local network of devotees that sometimes engage in excessive religious gifting, and a unique physical and emotional intimacy with the largely poor Fakiri community to whom gifts, especially of money, are given as "gifts of love." Through the delegation of religious acts to ritual specialists, the institution of the Gotarka-Pir re-presents the highest societal ideals and values. While the Pir are world-renouncers (a comparative, Weberian term taken over from analysis of Hindu ideology), they are also the local authorities in all things "Islamic" and, consequently, have a tendency to devalue claims to religious authority based solely on scriptural versions of Islam. Varsi Bapu always refers to Mullahs somewhat pejoratively as _mullahvalas_. Although he supported the building of a _madrasa_ (Islamic school) – an idea he abandoned after he ran out of funds – the claim to divine truth merely on the basis of scripture always seems phony to him. In a rural society where caste and community identification still signify a ritual order, and where a Pir can derive status from calling a Hindu his follower, the sacred at a Muslim shrine is similar to the sacred at a Hindu temple. It presents a sphere that transcends the divisions of the world, including those of caste, religion, and sect, to which a man-in-the-world can relate only via a unique act of delegation. Thus, while religious distinctions, such as Hindu or Muslim, are not absent, they are merely one among many other possible distinctions to be transcended. NOTES 1 Such syntheses were facilitated not only through folk practices, but also through scholarly curiosity and translations into Persian and Arabic of works such as the _Amrtakunda_ (The Pool of Nectar), a tantric text composed by a Brahman yogi of Kamrup, that received much attention by Sufis in Bengal. Compare Eaton 1993:77–82. 2 _Baraka_ is often translated as charisma, _karamat_ as grace or miracle (Digby 1986:59, 62), and _chamotkar_ as magic. In Gotarka all three terms – _baraka_ , _karamat_ , and _chamotkar_ – are used interchangeably and take the general meaning of sacred power, miracle, or miraculous power. There is an implicit understanding that this power can be harnessed through yogic exercises and austerities. 3 The Jain community had left the village to settle in urban centers in North Gujarat before I began my research in the mid-1990s. The remaining Jain temple is no longer active and only one member of the community is still present in the village. 4 The institution is locally referred to as "Gotarka-Pir," "Mohab Ali Pir," "Mahabali Dargah," or simply through the exclamation "Mahabali!" These names are used interchangeably. While the name of the shrine's founder, Mohab Ali, signifies on the one hand _mohabbat_ (an Urdu word for love), the name is on the other hand a close homonym of _Mahabali_. "Mahabali" is Gujarati or Sanskrit for "grand sacrifice," _maha_ meaning "great, grand," and _bali_ being the term for a blood offering to a divinity. At "Mahabali Dargah," following the _bhakti_ (and/or Sufi) devotional tradition, the greatest sacrifice is in fact the gift of love, understood as a gift of the self to the divine. We can perceive in such creative employment of homonyms the way locals become practically absorbed in an activity that is attentive to, and desirous of, those moments when all normative divisions are overcome. In a way one could say that religious practice becomes antithetical to a stable worldly identity because sacrality is produced through an inverse of normative society. 5 The use of the metaphor of milk to express intimate relationships does not only play an important role because of the Hindu symbology of milk but also because "milk-kinship" ( _radi'a_ ) is an important Islamic notion of jurisprudence in the context of kin relations. 6 Questions of land rights and ownership are among the most precarious issues to investigate. Inquiries concerning such information are met with great suspicion, especially by village authorities. 7 The Gotarka-Pir are Madari dervishes. Founded by Badi ud-Din Shah Madar, an Aleppan Jew who converted to Islam, the Madari are considered _bi-shar_ – standing outside of the tenets of religious law (Frembgen 1993:29–30, 89–91). Madari dervishes and their shrines are popular in many parts of India. They are mentioned in Ghulam Ali's _The Coral Rosary of Indian Antiquities,_ completed in 1764, in which a traveler described dervishes of that order tending to the sacred footprints of the first man, Adam, who according to legend descended into India in Serendip, the ancient name of Ceylon (Ernst 1995: passim, esp. 560). For a recent account of the Madari see Falasch 2004. 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Westphal, Heinz, and Sigrid Westphal-Hellbusch 1968 Zur Geschichte und Kultur der Jat. Berlin: Duncker & Humblot. CHAPTER 15 Christianity: Culture, Identity, and Agency _Mathew N. Schmalz_ INTRODUCTION In June of 2008, the Catholic Archbishop of Madras-Mylapore announced a 300 million rupee project to bring the story of Thomas the Apostle to the screen.1 Rumors circulated that the project came as a response to Pope Benedict XVI's assertion that the "doubting apostle" had only traveled as far as the area now encompassed by Pakistan, not to South India, as many Indian Christians believe. The chief minister of Tamil Nadu, M. Karunanidhi, was invited to ceremonially inaugurate work on the film. News releases said that the film's scale would rival Hollywood productions such as _Ben Hur_ and _The Ten Commandments_. Perhaps to emphasize the project's commercial possibilities, it was also revealed that Rajnikanth and other Tamil film stars had been recruited to act in the film. Reports predicted that the project would soon move apace: a script had been written and producers were planning to have it translated into both Tamil and Malayalam from the original French. Once the St Thomas film project was announced, Hindu nationalists began to agitate against it. Although recorded history of Indian Christianity dates from the fourth century of the Common Era, whether St Thomas actually arrived in South India remains a matter of dispute. For those concerned with emphasizing the Indianness of Indian Christianity, it necessarily follows that if St Thomas came to India, then Christianity is as much "at home" in India as it is in Europe. For those concerned with highlighting the alien character of Indian Christianity, denying the historicity of St Thomas's journey forecloses any significant Indian Christian narrative not linked to Portuguese and British imperial expansion. In the view of some of the project's most ardent critics, even more suspect was the apparent effort to legitimate the claim that the San Thome Cathedral in Chennai is built over the tomb of St Thomas. Rumors have always circulated that the cathedral stands on the ruins of a Hindu temple. In raising the issue of San Thome, above the ground and buried in it, the film draws attention to the larger perception of Indian Christianity as symbolically and physically constructed on Hindu remains. In the often heated conversations about Indian Christianity, the accent falls not on the adjective "Indian," but on the noun "Christianity." With sporadic violence against Christians continuing in Orissa and Gujarat, the paradox of the indigenous yet foreign character of Christianity has become grafted onto larger debates about the secular character of the Indian nation-state (Schmalz 2006b). Against this background, there is often a scholarly tendency to emphasize Christians "in" India, as opposed to Christians "of" India – to cite sociologist Rowena Robinson's (2003:9) pithy characterization. While Christians number only 2–3 percent of India's population, Christianity and Christian institutions are particularly visible, especially in South and Northeast India where the majority of Christians reside. Overall, Roman Catholics constitute one half of the Christian population and belong to either the Roman, Syro-Malabar, or Syro-Malankara rites. Among the approximately 10 million Protestant Christians, the most prominent communities remain the United Church of South India, with almost 2 million members, and the Syrian Orthodox Church that claims its origins in the missionary work of Thomas the apostle. Almost half of India's Christians belong to tribal groups or low caste communities that often describe themselves as "dalit," meaning "crushed" or "oppressed," to emphasize their subordinate status not only within Indian society but also within many Indian Christian denominations. The distinctive contribution of anthropological studies of Indian Christianity lies in their ability to probe the Indianness of Christianity through attention to the ways in which Christianity has been interpreted and embodied by Indians themselves. This survey of anthropological approaches to Indian Christianity will begin by considering the category of culture and review how Christianity's relationship to Indian culture has been conceptualized through morphology as well as by theories of symbolism and syncretism. Since syncretism frames Indian Christianity as a hybrid, the discussion of culture will move to examine the issue of identity, particularly as related to conversion, caste, gender, and the overall issue of Indian Christian "selfhood." Even in its most rarefied forms, the issue of selfhood inevitably focuses attention on the agency of the Indian Christians themselves. Accordingly, we will consider politics, narrative, and resistance as expressions of agency and thus conclude our discussion of how anthropology has addressed the many ways to be Christian in India. CULTURE Outside the city of Varanasi lies Matridham Ashram. What distinguishes Matridham is not necessarily its name, "abode of the Mother," which might be appropriate for any number of ashrams in this holy city on the banks of the Ganges. Instead, what distinguishes Matridham is that it is a Catholic Ashram constructed along a self-consciously Indian pattern. The superior of the ashram has the title "guru-acharya," and retreatants maintain vows of silence while also restricting themselves to sparse vegetarian meals on the ashram grounds. There is a cycle of prayer that incorporates aspects of Hindu temple worship, including the rotation of an oil lamp and the chanting of Sanskrit verses. These Sanskrit verses relate the understanding of Brahman as "truth-consciousness-bliss" to the Trinity, following the vision articulated in the devotional and polemical writings of Brahmabandhab Upadhay (Lipner 1999), the Bengali revolutionary and Catholic convert (on Matridham, see Schmalz 2001a). During morning meditation, the guru-acharya introduces _yoga nidra_ and asks retreatants to lie down, their backs against the floor, with arms to their sides and palms facing up. As the guru-acharya explains, this posture aligns the energy centers of the body. The guru-acharya then presents a series of visualizations of the life of Jesus and prompts retreatants to imagine themselves as participants in the Christian drama of redemption. As he explains afterwards, yoga nidra allows an intersection not only between waking and dreaming life but also between the physical and subtle bodies. What the guru-acharya does not say, because it is assumed by all participants, is that yoga nidra is also intended to bring permeability to the boundary between Indian culture and Christianity. That Indian culture and Christianity need to be reconciled is a postulate of the "inculturation" movement that began in Indian Catholicism in the 1960s and encouraged the establishment of Christian ashrams like Matridham. While "inculturation" is a rather awkward neologism derived from "enculturation," this awkwardness is strangely appropriate for the larger and equally awkward question of what makes Christianity "Christianity" and Indian culture "Indian." When I first visited Matridham in 1994, I understood its religious life as a particularly interesting example of syncretism. Literally meaning "to reconcile opposites," syncretism has provided ethnographers with a ready category to describe how Christianity has merged with a variety of indigenous Indian forms. But syncretism carries with it some contestable assumptions, especially the supposition that culture and religion exist as bounded and identifiable wholes. And so, before directly confronting the issue of syncretism, we will examine various morphologies of Indian culture as they have been related to Christianity. As we will see, Christianity's "Indianness" is often understood to be mediated through symbols. Symbols are rather nebulous entities, of course, but the ways in which they are understood, by Indian Christians and by those who study them, have crucial implications for understanding how religion intersects with culture and whether syncretism is the most useful way to conceptualize the Indianness of Indian Christianity. Morphology Anthropological approaches to Indian Christianity were prefigured in travelogues and theological treatises of explorers and missionaries. Early modern Europeans were familiar not only with the legend of St Thomas, but also with apocryphal tales of King Prester John and the Christian kingdom he established in India. Francis Xavier and other early Catholic missionaries speculated that Hindu Brahmans practiced a degraded form of biblical religion in which devotion to the one God could still be seen in spite of accretions of superstition. Applying a similar morphological scheme, some early Protestant observers (Yelle 2009) saw India as a pre-Christian space: Hinduism represented a religion based on "law" which would inevitably be perfected by the Christian religion of "grace," much as Judaism had been. Later Indian Christian theologians would argue, as M. M. Thomas (1969) did, that Hindu reform movements were shaped by an "acknowledged" intellectual and spiritual encounter with Christ. Reflecting on Indian Christianity became a natural extension of India's importance to Christian teleologies of culture. Bede Griffiths, an English Benedictine monk who donned the ochre robe of the renunciant, envisioned an Indian Christianity infused with the wisdom of the Upanishads and Bhagavad Gita; a meeting of East and West that would subvert Western materialism and the dualistic tendencies underlying Christian anthropologies (Griffiths and Matus 2004). Theologically informed scholars, such as Catherine Cornille (1991), have drawn upon phenomenology to understand the "inculturated" Indian Christianity advocated by Griffiths and others. By relating the notion of the Indian Catholic guru to archetypes such as the "master–disciple," a more general morphology of the sacred emerges that understands Indian culture as a field of incarnated abstractions. Of course, there are other ways of applying morphology to Indian cultural forms beyond relying on notions of the sacred or assumptions about the progress of Christian revelation. In Susan Visvanathan's (1993 anthropological monograph on the Syrian Christians of Kerala, we find the relationship between religion and culture conceptualized as a "tapestry." The Syrian Christians examined by Visvanathan call themselves the "Yakoba" and trace their origins from St Thomas. The incorporation of the Yakoba into an ecclesiastic polity developed through a complex series of events that began with the arrival of Syrian immigrants and Thomas of Cana in 345 CE, extended through resistance to Catholic domination and schism into Jacobite and Orthodox Syrian sects, and eventually ended in partial reconciliation. Visvanathan explores the "warp and woof" (1993:9) of the Yakoba life by focusing attention on religious and cultural forms that Christians and Hindus share. She delineates how Syrian Christians' "modalities of choice making with regard to food, occupation, marriage, birth and death" (1993:3) were dictated by their caste identity. While the Yakoba chart sacred time by reference to Jewish and Christian traditions, "mundane" time follows the same structure as the Hindu calendar, and the Yakoba use the chronology of the Malayalam era to mark the establishment of churches. While divisions and distinctions remain between Christians and Hindus, most notably in Yakoba rituals that purify a newly constructed home from Hindu influence, there is a dominant cultural template that shapes a social and conceptual space inhabited by Christians and Hindus alike. Symbol If Indian Christians and Hindus live in the same cultural world, the issue becomes identifying the constituent elements ensuring the stability and replication of that world. For scholars concerned with the issue of Christianity's relationship to Indian culture, symbols are often the preferred unit of analysis because they are commonly understood to communicate and shape affective and cognitive dispositions. The difficulty is that there exists no scholarly consensus on what, or whether, a "symbol" actually "means." Some would argue for what could be called a semiotic or "cryptographic" view of symbolism in which symbols exist as a linguistic shorthand that can be decoded. Others, following the French anthropologist Dan Sperber (1991), argue that symbols do not "mean" precisely because they do not correspond to immediately available conceptual schemas. These competing approaches have differing implications for understanding the relationship of Christianity to Indian culture. In his research on Catholic Santals, Selva Raj (2002) identifies an implicit taxonomy that classifies symbols in accord with their appropriateness for Christian use. The Santals are one of India's most prominent tribes, numbering about 6 million and residing primarily in the states of the Jharkand, West Bengal, and Orissa. Raj initially discusses the complementary "inclusion" (2002:48) of both indigenous and Catholic symbols in Santali life with no change in meaning. For example, bodies are prepared for Christian burial through application of turmeric and oil according to time-honored Santali tradition. Through "supplementation," Santali celebrations, such as the Flower Festival marking the arrival of spring, are augmented by Catholic prayer services that take the place of traditional "bonga" worship and propitiation of spirits. Raj identifies structures of "parallelism" such as those found in marriage rituals that often begin with a Catholic ceremony held in a church and conclude with rites performed in the village. There is also the process of "traditionalization" in which foreign rituals or symbols are adopted "after their meaning and significance are modified or transformed." This is most notably the case in the priestly ordination ceremony that is preceded by blood sacrifice of animals and the purificatory bathing of the prospective priest in oil, water, and milk by village virgins (2002:49, 53). Raj brings ritual to the fore as the process by which symbols are conveyed and translated, appropriated and deployed. Such acculturations thus represent a strategy made possible by the fact that symbols have an independent power to carry not just emotional affect, but also conceptual construals of the world. By contrast, I decided to follow Dan Sperber's lead by arguing that a symbol becomes "symbolic" precisely in its initial resistance to conceptual categorization. In moving to study rural Catholic communities some hundred miles north of Matridham, I met Ghura Ram, a communist activist who became the first untouchable to serve as headman of his village (Schmalz 1999). Inspired by the social activism of the local mission, Ghura Ram converted to Catholicism and chose the name "Paul." After later becoming a catechist, he was often addressed as "Ghura Master" in recognition of his religious status. Several years before I met him, Ghura Master was blinded by an acid attack that forced him from his positions as headman and catechist. Sitting on his rope bed outside his home, Ghura Master would compose songs in the style of the North Indian poet-saint Kabir and explore the symbol of the "white cloth." For Kabir, the white cloth represented the human body, woven together by the metaphysical strands of the material world. For Ghura Master, the white cloth initially evoked the felt-image of his own body and the raised scars of his acid burns. He would then sing of the white cloth being washed clean by baptism – a cloth that would also become his shroud at death. While initially drawn to semiotic understandings of symbolism, I eventually decided that Ghura Master was not relying upon a process of translation in his use of symbols. Instead, he was working out the resonances of the white cloth against the background of memory. The process was thus as much personal as cultural. But as I came to learn more about his life, I also realized that another song Ghura Master composed did lend itself to a more cryptographic approach: So you mercenary heart Say "Lord," say "Lord." Ah, the body becomes tired and your son's wife Throws a plate of food at you With her left hand In a dark room Say Lord, say Lord So from now on, abandon tricks, lies and debauchery So, from now on, you abandon tricks, lies and debauchery The Father is kind; he'll write everything off Say Lord, say Lord Repent from your mind and tame the mind Repent from your heart and tame your desires The Father is kind; he'll turn into the one who embraces you Say Lord, say Lord So the name of the Lord is truth And at death you call His name Paul says I will correct my way Say Lord, say Lord... Lust, anger and pride are the banners of hell But after being told this, you don't feel any shame Say Lord, say Lord2 Taming of the mind, so central to Kabir's ascetic vision, leads to repentance and eventual triumph over the elemental vices of lust, anger, and pride. Amid the cries for forgiveness remains a striking image of Ghura Master in a dark room, forced to accept food from his daughter-in-law that she offers with her left hand. The left hand is used for washing the body and for sexual contact; it would be unthinkable to offer someone food with it. Yet his daughter-in-law is precisely the person rumor says Ghura Master repeatedly raped – a crime that was punished not in a court of law but by an acid attack allegedly carried out by members of Ghura Master's own family along with accomplices from the village. In probing Ghura Master's use of symbols, I moved away from larger issues concerning Christianity and Indian culture and became concerned with tracing the particular and idiosyncratic contours of longing and memory. Syncretism In his work on Santal religiosity and the Catholic ashram movement, Selva Raj employs syncretism as an overarching category of analysis (2002:50). Indian Christianity can be seen as syncretic in the sense that it brings together identifiably Hindu and Christian forms to create something distinctly Indian and Christian. While Susan Visvanathan does not employ the term syncretism in her discussion of the Yakoba, her description of culture as a tapestry with a warp and woof most certainly describes what ordinarily would be described as a syncretic process. P. Y. Luke and John Carman apply syncretism as an umbrella term to refer to the asymmetrical give and take between Christianity and Telangana rural culture in the Medak diocese of the Church of South India. For example, Luke and Carman (1968:170–175) draw attention to how understandings of Jesus' atoning sacrifice on the cross do not translate well into popular understandings of sacrifice as ascetic self-denial or blood offering – though the blood of Jesus is sometimes interpreted in terms of purifying properties associated with ritual bathing. The pervasive importance of the ritual bath ( _tritha_ ) sometimes leads to mispronunciation of _baptismanu_ (baptism) as _baptirthanmu_ – a term that some Christian villagers also use for Holy Communion along with the word _prashadam_ , which also refers to offerings made in Hindu temple worship. In rural Telangana, the syncretic process is not the indigenization of Western Christian forms, but the partial and often hesitant Christianization of traditional village practices popularly understood as "Hindu." The assumption underlying various understandings of syncretism is that both Indian culture and Christianity are initially opposed as bounded wholes. Like languages, religions and cultures have grammars that give shape and intelligibility to expression. An extension of this position is that the morphology of symbols and other cultural forms can be traced over time, not just in relation to historical context but also in terms of their own internal dynamics. Christianity's "Indianness" can thus be plotted on a kind of Venn diagram with Christianity and Indian culture represented by circles that overlap and intersect. As intellectually powerful as they can be, such conceptualizations often obscure rupture and discontinuity. If Indian culture decisively shapes the forms of Indian Christianity, then its ability to do so derives from particular and pervasive configurations of power and authority. But for those who understand Indian Christianity as a kind of work in progress, culture and symbol remain provisional categories that cannot fully describe the often idiosyncratic interplay of image and memory in the specificity of Indian life. IDENTITY By the 1990s, charismatic religiosity had become the most recognizable form of Christian practice in many Indian cities and towns. Matridham, for example, became widely known, not for its "inculturated Catholicism," but for the charismatic prayer service it held on the second Saturday of every month. Marked by speaking in tongues, prophecy, and the laying on of hands, charismatic prayer services routinely draw thousands of participants. While the popularity of the charismatic movement offers great possibility for increasing numbers of lay Christian healers, it also challenges their proclamation of Jesus as the exclusive means to salvation. Most of the participants in charismatic healing services are Hindus who have no interest in formal conversion to Christianity. Roman Catholics in North India call these Hindu participants in charismatic healing ceremonies "Khrist Panthi" to acknowledge their "path" ( _panth_ ) of devotion to Jesus. At charismatic healing services, ill and possessed Khrist Panthis will be brought forward and ministered to by Christian healers who employ techniques quite similar to indigenous practices of exorcism, including the blowing of blessings, the use of words charged with healing power, and carefully administered beatings. At the conclusion of these services, participants reciprocally lay hands upon one another, creating a network of healing nodes that recognizes no distinction between Christian and Hindu (Schmalz, in press). Paradoxically, Protestant and Catholic charismatics proclaim a textually based, and quite monolithic, Christian identity that they seemingly elide in practice. The prominence of charismatic religiosity among both Christians and Hindus brings into sharp relief the issue of identity. Querying the nature of identity in Indian Christianity often begins by addressing conversion – since conversion is conventionally understood as the definitive embrace of a different worldview and sense of self. But identity is approached with caution in many academic treatments of Indian religiosity, especially in the wake of anthropological theories that emphasize the fluidity and "dividual" quality of Hindu conceptualizations of selfhood (Marriott 1990). Perhaps because of such difficulties, the issue of caste has been thought to provide a firmer point of contact for exploring how Christian identity finds expression in relation to Indian social categories. More recent studies have also begun to examine gender as a central variable in understanding multiple articulations of identity in which Christianity does necessarily play a dominant role. Considerations of conversion, caste, and gender together raise the more vexing issue of "selfhood" as a meaningful category for the anthropology of Indian Christianity. Conversion Conversion to Christianity is one of the most controversial issues in post-Independence India. Government panels have proposed legal restrictions on proselytism, accusing foreign missionaries of using financial incentives to induce conversion. Converts to Christianity from untouchable backgrounds are also legally barred from receiving the preferential treatment afforded to Hindu members of "scheduled" and "backward" castes under Indian law. This social context problematizes any scholarly effort to understand what becoming Christian means within contemporary India For example, John Carman (2004) writes about Yohan, who seemingly exemplified the Protestant ideal of conversion in his refusal to participate in the Hindu rituals that animated village life. Nine families from the village then wished to convert in order to reestablish the community solidarity threatened by Yohan's individualistic, and exclusive, appropriation of identity. After a two-year period of discerning the legal implications of the decision, some of these families did convert to Christianity but continued participating in local Hindu festivals. Employing conversion as a descriptive category often means arbitrarily inscribing a clear boundary between practices and beliefs that are not necessarily opposed. There are a number of excellent studies that delve into conversion's relationship to British and Portuguese imperial expansion into India (Frykenberg 1980). The most thorough treatment of contemporary issues relating to conversion remains Rowena Robinson and Sathianathan Clarke's edited volume (2003) that places Christianity alongside other conversion movements in modern India. Through these comparisons, conversion emerges as a multidimensional process that unevenly reflects both continuity and discontinuity. For example, Clarke (2003) emphasizes conversion as a future-oriented disposition for Tamil Christians, especially since untouchable converts still face discrimination within their own Christian denominations. John Webster (2003) surveys Churha conversions to Christianity that began in nineteenth-century Punjab and later became aligned with the United Presbyterian Mission and the Church Missionary Society. By the 1970s, Punjabi Christians were understood to be a separate community alongside Hindu Churhas and Mazhabi Sikhs. To this extent, Webster argues, new "emancipatory identities" (2003:369) had begun to take shape. Emancipation also remains the goal of converts to Christianity in Northeast India, according to Frederick Downs (2003). Using the frame of "cultural synthesis," Downs argues that conversion to Christianity allowed Northeast tribes to adapt to the new context of British rule while still retaining many of their traditional practices. With the imposition of governmental structures and administrative entities in the Northeast after Indian independence, conversion to Christianity was deployed to resist Hindu "outsiders." In these case studies, conversion does indeed chart out a new identity created through change and rupture. But this identity is largely imagined, since conversion responds to more immediate issues and challenges from which there is no easy separation. Caste Whenever the question of conversion to Christianity arises, a discussion of caste inevitably follows. The most widely discussed theory of caste is associated with Louis Dumont (1981), who characterized caste as based upon a distinction between power and status. For Dumont, the ideology of purity and pollution, as well as the separation of the religious from the political, gave the caste system its distinctive shape and totalizing scope. Dumont's work has also been subject to withering criticism, and alternative theories of caste have persuasively been advanced, ranging from associating caste with citizenship to unmasking caste hierarchy as a system that relies on false consciousness to produce subordination. The question of whether caste exists in Indian Christianity is often another way to ask whether Hindu conceptions of identity persist in Christian communities after conversion. Of course, framing the issue in this way tendentiously assumes that Christianity is fundamentally egalitarian while Hinduism is innately hierarchical. But the issue of caste in Indian Christianity is nonetheless important, not only for what it reveals about Christianity's relationship to Indian society, but also because it poses an interesting test for Dumont's theory. C. J. Fuller (1976) and David Mosse (1996) have been the two theorists who have most effectively drawn upon ethnographic fieldwork to examine caste in Indian Christianity. Fuller argues that Christians in Kerala are indeed "castes." The three major Christian groupings – Syrian, Latin, and "New Christian" groups who converted in the nineteenth century – are ranked in relation to each other and other Hindu castes. According to Fuller, Christians share with Hindus an almost identical "orthopraxy" regarding pollution, with the important exception that Christians do not have notions of bodily pollution. The issue of bodily pollution, however, is part of David Mosse's analysis of Catholic death rites in a Tamil village. Mosse argues that in spite of Christian conceptions of the afterlife, the focus of Catholic death rituals is much the same as that orienting Hindu practices: both Hindu and Catholic rituals seek to separate the dead from the world of the living through the use of a similar "repertoire of basic procedures" (1996:466), including the creation of protective boundaries and a reliance on the cooling effects of bathing and shaving. As Mosse observes, the issue surrounding caste and Christianity is whether caste is seen as an archaic Hindu holdover or as a form of inequality that Christianity replicates. Central to this question is Dumont's assertion that caste separates status and power by distinguishing between the pure and impure. Fuller draws attention to how Christians and Hindus often make no distinction between status and power. While Christians and Hindus do exist in a similar world, their shared orthopraxy is not based upon theology. Mosse extends the critique by observing that purity and pollution have differing meanings in different contexts for Tamil Catholics: while purity and pollution do play significant roles in dealing with the dead or minor Hindu deities, notions of personal impurity in a Catholic Christian context have more to do with sin and sexuality. Most importantly, Mosse shows how Catholicism articulated and reproduced caste hierarchy not in relation to the priest, but in relation to the king or local village headman (1996:471–472). In this sense, caste is very much about the connection between power and status, a connection that has been inscribed by the practices of many Christian denominations long before contact with Indian social structures. Gender In comparison to caste, gender has not been as consistently addressed in examinations of Indian Christianity. In early travelogues by missionaries, women figure as exemplars of Christian witness. In his ethnographically tinged accounts of life among Santals, Mathew Pederson discusses an old woman who had "come out of the darkness" after receiving a prophetic dream in which a man had barred her from the gates of a paradisiacal garden because she had not converted to Christianity as her children did (1929:33–37). Such accounts, in what they describe and by the way they are framed, elicit one of the central dynamics identified in anthropological accounts of gender in Indian Christianity: women as "constructed" embodiments of family, religion, and culture. For example, in my village fieldwork I was particularly struck with how male Catholics in eastern Uttar Pradesh furiously denounced the wearing of saris by nuns and urged a return to the white habit associated with the area's earliest foreign missionaries (Schmalz 2005a). The reason given for this criticism was that the nuns are trying to look "too attractive" by wearing sleek polyester garments that could not be afforded by the vast majority of women surrounding villages. Patriarchal constructions of gender thus became coupled with status concerns and an aesthetic that associates Western religious garb with renunciation and power. Most discussions of the specifically Christian dimensions of gender identity in India recognize its connection with patriarchy. Rowena Robinson (1998) observes that Goan Catholic marriage rituals and practices affirm patrilocality and the subordination of the wife to the husband. Indeed, the Konkani word for the mimosa plant that closes its leaves when touched is "shy bride," presumably evoking the qualities that Goan Catholic women should display. While touching upon many of the same issues with regard to dalit Christian women, _From Role to Identity_ (Webster 1997) also evinces an analytic tension not seen in Robinson's analysis. On the one hand, within Protestant churches, the power of women has actually declined since foreign missionaries left – for example, the number of women employed by the Church of South India as "evangelistic workers" has steadily decreased since the 1950s. Such conditions, exacerbated by social constraints such as untouchability and dowry, stand as important counterpoints to claims that Christianity has brought notable social improvements for women such as literacy and substantive employment opportunities outside of the home. On the other hand, _From Role to Identity_ contains a number of exhortations about the equality of women as affirmed in the Christian Gospel. But, as we have already learned, is it not as though egalitarian Christianity has been simply transported into a hierarchical Indian context. From an anthropological perspective what becomes interesting is how gender inequality can be constructed through Christian ritual and practice amid pious refrains about the distinctiveness of the Christian message. The distinctiveness of Christianity nonetheless relates to gender identity in some interesting ways. In her study of Mukkuvar women (1991), Kalpana Ram describes how femininity is effectively bifurcated. The Virgin Mary embodies the qualities of nurturance and equanimity. Desire and malevolence are then projected onto the local Hindu deity Eseki. In this, perhaps, one can see a progressive process of "othering" in which gender and religious distinctions overlap, contend, and intertwine. Perhaps more of interest, however, is how gender identity allows certain kinds of alliances to form in spite of, or underneath, differing religious affiliations. As self-evident as such a possibility is, a full study has yet to emerge that extensively reflects on the relationships Indian Christian women develop with non-Christian women in their workplace or home village or city. The construction of Christian masculinity in contemporary India is also a suggestive topic that could fruitfully be pursued through ethnographic research. Selfhood Any discussion of identity assumes a conception of selfhood. The tension in anthropological research lies in negotiating the conceptions of selfhood underlying scholarly construals of the human person with the often quite different understandings of selfhood held by ethnographic informants. In his study of Protestantism among urban Tamils, Lionel Caplan argues that selfhood is an "aggregation of potentialities." Individual consciousness thus is an "important sphere of ideological struggle" (1987:174). The import of Caplan's study initially lies in its identification of class as an important component shaping this "ideological struggle." While class has certainly been a crucial element in the scholarly work of the subaltern collective and other academic groups, class as a category has not been extensively developed in studies of Indian Christianity. As Caplan makes clear, while churches often authoritatively mirror the concerns of the middle class, they by no means provide the only form of discourse "impinging on the lives of urban Protestants" (1987:175) – a fact made clear in Caplan's discussion of how church mediation was refused by striking workers in Vellore. In relating selfhood to potentialities, Caplan resists essentializing notions of identity and draws attention to how local dynamics of power and resistance, discourse and dissent, shape the context for the expression of identity. As P. Y. Luke, John Carman (Luke and Carman 1968; Carman 2004), and Corrine Dempsey (2001) have highlighted, Indian Christian identity is not simply a morphological hybrid, but is tactically constructed and deployed. Accordingly, the crucial questions regarding Christian identity in India concern those contexts when Christian identity is asserted, or ascribed, and those times when being Christian is simply assumed, or ignored. AGENCY In a village that Ghura Master often visited as a catechist, Catholic and scheduled caste communities came together two decades ago and decided to take a public pledge to abandon tanning, midwifery, and carrion eating that marked their status as untouchables of the Chamar caste. The resistance held for a fortnight and cattle started to die. Since the Chamars refused to remove the dead animals, caste Hindus had to touch the carcasses and became exposed to the pollution. With concern growing, a meeting was held at the primary school. A representative from the local Yadav caste of cattle herders stated that since the Chamars were not fulfilling their responsibilities then his caste would also not adhere to custom: Chamars would be denied access to land for grazing their cattle, collecting cow dung, and firewood. Chamars also would not be allowed to traverse land owned by Yadavs to go to school or to do their "latrine." As the resistance went on, resolve began to weaken. Not only did tanning and midwifery provide supplemental income, for some Chamar families access to land for grazing was essential to supporting their own water buffaloes and cows. Catholic and non-Catholic Chamars lacked the social space to assert their claim to new status: they had neither arable land, nor money, nor political power. And so, when another cow died, the community split asunder. Some Catholics immediately returned to tanning and managed to gain a sizable measure of added business due to the boycott. Families that continued to abstain from tanning, eating of carrion, and midwifery swore never to eat again with those who had gone back on their promise.3 Catholic and non-Catholic Chamars were brought together by a shared desire to assert agency to change their status. While their agency was initially conceptualized as part of a larger strategy, it soon became a holding action as countervailing agencies gathered weight and momentum. Identifying or locating agency is a difficult task, especially since human practical activity is as contextually shifting and variable as the motivations informing it. One of the most pressing concerns in contemporary anthropologies of South Asia is how to avoid displacing the agency of real human actors onto larger cultural or religious systems. The tendency to subsume human beings within overarching conceptions of religion and culture is especially pronounced in examinations of Indian Christianity that often seek to explore differences between the West and its "others." In contemporary India, the issue of agency comes most obviously to the fore in political efforts by dalit Christians to overturn or circumvent the structures that prevent them from receiving benefits due to other members of scheduled castes. Agency is also expressed through narrative, since stories, as Michel de Certeau observed (1988:118), often make the journey before the feet can. Of course, agency can be most obviously probed in contexts of explicit resistance, even when that resistance seems to end in self-destruction. Politics Christian development work has been the subject of a number of anthropologically informed discussions (for example Kariyil 1995). Protestant, Orthodox, and Catholic churches have often pointed to their work for social justice as an essential contribution to Indian nationhood and as evidence that Indian Christians are not foreigners in their own land. Christians have also been associated with challenging elements of the Indian national polity. For example, insurgent groups in the Northeast have sometimes been viewed sympathetically by some Christian churches as defenders of tribal rights. Most recently, dalit Christians have also begun to be more politically assertive in challenging the affirmative action system that provides reserved positions for Hindu, Buddhist, and Sikh members of scheduled castes, but not to Christians. This Christian activism is taking place within the broader context of political gains made by the Bahujan Samaj and other political parties that identify dalits as their primary constituency. As Andrew J. K. Wyatt (1998) argues, caste, class, and religious identities are not isomorphic. Indeed, one of the concerns of left-wing political parties has been that emphasizing religious and caste identities erodes the class solidarity necessary for the poor to effectively assert their own agency. While recognizing such concerns, Wyatt finally maintains that dalit Christian movements do broaden the horizon of progressive Indian politics. No anthropologist has yet put Wyatt's observation to the test, even though Dalit Studies is now taking shape as an academic concentration in its own right. I tentatively approached the issue of dalit political agency in an ethnographic vignette of Veronica, a Catholic from the untouchable Chamar caste who campaigned for the position as head of the local Development Block (Schmalz 2005b). Taking advantage of a reserved position for dalit women, Veronica had to parry legal challenges from local landlords who argued that her identity as a Catholic Christian made her ineligible for office. Like many Catholics in the area, Veronica had an identity card with her name prior to her conversion, and thus was able to hold off the court case until after the election would be held. While this dual dalit/Catholic identity gave Veronica a tactically useful agency, other social constraints militated against her taking advantage of the reservation system. For example, the very fact that she was standing for public office was also taken to be a sign that she had loose morals – particularly because she was employed outside her home in a local school while her husband remained at home, jobless. When Veronica lost the election to the wife of a prominent landowner, it was clear that her gender identity became subsumed within standard perceptions of dalits and Christians as opportunists who could assume multiple identities when tactically useful. Political assertions of dalit Christian agency depend not just upon legal safeguards, but upon collective solidarity that can all too easily dissipate in the face of shifting configurations of caste, class, and communal identities. Narrative If politics is conventionally seen as a concrete form of agency, narrative or storytelling might be seen as an exercise in imaginative, if not imaginary, agency. In the charismatic movement, for example, narrative often takes the place of rituals of conversion. Charismatic healers sometimes contend with their supplicants in a narrative struggle that can include identifying Hindu goddesses and gods as demons in addition to acknowledging Jesus Christ as one's own personal lord and savior (Schmalz 2002). But more often than not, Christian charismatic healers find themselves drawn into the narratives of their clients by becoming supplicants themselves in their strenuous efforts to elicit testimonies.4 These testimonies are inscribed in notebooks that all charismatic healers carry with them as narrative proof of their healing powers (Schmalz 2010). In other contexts, narrative can be more formally ritualized, such as in dalit liturgies developed by James Theophilius Appavoo that emphasize the Eucharist as a shared communal meal and portray God as a farmer or as a bigendered parent of humanity (Sherinian 2002). Narrative ritualizations can also be less conspicuous affairs, such as the tales told over palm wine that extol the Christ-like qualities of Naxalite revolutionaries in decades past (Schmalz 2006a). From the perspective of anthropology, one of the most revealing aspects of narrative is how it frames agency, both retrospectively and prospectively. In many contexts, narrative becomes a way of revaluing dominant ideological formations and creating communal solidarity, as it is when dalit Catholics ridicule Hinduism or lampoon Mahatma Gandhi and his demeaning move to call untouchables "God's children" (Schmalz 2005a). Narrative can also be a covert way of concealing tactics of resistance by projecting them into what de Certeau describes as a fabulous utopian space (1988:36). For example, Rowena Robinson (1998) considers how Goan Catholic narratives work on a variety of different levels to oppose the institutional excesses of Catholicism and its Portuguese patrons while still asserting a special identity that derives, in part, from these very same sources. Of course, part of the central dynamic of Indian Christianity is whether it is associated with tales that emphasize the agency of Indians themselves or with narratives of imperial expansion and colonial oppression associated with foreigners. While the content of narrative might seem imagined, the agency that narrative asserts is most certainly not imaginary. Resistance Resistance has become an important theme in South Asian historiography. As far as the anthropology of Indian Christianity is concerned, the most nuanced treatment of resistance can be found in David Mosse's analysis of styles of protest among untouchables in Tamil Nadu. Mosse directs much of his attention to the Pallar caste, many of whom identify themselves as Catholic even though religious identity remains largely unimportant in many intercaste relations (1994:82). The local Catholic churches, however, did provide a space for the "social mobilization of low caste groups" and thus allowed the Pallars to claim distinctive honor for themselves while also affirming solidarity with other scheduled castes in the area (1994:94). As the Catholic Church moved more aggressively to denounce caste, Catholic Pallars moved to create broader networks of solidarity with other low caste groups and organizations. When the institutional structures of the Church were perceived to be less than attentive to Pallar Catholic interests, the threat of converting to a Protestant or Pentecostal sect became a potent means of asserting agency and revealing implicit structures of interdependence. While resistance is conventionally understood as agency directed outward, an interesting question remains whether agency directed inward can also be a form of resistance. Corrine Dempsey presents an extended discussion of Sister Alphonsa of Kerala, who eventually was beatified by John Paul II (2001:115–155). After being born prematurely after her mother was literally scared to death by a snake, Anna, or Annakutty as she was called, soon developed a reputation for piety. After Annakutty had become Sister Alphonsa, it soon became widely known that she was only allowed to enter the convent after her near self-immolation in a firepit. Dempsey draws our attention to St Thérèse of Lisieux as a model for Sister Alphonsa: a selection of St Thérèse's writings was available in Malayalam, and Alphonsa possessed an obviously well-worn copy. According to hagiographical accounts, a key moment in Alphonsa's life was a vision of a Carmelite nun, whom Alphonsa later identified as St Therese. Like Thérèse, Alphonsa reveled in the fire of Jesus' love, as is clear in a prayer attributed to Alphonsa which is printed on the reverse of one of her holy cards: "Humiliate me until I am almost nothing... My sweet Jesus... transform all my worldly consolations into bitterness. Jesus, Sun of Justice, by Thine divine rays clarify my thoughts, illumine my mind, purify my heart, consume me in the fire of Thy love" (2001:129). Where Alphonsa's vision differs from St Thérèse's is in the relative absence of bridal imagery with Jesus as spouse. Dempsey instead sees Alphonsa's religious affect as connected to Indian religious notions of the magical power of the sacrifice in which a woman's self-immolation brings prosperity and security. In wrestling with the implications of this apparently self-destructive asceticism, Dempsey observes that without culturally prescribed notions of subservience, Alphonsa would not have been able to create an alternative space for herself in which she obtained power and prestige (2001:142). Such inward directed agency thus can lead to potent forms of resistance against the very structures that make inward agency the only apparent option. In Alphonsa's case, as for all too many Indian Christian women, a multidimensional understanding of agency begins, and often ends, with what Isabelle Nabokov has called "the total abnegation of the I" (2000:179). CONCLUSION As Indian society continues to change, anthropological studies of Indian Christianity will doubtless come to emphasize different themes and issues. The concern for locating the cultural "Indianness" of Indian Christianity will perhaps give way to discussions of how transcultural forms of Christianity, like Pentecostalism, are deployed within Indian contexts and made to work within differing registers of meaning and value. Of course, Indian Christianity itself has become an important contributor to transcultural Christian dynamics, particularly with Indian Catholic and Protestant faith healers and evangelists having their own followings in Western countries. Indian Christianity is not something simply located in India, but is instead exported and consumed. Globalized networks of communication and interrelationship will also have the result of drawing attention away from issues of conversion and caste for understanding Indian Christian identity. In contexts in which identity becomes more readily polymorphous, it will become more difficult to rely on static explanatory categories associated with geographic location, social rank, or denominational affiliation. But, as dalit Christians would remind us, academic theorizing about the effects of social change often fails to understand how marginality and oppression can replicate themselves in different contexts and under different forms. For this reason, continuing reflection on agency, both its assertion and its constraint, remains the most suggestive means to engage how Christianity continues to be part of life as it is lived by Indians themselves. With such considerations in mind, anthropologists interested in Indian Christianity should stand ready if the St Thomas film project ever reaches completion. The film will certainly have a gala debut in Chennai, but will also find curious and eager audiences in far-flung cities like Rome, Rio, and Dallas. Tamil aesthetics, Bollywood production values, and Western-style marketing will make the film a destabilizing addition to considerations of Christianity's relationship to Indian culture and the related question of what it means to be both Christian and Indian. Because of this, it will be important to attend to other discourses that might develop once the film is distributed. Indian Christianity, whether through religious practice or through the scholarship examining it, has always been constructed in relation to Hinduism. "Hindu" and "Indian" are often taken to be interchangeable categories. Few studies of Indian Christianity have even mentioned the existence of Indian Muslims, let alone substantively engaged how Indian Muslim experience might shed light on similar dynamics in Indian Christianity. Perhaps the St Thomas film will create a new space for hearing voices different from those conventionally associated with Indian Christianity and its relationship to Hinduism. In the praise, protest, and bewilderment that will surely greet the film, anthropology will doubtless find its own agency challenged to rethink and reform its understanding of Christianity as indigenous but still foreign to Indian life. NOTES For the most comprehensive overview of the history of Indian Christianity, see Frykenberg 2008. I would like to dedicate this chapter to the memory of Selva J. Raj who did so much for the study of Indian Christianity. 1 For a collection of news articles and polemics on the film and St Thomas, see Sharan 2010. 2 This is an excerpt from a larger 50-line song Ghura Master composed (Schmalz 1998: 269–271). 3 A fuller description can be found in Schmalz 1998. 4 The same can also be said for ethnographers and their Indian Christian informants. On this theme see Dempsey 2001:156–162; Schmalz 2001b. REFERENCES Caplan, Lionel 1987 Class and Culture in Urban India: Fundamentalism in a Christian Community. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Carman, John 2004 When Hindus Become Christian: Religious Conversion and Spiritual Ambiguity. _In_ The Stranger's Religion: Fascination and Fear. Anna Lannstrom, ed. Pp. 133–153. South Bend, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Clarke, Sathianathan 2003 Conversion to Christianity. _In_ Religious Conversion in India: Modes, Motivations, and Meanings. Rowena Robinson and Sathianathan Clarke, eds. Pp. 323–350. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Cornille, Catherine 1991 The Guru in Indian Catholicism: Ambiguity or Opportunity of Inculturation? Louvain: Peeters Press. de Certeau, Michel 1988 The Practice of Everyday Life. Steven Rendall, trans. Berkeley: University of California Press. Dempsey, Corinne G. 2001 Kerala Christian Sainthood: Collisions of Culture and Worldview in South India. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Downs, Frederick S. 2003 Christian Conversion Movements in North East India. _In_ Religious Conversion in India: Modes, Motivations, and Meanings. Rowena Robinson and Sathianathan Clarke, eds. Pp. 381–400. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Dumont, Louis 1981 Homo Hierarchicus. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Frykenberg, Robert 1980 On the Study of Conversion Movements. Indian Economic and Social History Review 17(1):121–138. 2008 Christianity in India: From Beginnings to the Present. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fuller, C. J. 1976 Kerala Christians and the Caste System. Man 11(1):53–76. Griffiths, Bede, and Thomas Matus 2004 Essential Writings. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books. Kariyil, Antony 1995 The Church and Society in Kerala: A Sociological Study. New Delhi: Intercultural. Lipner, Julius 1999 Brahmabandhab Upadhay: The Life and Thought of a Revolutionary. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Luke, P. Y., and John Carman 1968 Village Christians and Hindu Culture: Study of a Rural Church in Andhra Pradesh. Cambridge: Lutworth Press. Marriott, McKim 1990 On Constructing an Indian Ethnosociology. _In_ India through Hindu Categories. McKim Marriott, ed. Pp. 1–39. Delhi: Institute for Economic Growth. Mosse, David 1994 Idioms Subordination and Styles of Protest among Christian and Hindu Harijan Castes in Tamil Nadu. Contributions to Indian Sociology 28(1):67–106. 1996 South Indian Christians, Purity/Impurity and the Caste System: Death Rituals in a Tamil Roman Catholic Community. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute (NS) 2(3):461–483. Nabokov, Isabelle 2000 Religion against the Self: An Ethnography of Tamil Rituals. New York: Oxford University Press. Pederson, Mathew 1929 In the Land of the Santals. New York: Fleming H. Revell. Raj, Selva 2002 The Ganges, the Jordan, and the Mountain: The Three Strands of Santal Popular Catholicism. _In_ Popular Christianity in India: Riting between the Lines. Selva J. Raj and Corinne G. Dempsey, eds. Pp. 39–60. Albany: SUNY Press. Ram, Kalpana 1991 Mukkuvar Women: Gender, Hegemony and Capitalist Transformation in a South Indian Fishing Community. London: Zed Books. Robinson, Rowena 1998 Conversion, Continuity, and Change: Lived Christianity in Southern Goa. New Delhi: Sage. 2003 The Christians of India. New Delhi: Sage. Robinson, Rowena, and Sathianathan Clarke, eds. 2003 Religious Conversion in India: Modes, Motivations, and Meanings. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Schmalz, Mathew N. 1998 A Space for Redemption: Catholic Tactics in Hindu North India. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Chicago. 1999 Images of the Body in the Life and Death of a North Indian Catholic Catechist. History of Religions 39(2):177–201. 2001a _Ad Experimentum_ : Theology, Anthropology and the Paradoxes of Indian Catholic Inculturation. _In_ Theology and the Social Sciences. Michael Barnes ed. Pp. 161–180. Maryknoll NY: Orbis Books. 2001b American Catholic, Indian Catholics: Reflections on Religious Identity, Ethnography and the History of Religions. Method and Theory in the Study of Religion 13(Jan.):91–97. 2002 Charismatic Transgressions: The Life and Work of an Indian Catholic Healer. _In_ Popular Christianity in India: Riting between the Lines. Selva J. Raj and Corinne G. Dempsey, eds. Pp. 163–187. Albany: SUNY Press. 2005a Dalit Catholic Tactics of Marginality at a North Indian Mission. History of Religions 44(3):216–251. 2005b Veronica's Candidacy. Dalit International Newsletter 9(June):6–9. 2006a The Death of Comrade Moti: Practicing Catholic Untouchable Rage in a North Indian Village. _In_ Practicing Catholic: Body, Performance and Contestation in Catholic Faith. Bruce Morrill, Jody Ziegler, and Susan Rodgers, eds. Pp. 139–155. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. 2006b The Indian Church: Catholicism and Indian Nationhood. _In_ The Catholic Church and the Nation-State: Comparative Perspectives. Paul Manuel, Lawrence Reardon, and Clyde Wilcox, eds. Pp. 209–225. Washington DC: Georgetown University Press. 2010 A Catholic Charismatic Healer at Play in North India. _In_ Sacred Play: Ritual Levity in South Asian Religions. Corinne G. Dempsey and Selva J. Raj, eds. Pp. 185–204. Albany: SUNY Press. In press Boundaries and Appropriations in North Indian Charismatic Catholicism. _In_ Engaging South Asian Religions: Boundaries, Appropriations and Resistances. Mathew N. Schmalz and Peter Gottschalk, eds. Albany: SUNY Press. Sharan, Ishwar, ed. 2010 Ishwar Sharan Archive. At www.hamsa.org/index.htm (accessed July 2010). Sherinian, Zoe 2002 Dalit Theology in Tamil Christian Folk Music: A Transformative Liturgy by James Theophilius Appavoo. _In_ Popular Christianity in India: Riting between the Lines. Selva J. Raj and Corinne G. Dempsey, eds. Pp. 223–254. Albany: SUNY Press Sperber, Dan 1991 Rethinking Symbolism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Thomas, M. M. 1969 The Acknowledged Christ of the Indian Renaissance. London: SCM Press. Visvanathan, Susan 1993 The Christians of Kerala: History, Belief and Ritual among the Yakoba. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Webster, John 2003 Christian Conversion in the Punjab: What Has Changed? _In_ Religious Conversion in India: Modes, Motivations, and Meanings. Rowena Robinson and Sathianathan Clarke, eds. Pp. 351–380. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Webster, John, with Deborah Premraj, Ida Swamidoss, Rashilda Udayakumar, and Chandra Yesurathnam 1997 From Role to Identity: Dalit Christian Women in Transition. Delhi: ISPCK. Wyatt, Andrew K. J. 1998 Dalit Christians and Identity Politics. Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars 30(4):16–23. Yelle, Robert A. 2009 The Hindu Moses: Christian Polemics against Jewish Ritual and the Secularization of Hindu Law under Colonialism. History of Religions 49(2):141–171. PART IV Communalism, Nationalism, and Terrorism CHAPTER 16 The Politics of Communalism and Caste _Ornit Shani_ Since the 1980s, recurring communal conflicts have imperiled India's public life and its democratic institutions. Major communal violence spread throughout the country with particular intensity in 1990 and 1992, and in 2002 there was a deadly pogrom against Muslims in the state of Gujarat. In addition, the late 1990s also witnessed a sharp rise in violence against Christians. The intensification of what appeared to be growing sectarian antagonism in India beginning in the 1980s coincided with the resurgence of a belligerent Hindu nationalism that posited itself, in the main, in opposition to Islam, as it sought to redefine India as a primarily Hindu state. By the 1990s, the Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) had become a particularly powerful force in Indian politics, coming to power at both the state and national levels. While the ideologies and claims of Hindu nationalism have been present in Indian politics since the 1920s, it was not until the 1980s that any political force in India gained significant popularity or electoral success in the name of Hinduism. While India's Muslims have remained among the most impoverished groups within the Indian citizenry since Independence (GOI 2006; M. Hasan 1997), they have not, on the whole, engaged in separatist movements or political radicalism. Why, then, did communal and seemingly sectarian conflicts deepen in India beginning in the 1980s? Scholars have offered three primary kinds of explanations for these conflicts – culturalist, constructivist (sometimes called materialist), and explanations that attempt to steer a middle course between these two. In the culturalist view, communal conflict is thought to stem primarily from the permanence of cultural and religious differences between Muslims and Hindus, which are perceived to be largely given and historically static (e.g. Gold 1991; Wolpert 1995). From the constructivist standpoint, communal identities are understood not to exist ontologically, but to be constituted and reconstituted according to changing political, economic, and social circumstances – for example, according to the electoral needs of political elites (Brass 1997; Wilkinson 2004); or because of the sense of political and economic threat experienced by the urban middle classes and upper castes in the face of both ongoing mobilization by the lower castes and the policies of affirmative action (Alavi 1989; Bose 1997; Hansen 1999; Mitra 1987; Nandy et al. 1997; Shah 1998; Yagnik and Sheth 2005). Some scholars focus on the role of social networks and intercommunal interactions in the constitution of potential communal hostilities (Varshney 2002). In the third approach, scholars try to find an interface between culturalist and constructivist explanations – accommodating, for example, the notion of a Hindu mentality, while recognizing the political or religious processes that produce that mentality, and particularly the political strategies built around a vision of a threatening "Muslim Other" (Jaffrelot 1996; Kakar 1996; van der Veer 1994). This chapter examines the development and growth of communal conflicts within the broader context of identity politics in post-Independence India.1 Building on constructivist arguments about the role of "threats" to the dominance of the urban middle classes and upper castes in facilitating Hindu–Muslim hostility, it suggests that rather than stemming from historically entrenched or newly emergent religious antagonisms, the intensifying sectarian conflicts of the 1980s and 1990s were largely driven by growing uncertainties in the caste regime. These uncertainties, in turn, were informed by transformations in the relations between castes and classes that developed during the establishment of the independent state. As I aim to demonstrate, this process and the resulting growing communal antagonism of the 1980s was stimulated by the state's articulation of key resource distribution policies, as well as the politics that surrounded them. The chapter is divided into four parts. The first section provides a general overview of my argument about the interrelations between communalism and caste, and the role of the state in the construction of communal identities. The second, based on fieldwork conducted between 1997–8 and 2002 in Gujarat, analyzes the ways in which deepening communal conflicts were nurtured by growing caste tensions among Hindus. The third part extends the Gujarat case by examining the relations between communalism and caste in the case of the violent persecution of Christians in Orissa since 2007. The final section, which draws on the case of the caste agitations of the Gujjars of Rajasthan to attain official recognition as a scheduled tribe (ST, also known as adivasis), attempts to offer, on the basis of the chapter's comparative analysis, a broader understanding of the politics of social identity and its implications for both caste and its trajectories in Indian democratic politics. COMMUNALISM, CASTE AND STATE RESERVATIONS Beginning in the late 1970s, and particularly in the 1980s and early 1990s, caste reservation agitations took place in Bihar, Andhra Pradesh, Delhi, Gujarat, Madhya Pradesh and Uttar Pradesh.2 These conflicts between the "forward" and "backward" castes appeared to be closely linked with communal tensions, since communal violence often broke out alongside or shortly following them, as happened in Gujarat in 1985 and all across the nation in 1990 and 1992. Reservation policies provided growing opportunities for the lower and backward castes in educational institutions, government jobs, and legislative bodies. In direct proportion to their share of the population, the constitution of India granted the scheduled castes (SCs), or so-called former "untouchables" (also called dalits or harijans), and scheduled tribes (STs) quotas in these institutions (of 14 and 7 percent respectively). The purpose of the reservations was to ensure access to public resources and greater participation in government employment and education for groups that had historically suffered caste discrimination. The reservation provisions constituted part of the Indian state's pledge after independence to promote equality, eradicate caste, and secularize society. The constitution also secured a provision for the reservations of posts for "any backward class of citizens" (Article 16(4) ). Throughout the years, however, there has never been a clear and acceptable criterion for defining who the "Other Backward Classes/Castes" (OBCs) are. Consequently, beginning in 1961 the Indian government granted the states the right to essentially define the criteria for backwardness, and as a result, between the mid-1960s and the early 1990s, most states established commissions to identify their backward castes and classes, and to recommend reservations for them. Overwhelmingly, the recommendations of these commissions granted reservations for the OBCs on the basis of caste. Beginning in the mid-1990s, the OBCs were also given reservations in government jobs at the national level, and from 2008, in central higher educational institutions. Because they appeared to offer the lower castes opportunities for social mobility that were denied the upper castes, reservations and other policy measures for the uplift of the lower and backward castes complicated and antagonized caste relations. The upper castes perceived the access of those castes to higher social echelons as undermining their superior status, and the changing political context of the times only enhanced those anxieties. By the 1980s, for instance, the lower and backward castes had begun creating their own parties and power bases, often developing political alliances with poor Muslims. It was not, however, the development of these alliances alone that laid the groundwork for antagonized communal relations. On the contrary, the state's policies and political discourses about resource redistribution played a particularly influential role in stimulating the growth of a unitary Hindu identity. For example, for the purpose of the reservation policies, the SCs and STs were conceived of as "those groups who because of their low ritual status in the traditional Hindu hierarchy and their spatial and cultural isolation were subjected to imposition of disabilities and lack of opportunity" (Galanter 1991:122). The Constitution (Scheduled Castes) Order of 1950 provides that "no person professing a religion different from Hinduism shall be deemed a member of a Scheduled Caste" (Galanter 1991:144). Thus, in state policies caste was codified as a constituent of Hinduism. The judiciary enforced this designation on the grounds that "acceptance of a non-Hindu religion operates as a loss of caste" (Galanter 1991:315). Consequently, religion was inadvertently made an intrinsic criterion for compensatory policies for weaker groups of society, and reservation rights could be interpreted as the religious and cultural rights of some Hindu caste groups. This fusion of caste and religion by the state contributed to the construction of a composite religious Hindu identity, glossing over deep caste–class divisions among Hindus. At the same time, by addressing issues of inequality as if they were synonymous with religious rights, the state's reservations policy appeared and was even experienced by upper caste Hindus as "preferential treatment" of religious minorities – a policy that, in effect, enabled caste conflicts to develop and communal rivalries to deepen. Religious minorities, however, were not entitled to reservations. In their case, the state divorced religion from caste, construing and homogenizing Muslims and Christians as religious minorities, and granting them differential rights on the basis of religion – such as the protection of the Shari'a law for marriage and divorce. But Muslims in India, like Christians, are also divided by caste, or caste-like groupings (e.g. Ahmad 1980; M. Hasan 1997:8; Sikand 2001:288; GOI 2006:192–194; Deshpande 2008). Almost 41 percent of Indian Muslims are estimated to be lower and backward castes. More than 50 percent of India's Christians are estimated to be dalits (Deshpande 2008:14–15; Z. Hasan 2009). Thus, in effect, large numbers of Muslims and Christians in India have much in common with a large group of Hindu caste minorities that together represent just under two-thirds of the population, and the vast majority of India's poor. Although religion was not officially a category qualifying for reservations, and non-Hindus were formally excluded from the policy, beginning in the late 1970s backward caste lists sometimes included converts from SCs to non-Hindu religions and several states used this category to provide some concessions to sections of their Muslim population. Lower and backward caste Christians received some recognition of backwardness by a number of states even earlier. The inclusion of Muslim and Christian groups in the OBC lists contributed to upper castes' sense that their opportunities for mobility were being restricted because of the "preferential treatment" government policies appeared to offer religious minorities State governments' attempts to include Muslims and converts from the SCs in their backward classes lists became even more prevalent beginning in the mid-1990s (Dudley Jenkins 2001). In 1994, the All-India Backward Muslim Morcha was formed with the aim of "getting recognition from the Indian state for over 100 million Dalit Muslims as Scheduled Castes so that they can enjoy the same privileges as the scheduled caste Hindus enjoy" (Sikand 2001:280). Likewise, in 2004, the All-India Christian Council filed a public interest lawsuit, demanding reservations for SCs that convert to Christianity (Chatterji 2009:118; Z. Hasan 2009:202), and in 2007, the National Commission for Linguistic and Religious Minorities even recommended that Muslim and Christian dalits be officially included on the SC list. To date, however, the government has simply shelved this recommendation (Z. Hasan 2009:215; Chatterjee 2009:119). As we will see more fully in the sections that follow, it was these caste agitations that laid the groundwork for the emergence of communalism. Even though religion was officially excluded as a category qualifying individuals or groups for reservations, Muslims were increasingly lumped together with Hindu minorities, and as a result, the social fault lines of the caste reservation conflicts were simply redefined along religious boundaries. The growth of communalism, then, had little to do with the changing nature of Islam or Christianity. Rather, it was related to the class and caste anxieties of upper caste Hindus over this growing assertion of the lower and backward caste groups, and to the feeling among some segments of forward caste Hindus that the cause of their own "limited" mobility was related to the governments' expansion of preferential treatment for minorities. SOCIAL IDENTITIES BETWEEN CASTE CONFLICTS AND COMMUNALISM: THE CASE OF GUJARAT In February 1985, riots erupted in Ahmedabad over the decision of the Gujarat state government to increase the reserved quotas for backward castes in educational institutions and government jobs from 10 to 28 percent. Within a month, these anti-reservation riots had been transformed into communal violence between Hindus and Muslims that lasted for over six months – a transformation that was all the more surprising given the fact that Muslims were not a party to the reservation dispute and that, barring a short spell of severe communal violence in Ahmedabad in 1969, there had been little tension between Hindus and Muslims in the city after independence (Shani 2007). Instead, the primary social conflicts of the early 1980s were about the status of the lower and backward castes. Communalism only began to gain prominence in the city beginning in the middle of that decade. It was this puzzling shift from anti-reservation caste riots to communalism, and from caste to religious identities, that I went to Gujarat to explore in 1997.3 The most prominent groups among the SCs in the city of Ahmedabad were the Vankars, traditionally weavers, and the Chamars, leather workers, who integrated early into the city's burgeoning textile industry, forming the backbone of its economy. The Vankars, who were considered to be higher in status and who had established themselves first within the textile industry, were among those able to rise in economic status, particularly during the growth of the textile mills. As mill workers, they were relatively well paid, their wages were secured, and they benefited from provisions similar to those of government employees. Thus, for example, beginning in the early 1960s, because they could obtain housing loans more easily from the labor union bank and avoid the high interest rates charged by private moneylenders, some dalit mill workers were able to rent and later purchase flats in various building schemes of the Gujarat Housing Board. In addition, many were able to provide their children with opportunities for a better education (GOI 1979:7–8). By the early 1980s, some dalits, and particularly Vankars, gained even further access to higher education and government jobs through reservations (GOI 1985–6:10). (Reservations had been expanded in 1978, when the Gujarat government established quotas of 10 percent for 82 groups that were identified as backward by the state's Baxi Backward Classes Commission.) Although these reserved quotas were never filled, the number of SC and ST employees in government posts increased, and their presence became particularly visible in the lower-ranked positions to which citizens were most exposed in their everyday interactions with the state bureaucracy (GOI 1985–6:10). This upward mobility of sections among the dalits contributed to the development of new class-based identifications and intercaste and class segmentation among dalits. For those who did well, partly through reservations, class status gradually became more pertinent as an emblem of social identity because it marked more clearly their upward mobility. On the basis of their improved economic conditions, some dalits even joined the urban middle class. As one dalit interviewee explained to me, a "neo-Brahman dalit, as a politically opportunistic strata of the middle class, emerged among the dalits in the city".4 But class fissures also appeared within the upper caste groups of the city. Brahmans, Rajputs, Vanias (Banias), and Patidars (Patels) constituted the upper caste layer in the city: Brahmans often held white-collar jobs; Vanias were traditionally merchants and economically wealthier than Brahmans; and Patidars were _shudra_ by Hindu law – at the bottom of the four-tiered caste hierarchy. Until the nineteenth century, the Patidars had been considered a low caste, but they gradually attained a higher caste status, becoming a powerful landowning group and a dominant segment of the professional classes. Until the early 1950s, the majority of Ahmedabad's population resided within the old city – a highly condensed area composed of narrow lanes and neighborhoods known as the _pols_ , adjacent to the eastern banks of the Sabarmati River. In the congested old city, groups of upper castes, dalits and Muslims lived next to each other in mixed but not intermixed localities. There was little residential segregation according to class, and the rich lived alongside their poor caste fellows. Beginning in the 1940s, however, two decades after the textile magnates left the old city, upper caste residents of the area who were able to do so gradually began to move to the newly developing areas of the city on the western side of the river. Those who moved, particularly in the 1960s and 1970s, were perceived as the rising middle class, and they began sharply differentiating themselves from their caste fellows who remained in the old city. According to a common saying among these new middle classes, the people of the old city have their, "feet in labor, but their mind much higher. They consider themselves as 'intellectuals.' "5 Until then, and despite the fact that many of them were mill workers, upper caste dwellers of the _pols_ had conceived of themselves as indigenous, middle-class Ahmedabadis. While class disparities had always existed among the castes, class had not constituted a significant marker of identity within the social milieu of the old city, and had been contained within the caste itself, often through patronage. Gradually, though, class gained more salience as a social identity for upper caste groups who improved their position. As a result of these increasingly visible class fissures among both dalits and upper castes, the upper castes that remained in the old city began to experience a growing sense of uncertainty about their dominant position within the Hindu moral and social order. Growing discrepancies emerged between their social self-perception and their actual experiences, as they gradually realized, for example, that they were living in very similar, or even worse, conditions than some of their dalit neighbors. Indeed, to the unfamiliar visitor, some of the dalit houses on Ambedkar Street – a dalit residential area – appear to be, both inside and out, in better condition than those in the nearby upper caste neighborhood of Vadigam. Until the 1950s, the Brahman and Patidar children of the primary schools in the old city still queued separately in the dining area and drank from different glasses, but these caste-ist practices slowly disappeared after Independence. By the 1980s, visible markers of caste differentiation no longer corresponded with the actual living conditions of the castes. These challenges to the status identity of some upper castes in the old city were further exacerbated by political and economic developments of the 1980s. Beginning in the mid-1970s, the Congress Party had begun directly appealing to the SCs, STs and backward caste groups, and had even established an electoral caste alliance of the Kshatriyas (mainly Kolis, or the largest backward caste in Gujarat), Harijans, Adivasis, and Muslims (known by its acronym, KHAM), most of whom were either entitled to or being considered for reservations. Bringing together the backward caste Kolis, SCs, STs and the majority of the Muslims in the state, this was an alliance based primarily on economic class that could potentially upset the social and political order. This strategy ultimately led the Congress to victory in the 1980 state elections, in which they secured 141 of the 182 assembly seats – a success that resulted in the exclusion of at least some groups among the upper castes from positions of power, since, for example, 13 of the 22 ministers in the new cabinet were from the KHAM groups. As a result of this sweeping victory, the incremental mobility among the lower and backward castes that had been underway since independence became suddenly even more visible. Economic developments of the 1980s created further uncertainty in the lives of upper caste groups, as well as in those of dalits and Muslims. Between 1979 and 1984, 12 of the 65 mills in the city were closed, resulting in widespread unemployment and a significant decline in workers' incomes (the crisis in the mills, it should be noted, was just a precursor to the liberalization of the economy that gained momentum in India in the early 1990s). Many mill workers who had done well during the prosperous years of the mills experienced significant economic and social hardships. Dismissed mill workers competed for employment in a severely reduced job market, and the sense of economic and social decline that affected the unemployed upper caste mill workers from the old city was only intensified when they compared themselves to their economically better-off caste fellows who had moved to the western side of the city. In the context of these changing economic and political circumstances, the apparent political achievements of the lower and backward castes, and the expansion of reservations in particular, became an acute challenge to the status and self-worth of the better-off upper caste groups. For some of them, higher education or government jobs were the primary path for economic advancement, and they felt threatened by the extension of this option to dalits and the other backward castes. Furthermore, they believed that the reservations were a direct threat to their status, since if dalits could become, say, doctors or engineers, then the whole foundation of their caste identity lost its meaning. The immediate cause of the outbreak of the 1985 anti-reservation caste riots in Ahmedabad was, as already noted, the government decision to further increase reservations for the backward castes. Mainly Patidar and Brahman students, along with the parents and guardians' organization, violently challenged the state reservations policy on the streets. As one mother complained, "the reservation hinders the chances of our children. Their chances are cut down. When the reserved quotas for the backward castes increased, less space for competition is left for the normal people."6 Another claimed: "By roster [reservations in promotions] you cannot elevate the level of knowledge of a person. Status is an important issue, and is prior to livelihood."7 The main anti-reservation organization even published a pamphlet during the riots that began with the warning, "The demon of reservation is waiting with open jaws to swallow up the hard work of your children and yourselves" (AGNS 1985). In response to both changes in the state's reservation policies that informed growing challenges to upper castes' identity status, and the growing alliances between lower/backward castes and Muslims (for example, in the form of KHAM), upper caste residents gradually came to believe that the threat came from the minorities _as a whole_. This compound "bundle" of social anxieties was manifested with particular acuteness in another pamphlet published during the riots of 1985 that called for the awakening of the Patels (Narnpura Patel Yuvak Mandal 1985): The frequent and fatal attacks of the Muslims, Harijans and Thakores [backward castes] on our community are to be tolerated no longer. It is now a dire necessity that each Patel is awakened to this humiliation and a befitting reply be given. Have you also forgotten that these people belong to the low community, which used to pick up the night soil from our homes? Those who used to do this work for ages are now seated in huge offices of the bank due to the reservation policies, and have become our senior officers! We cannot tolerate this any longer. Then, these non-vegetarian Muslims! We have already paid them by creating Pakistan as compensation. We must now exile them from India. The nation is now only for the Hindus. Thus the reservation dispute of 1985, which was essentially a debate over caste and class, became transformed into communalism – a transformation that both accompanied and fueled the rise of Hindu nationalism. The growing uncertainties that Hindus of all walks of life experienced in the caste regime during these years set the stage for the embrace of Hindu nationalism. By the mid-1980s, the perceived social mobility of the lower and backward castes resulted in intensifying frustrations among the lower castes themselves, for whom social acceptance was not as readily forthcoming as they had hoped. As one informant explained to me, "People from lower castes, like dalits from Mehsana, rose economically and educationally, but still were not accepted socially."8 Others from the lower castes were further upset by the gap between the promises made by the Congress Party and the growing economic liberalization that narrowed their opportunities for mobility. Even though upper and lower caste Hindus did not share the same frustrations, and often had conflicting interests, the Hindu nationalist movement was largely successful in addressing their varying claims by offering what seemed a plausible resolution to their social insecurities: the notion of a unitary Hindu identity that would form the political basis of the state, and directly attenuate the frustrations of the declining groups among the upper castes. Promoting the notion of "integral Hinduism," the BJP's election manifestos, for example, stated that "our ideology rules out contradictions between society and its components" (Jaffrelot 2007:263). Since at least 1985, Hindu organizations and BJP activists in Gujarat have similarly tried to reduce intra-Hindu "contradictions" by reaching out to dalits – whether by providing them with food, money, and weapons, as during the riots of 1985, or by allowing their participation in religious processions like the Rath Yatra from which they are traditionally barred. Thus these organizations have aimed to provide the lower and backward castes with opportunities to affirm their dignity and affinity with the upper castes, thereby safely containing or pacifying them within a relatively harmonized caste moral order. Since the late 1980s, Hindu nationalist organizations throughout the country, for example in Gujarat (Simpson 2004), Maharashtra (Hansen 1999), and Rajasthan (Mathur 2008), have increasingly devised both ideological and material ways of creating places for the lower castes and ST groups within a harmonized caste order. In Uttar Pradesh, to provide just one example, as Badri (2009) has shown, the BJP renarrates local myths, giving dalit heroes Hindu identities and pitting them against Muslim enemies. Such organizations have even "propagated] the notion that before the invasion of Muslims untouchability did not exist in Hindu society" (Badri 2009:50–51). To sustain this worldview of integral Hinduism (in which caste is projected as part of a harmonious order opposed to Islam and Muslims), the provision of actual material benefits for the lower castes has been vital, especially when political alliances supported by dalits, OBCs, and Muslims won important elections – as happened shortly after the destruction of the Babri mosque in Ayodhya in 1992. To diminish the probability of such alliances, by 1988 the BJP, despite its earlier objections to the reservations policy, issued a policy statement on the "Problem of Scheduled Castes," declaring that "the BJP considers the upliftment of the SC as an imperative for India's unity and integrity" (BJP 1988:3). Similarly, the party's 1996 election manifesto declared that the party "condemns unequivocally untouchability" (Jaffrelot 2007:263). It was in this context in which Hindu organizations were struggling to expand their social support base among the lower castes, and amidst the changing economic circumstances of the 1990s, that communalism also manifested against Christians (see Schmalz, [chapter 15 in this volume). COMMUNALISM, CASTE, AND VIOLENCE AGAINST CHRISTIANS In the late 1990s, the Sangh Parivar (family of Hindu right organizations) inflicted violence on Christians in large parts of the country. In 1998, the highest numbers of attacks against Christians took place in Dangs, South Gujarat (AIFOFDR 1999), and since then, violence against Christians has continued throughout the country, particularly in Orissa. In Orissa, churches and other Christian institutions have been burnt and destroyed, thousands of people have been forced to flee their homes, and on many occasions, Christian priests and nuns have been publicly abused and tonsured before being forcibly reconverted to Hinduism (AIFOFDR 1999:56–60; Chatterji and Desai 2006:29–52; Chatterji 2009:288–296, 311–333; Kanungo 2008:16). This violence in Orissa reached an apex in 2007–8, particularly in Kandhamal district, after being triggered by the murder of the Vishva Hindu Parishad leader, Lakshmanananda Saraswati, and four of his associates. Although Maoists claimed responsibility for these killings, the Sangh Parivar blamed it on a "Christian conspiracy" (Chatterji 2009:318; Kanungo 2008:16). Christians constitute a small and weak minority in India, and in Orissa they are just 2.4 percent of the population. In the 1980s and 1990s, Christians did not feature at all in the Sangh Parivar's rhetoric or mobilization efforts, which instead rallied followers around claims about the "tradition" of destroying Hindu temples and a decline of a Hindu golden age under Muslim rule. Suddenly, however, beginning in 1998, senior members of the Sangh Parivar began to portray Christians in India as a threat to the integrity of the nation, asserting that conversion to Christianity was a "challenge to our national unity" and that the "Church is endangering national unity and integrity by supporting and funding terrorists" (AIFOFDR 1999:7, 80, 74). Contrary to the Sangh Parivar's claims, there is no evidence of significant numbers of conversions taking place in the state following Independence, nor of forcible conversions that occurred under duress (Chatterji and Desai 2006:48; Chatterji 2009:113, 330; NCM 2008:3). Since 1998, Orissa's government has not registered even one incident of forcible conversion (Hasan 2009:224 n. 31; NMC 2009:3), and when conversions have taken place, they have most often occurred among SCs and STs who are looking to escape their social and economic predicaments (Chatterji 2009:113; Franco et al. 2004:16). And yet, violent anti-Christian and anti-conversion campaigns by the Sangh Parivar have gained appeal since the late 1990s. Large numbers of Christians in Orissa and elsewhere in India are dalits. Despite the absence of official statistics, scholars estimate that, in fact, between 50 and 75 percent of Christian converts are dalits (Deshpande 2008:14–15, 23; Franco et al. 2004:69). As a group, they are considered distinctly inferior, suffering discrimination and degradation even within their religious group, and often being unable to escape their caste status through conversion. Just as we saw of the relationship between Hindus and Muslims in Ahmedabad, the intensifying religious antagonism between Hindus and Christians in Orissa since the 1990s has been, I argue, likewise related to the challenge that dalit Christians pose to the Hindu nationalist agenda, as well as to emerging caste reservation conflicts among lower caste groups. Throughout the 1990s, dalit Christians presented increasing obstacles to the Hindu nationalist agenda. Because of their social and educational activities, dalit Christians and various Christian missionary institutions directly competed with the remedies for uplift that Hindu organizations offered the lower castes as part of their efforts to contain them within a Hindu moral order. The gradual expansion of reservations to include non-Hindu backward groups, as well as the growing demands of both dalit Christians and dalit Muslims for recognition as SCs, STs or OBCs, came as a further challenge to Hindu nationalists. Once groups of Muslims and Christians could potentially become officially recognized as dalits for the purpose of reservations, the notion of a Hindu Rashtra ("Hindu Nation"), it was thought, would collapse. At the same time, the struggles of Christian and Muslim groups to attain SC, ST, or OBC status complicated the relations among the lower and backward castes. The liberalization and deregulation of the economy during the 1990s had particularly detrimental effects on these castes, since while their access to emerging opportunities in the private sector remained severely limited, their access to reservation jobs in education and government was simultaneously shrinking. What made matters even worse was that their main path to economic advancement now appeared to become even more restricted, as more and more groups demanded the expansion of reservations. It was in this economic and political context that a caste reservation dispute broke out in Orissa between some Kondh (Kandha) STs and Christian Panas (formerly Hindu SCs) – a dispute that soon turned into more generalized anti-Christian violence during 2007–8. Under the Presidential Order of 2002, the Kui, a group that was recognized to be among the 18 Kondh tribes in the state, had been listed as a ST. On the grounds that they, too, speak the kui dialect, Christian Panas subsequently demanded ST status, which would have entitled them to reservation benefits. While Christians are generally excluded from recognition as SCs, they could have been included in the list of STs in the state, since the state's list of STs does not take account of changes of faith. A petition demanding ST status for the Panas was eventually submitted to the High Court in 2007 (NCM 2008:2–3), a demand that heightened the perception among the Kondhs that the Panas had been able to advance economically since Independence, while they, the Kondhs, had stayed behind. The Kondhs went on to allege that although Christians were excluded from reservations, Panas often obtained false certificates as Hindu SCs and STs in order to utilize those benefits, sometimes maintaining their Hindu SC birth certificates or registering their children in schools as Hindu SCs in order to be eligible for reservations (Kanungo 2008:17; NCM 2008:2). The violence in 2007 was orchestrated by activists of the Sangh Parivar and its affiliated local organizations, who demanded an immediate denial of SC or ST status to dalit Christians, and who adamantly objected to reservations for all non-Hindus – stating in public rallies that, for example, "Adivasi converts to Christianity must not be accorded the benefits of reservation" (Chatterji 2008:24). During the continued violence in 2008, Hindu organizations issued pamphlets that called for the "targeting and destruction of Christians in Kandhamal," and that described dalit Christian demands for reservations as "intrusion[s] of a foreign religion into Hindu culture and norms" (Chatterji 2009:316). Thus militant Hindu organizations propagated the violence along a sectarian divide, mobilizing the Kondh as Hindus against Christians, who are, in fact, dalits. As a result, then, of the demarcation of social identities in terms of religion and caste, both by Hindu organizations and by the government, the poor were effectively divided and the underlying class issues successfully avoided. Indeed, in the end, the government determined that the violence originated in an " 'age-old ethnic divide and discord' " between the two groups, and that " 'the ethnic divide between the Panas and Kandhas got accentuated along religious lines due to conversion of a large number of Panas to a different religious community' " ( _Indian Express_ , Oct. 21, 2008). Thus the state, in relation to social tensions that evolved around one of its key measures of resource distribution – reservations – translated social and economic grievances into fixed ethnic and religious frictions, thereby deepening communal antagonisms. Moreover, from the mid-1990s on, state reservation dynamics powerfully heightened caste tensions among the lower castes, facilitating a politics of caste and social identity that, paradoxically, became a race to the bottom. An illuminating example, with which I will conclude, is the struggle of the Gujjars in Rajasthan to be officially demoted and recognized as a scheduled tribe. CONCLUSION: IDENTITY POLITICS AS A RACE TO THE BOTTOM In 2007 and 2008, spells of violence took place in Rajasthan in the context of the Gujjars' struggle for inclusion in the state ST list.9 Gujjar demonstrators blocked roads, the national highway, and the main arteries into Delhi, even going so far as to dismantle railway lines. The agitation then spread to Uttar Pradesh, Uttarakhand, Madhya Pradesh, Delhi, and Haryana, where there followed violent clashes between protestors and police that resulted in the deaths of more than 70 people. The Gujjars of Rajasthan, who are included in the OBC category, began demanding the lower ST status following the 1999 decision of the BJP government to include the Jats of Rajasthan on the OBC list – a status change that they had subsequently been promised by the BJP's candidate for Chief Minister in the state in 2003. The Gujjars sought ST status since they were particularly anxious that the inclusion of the Jats in the OBC category would reduce their share of the reservation benefits. Shortly after they began their agitations in May 2007, the struggle turned into a volatile intercaste conflict. The Gujjars' demand for ST status set off a kind of chain reaction, fostering additional discontent among a third group – the Meenas – who were already listed as ST. Because the latter feared that their reservation privileges would diminish if the Gujjars joined the pool of ST beneficiaries, they vociferously objected to the Gujjars' demand, threatening violence if the agitation was not curbed. The Gujjars, however, cried foul: despite holding a socioeconomic status similar to the Meenas, they had not benefited, they believed, as much from the reservations as had their Meena socioeconomic peers. To deal with this escalating discontent, in June 2007, and under the threat of violence, the Rajasthan government appointed a committee, headed by Justice Chopra, to examine the Gujjars' eligibility for ST status. In its December 2007 report, however, the committee turned down the Gujjars' demand. The Committee criticized the government's criteria for defining STs, and emphasized the need to improve the Gujjars' overall living conditions rather than simply expanding reservations. Only following the second spell of violence in June 2008 did the government decide to grant reservations of 5 percent for Gujjars and three other groups (though this quota was eventually stayed by the state High Court on the grounds that together with the existing quotas it breached the 50 percent limit set on reservations). The dynamics of this caste dispute in Rajasthan, like the one that developed in Orissa, shed more general light on some of the broader implications of the state reservations policy on caste. First, through reservation policies, governments officially recognize some groups as backward castes. This low caste status qualifies them for reserved quotas in government jobs and educational institutions, thus offering them scope for mobility and access to state resources. Because reservation policies mainly define backward groups in terms of caste categories, this classification also establishes, more broadly, the political language through which group identity claims can be articulated. This dynamic of the designation of reservation policies, through the workings of recurrently appointed state backward classes commissions, becomes part of a process of the making of castes. Low caste status becomes a resource. The demands of some dissatisfied caste groups to be recognized as backward castes thus renegotiates the caste social order and contributes to an ongoing process of caste formation. In politics, as the Gujjars and the dalit Christian disputes demonstrate, caste boundaries, and even the cultural or religious properties that constitute caste, are intensely negotiable. Second, the conflation of religion and caste in the designation of reservations informs the ways social groups organize themselves and assert their demands on the state. In this process, groups often ascribe to themselves distinct cultural characteristics in order to align their claims with the criteria set by the state, and to differentiate themselves from, or stress their similarity to, other beneficiary groups. The Gujjars, for example, argued before the Chopra committee that they exercised distinct "cultural" and even "primitive traits" – two of the state criteria for identifying STs. Similarly, in Uttar Pradesh, Michelutti (2008) has analyzed how the Yadavs, in the process of their assertion and political rise as leaders of the backward caste, ascribed to themselves a Yadav essence – that is, a people who have a predisposition to be politicians, a trait that is learned in the womb and passed in the blood from their ancestor warrior god Krishna. Rather than eradicating caste, then, as the reservations were initially formulated to do, these state policies in fact stimulate the perpetuation of caste prejudice and the essentialization of caste differences. Third, the construction of reservations as state benefits that are intrinsically linked to Hindu caste groups poses contradictions and constraints on the efforts of other weak groups to better their social status – in effect undermining India's secularism. Lower and backward caste Hindus seek recognition of their low caste identity in order to secure reservations. Perhaps paradoxically, it is this formal low caste status (of which they ultimately want to be rid) that endows them with significant political leverage. At the same time, the prolonged reluctance of Indian governments to recognize lower and backward castes among other religious minorities (instead responding to their group demands almost exclusively on the basis of their identity as religious minorities) transforms a debate over social and economic inequalities into a debate over religious differences, thereby further exacerbating religious tensions. Finally, the state designation of reservation delimits the kinds of identity claims – class in particular – that can and cannot be used as a basis for group organization. The fusion of religion and caste by the state in the making of reservations unwittingly energizes the creation of a composite Hindu identity, thereby boosting communal sentiments and subduing class divisions among Hindus. The intensifying mobilization of the lower and backward castes beginning in the 1980s did not lead to a consolidation of the poor and marginalized on the basis of class. As we saw in the case of forward and backward caste Hindus and Muslims in Ahmedabad, dalit Christians in Orissa and the Gujjars in Rajasthan, the poor remained deeply divided along lines of religion and caste. In fact, in the context of the expansion of reservations for the backward castes from the mid-1990s, the caste reservation dynamics result in growing caste tensions at the bottom, among the lower castes. The perpetuation of caste prejudice thus became a means of mitigating the discrepancies between the political rhetoric of equality that underlay the reservation policies and the enduring reality of pervasive inequalities in India. NOTES 1 An emerging body of work challenges the dichotomy of antagonistic Hindu and Muslim "communities." These studies demonstrate the construction of Hindu and Muslim identities, and how the perceived fixed religious boundaries between Hindus and Muslims are overridden in the context of mundane everyday life and in relation to other social identities, such as caste and class (Frøystad 2005; Shani 2007); religious and healing rituals (Assayag 2004; Burkhalter Flueckiger 2006); narratives of individual and group memory (Gottschalk 2000); and even in the context of "communal" violence (Shani 2007) (see Williams, chapter 13 in this volume). 2 Beginning in 2006, anti-reservation caste protests and violence erupted in some of India's elite central educational institutions and in Rajasthan. 3 Frøystad (2005) explores the shifting politicization of caste and religious identities in an ethnographic study of everyday life in Mohanganj, Kanpur 4 Interview with Inayat, Kalupur, Ahmedabad, Feb. 25, 1998. 5 Interview with Girish Patel, Naranpura, Ahmedabad, Apr. 7, 1998. 6 Interview with Umaben, National Institute of Design, Paldi, Ahmedabad, Nov. 9, 1997. 7 Interview with Mina Bhatt, Director Gujarat State Archives, Gandhinagar, Jan. 8, 1998. 8 Interview with Ashok Shrimali, Ahmedabad, Nov. 14, 1997. 9 The account of the Gujjar struggle and violence is based on reports in _The Hindu_ , _Indian Express_ , and _Times of India_ during 2007–8; Farooqui 2007; Mayaram 2007; Rajalakshmi 2008. 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CHAPTER 17 Violence, Aggression, and Militancy: Reexamining Gender, and Nonliberal Politics _Tarini Bedi_ INTRODUCTION In April of 2006, I was eating lunch in Rajguru Nagar, an agricultural community just outside the city of Pune with six women from Shiv Sena's1 Pune district. We were at the home of Bala Shinde,2 the Shiv Sena district leader. Shinde was serving us all sliced watermelons when a woman came screaming into the house, pushing her very drunk husband through the open doorway. The woman (also a Shiv Sena member) shoved the man at the feet of the district leader, shouting loudly about how her husband would not stop drinking away the household savings. Shinde and two of her female companions slapped the man's face several times, kicked him in the back, and then shouted at him, "Aren't you sober yet? When I give you one [slap], you have to become sober." When the man began sobbing and asking for forgiveness, they pushed him out of the door, and then moved to offer his weeping wife a glass of water and comfort. Bala then turned to all of the women and said: See we are Shiv Sainiks,3 but it is Shiv Sena that makes us Shiv Sainiks. I can face anything. But I am loving. People are scared, yes 101 percent4 scared. If you inquire here, then everyone will first say that Shinde is very loving, but she is dangerous. That is what I want them to think because that is what gets my political work done. The recognition by this Shiv Sena leader that actions like the assault on the man is what "gets her political work done" is an important dimension of women's militant politics in India. Women like Bala are able to display a particular kind of power and femininity that are specific to women's participation in regional political parties through the kind of militant tactics described above. Like Bala, many women see their militant tactics as circumventing institutional law, and it is often this marginal and extralegal action that is also a badge of political power and effectiveness. The "extralegal" and militant tactics displayed by Bala and the analysis of their deep implication in local dynamics of power form the core of this chapter's concern. I use ethnographic data collected from several years of fieldwork with women of the militant political party Shiv Sena (also allied with the politics of Hindu religious nationalism in the western state of Maharashtra). I suggest that discursive constructions of political and private behavior within a nonliberal political movement often associated with right-wing politics in India reveal less about the ideological (or religious) structures that are assumed to guide such politics, and more about the motivations and pragmatics of their adherents, and the local forms of power their tactics confer on them. Strategy making and "meaning making" are two sides of the same coin for Hindu nationalist women. Many Hindu nationalist movements are able to mobilize women through a discourse on "women's rights" and resistance to gender violence (Nayak 2003). Hindu nationalist discourse is rather more malleable than is immediately apparent in its ideological proclamations and is therefore able to take on a wide variety of political issues and appeal. Antiminority (largely anti-Muslim) communalism is certainly one of the boldest faces of Hindu nationalism. However, communalism is a contradictory agenda. It embodies within itself both democratic and antidemocratic elements that can be utilized freely to carve out spaces of power for women (Nayak 2003:79), and Shiv Sena women have embedded themselves in these contradictions quite skillfully. Because most scholarly literature and public rhetoric alike discuss Shiv Sena's politics as part of the politics of Hindutva5 in India, I will begin with a broad discussion of women and Hindu nationalist politics. However, in the more specific discussion of the women of Shiv Sena, I illustrate that more often than not, a nonliberal, exclusionary politics engages in far more complicated ways with gendered and local political constraints than is usually assumed. I illustrate that violent and aggressive strategies that during times of communal crises are directed against minorities become mobile resources for women to mark out their political and personal power in conditions of urban and sexual insecurity. Therefore, nonliberal political agendas, particularly those associated with religious politics, operate for women in ways that can be both constraining and liberating. Finally, I suggest that despite commonly held assumptions that political organizations classified as "right-wing" present unified discourses on gender, religion, and nation, in personal, and increasingly in public practice, there are a wide variety of often competing positions that arise out of the pragmatic imperatives of urban governance. Shiv Sena has embedded its political practices very skillfully within fragmented and insecure urban milieus with deep vacuums of power. As women tend to bear the brunt of urban insecurity, they also rise to fill these vacuums of power through a skillful positioning of themselves as urban caretakers (Weinstein and Bedi, forthcoming). As urban caretakers, they invoke a wide range of iconographies at various times, with religious iconographies being only one among many. SHIV SENA: A BRIEF INTRODUCTION TO THE PARTY AND THE WOMEN'S WING Shiv Sena, named after the seventeenth-century Maratha warrior Shivaji, and most literally translated as Shivaji's Army, was founded in the city of Mumbai (formerly Bombay)6 by former journalist and cartoonist Bal Thackeray in 1966 as a populist, "sons of the soil" movement (Banerjee 2000; Gupta 1982; Hansen 1999; 2001; Katzenstein 1973; 1979; Purandare 1999). The party's initial demand was for preferential employment opportunities for the local Marathi-speaking population. The wider party program and mobilization through the late 1960s and 1970s continued to be rooted in the demand for preferential policies for the local population, but evolved in many important ways as a response to shifts in the sociocultural and politico-economic landscapes of Bombay and Maharashtra more generally (Lele 1995). By the 1980s, the party had aligned itself with the militant politics of Hindu nationalism, and it was at this stage that its support spread from the urban center of Bombay to other regions of the state of Maharashtra. In 1995, the alliance between Shiv Sena and the Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP, Indian People's Party)7 came to power in the state of Maharashtra, and changed the name of the city of Bombay (to Mumbai) in an effort to symbolically vernacularize the city's cosmopolitan present (Hansen 2001). The party has relied on a political strategy of aggression and everyday militancy right from its inception. While the party's founder, Bal Thackeray, is the center of most discussions of Shiv Sena, the party cannot be reduced to Mr Thackeray and his construction of youth and masculinity alone. Despite his own efforts to draw on a dictatorial and centralized model of charismatic leadership, in fact "Shiv Sena's power is widely dispersed, flexible, and localized in various informal networks across slums and middle-class areas of Mumbai and beyond" (Hansen 2001:70–71). I find that this dispersion has become far more apparent as Mr Thackeray has aged and receded from public life. While the general founding narrative of Shiv Sena is quite widely known, both inside and outside the party, the founding of the party's women's front is more amorphous. There is only very vague official documentation on the founding of the party's women's wing, the Mahila Aghadi (literally translated as Women's Front, though interpreted for me by my informants as "women first" and often as "women in front"). The absence of a master narrative for the founding of the Mahila Aghadi (often referred to here as the Aghadi)8 is telling, especially given the almost mythic nature of the founding narrative of the larger Shiv Sena party. A large part of this is that women were politically involved with Shiv Sena's politics long before they were formally organized into what is today known as the Mahila Aghadi. I am told by some that the "women's front" itself was given its official name and structure in the 1980s by Bal Thackeray's wife Meena Thackeray,9 though women have been party members since the party's inception. Many of the women who have been party members since the 1960s, however, speak about the Mahila Aghadi as though it were born at the same time as the larger party, largely because they have always identified as Shiv Sainiks, and because a later founding myth discounts what they see as their presence in the party's founding and early life. Therefore, the flexibility in founding narratives allows women a great deal of room within which to construct public and private personas. Out of this ambivalence emerge various reconstructions of the Aghadi's birth through the narratives of women who see themselves as its "original" founders (Sen 2006). WOMEN AND MILITANCY: A REVIEW AND REEXAMINATION Scholarship on gender and politics continues to grapple with how best to engage with women who enter the public sphere militantly, enabled and emboldened by religious and theological agendas. This entrance of women into the public sphere has problematized the issue of feminist politics more broadly. In India, the rise of Hindu religious, majoritarian politics and its mass mobilization of women complicate the landscape for feminist activists and scholars alike. Because Hindu nationalist women have often co-opted the strategies and rhetoric of feminist groups, this has particularly complicated the discussion over how to frame a "feminist" politics in a multiethnic, pluralist society. It has also called for a revisiting of what is assumed to be a fixed and ideologically driven politics (Bedi 2006). The political logics of Shiv Sena women suggest that such a politics is, in fact, a highly fluid enterprise. Departing from most examinations of political behavior that see political actors either as "ideologues" or as "cynics," this chapter attempts to illustrate that most of the political logics of female Shiv Sainiks take place in between these two spectrums of behavior. And for the most part these logics are driven by very pragmatic concerns of acquiring and discursively constructing local power at the level of the neighborhood. The need to examine women's political strategies seriously has emerged even as feminist scholars often find themselves at odds with the ideological roots of exclusionary movements (Koonz 1987). However, the increasing participation of women in these movements has meant that the "problem" of right-wing women cannot be ignored (Pateman and Gross 1986). This problem has forced scholarship to engage in a somewhat conflicted debate with what agency really means and the diverse sites at which agency might be constituted (Gardiner 1995). These cultural revivalist movements are variously described as "fundamentalist" (Moghadam 1994), "communalist" (Jeffery and Basu 1998), or "oppositional" (Power 2002). It could be argued that the Hindu nationalist mobilization of women in India has, at various points, spanned all three of these types. Most other arms of the Sangh Parivar10 have a strong connection between the party or electoral arm, the BJP, and the "movement" arm (and in many cases the ideological driver such as the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh11 and the Vishwa Hindu Parishad12). However, despite this connection, each has its own domain of influence. Shiv Sena, however, acts as both party and movement. Therefore the specter of electoral politics looms large behind the actions of the movement, while a sense of resistant, movement based politics exists behind the actions of the party. In its early years, Shiv Sena constituted itself as a regional movement that was "oppositional" to, and critical of more embedded forms of political and economic power in the western state of Maharashtra. As it gained electoral power, it took on both communalist and fundamentalist forms allied with Hindutva and the critique of the moral lives of an Indian public seduced by a rising economic consumerism. However, despite the evolution of the party's agendas and tactics, its own self-construction remains rooted in an oppositional, maverick, and locally constituted "modern" identity; and its publicly aggressive, often nonlegal tactics seem to draw from this construction (Hansen 2001). In the case of Shiv Sena, there have undoubtedly been varying degrees of cynicism over, and disregard for, the participation of women in what is otherwise assumed to be a deeply "masculinized" political party. However, the realities of the electoral process in India that now mandate the reservation of electoral seats for women, and the unique local functioning of the party around everyday problems, have made it imperative to look at women's political strategies, rather than simply at women's "symbolic" importance. Almost all the Shiv Sena women with whom I conducted my research desired real, electoral power and an opportunity to run for an election for their local civic body. They saw most of their everyday aggressive practices as discursive expressions of their local power to be rewarded by the party with either a nominated post in the women's wing or an electoral ticket to the civic body. It is often an implicit assumption that because women are generally considered passive, women who are publicly aggressive are either acting pathologically or through ignorance or male control. However, Shiv Sena women quite strategically inject themselves into visibly violent events such as riots and public protests not only to court public press (which is widely believed to be a requisite for promotion in the party), but because of what many of the women see as the most coveted of opportunities – a chance to contest a municipal corporation election.13 This is why being photographed at _morchas_ (public protest) is something that Sena women do not mind at all. It is, in fact, pictures of Sena women at morchas that one sees in the media most often; and the discourse of most English language media in Mumbai generally characterizes Shiv Sena women's participation in morchas as irrational outbursts led by the "remote control" of Sena leadership. Most literature that propagates the idea of the aberrance of militant women, and particularly Hindu women, casts them at two ends of the spectrum, with little possibility for anything in-between: in the positive form of "goddess," or the negative form of "rebel" (Forbes 1980; Hills and Silverman 1993). Shiv Sena does not rhetorically or pragmatically pathologize aggression, even for women, because it is able to fold violent female action into its discourse on justice and truth, since the fight for justice is always assumed to be a violent one. I contend therefore, that public aggression and militancy among Sena women are, in fact, carefully crafted performances of visibility by Sena women rather than spontaneously or irrationally erupting acts of protest. Further, they emerge out of a very incisive perception of the sorts of public personas that are most likely to achieve political and social gain (Bedi 2007). This kind of action seems to throw into disarray one of the key issues with which scholarship on gender and political militancy has had to grapple: How far does women's participation in religious, right-wing politics represent conscious, independent action or free choice? Some scholars of the Hindu right suggest that it is important to see Hindu communalism as a "conscious" political project rather than simply in terms of the Hindu religion (Agarwal 1995). The reality is that these movements have been tremendously successful in mobilizing women toward goals that have broad political and institutional ramifications, and in ways in which the feminist movement has been only partially successful. This is something that liberal feminist scholars simply cannot ignore. NONLIBERAL POLITICS AND EMBODIED, "FEMINIZED" ICONOGRAPHIES While it could be argued that right-wing mobilization often roots its ideas of femininity in religious terms, while the feminist movement relies upon "secular" constructions, a close look at non-Western feminisms complicates this presumption. The beginnings of the Indian women's movement, for example, were tied to the anticolonial struggle in which both "culture" and "femininity" were imagined in close collaboration with a reformed Hinduism (Chatterjee 1993; Joshi 2001). The "women's question" during this period was generally articulated as a debate over how a reformed Hinduism could also reform the position of women. Therefore, most of the iconography drew on Hindu goddess and motherhood symbols (Robison 1999). For the Indian nationalist, much of the debate centered on textualized constructions of an "authentic" Hindu culture and tradition (Mani 1990; 1993). For the colonial state, the debate focused on issues surrounding the coercion and consent of the female body. Therefore, within the discourse on _sati_ (the practice of Hindu widows sacrificing their lives on the funeral pyres of their dead husbands), for example, women were represented in two mutually exclusive ways: either as heroines braving the flames of the funeral pyre, or as victims coerced into the fire (Mani 1993, 1998). In both cases, the invocation of the female body became a key site for debate over opposing ideas about Indian culture. Therefore, any discussion of women's relationships to patriarchal forms of political mobilization in the Indian context must deal with the fact that the "women's question" in India (and arguably in other colonial and postcolonial settings as well) has historically been tied to the "nationalist" and embodied one (Jayawardena 1986; Mazumdar 1994; Sangari and Vaid 1990). Most examinations of gender and politics have pointed to the predominance of "mother" figures in both liberal and conservative discourses of gender and nationalism (Klatch 1994; Smith 1994; Yuval-Davis 1997). It has been argued that contemporary Hindu nationalism derives much of its motherhood imagery from religion because of the ways in which Hinduism worships mother goddesses. However, as Amrita Basu points out, motherhood imagery is not confined to "communalism" or "fundamentalism," but is a staple of all nationalist movements (1998:177–178). For Shiv Sena women, the figure of Meena Thackeray (late wife of the party's founder) is a key iconic figure. However, she is not the only one; historical motherhood icons such as Jijabai and the Rani of Jhansi appear quite often in Sena iconography. Jijabai was the mother of the Maratha warrior King Shivaji after whom the Shiv Sena is named. The Rani or Queen of Jhansi hailed from a Maratha-led princely state and is best known for bravely fighting off British forces during the 1857 war. She is widely celebrated as an icon of nationalism and patriotism. Both are mother figures, though with distinctly more militant affiliations. Therefore, for Shiv Sena women neither of these mother figures serves in the most obvious sense as a cultural role model of conventional femininity. The invocation of Jijabai, the mother of Shivaji, as an iconic figure for Hindu women has been noted in several narratives of Hindu nationalist women in India. In her work with women in the Hindu nationalist movement, Menon (2005) finds that in many cases, stories of Jijabai often overpower stories of Shivaji himself. However, she suggests that this narrative frame often reproduces the gender hierarchies that are inimical to women's interests. For Sena women, while Jijabai is certainly a key narrative frame, it is closely folded into the narrative of the bravery of Shivaji, which, in turn, is really the imaginary upon which Shiv Sena women draw in their visual and performative actions. Therefore, while Jijabai herself is certainly invoked for her greatness in mothering the warrior Shivaji, it is her intimate connection to bravery – to what is seen as an unconventional, visible expression of feminine courage – that provides the more prominent narrative frame and performative resource. While Sena women often locate their narratives and performances in larger ethnohistorical imaginaries, such as stories of Jijabai, it is important to point out here that there is a great deal of creativity in the invocations of particular aspects of this imaginary; and certainly not all Shiv Sena women invoke these iconic figures in order to find their place within an acceptable, gendered, political space. There are, therefore, key ideological distinctions between Sena women and those of other Hindu allied women's movements. Sena women, unlike women in other Hindu religious organizations, do not undergo collective ideological indoctrination and training as part of their initiation into the party (Bacchetta 2004; Sahgal 2007). Their collective experience is, in fact, rooted in the performative experience of public display, through which historical iconographies are creatively invoked. While the Jijabai narrative operates through this corporeal dimension of mothering and motherhood, the Rani of Jhansi narrative operates somewhat differently for Sena women because of her ambiguously gendered performance. The queen of Jhansi was the Rani Laxmi bai – a widow and skilled warrior who defended her town of Jhansi against the British in 1857, and who was killed in battle at the age of 20. She therefore serves as a potent symbol of resistance, but it is her defiance of gendered norms that makes her most interesting as a symbol of unconventional femininity for Sena women. It has been pointed out that the Rani's legend, when stripped of its symbolic richness, is, in fact, a rare convergence of traditional and modern gendered identities. Rani Laxmi bai was known to be a tomboy, who was skilled as a warrior, and in horsemanship and swordsmanship. She was both literate and a renowned orator. However, she was forced into _purdah_ and married at the age of 8 or 9 to a man 40 years her senior. When she was widowed at 18, she was criticized for not behaving as a "proper" widow – even fashioning her sari into pants in order to be able to ride a horse (Hills and Silverman 1993; Lebra 1986). Her rebellious nature is often invoked by Shiv Sena women as a performative resource. For example, one of my informants in Mumbai (the leader of a _shakha_ – party branch office – in the Mumbai suburb of Jogeshwari) was planning a program to celebrate the birthday of Shivaji, or Shivaji Jayanti. She told me: My shakha always wins the prize for best program so this year we are going to make it even more _mast_ [good]. I think this year the procession must have a Jhansi ki Rani in it. But who can I get to dress up as the Rani? It will have to be someone with daring14 since she will have to sit on a horse wearing pants for four hours as the procession goes through [the city]. Many other women from the shakha then joined the discussion about the program and one of the shakha regulars, an elderly female Shiv Sainik, Shantabai, agreed to play the part of the Rani in the procession. Many of the younger women teased her, " _Maushi_ [maternal aunt], you will have to take off your glasses to wear the Rani's headdress, and you will have to carry a big sword, and you will have to wear trousers to sit on the horse." The older Shiv Sainik stood up with great pride and said, "I am daring enough. I am daring enough to be the Rani. I have been doing party work outside for so many years. What a great woman she was, she fought so hard. And most importantly, she fought against men." Shiv Sena women thus tend to draw from the ethnohistorical, regional imaginary of western India in their invocation of feminine idioms, thereby circumscribing the idiomatic universe as "regional" rather than as "religious" per se, despite the fact that they are squarely Hindu. Several scholars have pointed to the use of feminine religious idioms by the women's fronts of Hindu nationalist parties – idioms that have often been of appeal to high caste, middle-class Hindu women (Hancock 1995). But Shiv Sena has had an incredibly diverse caste and class base since the party's inception. It has therefore been unable to rely upon any system of agreed upon idioms and symbols that appeal to this cross-caste, cross-class base. Therefore, even while the Rani of Jhansi and Jijabai are both part of the shared iconographic imaginary, different elements of their struggles and triumph resonate with different women, and while they remain dominant icons, they are by no means the only ones. Therefore, to analyze religious ideological structures as always and primarily responsible for patriarchy and oppression is somewhat misplaced. As Mohanty (1991) suggests, religious discourses and women's attraction to movements that reify these discourses have to be examined within the social and political relations and practices within which they manifest themselves. This approach not only allows feminist scholarship to dislodge religion from universal ideas of patriarchal oppression, but it also allows for the examination of women's oppression as the cultural and historical product of religious discourse as it interacts with a variety of other social and cultural relations. It is therefore a paradigm for the examination of both agency and oppression. EXTENDING IDEAS OF FEMINISM? We are the ones who give justice. Okay, we are not in power, but I still feel powerful. My husband always tells me, "If you have to go out, don't go out like a doe, go out like a tigress. The doe is one who is scared and runs away, so don't go out like that. If you go out like a tigress, everyone will be scared of you." And that is the advice that I give to all my women _karyakartas_ [workers in service of the party]. I tell them that if someone is in the wrong, just go and slap them right there; don't think about what will happen later, I am here to watch your back. (Female Shiv Sainik in Mumbai) The above narration of various ideational and practical ways through which Shiv Sena women accrue a sense of power, often through violence, deeply problematizes the feminist paradigms of resistance and liberation that are more conventionally used to look at gendered action in feminist theory. In practice, as the above quote illustrates, power is located and created discursively through a wide variety of images and actions that are produced out of the relational aspects of everyday life. Therefore, a feminist analysis of women's political participation in movements such as Shiv Sena forces a move away from the more conventional feminist categories of liberation and resistance. It asks for an engagement with the ways in which power gets performed and narrated within situated contexts to produce subjects who perceive themselves as powerful and whose discursive production of power has very pragmatic effects on the contours of local politics. Saba Mahmood eloquently points out in her examination of Egyptian Muslim women in the revivalist mosque movement that feminist scholars can gain not just from searching for the liberatory potential (or lack thereof) of the movement, but rather by focusing on "the conceptions of self, moral agency, and discipline that undergird the practices of this non-liberal movement so as to come to an understanding of the desires that animate it" (2001:203). Kathleen Blee has a similarly nuanced and contextualized study of the women of the Ku Klux Klan in which she examines the moral agency and motivations of women who commit often morally deplorable acts within ideologically "patriarchal" structures (Blee 1991; 1993). In my study of Shiv Sena women, I contribute to these contextualized studies of women's political strategies by illustrating and arguing that liberatory strategies emerge even out of oppressive structures. The general discussion above suggests that feminist approaches to women's participation in nonliberal movements may be divided into two general areas that are significant to this analysis of Shiv Sena women. The first is the exploration of the construction of independent and creative discourses that resist, co-opt and transform male discourse and practice, even if they do not directly challenge the hegemonic male order. The second approach addresses right-wing women as agents of violence and public aggression. Because of the gender ambiguities unleashed by violence, this approach warrants an in-depth discussion. I discuss each of these approaches and how they relate to Shiv Sena women's political practice below. Women, nonliberal politics, and "creative" discourse Bacchetta and Power (2002b) argue that it is critical for feminist scholars to begin to understand the appeal of right-wing, revivalist projects for women because, in many cases, such movements constitute major obstacles to feminism. While all scholars seem to be confronted with the reality that right-wing movements subscribe to an ideological structure that feminism is trying to combat, there is also general agreement that such movements play a key role in opening up arenas for women's public participation, even if they do not generally take on embedded gender hierarchies. This dilemma is furthered by the fact that there is a great deal of heterogeneity among movements of the right in which the engagement with the gendered subject/object is similarly diverse (Bacchetta and Power 2002b; Dworkin 1982; Moghadam 1994; Sarkar and Butalia 1995). In her examination of three Hindu women's organizations in India, Amrita Basu (1998) attempts to differentiate between "fundamentalist" and "communalist" movements, suggesting that, despite the fact that both embed their discourses in some form of Hindu religiosity, their constructions of womanhood are quite different. In "fundamentalist" movements, women often figure as symbols of tradition and continuity with the past, while in "communalist" movements, the female figure is a symbol of progress and modernity (Basu 1998:173). She suggests that in the Indian context, both communalism and fundamentalism are responses to the strains of modernity, the erosion of state legitimacy, the integration of the economy into the global capitalist system, and the influx of Western cultural influences. Basu's approach points to how critical it is to explore how women in communalist and fundamentalist movements construct themselves in relation to modernity even as their mobilization is embedded in an overt rhetoric of "tradition" (Mani 1990). Shiv Sena women, too, discursively construct their individual and collective selves from their positions as both modern and increasingly ambivalently gendered subjects. While the strategies employed by most right-wing movements are generally embedded in what feminism would see as "patriarchal" structures of authority, specific scholarly engagements with right-wing women illustrate great diversity in the expression of, and resistance to, these dominant ideologies (Galluci 2002; Gottlieb 2002). Discursive interventions on the part of right-wing women take two forms – either as insertions of women's identities and issues into the wider right-wing project, or as articulations of projects that have critical points of antagonism with male projects. The processes by which women mobilize to produce these distinctive discourses vary greatly, since in many cases they may choose from multiple available symbols to produce both conventional and unconventional models for identity (Bacchetta and Power 2002a). In the case of Hindu nationalist women, discursive strategies may draw from reconstituted symbolic referents such as Hindu ritualistic practice or Hindu goddesses, as well as from popular culture and media styles such as Bollywood films, television and music. Kathleen Blee, in her examination of the women of the Ku Klux Klan in the United States, suggests that "hate" discourse directed against the "other" often takes the form of critiques of the denigration of other women by other men. Blee suggests that these critiques may, in fact, be looked at as expressions of sublimated rage against the sexism of white supremacist men (Blee 1991; 1993). The fact that right-wing women do not outwardly condemn the sexism in their own projects, but strongly condemn the position of women in other communities, is, in a perverse and problematic way, a stance that feminism cannot ignore. Hindu nationalist women in India have taken a similar stance on Muslim men's treatment of their women in their constructions of a debauched and treacherous "other." However, as I have found in my research, most Shiv Sena women are keenly aware of male privilege in their party and in their societies more generally. An oft-repeated phrase among Shiv Sena women is, simply, "It is a male-dominated society." Because this comment is most often elicited by some disgust or resentment over the benefits of male leadership or the party's marginalization of women in the electoral process, it can be read as a thinly veiled critique of the party itself. Women's creative strategies thus emerge out of a recognition of the structural dominance afforded and perpetuated by men. Despite this recognition, however, Shiv Sena women work hard to discursively dissociate themselves from other women and thereby engage in a process of negatively constituting "others." This trope of otherness is what a number of feminists suggest most critically differentiates religious, nonliberal mobilization from secular, feminist mobilization, even in cases where the mobilization tactics used by each are very similar. The process of creating "others" is part of Shiv Sena women's discursive agenda, and much of the process is directed at distinctions between Shiv Sena and other women. However, what is most important to point out is that, in fact, the process of distinction is not so much a normative critique of the other, but instead, a performative attempt to mark out other women as bound by tradition and conventional femininity in ways that Shiv Sena women are not. A great deal of this difference is framed around Shiv Sena women's abilities to transcend the home, as illustrated by the critical distinctions most Sena women make between inside ( _andar_ ) and outside ( _baher_ ). As public visibility is what is most rewarded in the party, Shiv Sena women tend to talk about their political agency as constituted "outside" of the home. They differentiate themselves in their capacity to be effective "outside" from other women (North Indian and Muslim women in particular), whom they see as unable to transcend the domestic sphere, or the "inside." Therefore, in a perverse way, the discourse of the "other" and its inability to transcend the boundaries of the home becomes a liberatory one for Sena women. While the process of creative "othering" is significant here, so is the possibility for a creative discourse on domesticity. An important difference between the women's movement and right-wing mobilization of women in India is that the women's movement challenges notions of women's domination within the family and society, while Hindutva ideology places women squarely within the home and propagates a patriarchal model (Sarkar and Butalia 1995). Hindutva politics does reify _ghar-grahasthi_ or _ghar-sansar_ (two versions of the rhetorical term "home and family"), and Shiv Sena rhetoric is no exception. The party's founder and leader, Bal Thackeray, in his public speeches will frequently rhetorically place women within the confines of ghar-grahasthi. However, in practice, even Thackeray sometimes seems to be simply playing lip-service to this ideological stance, since what ultimately gets rewarded in the party is visibility in the _ilaka_ (locality) at Sena public events – everywhere else but inside the house. Most female Shiv Sainiks also reiterate this ghar-grahasthi command rhetorically, though I would argue that this is more of a political strategy than a moral one; this rhetorical reiteration in fact has a strangely subversive effect. Giving women this rhetorical tool, with numerous performative outlets in terms of domestic and feminized rituals that get performed in public space and sponsored by Shiv Sena, actually provides women with remarkable opportunities to access the female electorate as audience to these events outside the male gaze. I have always found the Shiv Sena's official ghar-grahasthi command, which is most often related through Hindu religious iconography, "ghar ka diya pehle jalao, phir mandir ka diya jalao" (first light the candle at home then light the candle at the temple), rather amusing because, to be honest, during my fieldwork between 2003 and 2007 most of my informants were never home! I therefore came to see that in Shiv Sena, appropriate public dedication is far more politically and often personally remunerative than is conventional domesticity. Therefore, arguably, this reification does not in itself necessitate a presumption of the domestic, female "nonsubject." The construction of the private sphere of the "home" all across the globe has been a profoundly public and political process in which the state, global capitalism, and religion have played equally important roles at different times (Sen and Stivens 1998; Stivens 1998). It is probably also a limitation of feminist theorizing to see "domesticity" as outside the realm of both the political project and political subjectivity. As my study and others that are located within similar paradigms suggest, the "political" can no longer be theorized as confined to an abstract, public space (Gledhill 1994). For Shiv Sena women, while a great deal of domestic subordination is constituted rhetorically, it is often rejected performatively in collective and relational practice by the imperatives of everyday life paired with the personal and collective political ambitions of party members. If Saba Mahmood's study of Egyptian women shows that Islamist women have succeeded in extending social and cultural space by entering the realm of Islamic pedagogy, Hindu women's mobilization in India is a good example of the ways in which "political" space has been extended through practices of domesticity. In the case of Shiv Sena women, the "domestic" space of "social work" has had significant effects on the ways in which politics are articulated in contemporary Maharashtra. Shiv Sena's casting of their work as "social work" contributes greatly to the perception of distance from ambition, and to the construction of political arenas that are informal and distanced from the vices of formal politics. While Sena men also talk about their work as social work, the gendered nature of most of this work, and the fact that that it is largely carried out in informal settings within close-knit communities, in my observation means that Sena women get approached far more often for the resolution of everyday local problems than do the men. This "social work" is tied to a belligerent politics of assertion at sites that might generally be associated with domesticity: shortages in the vegetable market, children's school admissions, etc. For example, if someone in the neighborhood is unable to get their child into a school of their choice, they will often call on the local Shiv Sena women's leader to accompany them on a visit to the principal's office. The presence of the Shiv Sainik and the veiled threats of violence or riots against the school often have some effect on the school's decision to admit a child. It is in this dispensation of belligerent social work that Shiv Sena women have profoundly expanded the possibilities of political space – the bazaar, railway station, the local school, the hospital, the temple, all integral spaces of civic and popular life, have been transformed into political spaces. Nonliberal politics and the "masculinization" of political practice Hindu nationalism differs significantly from earlier forms of community mobilization in India with respect to its gendered imagery and the place of real women in two ways (Basu 1995). First, a number of women occupy a greater prominence in Hindu nationalism than women ever did in the anticolonial nationalist movement; and second, female leadership in the Hindutva movements does not advocate the pacifism articulated in the Gandhian version of women's mobilization (Basu 1995). Basu touches only tangentially on the first point in her discussion of Hindutva women's oratory. It is impossible, she explains, to ignore the mass-mediated context within which these women present themselves, as well as the mass-mediated narratives upon which they consciously draw in their constructions of militant, nontraditional, gendered personas. For Shiv Sena women, for example, the struggles against injustice led by the Bollywood hero Sharukh Khan (rather ironically a Muslim), the grit of India's rising female tennis star Sania Mirza (also ironically a Muslim, though talked about a great deal during the course of my fieldwork as a key female role model), the bravery of India's celebrated policewoman Kiran Bedi,15 and the everyday verbal machinations of the characters in the spate of "serials" (soap operas) on Indian television, provide discursive fodder just as often as does the iconography of Hindu mother goddesses. Banerjee's examination of women of the Hindu right uses a feminist analysis to explore the ways in which "gender" personas of the Hindu right are negotiated through often violent means (1996; 2003). While she acknowledges the masculinity of Hindu nationalist movements (what she terms, "masculine Hinduism"), she draws from feminist theory to suggest that "masculine" Hinduism does not necessarily preclude women's agency. Rather than rendering women invisible in the Hindu nationalist project, the appropriation of "masculinity" actually allows women to negotiate their way through culturally dominant ideas of masculinity and femininity in ways that help them avoid censure (Banerjee 2000; 2003). Women who are part of right-wing organizations such as Shiv Sena, for example, have co-opted these forms of assertive "militaristic" political participation quite broadly in their forms of speech, their presence at morchas (public protest marches), their active participation in _mara-mari_ (hitting and attacking), and their fearlessness in the face of arrest and police violence. However, the notion that women have co-opted the male project and thereby "feminized violence" is not exactly accurate, since Shiv Sena women do not simply join the male project of communal or political violence. In fact, they engage in what may be theorized as uniquely feminized forms of aggression aimed very personally at powerful people and institutions, as a result of which they come to be both feared and acknowledged as morally upright. This is illustrated quite clearly in the description of the domestic dispute described at the opening of this chapter. These kinds of routinized and everyday violent strategies, directed at sites that have been ignored by the patriarchal state, become sites for the expression of gendered forms of violence. The success of these strategies also constitutes particular kinds of political subjects who come to see themselves as politically effective. This self-perception is particularly significant for Shiv Sena women. It provides them with the ability to imagine themselves into violent personas that are modern, while at the same time proudly Maharashtrian and Hindu. The politics of personality that emerges out of these aggressive performances of power can subsequently be used to solve real problems in spaces generally ignored by the state. Moreover, local constituents clearly recognize that acceptance of and acquiescence to the power of local political entrepreneurs is beneficial to them in the long term. Therefore, all constituents have a stake in reproducing these relationships of power, fear, and patronage. In many ways, this politics of aggression illustrates the ironic reversal of strategies between anticolonial nationalism and contemporary Hindu nationalism (Sarkar 2001). As I have found throughout my fieldwork, the consistent rhetoric among Shiv Sena women of engagement in noninstitutional action, often bordering on criminal acts, certainly does reflect the fact that rather than resigning themselves to the misogynist nature of formal state and bureaucratic institutions, Shiv Sena women have devised their own ways of getting things done (Sen 2007). However, not all of Shiv Sena women's action is reactionary or resistant to the state at local levels. There are, in fact, significant spheres of action that are actually generative of alternative forms of local governance centered around the constitution of political personality and a local political strongman. Many Shiv Sena women have taken the image of the local strongman propounded by men in the party and have married it to the realities of a local political fixer, thereby carving out a space of respect, fear, and gratitude. This intersection between the local strongman and the political fixer, while informal and only nominally sanctioned by the state, succeeds in being translated into a space of electoral opportunities for those who are most publicly visible. While the party gives off very contradictory messages about the place of women within its political project, its discursive strategies are flexible enough that Shiv Sena women can find within it varying ways in which to engage in action that is otherwise censured for most Indian women. For example, one of the party's commonly used rhetorical statements –which, like most others, originates from the party's founder, Bal Thackeray – is "radnar nahi... ladnar!" (Don't cry... fight!). Many Shiv Sena women see this command as directed explicitly at them: "It is the spirit of Balasaheb that we live out... he says don't cry, fight, so we don't cry like other women, we just fight." It is this ability to "fight" that is most often invoked as the distinguishing mark between female Shiv Sainiks and all other women. Among local constituents, the perception that Shiv Sena women are willing to engage in violence and aggression lends itself to the idea that they are "urban protectors." Unlike the more structured, discursive training in symbolic violence that has been noted among the women's wings of other organizations associated with Hindu nationalism in India (Sahgal 2007), Shiv Sena women's everyday engagement with violence is far more dispersed and unstructured, and is generally cast as an effort to renegotiate institutionally dominated power structures rather than as part of a broader religious program. When most talk about their involvement in communal violence, particularly those who admit to being part of the communal riots in Mumbai during the 1990s, the rhetorical construction of the symbolic protection of the motherland is certainly a strong element. However, during the periods of relative communal peace in Maharashtra, much of Shiv Sena women's power has been rooted in the more practical and localized aspects of violence and aggression. It has been primarily geared toward efforts to transgress what is otherwise considered acceptable in the activities of daily life. CONCLUSIONS While most of the scholarly work on right-wing women's violent mobilization in India has focused on women's participation in communal violence, my theorization of Shiv Sena women's violence and aggression is somewhat of a departure. As I have suggested, Shiv Sena women's sense of power and of themselves as political subjects is located in everyday assertions whose most important trait is the presence of "audience." This "visibility" is constituted through what might be considered "feminized" practices of aggression, where aggression is both collectively and individually expressed within a paradigm of grass-roots protest, aimed to symbolically mark out urban rights, citizenship, and gendered political community. Whether this means emancipation in the traditional feminist sense is up for question. The Shiv Sena's key rhetorician, Bal Thackeray, and the party's press mouthpiece, _Saamna_ (Confrontation), in fact, continually propound the value of ghar-sansar (the world of the home) or ghar-grahasthi (home and family). However, it is important to point out that many Shiv Sena women do not see this ghar-grahasthi rhetoric as particularly targeted at women in the party. Because men and women are not strictly separated either practically or functionally within Shiv Sena, most of the party's rhetorical communication is assumed, at least by Sena women, to mark out the responsibilities for both men and women. Therefore, as I have suggested, feminist debates over the right wing have revealed the immense ambiguities at the heart of feminist theorizations of women in nonliberal, militant movements. In the Indian context in particular, the rise of right-wing and identity politics, and its mass mobilization of women, has created some troubling issues for feminist activists and feminist scholars alike. Not only has this rise brought to the forefront debates over secularism, but it has also provoked questions of how to frame a "feminist" politics in a multiethnic, pluralist society (Bacchetta and Power 2002a; Basu 1998; Kalpagam 2000). This contextual and situated examination of the politics of Shiv Sena women thus illustrates the need to reexamine assumptions about gender and religious politics more broadly. NOTES The author is grateful to the American Institute of Indian Studies, The University of Illinois Provost's Award, and the Alice J. Dan Dissertation Award in Women's Studies for their generous funding of the fieldwork. 1 Literally translated the meaning is Shivaji's Army. The party will be referred to in this chapter simply as Shiv Sena rather than as _the_ Shiv Sena, to best reflect the closest translation of the party's name from the local language of Marathi into English: Shivaji's Army. This would be the grammatically correct way to refer to it. 2 All names used for party workers and those attached to any sort of interview and participant observation data in this text are pseudonyms. 3 Shiv Sainik literally means Shivaji's Soldiers. Party members are referred to by this name. Most Shiv Sena women refer to themselves (as do their male colleagues) by this male gendered term. It is also the term used for members of Shiv Sena by the public, whether they are male or female. 4 "101 percent" was spoken in English. Sena women regularly interject particular English words into their speech, even when speaking in their native language of Marathi. Throughout my research, I found that several of the deeply performative and nonconformist aspects of self-description were expressed in English. I initially thought that the use of English was for my benefit, but I later realized that Shiv Sena women would use the same English words when talking to each other, as well as in speeches to their constituents. 5 The increasing influence of Hindu majoritarian agendas in the political realm. 6 Bombay was officially renamed Mumbai in 1995 under the aegis of the Shiv Sena government in power at state level at the time. In this chapter I refer to the city by its new name of Mumbai except when referring to its pre-1995 context. 7 Allied with Shiv Sena and in power at the center until 2004. It is currently the major opposition party in India. 8 I use the terms "Aghadi" and "Shiv Sena women" interchangeably; both terms refer to the same group of women. 9 Meena Thackeray is Bal Thackeray's late wife. Since her death in 1996, she has taken on an almost iconic role for Sena women and is widely referred to as Maasaheb (the name also used to refer to Jijabai, the mother of the warrior Shivaji). 10 The political and cultural arms of the Hindu nationalist movement in India. 11 The Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh or the National Self-Service Volunteer Organization is the ideological unit around which many other organizations associated with Hindu revivalism and the building of a true "Hindu" nation have emerged. 12 World Hindu Organization. 13 Civic bodies are referred to in India as "corporations," and elected officials to these bodies as "corporators." 14 "Daring" is an English term used very widely by Sena women in self-description. 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Three days ago, in a remote part of rural Jharkhand, near the villages where George Kunnath and I are currently living, a powerful explosion of homemade bombs threw up an anti-landmine vehicle of the Indian government security forces 20 feet into the air. Three Central Reserve Police Force personnel and a police driver were killed and six others injured. At the time the security forces were moving into the region for election duty, though, undoubtedly, they are here to stay for the foreseeable future. Voting begins today in the first phase of the Jharkhand Legislative Assembly polls. Elections in this part of the world's largest democracy – so-called – have come to represent little more than a contest to buy votes. The backhand deals to muster workers, the pomp and fanfare of Bollywood glamour to woo the voters, and the bogus voting are, however, presided over by a heavily militarized landscape. The world's largest paramilitary force is now camped in schools across central and eastern India. The government does not reveal exact figures but at least 75,000 extra troops have been deployed to Jharkhand and Chhattisgarh over the last couple of months. Together with the state police, this makes a force of about 90,000 police in Jharkhand alone. Indian Air Force helicopters whirl in the sky while the Central Reserve Police Force, Border Security Force, Central Indian Security Force, Indo-Tibetan Police, and Indian Reserve Battalion join the Jharkhand Police, throwing up a fog of dust as they thunder one after another in their anti-landmine and bulletproof vehicles through Jharkhand's forested landscapes. The task at hand is election duty but ultimately they are here because the Indian Prime Minister, Manmohan Singh, and the Indian Home Minister, P. Chidambaram, have declared it their mission to wipe out the revolution that has been simmering within India for more than 40 years. This is the heartland of one of the world's longest guerrilla insurgencies – India's Maoist revolution. Analyzing India as semicolonial and semifeudal, these revolutionaries engage in protracted armed struggle along guidelines set out by China's Chairman Mao, seeking to destroy India's state institutions in order to replace them with a new communist state structure along Marxist-Leninist lines. Outnumbered at least 20 times by the security forces, as part of their more general boycott of elections and their war against the police state, it was the Maoist People's Liberation Guerrilla Army that triggered those fatal landmines three days ago. A war is now burning within India – the Indian government, beginning the largest internal military offensive in the history of the state, labeled the Maoists "terrorists" in May 2009. More than half of India's 29 states are marked "Maoist infested," though the Maoists have their strongholds in Jharkhand, Chhattisgarh, and parts of West Bengal, Orissa, and Bihar. In these latter states the local versions of the daily broadsheets have at least four to five stories a day on Maoist related activities, and in the last year all the major international broadsheets from the _New York Times_ to the _Guardian_ have printed half-page stories on India's red risings. Yet, strangely, it would not be too much of an exaggeration to suggest that there has been a conspicuous silence around India's war within. Media reporting displays the most recent string of violence but remains disappointingly shallow in its understanding of life in the Maoist fold. This silence is a result of the difficulty of entering Maoists' lands without their permission, seldom granted for more than a few hours. But it is also the product of journalists paid by the administration to write from a particular perspective, or not to write at all (Choudhary 2009). Long-term field research in base areas of the Maoists is direly needed but glaringly absent.1 Undoubtedly such research is extremely challenging and the few scholars and journalists who work in revolutionary contexts have to rely on historical sources and oral histories, or on very short visits. Most detailed field research is done after the conflict, when the guns are silent. There is a shortage of detailed field-level data and analysis of revolutionary movements in any part of the world, but this is especially true of the Maoist movement in India. It is in this context that George Kunnath and I set off in September 2008 to live in the heart of a Maoist guerrilla zone in Jharkhand – an area into which the security troops dare not venture unless they are in a force of 500 or more. Cut off by steep forested hills and wide gushing rivers, we stayed in these remote regions until April 2010. Written in the midst of these circumstances, this chapter, though not focusing on our fieldwork still in progress, is inevitably influenced by and draws on questions it raises. It aims to provide a brief party history of the Maoist revolution, discuss theories of revolutionary mobilization, and ask questions of the counterinsurgency. THE RISING FLAMES The Naxalbari uprising of 1967 in West Bengal, from which the Indian Maoists get the name the Naxalites, is popularly heralded as the beginning of the Maoist revolution in India. However, to understand the broader political history which led to the rise of a movement focused on armed struggle and rejecting the parliamentary route, the party history of India's revolution needs to be situated within the broader history of the Communist Party in India, its emergence in the period of British colonial rule, and its intimate relationship with the increasing strength of the Indian Congress Party (Vanaik 1986). Formed in Tashkent after the Second Congress of the Communist International, at its first conference in Kanpur in 1925, the Communist Party of India (CPI) had fewer than 100 members. A decade later, when it collaborated with the radical elements within the Indian Congress Party and with the Congress Socialist Party, membership began to increase. Association with the Socialists, in particular, enabled the CPI to strengthen in West Bengal and in Kerala. However, confusion soon emerged within CPI about its relationship with the Indian Congress Party. While on the one hand, the CPI was increasingly supporting Gandhian collaboration with the big bourgeoisie rather than an alternative class politics, in 1942, during World War II, as a result of Comintern directions to support the Alliance, the CPI opposed the Quit India movement led by Congress against the British. Drawing on Gramsci, Sudipta Kaviraj (1984; 1991) and Partha Chatterjee (1986) describe the arrival of Indian independence as a "passive revolution" – where transformations were led by the old dominant classes, the Indian bourgeoisie, which was socially and politically isolated from the popular masses. This analysis is directly reflected in the dilemmas facing the Indian communists, whose development in the period after Independence was marked by questions about the nature of the Congress Party. In the 1950s, Nehru's social democratic government sought Soviet assistance to develop a state economic sector with the aim of self-sufficiency, and implemented agrarian reform to supposedly eliminate the _zamindari_ (landlord) system. The CPI was on the one hand approving, but on the other hand was also strengthening as an opposition force, emerging as the largest opposition party in the 1957 general election. Tensions within the party also emerged in the context of the Telengana armed struggle (1946–1951), a rebellion of the peasantry, led by the CPI, against the autocratic regime of the Nizam Nawab of Hyderabad. When the Congress government ordered the Indian army to quell the struggle, the CPI was wracked by sharply opposed views about whether to continue the struggle or to surrender to the armies of the Congress government (see Sundarayya 1972). Moreover, the border war of 1962 increased the tensions within the party – while some backed the Congress government, others took a pro-China stance. The tensions over the question of alliances with the Indian Congress eventually led to a major split in the CPI in 1964, the year of Nehru's death. The Communist Party of India (Marxist) (CPI(M) ) was formed, and while the CPI continued to support Congress, CPI(M) considered Congress to be the party of the big bourgeoisie and landlords which collaborated with foreign capital. The revolutionary politics of the Naxalite movement has its roots in this period of splits in the CPI. For the radicals CPI(M) was in fact not radical enough. As Indira Gandhi tried to stop the rising red revolution with a green revolution by distributing new high-yielding seeds, chemical fertilizers and enhanced irrigation in Naxalbari, West Bengal, the radicals of the CPI(M) led a violent uprising in 1967 in which peasants attacked local landlords, forcibly occupied land, burned records, and canceled old debts. Around the time of Indian independence, the CPI had supported a number of violent peasant movements such as the Telengana movement in Hyderabad and the Tebhaga movement in West Bengal. However, led by Charu Mazumdar, Naxalbari became emblematic of the commitment of a faction of the Indian communists, the CPI(M), to violent struggle as a means to seize state power. Between 1967 and 1968, triggered by the split between the Moscow and Peking factions in the communist movement internationally, and inspired by China's Chairman Mao, the communist revolutionaries of Naxalbari broke away to form the All India Coordination Committee of Communist Revolutionaries (AICCCR), which was then disbanded in 1969 in favor of a party, the Communist Party of India (Marxist-Leninist) – CPI(ML). Meanwhile, a few communist radicals chose not to join AICCCR, retained a separate identity and called themselves Dakshindesh, after the name of their mouthpiece. These were the people who later took the name of Maoist Communist Centre (MCC). While CPI(M) took the parliamentary path, CPI(ML) and MCC became the revolutionary communist parties, analyzing India as semifeudal and semicolonial, and adopting Mao's strategy of protracted people's war, whereby the immediate task of the party is the organization of landless laborers, poor peasants and exploited middle peasants in armed struggle against their oppressors. Although the Indian state and its labor laws created numerous structural divisions in the industrial workforce, co-opting many trade unions and preventing radical political organization of the working class (Parry 2009), the role of the urban proletarian in the revolution was not denied. Nevertheless, the revolutionaries emphasized the rural peasantry as the leading force of a first stage of a "people's democratic revolution" that would overthrow the government and the ruling classes who were responsible for their plight. The Maoist route they envisioned explicitly connected political ideology to military strategy. They sought to launch a "people's war" of the peasantry through armed warfare. Their revolutionary campaign spread to the forested and hilly tracts of Srikakulam in Andhra Pradesh, Koraput in Orissa, and the plains of Bhojpur in Bihar and Birbhum in West Bengal. Landlords were driven out of villages, people's courts were established to redistribute land and deliver justice, and programs to encourage the mass actions of the rural poor were initiated. These actions went hand in hand with a form of class struggle that involved the tactic of "annihilation of class enemies" – the killing of landlords, rich peasants, government employees, and rival party members, as well as anyone suspected of being a police informer or agent (Banerjee 1984). The 1970s saw massive police repression. Many leaders were killed or in jail. Charu Mazumdar died in police custody in 1972. Factionalism arose within the Maoist ranks – the CPI(ML) split into two in 1973 and there were further splits. One group, Liberation, later decided on having more open mass fronts (organized open people's movements) as well as participating in electoral politics.. Against the backdrop of Indira Gandhi's repressive regime, the Maoists tried to build their strength once more in the late 1970s. CPI(ML) Party Unity was formed in 1978 by a small group of previously imprisoned Naxalite activists who wanted to revive the old CPI(ML) and they built strongholds in the plains of Bihar in Jehanabad. Developing from the Andhra Pradesh branch of the Central Organizing Committee of the CPI(ML) led by Kondapallu Seetharamaiah, similar motives drove the formation of CPI(ML) People's War Group in Andhra Pradesh in 1980. In the following years various factions and mergers developed in the MCC, Party Unity and People's War Group, the most significant of which came in 1998 when the Andhra People's War Group merged with Party Unity to form the Communist Party of India (Marxist-Leninist) People's War. Through the 1980s, the Maoists continued to harness support among poor peasants, offering them dignity in the face of caste and economic discrimination in their villages and the oppressive regimes of the state. In the strongholds of the plains of central Bihar, however, they were working against the formation of a range of brutal caste-based private armies or militias of dominant groups (mainly the upper castes), going by names such as Sunlight Sena, Bhumi Sena, and Ranvir Sena. Faced by these, together with ongoing direct state repression (the MCC and the Mazdoor Kisan Sangram Samity, the mass front organization of Party Unity, were banned in 1984), the Maoist leaders found themselves expanding into the forested hilly tracts of what is now Jharkhand, looking to build bases in geographically ideal guerrilla territory.2 Similarly, state repression in Andhra Pradesh meant that the People's War Group moved to neighboring areas of what is now Chhattisgarh and Orissa. Against this backdrop, since approximately the late 1980s, the Maoists have increased their spread over central and eastern India, in areas often represented as the dark underbelly of the tribal heartlands of the country. Some of these areas are guerrilla zones, regions where the Maoists make every attempt to prevent police and forest officials from entering. Here, the Maoists are creating what they call their own "people's rule," curtailing the operation of police and forest officers in the region, being the first point of call for the resolution of disputes, which are solved in "people's courts," and beginning their formation of Revolutionary People's Committees – elected organs of power of the people which are responsible for pro-people economic policies such as the formation of corporatives in agriculture, the building of canals, dams and wells through voluntary labor, and the opening of schools and hospitals that provide subsidized healthcare. Significantly, in 2004, while an attempted peace process in Andhra Pradesh broke down, the Maoist Communist Center and the People's War combined to form the Communist Party of India (Maoist) – CPI(Maoist) – the largest Maoist rebel group in India. Now the Maoists probably have an underground military force (the People's Liberation Guerrilla Army) of about 10,000 people, a people's militia of at least double the size, and scores of other workers and sympathizers. THE FUEL Who are the revolutionaries? This is one question that has dominated studies of revolutionary movements all over the world. In general, theories of revolution have produced a divide between the radical intelligentsia and the mass of poorer peasants who form the tide of the rebellion. In India, there has actually been very little detailed insight into the internal politics and sociology of the Maoist movement. The numerous books on the movement, written by activists, ex-Maoists, journalists, academics, and state officials (cf. Banerjee 1984; Chakravarti 2007; Ghosh 1974; Gupta 2004; Singh 1995; Sinha 1989), have focused on the history and politics of the movement, as opposed to exploring its social characteristics. While the media often represents the Maoist movement today as an adivasi (or tribal) rebellion, it is also well known that well to-do (and often higher caste) intellectuals and university students led the movement's initial rise. While many of these initial recruits were killed, arrested and/or dropped out after a romantic spell with the revolutionaries, a few have survived underground for 20 or 30 years and are now leading the movement. A divide between the ideals of the leadership and the potential of the peasantry in the analysis of the Maoist revolution was nurtured in the late 1970s3 by a small group of historians, who have since become known as the early subaltern studies group and who were influenced by the political theorist and founder of Italy's Communist Party, Antonio Gramsci. It is now often forgotten that the foundational scholar of subaltern studies, Ranajit Guha, was disturbed by the downturn of the CPI(ML) in the state repression which followed the Naxalbari risings and was thus concerned with the relationship between revolutionary theory and mass struggle, and in particular how the peasant could be turned into a revolutionary class for a socialist future.4 The subaltern studies scholars came together to reread dominant narratives to recover the "small voices of history" that show traces of consciousness in apparently unstructured movements of the masses. They sought to find "elementary aspects of peasant insurgency" through which a genuine class-consciousness could emerge to make peasants into a true revolutionary class (Arnold 1984). Guha understood the task of Marxists to be the development of a critique of subaltern ideology and culture that would expose its "negative" features and educate and strengthen its "positive" ones. Underlying the work of these early subaltern scholars there was thus a fundamental division between the "elite" and the "subaltern." This was evident not only in their contrast of nationalist history versus history from below, but also in the idea that a subaltern ideology and culture existed autonomously from those of the revolutionary party and its leaders. The divisions between the hopes of the elites of revolutionary movements and the popular revolt of the participating peasantry have more generally marked the development of analyses of revolutions. James Scott, in a seminal essay written in 1979, distinguished the "rank and file" peasants from the radical intelligentsia, arguing that while both may share a common enemy, the former may have quite divergent visions of order and justice, and as a result may threaten to appropriate the elite rebellion for their own parochial ends (Scott 1979b). This "revolution in the revolution," the contradictions and tensions in motives, aspirations and style between the peasantry and the rebel elite will have an impact on the internal politics of the movement, making their partnership an uneasy one at best. Scott was concerned with what the "revolution in the revolution" meant for the revolutionary process promoted by the radical intelligentsia. Favoring the dialectical notion of revolutionary praxis promoted by Rosa Luxemburg and Trotsky, rather than Lenin's top-down position, Scott warned that the tapping of local sentiment and values, what he elsewhere called the "moral economy of the peasant" (Scott 1979a),5 must be directly incorporated into the revolutionary process if the radical intelligentsia are not to become isolated and reduced to sterile debate and if the postrevolutionary order is to incorporate its base rather than impose its will. The limited sociological analysis on the emerging Maoist movement has in general perpetuated this division between the leaders and the mobilized masses. Forty years on, some insight into the sociological characteristics, romantic ideals and internal tensions of the early Naxalite activists of the 1960s and 1970s is finally emerging from those who have been, or have interviewed former Naxalites (Banerjee 2010; Donner 2010; S. Roy 2008). About the ordinary masses in the movement, although many have provided commentary, only two scholars – Bela Bhatia (2000) and George Kunnath (2008) – have engaged in the long-term field research required to provide a sociological analysis of participation. Both avoid theoretically reducing their analyses of peasant participation to the rational economic models that have arisen in other parts of the world.6 E. P. Thompson (1971) and Scott (1979a), though not necessarily always directly acknowledged, are a strong influence in anthropological analysis of rebellion, and the moral economy of the rising peasantry is a theoretical guide for analysis.7 Both Bhatia and Kunnath focus on those at the bottom of the caste hierarchy, the dalits (scheduled castes) in the Naxalite movement in the 1980s and early 1990s in central Bihar, and acknowledge that, while leaders propose it, an understanding of Marxist-Leninist ideology is rare among the mobilized rural peasants. They focus instead on the appeal of the practical ideologies of the Naxalites: struggle for land reform, better terms for sharecroppers, a minimum wage, and access to common property resources. Both ultimately stress a moral economy line of analysis – that the prime attraction of the Maoist movement for the dalits in Bihar is a "dalit regarding politics," a politics which looked after dalit interests (Kunnath 2010) – such as the dignity and respect offered to these lower castes in the face of extreme caste hierarchies and caste violence. On adivasi mobilization in the contemporary heartland of the revolution, we in fact know very little, but there are two popular stereotypes. On the one hand, these poor forgotten tribal masses of these "backward areas" are constructed as caught between the fire of the Maoist and that of the state, sometimes supporting both, but ultimately having separate aims and aspirations. On the other hand, the revolution is portrayed as garnering great success in poor tribal areas as the natural sites of rebel consciousness, emerging from the stereotype that tribal communities will do what it takes to fight for their survival and defend their primordial attachment to their land in the face of the onslaught by outsiders. Propped up by Indian intellectuals, who no doubt come together on common platforms at times, these positions are highly influenced by the political aims of those who are writing. The activist circles of India's largest cities who are the proponents of the "Independent Citizens' Initiative" or the "Citizens Initiative for Peace" are keen to be seen as impartial, "independent" civil rights actors mediating some kind of middle ground on behalf of "the people," and thus tend to promote a division between the people, the Maoists, and the state. The most extreme forms of these arguments portray the adivasis as caught or "sandwiched" between the Maoists and the state (Independent Citizens' Initiative 2006b; Guha 2007a), an argument that has parallels in many parts of the world.8 The current demands of these activists from these citizens' initiatives are for peace talks on the conditions that the Indian government withdraw its troops and the Maoists lay down their arms to come to the negotiating table – the latter, in particular, being an especially ludicrous demand for the Maoists, who suffered major losses in Andhra Pradesh in 2004 when the government offered similar promises but only used the opportunity to further infiltrate and crush the revolution. Others, like the writer Arundhati Roy, are also tempted by partial truths and the attraction and power of the voice of outrage which necessitates the elimination of shades of gray. She says, "as a writer, a fiction writer, I have often wondered whether the attempt to always be precise, to try and get it all factually right somehow reduces the epic scale of what is really going on. Does it eventually mask a larger truth?" (2009a:xi). From the writing of activists like Roy emerges the idea that tribals taking up arms is the only avenue to justice they have. In the current climate where the Indian state has begun bulldozing the tribal heartlands, where a point of no return has been reached, where journalists are afraid to uncover different sides to the story, Roy's screams, as partial as they may be, seem necessary simply because they cry out against a brutal government offensive whose indiscriminate barbarism will only be realized by the general public many years into the future, when it is all too late. The Maoist leadership, of course, proposes the view that the people are the party – for them, formal interviews, public letters, etc., need to be seen as part of the strategy of the war – ultimately as propaganda. However, as Roy herself says, "not many outsiders have any first-hand experience of the real nature of the Maoist movement in the forest" (2009b:32). We can guess from the critiques of the subaltern studies literature9 that, in fact, the situation is likely much more complex than the stark divisions commonly posed between the party, the people, and the state. Can we generalize about those who are allegedly mobilizing at the grass roots as one uniform and homogeneous group – can we speak of, say, "dalit" or "adivasi" mobilization? Can we gloss over the internal politics of the movement? Can we indeed draw a line between the party, the people, and the state? Drawing on my own field research between 1999 and 2001 in an adivasi area in Jharkhand, a region the Maoists were only just entering at the time, I have elsewhere raised several issues about who the revolutionaries are and the amorphous lines between the revolutionaries, the people, and the state. Reflecting on Maoist anti-alcohol campaigns (Shah, forthcoming), I questioned some early subaltern studies analysis (notably Hardiman 1987) by exploring the intergenerational and gender conflict arising in adivasi households whose youth were becoming involved in the Maoist spread. Through their engagement with the Maoists, these educated adivasi youth actually wanted to live like the rural elites and shed some of the lifestyles and values of their parents. Promoting Maoist anti-alcohol campaigns, they saw the traditional practices of communal and ritual drinking of homemade brew (where men and women openly drink together) as "backward." The result was, on the one hand, an unfortunate reduction of the spaces of equal participation in public life for adivasi women – in this case in the consumption of homemade brews – and on the other hand, the promotion of private indulgence in expensive foreign varieties of alcohol consumed only by men behind closed dark curtains. This writing developed my earlier analysis questioning whether the Maoists spread through the poor peasantry in their first emergence in adivasi regions. I showed that the Maoists in fact entered through rural upper caste elites and educated well-to-do adivasis, not the poorest adivasi families. Moreover, I showed that the initial spread of the Maoists was based on capturing "markets of protection" to access the informal economy of state development resources previously controlled by various state officials, rural elites, and politician groupings, hence blurring the boundary between the state and the Maoist (Shah 2006b). Reflecting further on developments in this region, and in particular on the dilemmas of one friend mediating between the Maoists and the state who began to contemplate joining the armed squads, I have sought to add one dimension to the debate on the making of a revolutionary. In the blurring of the boundary between the Maoist, the state, and the villager that characterized the early spread of the movement, a normative uncertainty generated about who was a Maoist, a villager, or a state official – an uncertainty about one's social relations – was crucial to the movement's spread. In this epistemic murk, betrayal, trust, paranoia and suspicion can be overwhelming emotions capable of driving those caught in the wheeling and dealing to consider joining the armed squads. In this situation, the driving force for the potential revolutionary is the dialectic between certainty and uncertainty in social relations and the hope that revolutionary engagement will come with more guarantees – a greater epistemic clarity of social relationships imagined to be less opaque, more predictable, and hence trustworthy (Shah 2010b). These previous writings were, however, based on my research into the initial spread of the Maoists in an adivasi area. Over time, the operations of the Maoist movement, the characteristics of its support, and the base of the movement are likely to change. In the adivasi dominated areas of Jharkhand where George Kunnath and I recently lived, the Maoists have been present for more than 20 years. Here they are a part of the everyday landscape, moving relatively openly both during the day and at night, and preventing the entry of the armed wings of the state – the forest guards, the police, and the paramilitary forces – to the extent that they can. Seen as a free, fair and quick means to deliver justice, the Maoist courts are the first point of call for those living in the area to settle disputes – whether those be marital problems or disagreements over the ownership of land. And certainly, as I analyzed in my earlier field research (Shah 2006b), the Maoists have controlled the "markets of protection" over the informal economy in these regions – from the collection of kendu leaves for the production of the Indian cigarette, _bidi_ , to the building of roads, bridges, dams, etc. The Maoists call this taxation, and the income from these levies is a crucial source of funding for the movement's operation in India. In these adivasi-dominated regions of Jharkhand where there has been no obvious locally based class enemy (like the large landlords of Central Bihar against whom the Maoists once led a fierce antifeudal struggle), over the years the Maoists have enjoyed some form of support from a wide range of people – from the higher caste rural elites and the trading classes to the poorest adivasi families. The reasons for this support and its characteristics have been different for different people at different times. The in-depth analysis of this will have to be the subject of a future monograph, but in light of the dichotomies between the party leadership and the mobilized masses that have generally marked the anthropology of revolution, there is one important point I wish to raise here. In a long and protracted revolution such as that of the Maoists in India, where today's leaders may have been underground for 20 or 30 years and where guerrilla zones are the product of more than 20 years of revolutionary engagement in a particular region, the revolutionary party is likely to be intimately embedded in the area. When one looks at the social histories of every house in the guerrilla zone, it in fact makes little sense to speak of the Maoists as separate from the people. This does not mean that everyone is a Maoist or a Maoist supporter, but that almost every family will either have or know someone who is or was involved as an armed cadre, worker, or sympathizer, or who has had a dispute solved in the Maoist courts. The Maoists are the state in the region, but in the same vein of anthropological analysis that highlights the porous boundaries between the state and the people, they are often regarded more like an extended family in the region. People have individual social relations with particular Maoist cadres and leaders, the sum of which cannot be reduced to a simple love/hate, support/reject attitude toward the movement. Some have literally fallen in and out of love with cadres, many male and female cadres have exchanged wedding vows in the revolution army, and still others, such as villagers seeking intercaste/intertribe or interreligious unions in the villages, are married off by the revolutionaries. With significant parallels to my earlier field site where adivasi youth ran away to the brick kilns where they found a space of social freedom (Shah 2006a), in Maoist-controlled Jharkhand many adivasi youth have run away from fights and pressures at home to live with the Maoist armed squads. They escape to be with the squads for a few months, sometimes years, leave, and then come back if they want. For these young people, moving with the squads is like being in a second home. They may follow brothers, sisters or distant cousins to join the underground squads and in many instances particular Maoist leaders are treated as _dadas_ , _mamas_ , or _kakas_ , elder brother, mother's brother, or father's brother. Leaders will over time politically educate those younger cadres in revolutionary ideology, an understanding of the likes of strategy and tactics, and to operate above the sectarian divides such as those of caste to work toward a united four-class alliance of workers, peasants, petty bourgeoisie, and national bourgeoisie. Some of these men and women may become leaders themselves. Overriding all of these developments is a very personalized familial context. So when things go wrong, such as when an armed cadre runs off to form a factional group, or when someone becomes a police informer, explanations which project ideological divides or allegations of opportunism are, in fact, also likely to be accompanied by the deepest feelings of betrayal or rejection that are the consequences of the most intimate of relations. Undoubtedly the rhetoric of the moral economy is an important tool for people to articulate their revolutionary involvement to others and to reflect historically on their participation. However, one possible conclusion from my preliminary analysis of the situation in the forests of Jharkhand is that, in fact, the classic anthropological understandings of family and kinship, exchange and its expectations, caste and its manifestations, might be better tools with which to understand the social dynamics of the revolution – why people join, leave, and support the movement, and what simultaneously connects and divides leaders from cadres – than the classic populist political assessments of the moral economy of rebellion. Ultimately then, the success of the revolution would not just be about whether it caters to the "revolution in the revolution," but whether those in the movement can rise beyond the social divisions of caste and class and be good brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, uncles, and aunts, managing the inevitable family, exchange, caste and community tensions, while nurturing their collective aims and visions. A DYING FLAME? Why the counterinsurgency; why now? India is allegedly shining.10 The economy is booming. In the fiscal year 2007/08, GDP growth rates leapt to 9.1 percent. Despite the start of a global economic downturn, India's ruling classes dream that the nation will become the third largest economy in the world – creeping close to China and the United States – by 2050 even. With the collapse of India's major trading partner, the Soviet Union, and facing major balance of payment crises, in 1991 Finance Minister Manmohan Singh (now Prime Minister) introduced his first union budget to the Lok Sabha (lower house of parliament) aimed at liberalizing the economy, encouraging foreign direct investment in many sectors. Coca-Cola, McDonald's and the global IT sector marched in. Since then the forces of globalization have exploded in India, the middle classes supposedly swelling, international trade burgeoning and state-controlled industries and sectors privatizing. The country's economic and political elite is jostling for power in international politics. In 1998, India joined the nuclear club with tests conducted in the deserts of Rajasthan. The government is now seeking a permanent seat in the United Nations Security Council. A 10 percent growth rate is the aim. Promises have been made. Deals have been struck. More than 300 Special Economic Zones (SEZs) have been planned – areas with more liberal economic laws than those of the state governments. Prime land is to be captured for these paradises of investors, tax havens for the rich. Land banks are being created in each district for the easy identification of government land for investment. In Jharkhand alone more than a hundred Memoranda of Understanding have been signed selling off approximately 200,000 acres of land for mines, steel factories and power plants. Jharkhand, literally meaning the forest land, houses some of the largest mineral deposits in India and produces 48% of the country's coal, 40% of the country's iron – some of the best in the world with a 60% ferrous content – 45% of the mica, 48% of the bauxite, 90% of the apatite and 100% of the kyanite. Big corporations, multinationals, and mining companies are trying to establish themselves in India's mineral-rich zones. In 2005, for example, the world's premier steelmaker and third richest man, the Indian-born but Europe based Laxmi Mittal, declared that he was making his first investment in India by setting up a 12 million ton steel plant (at a cost of US$9 billion) somewhere in Jharkhand. But there are scores of other investing companies: Jindals, Essar, Rio Tinto, Tata, Vedanta, and Posco, to name but a few. But there is a problem. Poor people, mainly adivasis, live on these lands. In the shadows of the narrative of the Indian miracle there lies their story. More than 60 years of independence have only seen increasing inequality for them. In Jadugoda, in Jharkhand, the source of the uranium for India's bombs, cattle are dying prematurely of cancer and children are being born deformed near the only uranium mine in the country. Well over 60 percent of Jharkhand's 27 million people live below the poverty line, 78 percent of the population are rural, 60 percent have no road access and 85 percent are without electricity (Government of Jharkhand 2003). However successful the economic policies of liberalization have been for some classes, they have clearly further marginalized millions of the poorer sections of India's societies.11 The protective laws of tribal areas, such as the Chotanagpur Tenancy Act, are of little comfort now – a 1996 amendment redefined "public purpose" to allow the transfer of land for any industrial purpose or for mining and other subsidiary purposes to be decided by the state government.12 For the rural poor in states like Jharkhand, economic liberalization holds no guarantees. The resource curse of mineral-rich zones, whereby economic investment is increasingly concentrated in secured enclaves that provide little or no benefit to wider society, is not just limited to the likes of Angola, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Nigeria and Sierra Leone (see Ferguson 2006). Jharkhand, too, promises to reflect sub-Saharan Africa. Nevertheless, most of India's mineral resources remain locked. They are locked because they are in adivasi lands and because these regions are now the reign of the Maoist insurgency. The forested hills of the adivasi heartlands are ideal territory for guerrilla warfare and to build guerrilla bases in which the Maoists can run their own government and expand the war to seize the Indian state. As the Mittals signed the Memoranda of Understanding with the Jharkhand government, the Maoists transported 20,000 copies of audio CDs recorded in Mumbai to Jharkhand with the lyrics, "Mittal is the plunderer of Jharkhand, we will force them to flee from the state. Tata and Mittal are drinking the tears of poor people, we will force them to flee from Jharkhand." Activists across the state have put up a fight against the acquisition of land for these corporate ventures, Mittal is now considering moving his steel plant elsewhere. Protests are rising more generally across India. In January 2006, at Kalinganagar, immediately south of Jharkhand in Orissa's Jajpur district, police firing killed 13 tribals who were protesting the takeover of tribal land for the construction of a Tata Group steel plant complex at a proposed SEZ site. In Singur, in West Bengal, rallies and demonstrations rose against the acquisition of land by Tata Motors for a small car factory. A few months later, in March 2007, in nearby Nandigram, in West Bengal, dozens of people were killed as they marched against attempts to establish an SEZ to be run by an Indonesian business group in their locality. Such movements have the full support of the Maoists, whose chief, Muppala Laxman Rao, or "Ganapathy," says, "We call upon the people to turn every SEZ into a battlefield and assure them that we will render all support to the people's movements against SEZs."13 The government is anxious. It has its target growth rate. Gentlemanly agreements have been forged. Chidambaram, the brains behind the offensive against the Maoists, was a corporate lawyer representing several mining corporations before his present avatar as Indian Home Minister. Moreover, until the day he became Finance Minister in 2004, he was a nonexecutive director of Vedanta – a British mining company owned by the billionaire Anil Aggarwal, who is planning to establish operations in the Niyamigiri hills in Orissa to extract its bauxite from open-pit mines. Three years ago, the Prime Minister described the Maoists as the biggest single internal security threat the country had ever faced. And six months ago, he declared in Parliament that "if left-wing extremism continues to flourish in parts which have natural resources of minerals, the climate for investment would certainly be affected." The insurgency has been burning in India for more than 40 years and undoubtedly there have been bouts of intense state repression in various periods and states, but none on the scale currently being deployed by the central government in the adivasi heartlands of India. The government now claims that 231 out of India's 626 districts are affected and that there are more than 40,000 Maoist cadres – though these figures shift on a monthly basis and between different reports, and are regarded as an unprecedented number for an insurgency. A propaganda war against the Maoists seems to be at play. Labeling them "terrorist" has influenced middle-class perceptions, created a climate of fear propped up by the media, and, in the name of security, justified the expansion of police and paramilitary budgets on an exponential scale. Special forces, with names like the Jharkhand Jaguar and the Cobra, have been trained to fight guerrilla-style in jungle warfare schools in Jharkhand and Chhattisgarh. Paramilitary forces have been shifted out of Kashmir and the northeast to join the troops in central and eastern India. In Chhattisgarh, as part of a "purification hunt" called the Salwa Judum, villagers were even armed as Special Police Officers by the police and instructed to kill their neighbors (Independent Citizens' Initiative 2006b; Sundar 2006; People's Union of Civil Liberties 2006). Centralized intelligence gathering has increased. The army has not yet been called in, but its hovering presence is pervasive and palpable: armed Indian Air Force helicopters are now whirring in Jharkhand's blue skies, with permission to open fire in "self-defense." In the cities, civil liberties and indigenous rights activists are under threat of being labeled Maoist, especially if their cries are against the big industries threatening to exploit the country's mineral resources. In the rural areas, whether Maoist, sympathizer, or neither, poor people are being arrested, tortured and jailed, and usually for more than a year before being brought to trial. The famous pediatrician and human rights activist Binayak Sen, detained in 2007 for allegedly having links with the Maoists, was released on bail after two years in jail but only in the aftermath of an international storm of protest against his arrest (see People's Union for Democratic Rights 2008). In the areas of Jharkhand that we know best, however, more than 10 percent of prisoners are there because the government thinks they are Maoist or have Maoist links but, unlike in the case of Sen, there is very limited support to fight their cases. The Maoists try to aid their families in the endless legal tangles but even lawyers are too scared to visit the prisoners in jail. Physical torture is routine to the extent that an old factory occupied by the paramilitary forces as a camp in our area of field research is now locally referred to as a "torture room." New methods of torture in the form of narco-analysis (subduing the brain by injecting the body with chemicals popularly known as "truth drugs") are being introduced (Sebastian 2008). Even worse, and despite the sustained protests of civil liberties groups across India who have come together as the Coordination of Democratic Rights Organisations,14 sometimes these villagers die in the hands of the police and are then presented as killed in an encounter – India's infamous "encounter killings" (Editorial 2007). Certain sections of the liberal urban intelligentsia, as well as the accounts that newspapers are increasingly under pressure to produce, accuse the Maoists of participating in a killing spree, having very casual attitudes toward the taking of life, and instigating mindless violence like the blowing up of schools (Independent Citizens' Initiative 2006a). Today many intellectuals are commenting on the issue in India. Yet it is deeply surprising that even the most respectable of these intellectuals choose to speculate on the ground realities from the comfort of their homes, offices, and cities, without spending any substantial time and energy visiting and investigating in the areas that they speak about. See for instance an _Economic and Political Weekly_ article by Sarkar and Sarkar on the Movement in Lalgarh, a place they have never visited but whose ground situation they speculate on from a lone interview with a Kolkata based social activist and filmmaker leading a Forum in Solidarity with Lalgarh. After launching a brutal attack on what they call "Maoist infiltration" in Lalgarh (as well as criticizing government operations), and alleging that the activities and intentions of the Maoists are shrouded in mystery and that they run secret terror operations which express total indifference to human lives, Sarkar and Sarkar (2009) attempt to preempt their critics, saying that they cross-checked this interview, the basis of their article, with other Kolkata activists who visited Lalgarh. The Lalgarh scene may be different, but the Jharkhand case shows that such activists find it difficult to surmount the logistical difficulties and fear of living for any substantive period in these "red zones" (even a month is rare), away from the protective environment of an activist ashram or shelter. These restrictions mean that the city based activists tend to spend no more than a few days in the field, are usually met by similar groups of people, and generally get fed a standard set of narratives (conflicting as they can be) on the grassroots situation, from which they pull the predictable range of analyses I have outlined earlier. It is true that the Maoists have at times strayed from their ideology and tactics, and there have been a few occasions in their more than 20-year history in adivasi areas when ordinary villagers have mistakenly been caught in Maoist violence. However, while acknowledging that such events are not excusable, in these cases the Maoists have at least made public apologies for their mistakes. Ultimately, their violence is far from spontaneous and random. Police officials are targeted when they are engaged in an offensive against the Maoists (Shah 2010a); in the areas of our field research, the families of those who are in the police have never been attacked while they are on duty or when they return home for vacation. Although in principle against the death penalty, the Maoists kill police informers and other "class enemies" in defense when their own survival is at stake (Ganapathy 2007). Schools are bombed at night when they are empty because, across the Maoist areas of struggle, they have been occupied by the forces as paramilitary camps – and in Jharkhand, this is despite a High Court order in 2008 to evacuate them. The violent acts of the Maoists are thus most often specific and targeted – a means to achieve a socialist state that will uproot the rising socioeconomic inequality in India. Armed struggle is the only avenue left, as they see it, to bring about the radical political transformation needed within India. Meanwhile, in remote rural areas of eastern India, the violence of the state is experienced as random and unexplainable. The police and paramilitary forces act with impunity. The application of criminal laws, public security acts and antiterror legislation in these "terrorist areas" means that suspected Maoists are arrested on little or no evidence, causing severe infringements of civil rights (Editorial 2008). Security first and development later is the new mantra. And all of this despite the 2008 report submitted by an expert group appointed by the Planning Commission which sought to recognize the Maoist movement as a political movement, demanding that in its day-to-day manifestation it had to be seen as a fight for social justice, equality, protection, security, and local development (Government of India 2008). The Maoists are blocking access to exploitation of India's mineral resources. Desperate needs have called for desperate measures. The identification of "terrorist" and "terrorized areas" enables the state to mark a "state of exception" in those regions. Under these conditions, in the name of protection from insurgency and terrorism, the state is able to suspend normal legal procedure (Agamben 1998; Hansen and Stepputat 2005; Kelly and Shah 2006). Will it be surprising, then, if in the long run swathes of India's mineral-rich lands on which adivasi land rights were previously protected become devoid of inhabitants and their claims? Remember Walter Benjamin's (1969:256) insightful comment that documents of civilization are at the same time documents of barbarism. Whether the Maoists ever succeed in an ultimate seizure of state power or not, they represent a rare alternative vision of a way of life and a future amidst the Indian institutes of technology, the Indian institutes of management, and the call centers that are seducing the middle classes all over the nation. To this extent both the theoretical ideology of Marxism-Leninism-Maoism and the arguments of the moral economy of Maoist reach among the poor masses are important symbols with which India's revolution within can put an alternative vision of the future to the children of the more powerful sections of Indian society who are today shaping India's fortunes. However, as I have suggested, in India's adivasi heartlands the Maoist strength emerges not just from their theoretical ideology nor their appeal to the moral economy of the peasants, but from the fact that they are intimately intertwined in the social landscape of the region like an extended family. In this context, support for the movement can take on various practical and ideological shades – feeding guerrillas in your houses, participating in rallies and demonstrations, providing information and infrastructure, becoming a member of the armed squads. But in all these instances of revolutionary participation, the ties of kinship and friendship that have formed – and the inevitable familial relationships that are marked by tensions of respect and deference, hierarchy and equality, exchange and utility – as much as ideology, explain the reach of the Maoist movement in the region. Attention to the ground dynamics of the revolutionary situation in remote parts of adivasi India thus reveals an intimate and complex social landscape in which the Maoist movement is completely embedded. Treating the Maoists as a security or even a developmental issue, as most analysts and researchers have done to date, thus totally misses the power and capacity of the reach of the revolution. The movement has immersed itself in the local populations in a way that the Indian government never has (Shah 2010c). In this context, the current strategy of employing outside security forces that generally have no sympathy at all for the local populations, regarding them as wild and savage, will only serve to strengthen many of the social bonds between people living in the midst of the revolution. So despite the militarized gloom that is drowning poor rural areas of central and eastern India, the current strategy of the Indian state suggests that, in some form, the Maoist flame will continue burning within India. NOTES 1 Exceptions include the work of Bela Bhatia (2000) and George Kunnath (2008). In 2007 I organized a workshop in Lancashire with Judith Pettigrew to bring together those scholars in the world who had some experience of everyday life in a Maoist revolutionary context in India and Nepal to explore the comparative experiences that might emerge. For most of the participants, however, an analysis of Maoist spread turned out to be an incidental part, as opposed to a focus, of their research (see Shah and Pettigrew 2010). 2 Jharkhand separated from Bihar in November 2000, after a long fight for independence (see Shah 2010c). 3 More generally, sustained questioning about the revolutionary potential of peasants, the circumstances under which they become revolutionary, and the role that they play in revolutions emerged in India from the 1960s (Ludden 2002). Perhaps it is no coincidence that this was a time when the role of the peasant (as opposed to the proletarian) in Marxist-Leninist revolution was being widely debated within communist movements. Some of the most interesting studies emerged from those were directly interested in revolutionary strategy (see for instance Alavi 1965; 1973; Gough and Sharma 1973). 4 Guha was actively involved in Maoist student organizations (Chaturvedi 2000:10). 5 Scott's first book, set against the backdrop of the studies of the causes of peasant revolution by Barrington Moore (1966) and Eric Wolf (1969) which primarily focused on a structural analysis of rural uprisings as a function of class coalitions and conflicts, was essentially a study of the subjective processes responsible for peasant revolt – the moral economy of peasants which tells us what makes them angry (Scott 1979a:4). Focusing on Southeast Asia (Burma and Vietnam, in particular), Scott explored the subsistence ethic of the precapitalist agrarian order experienced as a pattern of moral rights or expectations, whereby the concerns were not maximum returns or profits for particular villagers but a series of social arrangements to assure a minimum income to all inhabitants and which acted as a form of social insurance system for the poor. In this context Scott analyzed the impact of two major transformations during the colonial period which served to violate this moral economy of the subsistence ethic – the imposition of Western capitalism and the related development of the modern state under which the transformation of land and labor into commodities for sale had the most profound impact. Peasants resisted and, where they could, rebelled. 6 Samuel Popkin (1979), writing on Vietnam, for instance, sought to show that peasants strived not only to protect their minimal subsistence requirements, but also to raise their standard of living by means of short-term and long-term investments. Hence, participation in revolution was not part of some anachronistic return to a golden age that never existed, it was not driven out of moral indignation, but it was rather a calculated effort to improve one's future position. 7 The idea of the moral economy Scott drew on was presented by E. P. Thompson in a classic 1971 article in _Past and Present_ on the eighteenth-century "food riots" in England. Thompson took issue with the common view that these riots were "spasmodic" events, where hungry crowds took to the streets because they could do no better, and which denigrated popular protest as actions of "mobs," a label denying common people historical agency. Instead, Thompson argued that the riots constituted a pattern of social protest deriving from a consensus as to the moral economy of the commonwealth in times of dearth – men and women believed they were defending traditional rights or customs and that they were supported by the wider consensus of the community, and on occasion endorsed by some measure of license afforded by the authorities. 8 Anthropology's most notable debate on villagers caught "between two armies" has perhaps emanated from the arguments of Stoll (1993) in Guatemala. 9 There is a large literature, some of the best of which is Ludden 2001; O'Hanlon 1988; Ortner 1995. 10 "India Shining" was the political slogan popularized by the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) in the 2004 Indian general elections. It stood for the economic optimism of the year before and the success of the information technology industry in India. 11 More generally, the middle classes, even by the most optimistic of estimates, constitute only 24% of the population (Guha 2007b:700); three-quarters of India's people live in rural areas and most of these in conditions of extreme poverty. 12 These protective laws date back to the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries when, following a series of tribal rebellions protesting against exploitative and alienating forms of colonial rent collection and the severe limitation of tribal rights over their forests by the colonial government, the British finally felt compelled to introduce some more humanitarian measures to protect the tribal inhabitants. 13 Interview with Ganapathy, General Secretary, CPI(Maoist). Formerly at <http://resistanceindia.blogspot.com/2007/05/interview-with-Ganapathy-General.xhtml> (accessed Aug. 13, 2008). 14 See the Coordination of Democratic Rights Organisations press release at www.pudr.org/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=187&Itemid=60 (accessed Jan. 20, 2010). REFERENCES Agamben, Giorgio 1998 Homo Sacer. Sovereign Power and Bare Life. D. Heller Roazen, trans. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Alavi, Hamza 1965 Peasants and Revolution. Socialist Register 2:241–277. 1973 Peasant Classes and Primordial Loyalties. Journal of Peasant Studies 1(1):23–62. Arendt, Hannah 1970 On Violence. New York: Harcourt, Brace and World. Arnold, David 1984 Gramsci and Peasant Subalternity in India. Journal of Peasant Studies 11(4):155–177. Banerjee, Sumanta 1984 India's Simmering Revolution: The Naxalite Uprising. London: Zed Books. 2010 Reflections of a One-Time Maoist Activist. _In_ Windows into a Revolution: Ethnographies of Maoism in South Asia. 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Donner, Henrike 2010 Radical Masculinity: Morality, Sociality and Relationships through Recollections of Naxalite Activists. _In_ Windows into a Revolution: Ethnographies of Maoism in South Asia. Alpa Shah and Judith Pettigrew, eds. Delhi: Social Science Press. Editorial 2007 Mask of Encounters. Economic and Political Weekly (May 26):1883–1884. 2008 Laws without Accountability. Economic and Political Weekly (Sept. 6):5–6. Ferguson, James 2006 Global Shadows: Africa in the Neoliberal World Order, Durham: Duke University Press. Ganapathy 2007 Open Reply to Independent Citizens' Initiative on Dantewada. Economic and Political Weekly (Jan. 6):67–71. Ghosh, Sankar 1974 The Naxalite Movement: A Maoist Experience. Calcutta: Mukhopadyay. Gough, Kathleen, and Hari Sharma, eds. 1973 Imperialism and Revolution in South Asia. New York: Monthly Review Press. Government of India 2008 Development Challenges in Extremist Affected Areas. Report of an Expert Group to the Planning Commission. New Delhi: Government of India. Government of Jharkhand 2003 Jharkhand Vision 2010. Ranchi: Government of Jharkhand. Guha, Ramachandra 2007a Adivasis, Naxalites and Indian Democracy. Economic and Political Weekly 42(32):3305–3312. 2007b India after Gandhi: The History of the World's Largest Democracy. London: Macmillan. Gupta, Ranjit Kumar 2004 The Crimson Agenda: Maoist Protest and Terror. Delhi: Wordsmiths. Hansen, Thomas Blom, and Finn Stepputat, eds. 2005 Sovereign Bodies: Citizens, Migrants and States in the Postcolonial World. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Hardiman, David 1987 Coming of the Devi: Adivasi Assertion in Western India. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Independent Citizens' Initiative 2006a Open Letters to Government and Maoists. Economic and Political Weekly (July 8–15). 2006b War in the Heart of India: An Enquiry into the Ground Situation in Dantewada District, Chhattisgarh. New Delhi: Independent Citizen's Initiative. Kaviraj, Sudipta 1984 On the Crisis of Political Institutions in India. Contributions to Indian Sociology (NS) 18(2):223–243. 1991 On State, Society and Discourse in India. _In_ Rethinking Third World Politics. J. Manor, ed. Pp. 72–99. Harlow: Longman. Kelly, Tobias, and Alpa Shah, eds. 2006 A Double-Edged Sword: Protection and State Violence. Critique of Anthropology 26(3):251–259. Kunnath, George 2008 From the Mud Houses of Magadh: Dalits, Naxalites and the Making of a Revolution in Bihar, India. PhD thesis, School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London. 2010 Smouldering Dalit Fires in Bihar, India. _In_ Windows into a Revolution: Ethnographies of Maoism in South Asia. Alpa Shah and Judith Pettigrew, eds. Delhi: Social Science Press. Ludden, David 2001 Subaltern and Others in the Agrarian History of South Asia. _In_ Agrarian Studies: Synthetic Work at the Cutting Edge. James Scott and Nina Bhatt, eds. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002 A Brief History of Subalternity. _In_ Reading Subaltern Studies: Critical History, Contested Meaning and the Globalisation of South Asia in India. London: Anthem Press, Moore, Barrington 1966 Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy: Lord and Peasant in the Making of the Modern World. London: Penguin. O'Hanlon, Rosalind 1988 Recovering the Subject: Subaltern Studies and Histories of Resistance in Colonial South Asia. Modern Asian Studies 22(1):189–224. Ortner, Sherry 1995 Resistance and the Problem of Ethnographic Refusal. Comparative Studies in Society and History 37:171–193. Parry, Jonathan 2009 "Sociological Marxism" in Central India: Polanyi, Gramsci and the Case of the Unions. _In_ Market and Society: The Great Transformation Today. Chris Hann and Keith Hart, eds. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. People's Union of Civil Liberties 2006 When the State Makes War on Its Own People: A Report on the Violation of People's Rights during the Salwa Judum Campaign in Dantewada, Chhattisgarh. New Delhi: People's Union of Civil Liberties. People's Union for Democratic Rights 2008 Through the Lens of National Security: The Case against Dr Binayak Sen and the Attack on Civil Liberties. New Delhi: People's Union for Democratic Rights. Popkin, Samuel 1979 The Rational Peasant: The Political Economy of Rural Society in Vietnam. Berkeley: University of California Press. Roy, Arundhati 2009a Listening to Grass-hoppers: Field Notes on Democracy. Delhi: Hamish Hamilton. 2009b Mr Chidambaram's War: A Math Question: How Many Soldiers Will It Take to Contain the Mounting Rage of Hundreds of Millions of People? Outlook, Nov. 9: 30–46. Roy, Srila 2008 The Grey Zone: The "Ordinary" Violence of Extraordinary Times. Journal of Royal Anthropological Institute 14(2):316–333. Sarkar, Sumit, and Tanika Sarkar 2009 Notes on a Dying People. Economic and Political Weekly 44(26–27):10–14. Scott, James 1979a Moral Economy of the Peasant: Subsistence and Rebellion in Southeast Asia. New Haven: Yale University Press. 1979b Revolution in the Revolution: Peasants and Commissars. Theory and Society 7(1):97–134. Sebastian, P. A. 2008 Narco-Analysis and the Indian Criminal Justice System. Economic and Political Weekly (Sept. 6):19–20. Shah, Alpa 2006a The Labour of Love: Seasonal Migration from Jharkhand to the Brick Kilns of Other States in India. Contributions to Indian Sociology (NS) 40(1):91–118. 2006b Markets of Protection: The "Terrorist" Maoist Movement and the State in Jharkhand, India. Critique of Anthropology 26(3):297–314. 2010a Annihilation is the Last Choice. Economic and Political Weekly 45(19):24–29. See also Monthly Review Magazine, May 13, at <http://mrzine.monthlyreview.org/2010/shah130510.xhtml> (accessed Aug. 2010). 2010b In Search of Certainty in Revolutionary India. _In_ Windows into a Revolution: Ethnographies of Maoism in South Asia. Alpa Shah and Judith Pettigrew, eds. Delhi: Social Science Press. 2010c In the Shadows of the State: Indigenous Politics, Environmentalism and Insurgency in Jharkhand, India. Durham: Duke University Press. Forthcoming Alcoholics Anonymous: The Maoist Movement in Jharkhand, India. Modern Asian Studies. Shah, Alpa, and Judith Pettigrew, eds. 2010 Windows into a Revolution: Ethnographies of Maoism in South Asia. Delhi: Social Science Press. Singh, Prakash 1995 The Naxalite Movement in India. New Delhi: Rupa. Sinha, Shanta 1989 Maoists in Andra Pradesh. Delhi: Gyan. Stoll, David 1993 Between Two Armies in the Ixil Towns of Guatemala. New York: Columbia University Press. Sundar, Nandini 2006 Bastar, Maoism and Salwa Judum. Economic and Political Weekly 41(29):3187–3192. Sundarayya, P. 1972 Telengana People's Struggles and Its Lessons. Delhi: Foundation Books. Thompson, E. P. 1971 Moral Economy of the English Crowd in the Eighteenth Century. Past and Present 50(1):76–136. Vanaik, Achin 1986 The Indian Left. New Left Review 159:49–70. Wolf, Eric 1969 Peasant Wars of the Twentieth Century. New York: Harper and Row. PART V Law, Governance, and Civil Society CHAPTER 19 Courts of Law and Legal Practice _Daniela Berti_ INTRODUCTION Although law courts in India still carry characteristics of their colonial origin, judicial concepts and court proceedings have evolved so as to adapt to the specificity of Indian society and its many other judiciary systems. In these legal settings, where hierarchy and codes of behavior are based on official roles and bureaucratic formalities, one may observe the interactions between state power and local society at work in routine practice throughout the country, even in the smallest towns and district headquarters. For the most part, however, anthropologists have neglected the study of these institutions, which has been largely taken up by jurists, lawyers and legal experts. As a result, most of the work on the judiciary in India is more concerned with the normative judicial system than with the practice of law itself. When social scientists discuss the professional services of lawyers, prosecutors, judges – for example, how lawyers give legal advice and represent clients in legal negotiation – and courts proceedings such as law suits court, it is often to denounce some malfunction or to propose solutions. The neglect by anthropologists of judiciary practice in India is even more regrettable as soon as we realize that courts of justice provide windows onto significant facets of Indian society (Galanter 1992b:3). The numerous cases daily registered in various courts, including trial or appeal courts, pertain to a wide range of social issues – family disputes over marriage or hereditary rights, caste discrimination, criminal matters of various kinds – and in the case of the higher courts, issues concerning religious institutions, environmental matters, and fundamental constitutional rights. Court cases, therefore, are critical entry points for studying not merely rules of adjudication and the processes by which disputes are resolved and norms are elaborated, but also the workings of society from the vantage point of litigation and arbitration. SOME APPROACHES TO LAW AND THE JUDICIARY IN INDIA During the 1950s and 1960s legal scholars working in India found the roots of Indian "traditional" law in Sanskrit-based Hindu law, Islamic legal systems, "customary" law prevailing at the local level, and the interactions between this multi-tiered system and state law. Viewing custom as an extremely flexible source of law that constantly adapts to the requirements of official law, such scholars condemned approaches that treated custom as a body of ancient and stable practices that could be ascertained and codified, rather than as socially contingent processes amenable to change (Derrett 1957; 1968; Lingat 1973; Kane 1950). Werner Menski (2003), for example, maintained that custom continued to be the preferential source of law, both de facto in the everyday practice of justice and more formally in specific legal cases. Richard P. Lariviere (2005) and Menski went on to criticize the colonial equation of the classical texts of Hinduism with positive law (see also Davis 2007). In the mid-twentieth century anthropologists working in India began using ethnographic methods in order to underline the tactical possibilities offered by legal plurality. The precursor of these "field oriented" studies was M. N. Srinivas (1964), who recorded detailed reports of village disputes and villagers' practical use of "indigenous" _and_ official law. Building on Srinivas's concept of "bi-legality," Bernard Cohn (1987a; 1987b) went on to underscore the importance of analyzing the reasons that led villagers to choose one legal system over another and the consequences of these decisions on village relationships. Aware that the introduction of a Western legal system in India had produced a "direct clash of values of two societies," Cohn emphasized villagers' use of the court to lodge phony cases against enemies (Cohn 1987b:569). He even compared court proceedings to a form of gambling, a sort of "slot machine" as the historian Percival Spear had once put it, that offered villagers the opportunity to win cases that they could not have won in the village legal setting (Cohn 1987a:90). Similarly, Marc Galanter, an American sociologist with a legal background, put forward what he called a "forum shopping attitude" between two sets of norms – the "lawyer's law" and the "local law-ways" (Galanter 1968–9). Galanter's works on the Indian legal system touched upon a wide range of legal issues, including India's reservation policies or "compensatory discrimination" (1984), for which he provided a detailed account of judicial doctrine and its social consequences (Deva 2005). In many of his works, he emphasized the disparity between law on paper and law in action, as in the case of the abolition of untouchability (Galanter and Khosla 1987), and the relationship between official regulation and nongovernmental controls of social life, especially in the emergence of distinctively modern legal institutions. These themes also surfaced in his study of Nyaya Panchayat – village courts created by the state in rural areas for "further displacing traditional local law by official law within the village" (Galanter 1992a; see also Galanter and Baxi 1979). Toward the end of the 1960s, Galanter coordinated a special issue of _Law and Society Review_ devoted to the study of Indian legal professions and based on micro-level, localized fieldwork. In the introduction to the issue, the editor explained that the volume specifically focused on the figure of the lawyer – an intermediary figure who disseminates official norms by "putting the law in the service of a wide variety of groups in the society" (Galanter 1968–9:202). Subsequently, Livia Holden (2003; 2008) revisited the pivotal role of the lawyer in mediating between the discourses of custom and those of official law in cases of Hindu divorce in the state of Madhya Pradesh. Her argument that lawyers manage the delicate task "not only of translating custom into law but also of translating law into custom for the benefit of their clients" (Holden 2008:160) underscored how the growing awareness of official law, even at the village level, changes the way custom is perceived and presented before official jurisdictions (Holden 2008).1 Most studies of the anthropology and history of law and justice in India, then, operate within the framework of legal pluralism, that is they take it for granted that multiple legal systems coexist in Indian society.2 In the 1990s, however, Michael R. Anderson (1990) critically questioned the importance given to legal pluralism and the contradictions and oppositions between an "alien" state versus an "indigenous" custom. Anchoring his discussion in recent Indian medieval historiography, Anderson argued that a centralized political power and local dynamics of loyalty and authority already existed in precolonial times, specifically during Mughal rule. Thus conflicts between village and other law regimes could not be simply the inevitable by-product of the colonial encounter. Anderson also underscored the importance of understanding "how the structural distribution of political authority is related to processes of production and social reproduction" (1990:163) – a perspective that was further developed by Radhika Singha (1998), Sandria B. Freitag (1991), and Anindita Mukhopadhyay (2006) who analyzed justice and the subject of law not in terms of legal juxtaposition and hybridity but in relation to historical transformations in administrative and political contexts. Aside from the social science literature on Indian justice, numerous Indian jurists and university professors of law regularly publish material in specialized journals devoted to Indian legal studies. Most of these publications pertain to legal texts and the interpretation of statutes and court judgments from a legal point of view (Anderson 1990). Increasingly, though, their authors refer to social theory and make the case for legal reforms, exploring, for example, the social, political and sociolegal implications of legal texts, judges' decisions and other judiciary reports in order to denounce social injustices or suggest ways of improving a dysfunctional court system. This commitment to sociolegal activism tends to blur the distinction between jurists and committed social scientists – as can be seen, for instance, in the ongoing debates concerning a unified civil code, the reservations policy, gender inequality, human rights, or environmental protection (Sathe 2002; Noorani 2002). Upendra Baxi (1982) has compiled a set of essays that review these debates and analyze the causes of what he calls "the crisis of the Indian legal system" (see also Agnes 1999; Larson 2001; Dhagamwar 2006; Menski 1998). This quick survey of the literature on the judiciary in India suggests that scholars have been concerned with the content of the law and the functionality of the legal system in Indian society. Although some anthropologists have approached these judicial settings from an ethnographic perspective, their observations have remained rather general, neither specifying the ways in which specific courts deal with cases on a daily basis, nor the processes by which cases are constructed and defended by both plaintiffs and defendants. The following sections of this chapter propose a more rounded ethnographic approach to the study of legal issues, calling for extended fieldwork in order to study the judiciary at the very place of its daily practice. My discussion pertains to Indian state courts, and not village-level institutions, such as village or caste _panchayat_ (councils),3 or informal state systems of arbitration. ETHNOGRAPHY OF COURTROOMS In the 1970s, ethnomethodologists and conversation analysts began to study US and European law courts as social institutions in which power-laden interactions between differently positioned actors come sharply into play. They call for greater attention to the tools of linguistics in order to better appreciate the importance of language in legal processes and court interactions, including the conversational mechanisms behind courtroom talk and the strategies used by protagonists to turn situations to their own advantage (Atkinson and Drew 1979; Conley and O'Barr 1990; Drew and Heritage 1992; Gnisci and Pontecorvo 2004). Recently, anthropologists working in non-Western countries have adopted this method (Chang 2004; Richland 2008; Dupret 2006; Stiles 2009), to the exception of those working in India where there is very little work done on courtrooms, and this despite the fact that ethnographers there do study the clash between courts and village institutions of dispute settlement. My argument is that the study of court interactions during a trial provides substantial insight into the ways in which Indian judiciary proceedings are concretely acted out, as well as the processes by which courtroom power relations influence legal outcomes. Such study also highlights some of the ways in which state power is concretely implemented in contemporary India. This is especially true in the study of trial courts, where judges and other officers are regularly involved in both direct interactions with ordinary people and the meticulous collecting and recording of facts. Indeed, trial courts function as places where social facts have to be registered and judged under one or more sections of the Indian legal code and where individual narrations of these facts are shaped by a specific question-and-answer form that follows specific rules and legal constraints. Thus any ethnography of court cases needs to take into account not only the reports provided by courts, but also the ways in which these documents are produced in the first place. Based on the court interactions I observed in 2006 and 2007 in three district and session courts of Himachal Pradesh in North India, the following section describes such processes of production. Court setting and judiciary roles The ethnography of courthouses must take into consideration not only the courtroom, but also the institutional environment within which the courts operate. In India courtrooms are often located in a "judicial court complex," which also includes the Public Prosecutor's Office, the lawyers' compound, the office of the Superintendent of Police, and sometimes even the jail. Prosecutors are appointed by the government, but judges are more independent, working, however, under the supervision of higher courts. The judge's personality lends a courtroom its particular atmosphere: while some judges are rather passive listeners, others actively lead the discussions. The prosecutor's personality may also impact the way interactions unfold, but his or her role is less important than that of the judge. The legal representative of the legal party responsible for presenting the case in a trial against an individual suspected of breaking the law may actually be criticized by the judge – a reality that bestows on him or her a somewhat subordinate position vis-à-vis the court. Judges and lawyers also portray prosecutors, who basically work for the government, as less hard-working than judges, who are monitored by higher courts, and lawyers, who are paid by clients. The spatial and physical disposition of people within the court is also relevant to the understanding of the ways in which power relations both influence and structure face-to-face relations throughout the trial. Trial courts are organized around the Session Judge's table: the reader who sets the sequence for the case, gives dates for the next hearing, and checks all files sits to the right, while the transcriber sits to the left. The prosecutor and defense attorneys stand in front of the judge but on a lower level, and witnesses appear behind a bar on both sides. During the examination, both the prosecutor and the defense attorneys may end up physically quite close to the witness, and even touch one another during the trial (assuming that both are men). Finally, assistants or junior lawyers accompany the defense lawyer, forming a sort of screen between the judge and the audience. The result of this proximity is that interactions take place within a small group of people gathered together in front of the judge. Verbal interactions are often carried out at normal voice level, as in ordinary conversation, and are not always likely to be heard by those in attendance. In respect to the issue of audience, it should be noted that in Indian courts there is no jury, the jury system having been abolished in trial courts in 1960. The absence of a jury lessens the importance of performing the dialogues in ways that impress or emotionally affect a juror's opinion, allowing the judge, the prosecutor and the lawyers to discuss very technical points. The interactions regularly take the form of negotiations between the judge and the lawyers (and, in criminal cases, the prosecutor). The witnesses, especially when they are from rural areas and with little or no knowledge of English, are unable to follow negotiations of this kind, which constantly shift from the vernacular language to English and which often turn out to be rather animated discussions filled with interruptions. Unlike the witnesses, who are positioned close to the center of the action, the accused is kept to one side, often in a corner of the courtroom, and asked to remain standing and silent for the duration of the trial. Passive and muted throughout the proceedings, he or she is only heard at the very end of the trial, when asked by the judge or the reader to say something in his or her defense. Prior to that moment, the suspect's version of the facts emerges only and indirectly from the questions put to witnesses by the defense attorney. From oral interactions to written reports The pace of a trial is set by the speed with which the judge dictates the witness's words. After each question and reply sequence, the judge translates the sentence into English and repeats it to the transcriber. This leads us to consider the question of how witnesses' oral replies are transcribed and transformed into written court reports. In this process of verbalizing oral interactions, I noticed that what is important is not so much the translation from the vernacular language into English, but the transformation of the oral question–reply into a written statement drafted in the first person. As an example, I now quote the opening dialogue between a judge and the mother of a woman who committed suicide in 2004. Two years later, the woman's husband was tried in Mandi District Court under section 306 of the Indian Penal code, "abetment of a woman to suicide." Judge: Who was the victim to you? Woman: She was my daughter. Judge: How long had she been married for? Woman: Eight to nine years. The judge then translated the mother's answers into English in the form of a first-person sentence for the benefit of the transcriber whose job it is to record verbatim whatever is dictated to him: "Kamla deceased was my daughter, she was married to Guddu Ram about eight to nine years back in accordance with customary rites and ceremonies." Standardized information not voiced by the witness (i.e. "in accordance with customary rites and ceremonies") is routinely added during this translation/transcription process. I observed that witnesses' replies are interpreted not only by the judge, but by the prosecutor and the defense attorney, who all compete to dictate the translation.This causes considerable friction between them, and this especially during cross-examinations, which make use of particularly "adversarial" and even "contradictory" techniques. What follows is an example of such techniques, which I draw from my documentation of a case involving a villager accused of cannabis cultivation. The dialogue quoted below centers around the main witness who now denies the police's report of his earlier testimony. Judge: Is Narayan Singh [the accused] your cousin? Witness: Yes, he's my cousin. The judge dictates, "It's correct that Narayan Singh, the accused, is my cousin, my real cousin." Judge: He is your cousin and that's why you are lying. Witness: No, I'm not lying. The judge translated this last sentence: "It is _incorrect_ that I am deposing falsely because of my relation with the accused" (emphasis added). The formula "it's correct" or "it's incorrect" allows any cross-examiner to ask so-called leading questions – that is, questions that can only be answered with "yes" or "no," and to add, at least in the English transcript, whatever he or she wants to add to the witness's statement. Of course, cross-examiners know that the witnesses will not corroborate their line of inquiry, but because they want their questions to appear in the final report, they ask them nonetheless. As one lawyer told me: "I still put the question because I've to keep a record of what my version is..." Consider the following exchange recorded during the trial of a man accused of having harassed his wife with dowry demands to the point that she took her life. During his cross-examination the defense lawyer tried to make the victim's mother say that at no point during the marriage had this man brought up the subject of money. As I quote: Lawyer: He [the accused] didn't ask for a dowry. Mother: No! The lawyer dictated to the transcriber: "It is _incorrect_ that _no_ demand of dowry was made at the time of my daughter's marriage" (emphasis added). The confusing use of a double negation reappeared as the lawyer insinuated that dowry was not the cause of the woman's suicide: Lawyer: Your daughter didn't commit suicide because of demands for dowry. Witness: No! The judge then dictates: "It is _incorrect_ that my daughter _had not_ committed suicide due to this reason." Lawyers often play around with these formulas or they offer their own translations to judges or dictate them directly to transcribers. Another judicial technique, used by judges, consists in pronouncing, on behalf of the witness, a standardized formula whose effect is to implicitly suggest the contrary of what is explicitly said. For instance, once a judge expressed his conviction that the witness, the president of a _panchayat_ , was lying in order to get the support of the accused in the upcoming panchayat elections. After the closing question, the judge dictated: "It is incorrect to suggest that I am deposing falsely in order to retain the accused as a loyal member of my _panchayat_." During a trial, legal experts are very much focused on the transcription of the judiciary proceedings. But the production of this written report, the result of unquestioned codes of questioning and transcribing, runs parallel to the oral performance of the trial, whose own dynamics and interactions also need to be recorded by anthropologists of courtrooms, but only if they include the broader and cultural context that frames and often legitimizes a particular trial. It is to these considerations that we now turn. TOWARD AN ANTHROPOLOGY OF COURT CASES The different aspects of the trial technique that I have just described must be understood in order to approach law courts from another perspective – that is, as a lens through which we can observe developments of crucial import in India today. Here I have in mind such sociopolitical issues as the legal protection of "underprivileged" groups, environmental sustainability, narcotics control, and human rights, all of which are of crucial import in contemporary India. Now the state and various localities find themselves interacting in more or less antagonistic ways: as people feel that the state's claims violate or challenge their political-economic interests and their relationships with one another. As the next section evidences, the resultant conflicts or misunderstandings occasionally escalate into court cases. Criminal trials and out-of-court negotiations A set of issues closely associated with court activities, especially lower court activities, are those related to criminality – that is, to actions or practices that are punishable under the IPC (Indian penal code). One peculiarity of the IPC is that it has broadened the "crime" category to encompass a number of social discriminations. Over the last decades, a number of acts have been passed, often to consolidate erstwhile ineffective ones, which have officially criminalized practices and forms of relationships which were previously culturally approved (or simply suffered) as well as legally legitimated.4 One example is the Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances Act of 1985, which incorporates provisions designed to implement India's obligations under various international Conventions by criminalizing the cultivation of cannabis plants and opium, as well as the manufacture, transportation, and distribution of narcotic substances. Another example is section 113-A, introduced in 1983 into the Indian Evidence Act (1872), which establishes that if a married woman commits suicide within seven years of her marriage it may be presumed that her husband and his relatives subjected her to cruelty. Similarly, the Untouchability (Offences) Act (1955) and the Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes (Prevention of Atrocities) Act (1989) introduce a criminalization of discrimination against these low status groups. The police regularly register cases bearing on these acts. But people do not always accept the criminal nature of the practices regulated by these acts and they do not hesitate to contest the charge of wrongdoing. For reasons that cannot be explained here, even the people who initiate a legal case may change their minds later on and pursue non-official forms of compromise or adjustment. Ethnographic observations of the cases that do make it to the criminal courtroom thus provide insight into the kinds of tensions that arise between local society and the state judicial administration. These tensions are particularly palpable when witnesses deny before the judge what they allegedly said to the police during preliminary investigations. At this very moment they often become hostile. Here I must point out that the problem of what in common law terminology is called "hostile witnesses" is, in fact, general in India and has provoked many a reaction from judges and politicians, as well as countless debates in newspaper editorials. Although this problem assumes particular relevance at high-profile, well-publicized trials, where witnesses may be politically pressured or bribed, it is a recurring everyday situation with which judges and prosecutors of any small district town are routinely faced. In many such cases, the hostile behavior results from various dynamics that interfere with the trial's outcome – village or family solidarity, the sharing of the same illegal activity for which the accused has been incriminated (as in case of cannabis cultivation), political interests, family pressures, various forms of economic compensation, and so forth. Sometimes the witness becomes "hostile" simply because police records of his or her earlier testimony are plainly wrong. Judges themselves are well aware that the police do write false statements for the purpose of strengthening their cases. Though well known in judicial milieus, the dynamics just described have not yet been studied as they unfold over the course of a trial. My research suggests, however, that the witness's withdrawal from his or her previous statement is a crucial moment in the trial, one that clearly encapsulates the tensions arising between those involved in a trial and the court machinery itself. Examples of such difficult trials should further clarify this point. The first has to do with cannabis cultivation. The cultivation of cannabis is a practice that was officially authorized throughout the colonial period but criminalized by the Indian state beginning in the 1960s, especially after introduction of the Narcotic Drugs Act quoted above. Villagers residing in areas where the cultivation of cannabis is still widespread actively contest this process of criminalization on grounds that cannabis plants were traditionally used in the performance of religious ceremonies, in medicine, and in some local dishes. This partly strategic, self-interested discourse turns, at times, into a more active, collective resistance. This was the case in the state of Himachal Pradesh when, in 2005, an entire village in Mandi district set up a barricade against a narcotic team from Chandigarh to prevent their cannabis crops from being destroyed. These people claimed that cannabis cultivation was under the jurisdiction of their village god and they went on to describe the police operation as an attack on their only source of livelihood _(Tribune,_ July 26, 2005). When a narcotic case is tried in a law court against a villager, the matter of the "cultural" or "ancestral" value of cannabis is never considered or even evoked by the witnesses or the defense lawyer. Witnesses called to testify against the accused instead try to obstruct the judiciary proceedings in order to prevent the prosecutor from proving his case. The reason for this behavior is that the witnesses summoned to testify are often from the same village and caste as the accused; they themselves may well cultivate cannabis in their own fields and therefore have a vested interest in blocking the prosecution. When they deny what they supposedly told the police, they are declared "hostile" and in court jargon accused of telling a lie "due to the relationship they have with the accused" (Berti, forthcoming b). In some cases, it is not only co-villagers who are declared "hostile," but also land officers, local policemen and even the panchayat president. A prosecutor may start a trial with 15 or 20 witnesses and end up with no one to support the case.5 Analysis of these proceedings both in and out of court sheds light on a very complex system of networks and alliances (family relations, cannabis connections, political ties with the panchayat's president, the local police or land officers, and so on), as well as a whole series of economic and social motivations. During a trial the judge may evoke this intricate and intensely politicized world by using the codified formulas previously described: "It is incorrect to suggest that I am deposing falsely in order to save the accused as a member of my panchayat." In my fieldwork experiences, witnesses become "hostile" not only when they are directly implicated in a case filed by the police, but also when they are on the side of the plaintiff's party. During the often rather long period that elapses between the police investigation and the trial itself, I often observed, the party who has lodged the complaint (and who becomes the main witness) can irreparably compromise the case with the other party by means of compensation, threat or blackmail. Out-of-court compromise interferes with the progress of the trial in various ways. One example is the case of a villager who was accused by his parents-in-law of having been so abusive to their daughter that she killed herself. The husband was tried at Mandi District Court in 2006 under section 306 of the IPC (abetment of a woman to commit suicide). At the time of the trial the victim's mother toned down her previous accusations, whispering to the judge that if her son-in-law was convicted there would be a problem with the children's custody. The judge did not make any comment then, nor did he order a court transcript of the woman's statement. At the end of the trial, the prosecutor characterized her (as well as the other witnesses) as hostile. Without a plaintiff and reliable evidence the judge had no choice but to acquit the husband6 (Berti, forthcoming a). Another example is found in Pratiksha Baxi's study of rape cases in Gujarat (forthcoming) which shows how an out-of-court settlement may prevail in the courtroom when a compromise is made with the judge's complicity. The example Baxi gives concerns a love affair and sexual relationship between an upper caste girl and a low-caste boy. After they eloped, the girl's parents filed a case of rape and kidnapping. The boy was arrested and eventually the girl was married to a man of her caste. When the trial was held two years later, the girl's father found that an out-of-court compromise was the only way of preserving the daughter's new marriage. Without informing her husband, he took her to court so that she could testify that she never had any sexual relations with the accused or even met him for that matter. The judge declared the girl hostile but shortened the whole trial to one day by forgoing any cross-examination. No expert witnesses were summoned and the whole affair ended with the acquittal of the accused. Baxi points out that, contrary to the police records that provided very different versions of the girl's statement (sometimes making it sound like a love story and sometimes like a rape case), court transcriptions during the trial made no reference to this kind of compromise except as a residue – that is, by declaring the witness "hostile" (Baxi, forthcoming). These examples suggest the different ways in which people organize themselves vis-à-vis the court once a judiciary process is underway. But my point here is that the "culture of compromise" (Baxi, forthcoming) described above can only be glimpsed through in-depth analyses of court proceedings and the multiple narratives and motivations that underlie them. This very ethnographic methodology has allowed Devika Bordia (2009) to examine how different forms of governance and justice circulate in everyday life, shape social relations, and contribute to the ethical self-fashioning of local leaders in the "tribal" regions of Western India. Her work on the relationship between the practices and politics of courts, police stations and panchayat leaders among the Bhil and Girassia of southern Udaipur shows how a criminal proceeding may be suspended even before it develops into a full-blown court case because of the multiple negotiations and underhand deals made between police officers, lawyers, magistrates, panchayat presidents, and other local leaders. Her recounting of the process by which a public autopsy was held supports her argument that both the court and the police "perpetuate the idea that tribal people are better governed through their own forms of _panchayat_ and customary laws, constantly blurring the distinction between state law and non-state law" (Bordia 2009). The importance of studying the police as mediators between the local population and "competing organizations involved in governance" is also at the heart of Julia Eckert's study (2004) of the courts of Shiv Sena, a regional political party of the Hindu right, in Mumbai. Eckert points out that the police delegates the resolution of disputes to the local offices of this party and does not intervene in the illegal economic and political activities of Shiv Sena. Noncriminal judiciary cases and broader social issues Apart from the criminal matters just explored, court cases also provide unique access to litigation between state, nonstate, and international agencies. Some of these cases are usually (but not always) resolved at high courts and supreme courts and this is particularly the case of environmental lawsuits. Since the 1970s, the number of "environmental cases" filed at high courts throughout India has increased greatly, mostly due to the escalation and success of public interest litigations (PILs). Many environmental PILs are filed against local projects (dam constructions, hydroelectric projects, national parks, or tourist resorts) that are described as damaging to the environment and/or harmful to the local population. The court itself may initiate these lawsuits but any private party may do so as well – including local or international nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), civil activists, or politically or socially committed judges and lawyers. On occasion, these various agencies clash with each other, as can been seen most vividly in Shalini Randeria's 2007 study of a controversy between environmentalists, WWF-India, and a human rights NGO over the conversion of an entire area of Rajasthan into a national park. The WWF environmentalists filed a case at the Supreme Court against the Government of India for failing to implement national environmental laws and policies. Their case against the creation of the park was aimed at the conservation of the lion population in Rajasthan (which, according to them, was by then an endangered species due to the traditional grazing methods used by rural communities, and for this reason these environmentalists called for the displacement of the local population). The human rights NGO, along with an action group set up to protect local people's customary rights of access to, and use of, natural resources, put forward a radically different argument. Over time environmentalists allied themselves with the regional government, defending the application of national legislation, while human rights activists found support in World Bank directives to guarantee the traditional rights of indigenous communities. Randeria used such PIL cases as a lens through which to study the interplay between the state, international institutions, and civil society, and their battle over different kinds of conflicting rights. Hers is not merely a study of courts, but also an ethnography of the state.7 Legal courts in India also process many cases having to do with religious issues, institutions and movements. These cases have often been addressed in relation to secularism; in fact the court is usually called upon to define the precise nature of and boundaries between Hinduism, Islam, Christianity, and the secular state. One of the first and most famous examples is the Bombay Court's decision in 1947 to allow untouchables to enter caste temples – a ruling that highlighted the role that secular states and institutions are called upon to play in ascertaining what is "religious" (Galanter 1971). In addition, the secular state in India is often involved in deciding what constitutes a "religious group" in the first place. This can be seen clearly in Ronojoy Sen's analysis of the Supreme Court's ruling that the Ramakrishna mission's petition be declared non-Hindu (Sen 2010) as well as in the many analyses of the so called "Hindutva Judgment," in which the Supreme Court decreed that Hinduism was a way of life and not a religion (Nauriya 1996; Noorani 2002). Defining the boundary between the religious and the secular is only one aspect of the courts' intervention in the domain of religion. Another one has to with the right to inherit temple duties. The role of the court in this regard dates back to the British period, when the state took over the management of numerous major temples, becoming closely involved in supervising worship and daily rites, especially in the south (Presler 1987). British administrators provided temple deities with a "juristic personality," making it legal for them to be assigned land and property rights. Deities were thus legally defined as "minors" and their properties and rights were to be managed by temple administrators and staff (Sontheimer 1964; Annoussamy 1979). The multiple interests at work in temple management produced – and still produce today – a number of conflicts that continue to be brought to court, as can be seen in the endless struggles over the ritual rules, honor privileges, and day-to-day administration of the Sabarimala temple and pilgrimage that have been fought over in the High Court of Kochi (Kerala, South India) for the past 50 years. Environmental and religious issues are just two examples of the possible domains that may productively be explored through close analysis of noncriminal judiciary cases. Other issues onto which law courts shed light are those related to fundamental or constitutional rights – two concepts frequently used in India today, even among the rural population. Such cases are often heard at the Supreme Court, whose hierarchical structure and solemn ethos provide a stark contrast to the comparatively more informal and approachable lower courts. Here research should expand beyond court interactions or out-of-court negotiations to take into account the role played by the specific committee of experts convened by the court to provide specialist advice on the subject of litigation (Sood 2008:842). Moreover, Supreme Court activity also needs to be studied in its interaction with regional, national and international policies, since at this level of the judiciary court decisions may have direct effects on governance. CONCLUDING REMARKS It is difficult to surmise where legal anthropology in India is currently headed. Nevertheless, certain developments are apparent. An important shift is the increasing attention paid to the study of court cases. This focus creates a common methodological framework by means of which issues related to political theory, law, and environmental or religious studies can be culturally contextualized. As I have tried to demonstrate in this chapter, a single court case can serve as a nexus at which to observe the interlocking of what are at times deeply antagonistic issues – as when the environmental question of endangered species in Gujarat is pitted against the right of protecting local people's access to natural resources.8 Law cases, however, must be studied not only ethnographically, but also through a historical perspective that closely tracks their "judiciary (hi)stories." Such a two-pronged approach is necessary because many cases currently tried in Indian courts were opened years, even decades, ago. As such they require the study of documents provided to the courts or produced during the lawsuits as well as of the memories and multiple viewpoints of those involved in the cases – present-day plaintiffs (or their descendants), witnesses, and local people who remember them. This ethnohistorical approach highlights changes to which the case has been subjected over the decades, the successive types of judicial reasoning used in earlier arbitration, and the judiciary reforms that have developed over time. Moreover, judiciary reports and official documents recreate the "texture" by which the court and society have exchanged, formulated, negotiated or opposed conflicting opinions on a register that is "rule-oriented" (Conley and O'Barr 1990). And the ethnographic investigation of courts and the collection of narratives and practices outside of courts provide a more "relation-oriented" version of legal facts – a version expressed by the parties actually involved in the case, whose logic and points of view are deeply entrenched in social ties, economic interests, feelings, conflicts or loyalties. The anthropology of court cases as proposed here presents a certain methodological specificity as compared to other anthropological topics. Indeed, its starting point is always a situation of conflict – whether that situation concerns a few individuals, whole families, or, as in the case of the PILs evoked above, an entire region, or even the country as a whole (as is the case when questions related to the constitution are under consideration). This makes it even more crucial for anthropologists to take into account the existence of multiple and opposite versions of the facts, some versions of which may be simply created by the parties for the sake of argument before the judge, while others may be defended by the parties both inside and outside the court. What we have defined here as an anthropology of judiciary cases must not be taken as a separate discipline that is only of concern to anthropologists studying law, judicial proceedings, or legal settings. Though anthropologists have often perceived law courts in India as something alien to the layperson, it would be enough to spend just one day in a district court to realize not only how many people are actually involved, willingly or not, in such cases, but also how familiar some of them are with their legal rights and with judicial strategies of interaction more broadly. The kinds of experiences and discourses to which both urban and rural people are exposed during their involvement in such cases undoubtedly affect their ways of perceiving social or family relationships, and thus, in addition to all the other reasons already described, it is of increasingly crucial import that anthropologists working at the local level take legal practices and processes into fuller account. NOTES 1 See also Sylvia Vatuk (2005) for a study in a Muslim context. 2 Legal pluralism derives from the pioneering work of Sir Henry S. Maine, whose classic book _Ancient Law_ (1861) catalogued numerous and diverse legal traditions in order to advance a grand theory of the development of law within a rigid evolutionary framework. Current interest in legal pluralism, however, draws from recent studies of postcolonial societies and their different normative orders. 3 At the village level there are various institutions by means of which disputes are discussed and arbitrated (Moore 1998). Among these are _panchayat_ (councils), which may be related either to one caste ( _jati panchayat_ ) or to the village (in the past, members of the dominant caste used to make up the village panchayat). On the comparison between panchayat and court proceedings, see Hayden 1984 and Moore 1998. In recent times, the state has sponsored _Raj panchayat_ which cover a group of villages and whose president is periodically elected. These Raj panchayat deal more with local development and welfare than with dispute settlement. 4 The contrary is also true. Practices that used to be treated as crimes (for example homosexuality) have been decriminalized in a recent decision of the Delhi High Court. 5 The reader should note that in several criminal cases tried at the district level, the accused engages a defense lawyer who chooses not to present any defense witnesses. 6 Police reports are not conclusive evidence. In accordance with the rules of proceedings in force in India, only what a witness says before the judge can be taken as hard evidence. However, at the time of the trial, the judge, the prosecutor and the defense lawyer rely on these reports to formulate their questions. 7 In a very controversial book, Hans Dembowski (2001) scrutinized two major cases of environmental litigation in Kolkata. 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Philosophy East and West 21(4):467–487. 1984 Competing Equalities: Law and the Backward Classes in India. Berkeley: University of California Press. 1992a[1989] The Aborted Restoration of "Indigenous" Law in India. _In_ Law and Society in Modern India. Rajeev Dhavan, ed. and introd. Pp. 37–53. Delhi: Oxford University Press. 1992b Law and Society in Modern India. Rajeev Dhavan, ed. and introd. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Galanter, Marc, and Upendra Baxi 1979 Panchayat Justice: An Indian Experiment in legal Access. _In_ Access to Justice, vol. 3: Emerging Issues and Perspectives. Mauro Cappelletti and Bryant Garth, eds. Pp. 341–386. Milan: Guiffre. Galanter, Marc, and Dinesh Khosla 1987 Myth and Reality of the Protection of Civil Rights Law: A Case of Untouchability in Rural India. Delhi: Hindustan. Gnisci, Augusto, and Clotilde Pontecorvo 2004 The Organization of Questions and Answers in the Thematic Phases of Hostile Examination: Turn-by-Turn Manipulation of Meaning. Journal of Pragmatics 36: 965–995. Hayden, Robert M. 1984 A Note on Caste Panchayats and Government Courts in India: Different Kinds of Stages for Different Kinds of Performances. Journal of Legal Pluralism 22:43–52. Holden, Livia 2003 Custom and Law Practices in Central India: Some Case Studies. South Asia Research 23:115–134. 2008 Hindu Divorce: A Legal anthropology. Aldershot: Ashgate. Kane, PandurangaVamana 1950[1942] Hindu Customs and Modern Law. Bombay: University of Bombay. Lariviere, Richard W. 200[1993] A Persistent Disjunction: Parallel Realms of Law in India. _In_ Religion and Law in Independent India. Robert D. Baird, ed. Pp. 350–360. New Delhi: Manohar. Larson, Gerald James, ed. 2001 Religion and Personal Law in Secular India: A Call to Judgment. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Lingat, Robert 1973[1967] Classical Laws of India. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Menski, Werner, ed. 1998 South Asians and the Dowry Problem. New Delhi: Vistaar. 2003 Hindu Law: Beyond Tradition and Modernity. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Moore, Erin P. 1993 Gender, Power, and Legal Pluralism: Rajasthan. India American Ethnologist 20(3):522–542. 1998 Gender, Law, and Resistance in India. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Mukhopadhyay, Anindita 2006 Behind the Mask: The Cultural Definition of the Legal Subject in Colonial Bengal (1715–1911). Delhi: Oxford University Press. Nauriya, Anil 1996 The Hindutva Judgment: A Warning Signal. Economic and Political Weekly 31(1):10–13. Noorani, Abdul G. 2002 Citizens' Rights, Judges and State Accountability. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Presler, Franklin A. 1987 Religion under Bureaucracy: Policy and Administration for Hindu Temples in South India. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Randeria, Shalini 2007 The State of Globalization: Legal Plurality, Overlapping Sovereignties and Ambiguous Alliances between Civil Society and the Cunning State in India. Theory, Culture and Society 24(1):1–33. Richland, Justine B. 2008 Arguing with Tradition: The Language of Law in Hopi Tribal Court. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Sathe, Satyaranjan P. 2002 Judicial Activism in India: Transgressing Borders and Enforcing Limits. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Sen, Ronojoy 2010 The Indian Supreme Court and the Quest for a "Rational" Hinduism. South Asian History and Culture 1(1):86–104. Singha, Radhika 1998 A Despotism of Law: Crime and Justice in Early Colonial India. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Sontheimer, Gunther-Dientz 1964 Religious Endowments in India: The Juristic Personality of Hindu Deities. Zeitschrift für Verglichende Rechts Wissenschaft (87):44–100. Sood, Avani Mehta 2008 Gender Justice through Public Interest Litigation: Case Studies from India. Vanderbilt Journal of Transnational Law 41:833–906. Srinivas, M. N. 1964 A Study of Disputes. Delhi: University of Delhi. Stiles, Erin E. 2009 An Islamic Court in Context: An Ethnographic Study of Judicial Reasoning. New York: Palgrave MacMillan. Vatuk, Sylvia 2005 Moving the Courts: Muslim Women and Personal Law. _In_ The Diversity of Muslim Women's Lives in India. Zoya Hasan and Ritu Menon, eds. Pp. 18–58. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press. CHAPTER 20 Law and Order: Police Encounter Killings and Routinized Political Violence _Beatrice Jauregui_ Within and outside of its international borders, India is praised as the world's largest democracy, a superlative if still developing success story held together by a constitution (also the world's longest) that espouses fundamental ideals of freedom, equality and justice for all. At the same time, this vast and pluralist nation-state is represented as plagued not only by negative "development indicators" like mass poverty and illiteracy, but also by an apparent decadence – or in some times and places, a total absence – of "law and order." Public discourses in India are rife with claims of systemic inefficiencies and state-sponsored iniquities including communalism, corruption and police brutality. Indeed, police are perhaps the most visible and publicly reviled state agents, generally believed to be complicit in virtually all illicit transactions either as extortionist brokers, underhanded fixers, or violent instruments of unbridled power. Their institutional records of human rights abuses and mass atrocities are legion and legend, although it is important to note that historically police have also not infrequently been attacked and overcome by angry crowds. And yet, police still represent a resource for many people, and command obedience not merely through terror and tyranny but also through an authority and potency that works among the complex interstices of legality and legitimacy. What accounts for these paradoxical realities? And what can an anthropological examination of law and order, and its authorized keepers in the police, tell us about democratic politics and the state in contemporary India more broadly? In what follows, we will explore how law and order is practiced, conceptualized, rhetoricized, and represented in contemporary India through an examination of ambiguities and ambivalences around police responses to, and participation in, political violence. A growing anthropological literature provides varying explanations for the apparent routinization of violence in contemporary politics and law enforcement, especially in the forms of communal and caste conflict, and police brutality. But while the often massive scale of confrontations in India calls forth frequent analyses of riots and other forms of crowd conflict, there are still other forms of what may be called "collective violence" that are less well studied. We will examine emerging debates regarding one such form – namely, police "encounter killings" – as a means to move toward reconceptualizing the production of order and the "everyday state" in this postcolonial democracy. HISTORY AND ANTHROPOLOGY OF POLITICAL ORDER AND THE STATE IN INDIA Anthropological inquiry into the relationship of order with the development of the state in India began to crystallize in the work of Bernard Cohn, who conducted much of his initial fieldwork in the 1950s and 1960s. With few exceptions, there was relatively little dialogue between studies of social order by anthropologists and studies of the state by political scientists (even those who were more ethnographically inclined) working in India (e.g. Frankel and Rao 1989; cf., Rudolph and Rudolph 1967). In the anthropology camp were scholars like Louis Dumont, whose structuralist analysis argues that "the caste system" serves as a self-sustaining mechanism of order and stability for the whole of India's "complex traditional society," and manifests in everything from marriage practices to village governance and power plays (Dumont 1980[1966]:34, 156; see also Srinivas 1959). While Dumont's definition of power as "legitimate force" explicitly invokes the Weberian conception of the modern state characterized by the monopoly of (legal) force within a given territory (cf. Weber 1978[1919]:314), he does not generally link power as manifest in the caste system to the state as administrative apparatus. In fact, the concept of "the state" only appears occasionally in Dumont's work as a counterpoint to the traditional governing unit of "the village" _panchayat_ (council), or as analogous to "the king" in precolonial times. Cohn's anthropological analysis of authority, law and order, and the state in India also underscores the significance of caste to practices of power; but instead of discussing caste as an immutable system that is somehow prior to and outside of the state, he discusses it as one of several "traditional" modes of organizing authority that have interacted over time with "modern" statist modes to produce new and problematic practices of order. He argues convincingly that the encounter of modes of authority common to the "little kingdoms" of India with forms derived from both British and Muslim law led indigenous people to view procedural law and the state order-keeping apparatuses (read: the courts and the police) _not_ as a central locus of "authority _par excellence_ " (cf. Dumont 1980[1966]:167) but rather as a new type of instrument for harnessing and expressing prestige and power. In Cohn's observations of village life in northern India, it was not general recourse to legal protection of rights that drove people to the _thana_ (police station) or to court magistrates, but instead a set of calculated risks designed to increase social standing and to advance political, economic, and even cosmic interests. People "thought only of manipulating the new situation [colonial law] and did not use the courts to settle disputes but only to further them" (Cohn 1987:569). And over time, he argues, a family's status became tied not only to caste or class or even ownership of land, but also "to its success as a litigant and its ability to ruin its competitors in court" (1987:573). This cultural historical analysis goes a long way toward explaining many problems of legal practice in India today, especially the litigiousness producing backlogged court systems and the apparent routinization of practices like falsification of evidence and bribe-taking by police (Jauregui 2010; Dhillon 2005; Visvanathan and Sethi 1998). And Cohn's is one of the first anthropological studies of political authority and order in India that accounts for forms of legal knowledge and practice produced specifically by the colonial encounter. However, he does not provide an in-depth analysis of the co-configuration of order and _violence_ , especially the politicized violence that in colonial and postcolonial India came to contour the trope of the "law and order problem." In fact, such violence, whether enacted by "the people" _or_ by "the state," is hardly dwelt upon at all in most early anthropological works on India. It appears either as an aberration, a rupture in the order of things caused by historical contingencies, or as a natural part of _both_ "traditional" and "modern" systems of law and authority that happen to be "clashing." However, in addition to his incisive discussion of the micro-politics of dispute resolution in the Indian countryside and the clash and eventual hybridization of different cultural systems of law and authority, Cohn does provide an inroad to considering the relationship of order and violence by analyzing not just indigenous manipulations of colonial laws, but also the cultural knowledge productions of certain persons and practices as "criminal." There is bountiful historical evidence of how British administrators "constructed special instrumentalities to control those defined beyond civil bounds, and carried out special investigations to provide the criteria by which whole groups would be stigmatized as criminal" (Cohn 1996:10; see also Singha 2000; Arnold 1986; Yang 1985). For example, groups known to regularly practice female infanticide, _sati_ (widow burning), _dacoity_ (banditry), and _thuggee_ (sacralized assault) all came to be officially categorized as significant threats to law and order. Specific legal codes, and in some cases entire police subdivisions, were established in the nineteenth century to prevent and punish such practices. Simultaneously with these institutional developments, British colonial administrators espoused competing theories of "indigenous" Indian governance, either as exhibiting properties of a lawless and arbitrarily ruled "despotic" state (especially in regions under Mughal or Sultanate leadership), or as constituting a mottled "theocracy" founded upon ancient tenets of both Hindu and Muslim law. Over time, Cohn argues, the theory that India had historically been ruled by despots was "revalorized" and reappropriated by British administrators in an ideological presupposition that the best way to rule the Crown Jewel of the Empire was with a "strong hand" (see also Gupta 1974). It was believed that there existed a " 'natural' loyalty [by] the masses... for the strong benevolent despot," and many colonial leaders took up this role in "several forms – as 'platonic guardians,' as patriarchs habitually addressed by the simple folk as _ma-bap_ (mother and father), as authoritarian rationalist utilitarians, and in times of crisis as the not-so-benevolent Old Testament avengers" (Cohn 1996:65).1 Scholarly analysis of oppressive legal forms in colonial India – and of the culturally inflected and often violent responses by indigenous people to these assertions of authority – has advanced furthest through the historiography of the Subaltern Studies school, which was founded primarily as a corrective to "elitist" accounts of the Indian nationalist movement. A central problem for Subaltern Studies scholars, especially in the earlier years of their work, was what they deemed to be errant historical interpretations of mass politics, particularly the "peasant insurgencies" of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. These scholars have written against both "positive" interpretations of mass uprisings as a response to charismatic indigenous elite leaders, and "negative" readings of them as merely a "law and order problem" among criminal elements (Guha 1982:3). Their counterargument is that these riots and revolts in fact demonstrated the existence of an "autonomous domain" of political consciousness among peasants and other "subalterns" or socially oppressed peoples, a consciousness which ultimately constituted a vital component of the eventual success of the Indian independence movement, and yet emanated from cultural forces that were largely discontinuous with the philosophies and intended mobilizations of nationalist leaders like Mahatma Gandhi (Amin 1984). A key claim by revisionist historians of the Subaltern Studies school is that subaltern uprisings were not spontaneous, reactionary or "pre-political," but rather purposive, often planned and immanently political, because people were rebelling against broader "structure[s] of property, institutionalized by law, sanctified by religion and made tolerable – and even desirable – by tradition" (Guha 1983:1). Subaltern Studies historians have made it a point to show how, for example, riots between Hindus and Muslims during the colonial period that were uniformly dismissed as functions of "communalism" were not simply founded upon primordial identifications and wholesale suspicion and fear of the other religious community, but rather emerged out of various localized status inequalities and social conflicts, especially related to caste and landholding powers, which were reified and reinterpreted – and more importantly, manipulated – under colonial rule (Pandey 1983; see also Freitag 1989 and Dirks 2001). It is in these types of critical historical analyses that we begin to see clear linkages made between discourses and practices of state control of political violence and "law and order" in India. However, while subaltern-oriented writings have succeeded in focusing much-needed attention on these linkages, and also in calling forth new modes of historiography and anthropology of politics in South Asia, they remain limited in explaining a variety of forms of routinized collective violence and the apparent "breakdown" of law and order in postcolonial India. This is especially true with regard to those forms allegedly performed or supported by actors who do not clearly fit the mold of the subaltern subject, which is itself a contested category.2 COLLECTIVE VIOLENCE, POLICE, AND THE EXTERNAL STATE The collective violence that constitutes one of the biggest law and order problems of present-day India certainly does not limit itself to occurrences among persons of the lowest caste or class strata. There is ample evidence of participation in riots and other violent mobilizations by persons of the middle and upper classes and castes; and this is especially, though not exclusively true when it comes to communal conflicts between Hindus and Muslims or among other groups (Hansen 2001; Tambiah 1996; van der Veer 1994). There are also not infrequent clashes among groups who are supposed to be working on _behalf_ of law enforcement and order keeping, especially between police and lawyers. In September 2004 and in April 2007, for example, there were riots in Lucknow, the state capital of Uttar Pradesh (UP), between thousands of uniformed police and lawyers. Labeled variously by media sources and state government pundits as clashes, agitations, scuffles, pitched battles, mob violence, attacks, and even "tiffs," both of these incidents pitting police against lawyers erupted following a relatively minor and localized conflict (a car accident and a brawl between just two people, respectively). In each case, scores of police and lawyers were injured, vehicles and government property were damaged, and politicians and interest groups responded with protests and made grand declarations condemning the violence. Meanwhile, many citizens resignedly shook their heads at what appeared to be yet another example of the "breakdown of law and order." Such clashes are not unique to UP. In February 2009, lawyers in Chennai, the state capital of Tamil Nadu, had been on strike for weeks in support of Tamils in Sri Lanka being threatened and harmed in the escalation of the ongoing civil war. When Chennai police were called to rein in the agitation, lawyers pelted stones and other objects at them, and set police stations and vehicles on fire, while police beat lawyers with their _lathis_ (batons). In the aftermath of every one of these incidents, the onus fell primarily on police even though there was clear evidence of provocation and aggressive behavior by the lawyers. The specific conditions and triggers of these incidents differ from one another and from the historical and political contingencies serving to incite other forms of collective violence in which police have participated (Ghosh 1981; Chande 1997). But the general point is that while state officials charged with maintaining law and order are ideally supposed to remain "above the fray" in any sort of fracas and to quell the violence (and in many cases, contrary to the above-mentioned examples, they do so to the best of their ability), in fact police will often act as anything but disinterested parties. Sometimes police will passively allow violence to proceed without hindrance (often, though not always, following orders from higher political leaders); at other times, they will actively participate on behalf of one party or another in a conflict (Subramaniam 2007; Engineer and Narang 2006; Khalidi 2003; Patel et al. 2002; Hansen 2001; Rai 1998; Brass 1997; Tambiah 1996; Das 1990). How do we explain the regularity of this politicized practice and its conditions of possibility? Cohn's cultural-historical account would lead us to conclude that these common forms of police complicity in situations of collective violence fall clearly in line with the development of a general attitude toward the law (and its enforcers) as representing manipulable instruments for prestige and power (cf. Hansen 2001 and Kakar 1996, who describe legal courts as little more than arenas for spectacular performance). But are police who participate in collective violence acting autonomously, that is, as willful agents acting in their own professional, political or personal interests? Or are they acting more as automaton-like tools taking orders from a higher authority and working in the interests of outside power players, as implied by Guha's characterization of "ambiguously" dominant groups of persons acting " _not in conformity to interests corresponding truly to their own social being_ " (Guha 1982:8, original emphasis)? Or does the explanation lie in some combination of the two, or perhaps in a different set of pressures with different sources altogether? The answer often depends upon the historical circumstances of a particular event. However, there are systemic reasons behind what appears to be a regularized practice of police seeming to act "out of line" in their duty to objectively and impartially maintain law and order. Paul Brass's ethnography of collective violence in the north Indian countryside lends support to all three answers, though probably leans most strongly toward the second one, which renders the institutional aggregate of police as little more than robotic instruments to be controlled by the power players of the moment according to the latter's vested interests. His _Rashomon_ -esque analysis of five case studies of riots in Uttar Pradesh – with special attention to "police–public confrontations" – repeatedly and self-consciously claims that such instances of violence erupt in a "Hobbesian world, in which security and safety are not provided by the state, but are themselves values – that is, valued objects – integral to and inseparable from the struggle for power and influence" (Brass 1997:92–93). Drawing on Foucauldian notions of discourse and power, Brass argues that while the truth of what "actually happened" in a riot is ultimately undecidable, one thing is definitely true: political order in India is based not on the rule of law but instead on instrumental use of any and all available power mechanisms, especially by participants in a nexus of police–politician–criminal activity. According to Brass, this pattern of order and authority marks the absence of the idealized modern state and the social fact of a veritable "state of war" everyday and everywhere (1997:273). While some may be skeptical of the rather apocalyptic visions presented in this analysis of a "society whose social and economic practices favor hierarchy [echoes of Dumont], gross inequalities, privilege, favoritism, and corruption," (1997:288) one point to be taken seriously is the clear evidence of the active complicity in everyday violence not just of police and politicians but also of common people. This point reminds us that the identities of "perpetrators" and "victims" of violence are often more fluid and mutable than many are comfortable admitting. Stanley Tambiah and others would rightly retort that there remains a definitive and "differential distribution of power among officials and citizens, and the dominance of the former over the latter in daily encounters" (Tambiah 1996:262). However, acknowledging that very real distinction does not negate the fact that state officials in India, especially police, often experience real moments of _disempowerment_. This disempowerment may be expressed in relation to: political leaders or other government officials with legal authority; powerful criminal elements, who often have strong ties with political leaders and officials; contradictions internal to the law itself, both philosophical and procedural; and pressures from members of the public who exhibit the approach noted by Cohn of invoking, avoiding, and manipulating the law as necessity or desire would seem to dictate. Thomas Blom Hansen gives us some insight into the police experience of disempowerment in discussing what he deems "a sort of negative _esprit de corps_ " displayed by officers testifying about their conduct in the 1993 communal riots in Bombay, and depicting themselves as the "victims of the riots... unjustly targeted while doing [their] job... being hated by the local people... being stabbed in the back by political leaders" (Hansen 2001:136–137). But Hansen's analysis focuses less on the sources and meaning of the experiences of the police officers, and more on the role that their expressions play in a larger spectacular performance that reinforces the "myth of the state" to the public in such a way that power-holders can maintain and increase their influence (cf. Aretxaga 2000; Mitchell 1999; Abrams 1988). Brass also discusses the problem of moments of police disempowerment in cases where officers have been attacked and sometimes killed by villagers allegedly "defending" themselves (cf. Amin 1995). His analysis of these public attacks on police demonstrates how "police brutality" is not necessarily something naturally built into professional practice, but a dragnet category that conflates a disparate set of motivated behaviors manifesting in violence toward others. Motivations for police violence might include, among other things, a desperate attempt at information extraction; revenge for harm and humiliation brought upon fellow officers; protests against problematic working conditions; or self-defense, an issue to which we will return in the next section. Comparisons between some forms of collective violence by police and the purposive violence driving subaltern uprisings and riots show that police inhabit a paradoxical social position, as simultaneously hyper-empowered and disempowered authority figures (Jauregui 2010). For the most part, a "police-eye view" of their own paradoxical position, and of the fault lines that they must navigate everyday – among legal procedures and moral norms, bureaucratic chains of command, and social inequalities related to communalism, caste, class, citizenship and a variety of other categories – remains to be theorized in anthropological literature of the state, law and order, and power relations in contemporary India. This is in part because most contemporary ethnographies of the state in general, and of the state's relationship to violence in particular, proceed on the register of Foucauldian "discourse analysis" (Gupta 1995; Brass 1997) and "public culture," (Appadurai 1998; Mbembé 1992) and/or follow the Subalterns Studies focus on the suffering or resistance of "the oppressed" rather than the complex perceptions and everyday practices of "the oppressors" (Scott 1985). We would do well here to remember Laura Nader's call to fellow anthropologists some 40 years ago to "study up" and analyze the perceptions and practices of actors in "obvious power centers" who may, upon a closer look, be less powerful than they appear on the surface (Nader 1972). The police as power-holders of a particular kind are always already assumed to be oppressors, because they represent the state's capacity to authorize and legitimate violence in the interests of the greater good. Moreover, the state has historically and philosophically been conceived as a field external to "society," and because the police raison d'être operates in this ostensibly external field, they are understood as being separate from "the people." The assumption of the state as a sphere that is always already distinct from and very often directly opposed to society remains an enormous theoretical hurdle in political and legal anthropology. However much lip-service some anthropologists and other scholars may pay to acknowledging the constructed nature of the state–society divide, most still base their thinking about law and authority in the contemporary world on an apparent assumption that this divide really exists in the world.3 Jonathan Spencer (2007) has written pointedly and provocatively about this problematic assumption of the state–society divide as a major problem in the political anthropology of South Asia. He cites a key passage from Subaltern Studies VI in which Ranajit Guha characterizes the state as an " ' _absolute externality... structured like a despotism_ , with no mediating depths, no space for a transaction between the will of the rulers and that of the ruled'... [which indicates] a radical break between state and society, with the state only ever imaginable as something emanating from outside the local social order" (Spencer 2007:45, Guha's original emphasis). Crucially, this notion of the state as an absolute externality serves as the foundation for reductionist claims that the state generally, and the law more specifically, represents nothing more than "a source of coercion, violence, or fear" rather than a potential "resource, or a place to seek justice, let alone a zone of hope" (Spencer 2007:45–46). With this problem in mind, it is important to bring the philosophical history of Guha directly into dialogue with the historical anthropology of Cohn. While Guha claims that historically there has been "no space for a transaction between the will of the rulers and that of the ruled," by contrast Cohn observes that there has been a widespread tendency among people in India to see the law, and by association "the state" howsoever conceived, as a valuable and potentially effective apparatus. If we follow Cohn, then the question becomes: a valuable and potentially effective apparatus for what? Spencer draws attention to the irony that the assumption of the state as an absolute externality dominates anthropological literature even though what the ethnographer usually finds in the field is quite the opposite, that is, that the state appears to permeate everything, to be always already everywhere, more or less visibly so (see also Derrida 2002; Aretxaga 2000; Benjamin 1978[1922]). Recent anthropological attempts to rethink this problem of externality have involved consideration of the everyday experience of the state at its "margins," that is, at its "sites of disorder, where the state has been unable to impose its order" (Das and Poole 2004:6; cf. Comaroff and Comaroff 2006 on associations between disorder and postcoloniality).4 By margins, Das and Poole are not speaking merely of territorial border areas, but of forms and fields of human experience and action that seem to exist on or near a conceptual dividing line between different conditions, such as legality versus illegality (or, as it were, "extralegality"). Police in particular play a prominent role in this analysis, because as abstracted figures they seem to exist outside or even prior to "the law," which affords them a kind of immunity to the usual legal strictures (see also Agamben 1998; cf. Jauregui 2010, in which it is argued that this apparent externality also excludes police from civil politics and disallows their enjoyment of the usual rights afforded to common citizens). Indeed, it is argued that police can _simultaneously_ represent both personalized private power _and_ the Weberian ideal of the impersonal and impartial authority of the state, and also that "precisely because they also act as representatives of the state... they are able to move across – and thus muddy – the seemingly clear divide separating legal and extralegal forms of punishment and enforcement" (Das and Poole 2004:13–14). This insight regarding their abilities to "cross lines" and reside at "the margins" helps us to consider that the police in India (and elsewhere) may be less "external" to the larger society, and more a kind of "internal other" of the modern nation-state, _precisely because_ they represent the legal and legitimate means of violence in the domestic sphere on an everyday basis (Bittner 1970). In the next section, we will explore this possibility through an examination of a particular form of police violence that has become a routine though highly controversial mode of maintaining law and order in contemporary India: namely, the encounter killing. POLICE ENCOUNTERS, PUBLIC AMBIVALENCE, AND REPRESENTATIONS OF ROUTINIZED STATE VIOLENCE Encounter killings are officially reported as having occurred during "retaliatory fire" by police in self-defense against alleged criminals. Official statistics (for what they are worth) show that reports of encounters have been increasing over the last several years. The National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) of India figures for the year 2004–5 reported receiving 122 official intimations from the 35 state and union territory governments of encounter killings, more than half of which (66) occurred in Uttar Pradesh (NHRC 2006:15). In 2003–4, the number was 100, and in 2002–3, it was 83. This shows a steady increase over the years in the numbers of encounters being officially reported by the state governments to the center – and anecdotally, many people, including top police officials, assert that these numbers are almost certainly underreported and "conservative" at best. The encounter killing has become such a widespread and well-known practice across South Asia that it even has its own Wikipedia entry, which as of August 2010 defines encounter killings by police as "a _euphemism_ used in India, Pakistan and Bangladesh to describe _extrajudicial_ killings in which police shoot down alleged gangsters and terrorists in gun battles" (emphasis added).5 As this description indicates, people generally assume that most reported encounters are in fact "fake encounters," not an instance of self-defense but rather a premeditated and often elaborately staged form of state-sponsored murder. At the end of March 2005, 352 cases regarding death by fake encounter were pending investigation across India. In addition to the 122 encounters reported in 2006, the NHRC received 84 complaints of alleged fake encounters, 46 of which they disposed of "after considering the reports received from the State authorities" (NHRC 2006:16). Compare this with the figures in the report of the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) for the same year, which lists the category of fake encounters in chapter 16, part 2, under "Incidents of Human Rights Violation by Police." Out of all state and union territories in India, only one, Delhi, lists anything other than zero under the category fake encounter for the year 2006 in the NCRB report: 1 case registered, 7 charge sheets filed against police personnel, 0 police convicted of charges.6 As they say in Hindi, "chakkar chal raha hai" (literally: "the wheel is spinning"; figuratively: "something fishy is going on; this does not add up"). Although many would concede that "real" encounters fitting the mold of retaliatory self-defense firing _do_ happen, public knowledge and anecdotal evidence from interviews with police dictate that these incidents have become the exception to the rule (Jauregui 2010; Belur 2007; Eckert 2005). Even so, police who have been involved in an encounter will always publicly deny that it was staged, and government and media reports will usually tacitly support this contention. But an increasing public debate on the matter demonstrates that this apparent brushing aside of charges that an encounter is fake does not mean that the police themselves, or the journalists reporting on a particular incident, or the citizens reading and interpreting the story, actually believe the official line. Rather, people will often operate on an "as if" sort of logic – as if the official story is what _needs_ to be circulating even though "everyone knows" and discusses unofficially that the encounter was probably staged. Sociologist and former Indian Police Service officer Jyoti Belur explains this dynamic of apparently "knowing and not knowing" about encounters with "denial theory," which insinuates that this paradoxical nonadmission of a known truth is a function of an unconscious defense mechanism by a group of individuals (Belur 2007). An anthropological analysis would conceive the problem rather differently, as part of a set of complex cultural and political processes of legitimation and justification that emerge from widespread ambivalence about the morality and necessity of state violence in a particular context. The questionable legitimacy of the encounter as a form of state violence is both specific to India, and related to larger structural logics of the ambiguous place of violence in securing a democratic order more generally, especially in a postcolonial setting. Anthropologist Allen Feldman discusses a historically different but structurally similar situation in another (post)colony, Northern Ireland, where public responses to an unofficial "shoot-to-kill" policy among state police and military operatives vis-à-vis insurgent paramilitaries evince a broader ideology of what he calls "acceptable levels of violence" (Feldman 1991:106). At first blush, dynamics of counterinsurgency operations in Northern Ireland and crime-fighting in India might seem like completely different orders of business. However, there are at least two direct analogies between the ways that circulating discourses and everyday practices related to (fake) encounters in India and the (unofficial) shoot-to-kill policy in Northern Ireland work to legitimize murders performed by representatives of the state: namely, the "public-ness" of the act, and its justification as "necessary" in a climate of disorder. Feldman describes the buildup to a specific shoot-to-kill operation in Northern Ireland as a protracted process involving local people's witnessing of repeated raids and interrogations of certain persons, and these persons' resultant social stigmatization and isolation alongside media reports on the terrorizing activities of the IRA (Irish Republican Army) and other paramilitaries. Following this, when an accused paramilitary dies in a shootout with state security forces, there tends to be an unspoken consensus that he or she was probably working against the interests of "the state" and so constituted "fair game" in the war. Because war is seen as outside the bounds of "the law" – or perhaps in this case as the law itself – the police shoot-to-kill practice has become an increasingly accepted alternative to criminal arrest and prosecution. If one follows Paul Brass's contention that everyday life in much of India is experienced as a Hobbesian state of war, then justifications of shoot-to-kill practices become a bit less mysterious, though no less questionable or problematic. In one of the only anthropological studies to date of police encounters in India, Julia Eckert describes a situation very similar to what Feldman relates about Northern Ireland, that is, that people will often claim that they "saw the encounter coming" and also view it as a tactic "to make up for the deficiencies of law and legal procedures" (Eckert 2005:188; cf. Kakar 1996 and Baxi 1982 on the "crumbling" and "in crisis" legal system in India). She goes on to note how such public expectations and justifications of encounter killings confirm the "open secret that encounter killings do not just occur out of an immediate need for self-defence [by police], but also in the context of a larger conception of social (self-)defence" (2005:188). A concept of social self-defense is definitely present among police themselves in their public and private discussions of encounters. Eckert cites an illustrative quotation by an "encounter specialist" police officer in Mumbai named Satyapal Singh: "It is better in the _larger interest of society_ to eliminate a known criminal than to allow him to roam free and kill 100 innocent persons. 'It is better to destroy evil than to allow it to nurture and _spread in society_ ' " (2005:188, emphasis added).7 _Time Magazine_ did a profile on one of Mumbai's most (in)famous encounter specialists, Inspector Pradeep Sharma, who as of August 2010 is on trial for masterminding at least one fake encounter and still holds the record for most encounter killings, more than 100. The _Time_ article quotes Sharma as saying, "Criminals are filth... and I am the cleaner" (Perry 2003). In my own fieldwork with police in Uttar Pradesh (Jauregui 2010), another police officer well known for his "success" in many encounters said: I do not kill for personal gain, but _for the greater good_ ; when there is _no other way out_ , it must be done. And the people will praise you for it. When my team finished off [a notorious gangster], the people in the towns and villages he had been terrorizing were so happy! They threw marigolds on me and put me on their shoulders and carried me around. They queued up by the thousands at the station to _thank me for doing what the courts could not... this man had been arrested and charged and acquitted dozens of times, because he could pay off the judges and the police! This time he was not acquitted_. I received thousands of boxes of sweets. You see, I do not bother with the petty criminals. They must be dealt with, so I will have them brought in, slap them around a bit, then let them go. I treat them like my children. They must be disciplined, but not really hurt, because our ultimate objective as police should be to bring the bad characters back into the mainstream of the society... _But the really bad criminals, they cannot be disciplined. And the legal system has completely degenerated, so it cannot stop them. But they must be stopped_. (emphasis added) This officer expresses that encounters are a legitimate mode of doing his job to maintain law and order and to realize social justice. His descriptions and assertions are not unique, and it is crucial to note how they exemplify the ways in which many police in India who lead and participate in encounter killings are valorized and equated to war heroes, both officially and unofficially. Besides being doused with flowers and sweets, officers who have successfully "encountered" a notorious criminal almost invariably receive gallantry medals and "out-of-turn" (faster than usual) promotions. Encounter specialist Inspector Sharma claims, "I don't enjoy killing... But after we shoot some mobster, his victims look at me like God. That's the best part of the job" (Perry 2003). Human rights activists and many others loudly decry encounters – real or fake – as state-sponsored murder and terror, a pattern of atrocities with which there should be no moral compromise and for which there certainly should be no official endorsement. And yet officers' statements and their heroic treatment by many officials and citizens evidence a significant quantity and quality of public support for this increasingly routine practice, even if this support is marked by a great deal of ambivalence or resignation. A _Hindustan Times_ editor, Vir Sanghvi is quoted as saying, "We know the vast majority of encounters are fake... We do not think that this is a perfect situation, but in common with the rest of the middle class we have come to the regrettable conclusion that there is no real alternative" (Perry 2003). Eckert notes that a former deputy chief minister of Maharashtra publicly endorsed encounters, and she quotes a businessman in Mumbai as saying, "Encounter killings are a good thing. But people who are innocent are killed. But it is necessary" (Eckert 2005:187 n.10, 196). And the approval is not limited to the political and middle classes, nor is it always couched in apologetic terms. Eckert also quotes an Indian Police Service officer who had been stationed in rural UP as saying, "Villagers always asked me: 'Why don't you encounter them [the criminals threatening us]!' " (2005:199). Police themselves also reflect the public ambivalence about encounters. One retired officer's memoir exhibits a stark penchant for multiple changes of mind on the issue in the short space of five pages. He starts his brief essay on encounters by saying, "Every police department worth its salt needs its hit-men... Not everyone can measure up to be a police hit-man though. Among other things, it requires guts, and a willingness to be condemned for life – to be afraid of one's own shadow" (Pereira 2008:199). Later, he says of his own figurative guts: "what I feel queasy about and object to [though] is _the attitudinal change over the years that has replaced the need to capture the criminal alive_ " (2008:201, emphasis added). He goes on to critique some of the more pragmatic potential dangers of what some argue is an emerging "encounter culture" (Raj and Sharma 2007), including the possibility of police being hired (wittingly or not) as contract killers for powerful persons. Another problem is police mistaking the identity of their target.8 This acknowledgment of a variety of _types_ of encounters (including "real" ones) is unusual and significant for its reminder that these are events that take place in specific contexts and under various conditions. In the end, Pereira advises an audience of "all police hit-men" to be cautious, to make sure not to encounter the wrong people, and not to be "trigger-happy." Besides the prevalence of contradictory statements by police, politicians and concerned citizens, public ambivalence regarding encounters – and regarding "extralegal" police violence more generally – finds expression in various media representations, especially in Bollywood films. There is a burgeoning subgenre of Indian movies centered on police vigilantism, in which the antiheroic protagonist takes the form of a tragic "honest cop in a dishonest world." For example, the film _Kurukshetra_ (Manjrekar 2000) represents clear support for police vigilantism. It tells the story of an Assistant Commissioner of Police (ACP) in Mumbai who, viewers learn, has killed three men, one of whom is the Chief Minister (CM) of Maharashtra. The ACP has not killed them in what can officially be deemed an encounter, but rather has shot them in cold blood in one of their homes. He relates to a literal Janata ki Adaulat (Court of the People) that the son of the CM was responsible for the rape and murder of a young woman, but that his status as a close relative of the most powerful man in the state gave him impunity from the law. After a series of events thwarting the police officer from realizing justice for the dishonored woman (who, the dialogue makes clear, represents "the nation"; cf. Menon and Bhasin 1998), he finally takes justice into his own hands and during the festival of Dussehra savagely beats and kills the CM, the CM's son, and another politician who is the CM's former-rival-now-coconspirator.9 The juxtaposition of the vigilante police killing with the religious festival, the repeated invocations of "the nation" in the film narrative, and the very name of the film itself, _Kurukshetra_ – which in Hindu mythology was the site of the epic war in the _Mahabharata_ (see note 7 below) – all signify that this story represents a scene in the war between good and evil going on across India (cf. Brass 1997). Notably, after the ACP finishes telling his story, the people erupt in support of him, yelling "He is innocent!" even as he is taken away in a police car, presumably to go to "face the law" in a criminal court or jail. This film is by no means unique in contemporary public culture. Some other popular Hindi-language films that portray police vigilantism, especially in the form of the encounter, as a common and perhaps necessary crime-fighting modus operandi include _Shootout at Lokhandwala_ (2007), _Risk_ (2007), _Ab Tak Chappan_ (2004), _Garv_ (2004), _Encounter: The Killing_ (2002), _Shool_ (1999), and _Satya_ (1998). One film that rivals or perhaps even surpasses the strength of _Kurukshetra_ 's message that the people should support police vigilantism is _Gangaajal_ (Jha 2003), which translates roughly to "Water of the Holy Ganges River." In this film, a beleaguered small town Senior Superintendent of Police (who is virtually equal in rank to an ACP) not only has public sanction for his own violent pursuit of politically connected and legally immune criminals in Bihar, but also inspires the local people to take justice into their own hands by attacking criminals themselves in large crowds. The story seems incredible, but in fact is loosely based on real life events in 1980, when some townspeople in Bhagalpur rioted in _defense_ of police who were being charged with human rights violations for blinding 31 prisoners awaiting trial who had allegedly been terrorizing the community. This story brings us full circle, from seemingly extraordinary means of police maintenance of law and order back to broader forms of collective violence with which encounter killings clearly share a longstanding and complex social and historical relationship. VIOLENCE AND ORDER IN THE WORLD'S LARGEST DEMOCRACY How does anthropological inquiry help to explain the apparent routinization of collective violence by both state representatives and public citizens in India today? And what does this state of affairs imply for Indian democracy and its possible futures? In explaining the increasing incidence of, prevalence of, and public ambivalence toward police encounters, Eckert (2005) theorizes a "trimurti" of the state in contemporary India, wherein the state represents to the broader public not just a tool of power, but also a force for the realization of "Hobbesian" order and "Lockean" rights. She argues that all three of these conceptions of what the state is "for" – power, order, and rights – simultaneously exist and compete for primacy in India, but that the end of "order" seems to be winning out in the context of two historical developments and their concomitant discursive fields: (1) the widely alleged communalized and "criminalized" government at the national level, and (2) the demand for security in the era of the Global War on Terror at the international level. This theorization offers critical descriptive insights regarding the routinization of violence in India; however, it also limits the conception of "the state" to that of a mechanism. Other anthropologists conceive the state – in particular the liberal democratic state – more as a decentered and dislocated set of processes, practices and representations of cultural knowledge and legitimation. Stanley Tambiah has drawn attention to how collective violence is not necessarily _opposed_ to democratic processes and the workings of "law and order," but rather immanent in and perhaps even stoked or enhanced by such processes, especially in pluralistic democracies like India. Similarly to Brass, Tambiah admits a prominent role for purposive orchestrations of violence by power-holders. His discussions of professional thugs and "riot captains" – the ranks of whom may or may not include state agents – echoes Brass's theorization of "institutionalized riot systems" and communalist "fire-tenders," that is, persons who make sure to keep the metaphorical flames of caste and communal strife hot enough to be "stoked" as and when particular players decide to make them "flare up" for political purposes. But as an anthropologist, Tambiah spends far more time than Brass on theorizing the ways in which collective violence becomes routinized and ritualized through dynamic social processes such as _focalization_ , wherein specific instances of violence become decontextualized; _transvaluation_ , or the distortion and abstraction of a local incident as illustrative of "issues of national or ethnic interest"; and _nationalization_ and _parochialization_ , "when nationally mounted issues at focal centers have their dispersed and fragmented manifestations in local places in terms of local cleavages" (Tambiah 1996:81, 266). These processes have implications not only for ethnic and nationalist violence, but also for other types of political violence, such as the police–lawyer clashes discussed earlier. Tambiah's insight that collective violence and democracy _as social processes_ are intimately intertwined is advanced in several of the other previously mentioned anthropological works, especially Das and Poole (2004) and Spencer (2007). While Das and Poole draw on a dense and rich literature of philosophical inquiry into sovereignty, law and exception, and the legibility and nature of the state itself, their work argues for firm grounding in two classical anthropological objects of analysis: everyday life, and cultural processes of producing meaning. Moreover, they focus specifically on understanding these analytical objects through the lens of "the relationship between violence and the ordering functions of the state" (Das and Poole 2004:6). Spencer draws on this work and takes it even further in his argument that "we need to see the outbreak of violence as _continuous with 'normal' social relations_ , not radically separate from them... [and as] not simply a reproduction of local structures of antagonism, but also as _an opportunity for a remaking of local social order_. In this respect the violence, like the political more generally, is productive" (2007:133). To say that violence is "productive" is not the same thing as saying that incidents of violence and routinized practices like encounter killings are "good" or "morally right" or necessarily "just." Our evaluations of specific acts and events of violence – whether in the form of police encounters, communalist pogroms, caste hostility and discrimination, or some other type – cannot remain subject to platitudes of cultural or moral relativism. However, in analyzing broader processes of collective violence and their relationship to "law and order," from popular uprisings to vigilantism by representatives of the state, it becomes clear that political violence is not simply a function of a Hobbesian state of war of "each against all," nor is it solely a site of destruction and disorder (cf. Comaroff and Comaroff 2006). It is an integral, if internally contradictory and always already questionable, part of "politics" as the production of order both by means of and sometimes in opposition to "the state" (cf. Foucault 2003[1976]). Anthropology provides a space for attending to the expressive, performative and productive aspects of the state, violence and politics even as it acknowledges the instrumental, utilitarian, and normative aspects of these social institutions; because " 'politics' and 'culture' are not two discrete 'things,' brought together in a controlled interaction... [but] two perspectives on a single dynamic process. The central mystery of the process is the promise of democracy" (Spencer 2007:17). Indeed, anthropological study elucidates how violence and "law and order" co-configure each other as modes of politics, in the Indian nation-state specifically and in contemporary liberal democracies generally. NOTES 1 Cohn draws attention to a significant contrast between the primarily militaristic conquest and oppression of native American tribes and the British approach of legal innovation and integration of common law with (alleged) indigenous legal institutions (1996:12, 57; cf. Alavi 1995). Understanding such differences in colonial modes of asserting authority is vital to contemporary discussions of different forms of democratic and legal practice in various (de)colonized states, not just the United States and India. 2 See Guha regarding certain actors in colonial India – especially "dominant indigenous groups" at the regional and local levels (versus the all-India level) – who may be "dominant in one area... dominated in another" (1982:8). The majority of police, both then and now, would fall into this category. Cf. Spivak 1988:284–285, showing how this ambiguous and contradictory status of certain subjects vis-à-vis a rigid theoretical taxonomy of "elites" versus "subalterns" undermines the entire Subaltern Studies project. 3 This is not to argue that social constructions do not have real effects and should therefore be dismissed. On the contrary, conceptions in both popular and scholarly analysis of "the state" and "society" as distinct-but-interacting categorical fields are deeply embedded in our assumptions about and actions in the world, especially with regard to governance and law, and have real and very problematic effects in how we theorize political order and violence. 4 Das and Poole go so far as to say that historically, "the quest [among anthropologists] to find order or reason among the primitives [has made] use of a language of order that is inherited from – and indeed part of – the modern European state. In this sense, anthropology has always been, in many unacknowledged ways, 'about' the state – even (and perhaps especially) when its subjects were constituted as excluded from, or opposed to, the forms of administrative rationality, political order, and authority consigned to the state" (2004:5). 5 At <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Encounter_killing> (accessed Aug. 2010). 6 In its record of civilian deaths due to policing firing, the NCRB report does not distinguish encounter killings – whether real or fake – from other types of police killings. Instead, it categorizes incidents of police firing as one of the following types: riot control, anti-dacoity operations, firing against extremists and terrorists, and firing against "others." Encounter killings may be included as part of any one of these categories. Note that in the 2006 NCRB report, a total of 472 civilians were listed as "killed in police firing," but there is no record of how many of those deaths were from encounter killings, and no sense of which may be deemed "real" or "fake" encounters. Many people, including police officers, report anecdotally that fake encounters are fast becoming the preferred and most common mode of "dealing with" alleged dacoits, gangsters, and terrorists. 7 The internal quote is from the _Bhagavad Gita_. For those unfamiliar with this text (estimated to have been written around 500 BCE), it is essentially a recounting in the Hindu epic the _Mahabharata_ of the Hindu deity Krishna offering advice and solace to a soldier, Arjuna, just prior to a major clan war. Arjuna feels caught in a moral dilemma at having to fight against a sibling clan, and Krishna preaches to Arjuna on the battlefield at Kurukshetra regarding his duties as a warrior and leader in a philosophical mode that offers general guidance for a right and proper life. Notably, the teachings of the _Gita_ were central to Mahatma Gandhi's philosophy, so much so that he translated his own version of the text into Gujarati, his mother tongue, and cited it as "the universal mother" that provided him with direction and solace in prison and in other times of darkness. 8 One of the most notorious cases of mistaken identity occurred in Delhi in 1997, when two businessmen were accidentally encountered, and then the police involved tried to cover up their mistake by planting a gun and saying the two men were shooting at them. 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I then go on to interrogate these ideas drawing on my own anthropological research in the southern city of Chennai. INTRODUCTION The idea of "civil society" is an old one, deeply rooted in Western political philosophy, but also one that is deeply contested.1 There is no absolute agreement on how the idea should be defined and understood, or on exactly what its significance is – beyond a broad consensus around the view that it is indeed an important idea. In this chapter I propose – as a "definition to think with"2 – that the idea of civil society may be understood as referring to a field of social activity, bound by the rule of law, where people come together on terms of equality as rights-bearing citizens, freely associating with each other, able to form organizations on a voluntary basis, and to deliberate about matters of common, public concern.3 Understood in this way the existence of civil society presupposes that of civil rights – civil society is unimaginable in the absence of civil liberties and of the freedoms of association and of expression. I do not claim that this is an understanding of the concept that will command universal agreement, but I do believe that it at least acknowledges commonly held views that "civil society" refers (1) to forms of voluntary association between people outside of both the state and the market (and also, though there is less agreement on this, outside of the family and other kinds of kinship groups) – a "third sector" of society, in other words; (2) to values of responsibility toward, and of respect for others; and (3) to the idea of a space in which people can come together in ways other than those dictated by the state and the market, or by the demands of kinship, and where they can discuss and engage in public affairs – a "public sphere." Civil society was not a subject of active interest to social scientists in general until relatively recently. It was in particular the recognition of the role of different kinds of people's organizations – such as church groups, student associations and independent unions – in bringing about the fall of authoritarian regimes in Eastern Europe in 1989 that gave an impetus to the study of civil society. Such organizations were seen, sensibly enough, as having been engaged in a struggle to establish civil rights and the space for civil society. These developments coincided with increasing disillusionment with the market-led approaches to development that had been fostered throughout the 1980s by international development agencies, and the recognition, in consequence, of the importance of what started to be called "governance." Those concerned with development, notably in the most influential of all the agencies, the World Bank, retained all their old reservations about the roles and the capacities of states – which they had sought to "roll back" through the encouragement or sometimes the imposition of what were called policies of "structural adjustment" – but now sought to find ways of improving the institutional frameworks of the societies in which they worked.4 Emphasis began to be placed on the potentials of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), and of local community based organizations and other supposedly "participatory" bodies, for the delivery of services and of "development" more generally, and funds came increasingly to be allocated to them and justified in the name of "strengthening civil society." This was held to be an important objective, too, in regard to "state building" in general – in the wake of the state failures and civil wars that marked the 1990s – and to the establishment of democracy in particular. Participation in associational activity in civil society is supposed even to be constitutive of substantive democracy in at least two ways. Firstly it is thought to give people experience of democratic procedure and practice; secondly it is expected that through organizing in civil society citizens can best hold political parties and the state itself accountable to themselves. It is claimed that organization in civil society can encourage much more active participation in public affairs, so that associations in civil society may be much more truly representative of people's interests than are political parties. As it was put to me once by a leading civil society activist in Chennai, "politics is a dirty river" – to be dammed up or diverted by organizations such as his own. What he has in view is a kind of alternative or "new" politics based on participation by people in local associational life.5 These arguments draw on one strand in particular in what may be called "classical" thinking about civil society, associated perhaps especially with Alexis de Tocqueville. His observations in the United States in the 1830s, discussed in _Democracy in America_ (1835), suggested to him that the vibrancy of democracy there, by comparison with what he saw in Europe, depended significantly upon the extent to which Americans had organized themselves in all manner of local associations and civic groups. This is a feature of the society of the United States that has impressed subsequent observers, too. What de Tocqueville suggested was a conception of civil society as engaged with politics, educating citizens and facilitating the formation of public opinion so as to restrain the state. But this is only one strand in classical thinking about civil society. The idea goes back in particular to the philosophers of the Scottish Enlightenment, such as Adam Ferguson, who used the term almost interchangeably with that of "commercial society" and linked it specifically with the development of the market economy and with private property. In this vein, later philosophers – Hegel, then Marx and after him Gramsci – rather saw "civil society" as the sphere of the bourgeoisie. For Gramsci, in particular, civil society is instrumental in securing the hegemony of the bourgeoisie in capitalist societies. CIVIL SOCIETY AND INDIA A critical question is then that of whether or not, or in what ways, the concept of civil society, with its roots in Western political philosophy, has application in the context of Indian society. If Indian society is understood as having been constituted fundamentally by caste, or by an agrarian hierarchy, then it is rather hard to see Western conceptions of civil society as having much purchase. If the idea of civil society fundamentally presumes that people come together on terms of equality as rights-bearing citizens, no matter what the differences in income and social status between them, then it would seem to have little application in a society that is structured hierarchically. Satish Saberwal has described Indian society as being characterized by "cellularity," associated with an ethical plurality that arises from the existence of segmented codes for conduct, related to different caste groups (cited by Corbridge and Harriss 2000:36) – which seems inimical to the existence of civil society. But this is only a partial picture, neglecting not only the influence of Western ideas in India and the effects of economic and political modernization, but also some other aspects of Indian society historically6 – and there is abundant evidence of the strength of associational life in India. Anand Pandian has commented that "British colonial officials and native elites alike celebrated the emergence of novel forms of association in urban milieus... lauding their affinity with European bourgeois public life" (2009:67); and the historian Carey Anthony Watt has traced the story of civil organization in the later colonial period, showing that in this time what he calls "a vibrant 'associational culture' " was being developed. In the growing networks of associations linked with the Arya Samaj, the Servants of India Society, the Theosophical Society, and the Seva Samiti of Allahabad, he found that Western ideas of social service, charity and philanthropy were negotiated by Indian ideas and practices of physical culture, health, and manliness, giving rise to strong notions of active, patriotic citizenship. But he remarks, too, significantly for the story of associational cultures in India today, that "with notably few exceptions social service work was undertaken by elites of the upper castes, lower-middle and middle classes, and directed towards individuals of lower social status" (2005:3), and further that it is "not surprising that educated, elite middle class and upper caste social service activists imparted brahmanical values to citizenship" (2005:16). Equally unsurprisingly, this became problematic when imposed upon lower caste and class people from what were then described as the "Depressed Classes," in the process of trying to "uplift" them. The point has remarkable resonance in present-day Chennai, as I shall explain. In addition to the sorts of societies that Watt studied, however, there were also in colonial India, as there still are today, many caste and religious associations (other than the Arya Samaj or the Theosophical Society). There has been much debate about whether what may be described as "traditional" associations of this kind can be considered part of civil society or not. The Rudolphs famously argued in _The Modernity of Tradition_ (1967) that caste associations – which are voluntary associations, though ones in which membership is open only to those who can claim a particular ascriptive identity – may serve in the development of democratic politics. Maybe so, yet they cannot, I suggest, be constitutive of civil society in the sense in which I have defined it. As André Béteille has argued, the creation of citizenship – an identity that subordinates others – on which civil society is founded, is obstructed if collective identities predominate over individual ones (1999).7 The nature of the associational culture, however, that developed in the later colonial period was greatly influenced by differences of caste and class. Subsequently, according to the way in which India was, in a sense, "invented" or reconstructed through the constitution that was drawn up between 1946 and 1949, all Indians are supposed to enjoy equal rights as citizens. Yet it is still questionable as to how far these equal rights are meaningful for very many Indians, given the persistence of social practices left over from the hierarchical "ancien régime" of caste society. As the political philosopher Partha Chatterjee has argued, "Most of the inhabitants of India are only tenuously rights-bearing citizens in the sense imagined by the Constitution. They are not, therefore, proper members of civil society [which Chatterjee understands in much the same way as that outlined at the beginning of this chapter], and are not regarded as such by the institutions of the state" (2004:38). The great majority of Indians, Chatterjee suggests, relate to the state as labeled "populations," such as those described by terms like "Slum Dwellers" or "Scheduled Castes." It is a major part of the governmentality of the developmental state that populations that are so defined should be entitled to a level of protection and some welfare benefits supplied by the state. In practice, however, people from these "populations" frequently have to become involved in illegal or at best semilegal activities, such as squatting on public land in order to have somewhere to live, tapping electricity supply cables, or hitching rides on public transport, in order to make some sort of a living. Local groups among these populations may develop a sense of moral community and give rise to associations, and in these cases the state may come to engage with them through such organizations. Yet these associations are not comparable with those of civil society, for their legal basis cannot be the same, and Chatterjee argues that even the people concerned in them accept that their activities are often contrary to good civic behavior; "but they make a claim to habitation and a livelihood as a matter of right" (2004: 40), and in doing so, members of population groups have to find a way through the thickets of local bureaucracy and commonly do so through local leaders who are connected as lower level agents with political parties. Surveys in Delhi, for instance, have shown that slum dwellers are more likely to be involved in trying to tackle public problems – relating to access to services, especially – than are their peers in middle-class areas of the city. The ways in which they do so, however, are also often different. Whereas middle-class people approach government agents directly, the slum dwellers more often work through local "big men," the _pradhans_ , and through political parties. And if they go to a government office they usually do so in a group rather than as individuals, in order to command a hearing – in sharp contrast with what is observed among people of a comparable social class in the Brazilian city of São Paulo, who much more commonly approach government directly, and as individuals. Delhi people, in contrast, are unsure of being able to secure their rights as individual citizens (Harriss 2006; Jha et al. 2007) (see Anand, chapter 23 in this volume). This is the sphere of what Chatterjee describes as "political society," as distinct from civil society. It is not a sphere in which people come together as rights-bearing citizens, but rather one in which they may struggle to establish such rights partly through instrumental use of their votes – rights that they may be much more inclined to exercise than are those who have places in civil society. It has sometimes been observed in elections in India that, quite exceptionally among parliamentary democracies across the world, there is an inverse relationship between wealth and social status, and voting. Poor people are more likely to turn out to vote than the wealthy (Alam 2004). But there is a tension between the sphere of civil society and that of political society. The former, Chatterjee argues, "represents in countries like India the high ground of modernity," and the kind of society that was implicit in the high intentions of the framers of the constitution. The latter – political society – however, gives rise to what has been called the "politics of din": "It is in the democratic process, through the struggles and the din that it creates, that the masses force concessions from the ruling class" (Alam 2004:36). But this is a politics that has come to appear threatening to many of those who are most active in civil society because the politics of din defies their rational principles and their modernizing ambitions. So, as Alam puts it, "the elite, the core of civil society, has developed deep reservations against the working of democratic processes in India" (2004:122) – and has sometimes been successful in finding ways around them, as for example, by being able to evade local government involvement in critical decision-making over land in the big cities (see Benjamin 2000; Roy 2006). How far are these general arguments about the nature of civil society in India, and its connections with politics, borne out by ethnography? In the remainder of this chapter I shall outline my findings from a study undertaken in Chennai, and their implications. STUDYING CIVIL SOCIETY ETHNOGRAPHICALLY IN CHENNAI How can the anthropologist study civil society as social practice? I have chosen in my research to focus on associational life, outside the forms of association that are required by the state or by the demands of markets or the requirements of kinship – _not_ as being _equated_ with the idea of "civil society," but as a way of exploring its application in the Indian context. I include both what I refer to as "civil associations" that have a professional staff, work to benefit others, and specialize in a particular set of issues (which include a lot of NGOs and advocacy groups), and also "social associations" that represent their members or their communities and mobilize around their own demands (which may include what have been called "community based organizations," but not many "NGOs"). The great difficulty, however, in studying associational life in a great city such as Chennai is that there is no means of defining a universe from which to select a sample. Though many associations are officially registered with the Registrar of Societies, many are not, and the records of the Registrars at any one time are both incomplete and include the names of entities that evidently exist only on paper. Lists maintained by different voluntary agencies themselves are similarly partial and incomplete. In these circumstances the best way of proceeding is to build up a sample through snowball sampling from an entry point or points, asking questions in this case about other associations with which the initial respondents have some kind of working relationship or of which they have knowledge. In this way samples may be constructed that have a reasonable claim to representativeness, though not to statistical accuracy, and confidence in them is enhanced when the networks that are described in them are seen to be completed (when the researcher keeps arriving back at the entry points). In Chennai8 I used this method, trying to find entry points in representative Zones (territorial units defined by the Corporation of Madras) in the contrasting areas of North and South Chennai. While Chennai might now be described as a "global city," this labeling conceals persisting contrasts within the city. The "new economy" and the service industries and consumer culture associated with it are located primarily in South Chennai and in areas that have been developed quite recently, like T Nagar and Anna Nagar in the west. The appearances of globalization are much less in evidence in the old commercial heart of the colonial city in Georgetown, or in the great swathe of the city lying to the north of it, including the areas of Washermanpet, Royapuram, Tondiarpet, Vyasarpadi, Perambur, and Ayanavaram. These are, historically, the principal working-class areas of the city – but they have latterly become something of an industrial wasteland following the closure of the city's textile mills and of other industries. In contrast with South Chennai, as well, the north has relatively few temples and it has not shared in the wave of temple renovation and construction – sometimes involving Non-Resident Indians working in North America – that has swept other parts of the city. It lacks the great cultural institutions of the south, too. The difference between North Chennai and South Chennai was reflected in the debate on the Budget of the Chennai Corporation in 2005 when it was proposed by some councilors that there should be a separate budget for the north. It seemed important, therefore, to find distinctive entry points in North and South Chennai. Neither local politicians nor local government officials proved to be very useful informants, probably because they (the politicians especially) want to maintain that they themselves are the avenues whereby people can expect to find a means of tackling their problems. In the end I relied in particular on information and introductions provided by the editor of one of the free local community newspapers distributed in South Chennai who is very active in community affairs, and on contacts that were given to me in North Chennai by a professor of social work, who himself coordinates several organizational networks. At last, by these means, I mapped out two distinctive, though partially interconnected networks of associations, one – heavily Brahman dominated, as it turned out – firmly located in South Chennai, and the other – which involves organizations led and staffed especially by Christians, mainly Catholics – based more loosely in the north of the city. The distinction between the North and South Chennai clusters of associations was brought home to me in a particular experience. My earliest encounters were with associations in what I might label as "the South Chennai Brahman network," and I heard from several of them of another human rights advocacy organization (I will call it "Organization X"), though it was only ever casually mentioned. Nobody gave me a contact number for it, and in the end I looked up the number in the phone book. While I waited for its director, sitting in his office, I glanced through a recent copy of the _Economic and Political Weekly_ , and saw in it a mention of another, apparently active rights advocacy organization in Chennai ("Organization Y"). Since I had by this time been pursuing my snowball sample very actively for well over a month I was quite surprised, and a bit disturbed, that I should not by then have heard of Organization Y. I asked about it, therefore, while I was talking with the director of Organization X, and he explained that he was himself active in Organization Y. So through him I was able to meet, the next day, his counterpart in Organization Y – which is in fact a forum or network of 17 organizations, all led by Christians, spread across the state. Both men are Catholics, and share a common background at Loyola College. When I explained to the director of Organization Y that I felt rather chastened because it had taken me so long to encounter him and his activities, he burst out laughing. "Ah!" he said, "You must learn to take a caste perspective on civil society in Chennai." The Brahman and Christian/Catholic networks are not entirely separated from each other, but it is striking that the Brahman organizations aren't involved in the work of Organization Y, even though some are concerned with the same problems.9 The Director of Organization Y argues that in the 1970s and 1980s, after the Emergency, in the period which he refers to as that of "civil society formation," there were three streams of organizers: those from a Gandhian background; those who were left-oriented, often Brahmans; and those like himself, also well educated, but from a Christian background. Very quickly, "civil society" became splintered and sectarian, with dalit, tribal, and women's groups, and others, separating themselves out and then becoming internally very fractured. Then in the 1990s civil society became, in a sense, increasingly "brahmanized." Donor agencies were putting much more money in, but also required that the organizations they were funding should become more "professional." Then when various associations sought local staff as project officers and grant administrators they found them disproportionately among young Brahmans, because of their common advantage in terms of educational qualifications and cultural capital – and he illustrated this with reference even to his own staff. The left, he thinks, is also rather Brahman dominated – and it is partly for this reason that those of a left orientation have difficulty in relating to dalit struggles, which they believe obscure fundamental class questions; while on the other hand there is a reluctance among dalits to accept Brahman leadership, even when that leadership intends to act on behalf of dalit interests (see Fuller, chapter 4 in this volume). TYPES OF ASSOCIATIONS IN CHENNAI AND THEIR ACTIVITIES I visited each of the 62 different associations that, in the end, I identified through my snowball sampling, held discussions with some from among their leaders, about the history, objectives, organization and activities of their associations, and in most cases was able to spend some time observing their activities. What I have is a cross-section of the kinds of associations that are generally thought of as being part of "civil society," though certainly excluding or underrepresenting several different types of associations of which there are significant numbers in Chennai, including trade unions, trade associations (such as an association of aluminum vessels merchants, or one bringing together all the traders and shopkeepers of a particular area), and caste associations. Of course it might be argued that trade associations should in any case be thought of as being "market" organizations, rather than as part of civil society, and caste associations, as I explained earlier, are also a problematic category. Both trade and caste associations are, however, most emphatically part of the contemporary "associational culture" of Chennai, as also are the familiar Lions and Rotary Clubs – associations of business and professional people – which fund some of the smaller service providers in my sample. The networks that I mapped do not include women's self-help groups, of which there are now large numbers in the city (4,475 in Chennai, in 2005, according to the Tamil Nadu Corporation for Development of Women). These are groups of usually 15–20 women who contribute regular savings and are assisted in obtaining loans for setting up different kinds of small-scale productive activities. Their formation, across India as a whole, has been promoted by government (in Tamil Nadu through the Corporation for Development of Women), with the active involvement of service-providing NGOs – some of them included in my network – which employ coordinators to encourage the formation of groups and to assist women to open bank accounts and obtain loans. There is a good deal of controversy about the significance and the effectiveness of the self-help group movement – but there is no doubt that this is another significant element in the associational landscape of Chennai (see Coelho and Venkat 2009). Table 21.1, which shows my sample, distinguishes between various types of civil and social organizations. The former include _advocacy NGOs_ , highly professional organizations that work variously in the fields of human rights, labor rights, women's affairs, consumer affairs, and citizenship and governance; and _not-for-profit ("NGO") service providers_ , engaged commonly in community development work, or serving particular groups of "clients" such as children; and organizations that combine these sorts of activities. The social organizations include _local territorial associations_ such as residents' welfare associations (RWAs), which are organized mostly in higher income, middle-class areas,10 as well as more informal local groups; some _identity-based associations_ , involving dalits or – in one case – male sex workers; and organizations with the character of _social movements_. These include the People's Union for Civil Liberties, which campaigns on civil liberties and human rights; the Tamil Nadu Unorganized Workers' Federation, the Nirman Mazdoor Panchayat Sangh (the construction workers' union), and a union for domestic workers with about 1,500 members in North and Central Chennai, all of which work for greater social protection for their members; three women's movements, each of which has local groups and works, in somewhat different ways, for women's rights; and the Tamil Nadu Slum Dwellers' Federation, which in practice is not a "federation" at all, but rather an organization of a number of dalits who are in low-level positions in government service and who aim to work for the housing rights of slum dwellers and for the provision of better sanitation. It bears only a very pale resemblance to the National Slum Dwellers' Federation, as this has been described by Appadurai (2004) in his work on Mumbai, even though the president of the Tamil Nadu association is now also the president of the national federation. Table 21.1 Types of associations in the sample, dates of foundation, and social identity a "Social identity" refers to the identity of the founder or founders, or – in the case of the networks and fora – of the organizers. b NGO = nongovernmental organization. c _Sahaya_ is a directory of 202 associations involved in "Welfare, Health and Social Service in the City of Chennai." Data on date of foundation missing for 5% of the associations listed. It would be foolish, clearly, to suggest simple conclusions about the significance of all the diverse activities carried on by these associations. An important share of them, however, like the RWAs, certainly are associations of and for middle-class people as "consumer-citizens" – the hyphenated term that is preferred by one Chennai advocacy association on the grounds that the term "consumer" emphasizes the principle of accountability.11 Others, as I go on to explain, have been organized by middle-class people, mostly (as Table 21.1 shows) either Brahmans or Christians. My own survey research in Delhi showed that participation in associational activities is skewed quite heavily toward those with higher levels of education and income (Harriss 2006), and it is unlikely that comparable research in Chennai would yield significantly different results. I found in Delhi that whereas poorer and sometimes also less well educated people are more active in political life, and that poorer people (especially those of them who have a little bit more education than most) are more active in attempts at solving public problems, the same is not true of associational activity. If associational activism is taken as an indicator of political participation then a stronger tendency is observed for wealthier and particularly for more educated people to be involved, clearly calling into question the hopeful notion in the recent development discourse about governance that poor people are able to secure effective representation or "empowerment" through participation in associations in civil society. In general, the evidence I have shows that though there are now more channels for influencing government, and thereby securing representation – through RWAs, advocacy NGOs and their fora and networks – those who can avail themselves of the opportunities offered are usually the better educated and wealthy. The paradox that increasing opportunities for participation go to increase political inequality stands against claims by protagonists of an alternative " new politics" – like the person who spoke to me of diverting the "dirty river" of politics. A majority of the civil organizations in Chennai are service-providing NGOs aimed at meeting the needs of different groups of people who are in some way deprived. Many serve slum dwellers, and it is not to scorn the motivations of those who have set them up to suggest that the outcomes of their work, as well as delivering real benefits to some individuals, are intended to bring order to the "wild" that is constituted by the slums that have for long been found offensive and sometimes threatening by middle-class people in India, as elsewhere in the world (Gooptu 1996). I observed the activities of one such organization quite closely, including participation in its Women's Day events. It was hard to avoid the impression of "disciplining" that was given by the attitudes and the mannerisms of the distinctly middle-class women who organized the program toward those among whom their organization is working. THE STRATIFICATION OF ASSOCIATIONAL ACTIVITY The most telling feature of the associational life of Chennai is the sharp stratification of organizations. On the one hand there are organizations, concerned mainly with issues of urban governance and the problems of consumer-citizens, that are quite elitist, run by upper middle-class people, mostly Brahmans. These are organizations that adopt the formal language of "citizenship" and speak of participation in budgeting, and of transparency and accountability in local government. Many of these organizations are run with substantial budgets with a high degree of genuine professionalism, but they do not have – or even seek – a broad popular base. On the other hand there are some organizations that are focused on the urban poor – also set up in the first place by middle-class people, though usually from a different, less affluent stratum, commonly Christians – that do mobilize and organize people to make demands upon the state (and which have strong representational claims). The focus of their work is typically the slums and much of their effort is directed at securing basic rights for those living in them – rather than at the provision of assistance in the way that is characteristic of the service providers described earlier. These two types of organizations engage with government in very different ways. As one activist said to me, "Only the poor agitate; the rich operate." The first group of organizations that I have described may well adopt the paradigm of "public-private partnership" and champion the notion of "collaborative change." The idea is that "synergy" between citizens and government is essential to bring about change. This is "the rich operating." The organizations of the second group have rather adopted "protest" – this is "the poor agitating." "Partnership" with the state is inconceivable to most organizations in this group. Several do see the capture of political power as the logical conclusion of their struggle, enabling them to bring about genuinely pro-poor and pro-labor policies. It appears then that the stratification in civil society organizations reflects also a dualism that distinguishes "citizens" from "denizens" (inhabitants, who may be "done unto"),12 and that a particular technocratic associational elite defines citizenship in particular ways. Networks among civil society organizations tend to form within the realm of either "citizens" or "denizens," rarely straddling both. In Chennai there is a sharp distinction between the Brahman dominated networks of RWAs, advocacy and some service organizations of South Chennai, and the networks of mainly Christian-led service and advocacy organizations in North Chennai. The dominantly Christian cluster includes organizations that actually work _with_ people in poor parts of the city, and the relatively few social organizations or movements in which poorer people are active participants – those organizations that may be described as being _of_ the poor. The former, Brahman cluster does not include such organizations. Some of the associations within the Brahman cluster are concerned with problems relating to citizenship and to problems of governance that surely affect and are of relevance to poorer people, but they principally address middle-class interests. They specifically do _not_ address the problems of housing and of rights to livelihood that are the essential concerns of the people of the slums. Those in the North Chennai networks – as I explained – talk explicitly of the "caste base" of civil society activism in the city, and there remains a good deal of resentment toward what is seen as Brahmanical paternalism – very much as Watt describes for the later colonial period – even though there may also be respect for the work done by some of the Brahman organizations. Jankai Nair has described a very similar stratification of associational activity in Bangalore, too, arguing that the city has become the ground on which broadly two contending forces stake their claim: on the one hand are the newly renovated citizens, who are amply aided by a technocratic vision of change offered by the leaders of the new economy. On the other hand are those, including citizens-in-the-making such as women, for whom democracy has come to have a different meaning in the urban setting. (2005:347) In Bangalore, the upper stratum of highly professional associations has been much concerned with the problems of the urban environment, but other studies that have been undertaken of how different sections of the city prioritize their municipal problems reveal altogether different concerns: they include, importantly, concerns about the availability of water, the existence of job opportunities in poor neighborhoods, and an overwhelming anxiety to claim citizenship and voting rights by getting onto the voters' lists. The last was seen in many cases as critical to the survival of the poorest groups in the city, as politics is often the only resource in a system which may deny the benefits of policy decisions or legal remedies to the poor. (2005:336–7) There is an important distinction between the South Chennai network of organizations for and of "citizens" – even if the concept of citizenship, for them, tends to be regarded in terms of the rights of consumers – and the North Chennai network, in which there are not only organizations that work with the urban poor, like the service-providing NGOs, but also the mobilizational movements – the most notable of them actually being women's organizations. The Penn Urimai Iyakkam (Women's Rights Movement), in particular, fights to secure housing rights and basic services for women living in slums. It is a constituent member of the Tamil Nadu Slum Dwellers' Rights Movement, and both through this formal connection and through the central involvement in both associations of the same leading women's rights campaigners, the Penn Urimai Iyakkam is also closely connected with the mobilization of informal sector workers by the Nirman Mazdoor Panchayat Sangh (the construction workers' union, founded in 1979). As part of this mobilization, the Women's Rights Movement has also become involved with the more recently formed Unorganized Workers' Federation – the objectives of which are to campaign for the rights of unorganized sector workers (including those that have already been formally legislated for by the Government of Tamil Nadu, but not fully implemented), and against globalization (on the grounds that liberalization and globalization harm the livelihoods of poor workers).13 The close links of these organizations – the women's rights movement and those for unorganized workers, depending partly on their overlapping leadership – reflect their common position that housing rights and rights to livelihood are intimately connected. The priorities of these movements of the urban poor are clearly different from those of the citizen-consumer advocacy associations of South Chennai, reflecting the opposing and increasingly conflicted interests of the middle and informal working classes in regard to urban space (on which see Benjamin 2000). The modes of action of the two groups of associations are also very clearly contrasted. The women's movements in many ways supply the backbone of the mobilizations of the urban poor in Chennai. In addition to the Penn Urimai Iyakkam, there are in different slum areas of the city groups organized by Mahila Milan (the women's organization described by Arjun Appadurai (2004) as one of the three constituents of the coalition in Mumbai that he argues has had an important impact in creating a "culture of aspiration" among poor people there). More significantly, and sometimes allied with Penn Urimai Iyakkam, there is the All-India Democratic Women's Association (AIDWA) – linked to the Communist Party of India (Marxist). The AIDWA has 66,000 members in Chennai, "80 to 90 percent" of them being described as "poor and working class women." The local leadership in North Chennai, certainly those whom I was able to meet, including one municipal councilor, is constituted by women from among the urban poor. The numbers of women who are organized by Penn Urimai, AIDWA and Mahila Milan (never mind the large numbers of women's self-help groups) far outweigh the numbers of men from among the urban poor, living in slum areas, who are involved in such mobilizational movements. All those involved in the Slum Dwellers' Rights Movement spoke of the difficulty of holding together local organizations of poor people, including men, in slum areas. The Tamil Nadu Slum Dwellers' Federation proved to be unable (I believe, rather than unwilling) to provide any introduction to local slum dwellers' organizations. The professor of social work who provided one of my entry points was able to identify five or six slums in which there are, to his knowledge, more or less active local organizations. According to him, and to other activists, there are particular mobilizations against evictions but they rarely, if ever, hold together for very long either because of their politicization by competing political parties, or because of the buying off of leaders by landlords. Exactly as Janaki Nair has said of Bangalore, therefore, politics "is often the only resource in a system which may deny the benefits of policy decisions or legal remedies to the poor" (quoted above). CONCLUSIONS How do these observations of the associational life of Chennai reflect upon conceptions of civil society in general and of civil society in India in particular? What do they have to say about the relationships of civil society and the state, and politics, in India? First off, it is clear that there is a sphere of social activity in India that can sensibly be described as that of "civil society" as I have defined it here, following the ways in which this idea has been defined and discussed within Western political philosophy. It is also clear that this is dominantly, though not exclusively, a sphere of middle-class activism. While some discussions of civil society, and of its political significance, suggest that it is a public sphere in and through which the interests of society as a whole are represented, this is certainly not the case in Chennai – or, it seems reasonable to suppose, in India generally. The associational life of Chennai is influenced by both caste and class distinctions, according to the perceptions of those who are active within it, and it is distinctly stratified. While the development of civil society activism has enhanced the possibilities for the political representation of different interests, there is no doubt that this has disproportionately benefited middle-class people. As I put it, there is a paradox: increased opportunities for participation go to increase political inequality. It is partly through their organization in civil society that middle-class people – and I am referring here particularly to those of what has been called "the new middle class," of people holding professional and managerial positions – are able to represent themselves and to pursue their interests outside the field of regular democratic politics. They are able "to operate," as one of my informants put it me, while poor people can only "agitate." They can "operate" in such a way as to evade the constraints of the formal procedures of local democratic politics, and can pursue their interests without having to work through local politicians (as Benjamin has shown, 2000). Thus it is that they may ignore electoral politics, keeping away from "the politics of din" – the practical effectiveness of which is less certain. Associational activity in civil society is not entirely closed to poorer people from the informal working class living in slums, as is shown by the existence of organizations such as Penn Urimai Iyakkam and the Nirman Mazdoor Panchayat Sangh (which, together with a policy research center set up by a former civil servant, also form the Tamil Nadu Slum Dwellers' Rights Movement). Even if they were started in the first place by particular individuals with "new middle class" backgrounds – at least one of them a Brahman – these are membership organizations in which quite large numbers of decidedly poor, informal working-class people are active. And these organizations "agitate" over problems and interests that are largely ignored by the upper stratum of middle-class organizations. Still, whereas middle-class people may be well represented locally through their RWAs, with which the city government of Chennai engages in "partnership," local associations are only weakly developed in slum areas and insofar as they exist at all they are ignored as possible partners by the local state. It is certainly not only in Chennai that this is the case. The flagship Bhagidari Scheme of the Delhi Government, for example, which is the best developed program of partnership between a city government and local RWAs (aimed at, in the words of the Delhi Government website, "collaborative change for the development of the city"), hardly extends to poorer residential areas or to slums. A similar story may be told about the Advanced Locality Management Units that were first instituted in Mumbai in 1997, intended to improve the quality of the provision of urban services through establishing partnerships between residents/citizens and the municipal administration (Zerah 2007). It is also striking that these associations of middle-class neighborhoods sometimes organize against the poor. Some Delhi RWAs, for instance, have sought to bring about slum clearance through public interest litigation and effectively to criminalize the poor (Bhan 2008).14 Some environmental associations, too, organize against the poor, like one in South Chennai that has sought to prevent local fishing communities from fouling the beach, or those that aim to clear Delhi's streets of cows or rickshaws. In the circumstances of the slums and poorer neighborhoods of Indian cities, however, there is often little local organization, and where there is, it may be fractured by competing political loyalties. All of this means that politics – specifically party politics – is "the only resource" (Nair) left to poorer people, and it is easy to understand why electoral turnouts may be much higher in the poorer parts of India's cities than in middle-class areas and why they are the "garrisons" of support for politicians and political parties. Poor people cannot afford to ignore the electoral process. But then they are likely to be dependent upon local "big men," like the _pradhans_ of Delhi slums, as intermediaries, both with politicians and with functionaries of the state.15 The presumption in some of the recent civil society literature, deriving its inspiration from de Tocqueville, that organization in civil society fosters democracy is at best only partially borne out. Civil society in India, as is probably the case in other societies as well, is a field of power in which middle-class (and in India, probably upper caste) people are often at an advantage, and through their activities can pursue their interests to the disadvantage of others. While civil society may well in some ways restrain the state, or cause it to act in certain ways, as some of the advocacy organizations in Chennai and Bangalore have been successful in doing through organization and lobbying, and sometimes in direct opposition to the interests of poorer people,16 it is only the state – as Hegel thought – that can intervene to constrain civil society and to promote the needs and freedoms of poorer people from the informal working class, among whom organizing in civil society is more difficult and altogether less likely. The alternative "new politics" looked for by some activists might well end up by being quite antidemocratic in spite of their intentions and expectations. Finally, what do these findings suggest about the distinction that Chatterjee draws between "civil society" and "political society"? His argument that many Indians are "only tenuously rights-bearing citizens," and that for most it is a matter of struggling for their rights in "political society," is borne out. But the separation of the two spheres may be overdrawn. There are organizations like Penn Urimai that must surely be seen as being rooted in political society, but that are struggling for the rights of urban citizenship. Building a democratic civil society is an objective that some from the space of "political society" are striving for. NOTES This chapter was written while I was a Visiting Research Professor in the Institute of South Asian Studies of the National University of Singapore. I am grateful to the Institute for the opportunity that it gave me. I am also grateful to Chris Fuller for helpful comments. 1 There is an enormous literature about the concept of civil society. An excellent introduction is Neera Chandhoke's _State and Civil Society: Explorations in Political Theory_ (1995); while the same author's _Conceits of Civil Society_ (2003) extends her arguments with particular reference to India. Another valuable source is _Civil Society: History and Possibilities_ , edited by Sudipta Kaviraj and Sunil Khilnani (2001). 2 I take this phrase from Satish Deshpande (2003:141). 3 This may be compared with the definition offered by the Centre for Civil Society (2004) at the London School of Economics: "Civil society refers to _the arena of uncoerced collective action around shared interests, purposes and values_. In theory, its institutional forms are distinct from those of the state, family and market, though in practice, the boundaries between state, civil society, family and market are often complex, blurred and negotiated. Civil society commonly embraces a diversity of spaces, actors and institutional forms, varying in their degree of formality, autonomy and power. Civil societies are often populated by organizations such as registered charities, development non-governmental organizations, community groups, women's organizations, faith-based organizations, professional associations, trade unions, self-help groups, social movements, business associations, coalitions and advocacy groups" (emphasis added). 4 The shift in focus in the World Bank was reflected in the publication of a paper on good government in 1992, and then, most influentially, in the _World Development Report_ of 1997, which was on "The State in a Changing World" (World Bank 1997). 5 My informant expressed arguments comparable with those advanced in India in the 1980s by Rajni Kothari (1988). 6 Christopher Bayly's _Rulers, Townsmen and Bazaars_ (1983) provides an important account of forms of organization in the later eighteenth century 7 Béteille's article was written in response to an article by Gurpreet Mahajan (1999). The two authors offer important discussions of the problem of defining civil society in the Indian context. 8 My field research was conducted in the first three months of 2005. Though I do have some ability in spoken Tamil, most of the interviews that I conducted were in English, reflecting the social milieu from which those involved come. I gratefully acknowledge the assistance in my fieldwork of Pritham Chakravarthy, and the benefit of my discussions with her and with Venkatesh Chakravarthy. 9 There are connections, however, between what I have called "Organization X" and the South Chennai Brahman network. Indeed it is the link between the two networks that my snowball sampling led me to map. 10 The character of many is reflected in the comment made by one RWA chairman, about the need for action against "antisocial elements," referring specifically to rag-pickers who visit his street. 11 Leela Fernandes (2006) has discussed this term and its uses in regard to the "new middle class" of India. 12 The "citizen"/"denizen" distinction was suggested to me by Sudha Narayanan, who had found it being used by civil society activists in Bangalore. 13 See reports in _The Hindu_ of March 15 and May 5, 2005 on demonstrations on job security, wages and pension guarantees for unorganized workers. 14 Whereas, for example, those described as "encroachers" on public or private land for purposes of setting up their dwellings or their businesses used to be treated by the courts in Delhi as citizens whose rights to dwelling space and to livelihoods should be respected, so that recommendations were often made about the need for their resettlement, recent judgments have been to criminalize encroachment. One was to the effect that the encroacher is no more deserving of public care than the pickpocket. Both are criminals, their crimes being against private property (Bhan 2008). 15 As Chatterjee argues, these agents "mediate between domains that are differentiated by deep and historically entrenched inequalities of power... between those who govern and those who are governed" (2004:66). It is a mode of politics that is a denial of citizenship among equal members of a civic community. 16 Ghosh's 2005 study of the Bangalore Agenda Task Force – which can be described as an organization of civil society – shows this very well. The conclusion that Zerah expresses, pithily, in her Mumbai study is also apposite: "The vested interests of residents' associations and their vision of a legal, clean, efficient and modern city are obscured by [a] universalist discourse on general interest and the public good" (2007:67). REFERENCES Alam, Javeed 2004 Who Wants Democracy? Delhi: Orient Longman. Appadurai, Arjun 2004 The Capacity to Aspire: Culture and the Terms of Recognition. _In_ Culture and Public Action. Vijayendra Rao and Michael Walton, eds. Pp. 59–84. Stanford: Stanford Social Sciences. Bayly, Christopher 1983 Rulers, Townsmen and Bazaars: North Indian Society in the Age of British Expansionism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Benjamin, Solomon 2000 Governance, Economic Settings and Poverty in Bangalore. Environment and Urbanisation 12(1):35–51. Béteille, André 1999 Citizenship, State and Civil Society. Economic and Political Weekly 34(36):2588–91. Bhan, Gautam 2008 "This Is No Longer the City I Once Knew": Evictions, the Urban Poor and the Right to the City in Millennial Delhi. Paper presented at Annual Conference on South Asia, Madison, Oct. 17. Centre for Civil Society 2004 What Is Civil Society? At www.lse.ac.uk/collections/CCS/introduction/what_is_civil_society.htm (accessed Aug. 2010). Chandhoke, Neera 1995 State and Civil Society: Explorations in Political Theory. Delhi: Sage. 2003 Conceits of Civil Society. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Chatterjee, Partha 2004 The Politics of the Governed: Reflections on Popular Politics in Most of the World. New York: Columbia University Press. Coelho, Karen, and T. Venkat 2009 The Politics of Civil Society: Neighbourhood Associationism in Chennai. Economic and Political Weekly 44(26–7). Corbridge, Stuart, and John Harriss 2000 Reinventing India: Economic Liberalization, Hindu Nationalism and Popular Democracy. Cambridge: Polity. Deshpande, Satish 2003 Contemporary India: A Sociological View. Delhi: Penguin. Fernandes, Leela 2006 India's New Middle Class: Democratic Politics in an Era of Economic Reform. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Ghosh. A. 2005 Public-Private or a Private Public? Promised Partnership of the Bangalore Agenda Task Force. Economic and Political Weekly 40(47):4914–4922. Gooptu, Nandini 1996 The "Problem" of Urban Poor Policy and Discourse of Local Administration: A Study in Uttar Pradesh in the Interwar Period. Economic and Political Weekly (Dec. 14):3245–3254. Harriss, John 2006 Middle Class Activism and the Politics of the Informal Working Class: A Perspective on Class Relations and Civil Society in Indian Cities. Critical Asian Studies 38(4): 445–465. Jha, S, Vijayendra Rao, and Michael Woolcock 2007 Governance in the Gullies: Democratic Responsiveness and Leadership in Delhi Slums. World Development 35(2):230–246. Kaviraj, Sudipta, and Sunil Khilnani, eds. 2001 Civil Society: History and Possibilities. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kothari, Rajni 1988 State against Democracy: In Search of Humane Governance. Delhi: Ajanta. Mahajan, Gurpreet 1999 Civil Society and Its Avatars: What Happened to Freedom and Democracy? Economic and Political Weekly 34(20):1188–1196. Nair, Janaki 2005 The Promise of the Metropolis: Bangalore's Twentieth Century. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Pandian, Anand 2009 Crooked Stalks: Cultivating Virtue in South India. Durham: Duke University Press. Roy, I. 2006 Representation and Development in Urban Peripheries. Economic and Political Weekly 40(36):4363–4368. Rudolph, Lloyd, and Susanne Rudolph 1967 The Modernity of Tradition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Watt, Carey Anthony 2005 Serving the Nation: Cultures of Service, Association and Citizenship in Colonial India. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. World Bank 1997 World Development Report 1997: The State in a Changing World. Washington DC: World Bank. Zerah, M.-H. 2007 Middle Class Neighbourhood Associations as Political Players in Bombay. Economic and Political Weekly 42(47):61–68. CHAPTER 22 Discourses of Citizenship and Criminality in Clean, Green Delhi _Yaffa Truelove and Emma Mawdsley_ It is evident that there has been in the last decade or so a concerted attempt to clean up Indian cities, to rid streets and public lands of squatters and encroachers, and to reclaim public spaces for the use of _proper citizens_. Partha Chatterjee, _The Politics of the Governed_ , p. 131 (emphasis added) INTRODUCTION Released on April 8, 2005, the Draft 2021 Master Plan for Delhi calls for the transformation of Delhi into a "World Class City" (D. Roy 2005:7). While the details of how to effect Delhi's cosmopolitan transformation are at times vague, the thrust of the Draft Plan centers on developing the city into a key node of international finance and investment. In particular, the plan presents a growing state impetus to "clean" and "green" Delhi, creating a legible and attractive cityscape that can mirror Asian urban counterparts such as Singapore and Hong Kong. According to the plan, the "encroachment of public lands" by growing numbers of squatters presents an ongoing and highly visible threat to Delhi's "world class" status and its attempt to forge a new spatial geography. The Draft Plan indicates the city's increased ambition to expel squatters, or drive them into less visible city spaces, through relocation and resettlement (Kackar 2005; Bhan 2009). By fostering international tourism, conventions, sports events, and the establishment of new shopping centers, restaurants, and hotels to support these activities, the "new" Delhi will assert its prestige as both a national capital and a global city (Roy 2005). Water governance is one arena within which we can observe and evaluate the "remaking" of Delhi. We build on the work of urban political ecologists who expose the power relations embedded in the infrastructures, distribution, access to, and costs of water (Bakker 2003; Swyngedouw 1995; 2004; Swyngedouw et al. 2002; Gandy 2006; 2008); and that of feminist political ecologists who highlight the social practices of securing water (Sultana 2009; Truelove, forthcoming). Our specific focus is on the discourses of "citizenship" and "criminality" that are increasingly being entrenched around class identities. We examine the ways in which new governmentalities in Delhi act to highlight and criminalize the informal and illegal practices of poor people seeking to access water, while at the same time remaining almost entirely silent on the informalities and illegalities of middle-class water practices. Indeed, beyond this, we argue that an examination of the practices of water governance in Delhi shows the ways that the state is actively engaged in a construction of the middle classes as "law-abiding citizens," inducting them into a regressive biopolitics of the city as they are asked to actively police and discipline each other. We suggest that attention to the construction of the "citizen" as well as the "criminal" is an important task for critical scholars seeking to contest the revanchist direction of urban governance and class relations. The chapter is set out as follows. We start with the dialectic between the "planned" and "unplanned" city of Delhi, highlighting their coevolution and dependence in the colonial and postcolonial periods. The next section offers a brief account of the changing approaches to city governance that have accompanied neoliberal globalization in India, and, in particular, the construction and pursuit of "world class city" status by Delhi. Here we are particularly interested in the role played by the judiciary, and the mobilization of the language of (il)legality in affirming the rights of wealthier groups, while seeking to render the poor invisible. A key institution that is highlighted here is Delhi's "bhagidari" system of participatory governance, which provides a privileged arena for interaction between the various state agencies and departments and the city's better-off residents. In this section we also reflect briefly on the specificities of "revanchism" in postcolonial contexts, specifically how discourses of a clean green city serve to bolster elite interests and spaces in the city at the expense of the rights and citizenship of Delhi's poorer populations. The second half of the chapter turns to water politics. Zerah (2000), Sagane (2000), and Davis (2004) all show that although income levels and geographical differentiations in water provision shape the precise nature and profile of the compensation strategies deployed by different individuals and families, water informalities and illegalities can be found across all class groups in Delhi. However, it is the slums and "unauthorized" communities which are consistently set up as the threat to water sustainability, while elite and middle-class informalities are obscured. Indeed, the middle classes are actively constructed as citizens contributing to the sustainable management of the city. We uncover the ways in which municipal agencies like the Delhi Jal Board (DJB, the Delhi Water Board) unevenly construct and prosecute water criminals, and create the notion of the "proper environmental citizen" of Delhi. However, before starting, we have to offer some caveats about our rather heuristic use of "middle classes" in the context of contemporary India, and more specifically Delhi. There are a number of sophisticated and insightful attempts to conceptualize class in India, which look to define and analyze the parameters, practices, and arenas of privilege. These include Deshpande (2003), Mazzarella (2005), Fernandes (2004; 2006), and Fernandes and Heller (2006). Other analysts provide rich accounts of middle-class particularities, finessed by place, gender, and social position (e.g. Osella and Osella 2000; Dwyer 2000: Donner 2008). Notwithstanding different arguments and emphases, these authors all point to contested indicators (income, education, consumption practices, etc.); continuities and transformations between the "Nehruvian" middle class and the "new" middle class; the ambivalent centrality of neoliberal globalization in the imaginations, interests, and practices of the middle classes; and above all, the extraordinary complexity of India's "class" structures and relations, notably in relation to caste, region, and religion. We recognize that here we simplify these categories in making our argument, and do not (in this instance) actively explore differences within and between the elites and middle classes, or for that matter, within and between Delhi's poor (an equally heterogeneous population). While this gives us some purchase on wider-scale shifts in the politics and discourses of water governance in Delhi, we are acutely aware of the loss of detailed resolution in this discussion, and the dangers of essentializing both the poor and the middle classes. The test of the thesis set out here must be more nuanced, empirically derived studies, attentive to the tremendous social variations within and between Delhi's poor, middle classes, and elites. DELHI SINCE INDEPENDENCE: THE PLANNED AND UNPLANNED CITY The history of Delhi, both colonial and postcolonial, is one of deep divisions and dualisms marked by efforts to remake and reshape the cityscape. The shift of the colonial capital from Calcutta (Kolkata) to Delhi led the British to create a "New" Delhi – an urban center that would be distinctly different and separate from Shahjahanabad, the historical Mughal city first built in the sixteenth century. The building of New Delhi started from plans as early as 1910 to create an orderly and grand imperial city, and began with the acquisition of extensive land areas south of Shahjahanabad that could be built into spacious homes, offices, avenues and parks for the new capital (Sajha Manch 1999; Metcalf 2002). The development of this land entailed a large displacement of untouchable castes which were forced to move to the city's western periphery (where to date the area is largely composed of these caste groups) (Sajha Manch 1999; Baviskar 2003). The new architecture of south Delhi forged new colonial structures that "segregated the white rulers from the brown _babus_ in a finely calibrated hierarchy of status" (Baviskar 2003:91; see also Metcalf 2002; Legg 2007). Sanitation and water infrastructure not only reflected differential physical investment in racially segregated parts of the city, but also embodied and (re)produced Orientalist constructions of race and cleanliness. Prashad argues that the colonial authorities were able to "resolve" the tensions between their paternalistic colonial ideologies and the demand to minimize social expenditure by constructing a discourse which naturalized the manual removal of sewage and waste, and endowed the "natives" with lower hygiene standards: "The subjugated natives... came to be represented as having a special fondness for dirt as well as an inability to make the crucial separation between it and cleanliness." (2001:117); "From the standpoint of the colonial officials of the 1860s, it was easier to bemoan the native's putative lack of hygiene than to produce the systems of sanitation to remedy the lack of amenities" (2000:120–1). At Independence in 1947, both New Delhi and the older parts of the city underwent another drastic reconfiguration of their populations as a result of the partitioning of India and Pakistan. Delhi was flooded by refugees from across the new border with Pakistan, and simultaneously experienced an exodus of large portions of its Muslim population. A circle of colonies around Delhi's periphery was formed to rehouse in-migrants, and the Ministry of Rehabilitation was given the task of providing economic and social rehabilitation for displaced residents. Yet municipal administrators and politicians felt rapidly overwhelmed by demand, and from the first decade of its independence, the state government declared Delhi to be threatened by "haphazard and unplanned growth" (quoted in Sajha Manch 1999:3). In response, in 1957 it launched the Delhi Development Authority (DDA), which authored and attempted to enact Delhi's First Master Plan, calling for a "hygienic" and "properly ordered" city (Baviskar 2003:91; Verma 2003). Ironically, the planning of such a city, and the subsequent construction and state rationalization of urban space, relied upon large populations of working-class laborers for whom the city had no plans for housing or incorporation. Thus Baviskar notes that the building of planned Delhi was mirrored in the simultaneous mushrooming of the unplanned Delhi which consisted of migrants and poor workers (and their spaces of home and livelihood) whom the city desperately needed for its development initiatives, and indeed, whom it invited in. Yet this population could only find residences through building shantytowns and residing in slums within the city and on its periphery – the very structures and specter the city planners wished to eradicate (see Ghandi, chapter 11 in this volume). While clearly marginal within the state's vision of its new orderly city, residents residing in slums nonetheless began to secure their housing and livelihoods through both bribes and the intervention of local politicians who needed to secure the votes of this burgeoning population. As this section of the city began to grow into the millions, Chatterjee notes the rise of vast informal structures to accommodate the needs of the "unplanned city" – a trend that occurred in urban centers all across India. He suggests that the 1970s and 1980s witnessed "the emergence of an entire substructure of paralegal arrangements, created or at least recognized by governmental authorities, for the integration of low-wage laboring and service populations into the public life of the city" (2004:137). While the degree to which the urban poor were actually able to secure rights is certainly contentious, the state nonetheless was forced during particular development projects to at least "tolerate" and even extend amenities to slum dwellers in order to facilitate the building of its planned architecture. For example, the city underwent rapid construction in the 1970s to erect facilities for the 1982 Asian Games, which required negotiations and accommodations (albeit temporary) for the housing and employment of an estimated 1 million laborers (Baviskar 2003:92). Ironically, as Baviskar notes, much of the infrastructure for the Games was itself in violation of Delhi's Master Plan, defying the city's official zoning. In contemporary times, the "unplanned" city continues to encompass a wide range of informal spaces and practices necessary to supplement inadequate, ineffective or inequitable state planning. For example, a study by the Chintan Environmental Research and Action Group (CERAG) analyzes the informalities associated with solid waste disposal in Delhi. In light of the city's historical and continuing failure to provide adequate waste disposal across its neighborhoods, a whole host of informal workers, middlemen and recycling plants have emerged to recycle and dispose of waste across the municipality. CERAG calculated that in 2002 this informal industry saved the city an estimated 4 million dollars (CERAG, n.d.:1). The Chintan group's study illustrates how a failure of adequate planning and funding resulted in an entire informal industry to handle waste collection across all areas of Delhi. City planners effectively rely on the subsidies provided by urban informalities as a component of its modernizing project (AlSayyad 2004). As Priya (1993) documents, the relationship between the "planned" and the "unplanned" city has always been characterized by tension and contradiction. Notwithstanding the recent shifts in urban governmentality widely associated with the dynamics of neoliberal globalization and an increasingly assertive middle class, hostility to Delhi's poor is not new (Tarlo 2003). Thus we should not be tempted to overly romanticize the state welfarist period. In her powerful analysis of town planning and public health in Delhi, Priya argues that social and political elites have long subscribed to the "popular notion of the uncivil, illiterate, superstitious rural migrant who also becomes criminalized in the process of becoming the urban poor" (1993:828). She documents changing approaches to public health in Delhi, noting that even when the newly independent state was ostensibly committed to directly seeking to redress disparities, and to intervene purposively in the healthcare of all of its population, the municipal discourse on public health put the interests of the middle classes in urban beautification above those of the poor. The city was to be sanitized by treating the poor as the problem, rather than in the interests of the poor as co-citizens of the city. Thus Priya reveals how elitist disdain, allied to an obsession with inappropriate Western technologies and poor planning capacities, have led to a grossly inadequate public health infrastructure in Delhi, notably in relation to water and sewage, but also to housing and waste. Nonetheless, for most of the post-Independence period, the city government articulated a formal commitment to the provision of social housing. By the 1980s, in the face of overwhelming demand and changing international approaches, _in situ_ slum upgrading and slum authorization were adopted as solutions to the housing shortage, granting residents security of tenure. However, many analysts and activists point to shifts of both degree and kind in approaches to the urban poor in the later 1990s – a politics of social and spatial violence that can be traced to the economic and cultural workings of neoliberalizing Delhi. It is to this that we now turn. RESHAPING DELHI AS A "WORLD CLASS CITY" Apart from critical issues such as land, physical infrastructure, transport, ecology and environment, housing, socio-cultural and other institutional facilities, the cornerstone for making Delhi a world-class city is the planning process itself and related aspects of governance and management DDA 2005:1 Like many cities across the world, Delhi is engaged in a process of retuning its "hard-wiring" (transport, energy and sanitation infrastructures, housing, retail and leisure spaces) and "soft-wiring" (taxation and finance regimes, planning and regulation, policing and security) in ways that reflect and promote the interests of social and economic elites, and which are explicitly designed to attract them as investors, consumers and citizens (Fernandes 2004; Nair 2005; Caldeira 2000; Baviskar 2003; 2006; Anjaria and McFarlane, forthcoming). A host of specific historical, social and geographical factors shape the precise forms and trajectories of revanchism and resistance to it (following Ong 2006, we might call this "actually existing revanchism"). Bhan (2009) argues that the particular logics and practices of Delhi's aggressive pursuit of a clean, green city are influenced by, among other things, its unique political configuration (both having a municipal government, and also being the seat of the central government in its role as the National Capital Territory); the electoral strategies of the ruling Congress Party in the state; and the presence of the Supreme Court, which has played a very particular role in supporting bourgeois environmental agendas for the city. Scholars of urban India are documenting the burgeoning alliance between middle and upper class "environmental" interests and the city's endeavors to remake itself (Baviskar 2003; Mawdsley 2004; 2009; Baviskar et al. 2006; Veron 2006; Bhan and Menon-Sen 2007; Ghertner 2008; 2010). Urban elites are increasingly moving to gate off their communities, and pressing the city for protected parks and green spaces (Waldrop 2004). One strategic environmental focus of the Delhi government over the last decade has been air pollution. Amita Baviskar has detailed these middle-class assertions of the law in her study on efforts to curtail industrial pollution, describing the ways that middle-class agents target the government of Delhi through a critical focus on its "corrupt and inefficient bureaucracy" (Baviskar et al. 2006:213). As middle-class activists successfully petition courts to shut down industrial polluters through accusations that polluters were violating the law, Baviskar notes the ways that middle-class aspirations for a "clean" Delhi are mobilized through assertions of legality. By increasingly defining themselves as champions of the law, middle-class activists reinforce their rights to a clean and green Delhi, at the expense of those who threaten this ideal through illegal practices. Baviskar describes the "middle-class utopian dream" for the city as being a place in which "spitting on the streets is punished by a hefty fine" – a vision that follows the normative model of Singapore with its strict enforcement of the law (Baviskar et al. 2006:213). Baviskar's (2003; 2006) compelling studies of this and other middle-class efforts to counter pollution document the ways that "environmental concerns" and the "public interest" serve as discursive devices for the middle class to successfully press the state for measures that favor them but all too often work against the interests of the poor (see also Dembowski 2001; Veron 2006). Chatterjee (2004:131) locates this within a larger movement that "has been propelled by citizens' groups and staunchly supported by an activist judiciary claiming to defend the rights of citizens to a healthy environment in which everyone abides by the law." However, in its discourses and imagery, the Delhi Development Authority now mobilizes the idea that the "malaise" of the urban poor and the specter of poverty and noncompliant spaces pose a distinct threat to the pursuit of "high tech modes of accumulation and consumption" (Batra 2005:29). The Draft 2021 Master Plan states that Delhi should not permit any "new major economic activities, which may result in the large-scale generation of employment" (cited in Batra 2005). In other words, the city is purposively repressing the growth of manufacturing jobs that would employ more of the poor, while facilitating retail jobs for the upwardly mobile lower middle classes (also employed in the lower echelons of the civil service), and, of course, jobs in information technology, higher education, and corporate and financial services for the upper middle classes and elites. At the same time, Delhi's public finances have been increasingly diverted "away from education, public housing, healthcare, and food subsidies toward large, highly visible and 'modern' infrastructure projects like the Delhi Metro Rail, more than 50 new flyovers, two new toll roads to Delhi's posh, satellite cities, and the Commonwealth Games village" (Ghertner 2010:20). The striking obverse of the explosion of malls, luxury residential developments and leisure facilities in the re-landscaping of Delhi are the slum demolitions. The Hazards Centre (2005) estimates that no fewer than 400,000–500,000 people have been displaced since 2000. In a powerful paper on Delhi's slum clearances, Bhan (2009) argues that this new phase of "urban beautification" marks not only a shift in degree (accelerating demolitions) but also in kind. He observes that these demolitions are not being ordered by the planning agency, municipal authorities, or the state government, as they would have been in the past, but as a result of judicial orders. Middle-class individuals and groups (including residents' welfare associations), are filing Public Interest Litigation cases to demolish slums, clear squatter settlements, and oust pavement dwellers. These demands are being enthusiastically supported by a judiciary that, in large part, appears to have redefined "public" interest as that of globalizing India's emblematic middle classes (Baviskar 2003; Fernandes 2004). Ghertner (2010) examines the changing legal procedures that have facilitated this accelerated slum removal. He shows how earlier slum demolitions required rigorous calculative practices by the municipal authorities, such as detailed enumeration and mapping, formally reflecting the governmentalities of "rational planning." In the same governmental paradigm, slum dwellers sought to resist relocation (or improve its terms) through demonstrations of their "badges" of citizenship – ration cards, identity cards, Below the Poverty Line (BPL) cards, "VP Singh tokens" (issued under the government of V. P.Singh to provide slum dwellers with a formal proof of residence), and so on. However, Ghertner argues, following a series of decisions in the early 2000s, all that the judiciary now requires to issue a demolition order is evidence that a community _looks_ unaesthetic – that is, that it does not conform to the _image_ that the city's government and wealthier residents wish to promote. Normative constructions of the clean, green city are thus elevated to constitute an aesthetic rationality of rule. As well as opening the way for many more slum demolitions, this has implications for the "counterconduct" of the harried slum dwellers, and Ghertner charts the ways in which many are increasingly internalizing their exclusion, subduing (although by no means eradicating) protest. Ghertner documents the case of one slum that was recently demolished, even though it was authorized, that is, legally occupying the land. It was enough that it looked unsightly and was declared to be a visual affront by nearby middle-class residents. Ghertner also documents the flip side to this – the willingness of the municipal agencies, and indeed the judiciary, to allow "elite" construction on illegal sites because their developments _look_ "planned" and modern. Here, a recursive relationship between the state and the middle class interests is at work, at times led by powerful members of the middle class (as in the Supreme Court cases) as well as by municipal agencies that effectively decriminalize the illegal building of "aesthetically pleasing" developments. As we argued in the introduction to this chapter, the state, judiciary and middle-class dominated public sphere is symbolically and materially engaged in a process not only of criminalizing the poor, but of constructing middle-class residents as Delhi's "model, law-abiding and law-enforcing citizens." Here, we contend that although illegal everyday practices are part of life for residents across all class groups, elements of the state collude with middle-class aspirations for an orderly and "green" Delhi by consistently framing the middle class as law-upholding modern citizens. This process can be observed, for example, in Delhi's bhagidari scheme, which aims to promote "participatory" governance, although it is limited to authorized colonies, and thus elites and middle classes (Mawdsley 2009). Sanjay Srivastava (2009) describes his experience at one bhagidari meeting between a residents welfare association (RWA) and representatives of the local state. His account captures both their fear of the poor and the dependence of middle-class households on the cheap services the poor provide. Srivastava's account reveals a fixated concern with issues of "security." He details the subjects that came up for discussion over the three-day event: (1) cooperation between the police and the RWA; (2) servant verification; (3) the RWA alerting police to those houses where both husband and wife went out to work, leaving them vacant in the day, plus surveillance of any unoccupied houses; (4) listing all the maids, hawkers, plumbers and others in the area so as only to allow "authorized" people within the colony; (5) the "security threat" from Jhuggi-Jhopri (slum) dwellers; and finally, (6) surprise checks by the police on the private security personnel employed by the RWAs. Srivastava quotes the Deputy Commissioner of the Municipal Corporation of Delhi, who reported to the meeting that by 2006, "all Jhuggi-Jhopri (JJ) colonies along the Yamuna banks would be demolished," and that the area would be transformed into a "tourist spot" (Srivastava 2009:344). The Deputy Commissioner of Police (North Delhi) then addressed the audience to talk about police activities regarding regular surveillance of "bad characters" and "history sheeters," as well as police cooperation with RWAs and Nagarik Suraksha Samitis (citizen security committees) – a police-sponsored network. "He asked the RWAs to be a regular source of information on strangers and 'young men with mobiles and motorbikes, but with no obvious source of income.' The police, he concluded, was very active in 'JJ clusters,' trying to prevent crime" (Srivastava 2009:344). Srivastava argues that the Bhagidari scheme is a guide to the contemporary consciousness of the official city: "the citizenry and the state are tightly entwined through the ideas of legality, cooperation, criminality, transparency, and the rights and responsibilities of the citizen with respect to the city" (2009:343). Many scholars and activists in Delhi argue that this move in governmental and administrative priorities results from the dual pressures of global finance capital on the one hand, and an increasingly assertive middle class on the other. In this sense, Delhi's current transformation can be compared to Neil Smith's (1996) analysis of the "revanchist city" (see also Mitchell 2003; Banerjee-Guha 2009). While Delhi's postcolonial trajectory and place-specific history certainly distinguish it from the trajectories of cities in the North such as New York, where scholarship on revanchism has primarily been focused (see Smith 1996; Mitchell 2003), there remain emerging parallels between the collusion of bourgeois desires and state neoliberal reforms across these urban sites. In particular, the criminalization of the homeless1 and urban poor, justified through the logic of cleansing city space so that it will be enticing to consumerism and economic growth, represents an aspect of revanchism that can be seen in Southern cities such as Delhi. However, rather than following an American urban pattern of gentrification and the privileging of white middle-class interests, as Smith has suggested in the case of New York, Delhi's revanchism needs to be understood in the context of its own postcolonial development and citywide initiatives (see also Swanson 2007). Specifically, attention to the liberalization of land in Delhi, and middle-class desires for improved housing and spaces of recreation and commerce, have threatened squatters' housing on DDA-controlled "public" land. As the DDA seeks to increase its profits through the commercialization of its land into real estate for the middle and upper classes, as well as for shopping and recreation centers, the social and spatial positions of the poor are made increasingly vulnerable in attempts to push them out of the city. While Smith argues that revanchism in America is based on a conservative movement of "revenge" for the liberal excesses of the 1960s, a different logic may be at work in Delhi (Smith 1996; Mitchell 2003:164). As one Delhi activist writes in an analysis of the Draft Delhi 2021 Master Plan, the city's current transformation attacks the affirmative activities of the welfare state as the root cause of the environmental, social and political mismanagement of the city. He suggests that the argument goes like this: "It is the politicians who have over the years actively encouraged the growth of illegal industries and encroachment on public lands by slum clusters in order to create a captive vote bank and a ready source of income. This has resulted in the law-abiding, tax-paying citizens being denied their legitimate rights in the city" (Batra 2005:29). Batra's insights remind us that we should be careful about assuming too close a collusion between "the state" and "the middle classes." Here we note the obvious but important point that "the state" is complex and multifaceted, and that its relations with varied and contingently positioned citizen-consumers cannot be captured by recourse to simplistic categories (Fuller and Bénéï 2001; Corbridge et al 2005; Gupta 2005). Thus, in some contexts, _political_ representatives of the state have closer relations with the poor, while the middle classes feel alienated from the style and (sometimes) the substance of debate and activity (Chatterjee 2004; Harriss 2005; 2006). Different components and levels of the state evidently have very different relations with diverse constituencies (see Harriss, chapter 21 in this volume).2 To return to our argument, we submit that the criminalization of the poor provides substantiation for changing notions of rights and citizenship in the city, mirroring what Mitchell calls, in reference to New York City, the "re-establishment of exclusionary citizenship as just and good" (Mitchell 2003:183). Here, quality of life and urban citizenship are proclaimed as distinct rights of the middle and upper classes, at the expense (and in some cases the erasure) of the "quality of life" of the urban poor. Yet the codependence of Delhi's poor and its more elite residents, particularly in informal arrangements that subsidize inadequate city planning, creates an arena of informalities that cannot be understood through parallels to cities in the West such as New York. The implications of criminalizing a population that the city and its residents continue to rely on for tasks as critical as waste disposal and those fulfilled by domestic servants and security guards merit much further analysis into the consequences and contradictions of an emerging revanchist middle-class fervor in cities in the global South. DISCOURSES OF SUSTAINABILITY: VISIBLE CRIMINALS, (IN)VISIBLE CITIZENS IN DELHI The city's ambition to green, clean and commercialize its spaces, enticing international tourism and capital as well as national investment, emerges in the language of sustainable development. From imagining the ways that harvesting rainwater can provide green beltways and public parks, to producing an aesthetically pleasing Yamuna riverside (through the removal of "waste," including "unsustainable" slum areas), the discourse of this new Delhi combines ideals of aesthetic beauty, efficiency and sustainability, all interlacing to produce a high-tech, visually pleasurable city (DDA 2005; Srivastava 2009). In particular, state discourses on a sustainable water supply center on ideas of the model urban citizen, as well as its opposite, the urban criminal, who threatens the overall development and sustainability of the city. This threat of criminality, inherently associated with the informality and illegality of some of the practices of Delhi's poor, is particularly menacing because it represents the "backward" practices against which the city seeks to define itself and its citizenry. The water criminal thus "steals" and "wastes" water, while the model citizen informs others on how to most efficiently and sustainably manage their water for the benefit of all. Because the state articulates Delhi's water problem as one embedded in a rising population and an overall threat of a diminishing water supply (rather than uneven distribution),3 "sustainability" and "conservation" oriented water initiatives and policies have targeted the problem of "unaccounted for water." While data differ on the quantity of this missing water, estimates indicate that as much as 50 percent of Delhi's water is unaccounted for in official meter readings, and thus "wasted." In documents ranging from the nation's five-year plans (see the Tenth Plan specifically: Government of India Planning Commission 2002) to Delhi Jal Board records (DJB 2010a, 2010b) and the DDA's master plans for Delhi (most recently the Draft Plan 2021: see DDA 2005), unaccounted for water represents one of the most obvious targets for unleashing conservation reform. The DDA states: "About half of the water that is treated and distributed at public expense is non-revenue water. This is due to unrecorded usage or illegal taps and water connections. Reducing water losses is cheaper than augmenting water capacity for such losses" (DDA 2005:105). The factors contributing to unaccounted for water are of course multiple and complex, from faulty infrastructure to a range of unsanctioned water access activities. Meters are often inaccurate or broken, pipes often break and have leaks, and some poorer neighborhoods have access to nonmetered running taps (Zerah 2000; Shiva 2004; Delhi HDR 2006). A key point to emphasize here is that, like other residents of the city, Delhi's elites and middle classes are also engaged in a wide variety of informal and illegal practices to secure water. Even though they are far more likely to be connected to the piped water system, the flows are frequently contaminated, erratic, infrequent and of low pressure, demanding compensatory strategies (Zerah 1998; 2000; Sagane 2000). These include investing in storage devices, but also illegal water pumps (from the mains to the storage areas) and tube wells, as well as bribing engineers, water sellers, meter readers and officials (Davis 2004). Although leaks and faulty infrastructure are acknowledged in policy reports as contributing to water losses, such "technical" problems are nonetheless coupled with the clear threat of entire populations who are said to "steal" water from the city. The state defines water stealers as those who have illegal (or unauthorized) connections to the water supply – most often those who live in unauthorized colonies as well as on "quasi-legal" land (see Sivam 2003). For example, a former chief executive of the Delhi Jal Board, P. K. Tripathy, blames "entire colonies" as being the primary culprits of water theft. In a statement about conserving water in the city, Tripathy calls attention to the "illegal tapping by certain colonies," targeting and criminalizing poor communities who are the primary residents in the city who live in unauthorized colonies with illegal unauthorized water connections (Vasisht 2002). Despite evidence that suggests that the middle and upper classes are able to access some of the largest amounts of unaccounted for water (Zerah 2000; Davis 2004), illegality is instead consistently mapped onto the bodies of the poor, who are framed as posing a constant threat to the city's sustainability. By making unauthorized water connections the most publicized modality of "theft" and "illegality," the state and the middle classes are able to channel attention to the city's poor. Middle and upper class illegality, which often consists of the falsification of meter readings and technologies that can enhance water amounts extracted from already legal connections or from illegal/unregistered ground water sources (Davis 2004), are kept distinct from the more criminalized offense of actually initiating a tap into piped infrastructure without any legal right to do so. The illegal use of tube and bore wells provides an excellent demonstration of the unevenness of state prosecution of criminality. Legally, tube and bore wells have to be registered with the Central Ground Water Authority (CGWA). Because of growing concerns about declining water tables, the CGWA has now "notified" large areas of South Delhi, officially prohibiting the sinking of more tube and bore wells. However, as the CGWA admits (Daga 2003), people still continue to dig them illegally, and very few private wells are registered. In practice, Daga observes, the CGWA does not have the personnel or institutional impetus to track down violators and enforce the law. Daga quotes groundwater engineers who estimate that there are some 300,000 unregistered tube and bore wells in Delhi, which supply some 250 MGD (million gallons per day) to private individuals (the DJB extracts a further 100 MGD from groundwater supplies). Typically, because they are initially costly to purchase, tube and bore wells are concentrated in affluent areas. After installation, tube wells and bore wells provide reliable and almost free access to water from the city's ground water tables. Daga reports severe effects on Delhi's water table, noting the connection with wealthier areas, such as Sainik Farms – an affluent but illegally constructed residential complex. Tube and bore wells allow more affluent households to bypass (or supplement) their dependence on the city's urban water infrastructure by reverting to a method of water retrieval most often associated with rural areas (Zerah 2000). In this regard, they represent a "demodernizing" of the water supply, debunking narratives (and assumptions) that the urban water supply is characterized by modern urban infrastructure and its promises, rather than unconnected and unregulated wells. The neglect of middle-class informalities and the focus on the poor, specifically on their unauthorized connections, remains highly contradictory given the state's own data that demonstrate that, per capita, the poor consume the very least amount of water in Delhi – often below water minimums suggested for basic survival (Government of India 2001; Gleick 1996). Because of their often marginal water status, poor residents (particularly women) are often more concerned with recycling and conserving the limited water supplies they manage (Batra 2004; Voluntary Health Association 2004; Bapat and Agarwal 2003; Truelove, forthcoming), a fact that actually turns the state's discourse of conservation, and those bodies that threaten it, on its head. Here the logic and practice of sustainability, through the policing of particular water practices, actually trump the human right to even the most basic quantities of water for domestic use. Thus, as "water sustainability" is linked to the city's overall modernizing project and transformation into a world center, it becomes a tool by which to arbitrate who belongs to, and who is (often violently) excluded from, the emerging cosmopolitan Delhi (see Anand, chapter 23 in this volume). The targeted criminalization of the poor has strong legal and material impacts that are increasingly backed by the threat of state violence. While the most recent five-year plan states that "[s]evere penalties should be levied on those found responsible for leakage and wastage of water" (Government of India Planning Commission 2002:640), Delhi's 2021 Draft Master Plan employs the most ferocious language yet, stating: "Wastage and theft of water will have to be curbed _mercilessly_. Suitable amendments are necessary in the Delhi Water Board Act to provide for stringent measures for enforcing curbs on theft/wastage of water" (DDA 2005:143, emphasis added). The state's plan to escalate the consequences levied on the poor for water "thefts" is particularly alarming given the DJB's already severe policies that impose heavy penalties on those who are found to have illegal connections. Not only does the DJB currently have the authority to disconnect all unauthorized connections that it locates, but it also fines residents who have such connections a penalty of three years' worth of (estimated) retroactive water charges as well as an additional 3,000 rupees, a sum that may be equivalent to six months' worth of wages for Delhi's poorest. How often these penalties are inflicted in practice remains uncertain, but the call for a more "merciless" policing of this population signals growing state efforts to push back the rights, spaces and practices of Delhi's poorest through using a discourse of "sustainability." Although there is a lack of data on fines levied for illegal water use, this push to increasingly police "water thefts" nonetheless serves to justify, and perhaps propel, the harsh and at times abusive stance that some tanker drivers adopt toward poorer communities, who often receive insufficient and erratic water deliveries. On numerous occasions while conducting research in Delhi,4 we witnessed drivers berating slum dwellers who had ventured onto a middle-class road to collect water that was dripping freely from tankers servicing local households, and even overturning their modest water vessels. Although the water would have nonetheless run onto the street had poorer residents not thought to capture it, the disdain of drivers toward poorer groups suggests a growing antipathy toward the water plight of slum residents. As Davis (2004) documents the ways that water officials in the past have bent rules to accommodate thirsty populations, much more empirical study is needed to examine how shifting ideas of sustainability, aesthetic beauty, and the remaking of Delhi are altering the daily activities of water board employees in ways that are increasingly threatening to the needs of working-class residents. To turn now to our corollary, we submit that while the state's focus on "water thefts" brings particular visibility to water practices of the poor as criminal, it simultaneously promotes policies and narratives that highlight the opposite: the model, law-abiding citizen who helps green the city through enforcing water sustainability practices. The state propagates and valorizes the image of the law-abiding, "green" and sustainability oriented citizen not just through discourse, but through recent initiatives to recruit "common" citizens as "water wardens" for the city. As part of a call for increased water conservation and efficiency, the Delhi Jal Board now recruits and trains middle-class residents (those who are connected legally to the city's water, including students and members of residents' welfare associations: DJB 2007) to police and report on the water activities of others, including (as outlined above) through the auspices of bhagidari. Not unlike the "volunteer" policing of the US–Mexico border by "common citizens," the water warden is a volunteer who receives prestige from helping his or her city to uphold the purported common values of sustainability, efficiency, and legality. Trained though a DJB program with the purpose of involving "citizens" in water conservation, these wardens observe water activities across Delhi's neighborhoods and then report back on misuses of water, particularly water "wastes" and "thefts." Those residents who report the most on water misuses compete for a city award, called the Water Saviour Certificate (DJB 2007). Thus the water warden program represents another rearticulation of what constitutes theft and criminality on the one hand, and the upholding of laws and the city's sustainability on the other. As water wardens act as the state's exemplary _citizens_ who can save the city from unsustainable, illegal withdrawals of water, citizenship in a transforming Delhi comes to be defined against those who are the targets of the water wardens' campaign: the illegal criminals whose nonmodern, backward and corrupt practices jeopardize conservation and quality of life. The discourse of sustainability, and its rubric of upholding the city's laws to the betterment of all, attributes legitimacy to the wardens who, as model citizens, attempt to green and protect the city's resources. However, this narrative must erase or silence the multiple informalities and illegalities of middle-class and elite attempts to secure water for themselves. The irony of the water warden program is, of course, that wardens themselves are members of the households in the city that arguably use, "waste," and steal the most water (Davis 2004; Zerah 2000; Hazards Center 2005). CONCLUSIONS In this chapter we have argued that middle-class illegalities form part of the dialectic of the planned-unplanned city – the rise of informal infrastructures and practices to supplement the partialities and inadequacies of state provision and modernization of the urban sphere. Although wealthier residents may experience relative advantages in their water compensation options and security, everyday informal water practices arise because even the affluent are not free from the scramble to supplement the city's inadequate water flows (Zerah 2000). However, rather than framing middle-class illegal water extractions as jeopardizing state efforts to achieve urban sustainability – as is the case with working-class illegal water practices – middle-class activities are usually subject to a privileged invisibility within state water policy and governance. The use of tube wells reveals some of the most striking contradictions within the state and the middle class's intersecting discourses of sustainability and legality in the city. Since the practice poses serious threats to the sustainability of the city's ground water tables, providing technology for larger quantities of water withdrawal than most any other domestic method of access (Zerah 2000; Daga 2003; Soni 2003), it contradicts both state and middle-class assertions of Delhi's growing law-abiding, sustainability oriented citizenry. The use of such tubes also indicates the city's failure to meet the water needs and desires of the middle and upper classes. Enforcement of tube well regulations necessarily entails a state acknowledgment of the much wider range of activities that encompass the "unplanned," yet necessary, city – threatening the state's efforts to recast Delhi as a high-tech hub for global capital. Provocatively, perhaps, we further suggest that while the state directs attention away from middle and upper class informalities as it attempts to recast the city and its subjects, much scholarship on urban informality also follows a similar linking of the poor, rather than other groups or classes, with urban informality – this time through research that often critiques the state. For example, in a volume edited by Roy and AlSayyad (2004) that analyzes Third World urban informality, chapters by a variety of scholars and activists across the globe connect urban informality with the plight of the poor to carve out housing and livelihoods in cities. Because scholarship on informalities in Southern cities has emerged especially strongly from a history of Latin American research on urbanization and housing, this linkage and consequent overall focus is not surprising, and provides a critical venue for analyzing the struggles of millions of people who remain without "legal" housing and employment in Southern cities. However, the predominant assumption that the poor are the main enactors of informal practices reinforces the view that poverty (and a lack of housing rights) is the primary basis, and perpetuator, of urban informality. This implicit view permeates much critical scholarship on urban life, including work on urban India. While analyses that link the poor to the construction of an "informal sector" are certainly imperative to understanding the positions of the working class in relation to "unplanned" (and planned) aspects of the city, too singular an association of informality with the urban poor risks eclipsing the many ways that other classes, and bodies, participate in, and are dependent on, informal and extralegal practices. Clearly, that the middle class is defining itself as law-upholding, and pressing its legal rights, demonstrates less about actual, on-the-ground realities of upholding the law and more about what kinds of practices become visible (and invisible) in discourses of sustainability, legality, and ultimately rights in the city. In fact, research on water in urban India shows that incremental increases in income levels actually enable middle (and upper) class residents to offer increased bribes in exchange for illegal water access improvements, ranging from the installation of illegal tube and bore wells, larger pipes or motors, as well as the falsification of meter readings (Davis 2004). The middle class itself has a strong impetus to hide or disavow its own connections to informal and extralegal practices in efforts to press the state for increasing legalized rights to the city (Mitchell 2003). Unlike the position of the middle class within the revanchist efforts of Northern cities (Smith 1996; Mitchell 2003), Delhi's middle-class residents remain in the sticky position of participating in illegal and informal practices around water procurement, while simultaneously seeking to define themselves as "proper citizens" that hold the state (and themselves) accountable to the law. We thus propose that ethnographies of the water discourses and practices of India's highly varied "middle classes" (from lower middle class to the hegemonic bourgeois) will make a vital contribution to progressive scholarship seeking to contest the increasingly repressive and exclusionary processes of neoliberal urban development in Delhi and elsewhere. NOTES 1 Here, homelessness is also a term that does not translate well from Smith's study in New York (1996) to research on the urban South, which has complicated and broken apart the term "homeless" to delineate a variety of differing positionalities and housing arrangements, including squatters, sidewalk dwellers, and slum inhabitants (see Roy and AlSayyad 2004). 2 We can further disrupt the common presumption of the relationship between the middle classes and neoliberal globalization. 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CHAPTER 23 Toward an Anthropology of Water in Mumbai's Settlements _Nikhil Anand_ INTRODUCTION Announcements of a coming water crisis and several initiatives by private corporations to control and distribute water have together produced a flurry of scholarship on the privatization of water over the last decade. A common binary frames debates in the resulting literature: Should water be a market commodity or a citizenship right? Yet in India, as in several other parts of the world, settlers (also called slum dwellers)1 tend to be marginalized through _both_ private and public water distribution systems. On the one hand, purchasing water as a private commodity is prohibitively expensive. On the other hand, state agencies, particularly in urban areas, often do not recognize the poor as rights-bearing citizens (Holston and Appadurai 1996; see also Chapter 22 above). As the state refashions itself in the image of the corporation (Baviskar 2007), settlers often find themselves doubly marginalized in the same public-private system. In response to these marginalizations, settlers tend to cope with water scarcity by making multiple sets of claims. To get water, they access states and markets not just as citizens and consumers, but also through a wide range of other social networks, including kin, local politicians, plumbers, nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), community leaders, and social workers. In Mumbai, as in several other places, settlers make these claims to access different _kinds_ of water, including water from municipal pipes, private tankers, wells and springs. These practices complicate the dichotomies of public and private that are central to political-economic debates, and can in turn help to formulate more nuanced understandings of states and markets. WATER'S SYSTEMS In India, water has largely been studied in agrarian contexts, particularly as irrigation for the development of modern agriculture. Early research highlighted the role of dams in expanding and modernizing agriculture in the newly independent nation-state. In his review of this literature, D'Souza (2006) points out that it was not until 1972 that Whitcombe critiqued the command-and-control, dam-driven paradigm of water management (see also Whitcombe 1996). Since then, there have been several historical and environmental studies of the dysfunctions of colonial and postcolonial irrigation projects (Wade 1982; Gilmartin 1994; Mosse 1997). Much of this research has been stimulated by widespread popular protest over the postcolonial state's authoritative and destructive actions around dam projects, including those around the Narmada and Tehri dams (Kothari and Bhartari 1984; Rangarajan 1996; Morse and Berger 1992; Baviskar 1995; D'Souza et al. 1998; World Commission on Dams 2000). In India, but also in other states, whether postcolonial, socialist or capitalist, dam projects have led to problems of siltation, salinization, and disease (McCully 2001). They have displaced tens of millions of people who have been given little by way of rehabilitation. In the disorders compelled by these projects, historians have found continuities between colonial and postcolonial development paradigms (Guha 1982; Gilmartin 1994; Hardiman 1996). Following the deeply troubling legacy of dams in India, some scholars have called for a more careful, process-based approach in planning development projects (Attwood 2007). Others, meanwhile, have looked to history to find "indigenous systems" – both as powerful locations of critique and as alternative practice for systems of water management. Much of this scholarship, conducted in the 1990s, implicitly glorified the "local," treating community water management practices as the panacea to the problematic social and environmental effects of development encounters (Agarwal and Narain 1997; Mosse 1997). What these critiques often overlook, however, are the ways in which dams also make urban life possible. As large agglomerations of socionatural power, dams have imposed unjust and severe costs on proximate rural populations and ecologies (Morse and Berger 1992; World Commission on Dams 2000; McCully 2001). Yet, while indigenous systems may cause less displacement, it is unclear whether they can sustain large Indian cities. By channeling both human and natural resources toward the city, dams are particularly conducive to producing the water (and also the migration) that sustains India's largest cities. While water scholarship (conducted largely in rural areas) needs to engage more fully with the production and politics of cities, urban researchers also need to do more work to focus on the rural hinterlands that enable cities. Indeed, because much of urban water comes from rural areas, it is critical for urban scholars to think about not only the local and global politics of cities (Shaban and Sharma 2007; Nijman 2008), but also the _regional_ disparities and resources that cities draw on to sustain themselves. Cities like Mumbai, for example, would be unthinkable without the water and electricity resources they draw from their hinterlands and peripheries. Further, dam projects in rural areas (and the scholarship around them) are important not only because these projects channel resources to Indian cities, but also because they illuminate a diversity of political relations around their production. Projects to control, regulate and distribute water produce structures of state authority (Gilmartin 1996). For example, the construction of Mumbai's water supply system was central in creating its Municipal Corporation (Dossal 1991). Water arrangements not only produce political institutions, but they also produce and exclude different kinds of publics, creating forms of inequality that are both old and new (Mehta 2005). As Hardiman (2007) and Dubash (2002) show, open wells and tube wells privilege landed elites with access to the land and the capital necessary for their construction. As is well known, upper caste residents frequently exclude the poor and low castes from accessing these sources (Appadurai 1984). In southern rural India, where lower castes manage tanks, unequal access to water is reproduced not through exclusion, but inclusion (Mosse 1997). Scholars have also noted the gender inequalities in accessing water. In her work, Mehta (2005) shows how water delivered by the government in Kutch _obscured_ caste distinctions, yet reinscribed those of gender. Thus, water systems illustrate the constitution and construction of power, authority, and the effects of diverse rules and systems of government. By following water systems, we can identify structures of privilege and marginalization, particularly the production of class, caste and gender (Hardiman 2002; Mehta 2005). Water systems illustrate the constitution and construction of power, authority and subjects of rule (D'Souza 2006). Partial and layered "waterscapes" do not disappear with modernization (Baviskar 2007). They also persist in Indian cities. An attention to water in urban areas troubles commonly held assumptions that water is effectively and increasingly controlled by modern governmental techniques. Instead, the coexistence of _multiple_ hydrological regimes in urban areas compels us to consider water as a substance through which "competing moralities of resource control and state community relations" are made visible (Mosse 2003:308; O'Reilly 2006). As settlers, vendors, businesses, and citizens claim water in the city, they form "decentered groups [that] compete, contest and critique from their partial perspectives" (Brara 2007). Finally, studying water in cities is interesting because it elucidates processes of state formation at the political center of the developmental state. As places that collect different kinds of marginalized populations – such as those displaced by dam development projects in rural areas and those displaced by urban capitalism – cities provide a critical site for thinking through contemporary processes and procedures of marginalization.2 How do cities at the centers of state government regulate their marginal populations through water distribution? In cities, the objects and subjects of development interventions can be found in close proximity to each other. As Prakash (2002) suggests, cities offer the opportunity to follow the spatialized relations of power and difference produced by the developmentalist state. Through research that focuses on the blurred boundaries of state and civil society (Gupta 1995; Mitchell 1991), and country and city, this study shows how urban government and the governed are shaped through negotiations over water. MUMBAI'S SYSTEM From its history as a central node of empire, to its present as the commercial center of India, Mumbai has long been served with a continuous and reliable flow of water that comes from rainfed lakes within and beyond its limits. Mumbai's water system was created around the same time as the public systems of New York, London, and Paris (Gandy 2004; 2008). Nevertheless, while the utilities of those cities only initially privileged the upper classes with their services, the public system in Mumbai continues to be restrictive as to whom it serves. In part, this is due to the legacy of the colonial municipal administration. While designing the water system in the nineteenth century, Mumbai's planners were consistently limited by the higher authorities in Calcutta and London, who refused to approve their proposals for a more extensive hydraulic infrastructure (Dossal 1991; Klein 1986). Subject to strict colonial evaluations of cost and benefit, they were only able to design water projects for _particular_ populations in Mumbai (Gandy 2008; McFarlane 2008). Thus, where cities of the global South are being written about in terms of "splintering urbanism," colonial cities such as Bombay were splintered from their very inception (Zerah 2008). The legacy of this split persists today, and is reproduced through violent and exclusive city rules about who counts as a citizen. Matthew Gandy (2008) has recently described Mumbai's water infrastructure as a "landscape of disaster," delineating the incomplete reach of the city's public infrastructures most especially for the urban poor. He argues that while "the city's dysfunctional water infrastructure has its roots within the colonial era, these incipient weaknesses have been exacerbated in recent years by rapid urban growth, authoritarian forms of political mobilization, and the dominance of middle-class interests within a denuded public realm" (2008:363). Though from a different perspective, Gandy's research is consistent with research of agencies like the World Bank and the Asian Development Bank, that shows how water infrastructure in Indian cities remains insufficient for the needs of their populations, and is unreliable and of poor quality (Zerah 1998). Acknowledging the state of this leaky, dystopic infrastructure, municipal administrators, state government politicians and central government bureaucrats have recently initiated dramatic urban development programs to "fix" the system. The Jawaharlal Nehru National Urban Renewal Mission has been billed as the largest urban development ever to take place in Indian cites, aiming both to upgrade urban infrastructure and extend it to the city's informal settlements. Through a "reform driven agenda," the mission follows the priorities of the World Bank, which has for some time now been pushing for the rationalization of urban infrastructure through privatization, the institution of private management contracts, and the use of economic principles to administer public utilities (Coelho 2005). However, there is as yet little indication that "privatization" projects are either more efficient or more effective at serving the needs of settlers in cities (Sangameswaran et al. 2008; Ranganathan et al. 2009). Moreover, as Bakker (2007) and others have argued, distinctions between the public and private systems are not easy to draw; nor do they speak to how settlers are actually accessing water. In cities that are always and already divided, the urban poor have struggled to constitute themselves as a constituency entitled to public services. The fact that they continue to draw water and live in cities like Mumbai suggests that they have had some measure of success. The questions then arise: How do settlers overcome, or at least get by the rules and exclusions of both public _and_ private systems? How do they get water? ENGINEERING SETTLEMENTS Though Mumbai's water system is managed by a public water authority – the water department of the Municipal Corporation of Greater Mumbai (MCGM, also known as the Bombay Municipal Corporation or BMC) – settlers have been marginalized both by the city's water rules _and_ the practices of its public officials. For much of Mumbai's history, urban settlers who did not live in planned buildings were ineligible to apply for water connections as per the city's water rules. Unable to claim state services, they lived off the city's informal, invisible supplies. Some settled in areas that had access to well water. Others made surreptitious connections to the water system with the help of plumbers and state employees. Those who didn't (or couldn't) would buy water from vendors who had access to the wells or pipes of the city. Nowadays, city policy and planning documents have expanded the categories of settlers that can become eligible for municipal services, but expansion does not mean unequivocal inclusion. Over the last four decades, there has been a critical shift in water distribution within Mumbai, particularly in regard to its settler population. Responding to pressure, both from settlers and the World Bank, the BMC has, since the 1970s, started to deliver water to certain "recognized" settlements.3 Settlers who are able to prove their residence in a settlement prior to a periodically revised "cutoff date" (currently 1995) can be recognized as living in "declared slums" and formally access state services (McFarlane 2008). The services that accompany "declaration" are not instantaneous or even wholly assured: postal service, water, electricity, toilets, and drainage are provided very slowly, and according to political and social pressure.4 While these changes are partial and discretionary, it is important to note that they now entitle those living in recognized tenements to a formal procedure by which to access the public system. On the other hand, for those living in undeclared tenements or otherwise ineligible structures, state and municipal rules still preclude their access to water and other public services. Why do state agencies deny water, a basic life necessity, to settlers? Elsewhere I show how public officials argue that growing slum populations threaten the entire city's water system. Mobilizing Malthusian narratives of scarcity, they claim that there is not enough water for all residents of the city. Engineers make the case for strict control over water distribution in the city – who should have access and how much – on grounds that unrestricted and undifferentiated access to water will drain the entire city's supply. They calculate tight water schedules for different localities, and arrange the city's hydraulic infrastructure – pipes, pressures and timings – to supply water to different populations at "fixed" times and for fixed duration. Calculated water quotas are the second site at which settlers are marginalized. Drawing on central government guidelines, Mumbai's water department plans and delivers to settlers approximately half the water it delivers to residents living in planned buildings. In interviews conducted with city engineers, they pointed out that while designing water connections they tried to deliver approximately 150 liters per capita daily (lpcd) to those living in "toileted structures" – that is, the apartment buildings of middle-class and wealthy residents. For settlers and others living in "untoileted structures," engineers design connections to deliver only 90 lpcd. Even this amount is an overestimate. According to one city engineer with whom I worked, they "do not count" the water needs of unrecognized settlers (who share water connections of recognized settlers) while designing connections. As a result, actual water consumption is often below 90 lpcd for most settlers living in the city's mixed settlements. Therefore, the public system produces inequality in the city at two levels: First, it makes it initially difficult for settlers to qualify for water connections because of its rules, laws and policies. Second, it allocates less water to qualified settlers through the practices of timing and limiting supply. THE POLITICS OF IMPROVEMENT Recognizing the difficulties faced by settlers, administrators and development workers in transnational development agencies have argued for a new system of water management. They suggest that the public system favors the wealthy, and that a market based system would be more inclusive of settlers' needs. In Delhi, Bangalore and several other cities, the World Bank and Asian Development Bank have supported projects that have explored the privatization of water distribution in urban areas (Ranganathan et al. 2009; Sangameswaran et al. 2008). Nevertheless these projects have been very contentious. According to Srinivas Chary, Director of the Centre for Energy, Environment, Urban Governance and Infrastructure Development in Hyderabad, there have been over 40 projects to "reform" the water utilities of Indian cities within the last decade, and not one of these has been successful (personal communication). From small cities like Latur to larger ones like Delhi, programs to privatize the water supply have been opposed, particularly by the urban poor. Where outright privatization has proved unfeasible or disruptive, agencies like the World Bank and the Ministry of Urban Development have recommended that city water departments provide water round-the-clock (or 24/7, Sangameswaran et al. 2008). In arguing for a shift to 24/7 water, these agencies seek not only to make water continuously available, but also to bring about a different rationality of governance. With the implicit assumption that price signals do better than engineers in regulating wasteful consumption, a 24/7 system is intended to move the locus of regulation from state quotas to market tariffs. Such 24/7 water and related reforms are as much about a new system of delivering water as they are about making a new kind of water subject – the careful consumer who is aware of and moderates his or her consumption based on the cost of water (Schnitzler 2008). Recent attempts to improve Mumbai's water system through the implementation of 24/7 projects have focused primarily on restructuring the management paradigm, and not the exclusive water laws of the water department. In 2004, the Public Private Infrastructure Advisory Facility, a program of the World Bank, funded a study of Mumbai's largest municipal ward with the aim of recommending management reforms necessary for the improvement of Mumbai's water supply. Because of persistent public opposition to, and subsequent collapse of Bank-supported water privatization projects in Delhi and Bangalore, the World Bank and its consultants tried to assure residents that the project in Mumbai was about "improvement" and not privatization. State officials, engineers, residents, and even this anthropologist were urged "not to call this initiative privatization." And yet documents of the Water Distribution _Improvement_ Program (WDIP), as it was officially known, clearly pointed out that settlers were already "paying with their time" for unreliable water supply, and would likely pay more for better services. Elsewhere, I describe the ways in which activists, engineers and NGOs organized a moderately effective opposition to the WDIP. The protestors argued that water was a human right, and a public good – not a commodity – and that the study commissioned as part of the WDIP was only a legitimating exercise for an already determined process of privatization. What the activists and NGOs did not explicitly acknowledge, however, was the fact that the BMC water department was already running like a company, making substantial profits every year.5 In defending the public utility because of its mandate to serve the public, therefore, activists were unable to engage with the ways in which many of the operating principles of the utility were similar to those of a private company. For example, cost considerations were partly responsible for the department's reluctance to extend the water network to low paying customers living in the settlements.6 In private conversations, activists acknowledged the difficulties that settlers faced in the public system. Even so, they insisted that that system, however unequal, was still more inclusive of settlers' water needs than any private company. Following their claims, I now turn to ethnography to demonstrate how settlers make water connections through the public system via discretionary political practices. These practices, I suggest, reveal how settlers have established themselves as deserving citizens in Mumbai. THE PRIVATE PUBLIC In the fall of 2007, I met Pratibha,7 an activist who has lived most of her life in slums. Whenever we spoke, she never failed to criticize the World Bank's efforts to privatize the Mumbai water supply, and this time was no different. But as we spoke on this occasion, she told me that the water system had already been privatized. As I asked her to expand, she replied: At the beginning the BMC didn't charge for water but in the eighties, they began demanding half of the cost, and they [the city councilors] would pay half. Then little by little, they billed us for the whole amount. Because they offered easier ways to get connections, we didn't put up a fight. Before, 15 households had to come together to apply for a connection,8 now this process only requires 4 or 5, but the bill per household is much larger. The BMC have installed water meters, charging for everything including drainage which makes up 40–50 percent of the bill. The BMC privatized itself before the consultant came. Water privatization is actually not a new development in Mumbai. This process began in the late 1970s, when the World Bank agreed to finance the department's dam development projects. It was then that the BMC started charging people on a volumetric basis (as opposed to a percentage of their property value), and ring-fenced the water budget from that of the general municipal administration. While Pratibha may be unaware of the World Bank's role, what I wish to point to here are the many interpretations of the word "private" that Pratibha alludes to. She uses it to refer to a particular classification of households, a technology of delivery, and a model of ownership (see Bakker 2007). When activists like Pratibha say that they are against privatization, they do not necessarily oppose all its meanings. They may protest the difficulties of women who spend hours waiting and fighting for water at standpipe connections and welcome the BMC's initiative to allocate metered connections to smaller groups of households. On the other hand, they continue to oppose the proposal that meters be maintained and read by private companies. Everyday practices show how water services frequently straddle the public and private domains, particularly for settlers who are not always able to pressure the water department engineers to direct water into their homes. Pratibha took me to a settlement which was high on a hill to show me a place where, according to her, people had developed their own system. Because the water department was unwilling to pump the water up to their homes, the residents had formed associations to collect water at the base of the hill and pump it up themselves. This system was costly as the rates households had to pay included both the price of laying the network and the electricity needed to power it. Many of this system's profits accrued to the local water managers, who were affiliated with the settlement's city councilor. As in many other systems of distribution, the profits and viability of these private providers depend on a certain kind of state system – in this case, one that refused to provide for those living in settlements at high elevations. When I spoke with water department officials about this, I was told that the high costs of pumping water made such a public-private system necessary. But topography and technics matter only for some. The willingness of the state to bear the cost of pumping depends on the population living on the hill. Throughout its long history, the department has not hesitated to pump water up to Malabar Hill – home to the city's economically and politically powerful. Every day, Mumbai's engineers make such financial and technical justifications to subsidize the upper classes in the city (Coelho 2005). Through the selective mobilizations of pumps, policies and pipes, engineers make water flow steadily _up_ the class structure into people's homes. Their work shows how, contrary to Habermasian notions of the public sphere, it is not only the laws and policies of government that differentiate and divide the public (Chakrabarty 2002; Chatterjee 2004). The public is also divided and differentiated by the situated and prejudiced _practices_ of public officials in the field. Historically, the poor have claimed access to water in the city through large protests and mobilizations (Anand and Rademacher, n.d.; Coelho 2005). To this day, city engineers remain anxious about protests, and the "law and order problem" that follows when settlers "shout" for water (Coelho 2006; Chatterjee 2004).9 But while mobs, crowds and other forms of political society remain critical in Mumbai, my fieldwork also shows how residents of certain settlements more often use other techniques – including those of civil society – to secure water resources. Nowadays many settlers have the political power to compel the city administration to treat them as a deserving public without "shouting." The water connections made by these settlers reveal their success at establishing a degree of compromised, yet substantive citizenship in the city, at least as far as the provision of water is concerned. It is to these practices of connection-making that I now turn. WATER CONNECTIONS To understand the ways in which settlers were able to access water, I frequently met with community groups, particularly Mahila Gaths (women's groups), in the settlements where I worked. These meetings were productive, giving me a sense of the situated histories and politics of water in the area, and the ways in which it had been claimed. I first met Sunita and Rajni at a community meeting organized by an NGO activist in conjunction with Asha, a community based organization (CBO) comprised mainly of autonomous women's self-help groups. The meeting had been called to organize a protest around the "improvement" project initiated by the World Bank, but Sunita and Rajni had come to the meeting because they had water problems. After the meeting, the CBO leader offered to write a letter on Asha's letterhead to the city councilor in order to request a meeting. When they met the councilor weeks later and presented their problem, the councilor agreed to promptly arrange a new line at his own cost. I was not the only one who was impressed. As Sunita recounted with a smile: "He even came at 5 o'clock in the morning to check and see in what condition the water was coming! Before the pressure was so low, we had to dig around and constantly tap the pipe. Now with the new line, water is flowing well." Sunita's experience indexes the new experience of settlers who are increasingly finding ways to redress their grievances. For them, access to many of the city's services – schools, hospitals, water – is mediated and facilitated by city councilors who govern settlements like rajas (Zerah 2008; Coelho 2006). Their subjects do not seem to object to the imperial dispensation of state services. Sunita was particularly impressed that the councilor had come _to_ the settlement, early in the morning, to ensure that the work was done. A councilor's personal visit not only recognizes the legitimacy of complaints; it also reveals the ways in which settlers matter to the city's politics. In this case, the semiotics were clear: in laying _his_ line, the councilor had brought the services of the state _to_ the people. The councilor's journey to the settlement indexes a critical shift in Mumbai, one that has been facilitated by the extension and power of voting rights in the city. Rather than directly approach water engineers in the city's sprawling bureaucracy, settlers increasingly access the public system by making a connection with the councilors in charge of their settlement. As democratically elected representatives with influence in matters of Mumbai's administration, councilors can compel water department engineers to grant settlers greater access to the city's water system. And since any reelection to office depends on their ability to meet voters' needs, these modern rajas have a vested interest in making sure that petitions to extend water connections are granted (Appadurai 2002).10 In this manner, discretionary dealings between residents, councilors and engineers trace a critical pathway through which settlers can get water in the city. I better understood the scale of the changes described in this chapter in a subsequent interview at the community center of Sunita and Rajni's women's group in the summer of 2008. The center was a nice place, filled with the accouterments of urban institutions – posters on malaria provided by the municipal corporation, placards of a political party, and props from an NGO-run campaign against domestic violence. As Sunita recounted their hydraulic history, women came in, signed their names in the register and listened. In the early 1990s an NGO was instrumental in founding their Mahila Gath. At the time, the most pressing concern was the lack of access to clean water and sanitation. Most women purchased drinking water in a nearby settlement for 1 rupee a _handa_ (vessel) and washed their clothes in the nearby spring. They wanted to use treated city water – which is cleaner, convenient and affordable – for their laundry as well, but getting municipal water proved to be difficult for them as they were new to the city. Visits to the municipal ward office had little effect as officers routinely told them that because the settlement was not a declared slum, the municipal corporation could not extend services to them. The municipal councilor was not particularly helpful either: "a water line would not work at that height," they were told. So together with an NGO worker, the settlers went to protest at the head office of the water department. As Rajni recounted: We spent whatever little money we had to go there... Eventually we met with the hydraulic engineer and got his permission. The councilor couldn't believe that we had been successful. He was also surprised to learn that we didn't want his money. All that we asked for was a new water line, and he gave it to us. We hired a plumber, contributed 200 rupees each and installed the pipe. From that point, the question of water left us [panyacha prashna tithéch sutla]. At this point of the story, the women got animated, interjecting with their own memories of this visit, of the councilor's surprise and so on. One thing was clear. To get water they had to overcome the constraints of legal procedures (of slum recognition) and many practical considerations: gravity, money, and policy. To get water, they had to aggressively mobilize – appearing before city administrators with NGO workers and going repeatedly to the offices of councilors and plumbers. They also had to deploy several identities, each coming with its own language of entitlement: they became clients of political parties, protesters mobilized by NGOs, plumbers' customers, and engineers' citizens. Through multiple relations, the women of this settlement produced their water supply. Drawing on the practices of civil _and_ political society, they made themselves into a "deserving public," one that was worthy of the services provided by the city water department (see Harriss, chapter 21 in this volume). Today, for many living in settlements, water systems emerge out of discrete personal relations with councilors, city engineers, and the plumbers and social workers that connect them. It is a public system of favors and positions, marked by relationships of patronage, protest, inequality, and money. Notice that Sunita and her companions did not care to distinguish between the NGO, the state, or their various politicians. They sought to obtain a water connection from whoever could promise it to them. Their success was enabled by the density of institutions they could approach in the city with their claims: NGOs, CBOs, political parties, as well as public administrators and technocrats. As they told the story of how they brought water into the settlement, it became clear that they had drawn from all sectors (nongovernmental, political, administrative, professional and so on) to get their work done. Nevertheless, settlers are never permanently free of water difficulties. Annual hydrological cycles, main line leakages, shifting demography, unanticipated cluster developments, and growing demand force city engineers to constantly rearrange the water system.11 Water services for settlers are thereby in a constant state of flux. As engineers rearrange pipes, pressures, and water timings, residents in connected settlements may find that their connections – struggled for and negotiated years before – slowly go dry. Therefore settlers need to renew their water connections every few years. As they renegotiate with engineers, councilors and social workers, they reproduce the political and technical authority of the city's water experts and patrons. Thus, when water supply decreased in Sunita and Rajni's settlement in 2008, they needed to appeal for water just as they had 15 years before. In practices that index diverse and cyclical fields of possibility, the women returned to a nearby spring to collect washing water. They resumed group meetings and reactivated their social connections with the community worker, the NGO worker and the city councilor. However, this time the work of bringing water into the settlement was easier than it was 15 years ago. "We've learned how to talk in the city," Sunita told me.12 Moreover, now that the settlement was officially recognized by the city administration, the extension of state infrastructure was more easily approved. Therefore, in 2008, the local women's group did not need to mobilize a large number of women to go to the city water office, nor did they encounter as much opposition. Because they were more established in the city, they drew on old connections, such as the leader of the CBO, for access to the councilor. They did not need to go to the water department. A month or so later, the councilor himself brought the new water pipe to the settlement. CONCLUSION: PERSISTENT WATER Contemporary debates around the privatization of water tend to view the transition from public to private through simplified and predictable narratives. As administrators try to change the rationalities of water supply, urging its transformation from a system controlled by politicians and engineers to one controlled by prices, they fail to recognize how the current system is already accessed in both public and private ways. New infrastructure paradigms need to acknowledge the prevailing methods of water distribution and access "in the field," particularly by settlers. They get water through a public system that, while unequal, is also quite inclusive through personal relations with city councilors, engineers, and the plumbers and social workers that connect them. Like hydraulic systems in rural India, this is a system of control – one whose means of access describe and produce the peculiar politics of belonging and citizenship in the city. Cautioning against the simplifications of both the proponents and opponents of privatization, I have attempted to show the diverse ways in which settlers are marginalized by the city's public system. Mobilizing hills, gravity, policy and scarcity as reasons, Mumbai's water engineers try to excuse themselves from meeting the needs of city settlers. They do so by seeking to continue colonial _and_ market-derived traditions of providing water only to those in "civil society" – that is, to those who have defined property rights, and who pay their taxes and water bills. Despite engineers' efforts to stabilize the system by focusing their services on the city's middle and upper class citizens, the public system in Mumbai today is especially amenable to the diverse claims made by settlers to get water. Sunita and Rajni's experiences point to the many ways in which their group made connections to the city's water supply. By means of protest, patronage, voting practices over two decades and the multiple civil _and_ political relations forged with agents in the differentially constituted public system, these settlers have been able to compel the city's power-soaked public infrastructure to get both formal _and_ substantive access to the city's water. While these water connections are personal, provisional and partial, they nonetheless illustrate the ways in which many settlers have achieved a degree of compromised citizenship in Mumbai – one that over time enables many of them to settle in the city and legitimately claim its water. NOTES I would like to thank Hannah Appel, Amita Baviskar, Ramah McKay, Carrie Nakamura and Austin Zeiderman for the helpful comments they made towards improving this draft. I am also grateful to the Department of Anthropology at Stanford University, the Social Science Research Council, the Wenner-Gren Foundation and the National Science Foundation for supporting this research. 1 Marked as they are by the imaginaries of criminality and vice, I prefer not to use the labels slum and slum dweller, unless referring to government programs for improvement and eradication. In this chapter I instead use the terms "settlement" and "settler." In Hindi, settlement is also a better translation of the word _basti_ , which also is a better representation of the process through which urban habitation has been made in Mumbai over the last hundred years. 2 Development projects are not constituted only through the discursive and material operations of powerful actors. They are a practically mediated set of _impositions_ (i.e. compare Sivaramakrishnan 2002:78) that require the cooperation of both social and environmental actors (D'Souza 2002). Therefore, contrary to their organization in state agencies and development programs, irrigation technology, social arrangements and hydrological properties do not exist independently of each other, but interact in multiple and unpredictable ways. 3 I have focused on the reasons for this dramatic (if partial) shift elsewhere (Anand and Rademacher, n.d.). They include the political enfranchisement of settlers as voting subjects, the mobilizations of large protests, the World Bank's focus on upgrade (as opposed to resettlement), and finally the work of housing activists/NGOs within the city and state government (Mukhija 2003; Chatterji and Mehta 2007; Burra 2005). 4 Achieving declared status thus involves networks of political patronage as much as it does the exercise of citizenship rights. Further, the "cutoff date" only reifies the divide in Mumbai's settler population between those who can claim state services and those who cannot (McFarlane 2008). In addition, only some informal communities can establish their legitimacy through declaration, so formal services and entitlements are unevenly distributed throughout Mumbai's settler population. Nevertheless, the benefits that accrue as a result of declaration-based policies are real; they mark, as noted above, a significant break with the past. Ultimately, declaration is consolidated by politicians with connections to the municipal administration, so securing the entitlements of declaration depends in part on election cycles as well. 5 The water department most recently made operating profits of over 3 billion rupees. Nevertheless, engineers would only attend to complaints of those who could prove payment of their water bills. 6 Requiring World Bank support for the construction of new dams in the late 1970s, the Bombay Municipal Corporation agreed to initiate a series of reforms in its water department, including financially separating the city's water incomes and expenditures from the rest of the municipal budget, and ensuring that the department's operation and maintenance expenditures could be met from water charges. Attempts to sever the everyday administration of the department from the rest of the city's staff proved unsuccessful as city councilors refuse to relinquish control over the city's water services. 7 I have changed the names of persons and places I encountered my fieldwork to protect the identities and confidentiality of my informants. 8 Settlers need to apply for a shared connection as a constituted committee with a given number of members. 9 Recent theorizations of the public in postcolonial cities have called for attention to the different practices of its civil and political formations. In a clear and powerful generalization about the practices of politics, Partha Chatterjee identifies those seen by the state as rights-bearing citizens, as _civil society_ – "elite groups sequestered from popular life within enclaves of civic freedoms and rational law" through the administration of the state bureaucratic apparatus (2004:3). He identifies variously marginalized populations as _political society_ – groups that try to use their formal status as citizens and mass mobilizations to compel the state to recognize their citizenship by placing demands on the moral authority of leaders. 10 Councilors do not change the city's water rules to allow _all_ settlers to access municipal water supplies. Instead, they intervene in particular cases of deserving settlers to argue that they be granted access to the water system _regardless_ of the rules. 11 In the words of one of the city's hydraulic engineers, "There is a water shortage and we have to balance the water. One day we give short supply here, the next day over there." 12 Compromised legal achievements also played a role (Anand and Rademacher, n.d.). REFERENCES Agarwal, Anil, and Sunita Narain 1997 Dying Wisdom: Rise, Fall and Potential of India's Traditional Water Harvesting Systems. New Delhi: Centre for Science and Environment. 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Mukhija, Vinay 2003 Squatters as Developers: Slum Redevelopment in Mumbai. Aldershot: Ashgate. Nijman, Jan 2008 Against the Odds: Slum Rehabilitation in Neoliberal Mumbai. Cities 25:73–85. O'Reilly, Kathleen 2006 "Traditional" Women, "Modern" Water: Linking Gender and Commodification in Rajasthan, India. Geoforum 37:958–972. Prakash, Gyan 2002 The Urban Turn. _In_ The Sarai Reader 2: The Cities of Everyday Life. Pp 2–7. Delhi: Sarai. Ranganathan, Malini, Lalitha Kamath, and Vinay Baindur 2009 Piped Water Supply to Greater Bangalore: Putting the Cart before the Horse? Economic and Political Weekly 24:53–62. Rangarajan, Mahesh 1996 Environmental Histories of South Asia: A Review Essay. Environment and History 2:126. Sangameswaran, Priya, Roopa Madhav, and Clifton D'Rozario 2008 24/7, "Privatisation" and Water Reform: Insights from Hubli-Dharwad. Economic and Political Weekly 43:60–67. Schnitzler, Antina von 2008 Citizenship Prepaid: Water, Calculability and Techno-Politics in South Africa. Journal of Southern African Studies 34:899–917. Shaban, Abdul, and R. N. Sharma 2007 Water Consumption Patterns in Domestic Households in Major Cities. Economic and Political Weekly 42:2190–2197. Sivaramakrishnan, Kalyanakrishnan 2002 Modern Forests: Statemaking and Environmental Change in Colonial Eastern India. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Wade, Robert 1982 The System of Administrative and Political Corruption: Canal Irrigation in South India. Journal of Development Studies 18:287. Whitcombe, Elizabeth 1972 Agrarian Conditions in Northern India, vol. 1: The United Provinces under British Rule, 1860–1900. Berkeley: University of California Press. 1996 The Environmental Costs of Irrigation in British India: Waterlogging, Salinity and Malaria. _In_ Nature, Culture, Imperialism: Essays on the Environmental History of South Asia. D. Arnold and R. Guha, eds. Pp. 237–260. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. World Commission on Dams 2000 Dams and Development: A New Framework for Decision Making. London: Earthscan. Also at <http://dams.org> (accessed July 2010). Zerah, Marie-Hélène 1998 How to Assess the Quality Dimension of Urban Infrastructure: The Case of Water Supply in Delhi. Cities 15:285–290. 2008 Splintering Urbanism in Mumbai: Contrasting Trends in a Multilayered Society. Geoforum 39:1922–1932. PART VI From Global India to the Ethnography of Change CHAPTER 24 Transnational India: Diaspora and Migration in the Anthropology of South Asia _Leo Coleman_ The last two or three decades in India – and in other countries of South Asia, though to differing degrees – have witnessed what has been heralded as a remarkable opening, liberalization, and expansion of the cultural space of the subcontinent into and astride global flows of money, power, and meaning. Anthropological studies of various dimensions of this process have surveyed the global advertising of India and the local advertising of global products in Bombay (Mazzarella 2003); the predicament of Indian families struggling to maintain bonds across transnational space (Lamb 2009; Leonard 2007; Mankekar 2005); the transformation of local economies in South Asia as thousands leave for jobs overseas, either as migrant laborers or as high-status professionals (Gardner 2005; Xiang 2007); and the effect of "new" South Asian immigrants in the United States, Britain, and elsewhere on relations between culture, identity, and politics (Shukla 2003; Werbner 2002). Some scholars have particularly focused on how these changing relations in Western liberal democracies are experienced by the children of South Asian immigrants, struggling to define their place in and identification with at least two countries (Raj 2003; Hall 2002). These recent literatures on "transnational India" (a necessarily reductive term we might take, for the moment, as a general rubric) share a definite sense of a massive change in the place of South Asia in the global cultural economy, and in the "idea of India" itself (Khilnani 1997:144–149). Such changes are measured, often, in the real intensification of exchanges and encounters between people and cultures. Migration from South Asia to, on the one hand, Western countries like the United States and the United Kingdom, and on the other, to the kingdoms of the Persian Gulf and Saudi Arabia, has increased massively since the 1960s, though in highly specific patterns. In the other direction, the influx of money and media into South Asia since the 1990s, as well as increased opportunities in Indian cities for employment with and direct connection to transnational firms, have transformed the "global horizons" of many South Asians _in situ_ , as it were (Hansen 2001; Boo 2004). Economic liberalization on the subcontinent since the 1990s, and wider transnational developments in capitalism since the 1970s, have been a prominent, if not dominant, framework in which studies of the South Asian diaspora and globalization have been situated. But such a focus on state reform or economic calculations (even on the calculations of individual migrants themselves) cannot encompass the detailed effects of South Asian migrations that have been documented in these ethnographic studies – effects that can be registered both within the subcontinent and beyond. That is to say, any contemporary understanding of South Asia and its cultures must grapple with transnational practices of imagination, and how they shape international migration as well as the local fixities and mobilities sustained by it. This means registering efforts at translation, transfiguration, and transposition in the cultural imagination of those affected by these developments. It is this latter object – the cultural imagination and its translations and transformations – which is the most distinctive object of anthropological studies of transnational India and South Asia, and it is one suited to located ethnographies, attentive to the details of histories, lives, and meanings in the making. What effects has the transnationalization of India had within South Asian anthropology? While new problems emerge from studies of transnational India, the work of anthropology remains much the same. There are certainly methodological challenges to studying social lives and social relationships that are in motion, that extend across multiple locations and even scales of belonging (local, national, transnational – in which even the transnational can be a location). The task remains constantly to unpick the strands of meaning that shape cultures, and account for how they are rewoven with every transition and translation, producing meanings beyond any individual intention. We might recall, in passing, that Geertz's famous description of culture as "turtles all the way down" (2000:28–29), by which he meant always embedded in webs of signification and elaborations of interpretation, was in his telling the correction of an overly rationalist Englishman by a wise Indian. Diasporic cultures underscore the ways in which culture is itself always a claim and an interpretation, at some distance from origins or authenticity. Anthropological knowledge is only an interpretation of these interpretations. This is not a novel insight, and one which does not need diasporic cultures to illuminate it. But it takes on a special color in the case of the South Asian diasporas, and the anthropologies they have provoked, for there is a critical duty that comes with this reweaving of interpretations. The challenge of the transnational and the diasporic to contemporary anthropology is, perhaps, to encourage us to hold in tension both the real continuities of relation, affiliation, and interpretation that span locations, and the abstractions, simplifications, and abusive fantasies of belonging – and of those who do not belong – that are called "culture"; that is, to rethink, and reclaim, culture both as a name for enduring social forms and forms of belonging, and as a mobile, febrile, network of significations that cannot, or should not, ever be thought of as property – certainly not of any one group. "India" is an invention like any other, nations are not natural, culture is dialogic and contested, constituted as much by difference – and from outside its "own, proper" place – as by any (imagined) unity and fixity in location. Each of these arguments has been essayed as a warrant for, and a context of, anthropological work on South Asian diasporas and Indians, Pakistanis, Sikhs, and others "abroad."1 Yet what purchase does our own critique of abstractions of identity and belonging give us on the abstractions of the people we study among, when we encounter them as claims of exclusive identity and essentialized culture? People continue to reshape the notion of India, and the practices of South Asian culture, as they move and settle in diverse parts of the world. Anthropologists look for the transnational effects of and on South Asian culture through the decisions people make about whom to marry, where to live, and what kind of relations they maintain with their kin and with those who share a connection with particular parts of South Asia. Through such ethnographic studies, scholars try to account for transformations of economic space and in ideas of Indian culture, as well as in institutions like dowry and caste. Confronted by claims of a essential Indian culture, a pristine homeland of tradition and value – as they are made in the daily practices of South Asians abroad or in movies that represent that experience for a worldwide audience – anthropologists are aided in their critique of such abstractions by the multifarious experiences we document as we engage with the people living amidst these transformations. Thus four key themes emerge from anthropologies of South Asians abroad. The first theme, "Multiple migrations" is primarily historical, and concerns the diversity of the Indian diaspora, constituted by multiple migrations extending back to precolonial trade routes and networks of merchants. The present discussion will content itself with beginning with colonial labor migrations that formed Indian communities across the British Empire, now often characterized as the "old" diaspora, but still a historically and culturally salient context for much of the current experience of Indians overseas. The second theme, "Discrepant geographies and divergent trajectories," examines the uneven geographies of globalization, and the impact within the subcontinent of flows of money and ideas in transnational circuits. The third theme, "Nationalism in exile" focuses on the effects of migration on the nation and on national belonging, in particular the role of diaspora in forming an idea of India that has in recent times often taken the form of an exclusivist and fundamentalist "Hindutva" ideology. This section also broaches the processes of abstraction and disjuncture that have preoccupied anthropological theorizing on transnationality, an innovative body of work that has been influential in the study of South Asian diasporas, and which is examined more closely in the fourth theme, "Transnational publics." The ethnographies in this section, collectively, indicate that forms of solidarity and belonging across national and state boundaries are in formation, but that these are built – or at least, best examined ethnographically – through material and meaningful connections between persons, communities, and places, rather than abstract flows of commodities (or commodity-images) or preexisting and immutable loyalties. MULTIPLE MIGRATIONS Diasporic South Asians come in many varieties and from all over the subcontinent. A comprehensive survey of migrations and diasporas from South Asia would have to start with the trade, migration, and cultural links that fostered the expansion of Buddhism, that extended Indic kingship and Hindu religious forms to Bali and elsewhere, and that shaped a precolonial Indian Ocean world which has for some time become a prominent object of historical study, and lately of anthropological concern (see Basu 2008). The recent academic use of the term "Indian diaspora," however, is usually bounded by histories of colonialism and labor migration, in particular the massive movements of colonial subjects as indentured laborers. Starting from the British abolition of slavery in the 1830s and continuing into the early twentieth century, Indian "coolies" replaced the labor of enslaved Africans in the far-flung plantations of the British Empire – signally in Fiji and Trinidad – and constituted communities of "overseas Indians" (as later scholarship would term them, borrowing colonial categories) in those island nations as well as in Guyana and South Africa. Migrants departing from the ports of Calcutta and Madras in this period converged as laborers in a colonial system, finding themselves working and living with other Indians who shared neither language nor immediately congruent religious or cultural traditions. "Free" laborers and merchants also moved abroad in the colonial period, while large numbers of Indians traveled overseas as members of the Indian army and to work as police in colonial territories across Asia and Africa. These colonial displacements are essential to the later trajectory of Indian migrations, constituting an important beginning point for further migrations within and beyond the British Empire and Commonwealth, as well as providing the basis for the construction (and tensions) of shared identities as Indians overseas (for overviews of some of these colonial migrations and subsequent community histories, see Clarke et al. 1990; Rai and Reeves 2009). Through their struggles for inclusion in postcolonial societies, demands for recognition, and political mobilization, the populations of what has come to be called the "old" diaspora have played an important part in shaping the contours of Indian identity in the world and at "home." Perhaps the most celebrated figure in the "old" diaspora, of course, is Mahatma Gandhi. "Arguably," Peter van der Veer writes, "Gandhi's stay in England and South Africa opened his eyes to the nationalist cause. He not only acquainted himself firsthand with the discriminatory treatment of Indians as 'British subjects' under South African racial laws, but also learned to see Indians as an ethnic group, a 'nation' " (1995:5). Gandhi's trajectory from overseas education, to colonial migration, to ultimate return to India and mobilization for national independence is hardly representative of the experiences of "overseas Indians" – most of whom made lives and formed communities overseas. However, Gandhi's journeys form an important historical touchstone for any consideration of India's diasporas in their relationship to the modern nations of South Asia, to notions of shared culture and identity, and to the possibility of an anthropology that could grasp this diversity in motion. With Independence and the partition of India and Pakistan another series of migrations was set in motion that massively reshaped the contours of culture and belonging on the subcontinent. Partition historiography has developed enormously since the 1990s and has been very influential within South Asian anthropology. Many scholars – especially those of Pakistan (see several essays in Bates 2001; Leonard 2007:56–83) – argue that the movements of Partition inaugurated a diasporic consciousness still integral to national imaginaries in South Asia. This "diasporic" origin of the ideas of India and Pakistan gives them their particular ambivalence and contradictoriness, and perhaps even results in a further tendency to self-exile and violent exclusions (see for India, e.g. Gupta 1993; Chakrabarty 2002; G. Ghosh 2002). Moreover, the local politics of migration and memory is essential to a fuller understanding of recent developments in Hindu nationalism (as addressed below). The "new" diasporas of South Asians dating from the 1960s have been more examined by anthropologists of late, especially as they reflect particular changes in both national and global power structures of contemporary importance. The profile of South Asian migration was utterly transformed by changes in United States immigration policy in the mid-1960s, which abolished "national origin" quotas dating from 1924 and allowed South Asians to emigrate to the US in greatly increased numbers. The end of the "White Australia" policy in that country and similar changes in New Zealand spurred parallel migrations, particularly of privileged and educated Indians. Of equal importance has been the rise of the oil economies in the Gulf states during the 1970s, creating a new site of, usually temporary, labor migration for Indians and Pakistanis. Gulf-centered labor migrations from India were somewhat disrupted by the first Gulf War, while intensive labor recruitment in Bangladesh inaugurated flows of workers and remittances to and from the Gulf from particular parts of that country (for the latter, see Gardner 1995), in part replacing migrants from other parts of South Asia. Finally, the development of the global information technology industry since the 1980s has created new circuits of migration and on-migration linking Singapore, Australia, the United States, and India in a chain of temporary and permanent labor contracting (see Xiang 2007; Upadhya and Vasavi 2008). Parallel with these movements outward from South Asia in the past four decades, decolonization spurred a wave of what scholars call "re-emigration" or "second migrations" of Indian communities from East Africa, Fiji and elsewhere in the former British Empire. African Indians often chose (or were able, due to colonial citizenships; or were constrained, as refugees) to migrate to Britain, Australia, or the United States rather than "back" to a notional "home" in India. Decolonization changed both the legal realities and imaginative horizons of Indian communities throughout the British Commonwealth – as well as Indian communities in other colonial empires (e.g. Indians in Dutch Surinam, many of whom have since migrated to the Netherlands). These re-emigrations are perhaps more significant for the Indian diaspora than Indian independence itself was – countries in which Indians had long been fully settled were winning a _national_ independence in which other postcolonial subjects were often not fully included (see Tinker 1977; Kelly 2001). But this exodus, based on a racial exclusion of "Asians" as such, highlighted the precarious belonging of Indians in their host countries and perhaps impelled an imaginary identification with India as the ancestral homeland and ultimate guarantor of security, even as these diasporic subjects moved to Britain or Canada in preference to India (Raj 2003:175). Since Independence, the Indian government had encouraged overseas Indians to accept citizenship in their host countries. Starting in the 1970s, India began to cultivate contacts with its newly prominent (and, not incidentally, affluent) diaspora. As with the patterns of migration themselves, the Government of India's involvement with its diaspora has been complex. India intervened diplomatically in crises in Uganda and Fiji in the 1970s and 1980s, as well as organizing an airlift of Indians from Kuwait during the first Gulf War (A. Ghosh 1989:75; Leonard 2002:228); the growth of institutions within the Indian government to represent India's diaspora has, however, been a very recent phenomenon. As the Government of India reached out to its diaspora, granting privileges in obtaining visas, owning land, and other economic rights in India, the new classes of professional migrants to the West became known as PIOs or NRIs (Persons of Indian Origin, or Non-Resident Indians) and were offered a range of scattered government initiatives to encourage attachment to and investment in the "homeland." More recently, the Indian government unified these initiatives in a Ministry of Overseas Indian Affairs, and (as of 2006) established a new category of secondary citizenship for people who emigrated after Independence and who already hold citizenship elsewhere. This "Overseas Citizenship of India" is restricted to post-Independence emigrants, and is not available to Bangladeshis or Pakistanis. These restrictions effectively bar Indians of the "old" diaspora access to the benefits of a secondary citizenship, while fixing the boundaries of Partition as immutable, impassable frontiers of national identity (Roy 2008). Overseas citizenship of India comes without any voting rights, though it is advertised as "dual citizenship" (see Lal et al. 2006:87–89). Each of these many constituencies of overseas Indians continues, however, to play important political, economic, and cultural roles in the making of contemporary India. DISCREPANT GEOGRAPHIES AND DIVERGENT TRAJECTORIES Osella and Gardner (2004), introducing a collection of papers on migration within and beyond South Asia, stress the importance of located field studies to assess the causes, conditions and consequences of (international) migration both in and from South Asia. For the most part, their contributors locate their studies in very specific places in South Asia, and use ethnographic data as a means to measure in one place the costs and consequences of migration. Another ethnographic collection (Jacobsen and Kumar 2004) – also produced within European academic networks – takes a more "pan-Diaspora" approach, surveying the specificities of religious practice, cultural norms, and communal relations in equally specific locations in the diaspora; such as Hindu practices in Minnesota, "multicultural" Asian identities in Australia, or Trinidadian Hinduism and its spectrum of changes over time. The latter volume is specifically focused on religious traditions, and most of the contributors write of the "Hindu diaspora" (see Vertovec 2000).2 Whether ethnographers choose to locate themselves somewhere in the diaspora or somewhere in South Asia, focusing either on the localization of practices in closely described places within the diaspora or on the localization of migration in specific places in South Asia, the result has been to emphasize discrepant geographies and divergent trajectories. To take one example: Mirpur is a district in southeast Pakistan, in the "peripheral border region of Azad Kashmir," the highly militarized Pakistani portion of Kashmir (along the border with India, and part of a region over which India and Pakistan have made countervailing claims since Independence). Rural, poor, and without easy access to either eastward migration or to participation in the public life of Pakistan, Mirpuris have opted in vast numbers to emigrate to Britain. "Well over half of the population of Mirpur, in Pakistan, now lives overseas, and as much as two-thirds of Britain's Pakistani population is drawn from Mirpur district itself," or from areas immediately adjacent to it (Ballard 2004:31). Ballard suggests that for the Mirpuri migrants he has extensively studied – and the point is repeated throughout the literature – remittances from overseas relatives, far from increasing the general standard of living in the place of origin, entrench the disconnection of the area from productive markets and the possibility of sustainable livelihoods. Meanwhile, Mirpuris in Britain generally do not have the educational attainments or social capital to become upwardly mobile at the same rates as other, more elite South Asian migrants. What is on the one hand a highly localized out-migration is on the other a specific integration into the geography of class in Britain. In either case, both halves of this process are resistant to broad claims about flows of remittances to Pakistan or integration of immigrants in Western countries. Kerala, a state in South India, has similarly been transformed by remittances from laborers in the Gulf, ranging from construction workers, to women employed as domestic servants, to professionals working in medicine, finance, and publishing. Anthropologists have shown, however, that the impact of remittances is not uniform or even, benefits generally flowing along lines of established privilege (it takes a large investment to migrate to the Gulf to begin with) (Osella and Osella 2000:79), and, as sociologist Prema Kurien has documented, different patterns of investment and social change are discernible between sending communities within Kerala itself (Kurien 2002). The salience of specific mobilizations of money and relationships from particular places is thus highlighted, challenging the supposed homogeneity and uniform movement of globalization. Similarly, mobilization of family resources, state investments in information technology industries in Hyderabad, and the existence of high numbers of previous professional emigrants to Australia and the United States all converge to produce a huge representation of workers from the South Indian state of Andhra Pradesh in the ranks of mobile information technology workers globally. As Xiang (2007:xvi) reports, "according to the state's finance and planning department, Andhra Pradesh was home to 23 percent of all Indian IT professionals worldwide by the end of the 1990s." Moreover, these migrants are not drawn equally from all strata of the Andhra population – the historically privileged and dominant Kamma and Reddy castes are overrepresented for they have the resources to mobilize for education and urban homes, while kin-networks and dowry restrict the mobility of those resources within confined circuits (Xiang 2007:32–33; it should be noted, however, that individual families still often make enormous sacrifices to achieve these ends). The differing trajectories (individual and collective) emanating from these uneven geographies also reflect struggles to adapt to the shifting winds of the global economy and of national immigration policies. While the aforementioned Mirpuris have creatively adapted to the narrowing and tightening of both labor immigration and Commonwealth citizens' entitlements in British immigration policy – emphasizing transnational marriages and benefiting from family reunion policies (Ballard 1990:237–238) – many of the IT workers that Xiang follows on their routes between India, Australia, and the United States found themselves caught in restrictive labor contracts, subject to the limited provisions of US temporary visas, and ultimately back in India without the accumulation of material and symbolic capital they had hoped for from their overseas sojourn. That is to say, neither the causes nor the effects of recent migrations from South Asia are uniform across different regions, suggesting that we need more robust theories of diaspora experience and the structuring of global and transnational spaces to comprehend these divergences. Meanwhile, ethnographies in sending communities, tracing the lives of returning migrants from overseas, challenge any notion that migrants are always displaced in their sojourns away, and really at home in the place from which they came. The pattern of affiliations with home and abroad do not so neatly map onto a geography of local belonging. Jonathan Parry's fieldwork with migrants to Bhilai, a steel town in central India, tracing their networks of migration within and beyond India, underscores this point. Many migrant households, he notes, "maintain close ties not only with their villages of origin, but also with kin and co-villagers who have migrated elsewhere.... Sometimes these networks cross national frontiers: some Bhilai families have operated in a 'globalised' labour market for several generations and have as many close kin in Bangkok or Bahrain as back home in Bhojpur" (Parry 2004:233). Starting out in Bhilai, Parry follows his informant Jagannath back to his home village of Nilgaygaon, in Uttar Pradesh. Parry's description of Nilgaygaon, and the lines of connection that traversed it both economically and culturally, highlights the transformations of local cultural style and of global imagination that result from increased transnational labor mobility from India. In Nilgaygaon, Parry sees the proliferation of empty houses paid for by members of Jagannath's lineage who have migrated to Thailand. The original lineage homestead is now "mainly a holiday home and a temporary refuge for migrants," with 50 acres of land solely farmed by one relative who stayed behind, named Bhairav Chand, even though the lineage as a whole owns the land and the house. "In self-conscious opposition to his suave cosmopolitan brothers, Bhairav cultivates the 'localist' style of a gruff, _dhoti-_ clad, tobacco-chewing country landlord. Affecting to speak only the broadest Bhojpuri dialect, he doubles as an exorcist of evil spirits, and swaggers about the village barking orders at his untouchable labourers and loudly deriding his effete Delhi brothers" (2004:236). Not fixed quantities nor permanent identities, rural and cosmopolitan affiliations emerge here as "styles," defined in contradiction and complicity with each other. The experience of transnational migration, and its material traces in the village, are reflected in Bhairav's localism and petty dominance as much as in the migrants' own sense of disconnection and distant affiliation. "Returned Nilgaygaon migrants vociferously complained [that] rural life is hard to take when you have lived outside for long.... Sojourners or settlers? the literature asks, but with reference to the place to which migrants _go_. Here, however, my overwhelming impression was that most now regard themselves as sojourners in the place from which they _came_ " (Parry 2004:237). Indeed Parry's careful attention to detailed performances and expressions of a cultural imagination helps to underscore that one can be an emigrant at home and a localist abroad. The idea of convergence both economic and cultural, heralded by promoters of globalization, has been criticized by anthropologists, who have not only illuminated the pertinence and persistence of locality and difference, but also argued that globalization itself works by cultivating and heightening differences, unequally connecting different parts of the world and entrenching disconnection and disjuncture as it reaches into the heart of local economies. The most striking evidence of transnationality might be an elaborate but empty house, or a more vigorous and even violent practice of identities newly identified as local, authentic, and therefore abstract and immutable. Transnationality is lived and experienced throughout South Asia in ways that ideal images of transnational convergence, or economic calculations of monetary flows, cannot fully comprehend. NATIONALISM IN EXILE The groups of the South Asian diaspora do not share a language, a religion, or a unified homeland. What, then, constitutes their relationship to their countries of origin? How do diaspora populations see – and create for themselves – their homeland from abroad? Some time ago Amitav Ghosh pointed out that "we are sometimes told that the 'real' bond between India and its diaspora lies in the 'immemorial realities' of caste and kinship." Yet he doubted the self-sufficiency of such "realities" in the face of distance: "If this argument has any merit at all it would only be for those groups of migrant Indians who regularly went back to India to marry" (1989:75). In place of the various attempts to secure a singular relation of descent or alliance between India and "her" diaspora, Ghosh insisted, rather, that the relation was multiple, "epic," and "lived in the imagination." "It is because this relationship is so much a relationship of the imagination that the specialists of the imagination – writers – play so important a part in it" (1989:76). Ghosh's insight was – and is – congruent with the growing anthropological emphasis on forms of social imagination, and the media, technologies, and memorializations that foster particular visions of community. The "work of the imagination" (Appadurai 1996) – as opposed to, but not less than, the supposedly more fateful workings of economics and genealogy – has come to take a central place in contemporary understandings of the Indian diaspora and its relation to the "idea of India." The constitution of an idea of India abroad, however, risks abstraction from the demands of locality and place. Long-distance nationalism of this sort, Benedict Anderson argues, can increase the virulence of nationalist ideologies and associated practices of violent exclusion. For Anderson the imagination of the nation constitutes, in some respects, a "project for coming home from exile" by defining one, immutable, unitary space that can encompass a widely dispersed collective, and provide a place of return for the furthest flung migrants (1994:319). Anderson is critical of the abstraction that this can foster, while recognizing the immense, even revolutionary potential of such solidarity across place and difference. However, if the project of nationalism itself requires abstraction from lived realities in place, knitting together disparate locations and life-experiences into a singular narrative of the nation, the phenomenon of long-distance nationalism only compounds that effect. The study of "émigré nationalisms" as a class of phenomena is especially urgent because of the recent history of diaspora influence on and funding for violent campaigns in India against minorities identified as non-Hindu, and therefore out of place in the (imagined) unity of the nation. Bhatt and Mukta, and their contributors, writing from various locations in the West and focusing on the transnational dynamics of Hindu nationalism, have emphasized how "processes of discrimination or minority status in the West become translated in religious and ethnic terms to create new languages of majorities and minorities that are articulated as coherent ideologies of religious or ethnic nationalism and then have repercussions on the countries of origin themselves" (2000:409). That is, they argue that one of the factors influencing the rise of Hindu nationalism in the 1990s was a rewriting of diaspora experiences – of becoming "Indian" and "Hindu" in particular contexts where that was the most salient difference from the host society – back onto the idea of India as a nation. Rajagopal stipulates that it "would be a mistake... to assume that the meaning and implications of nationalist expression abroad are continuous with those at home," and that an "unacknowledged politics of location operates" between the two strains of nationalism (2000:468, 469). Thus, while claiming a political and social identity as a "Hindu" in the context of US religious multiculturalism can serve as a ratifying mark of difference, the means of belonging both with other Indians and in the politics of multiculturalism (2000:471), in India it can serve as an exclusionary claim specifically oriented against the Muslim minority. The well-documented links between political organizations in India and religious and cultural missions abroad can be seen to build upon, and exploit, this unacknowledged difference. The ritual and doctrinal innovations of Hinduism abroad, driven by "missionary" organizations with deep roots in the diaspora like the Vishwa Hindu Parishad, have tended in the direction of a simplification, and an emphasis on communal rituals, which enable claims of a universal Hindu belonging transcending location and internal divisions of caste, community, language, and interpretation (van der Veer 1996:230–237). Thus, within India itself, the construction of a threatened Hindu identity and the projection of an imagined "internal enemy" in the figure of the Muslim (which are complex processes with many contributing cultural and political factors) have joined with this simplified Hinduism to fuel the notion of "Hindutva" or "Hinduness" as the essential characteristic of the Indian nation. Drawing entirely on work within India, Hansen has said that "nowhere in my field work did I find any indications that Hindutva meant anything but assertion of an extremely fuzzy Hinduness vis-à-vis a phantasmagoric construction of a Muslim threat" (1999:194–195).3 While the politics of Hindutva are not solely attributable to the processes of diaspora "ethnicization," these transnational exchanges of meaning have tangible local effects in India. The abstraction of Hinduism from its divergent local practices and its deployment as the foundation of Indian national identity and belonging spurred massive and violent purges against local Muslim populations in Gujarat in 2002 and the destruction of the Babri Masjid, a mosque in Ayodhya, in 1992 (as well as countrywide riots). The durable consequences of this violence are visible today in the increasing spatial separation, and entrenched marginalization, of Muslims within Indian politics and economy, while fear of "reprisals" from Muslim criminal organizations in Mumbai (following on the 1993 bombings in that city) have led to an increased militarization of urban space in India, police violence, and pained questioning about the value of secularism and diversity. Even though the idea of Hindutva, or "Hinduness," as the cultural foundation of the Indian nation has been fostered in diaspora experiences of discrimination, and support for Hindu nationalist organizations in India is drawn from around the diaspora, the costs within India in violence and in the wider effects on the political body are not paid by these long-distance nationalists. TRANSNATIONAL PUBLICS India – in its broadest sense – has always been shaped by pilgrimages, migrations, and invasions, and various sacred and secular imaginings of the space of the nation have long contended against each other (van der Veer 1996:106–128). The development of broad overseas communities of South Asians continues this rich tradition, and promises tangible benefits to India and the other countries of South Asia. Further, anthropological work on the transnational extent of South Asian communities suggests that the work of the imagination through which connections across those communities are maintained can further cultivate the diversity of South Asian belongings. Particular studies underscore that South Asians abroad are maintaining plural, variegated, and epic relationships with each other and with multiple nations. Anthropological studies of Indian communities abroad were, formerly, dominated by categories of "overseas Indians" that drew from colonial and national era definitions and delimitations of culture, belonging, and identity – an imagination that fixed cultural identity to a point of origin, which might bear little relationship to one's own identification of "home." After the critique of such static and located notions of culture, the field was revived in the 1990s as anthropologists turned their attention to transnationality, diasporas, and cultural globalization and hybridity. Though the idea of "transnationality" is understood differently by various scholars, it can offer a specific avenue to theorizing the tangible cultural innovations – for good and for ill – that come with increased global connection. Some of the work surveyed here considers ethnic identities and their political mobilization beyond national boundaries (linking up with the concerns of scholars of émigré nationalisms). Some scholars address the impact of mobility on our understandings and management of diversity within plural societies, primarily in the West. Others consider transnational reformulations of more everyday practices and experiences like aging and – in its broadest sense – belonging. These anthropological approaches to transnational communities and identities share a concern with the meaning and social life which is made within the currents of contemporary migrations, and resist the abstractions and simplifications of the sort examined above. Arjun Appadurai's (1996) theoretical work has been centrally important in defining "transnationality" and "cultural globalization" as topics of study in anthropology. Responding primarily to economists and political scientists, who on the one hand promoted globalization as economic convergence and, on the other, retailed fears about "primordial" ethnic conflicts "reappearing," Appadurai encouraged attention to the ways in which disjunctures in cultural and economic opportunities and conjunctures between uneven "scapes" of finance, ethnicity, and media drove the formation of _new_ transnational ethnic claims. He wrote, primarily, against the automaticity and inevitability implied by dominant understandings of global convergence and ethnic or civilizational clashes. Meanwhile his, and his colleagues', work on the journal _Public Culture_ established new means of theorizing culture in translation and exchange across boundaries. Though this work is often taken to insist on the instability of borders and the fragility of belonging, the strongest result has been to train attention on the tangible (and sometimes terrible) innovations and concrete effects of culture in the present (on the Hindu right and the Bombay riots of 1993, see Appadurai 2000). Peter van der Veer's (1995) relatively early collection of ethnographic and historical work in the revived study of the Indian diaspora likewise stressed the paradoxical interdependence of belonging and migration, with detailed and specific reference to the contours and history of South Asian migrations. Including important studies of transnational links between India and the diaspora that span the conventional division between "old" and "new" diasporas (especially John Kelly's article on new Hindu missions to the "old" diaspora in Fiji), the volume both connects back to previous studies of overseas Indians and prefigures important trends in the more recent study of diasporic Indians in the West. Verne Dusenbery's (1995) article on the Sikh diaspora, for instance, indicates that the diasporic development of demands for a Sikh homeland in the Punjab might be more directly related to the politics of recognition in multicultural, liberal societies like Canada and the United States than to any "primordial" sense of common belonging in a specific place. This point is echoed in Rajogopal's (2000) study of Hindu nationalism in the US and has been pursued in more recent accounts of the differential incorporation of Indian groups – Sikhs, Punjabis, Pakistanis – into British and American society (Axel 2001; Raj 2003). These latter studies, attentive to local political and cultural realities and stressing the travails of liberal recognition, further demonstrate that the "new" migrants to Britain and the United States have been instrumental in domestic reformulations of citizenship, ethnicity, and belonging in those countries (Shukla 2003; Hall 2002). In the United States, South Asians have been cast as a "model minority" (Prashad 2000), as well as constituting a large community of diasporic intellectuals who work to influence academic and political conceptions of India, its place in the world, and Indians' place in the American political community (Assayag and Bénéï 2003). In Britain, South Asians have been key players in reshaping notions of "Englishness" (Baucom 1999) as well as constituting a core constituency for new configurations of labor, race, and "blackness." Shukla (2003:chs. 2–3) pursues a historical comparison between Indian communities in New York and London that highlights these divergent historical experiences of integration. Pnina Werbner's (2002) study of Pakistanis in the British city of Manchester joins a recent current of work careful to separate out everyday life and the work of community building in diaspora from the experiences of cosmopolitan intellectuals and expatriate entrepreneurs – the high-value migrants Indians at home and abroad alike proudly claim as representatives of the diaspora as a whole (e.g. Lal et al. 2006). Werbner makes a distinction between "cosmopolitan" and "transnational" public spheres. For her, transnational public spheres remain highly localized within immigrant neighborhoods and enclaves, and are conducted in a language and with cultural meanings often "foreign" to the host society but shared across national borders. Transnationalism, in this sense, directs our attention to the many ways of fostering a sense of moral community within and between groups at home and abroad. Through the maintenance of such transnational spheres alongside engagement in national-level politics a different kind of belonging – less exclusive, more negotiated and felt-out – may be sustained across both country of origin and country of residence. This is what Vertovec (2007) calls "bifocality" and characterizes as an increasingly available option for diasporic populations. This is, of course, not an entirely novel phenomenon in immigrant cultures, yet the cultural space and practice of transnationality may enable diasporic peoples to affiliate with _both_ of their "home" societies, so to speak – constituting "nations of emigrants" (in Susan Coutin's elegant phrase). Karen Isaksen Leonard (2007) has conducted a long-term study of emigrants from Hyderabad (in India) to seven other locations of post-Independence settlement, including Pakistan, the United Kingdom, the Persian Gulf, the United States, and several countries of the British Commonwealth. She takes up Werbner's distinction between cosmopolitan and transnational formations, and concludes that Hyderabadis abroad have formed an urban-centered, English-speaking, cosmopolitan grouping, and moreover one deeply affected by local legal regimes, and even "national symbols or rituals" of integration in each country of settlement (2007:276, see 266–267). Her ethnographic focus, however, constantly returns to practices of distinction revolving around the old elite Urdu-speaking culture of Hyderabad. While the second generation threatens to disappear into wider cultural identifications fostered by the recent histories of national integration – particularly in Pakistan – Hyderabadi groups throughout the world struggle to maintain some contact with the old culture, if only through culinary traditions (Hyderabadi cuisine, like food traditions for many migrants, is an important medium of memory and community – see Ray 2004). However cosmopolitan or locally rooted in countries of settlement this diaspora population may be, Leonard's focus on the everyday practices and media of group identity as opposed to normative claims (of either assimilation or the community's essential difference) underscores the ethnographic salience of the transnational in Werbner's sense. Sarah Lamb's ethnography of aging and care for elders in the transnational space produced by affluent Bengalis' migrations likewise focuses on the everyday, and on effortful maintenance of connection across borders. Her interlocutors express sharp criticisms of the norms and values associated with transnationality in the wider, cosmopolitan and Western-oriented sense. More particularly, she several times cites the elders' sense that they are missing something by not being able to share food and time with their extended families. Her informant Sri Ramesh Sinha, for instance, describes his life in an old age home near Calcutta: "Here we get tea, food, everything we need... But how much better would it be even to get tea from a _barir lok_ (someone at home)? – maybe a grandchild, who would say, 'Here, _dadu_ (grandfather), I've had this half cup of tea, and now half is left – will you drink it?' " (Lamb 2009:156). Lamb comments, "in a good Indian family, one may possibly receive less materially – perhaps only a half cup rather than a full cup of tea – but whatever there is will be offered by and shared with close kin, expressing and forging love, or _maya_." The theory of connection and of love here is one grounded in Bengali notions of flow, exchange, and sharing which are distinct from – and usefully antagonistic to – the cosmopolitan or transnational ideal of an endless circuit of freely convertible goods, labor, and identities. No less dynamic, and certainly not static or fixed, these Bengali representations of mutual sharing and flow between persons – albeit tinged with nostalgia for a lost world of presence – might allow us to theorize transnationality in more embodied and more interpersonal ways (see Lamb, chapter 27 in this volume). CONCLUSION: FLOWS AND ENCOUNTERS The expansion of the cultural space of South Asia has had dramatic results in cities and towns on the subcontinent and in the image of South Asian identities promulgated in popular culture.4 Film scholars in contemporary India have, perhaps, been among the most sensitive to these changes, as they have witnessed the shift in Hindi films to cater to new imaginations of global connection while retaining a sense of – and assuaging cultural anxieties about – "Indianness" (Mazumdar 2008:404). Noting the increasing prominence of heroes in Hindi films who represent the Indian diaspora – particularly the post-1965 diaspora of professionals to the US – Madhava Prasad writes that new films highlighting overseas Indians "have relocated what we might call the seismic centre of Indian national identity [to] somewhere in Anglo-America." "In other words," he continues, these cultural productions have "brought the NRI decisively into the centre of the picture, as a more stable figure of Indian identity than anything that can be found indigenously" (Prasad 2003). There is an important insight here, one that relates not only to Indians' self-understanding as Indians but also to the formations of culture, and the circuits of media, that influence perceptions of other South Asians in diaspora and their own relationship to a shared idea of regional culture. There is no doubt that the culture heroes and prominent public figures in India increasingly include the successful IT worker with an American visa (Xiang 2007), the transnational entrepreneur like Lakshmi Narayan Mittal – able to achieve feats of international merger in which an "Indian" firm (though listed on the London stock exchange) takes over a leading European steel producer (Reeves 2009) – and the ABCD (or American-born confused _desi_ , the child of emigrants whose knowledge of India must be learned, and is never fully embodied). Whether or not such images now occupy the "seismic center" of Indian identity is more open to question, perhaps, but the point implies a certain methodological urgency to tracing the effects of diaspora – its tremors and shocks – within South Asian countries themselves _and_ in the contemporary diasporic locations of South Asian cultures. Further, the connections and circulations between South Asia and its many diasporas do not solely include images and projections of an imagined elsewhere – whether that elsewhere is India seen from New York, Pakistan seen from London, or America seen from Delhi or London from Karachi. As Werbner notes, there are multiple "diasporic imaginations" in play in any community, and the diaspora of cultural products – which includes Bollywood films, among other media – is only one of the many strands that constitute "an aesthetic world embodied by the flow of mass popular cultural products from the subcontinent, and by a nostalgic reinscription in ritual and ceremonial of the pungent tastes and smells, the vivid colours and moving musical lyrics of a lost land" (2002:12). Anthropologies of the South Asian diaspora are fundamentally about transnational belonging and cultures that are transcribed, translated, and transformed as they move. Most of these studies, however, are ethnographies, and that shared methodological base delivers particular insights of theoretical importance. The studies surveyed here are either explicitly or implicitly shaped by locations in specific diasporic sites, by local political consequences and involvements, and by the practice of fieldwork. These studies engage directly with South Asian peoples and cultures throughout the world, and the ways in which their imagined and real connections with a point of origin, a homeland, and a "shared" culture affect the experience of migration, assimilation in a home country, and the possibilities of imagining "India" differently, or at all. They also, however, demonstrate that South Asian cultures are "abroad" in a very real sense – not fixed or confined to one territory, nation, or region. Ethnographic investigation, from highly particular locations, can thus apprehend "siting strategies" and "nodal points" (Haller 2005:170–171), lateral connections and conjunctures between movements, and currents and flows – potentially dangerous but variously bounded, managed, and made meaningful – amidst this apparently restless movement. As the anthropology of India reminds us constantly, every boundary is porous and every particular body is shaped by the people, matter, and ideas that traverse it and render it multiple. NOTES 1 Indian, Pakistani, and Sikh are not, of course, perfectly parallel identities, and like most such identifications they overlap. Managing the boundaries between national, nation-state, and religious, ethnic, or other community based identities is precisely the problem confronted by diaspora groups, hyphenated citizens, and others who are representative of transnational and global processes, and prime examples of the limits and future possibilities of anthropological theorizing. Specific studies can unravel these complexities in more detail than is possible here. See, for instance, Axel (2001), who examines both historical and contemporary Sikh diasporic formations, and offers a great deal of theoretical problematization; and Raj (2003:184–210), who focuses on the constraining categories of liberal recognition, stressing their poor fit with lived identifications of religion, ethnicity, and national origin. 2 The "Hindu diaspora" is a particularly common notion among European scholars, but as a description it is sociologically quite modest – referring to the global distribution of practices broadly associated with Hinduism, and not necessarily implying an overarching identity or shared religious ideology. American scholars of the diaspora tend to pay less attention to the practice of religion and its transformations and to emphasize religion rather as a political or ethnic identity. Each emphasis brings into view quite different social issues and relations. 3 John Kelly (1995) provides an interesting and contrasting example to this emphasis on ethnonationalist mobilization of Hinduism, in his interpretation of Indo-Fijian receptiveness to reformist strains of Hinduism as a _depoliticization_ of communal belonging, a removal from engagement in a political context dominated by ethnic Fijians. 4 Veronique Dupont (2005) argues that urban redevelopment in Delhi is increasingly creating a city that mirrors the transnational norms of privatized and defensible space familiar from California suburbs and gated communities. Dupont emphasizes the insistent projection of an imagined American elsewhere in the advertising and promotion of the new urban developments, both to attract diasporic investment – as second or vacation homes "at home" – and to accord with the new imaginary of a transnational, affluent, consuming Indian. Thus the diaspora comes home. 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Xiang Biao 2007 Global "Body Shopping": An Indian Labor System in the Information Technology Industry. Princeton: Princeton University Press. CHAPTER 25 India Responds to the HIV/AIDS Pandemic: Unintended Consequences of Global Health Initiatives _Cecilia Van Hollen_ INTRODUCTION The HIV adult prevalence rate in India is currently reported to be 0.34 percent.1 This is considered to be a low prevalence rate, particularly as compared to some sub-Saharan African countries, such as Swaziland and Botswana, where the prevalence rates are 26.1 percent 2 and 23.9 percent 3 respectively. However, due to India's large population, the country ranks third worldwide in actual numbers of people living with HIV/AIDS (PLHA) – 2.4 million – behind just South Africa and Nigeria (UNAIDS 2008). Only 50 percent of India's PLHA were said to be aware of their HIV status in 2008–9, thus rendering the population vulnerable to a potential spike in HIV transmission (NACO 2009:15). As the country with the highest number of HIV-positive people in all of Asia, India is clearly confronting a daunting epidemic, and international global health organizations as well as governments around the world are responding. This epidemic is more challenging to manage for cultural and political reasons than because of biology alone. Medical anthropologists view illness and disease as windows into understanding social life and cultural forms. We can learn much about societies' belief systems by observing responses to disease. Likewise, a penetrating look into what causes illness, why certain people get sick, why certain people die, and how diseases travel reveals a great deal about human social organization and value systems. HIV/AIDS is one of the most salient diseases to think with anthropologically precisely because it evokes intense moral responses that both reinforce and challenge cultural norms, and because it reveals so blatantly the gross inequalities of our world. As Paul Farmer and Arthur Kleinman wrote in the early years of the HIV/AIDS pandemic, "All illnesses are metaphors. They absorb and radiate the personalities and social conditions of those who experience symptoms and treatments... The way in which a person, family, or a community responds to AIDS may reveal a great deal about core cultural values" (Farmer and Kleinman 2001[1989]:353–356). Anthropologists and other social scientists have found that in India AIDS is interpreted predominantly through the lens of the morality of sex. The prevailing view is that HIV/AIDS comes about as a result of premarital and extramarital sexual relationships, both of which fall outside of the proscribed norm in India. Recent studies have revealed that sexual practice does not always conform to these normative ideals in India (Puri 1999; Verma et al. 2004). Nevertheless, the norms prevail. Thus, to be HIV-positive is to be marked with a grave social transgression, and the disease is intensely stigmatized. Media reports of HIV-positive people being ostracized in all arenas of social life in India – in the family, the workplace, medical settings, and the community – are commonplace. Such discrimination has led to high rates of depression and even suicide among this population. As a result, the government, nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), and community based organizations (CBOs) known as "Networks" run by and for PLHA in India are now not only engaged in HIV prevention and treatments efforts, but are also waging a campaign to prevent the stigma and discrimination that plagues those affected by the disease. As a medical anthropologist with a longstanding interest in reproductive health issues as well as in the impact of global and national health policies and programs on local communities and individual lives, I first began studying HIV/AIDS in India in 2002 at the time that the United Nations Children's Fund (UNICEF) and the Indian government initiated a program in public maternity hospitals to prevent the transmission of HIV from mother to child. In India this program is called the Prevention of Parent to Child Transmission (PPTCT) program. The PPTCT program provides free HIV testing and counseling for pregnant mothers and, for those mothers who test HIV-positive, a single dose of Nevirapine (an antiretroviral therapy) to both the mother and the infant. This intervention alone has been demonstrated to reduce mother-to-child transmission of HIV from 25–30 percent to 8–10 percent.4 This program clearly makes good public health sense. As an anthropologist, however, my interest is in the social and cultural impact of this public health intervention. To better understand these impacts, I conducted ethnographic research for one month in 2002–3, six months in 2004, and one month in 2008, focusing on the impact of the PPTCT program in the south Indian state of Tamil Nadu. What I found is that there are unintended consequences of this program. As will be discussed toward the end of this chapter, my research suggests that poor women who are the targets of this program are given very little "choice" over whether or not to get tested and how to proceed with the pregnancy once they receive an HIV-positive diagnosis. My research also demonstrates that as a result of this program, women are being diagnosed HIV-positive before their husbands, and this has negative repercussions for the status of women within the extended patrilocal, patrilineal family structure, since women are accused of being promiscuous and are blamed for bringing the disease into the family, thereby exacerbating preexisting gender inequalities. As a result of their HIV-positive status, these women may be ostracized from their husband's family. Others may become AIDS widows at a young age and will be forced out of their husband's family at that time. With little or no education, these women face grave difficulties supporting themselves and their children. To make matters worse, during the first half of 2004 when I conducted most of my ethnographic interviews, although the government provided medicine to prevent HIV transmission from mother to child, it was not providing antiretroviral treatment for the mothers themselves. Thus an HIV-positive diagnosis during pregnancy was sometimes experienced as both a social and a physical death sentence for these women. Since that time, the government has established an antiretroviral therapy program for such women, and the Networks and governmental bodies have worked hard to overcome the public stigma associated with HIV/AIDS in India. This has led to some improvement in the quality of life of women who test positive through the PPTCT program, though the stigma is far from eradicated and the antiretroviral therapy program has been limited and does not reach many who need it. This chapter aims first to provide a review of the social science literature on AIDS in India. Second, it sketches the social and political responses to the emergence of HIV/AIDS in India. Next, it examines why the state of Tamil Nadu has played a crucial role in responding to this disease. And finally, it draws from my own ethnographic research to outline the ways in which the PPTCT program has impacted the lives of low-income women in Tamil Nadu, particularly those women found to be HIV-positive. SOCIAL SCIENCE RESEARCH ON HIV/AIDS IN INDIA Several scholars have traced governmental and nongovernmental responses to HIV/AIDS in India (Panda et al. 2002; Jain 2002; Dube 2000), some looking at variations across states and others giving special attention to responses in individual states such as Tamil Nadu (Parameswaran 2004). Others have examined the implications of HIV/AIDS for India's economy and security (Anand et al. 1999; Nielsen and Melgaard 2004). Most of the social science literature on HIV/AIDS in India follows the general division found in intervention programs between prevention, on the one hand, and care and support of PLHA on the other hand. Those conducting ethnographic research with the aim of improving prevention efforts have primarily focused on sexual practices and awareness of sex and HIV/AIDS among various groups in the population (Verma et al. 2004; Koumari 2003; Nag 1996). Special attention has been given to the study of commercial sex workers (Guntupalli 2008), especially in relation to the empowerment of sex workers in the Songachi project in Kolkata (Swendeman et al. 2009; Jana et al. 2002), and also in relation to devadasis5 (Orchard 2007), and to sex workers and the police (Biradavolu et al. 2009). A number of researchers have also conducted research on sexual practices and perceptions as they pertain to HIV/AIDS among adolescents (Grover et al. 2003); truck drivers (Cornman et al. 2007); migrant workers (De Sircar and Tewari 1999); and "men who have sex with men" (MSM) (Pradeep 2002). Some have critically interrogated the use of the transnational category of MSM for AIDs prevention projects (L. Cohen 2005), and others have examined the emergence of new forms of gay identities and activisms in the context of AIDS prevention work (Bhaskaran 2004; Kavi 2007). A particular topic of interest among social scientists studying sex in relation to HIV has been the study of what is considered by some to be a "culture bound syndrome" of anxiety about "semen loss" through masturbation and night emissions. Some scholars have reflected on the potential impact of this on HIV risk behaviors, while others have critiqued the ways in which ideas about this have been leveraged by AIDS intervention programs (Lakhani et al. 2001; Alter 1997; L. Cohen 1997). Several critical analyses have argued that intervention projects for both prevention and care and support, many of which involve transnational organizations and discourses, are tied to neoliberal forms of governmentality, and create new subjects and new conceptions of citizenship and health (Finn and Sarangi 2008; Misra 2006; L. Cohen 2005). The role of the media (including Bollywood) in raising awareness of HIV/AIDS in India has been one subject of interest (Singhal and Vasanti 2005). In addition to studies on sexuality, there has been a great deal of scholarly attention to women's vulnerability to HIV in a patriarchal social context and to the feminization of the HIV/AIDs epidemic in India (Ghosh et al. 2009; Ashraf and Godwin 1998). These studies point out that lack of education, power, and access to information and healthcare services, combined with a taboo against speaking about sex or AIDS, make women more vulnerable to contracting the HIV virus than men. Similarly, some have pointed to the ways in which increased autonomy for women in India helps reduce their vulnerability to HIV. The social science research on care and support of PLHA in India has focused primarily on the issue of stigma and moral accusations meted out to PLHA (Jain 2002; Dube 2000). Some have looked at the mental health crises, including suicidal tendencies, that arise as a result of this stigma, and how PLHA cope with these psychological problems, primarily through avoiding disclosure of their HIV status (Steward et al. 2008). Studies have also examined legal issues relevant to PLHA, pointing both to the ways in which they face illegal forms of discrimination, and to the ways in which they can, should, or do make use of the law and/or the human rights framework (CFAR and PWN+2003; Rajkhowa 2002). Researchers have found that women living with HIV/AIDS in India face disproportionate stigma and discrimination. Often blamed for infecting their spouses, they are ostracized by their husband's kin. They also suffer the consequences of becoming AIDS widows in a society in which not only AIDS, but widowhood itself carries stigma (Bourdier 1998; CFAR and PWN+2003; Van Hollen 2007). Some scholars have examined the social relations of healthcare in the context of the medical treatment of PLHA. These studies look primarily at the problems of stigma and discrimination of PLHA in medical settings, as well as at issues of lack of access to medical care as a result of class, caste, and gender status (Jain 2002; Van Hollen, forthcoming), but they also attend to the uncertainties within which medical practitioners must operate (Kielmann et al. 2005). Exploring the sociocultural factors associated with the use of Ayurvedic medicine for the treatment of PLHA in India has been another area of inquiry (Van Hollen 2005). In the following section, I draw from the literature that traces the governmental and nongovernmental responses to AIDS in India over time. Like Gowri Parameswaran (2004), I demonstrate that Tamil Nadu has played a unique role in India in terms of responses to this disease, but I take this approach further to explain why Tamil Nadu emerged in this place of prominence. My analysis of the PPTCT program contributes to the literature on the social impact of this stigma on women within their families and in medical settings not only by adding a new focus on pregnancy and childbirth (P. Cohen and Solomon 2004), but also by examining the unintended consequences of a global public health initiative on the lives of poor women in India. RESPONSES TO HIV/AIDS IN INDIA When the first case of HIV in India was detected in 1986 in a sex worker in Chennai, many Indians speculated that due to the cultural fabric of Indian society, HIV/AIDS would never surface as a major threat to India and would remain not only a low prevalence disease, but one sequestered to the margins of society among commercial sex workers in major urban ports. By 2003, however, India's then prime minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee stated that "HIV/AIDS is not only a grave global challenge... It is equally a national concern" (New York Times 2003). Since then, most major political leaders have publicly acknowledged the severity of India's AIDS epidemic while also noting successes in curbing its spread. After the announcement of the first case of HIV in 1986, the national government responded swiftly by putting together a comprehensive surveillance plan to monitor the prevalence and risk of HIV in India and a preventative plan to increase awareness of risk reduction through such things as condom promotion, regulation of blood supplies, and control of sexually transmitted diseases closely associated with increased HIV risk. With funding from the World Health Organization and other multilateral agencies (Jain 2002:156), the Government of India's Ministry of Health and Family Welfare launched a National AIDS Control Programme as early as 1987, and beginning in 1992, it was formalized through the establishment of the National AIDS Control Organization (NACO) and the National AIDS Prevention and Control Programme – two umbrella organizations designed to coordinate all HIV/AIDS policies and programs, including NGO programs (Sethi 2002). The period between 1987 and 1992 was, however, marred by state and city governmental blunders, which have been likened to the draconian sterilization campaigns under India's Emergency in 1975 (Jain 2002:156). As Siddharth Dube explains, this was a period when the government treated HIV/AIDS "as a law and order problem" in which "police and health officials forcibly tested thousands of sex workers and drug users" and "those found to be HIV-positive or with AIDS were quarantined or jailed" (2000:25–27). These tactics could not last long in a vibrant democracy such as India. Human rights groups protested vociferously. Thus, in Phase I of NACO's planning (1992–1999), the more coercive approaches to the policy were abandoned, and the emphasis shifted to addressing HIV/AIDS as a health problem. Nevertheless, Geeta Sethi (2002) argues that in Phase I the government was unsuccessful in operationalizing its plans because of resistance on the part of some within and outside of the government who denied that HIV was or would become a problem meriting substantial governmental resources. Sethi and others also critiqued some of the early approaches of the NACO plan and a sensationalist media for focusing too exclusively on high risk groups, such as commercial sex workers, truck drivers, recipients of blood transfusions, and injecting drug users, with the result that members of these groups suffered extreme forms of stigma and discrimination. Equally problematic with this approach is the fact that people who were not identified with these groups were led to believe that they were not at risk and that, therefore, they did not need to engage in preventative behavior. Perhaps the strongest criticism of the approach taken in Phase I was that the policy was formed based on the assumption that awareness programs themselves could transform behavior. Insufficient attention was given to the complex social factors that shape the construction of behaviors that put people at risk for HIV – such as poverty and gender inequalities, factors that may leave individuals with little control over their sexual or drug use practices. Anthropologists often refer to this set of factors as forms of "structural violence," and have provided compelling ethnographic examples of the ways in which structural violence makes certain groups of people vulnerable to HIV worldwide (Farmer 1999). Furthermore, an overemphasis on education as a solution ignored the fact that severe inadequacies in India's health care delivery system proved to be a major obstacle to individual attempts to engage in preventative behaviors. As long as NACO's approach treated HIV/AIDS as a health problem, rather than as a social, economic or political issue, it would not garner the political attention and resources needed, since, as Kalpana Jain pointed out in 2002, "health issues are low among national priorities" (2002:159). As a result of some of the concerns mentioned above, Phase II of the NACO plan (1999–2004) was developed to try to provide a more "enabling environment" for individuals to be able to engage in lower risk behaviors in the first place. This second phase acknowledged that in order to better comprehend what was required to create such an enabling environment in diverse communities throughout India, a more decentralized and multisectoral planning approach would be of paramount importance. Decentralization under Phase II also meant giving states more control over programs. The mobilization of and by commercial sex workers in Kolkata's Sonagachi red light district, a movement that has attracted international media attention, has been viewed as a positive model for decentralized, community generated efforts that are not simply limited to HIV/AIDS awareness and prevention, but that emphasize the importance of economic, political, and social empowerment as a prerequisite for creating an "enabling environment" to facilitate the reduction of the spread of HIV, in this case by enabling sex workers to insist on condom use (Jana et al. 2002). Phase III of NACO, which began in June 2007 and is ongoing, moved toward further decentralization to implement programs at the district level. It even employed a new cadre of rural community-level "link workers" to spread awareness about culturally taboo subjects related to HIV prevention (such as sex and sexuality), with the assumption that local members of rural communities will be better positioned to broach such topics with other villagers. These measures were taken in order to spread HIV/AIDS awareness among young people in rural areas throughout India, following the trajectory of the disease. Although Phase III set out to increase care for PLHA (especially through ratcheting up its free antiretroviral therapy distribution program which has been gradually phased in since mid-2004), its primary focus has continued to be on prevention by targeting "high risk groups." Since HIV/AIDS continues to be categorized as a "concentrated epidemic" in which the HIV prevalence rate among "high risk" groups is much higher than among the general population, NACO now encourages members of these groups to organize themselves into community based organizations in order to reduce dependence on foreign funding and to ensure sustainability. There has been criticism of the disproportionate amount of foreign aid flowing into the country targeted at the HIV/AIDS epidemic. Critics argue that in India and other "developing" countries there are far more deaths caused by such seemingly pedestrian things as diarrhea, malnutrition, and anemia than by AIDS, and yet the amount of foreign aid flooding into these countries to combat AIDS far exceeds the amount given for what they see as more pressing public health needs. Under Phase III these targeted "high risk" groups include commercial sex workers, injecting drug users, truck drivers, migrant workers, and "men who have sex with men." In India, this MSM category covers a wide range of gender identities and is not exclusive to the "gay" category in the United States. For example, in her ethnography about _hijras_ (men who adopt feminine gender identities and roles) Gayatri Reddy (2005) lists numerous Indian gender categories that would be subsumed within the public health category of MSM. The hijra community has been hard hit by HIV/AIDS, and this has led to their increased political mobilization for human rights and recognition. Indeed, somewhat like the gay rights movement in the United States, the devastating impact of HIV/AIDS on MSM groups in India more broadly has helped galvanize rights based advocacy movements around sexual orientation (Bhaskaran 2004:72–73; Kavi 2007:395). On July 2, 2009, in large part because of these mobilizations, the Delhi High Court issued its landmark ruling overturning Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code and thereby abolishing the criminalization of consensual homosexual sex between adults. TAMIL NADU, THE PIONEER STATE If the Sonagachi project was touted as one successful intervention project, the activities in the state of Tamil Nadu have also been celebrated for their proactive, progressive response to the emergence of the AIDS epidemic. Tamil Nadu, and Chennai in particular, emerged as a hub for the development of both governmental and civil society responses to HIV/AIDS, not only in terms of prevention, but also in terms of advocacy for care and treatment of PLHA – an issue that gained traction in mid-2004 with a new government antiretroviral therapy program after it had been largely neglected by both governmental and nongovernmental programs. In many respects Tamil Nadu has been _the_ pivotal state in India in terms of both the epidemiology and the social and political responses to HIV/AIDS. Looking at the epidemiology of HIV in India, it is important to note that HIV prevalence rates within India vary across regions. Currently Andhra Pradesh is the only state reported to have HIV prevalence rates greater than 1 percent (based on antenatal care attendees). But the following six states have also all had a history of higher HIV prevalence rates than other parts of India: Karnataka, Maharashtra, Manipur, Mizoram, Nagaland, and Tamil Nadu (NACO 2008:21). Geographically, these states are clustered in the south and northeast regions of India. Higher rates in the northeastern states have been attributed to high injecting drug use, since this region borders the Golden Triangle and is a transit point for the heroin trade as well as a region known to have opium poppy cultivation. The other higher prevalence states are all located in south and central India. Three factors could explain this. First, HIV/AIDS entered into India through the major port cities of Chennai and Mumbai, where commercial sex workers were the first reported victims of the disease. The higher rates in Tamil Nadu and Maharashtra, and the adjacent states of Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka, could, therefore, be attributed to the fact that the virus has had a longer period of time to spread in the region. Second, the south and central regions may have been hard hit by this disease because of the industrial and internet-technology growth in the south following the liberalization of India's economy in 1991, which resulted in high levels of migration within the region as people sought out new employment opportunities. Migration is known to be a contributing factor to the spread of HIV throughout the world, particularly when men migrate as temporary wage laborers. Third, the higher prevalence rates in south and central India could be partly due to better epidemiological surveillance in the region and inadequate surveillance elsewhere in the country. Tamil Nadu has been a central focus for HIV/AIDS in India for two reasons. On the one hand, it is known as the state in which the first case of AIDS in India was ever detected in 1986. It is also viewed as one of the higher prevalence states, and it has several very high prevalence districts within its borders (NACO 2008:18). On the other hand, Tamil Nadu is also recognized as the state which has been the most proactive in developing programs for HIV/AIDS prevention and care, both at governmental and nongovernmental levels. Programs developed in this state have been used as models for other states. Under NACO's Phase II, in the interest of decentralization, State AIDS Control Societies were established with the intent of improving the implementation of NACO's broader goals in local states (Jain 2002:183). To this end, the central government used the model of the Tamil Nadu State AIDS Control Society, which had been established as early as 1994 and was the first of its kind. This was only one of a long list of groundbreaking organizations and institutions born in Tamil Nadu which have since become models for the country. Others include the Networks for HIV-positive people; prominent hospitals treating AIDS patients (such as the Government Hospital of Thoracic Medicine and the Y. R. Gaitonde Centre for AIDS Research and Education ( YRG Care) ); and large internationally funded AIDS prevention organizations such as the AIDS Prevention and Control Project funded by the United States Agency for International Development (USAID). Why has Tamil Nadu been such a pioneer state in its response to the HIV/AIDS epidemic in India? I propose four arguments which help to answer this question. One argument is historical. Another is cultural. A third is economic. And a fourth is political. Put very simply, the historical argument suggests that because the city of Madras (now Chennai) and the Madras Presidency were so crucial to the British colonizers, and because the British and American missionaries were particularly active in southern India during the colonial era, allopathic healthcare institutions proliferated and flourished in the region early on. The colonizers took a keen interest in keeping their labor pool healthy, and the missionaries made the development of health and educational institutions a central part of their religious calling – which also proved to be instrumental to their interests in conversion (Jeffery 1988; Van Hollen 2003). This legacy could have contributed to the active role of the state and NGOs in public health services in the postcolonial era. The cultural argument suggests that there is greater gender equity in south India than in north India ( Agarwal 1994; Wadley 1980). Greater gender equity relates to higher levels of education and literacy for girls and women. And education – while not a panacea – is, of course, key for both HIV/AIDS prevention and care efforts. It is also possible that greater gender equity might translate into women having more leverage over their own sexuality both within and outside of marriage. Great gender equity could also contribute to a cultural climate that is more comfortable with and receptive to media and educational programs for HIV/AIDS which address sensitive topics of sexuality. The economic argument for relatively better responses to HIV/AIDS in Tamil Nadu is that both economic liberalization since 1991 and the high-tech boom centered in south India have led to the creation of a larger middle class with greater access to education and increased resources to spend on healthcare. However, the flip side of the economic argument is that liberalization and the high-tech boom have compounded the health problems in the region, particularly HIV/AIDS, since new jobs in urban centers have led to increased migration. In addition, liberalization has led to the increasing privatization of healthcare and thus further disenfranchisement of the poor. The fourth argument is the political argument which maintains that it is the unique populist nature of Tamil Nadu state politics that accounts for greater attention to health care among the population, particularly among the poor. Indeed, Tamil Nadu has a long and illustrious history of populist politics and egalitarian movements aimed against caste and gender based forms of discrimination. Some note continuous threads of such movements dating as far back as the south Indian _bhakti_ (Hindu devotional) movements of medieval India. Certainly there is continuity dating back to the early twentieth-century Dravidian movements (Irschick 1969; Ramaswamy 1997). Though no one of these theories alone can explain why Tamil Nadu has held such an important position in HIV/AIDS prevention and care efforts within India, I contend that together they illuminate a great deal and provide a satisfactory (if incomplete) answer to this vexing question. Seen in this light, it is also not surprising that Tamil Nadu has played a key role in India's Prevention of Parent to Child Transmission program. THE PPTCT PROGRAM AND ITS SOCIAL IMPACT IN TAMIL NADU Given the place of prominence that Tamil Nadu has occupied in the arenas of HIV/AIDS and women's reproductive health (Van Hollen 2003), it is no surprise that three out of the eleven hospitals in India selected by NACO to pilot the Prevention of Parent to Child Transmission program in 2000 were in Chennai. Since that time, the program has been officially implemented throughout the country. By 2008, 4.61 million women had been counseled and tested for HIV during their prenatal care in government maternity hospitals throughout India; 21,483 pregnant women were found to be HIV-positive; and 10,494 mother–baby pairs were given a single dose of Nevirapine (NACO 2009:16). My ethnographic research from 2004 and 2008 examines the impacts of this program on women's lives and raises some issues beyond the public health arena indicated by these statistics. HIV testing during pregnancy To begin with, in their concern to get a maximum number of pregnant women to agree to HIV testing during pregnancy, the counselors working in this program sometimes bypassed the informed consent procedures adopted from international health guidelines established by the World Health Organization, UNAIDS, UNICEF, and Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and required by the Government of India. Although counselors in some hospitals went out of their way to obtain informed consent, others simply instructed women to sign the informed consent documents as if it were mandatory, and oftentimes women did not know what they were agreeing to. Even in the best scenarios where the PPTCT counselors provided pre-test counseling and solicited informed consent, there were ways in which the counselors sought to make the HIV test more palatable so that both patients and their husbands would agree to it. One tactic was to normalize the test as a basic part of prenatal care. Another was to represent it as akin to prenatal immunizations. And a third was to emphasize the potential for "innocent" versus "guilty" modes of transmission – reminding women, for example, that they could have gotten HIV through blood tests or blood donations (rather than through sexual transmission), and thus removing the elements of stigma and blame. Based on my interviews with counselors and observations of meetings in which the counselors' job performance was being evaluated, it became clear that these strategies were employed in part because of the pressure that the counselors felt to demonstrate statistical "success" in the numbers of women undergoing HIV testing. The goal of the PPTCT program seemed at times to be to generate statistics that would demonstrate a high percentage rate of HIV testing and of HIV-negative babies born to HIV-positive mothers. Counselors had to provide reports to the Tamil Nadu State AIDS Control Society, which in turn sent reports to NACO in Delhi. According to the director of the South India AIDS Action Programme, who was in charge of training the counselors, international aid organizations providing funding for NACO and for the counselor training took these statistical reports into consideration when allocating funds.6 Under these conditions, lower class pregnant women were not provided with complete and balanced information about their reproductive health options. Prevention of HIV transmission from mother to child is a critical public health measure in the battle against the spread of HIV. But poor, undereducated mothers deserve to know what they are subjecting their bodies to and what the potential consequences of their "choices" are. What then happens when women test HIV-positive during their pregnancy? How do they make decisions about whether or not to continue with their pregnancy and childbirth? If they do continue with their pregnancy, how does their HIV status affect them as mothers? These are some of the questions I pursued through interviews with 50 HIV-positive women in 2004. HIV-positive women's decisions about childbearing Of the 50 HIV-positive women I met in 2004, 12 found themselves in the situation of knowing that they were HIV-positive while they were pregnant. All 12 of these women opted to continue with childbearing. Their decision was informed by (1) institutional interests of the state, NGOs, and international aid donors; (2) a strong cultural value placed on motherhood and a concomitant stigma against women who do not reproduce; (3) Christian-based organizations in Tamil Nadu which cater to lower class, lower caste communities and which seemed to make some women believe that receiving care was contingent on conversion to Christianity and that Christianity was fundamentally opposed to abortion; and (4) the Networks for people living with HIV/AIDS which made some women feel as though they had just as much of a right to become mothers as anyone else, and that they and their children could lead satisfying lives regardless of their HIV status. Women's decisions to continue with childbearing were not made by favoring one factor over another, but emerged through each woman's own synthesis of coexisting structures and discourses. Elsewhere I have explained each of these factors in depth (Van Hollen 2007). Here, I want to briefly elaborate on the first factor to point out that nine of these women got their first HIV tests at a late stage in their pregnancy, the majority in the third trimester. Typically hospitals that provide HIV testing do so at the very first prenatal visit, and my research on prenatal HIV-testing suggests that most women do undergo testing on their first or second prenatal visit. The late stage at which these women detect their HIV status, therefore, supports the already documented fact that poor women in Tamil Nadu who attend government maternity hospitals often do not seek out prenatal care until late in their pregnancy. This is due to the fact that when family resources are limited, women's health does not become a priority, especially when seeking healthcare involves time away from paid labor or needed housework and involves transportation costs. Third trimester abortion is legal in India but only under very limited circumstances, and it is extremely difficult to access. Therefore, diagnosis of HIV-positive status very late in pregnancy is usually perceived by women as precluding the option of having an abortion. Furthermore, HIV-positive women were increasingly opting to continue with their pregnancies because of the fact that the PPTCT program was being implemented and treatment was available to reduce the risk of HIV transmission, which seemed like a good option to many women. However, the role of the PPTCT program was more complex than that. As was the case with HIV testing, the counselors in the PPTCT program had an incentive to produce reports indicating that the majority of women who tested HIV-positive accepted the Nevirapine treatment. If women decided to terminate their pregnancies as a result of the HIV-positive diagnosis, this would reflect poorly on the counselors' job performance and could negatively impact their jobs. As a result, counselors tended to present the Nevirapine treatment as if it would _guarantee_ that HIV would not be transmitted to the baby. Counselors also avoided discussing the problems of stigma and discrimination of HIV-positive people in pre-test counseling and they did not explain that there was – at that time – no government provision of antiretroviral medication for the sake of the mother's health. By pointing to the factors that compelled women in this situation to continue with their pregnancies, I do not want to give the impression that HIV-positive pregnant women _should_ opt for an abortion or that counselors _should_ steer them in that direction. Such suggestions would be a violation of human rights for people living with HIV/AIDS. But, given the context in which most HIV-positive women are living in poverty, widowed at a young age, and unable to find employment or remarry due to the triple stigma of being HIV-positive, an HIV-positive _woman_ , and a widow, women _must_ be provided with full disclosure of their reproductive options and of the medical, social, and psychological benefits and risks of all those options. Probably the greatest risk that these women face is stigma both in the context of seeking medical care and in the context of their family relationships. HIV-positive pregnant women face stigma in the medical setting Women who do decide to go ahead with their births after an HIV-positive diagnosis faced uncertain birth experiences even after the PPTCT program was in place. Although some women had very complimentary things to say about their birth experiences after their HIV diagnosis in a PPTCT hospital, many others struggled to get adequate care, sometimes getting referred out to other hospitals (even while in the throes of labor), or not receiving proper care within the hospital (even to the extent of being left all alone to give birth). In another article on this topic I have provided several case studies of HIV-positive women's birthing experiences (Van Hollen, forthcoming). While it is easy to fault medical institutions and personnel for violations of human rights in discriminating against HIV-positive patients, it should also be noted that for some medical institutions, guaranteeing "universal precautions" against infection may not be so simple when they lack the necessary resources to make universal precaution measures possible. Discriminatory processes within the hospitals can lead women to try to keep their HIV status secret from medical personnel. But this can fuel the spread of HIV when some hospitals are not fully equipped to guarantee universal precautions. This helps explain why hospitals may not subscribe to informed consent for HIV testing during pregnancy or when women first register at a hospital already in labor. Thus a vicious cycle is set into motion which is detrimental to both HIV prevention and care. HIV-positive mothers face stigma at home Although the counselors in the PPTCT program are instructed to encourage women to get their husbands to come in for HIV testing at the same time that they are being tested, my research in 2004 suggests that this rarely occurred. In fact, even when a woman tested HIV-positive during her prenatal care, oftentimes her husband would still refuse to get tested. Or, if he did and was found to be HIV-positive, his parents would blame the wife for having infected their son. Given that many women lived with their parents-in-law in extended family arrangements, they could make her life exceedingly difficult, and sometimes she would be forced to leave the house. My research generally supports that of other scholars studying the social impact of HIV/AIDS globally who have argued that women tend to be blamed for the spread of HIV/AIDS more than men and, as a result, HIV-positive women face greater stigma and discrimination than HIV-positive men. Role of Networks in combating stigma The Networks have played a critical role in assisting these women to combat stigma and discrimination in both the medical settings and within their families. For example, in some instances, members of the Networks would help a woman get admitted into a maternity hospital without disclosing her HIV status. Once she was registered, they would inform the staff that the woman was HIV-positive and that the Network would seek legal retribution if the hospital refused to assist her with her labor. The Networks which focus on the needs of HIV-positive _women_ are particularly helpful in combating the gender based forms of discrimination that these women face. Some have recruited lawyers to provide free legal counseling for women living with HIV. The primary complaint that these women brought to the lawyers was that concerning inheritance rights. Many of these women were becoming widows at a young age and their in-laws used the allegation that the wife had spread HIV to their son as a means to justify denying the wife her share of the husband's property to which she was legally entitled. The lawyers provided these women with legal advice about their rights to property as wives, and in some instances, women used this advice to wage lawsuits. Even when the issue of HIV/AIDS is not present, women in Tamil Nadu – as in India more generally – often find themselves caught between laws which entitle them to claim some share of property on the one hand, and normative cultural practices, dating back to the colonial era, which prohibit them from doing so. More often than not, women have had to acquiesce to these norms due to their lack of power within patrilineal, patrilocal kinship structures. In this context, it is fair to say that the rights based activism of the Networks for PLHA is helping to raise awareness of gender discrimination more broadly, and this may be one example of the ways in which activist organizing in the wake of HIV/AIDS can have transformative ramifications as it pushes at the borders of cultural conventions. CONCLUSION In this chapter, I have provided an overview of the social science literature on AIDS in India and have traced the social and political responses to HIV/AIDS in India since the first case was detected in 1986. Further, I have suggested reasons for the pivotal role that the state of Tamil Nadu has played in responding to this disease. And finally, I have presented findings from my own ethnographic research which demonstrate the unintended consequences that the global public health program to prevent the transmission of HIV from mothers to infants has had on the lives of individual poor HIV-positive women in Tamil Nadu as they navigate pregnancy and childbirth. My own research reinforces the observations made by medical anthropologists such as Paul Farmer and Arthur Kleinman, who assert that illnesses "absorb and radiate the personalities and social conditions of those who experience symptoms and treatments" (Farmer and Kleinman 2001:353–356), and who argue that the study of responses to AIDS in particular reveals much about social relations and cultural values. A study of the impact of the PPTCT program in India reveals the ways in which global inequalities play out when counselors feel compelled to increase the number of pregnant women getting tested for HIV because of pressures from above, particularly from international donor institutions interested in seeing numerical indicators to demonstrate the success of their interventions. In the process, poor, uneducated women are not provided with full and accurate information from which to make an informed decision about their reproductive healthcare "choices." My research also demonstrates how unequal gender relations are reinforced through such public health programs, since women are now being singled out for HIV testing during their pregnancies and this is leading to a situation in which women's HIV status is becoming known to families usually before their husbands are even tested. In patriarchal, patrilineal, and patrilocal contexts in which newly married women have less power and authority than their male spouses, the discovery of their HIV status often places them in an extremely precarious position within the family, further exacerbating gender inequalities. Since many of these women become AIDS widows at a young age, the intense stigma attached to their HIV-positive status compounds the social stigma they already face as widows, and as a result, the possibility of remarriage is typically precluded. Furthermore, it is not uncommon for a woman's in-laws to blame her for being sexually promiscuous and for infecting their son – a charge that they then use as an excuse to expel her from their home and to deny her inheritance rights once she becomes widowed. Such are some of the unintended consequences of a well-intentioned public health program that aimed to prevent infants from becoming HIV-positive. The stigma of an HIV-positive status in India was particularly intense during my research in the beginning of 2004 before the government established a program to provide antiretroviral therapy free of cost. Essentially, the policy at that time amounted to an internationally driven government program pushing HIV testing on pregnant women to prevent new cases of HIV while offering no treatment to the women themselves and offering little protection from the stigma-related forms of discrimination they would face in their families and when seeking maternal healthcare. Since then, the government has been phasing in an antiretroviral therapy program, but my research in 2008 suggests that many PLHA who would like to have access to it either do not know about it, or are not able to make use of it due to the distance they would have to travel or to bureaucratic obstacles, such as the need to obtain a government ration card that would entitle them to the free treatments. Greater effort needs to be put into making sure that these medicines are reaching people in need who are otherwise unable to afford antiretroviral therapy. And more resources need to be allocated to public hospitals to ensure that they are able to guarantee the use of universal precautions against infection for any patient. In addition, more needs to be done to encourage the testing of pregnant women's partners at the same time that the women themselves are being tested. This has been the intent of the PPTCT program from the beginning, but in 2004 it was not being actualized. My research in 2008 suggests some improvement in this direction. Finally, it is essential to eliminate the pressure that counselors feel to achieve success in terms of the number of pregnant women tested and the number of HIV-positive pregnant women giving birth. When counselors are motivated by numerical success alone, the reproductive rights of women are all too easily abused. Without these changes, the widespread HIV testing of low income pregnant women can do as much social damage as it does public health good. NOTES 1 At www.unaids.org/en/CountryResponses/Countries/india.asp (accessed Nov. 2, 2009). 2 At www.unaids.org/en/CountryResponses/Countries/swaziland.asp (accessed Nov. 2, 2009). 3 At www.unaids.org/en/CountryResponses/Countries/botswana.asp (accessed Nov. 2, 2009). 4 This figure is from an article posted on the AIDS-INDIA Listserv on March 1, 2005: "Second phase of anti-retroviral programme begins – Tamilnadu, INDIA." 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Wadley, Susan, ed. 1980 The Powers of Tamil Women. Syracuse, NY: Foreign and Comparative Studies Program, Syracuse University. CHAPTER 26 Cultures of the Psyche, Politics of Illness _Sarah Pinto_ At the height of summer, a woman was brought by her husband to the psychiatry ward of a government hospital in north India for treatment of a range of symptoms: angry outbursts, headaches, pain in her arms, running away, and crying. From time to time she fell unconscious, her teeth clenched and neck rigid, and on occasion she was visited by an angry goddess who spoke through her, panting heavily and demanding meat. Kavita and her husband had traveled 150 kilometers to the outpatient clinic, where they waited for hours in a crowded hallway. Finally, in the consulting room Kavita's husband described her symptoms and showed previous prescriptions for antipsychotic medication. Later, the consulting psychiatrist agreed with the resident medic that Kavita's ailment was not schizophrenia but Dissociative Disorder, what the doctor described as "in common language, hysteria." She was put on anti-anxiety medication, and admitted to the ward. In the female ward, rows of beds formed a long hall and screened windows offered a view onto trees, rooftops, and minarets. The room was crowded with patients and their families. Kin managed patients' daily care – bathing and feeding them and giving medications. Though quiet, the ward was a space of constant movement. Residents, nursing students, social workers, and ward attendants moved among the beds. A construction project meant that laborers passed through as well, and that the dust of broken plaster mitigated the scent of antiseptic. Kavita occupied the sixth bed from the door. Folded clothes and a bowl with utensils lay on a shelf. Her husband stayed with her on the ward, sleeping on a mat by her bed, reading the paper, managing Kavita's drugs, and bringing food from vendors outside. The relationship between Kavita's lifeworld and her illness was complex, both in the social space of the ward and that of Kavita's home. In her ailment lay a tangle of social, symbolic, psychological, political, and religious dynamics, present-day conditions and historical considerations. Contemporary conversations about Indian psychiatry are often shaped by debates about "difference" – differences between Indian cultural forms and medical languages, the plurality of forms of healing, multiple ideas about the self. Kavita's case offers an opportunity to reflect on the ways that "difference" is constantly negotiated in Indian psychiatry, less in terms of the binary between "Western psychiatry" and "Indian culture" than in the layers of experience, explanation, and practice that make mental health in India an intensely pluralistic scene – one in which, in Byron Good's terms, diseases are less objects than "dialogues" among many voices (1994). To consider mental health care in India in terms of a stark dichotomy between "Western psychiatry" and "Indian culture" would be to overlook medicine's own malleability and mobility, as well as the long history of psychiatry _in_ India, a setting in which the "objects" of anthropological study (psychiatrists, psychoanalysts, and patients/clients) are often also analyzers, committed to interpreting their own worlds and engaged in the production of knowledge about it. Dialogues are multi-, at times self-, referential, as clinical practice brings voices into concert, involving counterpoint as well as dissonance and harmony, a complex of forces present in even a single case of distress. DOCTORS, SCHOLARS, AND POSTCOLONIAL SELVES A conversation about psychiatry in India must begin with psychoanalysis, and the terms of legitimacy, identity and, at times, nationalism it offered as an undercurrent for psychiatry more broadly. Neither psychiatry nor psychoanalysis is new to India. Both have been present on the subcontinent since their earliest days as professions. Indeed, key debates about the relationship of "Western" medicine to "Indian culture" took shape on the ground of psychoanalysis. Though its impact on clinical practice was minimal, psychoanalytic categories had a strong presence in scholarship, used by anthropologists, psychologists, and psychiatrists to reflect on the "Indian self." From its earliest days, psychoanalysis was an ambiguous tool for relativizing models of personhood. It offered the possibility of recuperating selves compromised by colonial rule, at once exposing the impact and asserting the primacy of Western knowledge, enabling the extension of Western stereotypes and rebuttals to them through a science that was itself an "in-house" critique of the "modern West" (Nandy 1995:81). Inquiries into the "secret selves" of the colonized or once-colonized were often heated (Nandy 1995:81), and debates over the relevance of Western models for understanding India meant that both clinical and cultural categories were long matters of politics. Ideas about "cultural difference" situate individual cases in histories in which health and illness are matters of identity and legitimacy. Psychoanalysis arrived in India in the 1910s, with the work of Girindrashekhar Bose, a Calcutta-trained psychiatrist who received India's first doctorate in psychology (Akhtar and Tummala-Narra 2008; Nandy 1995). Teaching himself German to read Freud's work (Mehta 1997), Bose published his dissertation, _Concept of Repression_ , in 1921 and sent the published version to Freud, initiating a long correspondence (Akhtar and Tummala Narra 2008; Ramana 1964; Nandy 1995). Up to that point, psychiatry in India had been oriented around large asylums housing British and "native" patients separately, with different standards of care and multiple social stratifications (Ernst 2007). Indians were divided into classes and castes in "native asylums," while members of the Indian elite were often cared for in the English institutions (Ernst 2007). Though accomplishing racial separation through physical distance, psychiatry did not aim for the same goals of moral management and social control in India as it did in Europe or other colonies (Ernst 2007, _pace_ Foucault 1988). Colonial authorities discouraged increasing admissions into institutions, placing the burden of responsibility for the mad on "native" communities, families, and "native-run" asylums (Ernst 2007:223). As such, while nineteenth-century asylums were "arbiters of sanity," using "reason" and "character" as gold standards (Mills 2000; Kapila 2005:154), their disciplining capacity was of limited reach. The expediencies demanded of administering to the Indian population meant that early twentieth-century asylums soon shifted to more medicalized visions of mental illness, emphasizing medical treatment more than the moral therapies of everyday life-management (Ernst 2007). The arrival of psychoanalysis onto this scene was felt more in terms of discourse and scholarship – new ways of thinking about the self – than in shifts in medical practice. Energized by its "discovery" of the unconscious, psychoanalysis promised a tool of understanding with universal availability to both colonizers and colonized. In concert with other sciences, including archaeology and ethnology, psychoanalysis offered scientific languages to both justify and resist colonialism, situating the European self in relation to an "Other" that at once proved European supremacy and undermined its own ideals (Khanna 2003; Nandy 1983). British officers such as Owen Berkeley-Hill and Claude Daly, though members of the Indian Psychoanalytic Society founded by Bose in 1922 (Sinha 1966), and instrumental in the development of psychoanalysis there, used psychoanalytic models to assert European superiority, describing Indians as weak, infantile, quarrelsome, and tyrannical, traits "notorious... of all Oriental character" (Berkeley-Hill quoted in Akhtar and Tummala-Narra 2008:12). At the same time, psychoanalysis accomplished the more pedestrian achievement of legitimacy in European professional terms. While Bose's role in expanding the profession of psychiatry was politically neutral, his scholarly work had political ramifications. His writing challenged the universality of the Oedipal conflict and found in India less evidence of castration anxiety than of gender-switching fantasies (Hartnack 1999; Ramana 1964). These observations met with criticism from Freud, who was more interested in the professional expansion of psychoanalysis to India than the contribution of Indian psychoanalysts (Parsons 1999). Like other psychiatrists of his time, Bose's ideas were informed by an interest in Hindu models of the self (Ramana 1964; Mehta 1997). While most early Indian psychiatrists did not convey anticolonial politics or offer a "perspective on the colonizer" (Hartnack 1999:92), the figuring of religion in their writing (in contrast with Freud's antireligious stance) echoed the place of religion in anticolonial nationalism, enabling a sphere of self-definition to remain separate from the public arenas of colonial rule (Chatterjee 1993; Hartnack 1999). In spite of Bose's efforts to train Indian psychoanalysts, the continuing activities of the Indian Psychoanalytic Society after his death (Akhtar and Tummala-Narra 2008), and new institutes for psychoanalysis, psychoanalysis declined significantly after Independence, limited by material realities in the aftermath of Partition (Sinha 1966; Akhtar and Tummala-Narra 2008:14). Ironically, assertions of national identity on religious grounds may have contributed to the lack of interest in psychoanalysis (Mehta 1997; Sinha 1966; Akhtar and Tummala-Nara 2008), even as later scholars came to use religion to revise psychoanalysis for Indian settings. Anthropology's engagement with psychoanalysis in India was initiated in 1957, with the important, if maligned, book _The Twice-Born: A Study of a Community of High Caste Hindus_ by British psychiatrist and anthropologist G. M. Carstairs (1967). Approaching the anthropological project of "culture and personality" initiated by Ruth Benedict and Margaret Mead using the tools of psychoanalysis, Indian-born Carstairs pursued the Indian "national character," looking for a "characteristic 'style' of thinking" in stages of development, and focusing on mother–infant relations. Carstairs argued that the split mother described by Melanie Klein – the good mother who offers her breast/the bad mother who refuses it – was particularly schismatic for Hindu men, apparent in devouring and nurturing forms of Hindu goddesses. Such patterns, he wrote, produce a male Hindu personality beset by paranoia and mistrust and preoccupied with defilement. Critics accused Carstairs of pathologizing Indian child development (Hitchcock 1959; Dube 1959; Kurtz 1992), and saw anthropology's potential complicity in continuing colonial stereotypes. One reviewer noted it was a "strangely old-fashioned work for such a young author" (Pocock 1958). Another accused Carstairs of making "facile generalizations" that leave "the Indian reader... only mildly amused" (Dube 1959:150). Sudhir Kakar's path-breaking book _The Inner World_ , though published in 1978, decades after Carstairs' _Twice-Born_ (but only two years after a study by Carstairs and R. L. Kapur of social change and mental disorder in an Indian village (1976), reads in many ways as a response to Carstairs (Kakar 1981). Psychoanalyst Kakar's studies of the Indian psyche are extensive, arguably the field's most elaborate and canonical. Though Kakar's efforts resemble those of Carstairs, his work puts things in a more positive light. Kakar compared Eriksonian developmental stages to the Hindu _asrama_ (life stages) and concepts such as ego and superego with Hindu philosophical categories (1979; 1981:18). Like Carstairs, he used object-relations theory to examine the effects of mother-child relations on identity-development, including in his discussion the way cultural constructions of motherhood produce _in women_ a relational sense of identity (1981:56). Kakar put his efforts in national terms, noting that studies of Indian identity development are as much personally enriching political acts as they are contributors to general knowledge. This "psycho-social discovery of India" is, he writes, not unlike that of Nehru, for whom the "idea of a unified India" was "an emotional experience" (1981:14). As the extension of an "intellectual tradition... devoted to the vicissitudes of Indian identity in modern times," it began with nineteenth-century reframings of "culture" in the face of imperialism (1981:13), and offers a therapeutic and liberatory "confrontation with the past in order to enlarge the margins of freedom in the present" (1981:14). This therapeutic nationalism is, however, striking in terms of who is excluded from it, and in the way its postcolonial politics arguably mapped onto Nehru's in other ways – that is, in seeing a "unified India" in distinctly Hindu (and Brahmanical) terms (Mufti 2007). This case is made in more specific terms by Ashis Nandy (1983), who argues that it was precisely elite, usually Hindu, Indians who bore the brunt of the split subjectivity imposed by colonial authorities, who situated them as mediators of colonial rule without full access to the privileges of Europeanness. In Nandy's exploration of the damages of colonialism (Nandy 1995; 1983), Freudian models enabled a revision of aspects of Indian selfhood often seen as "cultural" responses to colonialism. This was particularly so in Nandy's view of political and religious leaders, whose framing of anticolonial politics involved a "traditional ability to live with cultural ambiguities and to use them to build psychological and even metaphysical defenses against cultural invasion" – a skill Nandy saw as both cultural practice and "strategy of survival" (1983:107). Anthropological conversations at the time followed a somewhat similar pattern, sustaining an exclusive dialogue with Hinduism while debating the extent to which unified visions of Indian personhood were pitted against a homogenizing West. This was true of anthropology's preoccupation with Indian personhood, and its debate over the existence of the "individual" in Hindu religious and social formations. Louis Dumont's seminal _Homo Hierarchicus_ (1980) established caste as an index of the Indian self, hierarchically organized in systems of pollution and purity in contrast to the egalitarian European. Others focused on "transactions" between individuals, describing Indian personhood as de-individuated, porous, and relational, formed through flows of "substance" and "code" (Marriott 1968; Marriott and Inden 1977). Dumont's work, in particular, was met by a strong response. Critics found in it ample evidence of anthropology's imperialist tendencies and saw it as reproducing colonial assertions of essential difference between Indians and Europeans on the grounds of "ways of thinking" and caste (Inden 2000[1990]; Dirks 2001), and saying more about valorizations of European selves than about Indians (Das 1996; Chakrabarty 2000). In this light, did psychological evaluations of the Indian self relativize European selves or further entrench European views about "the East"? Did "Western" psychology inevitably pathologize Indians or did it have room for revisions in which alternative cultural systems could be equally healthy? Answers are unclear, but what is clear is that questions of identity and authority were at stake in the applications of psychoanalysis to Indian personhood, and the status of the postcolonial self was at stake in the question of who has the right to describe it. In heated debate, scholars accused each other of pathologizing the very "self" they sought to frame in sympathetic terms. In response to Kakar and Carstairs, Alan Roland suggested that a non-individuated Indian "we-self" renders Western psychoanalytic terms culturally specific (1988:242), and poses a model of child development in which Indian mothers' "investments" in children encourage culturally valued attributes such as "emotional interdependence and sensitivity to others" (1988:249). Similarly, Stanley Kurtz reshaped psychoanalytic theory to Hindu conditions (1992:221) to ask how Hindu visions of the goddess manifest in relationships real people have to real mothers. Looking at "group dynamics" and the "joint family" rather than nuclear families and mother–infant dyads, Kurtz saw the importance to identity development of the presence of many mothers. Other studies of child development (Minturn and Lambert 1966; Seymour 1975; Trawick 1990) saw relations between children and adults as points at which cultural values were communicated through the shaping of desire and attachment, and reflected on the effects of modernization on identity development (Sharma 2003). Looking at religious texts and practices rather than child development, other scholars pursued Oedipal conflict and other staples of psychoanalysis in India (Ramanujan 1999[1983]; Courtright 1999[1985]; Doniger O'Flaherty 1980). Perhaps most important in this regard is the work of Gananath Obeyesekere, whose explorations of Sri Lankan ascetic practices, including trance, matted hair, tongue piercing, and hook swinging, involved careful considerations of the life histories of participants (1981;1990). In detailed ethnographic studies, Obeyesekere linked conversations about psychoanalysis and Hinduism with concerns about the relationship between internal motivations and external or "public" symbolic formations (1981;1990), and challenged the translatability of Western notions of pathology, articulating emotional experience to systems of moral value and ideas about the person in Buddhism. However, notably absent from psychoanalytic arguments about Indian selves is a sense of systematic power, especially where gender is concerned. Like Kavita's doctor's office, psychoanalytic scholarship on India is a crowded male space. A condensed reading of Bose, Carstairs, Kakar, Roland, Ramanujan, Kurtz, and Obeyesekere leaves a sense of extensive structures of gender subordination, and an equal sense that these structures are covered over with languages that atomize social structure to the level of the family. This should not surprise, given the Freudian terms of the conversation, but it does strike a chord if we think of psychiatry as involving negotiations of nationalized identities. Some interventions go a long way to undo this elision. Wendy Doniger's readings of mythology through a Freudian glass traced gender themes through religious texts, exposing "underlying pattern[s] of intellectual and emotional ways of understanding life" (1980:14). She found in early Hindu myth "polymorphous" configurations of sexuality and textual plays of gender, embodiment, and erotic desire, elements that offer material for both patriarchal meanings and clever reimaginings (1980). Doniger used Freud to read Hindu mythology not because Freud was "right" about all selves in all settings, but because his ideas were, she said, well suited to Hindu myth (1980:7; see also Kurtz 1992). There is a certain irony to the use of Freud in describing Indian personhood. That is, Freud's writing has long been viewed as decentering Cartesian notions of a singular self, replacing it with congeries of drives, impulses, memories, and repressions. In South Asia, such models helped to shore up an idea of what the "Indian self" consists of, using models that decentered the self to develop a solidly intact sense of "the person," though one as malleable as Freud's model. In spite of certain undercurrents, this discussion seldom engaged postcolonial theorizing. Indeed, much as Nandy argued for Bose, to see this conversation as only or predominantly nationalist would be simplistic; rather, like Bose's sense that Indian traditions of introspection contained a powerful therapeutic, they might also be understood as "construction[s] of the past oriented to a preferred future and serving as a critique of an imperfect present" (Nandy 1995:143). Indeed, postcolonial Freudian readings of the "Indian self" assert the ironies of postcolonial identity. Rather than mere extensions of an effort to Westernize the once-colonized world, they bear the same double capacities as science and medicine more broadly (Prakash 1999; Arnold 1993). After Nandy's path-breaking use of psychoanalysis to unpack colonialism and its impact on the elite "natives" who were its mediaries (1983), scholars reflected on the role of psychoanalysis in framing a European self opposed to its Eastern others (Khanna 2003; Bhugra 2001). The contemporary self at the juncture of psychiatry and "Indian culture" has a history, one in which the terms of difference are loaded with political import. This history gives depth to doctors' reflections on the cultural worlds their patients inhabit. For residents, dissociative disorder does not so much represent a Western category imposed on an incompatible culture, as it stands for a universal but distinctly Indian diagnosis, a status that undermines distinctions between "foreign" medicine and "Indian" grammars of the self. The interest of psychoanalysis in Hinduism and Indian family life may be present in Kavita's case less through the way its content explains her symptoms than in the terms it establishes for difference and the burdens of power it bears, making questions about the "cultural relevance" of psychiatric categories ongoing negotiations of a politics of the self. It is to those questions that we now turn. PATIENTS One morning I sat with Kavita on her bed. Her husband had gone to their village and brought back their daughter. As Kavita oiled her daughter's hair into tight plaits, we spoke about her experiences of illness. Her first attack had happened a few years ago, after which her husband's family tried to send her to her natal family. They would not take her back, she said, "They never treated me well." Her husband's family had accused her family of "hiding" the fact of her mental illness from them before her marriage, a fact her family disputed. Kavita and her husband were brought to the consulting psychiatrist's office every few days. The doctor assessed her state, observed the residents as they interviewed her, and offered his considerations on how to proceed. Combining models of behavior modification with familial discipline, the senior doctor said the patient must be "convinced" to "give up" her symptoms by her family, who were instructed not to respond to her symptoms or demands. One morning the resident reported that Kavita had begun to refer to herself in the third person, asking, " 'Why did you admit Kavita?' " Her diagnosis was reassigned as F44.7 – dissociative mixed, with trance disorder. In the psychiatrist's office, her lids were heavy and she breathed through her mouth, looking slowly around the crowded room at the many people assembled: residents, psychiatrist, research assistants (who run the psychiatrist's control trials), personal assistants, the workers who make tea and open doors, and the anthropologist (all men but me). The psychiatrist called her name. "Kavita is not here," she responded. "Who are you?" he asked, the same entreaty used by exorcists (Nabokov 2000). "Kavita is not here. Why have you brought Kavita to this place? Today Kavita is gone. Today Kavita will die." She stood abruptly and leaned over the desk. Her small frame was grabbed by an assistant. She shook him off. The doctor said, "If you are a goddess, go sit up on the top of that wall up there, by the ceiling. Tell us what the room looks like from there." "You are the god," she replied, "You know everything. You have everything. I have nothing. You are god. I am neither man nor woman." The doctor turned to the husband. "Does she become like this often?" "Sometimes. When she does, she asks for a lot of things." The doctor reminded the residents that patients like this are in control of their symptoms but families must be encouraged not to give in to their demands. "We must confront her, to ask, 'Who will take you seriously if you behave in this way?' " How do we make sense of Kavita's distress? What aspects of culture and personhood does it expose? These questions are at the heart of medical anthropology's interest in the translatability of disease categories. Notions of "culture-bound disorder" suggest that experience and explanation converge in ways that are context specific; other approaches find social distresses to be mediated by bodies in variable ways, expressed "somatically" in physical ailments (Kleinman 1988) or through "local biologies" by which cultural meanings contour bodily experience and the language used to talk about it (Lock 1995). Even amid medicalization, through which social idioms of affliction are replaced by biological explanations, the "disease category" is not singular but formed through multiple processes (Good 1994). In Kavita's case we see the pluralistic nature of illness, explanation, and treatment in India. Categories of affliction are no more easily separated from each other than the social world is from the experience of illness in India, which is well known for the diversity of its modes of healing and the ease with which patients move between them (Leslie 1992; Trawick 1992; Nichter 1992; Kakar 1982; Cohen 1998; Halliburton 2009). Medical and nonmedical practices are engaged as patients and their families seek relief from doctors and religious practitioners, at shrines and temples, and within formal indigenous healing systems (Ayurveda, Unnani, Tibb, and Siddha) (Fabrega 2009). This happens through different pathways: moving from one healer to the next in order of efficacy, seeking care in different settings simultaneously, directed by recommendations, ritual timings, and the contingencies of everyday life, and using religious meanings to shore up medical explanations (Corin et al. 2004). Similar-seeming afflictions may signify different social crises and demand different interventions: threatening actions (such as those that compromise households) may be dealt with through biomedical languages and treatments, while conflicts between households may be negotiated in nonmedical idioms (Marrow 2008). When it comes to religious healing, categories are equally fluid. People of all faiths visit Sufi shrines and their healers, and the relational and non-individuated self overdetermined as Hindu is evident in non-Hindu modes of healing as well (Flueckiger 2006). Some clinicians incorporate religious philosophies and indigenous systems into their practice (typically formal, legitimized and even nationalized systems rather than "folk healing"). One director of a private hospital broadcasts Hindu chants softly over the clinic loudspeakers in the morning, another advises patients to practice yoga and meditation, and institutions such as the All India Institute of Mental Health establish Ayurvedic institutes (Jain and Jadhav 2008:567). Kavita's doctors encounter in her affliction not only a nonmedical idiom (possession); they also confront a more general complexity of illness experience (cf. Kleinman 1988) in her interactions with the goddess and expressions of physical and emotional pain. From a clinical viewpoint, psychological ailments in India are often expressed "somatically," that is, through physical suffering (Shankar et al. 2006). Put differently, distinctions between body and mind blur in the ways people describe their ailments, in terms like "weakness" (Wilce 1997; Cohen 1998), "tension" (Halliburton 2005), through gynecological ailments (Patel and Oomman 1999), and _uljhan_ (loosely translated as worry, Jain and Jadhav 2009). These languages offer an intersubjective sense of experience. An ailment explained as caused by an afflicting ghost may include headaches and fatigue, job loss, a family member's illness, even disruptions to the physical structure of the home. At the same time, modernity's influences incorporate mind and body, social and individual worlds. For example, in Kerala, high rates of suicide amid high literacy mean that conflicting trends (an educated population and high unemployment) influence lifeworlds in profound ways (Halliburton 1998:2341). Encompassing terms for mental distress can involve multiple meanings (Wasan et al. 2009:119). "Madness," though negatively hued, may override biologizing knowledge structures of psychiatry with a sense that distress is connected to social, religious, and moral worlds, including everyday events, popular and textual religion, mass media, kinship structures, ideas about the life cycle and intimacy, and medical science's own discourses (Cohen 1998). Though many feel that the stigmatization of mental illness is a pervasive problem (Wasan et al. 2009:11), the nature of "stigma" in India is not easily glossed, and complexes of emotion toward mentally ill family members differ enormously between social classes, between communities, and depending on gender. This is not to say that one social class or the other stigmatizes mental illness more (though some might argue that greater stigma is evident in upper classes – an assumption disputed by Jadhav et al. 2007), but that stigma itself is a complex blend of attitudes, actions, and intimacies not easily condensed in a single term. Many idioms of distress situate sufferers in kin-worlds. This is especially true of spirit and divine possession, afflictions (or capabilities) that move in and out of clinical spaces. In India, possession has been central to anthropologists' assertions that affliction must be understood in the terms most meaningful to sufferers. This discussion has largely focused on women, their place in patrilineal kinship formations, and the pressure that falls upon them to live up to ideals. In India there is a strong sense that madness comes especially to young brides, women new to a household, amid new regimes of labor and intimacy, and in the first flushes of sexual desire. Possession is political at the domestic level. The possession of married women by ghosts, demons, or the spirits of dead relatives can be seen as resistance to the constraints of male-dominated family orders (Freed and Freed 1985) and female cultural roles (Ram 1991). Likewise, exorcism can be understood as offering a mode of redress – albeit limited – to gender orders (Ram 1991; Freed and Freed 1964; Fuller 1992). As a form of affliction it may "externalize" internal states and internalize upset social orders, requiring redress through the righting of symbolic and social structures (Kapferer 1991; 1997). In some contexts, it may be control, rather than resistance, that exorcism performs, especially male control over the disruptive desires of young brides. Exorcism may not be an outlet in these cases, but a command, by which women are "taught, even pressured, to frame their personal predicaments in the idiom of demon possession" (Nabokov 1997:299). At the same time, the subject-making work of medicine also happens in domestic spaces extending "citizenship" into the home, "the sphere in which the family has to confront ways of disciplining and containing contagion and stigma" (Das and Addlakha 2007:129). The family, in this analysis, contributes to the disciplining of abnormal subjects not, or not only, through "traditional" kinship configurations of patriarchy, but according to medically and legally regulated schema that enforce divisions between "normal" and "defective," putting Indian religious and kinship structures in collusion with medical systems, disciplining women in culturally familiar terms (Brahmanical Hinduism and patriarchal kinship) (Davar 1999; Addlakha 2008). Not only do the meanings and forms of control associated with marriage shape women's illness, but legal, social, and cultural structures that attend to family life give mental illness another layer of vulnerability (Dhanda 2000). Where divorced women are concerned, the stakes of mental illness in India are evidently higher (Thara et al. 2003). Kavita's accusations that others were trying to "take her daughters away" cannot be disentangled from the fact that women with mental illness may lose access to their children. Crises in family life and attitudes about women's mental illnesses may involve far more than enforcing ideal womanhood. They may be spaces of ongoing vulnerability, not just because of a failure to live up to norms but because so much stands to be lost. In Kavita's case, then, we can see both sides of the power/resistance equation that attends to possession. A childhood of conflict in her natal home and the possibility of conflict in her marital one made Kavita's unhappiness especially dire. While doctors tried to convince Kavita that her goddess was a trick the self plays, their effort was less important than other aspects of her treatment. While it was not necessary that Kavita see her possession as "not real," power was evidently part of her affliction and cure. The presence of "control" in her doctors' approach suggests that Kavita's goddess was not so much resisting as _exposing_ the terms of her clinical engagement. Her possession (and disavowal of gender) undoubtedly involved a response to the ways her home life involved broad social constraints. A feeling of precariousness as the mother of four daughters in a not entirely welcoming affinal home, tensions among in-laws with whom she was in contest for her husband's attentions, and the rejection of her natal kin may all have been part of her affliction. Her expressions implicated the clinical scene in that picture, revealing the irony of the command that she be "in control." POLICY AND PILLS Kavita's story is part of a wider context of care, in which psychiatry's global ideological and economic shifts intersect with contexts specific to India. Mental health care in India is diverse and patchy, with a shortage of psychiatrists but no dearth of other practitioners, legitimate and otherwise, willing to treat psychiatric ailments. A range of "options" and standards offers a bewildering field of semi-accessible opportunities, even as psychiatric facilities are few on the ground. Transitional residency and day-care structures are all but absent for those requiring more intervention than families can provide, or lacking support networks, yet new private clinics operate alongside government hospitals and the former asylums that now serve as teaching and research institutions. Chemists, general practitioners, and uncertified practitioners diagnose and prescribe, and people typically visit a number of doctors over the course of an illness. What some might describe as "doctor shopping" bespeaks attention and effort in navigating a pluralistic and highly uneven setting. The most important shift of the late twentieth century has been toward privatized, decentralized, outpatient care. Though large-scale shifts in the system of institutionalization that dominated twentieth-century psychiatry did not begin until the late 1980s, the beginnings of "community care" in India date to the 1950s and innovations of specific doctors who called for greater family involvement with patients (Jain and Jadhav 2008). In the 1960s and 1970s, increase in hospital psychiatric units expanded psychiatry beyond the asylums, decreasing hospital stays, though many families continued to see mentally ill family members as burdens (Jain and Jadhav 2008:567), a view that meshed with long-term institutionalization and limited kin interaction. In the 1970s, following new World Health Organization guidelines, India embarked on incorporating psychiatry into basic health services (Jain and Jadhav 2008), a process that would take several decades and broader economic shifts to accomplish. Deinstitutionalization proved ironic, leaving Indian health professionals "struggling to build a mental health infrastructure... while such structures were being dismantled in western countries" (Jain and Jadhav 2008:569). In the 1980s, new policy was drafted: the National Mental Health Programme of 1982 aimed to expand the reach of mental health care into primary services and community care, and in 1987, the Mental Health Act (replacing the Indian Lunacy Act of 1912) extended oversight and guidelines for admission to address human rights abuses. Perhaps more importantly, following lawsuits in the late 1980s over poor treatment, large asylums were restructured, being transformed into teaching institutions that would respond to crises of scarcity by expanding the training of psychiatrists. But new policies have not necessarily meant new realities, and community psychiatry in India remains "a top-down endeavor" with little on-the-ground interest in local realities (Jain and Jadhav 2008:562). Psychiatry is like much medical practice in India in being intensely hierarchical, privileging doctors as bearers of authoritative knowledge (Wilce 1995) and portraying communities as "ignorant and in need of psycho-education" (Jain and Jadhav 2008:577). One of the most striking features of Indian psychiatry is its overwhelming orientation toward pharmaceutical treatment. Most prescribing is not done by psychiatrists, but by doctors from a range of specializations, as well as by pharmacists (and uncertified practitioners). Distresses of a range of severity are treated with medication, and many drugs may be prescribed at a time, including psychotropics and vitamin supplements. According to psychiatrists, high rates of prescribing are in part due to the material qualities of pills – their accessibility, relatively low cost, and lax regulation that makes drugs widely available (Nunley 1996). For patients, demand for drugs may be associated with the search for decent care, and may seem to offer more immediately evident results. More drugs may indicate that one has received better, more attentive and respectful care (Nunley 1996). In many settings, psychotherapies remain out of reach for most patients due to lack of practitioners, time, and resources. Some doctors view psychotherapeutics as less culturally appropriate, involving models of the self incompatible with Indian realities. The circulation of psychotropics involves more than doctors and patients. Patients or kin may purchase drugs, and kin often manage medications and interact with doctors on patients' behalf. As pharmaceuticals enter local social worlds, new biologically and chemically mediated intimacies emerge. So too do new forms of power. Anthropologically, clinics and pharmaceutical practices have come to be seen as nodes in wider systems of regulation, and psychiatric practice as a site for the extension of discipline through self-care. Drugs may be a form of "governance": regulating subjects, communicating the authoritative status of psychiatry, materializing knowledge systems for which there may be no cultural referent (Jain and Jadhav 2009), offering means of belonging – "pharmaceutical citizenship" – in interventions in which populations are portrayed as "deprived" by lack of access to drugs (Ecks 2005), and creating "local ecologies" by which the urban poor negotiate material constraints while struggling to make sense of their worlds (Das 2004; Das and Das 2006). At the same time, conditions in outpatient oriented psychiatry involve approaches that can best be described as pragmatic. In the government clinic Kavita entered, time was short and facilities ran the gamut from the air-conditioned offices of higher level physicians to the dusty rooms of the outpatient clinic, with broken furniture, loud fans, and no running water. A consulting physician may see over a hundred patients per day, in minutes-long sessions with time only for prescribing and confirming diagnoses. Residents may see 15–25 patients per day in sessions that can last anywhere from 10 to 45 minutes. Here, diagnosis arguably takes a back seat to treatment, mattering more in the training of doctors and legal cases than in doctor–patient interactions. It is often less important that patients "understand" the name or cause of illness, except in rare cases. Patients are more often reminded that "just as you will have to wear your glasses for the rest of your life, so too you will need to take these medications for the rest of your life" than they are instructed in the biological quality or name of their illness. While such "pragmatic" medicine may be related to a sheer lack of resources, it may also leave room for a psychiatry that is less disciplining precisely because it is less interested in communicating systems of meaning, knowledge, and understanding to patients. However, such plasticity does not come without the possibility of reasserting the very aspects of social life that cause or enhance patients' distress. Some doctors, nurses, and residents encourage patients to follow norms of social hierarchy at home and perform them appropriately in the clinic, advising patients to adhere to cultural and kinship rules. Though disciplining to those who may be negatively affected by hierarchies, this approach demonstrates an empathetic recognition of the _limits_ of biomedicine for patients in extremely strapped circumstances. It suggests that doctors are well aware that in highly challenging and constraining social worlds, learning to live with social constraints may be the most immediate and accessible route to wellness. But for women in vulnerable kinship positions, restitution of social norms as a means of healing, while not necessarily ideologically intended, may be one of the less forgiving ironies of pragmatic medicine. HEARING VOICES When Kavita first spoke to me, it was as a woman with pain in her arms, a headache, and a need for an end to physical suffering. On another occasion, it was in the voice of a perplexing (at the time) paranoia, as she asked me in an accusing tone why I wanted to take away her children. On other occasions, she was a mother caring for her child and reflecting on her own childhood. At other times she spoke as an enraged goddess. On one occasion, she didn't speak at all, but leaned into her husband's arms as she brought a cup of tea to her lips – a public embrace unthinkable in the home, a moment of barely permissible "madness" made possible in the ward. At the crux of cosmological, clinical and kinship worlds, the social world is intimately part of the world of illness (Kleinman 1988). This involves not just one clearly defined "Indian self," but many intersecting selves, never entirely mapping onto Western psychological models, though never fully departing from them either. It suggests the convergence of many worlds and selves, many spheres of constriction and possibility. The dimensions of Kavita's named illness, be it "dissociative disorder," "hysteria," or "spirit possession" were also the dimensions of Kavita's lifeworld, a world that included kinship patterns, everyday intimacies, spirits, doctors, pills, anthropologists and, of course, the human vagaries of an interior world that can never be fully known by social scientists, psychiatrists, and psychoanalysts alike. Just as we might hear in Kavita's diagnosis the voices of scholars who would situate that interior self as a matter of political urgency, establishing "difference" by way of an authoritative "foreign" science, we might also see in her condition the presence not only of a woman and her goddess, but also of the state, global agencies, pharmaceutical companies, and medical knowledge systems. The idea that contemporary psychiatry involves foreign/Western models imposed on local idioms offers a powerful critique of global assumptions about what a "self" is. But its binaries may be too easy. They may overdetermine both "culture" and "the West," and be complicated by the "Indianness" of biomedicine and the long presence of psychiatry and psychoanalysis in India. The knotty weave (or tangle) of conversations about culture and psychiatry in India has as much to do with India's figuring in the global history of psychiatry as with the application of foreign ideas to Indian cultural forms. The imaginary of hegemonic "Western disease categories" (elegantly complicated by Lock 1995; Good 1994; and others), so integral to cultural critiques of psychiatry, is shattered in India even as its terms are engaged as powerful tools of discourse, analysis, and political critique. Threads of dialogue give a sense not only of the breadth of possible influences on a single case of mental distress, but also of the depth of even small moments in the clinical encounter. As Kim Hopper puts it, "both persisting cross-cultural puzzles and the emerging picture of Western" – for Western we might substitute "global" – "clinical complexity virtually demand sustained ethnographic inquiry" (1991:301). Such inquiry includes a sense of scholarship's own role in establishing the terms of understanding (Hopper 1991). In India, in the space between "persons" and "subjects" we find not only strata of scholarly conversations (and their real-world politics). We also gain a sense of the multiple forces that converge on the clinical moment – kinds of power, systems of meaning and translation, modes of resistance, and everyday quirks of fate and intimacy. Kavita's case, in all its dimensions, illustrates this complexity. I have only offered its surfaces to show the depths of the context in question. 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American Ethnologist 22(4):927–952. 1997 Discourse, Power, and the Diagnosis of Weakness: Encountering Practitioners in Bangladesh. Medical Anthropology Quarterly (NS) 11(3):352–374. CHAPTER 27 Ways of Aging _Sarah Lamb_ Everyday and media discourses within India widely portray living within a multigenerational family in old age as a quintessentially Indian way of life – and a natural, expected, morally and religiously popular, and rational way of doing things. Indeed, the majority of older Indians live in multigenerational families;1 only 4 percent live alone and 7 percent as an elderly couple, in striking contrast to the United States, where 30 percent of those over 65 live alone and 50 percent with just a spouse.2 Yet over recent years India has witnessed a proliferation of old age homes (regarded by many as a startlingly new phenomenon in the nation), a rise of for-profit and nonprofit organizations offering services for elders living alone, and the transnational dispersal of families amidst global labor markets. Such changes surrounding ways of aging are taken by many in India to represent a profound transformation – a transformation involving not only aging per se, but also core cultural and moral visions concerning family, gender, personhood and the very identity of India as a nation and culture. This chapter uses aging as a lens to examine and reflect upon such profound processes of social change under way in India today, and to illuminate contemporary Indian understandings of modernity.3 I explore in particular the ways older persons in and around the city of Kolkata, in the eastern Indian state of West Bengal, grapple with such changes – both critiquing and embracing them – as they strive to craft meaningful lives and forms of aging in the present. I concentrate here on the cosmopolitan middle classes,4 among whom the social-cultural changes of aging are most salient. In India's rural and urban poor communities – which still make up the majority of the nation's population – old age homes and other forms of market-based elder care remain notably scarce; and India's urban poor elderly tend to blame lack of care from their children much more on (timeless) poverty than on anything to do with modernity. AGING IN THE JOINT FAMILY: INTERGENERATIONAL RECIPROCITY AS INDIAN TRADITION To understand the ways aging relates to visions of social change and modernity in India, one must consider also the related question of what forms of aging people perceive to have existed in a more traditional past. Such an investigation builds on previous anthropological studies of aging in India, including my own earlier work (Lamb 2000) and the important studies by John van Willigen and Narender Chadha (1999), Lawrence Cohen (1998), Paul Hiebert (1981), and Sylvia Vatuk (1975; 1980; 1987; 1990; 1992; 1995).5 In contemporary narratives in India, it is the multigenerational joint family more than anything else that represents tradition in contrast to an emerging modernity. The ideal Indian joint family is made up of a married couple, their sons, sons' wives and children (and possibly grandsons' wives and great-grandchildren), and any unmarried daughters (see also Wadley 2010). Yet in practice, the phrase "joint family" is more loosely and popularly used in India to refer to any multigenerational household including at least one senior parent and one married adult child (generally a son) with spouse. In a joint family system, old age itself is essentially a family matter, and elders will live with and receive care from their adult children – particularly sons and daughters-in-law – in exchange for all the effort, expense and love the parents once expended on their children while producing and raising them. In contemporary discourse, joint family living pertains not only to care in old age, but also to a much wider array of social values and meanings, including supportive interdependence, fellow feeling, warm rambling households, a time when kinship was more important than material success, connection to village lands, moral-spiritual order, patriarchy, tradition and "Indianness." The Indian press, for instance, makes much of the "traditional Indian joint family" in almost every story it presents on contemporary aging: "India's grandparents were once revered and cared for by the extended families that they headed..."; "Famous for its culture of respect for the elderly, India is taking this tradition..."; "Earlier, the joint family system guaranteed care, concern and attention for the elderly..." (Young 2007; Gentleman 2007; T. Das 1999). If public narratives of tradition in India highlight the salience and importance of the joint family, narratives of modernity highlight the joint family's decline. In fact, a widespread perception and narrative – examined by Lawrence Cohen in his _No Aging in India: Alzheimer's, the Bad Family and Other Modern Things_ – is that the problems of aging in India today derive predominantly from the decline of the Indian joint family in the face of the "four horsemen of the contemporary apocalypse": modernization, industrialization, urbanization, and Westernization (1998:17). Yet longitudinal data reveal that the actual proportion of people living in joint families in India is in fact not in radical decline: Lawrence Cohen (1998), John van Willigen and Narender Chadha (1999:94–98) and Susan Wadley (2010:22) all provide longitudinal data to challenge the popular notion that joint family living is drastically declining in India, mainly because there have always been many people living in smaller and nuclear-style families, especially those with little or no land. Furthermore, for those aged 65 and over, co-residence with children and grandchildren within multigenerational families is still the most common living arrangement. Nonetheless, several alternatives to the multigenerational family are becoming increasingly prevalent among the cosmopolitan middle classes in particular. For instance, the common assessment is that the majority of families among the well-educated middle classes now have adult children living and working abroad. Nuclear family style flats – regarded as fashionable yet too small to hold large extended families – are also on the rise in modern apartment complexes; and new institutions of elder housing are springing up where there once were none. Such novel trends are made possible in important part by the upwelling of money from a booming economy impacting especially the Indian middle classes, as it takes considerable wealth to fund more than one family residence. These trends are also connected to India's participation in a global circulation of ideologies intensifying after the 1990s reforms collectively known as economic liberalization.6 To many in and around Kolkata, such trends are explicitly associated with the present (or _ajkal_ , "today's times"), and with "Western" lifestyles and "globalization" (an English term frequently used in India) – including the global spread of Western values, a (Western-dominated) global economy and media, and transnational or diasporic living. Further, gerontologists and policymakers believe that population aging will inevitably color the shape of aging and society in India's future. The 65-or-over population in India in 2030 is projected to be 160 percent more numerous than in 2007 (Kinsella 2009:14), causing concern that India will need to craft new ways to sustain an increasingly greater proportion of older people with fewer family members able and willing to care for them (Rajan et al. 1999; 2003). Importantly, however, although earlier anthropological studies of aging and modernity in India tended to emphasize representations of modernity as unambiguously negative – entailing "bad families" and modern degeneration (Cohen 1998; Lamb 2000:88–99), more recent research uncovers more complex and multivalent visions, ones that intertwine condemnation with a genuine optimism. For example, although many of my older informants from Kolkata over the years 2005–10 do roundly condemn the arrival of old age homes in their nation and would have liked to have retained much of what they imagine to be the past, these elders also argue that some contemporary ways are better. In addition, they work not only to debate and critique but also to make locally meaningful globalizing trends such as living in old age homes or independently (not centered on family), forging complex local instantiations of global institutions. AGING AND THE MODERN FOREST: THE RISE OF OLD AGE HOMES IN INDIA Probably the most dramatic example of a startlingly new mode of aging in India is the surge of old age homes rising across India's major urban centers.7 Until the past few decades, "old age homes" (as they are commonly termed on the subcontinent) barely existed in India, save for a handful established by Christian missionaries during the British colonial era, largely catering to Anglo Indians and the very poor (Lamb 2009:55–58; Liebig 2003). Now, old age homes number near one thousand or more across India's urban centers, most of them having been established over just the past 1 to 15 years and catering primarily to the Hindu middle and upper middle classes. Run by nonprofit organizations as well as private entrepreneurs, the charges range from about 1,000 to 5,000 Indian rupees per month (a little over US$20–100), and often require a sizable joining fee or security deposit of anywhere from about 5,000 to 300,000 rupees (or about US$100–6,000). An ordinary retirement pension might range from about 3,000 to 15,000 rupees per month, so could cover the monthly expenses. However, some sell a home, or dip into their savings accounts, to come up with the deposit. In Kolkata in the early 2000s, a full-time domestic servant's salary (6–7 days a week at about 12 hours per day) would be about 1,500 to 3,000 rupees per month, or roughly equivalent to the monthly fees of a modestly priced old age home. Most of the old age homes to date require that residents be in fairly good physical and mental health, able to walk, talk, and perform basic activities of daily living. Directors generally decide whom to admit based on an interview and at times a doctor's examination. Weekly or biweekly doctor visits are provided, but in the event that a resident becomes seriously ill or incapacitated, the policy of many institutions is that the resident must be sent away to live again with kin. Increasingly, some homes are beginning to harbor physically and/or mentally disabled elders, who must, however, then pay additionally for a private nurse's care. The homes range in size from about 5 to 50 residents, and accommodations can come in the form of single, double, or dormitory-style rooms. In some a husband and wife (or mother and daughter, or two siblings) can opt to live together. The residents come from a range of family situations: some are childless, others have only daughters, others' children are all abroad, and others (of those 100 I interviewed, the largest number) have sons and daughters-in-law living right nearby (Lamb 2009:61). The homes are arranged by and large very like the kinds of ordinary middle-class households that the residents tend to come from, with similar living, eating, sleeping, bathing, and cooking arrangements. Some of the larger homes have been established in apartment-type complexes built especially for the purpose, while others have been set up within ordinary houses and flats. All meals are provided, along with another essential ingredient of Indian social and culinary life: tea – at dawn ("bed tea"), with breakfast, and in the afternoon. Residents' clothes are washed and rooms cleaned; and in fact, one of the distinct advantages of living in an old age home, many say, is that older people no longer have to manage their own servants. Conspicuously minimal formal activities are planned in most facilities, and residents spend their time reading, chatting, simply sitting, playing cards, knitting, writing journals and letters, having tea, watching television, going on morning walks, taking a stroll to a nearby market, and (in the fancier ones) attending occasional cultural programs and functions. Many of the homes also house small temples where residents – most frequently female residents – gather to worship and sing hymns. Female residents might also help with some light cooking, such as peeling vegetables, cleaning small stones from dried lentils, or tasting a dish to see if it has turned out right. Although such institutions still house only a small minority of persons, they are receiving an enormous amount of media and public attention in India: journalists, filmmakers, residents, residents' kin, proprietors, social workers, gerontologists, and those on the streets are all deliberating over what the surge of old age homes means for Indian persons, families, and society. The predominant public discourse, in keeping with that of many of the residents of old age homes I have come to know, is substantially negative, and often scathingly so: old age homes signify the falling apart of society, a deplorable Westernization, children "throwing away" their parents, bitter alienation, rampant materialism, a loss of Indian traditions and values. "Old Age Homes against Our Culture," reads one representative newspaper headline ( _The Hindu_ 2004). A retired psychiatrist living in an exclusive old age home in the Kolkata suburbs reflected one summer morning, as we sat under a quietly whirring ceiling fan in the home's library: "Old age homes are not a concept of _our_ country. These days, we are throwing away our culture." Another resident of an old age home reflected pessimistically: If we had grown up with the idea that we might live separately from our children, then it might not be so hard to get used to now. But with our own eyes we had never seen or known anything like this. We never could have even _dreamed_ that a _briddhabas_ [elder abode] existed, that we would be here, in a place like this! Yet, some public and media discourse is much more positive, as are the views of many of the proprietors of old age homes, and indeed a sizable number of the homes' residents. More optimistic assessments profess that old age homes offer a valuable, welcome alternative to family based living, sustain those who have no kin readily to depend on, liberate both older and younger generations to live independently and freely, foster a positive gendered and aged egalitarianism, and in fact are not so radically "new" or fundamentally "Western" after all. Many who are optimistic in these ways about the benefits of generational independence are those – both men and women – who are quite highly educated and have pursued professional careers earlier in their lives, and so have previously crafted some sense of individual independence as well as cosmopolitanism. However, even more ordinary former housewives who had never previously dreamed of institutions like elder residences not infrequently speak positively of making friends among peers, enjoying the companionship of group living, and (especially for women living dormitory style) finding pleasure and comfort in falling asleep each night while chatting animatedly from their separate beds. Some widows, too, delight in managing their own pensions, or the pensions they receive as widows of their husbands, rather than seeing the funds controlled by sons and daughters-in-law as would normally happen for women of this era living in a family home. Further, although the prevailing public discourse in India represents old age homes as essentially Western-style and Western-originating institutions (and so "destroying Indian culture"), a careful examination of the homes reveals how profoundly _Indian_ the institutions in and around Kolkata also are. Those involved with the old age homes in India have tied to these institutions several important and quite distinctly Indian meanings and aims, involving especially notions of _seva_ (service to and respect for the aged), the joint family, and late-life spirituality or Hindu _vanaprastha_ ("forest-dwelling"). In both India and North America, the old age home can of course be a quintessential space of absence of family, a marked alternative to family care and co-residence. Yet the Indian old age homes are at the same time an _instantiation_ of family values and of seva – service to and respect for the aged, widely regarded as a key component of good, proper, traditional, Indian, family-based old age. Seva for elders ordinarily takes place within a multigenerational family and entails acts such as serving food and tea, massaging tired limbs, combing hair, bringing warm bathwater, and offering loving respect. As part of intergenerational reciprocity, juniors perform seva not simply as a respectful gift in the present, but also in exchange for the elders' earlier tremendous labors in giving birth to and fostering them. Because the dominant public discourse in India is that the old age home is an archetypical sign of the dissolution of the joint family and the discarding of seva, it took me a while to realize that these institutions are indeed set up expressly to offer seva and in a setting akin in key ways to a joint family. In his analysis of a "retirement ashram" he had visited in India, Lawrence Cohen, too, remarked upon how the old age home fashioned itself as a "locus of _seva_ " and an "equivalent space to the family" (1998:115). A good number of the homes in and around Kolkata are, in fact, simply _named_ Seva. Other similarly evocative names include Sraddhanjali (Offering of Reverence) and Gurujan Kuna (Garden Abode for Respected Elders). The manager of Gurujan Kunja explained the home's name: "It indicates the home's purpose: to serve and honor the old people living here. You see, they are all revered people living here." In advertisements and brochures for old age homes, seva is often underscored, as in this one from the Bengali classifieds: "Placing aged husbands and wives together, we serve with great care and effort" ( _seva-jatna kari_ ). Proprietors, managers and staff frequently express how they try very hard to care well for the residents by providing seva – to elders who (simply by virtue of being elder) deserve to receive it, but who are not able to find it within their families. Residents, too, frequently speak with praise of how certain particularly dedicated managers and proprietors "khub seva kare" (do a lot of seva), listing favorably all the amenities and services offered: Bed tea every morning at 5 or 6 a.m., breakfast, a full Bengali noon meal, tea in the afternoon, "tiffin" in the early evening, and finally supper are all served. Drinking water and warm bathwater (in homes with no hot running water) are delivered. Clothes are washed (unless the resident opts to do this herself) and rooms are cleaned. Attentive and affectionate proprietors and staff go around every afternoon to comb and arrange the lady residents' hair, or to sit together sharing tea as dusk falls, or to hang mosquito netting at night. This is all seva. One could say also that some sons and other junior kin actually continue to practice certain forms of seva through the institution of the old age home, by paying the old age home bills and purchasing items like medications and mobile phones – thereby keeping material support located within the multigenerational family, even if daily service and residence are not. Some residents and proprietors explicitly also maintain that their elder abode is "like a joint family" or "ekannabarti paribar," the most common Bengali term glossed as joint family. They list common features of both old age homes and joint families: all eat food or rice from the same hearth (the literal meaning of _ekannabarti_ – a place of "one rice" or "shared meals"); many different people live together, often in crowded yet intimate spaces; the members develop affection for one another; they call each other and the proprietors by kin terms; and the general atmosphere of their institutions is often very "homey" or "home-like" ( _gharoya_ ). In these ways, living in an old age home is not unambiguously a life of independence. Residents become independent from family, true, but also properly and purposefully dependent on others – the proprietors, managers, and staff who take the place of junior kin by offering the residents seva in a joint-family-like setting. Further, elder residences in India are compared not only to the family but also to a traditional place of spiritual retreat in the forest, or _van_ (pronounced _bon_ in Bengali). In fact, some expressly perceive old age home living as akin to the "forest-dwelling" or vanaprastha life phase long presented in Hindu texts as appropriate for older age, where one purposefully loosens ties to family and the world in order to pursue spiritual realization. According to the Hindu ethical-legal Dharmasastra texts, as a person enters old age, he will move to the forest as a hermit, either with or without his wife, in a process of relinquishing material desires (Manu 1991:117; 1886:VI.1–8). The model of the late life forest-dweller is one with which all Hindus are familiar, and although most do not plan to actually move away from their households as they grow old, many even while living at home derive meaning and inspiration from the forest-dweller image. So, perhaps not surprisingly, many residents interpret their stays in elder abodes in terms of the vanaprastha or forest-dwelling model. In reflecting on the rise of old age homes in his nation, one resident at first presented the institution as a product of modern, Western values and lifeways, but quickly went on to add: "Now, you must know that the Indian conception of earlier times was that of _vanaprastha_. When they grew old, people would leave their families and go to the forest, to focus on a spiritual life. This [old age home] is a modern version of that ancient practice." Another resident explained thoughtfully her move to the home: "First one lives with family and society, and then it is time to turn to God.... Everything of mine I left in [our family home]. I didn't take anything from there. Aside from God, we don't have anyone or anything. I came alone and will have to leave alone." The mission statements of many of India's emerging old age homes also foreground the forest-dwelling or vanaprastha concept, as does Kolkata's Ramakrishna Math Home for Aged People in its brochure describing the home as "a site to pursue the vanaprastha [life stage]," and "a life away from the din of family, spent in solitary religious practices." One website, for the Vrindavan Vanaprastha Ashram old age home in Kerala, South India, sees itself as drawing upon the spirituality of "ancient culture" to counter expressly the degeneration of an excessively materialist "modern society" of "broken families," "mental turmoil," and a "strange sense of insecurity" impacting especially the aged. Its website reads in English: "Vrindavan – the Home for the Aged – is inspired by this concept of the Vanaprastha Ashrama. Vrindavan offers a spiritual haven for us, away from the strife and toil of daily life and routines." There are limits to the seva, joint family and forest-dwelling analogies, though. Some highlight that seva is not something that can ordinarily be bought or sold; so the desirability of receiving seva in a (paid-for) old age home can be ambiguous. One resident commented, for instance: "Here we get tea, food, everything we need.... But how much better it would be even to get tea from a _barir lok_ [someone at home]? – maybe a grandchild, who would say, 'Here, _dadu_ [grandfather], I've had this half cup of tea, and now half is left – will you drink it?' " Other residents are highly secular and unmotivated by spiritual seeking in late life. And even many residents searching for vanaprastha complain that their institutions do not truly pursue the spiritual mission promised, constructed more as businesses than as religious ashrams. Nonetheless, in some important ways Indians are making use of the joint family, seva and forest as tropes to make meaning and sense of elder residences, reflecting powerful Indian cultural views of late life as a time both of receiving respectful care from juniors and of preparing for the new spiritual transitions of dying. In such ways, old age homes can be regarded as maintaining the integrity of the nation in the absence of "traditional Indian" forms of family and spirituality. Elders are protected from the scourges of modernity by choosing, or being placed, in retirement homes that in some ways mimic tradition; and so commodifying elder care can ironically become an act not of destroying tradition but of (re)creating it. INDEPENDENT LIVING AS A MODERN LIFESTYLE In addition to those moving into old age homes, a growing number of elders among India's urban middle classes are now living alone, in an arrangement that many describe as very "Western" and distinctly "modern." Those living singly still form a very small proportion of the population. As noted in opening, just 4 percent of persons in India aged 60 or older lived in single-person households in 2001, and 7 percent as an elderly couple.8 Yet in public and media perceptions, living alone in India is a growing and uniquely modern phenomenon.9 Significantly, many in India consider that elderly persons are effectively living "alone" if they do not reside with adult children, even if they are living as a married couple or with a live-in servant. So, an older married man living with his wife but not children tells me, "I am living alone with my wife," and a Kolkata seniors' organization, the Dignity Foundation, offers loneliness mitigation services to older "people _who live alone either single or as a couple_ " (emphasis added). Those who describe themselves as living _eka_ (singly, alone) often present the situation as something not only uncomfortable, difficult or lonely, but also as quite "unthinkable" or "impossible" ( _asambhab_ ) and even not fully human. One widowed Bengali math professor whose only children, both daughters, reside in the United States, described herself as living "completely alone," and yet reflected: "Human beings have always lived together; it is not part of human nature to live alone." She went on: "We couldn't have even dreamed earlier that people would be living like this!... We had no concept at all even that a person could live alone!" To deal with what Indians are widely regarding as a modern social phenomenon, a new industry of extrafamily aging is emerging to offer social, emotional and practical support for elders living apart from junior kin. Nonprofit nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) as well as private businesses provide services such as around-the-clock telephone helplines, escorts to late-night wedding receptions and to doctor's appointments, visits to chat over tea, meal delivery, and the promise of presence at the time of death. It is often NRI or "nonresident Indian" children who fund the services for their parents in India, able to supply money but not time or proximity. The director of one NGO, Agewell Foundation, compared their hired elder-care counselors to "surrogate sons," commenting: "A sad situation indeed when children cannot gift their parents time. But this is a contemporary reality that has to be faced."10 YourManInIndia (YMI) began as an enterprise offering healthcare for the aged parents of busy and distant NRIs and has now expanded to offer a full range of concierge services. The _Times of India_ heads a report: "Busy yuppies Outsource Errands to New Chore Bazaar: From Looking after Old Parents to Walking the Dog, These Corporate Jeeveses Do It All" (Kamdar 2004). Other elders living alone join the flurry of new clubs emerging in cosmopolitan centers for senior citizens, clubs that emphasize the cultivation of peer friendships, active volunteerism, fit bodies, and lifelong hobbies – pursuits especially appropriate for an individualistic, rather than centrally family-oriented, sense of self. As with old age homes, both positive and negative assessments abound regarding the practice of elders living independently, and the outsourcing of care tasks from junior kin to private organizations. Much of the public and media discourse is exceedingly negative. A recurrent recent media story line recounts "old person's suicide due to loneliness," such as this one, entitled "Death from Loneliness at Eighty." One man's only son – an Indian Institute of Technology graduate – has settled in the United States. The old father "jumped off the landing between the 8th and 9th floors, ending a solitary existence.... Neighbors said the loneliness was probably too much for the octogenarian to bear, a condition not uncommon in a city from which the young who will take care of the old are increasingly [going abroad for better] opportunities" ( _The Telegraph_ 2003). Papri Chowdhury is the founder of one Kolkata neighborhood organization, Jana Hitaya (For the Welfare of People), offering support for elders living alone. She expressed strong ambivalence regarding the current trend of relegating seva to the market: "Seva is _not_ something that can be bought or sold," she fervently remarked. She thus prefers to call her organization a "joint family" rather than an "NGO," a term which to her connotes the "modern" and "impersonal." In the Jana Hitaya "joint family" organization, elders themselves or their junior kin (often from abroad) can request such services as visits over tea, reading aloud, or being escorted to the doctor or a spiritual program. But founder Chowdhury is firm that she cannot _charge_ for these services, this seva: instead, people who _wish to_ make donations to the organization may do so at any time – but not at the same time that services are being rendered. However, optimistic perspectives regarding independent living are also not hard to find. For instance, among those living without children in Kolkata, a regular point of discussion is the pride and sense of agency and accomplishment they feel in their children's professional success abroad. It was they, the senior parents, who had fostered this success – and thus their and their children's mutual independence – by raising their children in cosmopolitan households, sending them to elite English-speaking schools, funding higher education abroad and encouraging their pursuit of prestigious professional careers. In many cases the senior parents benefit not only in terms of emotional pride, but also financially, from their children's success; for it is usual for Indian children living abroad to provide for their parents, if not a monthly maintenance allowance, then often large gifts such as a car or a flat in a modern apartment complex. Further, many older persons living on their own without children are finding that they are enjoying spending much time with peers, forging or joining senior citizens' clubs that foster the cultivation of individual and peer oriented senses of selves, including the development of personal hobbies and ties among friends. One active group of seniors living in an upscale southern Kolkata apartment complex formed a Laughing Club, a group promoting "laughter yoga" as a means to improve health, reduce stress and increase happiness (Lamb 2009:200–203). This Laughing Club is a mixed-gender group of about 30, ranging in age from their fifties to eighties. They meet daily at 6 a.m. for laughter yoga, exercises, chatting and (for those who wished to attend) Bhagavad Gita reading. In the afternoon, groups of men and women gather separately for tea, snacks and conversations, rotating among each others' flats. About half of the members live in multigenerational families with a married son, his wife and children, the other half living alone or with a spouse. Most who live alone have children working abroad. Although those who live right with married sons and grandchildren are generally the ones represented in casual conversations as the most fortunate, the general consensus is nonetheless that those who live apart from children do enjoy some advantages. One of their most energetic and convivial members is a man whose only son has settled as an economist in the United States; he reported: "At this age, it's better to live separately.... If an old man says that he needs to have his son live with him, then the son won't advance, and the country won't advance... I am the happiest man in the world, living in heaven! I won't live anywhere other than here, surrounded by my circle of friends." However, the project of crafting an independent way of life in old age is not one that most older Indians find unambiguously easy, or natural. Rather, it is a project they engage in with critical reflection, self-consciousness, effort, and generally some ambivalence. LEGISLATING PARENTAL CARE: CHANGING FAMILIES AND THE STATE In the context of the widespread growth of extrafamily forms of aging in India, the state over recent years has become increasingly involved in matters of aging – but not, for the most part, in order to shoulder responsibilities once held by the family, an effort that began in the United States around the turn of the century and has occurred in many other nations around the world. Rather, state efforts in India – through police-mediated dispute resolution, legislation and the courts – have been aimed predominantly at enforcing family care. The central premise is that the family is the proper moral, cultural and legal site of care for the aged. "Before," elder care need not be legislated, as social-moral values were such that "it just happened;" but "now, in today's society" parental care must be legislated, and some sons and daughters-in-law are going to jail for "neglecting" and "torturing" their elders. In December 2007 the Indian Parliament, seeking to enforce family care of the elderly as a legal obligation, passed the Maintenance and Welfare of Parents and Senior Citizens Bill, 2007. In October 2009 this bill became an act with the force of law and now children may be fined 5,000 rupees and jailed for up to three months if found guilty of neglecting parents. Relatives other than children are also obligated to support childless senior citizens (any citizen of India aged 60 or older) if they stand to inherit property from their aged kin. The new legislation in addition gives parents powers to disinherit errant children and other kin. Furthermore, it calls upon (though does not require) state governments to establish old age homes in every district, to take care of indigent older persons with no kin able to provide support. The law further proposes to provide better medical facilities for senior citizens (by calling upon government hospitals to set aside sufficient beds for the elderly) and asks that state governments establish suitable mechanisms for protecting the life and property of older persons who are economically self-sufficient and living alone voluntarily or involuntarily. At the heart of this legislation is the stipulation that adult children not only have the moral but also the legal obligation to care for their elderly kin. The premise is that children in Indian society have always been morally obligated to support their aged parents, but that due to the decline of the joint family system in contemporary times, children are now frequently failing to fulfill these obligations. Moral systems must now be backed by legal systems, and thus the need for a parental maintenance law. During evidence, the Secretary of the Ministry of Social Justice and Empowerment proclaimed, "It is an established fact that family is the most desired environment for senior citizens/parents to lead a life of security, care and dignity." Thus the core aim of the proposed legislation is to "ensure that the children perform their moral obligation towards their parents" (Standing Committee 2007–8:10). During the five-year period from 2003 through 2008 when I examined local coverage on the topic, newspapers reported that increasing numbers of cases regarding disputes between elderly parents and junior kin have come to the attention of the police and courts – reportedly about 15 to 20 cases per month in and around Kolkata (Lamb 2009:242, 295 n. 17). In a featured Sunday piece titled "Old Age Angst," under the subheading "Courts Whip Cruel Sons," the report states: "In the last few years, elderly parents have filed numerous petitions before the Calcutta High Court against their children," described as "cruel, uncaring and selfish offsprings" (J. Gupta 2005). The key players in the disputes are almost always a parent or parents and their son(s) and/or daughter(s)-in-law. Often the disputes involve property. For instance, in one reported case, this one occurring in Delhi, a son compelled his father, allegedly at knifepoint, to execute a general power of attorney in the son's favor; but the case was brought to the High Court, where the chief justice issued a warning to the son to sort out his "differences" with his parents or else face a police probe into the parent's allegations ( _The Telegraph_ 2004). In another case, when a widowed mother refused to transfer the family home to her son's name, the son and daughter-in-law began to threaten and mentally torture her. This was followed by physical beating. The son argued that he was going to retire soon and so needed to have the home in his name right now. The torture reached such a height that the widowed mother felt forced to leave the home, taking refuge with her daughter. Since a complaint with the police brought no redress, she filed a suit in the High Court. The High Court decreed that, whenever the mother wishes to return, the police should escort her back to her rightful home with her son and daughter-in-law. If she further complains of torture, harsher steps will be taken against the junior couple ( _Anandabajar Patrika_ 2007). Other cases revolve around more mundane generational conflict. For instance, in one case a daughter-in-law allegedly began to lock up the household kitchen, hiding the key, so that her 57-year-old mother-in-law had no access to it; and she began ill-treating the older woman whenever the son was out (although the son reportedly tried to persuade his wife to be kind to his mother). In this case, the Calcutta High Court judge ordered the family – the widowed mother, daughter-in-law, son and grandchildren – to eat their meals together daily for a fortnight, and then to report back to the court after two weeks. During this time, both the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law were to have equal access to the kitchen, and share in the cooking. Three weeks later, the newspapers reported that the judge's directive appeared to have worked: A family that eats together, stays together. The adage proved to be true on Monday when a family – on the verge of splitting up a month ago – appeared as a close-knit unit in court.... After eating together for three weeks, the family appeared in court and told the judge that they had ironed out their differences. A pleased judge wished them a happy Puja [holiday]. ( _Times of India_ 2007; see also _The Telegraph_ 2007 and Prahladka 2007) In another case, a widowed mother, son and daughter-in-law were called to court after a mother complained that her son and daughter-in-law did not take care of her or provide her with food, but yet were renting out her portion of the family home, while keeping the proceeds. The _Anandabajar Patrika_ staff correspondent reported: Today, right at the beginning of the case, the judge asked [the son], "What is this? You don't take care of your mother, give her food? This old woman had to come to the court – aren't you ashamed?" With folded hands, [the son] replied, "Sir, I have committed a wrong, my Lord. I apologize. From now onwards, I shall take care of my mother." The judge decreed that the mother must be paid each month the full proceeds from the rental; speaking with an emotion-filled voice he proclaimed, "A mother cannot be compared with anyone. You wait and see, your mother will save from that amount and give to you at your hour of emergency." The judge then asked the aged woman whether 4,000 rupees a month would suffice for her maintenance. The woman replied meekly, "I have small expenses. Whatever I save I will give to him. I am advancing toward death." In closing, "the Judge spoke to [the son] affectionately, 'Take care of your mother. You see, you will be happy' " ( _Anandabajar Patrika_ 2008a). In one case, the judge warns a neglectful son, a government employee, to mend his ways if he cares for his job (J. Gupta 2005). Another judge orders a son and daughter-in-law to grasp their parents' feet and beg for forgiveness, and then come back to report to the court after the quarrels are settled, warning: "Remember, your own children will be grown one day. I hope you will have no regrets" ( _Anandabajar Patrika_ 2003). Some common themes emerge in these stories: First, elders are dependent (appropriately, as are young children). Second, the family is the proper site of elder care. Third, to locate elder care within the family is not simply a matter of tackling the (limited) problem of how the elderly of a society should be sustained, but is rather a pivotal part of a much broader vision of the proper functioning of society as a whole. This broader vision is evident in Judge Samaddar's proclamations: "If the sacred [ _pabitra_ ] relationship between the mother and son gets tainted, that does not augur at all well for society. The values which human beings have nurtured over centuries cannot be allowed to degenerate out of mere self-interest [ _sv rtha_ ]" ( _Anandabajar Patrika_ 2008b). Fourth, in parental maintenance disputes, the courts seem to be strongly biased in favor of the elders, at least as the stories are reported in the papers. That is, the foundational presumption seems to be that elder parents are, without question, trustworthy and deserving – simply by virtue of their being parents and old – and thus sons (and daughters-in-law) can say little in their own defense. Not all policymakers in India agree, however, that the best site of elder care is inevitably the family, and some are calling for the state to take on a greater role. One _Telegraph_ editorial, spurred by a report of a middle-class elderly woman abandoned on the streets by her sons, criticizes the absence of a welfare system in India, which creates "inordinate dependence on the family.... To blame [the current situation of the elderly] on the demise of the joint family is to misrepresent the complex, systemic and political nature of the problem – an evasive moralism behind which governments often hide" ( _The Telegraph_ 2006). To depend as a nation exclusively on the family for elder care is not, many argue, merely inadequate; it is also "backward." "Independent India is rapidly marching towards achieving the desirable goal of being a welfare state," gerontologists S. Irudaya Rajan, U. S. Mishra and P. Sankara Sarma (1999:141) argue – and implementing effective social security programs is an essential part of that goal. In _India's Elderly: Burden or Challenge?_ Rajan et al. recommend that the Indian government should support old age homes and pension plans, and that aging individuals should cultivate a dependence on the self – through savings, exercise, and an open-mindedness about living in old age homes – as one can no longer count on, and _should_ no longer count on, if one is modern and educated, depending on children in old age. Yet the prevailing standpoint of the Government of India's legislation and the courts is that it is better and more appropriate – morally as well as now legally – for elder care, whenever possible, to take place within the family. This position complicates prevailing assumptions internationally: that as nations advance, the state and market will provide elder care, moving beyond an old-fashioned, nonviable reliance on family.11 For in many contexts the Indian state effectively decrees that even in the fast-developing modern nation of India, the family remains the most appropriate, humane and even superior site of aging. Aging and modernity are intimately linked, it is clear, in many Indians' minds. By examining beliefs and practices surrounding old age, one can illuminate not only important trends concerning aging itself but also much broader social-cultural phenomena in the nation, including global cultural and economic flows; visions of the proper relationships among individuals, families, the market and the state; and compelling moral questions about how best to live. NOTES This chapter draws on materials examined in more detail in my 2009 book, _Aging and the Indian Diaspora: Cosmopolitan Families in India and Abroad_. Fieldwork was generously supported by a Fulbright-Hays Faculty Research Abroad fellowship, as well as the Theodore and Jane Norman Fund for Faculty Research and a Mazer Award for Faculty Research at Brandeis University. I am grateful to the many people and institutions in West Bengal, India who have offered their hospitality, insights and stories. I thank Isabelle Clark-Decès for her valuable editorial suggestions. 1 Rajan and Kumar (2003:78–79), based on 1992–3 National Family Household Survey data, report that 88% of the elderly in India co-reside with their adult children, and other gerontologists concur that the strong majority of Indian elderly live with their children (e.g. Jamuna 2003:127–128, Basu 2006). 2 According to Census of India 2001 data, of persons aged 60 or older, 4% lived in single-person households and 7% as an elderly couple; see Census of India 2001:2–4. For the US figures (30% of those over 65 living alone and 50% as an elderly couple), see US Census Bureau 2000: tables 60 and 61; Administration on Aging 2003. 3 Fieldwork related to this topic was conducted in West Bengal, primarily in Kolkata and in the Birbhum village of Mangaldihi, from 1989 through 2010. Since 1993 I have also researched aging and families among Indian communities in the Boston and San Francisco regions (Lamb 2000; 2002; 2007; 2009). 4 In the context of India, the "middle class" can refer both to an "elite" or "transnational" middle class of English-speaking, email-using, world-traveling persons (about 3% of Indians and 10% of the urban population) as well as to a less elite, more locally oriented broader middle class (about 20% of Indians and 40% of the urban population) who cannot speak English well and can barely imagine buying a car, but who see themselves as well above the poor living in slums and surviving day to day in laboring jobs (Derné 2005, Sridharan 2004). This chapter focuses on both groups. 5 Phoebe Liebig and S. Irudaya Rajan's _An Aging India_ (2003) also presents important work on gerontological scholarship, demographic shifts and state policies surrounding aging in contemporary India (see also Brijnath 2008). 6 For works on the growth of the Indian middle classes since the economic liberalization policies of the 1990s, see Béteille 2001; G. Das 2002:279–290; Derné 2005; Fernandes 2006; Lamb 2009:46–52; Sridharan 2004. 7 For work on India's old age homes, see Cohen 1998:113–120; Lamb 2000:136–137; 2009:53–171; Liebig 2003, Sawhney 2003. 8 Census of India 2001:2–4. Of those who do live alone, a larger number are females: 2.1 million out of 38.8 million (5.5%) of older women aged 60 years and above lived alone in 2001. 9 For instance, "Ageing Parents Home Alone" was the cover story of the July 16, 2007 issue of _India Today_. Lamb focuses on Bengali elders living alone in and around Kolkata, as well as public and media interpretations of single living as a modern phenomenon (2009:172–205). 10 Founded by Himanshu Rath in 1999 in New Delhi, Agewell Foundation seeks to "act as a catalyst of change in bridging the gap between generations and ensuring a respectful and comfortable life for old people"; see www.agewellfoundation.org/about_us.htm (accessed Aug. 2010). 11 In "The Future of Global Ageing," for instance, economist Robert Palacios of the World Bank examines the dramatic worldwide expansion of formal pension schemes for the elderly during the twentieth century, contrasting the achievements of "rich, developed" nations to those of "poor, young countries of the developing world." Rich and developed countries, he asserts, have state pension schemes in place, while poor countries (India among them) still rely inordinately on the family (2002:786–789, and cited in Lamb 2009:250). REFERENCES Administration on Aging 2003 A Profile of Older Americans: 2003. US Department of Health and Human Services. At www.aoa.gov/AoAroot/Aging_Statistics/Profile/2003/index.aspx (accessed Aug. 2010). Anandabajar Patrika 2003 Atyācār karāy bhartsanā, mā-bābār pā dhare kshamā cāite nirdeś korṭer (Court reprimands son and daughter-in-law for torture and orders them to embrace parents' feet and ask for forgiveness). June 27: 1. 2007 Mā-bābār upare atyācāre kaṛā byabasthā (Harsh measures to tackle torture of parents). Sept. 18. 2008a Māke dekhen nā, lajjā kare nā! Mucalekā nila court (You don't take care of your mother – don't you feel ashamed?! Court requires son to post bond). Mar. 19: 1 2008b Santān kār balben śudhu mā, cheleke hũśiyāri hāikorṭer (Only a mother can say who her child is, High Court cautions son). Apr. 24: 16. Basu, Saumitra 2006 Some Social, Economic and Behavioral Problems of the Aged Inhabiting Calcutta City: An Anthropological Approach. PhD dissertation, University of Calcutta. Béteille, André 2001 The Indian Middle Class. The Hindu, Feb. 5. Brijnath, Bianca R. 2008 The Legislative and Political Contexts surrounding Dementia Care in India. Aging and Society 28:913–934. Census of India 2001 Data Highlights: HH-5: Households with Number of Aged Persons Sixty Years and Above by Sex and Household Size. At www.censusindia.gov.in/ (accessed Sept. 15, 2008). Cohen, Lawrence 1998 No Aging in India: Alzheimer's, the Bad Family, and Other Modern Things. Berkeley: University of California Press. Das, Gurcharan 2002 India Unbound: The Social and Economic Revolution from Independence to the Global Information Age. New York: Anchor. Das, Tina 1999 Old Age Home to Make Life a Pleasant Experience for Elderly. Asian Age, Sept. 5. Derné, Steve 2005 Globalization and the Making of a Transnational Middle Class: Implications for Class Analysis. _In_ Critical Globalization Studies. Richard P. Appelbaum and William I. Robinson, eds. 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Irudaya, U. S. Mishra, and P. Sankara Sarma 1999 India's Elderly: Burden or Challenge? New Delhi: Sage. 2003 Demography of Indian Aging, 2001–2051. _In_ An Aging India: Perspectives, Prospects, and Policies. Phoebe S. Liebig, and S. Irudaya Rajan, eds. Pp. 11–30. New York: Haworth Press. Sawhney, Maneeta 2003 The Role of Non-governmental Organizations for the Welfare of the Elderly: The Case of HelpAge India. _In_ An Aging India: Perspectives, Prospects and Policies. P.S. Liebig and S.I. Rajan, eds. Pp. 179–191. New York: Haworth. Sridharan, E. 2004 The Growth and Sectoral Composition of India's Middle Class: Its Impact on the Politics of Economic Liberalization. India Review 3(4):405–428. Standing Committee 2007–8 The Maintenance and Welfare of Parents and Senior Citizens Bill, 2007 Twenty-Eighth Report of the Standing Committee on Social Justice and Empowerment. New Delhi. Summary at www.prsindia.org (accessed Aug. 2010). The Telegraph 2003 Death from Loneliness at Eighty. Nation section, July 22: 1. 2004 HC Glare on Son for Abusing Parents. Nation section, Mar. 31: 6. 2006 Unaccommodated. Mar. 11: 18. 2007 Simply Cook and Co-exist Together. Sept. 22: 22. Times of India 2007 "Eat Together" Recipe Reunites Feuding Family. Kolkata edition. Oct. 16: 5. US Census Bureau 2000 Single Person Households Age 65 and Older in 1999: 2000. Census. At www.census.gov (accessed Sept. 2007). van Willigen, John, and Narender K. Chadha 1999 Social Aging in a Delhi Neighborhood. Westport, CT: Bergin and Harvey. Vatuk, Sylvia 1975 The Aging Woman in India: Self-Perceptions and Changing Roles. _In_ Women in Contemporary India and South Asia. Alfred de Souza, ed. Pp. 142–163. New Delhi: Manohar. 1980 Withdrawal and Disengagement as a Cultural Response to Aging in India. _In_ Aging in Culture and Society. Christine Fry, ed. Pp. 126–148. New York: Praeger. 1987 Authority, Power, and Autonomy in the Life Cycle of North Indian Women. _In_ Dimensions of Social Life: Essays in Honor of David G. Mandelbaum. Paul Hockings, ed. Pp. 23–44. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. 1990 To Be a Burden on Others: Dependency Anxiety among the Elderly in India. _In_ Divine Passions: The Social Construction of Emotion in India. Owen Lynch, ed. Pp. 64–88. Berkeley: University of California Press. 1992 Sexuality and the Middle-Aged Woman in South Asia. _In_ In Her Prime: New Views of Middle-Aged Women. Virginia Kerns and Judith K. Brown, eds. Pp. 155–172. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. 1995 The Indian Woman in Later Life: Some Social and Cultural Considerations. _In_ Women's Health in India: Risk and Vulnerability. Monica Das Gupta, Lilncon C. Chen, and T. N. Krishnan, eds. Pp. 289–306. Mumbai: Oxford University Press. Wadley, Susan S. 2010 One Straw from a Broom Cannot Sweep: The Ideology and Practice of the Joint Family in Rural North India. _In_ Everyday Life in South Asia. 2nd edition. Diane P. Mines and Sarah Lamb, eds. Pp. 14–25. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Young, Linda 2007 India: Proposed Law Would Fine or Imprison Adult Children Who Abandon Parents. AHN (All Headline News), Mar. 1. At www.allheadlinenews.com/articles/7006613921 (accessed Mar. 2007). CHAPTER 28 The Decline of Dravidian Kinship in Local Perspectives _Isabelle Clark-Decès_ When the social sciences emerged in India after Independence, the traditional anthropological preoccupation with kinship was related to the study of what was then the discipline's specialized subject in its own right, namely the social organization of small-scale societies. Although India was never held to be "primitive," kinship there also came to be seen as indispensable for the proper understanding of its particular form of social organization – caste structure (Kapadia 1955). Because of the prevailing conceptualization of caste as a "closed hereditary group" to which one belongs by birth and by birth only (see Chapter 2 by Robert Deliège above), analytical attention focused on relationships produced by endogamous marriage (between two persons from the same caste) and on the forms of production and exchange between patrilineal descent groups (Dumont 1986[1957]; Mayer 1960; Madan 1965). The many empirical investigations of these relationships in village settings led anthropologists to revise the Orientalist translations of legal and liturgical texts that had provided the main source of Western knowledge about India ever since Sir William Jones first learned Sanskrit in the 1770s (Mandelbaum 1970). But as Tulsi Patel (2005:23–25) and Patricia Uberoi (2004:277) have pointed out, many assumptions of the Indological school continued to linger. More often than not, early ethnographies of the 1950s and 1960s promoted Hindu, upper caste, North Indian forms of marriage as the all-India norm, focusing on Brahmanical rules of sapinda exogamy, infant marriage, gift of a virgin, ostracism of widows, and practices of sati and ancestor worship (but see Kurian 1974). Thus the well-known Indian anthropologist Irawati Karve (1953; 1993) identified four main types of kinship organization in India: (1) an Indo-European or Sanskritic type in the north, where kinship practices were essentially continuous with those described in classical Sanskrit sources; (2) a Dravidian type in the south; (3) a mixed "central" zone between the two; and (4) a geographically noncontiguous Austro-Asiatic type in the east. Karve's purpose, however, was to highlight their three unifying elements: the all-India institution of caste, the patrilineal or matrilineal "joint family," and a shared Sanskritic heritage. A decade later, the French anthropologist Louis Dumont (1966) would argue that the seemingly disparate kinship terminologies and exchanges of gifts at marriage in South and North India pointed to a common structuring principle that was Sanskritic in origin. In the 1970s and 1980s the anthropological study of kinship became rather stultifying, remaining of interest only to the few who had an inclination for formal and algebraic models of social life. In anthropology as a whole, kinship gave way to the study of gender, with feminist anthropologists still interested in birth, marriage, and domestic life but from a rather different theoretical perspective (Collier and Yanagisako 1987). Likewise the anthropology of kinship in India shifted its analytical focus away from social institutions, their civilizational and textual sources, and their development, to specific problems of the social construction of gender, personhood, and procreation (Ostor et al. 1983; Bock and Rao 2000; Busby 1995; 2000). New theoretical and epistemological developments in social sciences also led scholars to look at marriage no longer from "the centre," but from "the margins" – as Lindsey Harlan and Paul Courtright (1995) put it – and from the perspectives of women (Rajeha and Gold 1996). Not many anthropologists today would defend classic accounts of Indian kinship. The prevailing view is that the study of modern families and marriages requires a radical shift in contextualization, one that includes the new globalized or worldwide forms of consumption, recreation and entertainment. The Indian world of the early twenty-first century, anthropologists suggest, is "cosmopolitan" (Appadurai and Breckenridge 1987:2). Thus much of what is currently being said about family and marriage derives from studies of the diasporas of information technology professionals (Xiang 2008), migration experiences (Palriwala and Uberoi 2008), transnational families (Leonard 2007), and of course the media boom in contemporary India (Uberoi 2001). The idea that change in Indian marriage patterns "just happens" from outside – as response to and emulation of neoliberalism and modernity – has spread very rapidly. This is striking in and of itself, but what is perhaps more extraordinary is that for all its departure from the analysis of Indian kinship as a domain bound by caste and tradition, the new global approach reproduces a style of thinking that is quite old in anthropology. Current perspectives seem to imply that the change from a society organized by kinship, endogamy, and patriarchal norms to some notion of "modernity" constitutes progress. While many writers are strongly critical of singular notions of modernity and modernization, even so the current shift in the contextualization of kinship in India tends to reify change as a leap forward, something like a movement from otherness and backwardness toward a known end point that is sameness and modern. This raises all sorts of issues for the anthropologist. This chapter does not deal directly with the problem of reading family and marriage in global/developmental rather than local/historical terms. I approach this problem indirectly through a critical review of a topic that is singularly missing in recent anthropological discussions of Indian marriage, as well as in public discourse in India: the proper description and analysis of so-called Dravidian marriage and its apparent decline in contemporary South India. More precisely, the chapter asks how we might explain this decline in South India, particularly in the state of Tamil Nadu where I have conducted ethnographic fieldwork since 1990. While I intend to show that the cultural model of modernization does factor into the "new" demographic and socioeconomic context of Tamil marriage, I argue that for Tamil youth the relationship between "traditional" and "modern" marriage is not one of past versus future, nor is "modern" marriage easy to define or obviously desirable. One of my reasons for writing this chapter is to include the specific social predicaments and personal experiences of Tamil youth in the anthropology of Indian kinship and marriage. DRAVIDIAN KINSHIP The term "Dravidian" refers to a family of languages (Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam, and so on) spoken mostly in South India. The Dravidian language family is entirely distinct both in structure and in presumed origin from the family of Indo-Aryan languages spoken in North India and this distinctiveness also applies to southern kinship terminologies, which classify kin on the basis of four basic characteristics: sex, generation, age, and what is often (but not always) called "crossness." English speakers are familiar with the first two, for we too differentiate mothers, aunts, sisters, and daughters from fathers, uncles, brothers, and sons, as well as grandparents from parents, children, and grandchildren. Unlike Tamils, however, we do not have separate words for elder and younger siblings, aunts, uncles and so on. Nor do we distinguish, as the Tamils do, between kin traced to ego's parents through same-sex links ("parallel kin") and kin traced to ego's parents through opposite-sex links ("cross kin"). In English, father's brother and mother's brother are both called "uncle," but Tamils clearly differentiate these two men: the first is either "little" or "big" "father" to ego, the other "māmā," which means and designates "father-in-law." Likewise, in English, mother's sister and father's sister are both called "aunt," but Tamils clearly differentiate these two women: the first is either "little" or "big" "mother" to ego and the other "attai," which refers to "mother-in-law." Thus scholars of Dravidian kinship (Dumont 1983; 1986; Trautmann 1981; Trawick 1990) usually suggest that this distinction between parallel and cross kin is the key to understanding South Indian marriage choices. The children of parents' same-sex siblings ("little" and "big" "fathers" and "mothers") are assimilated to the status of younger or elder siblings, with whom marriage (and sexual relationship) is forbidden. In contrast, the children of parents' cross-sex siblings (the mothers-in-law and fathers-in-laws) are assimilated to the status of potential spouses with whom marriage is permitted, in fact preferred, and in some castes prescribed. These terms suggest a division between kin and relatives "in law" which is not equivalent to our cultural distinction between blood relatives and relatives by marriage. While at the semantic level the two sides of cross kin (mother's brother and father's sister) are equivalent, and while all castes practice bilateral cross-cousin marriage, scholars have observed that throughout Tamil Nadu some castes clearly prefer, even prescribe, marrying on _either_ the mother's brother's side _or_ the father's sister's side. Thus Louis Dumont documented that among the Pramalai Kallars living on the outskirts of the town of Madurai, the sister's son should marry the brother's daughter" (1986:206). Likewise Brenda Beck noted that in the Konku region, the mother's brother's daughter preference is dominant (1972:238). By contrast, Robert Deliège recorded that the dalits (Paraiyars) of the Ramnad district practice marriage with a patrilateral cross cousin (1987) – or father's sister's daughter. Yet, in general, scholars have given priority to the system of categories generated by the terminology and ignored the preference or obligation to marry on one side rather than the other. Moreover, for reasons that have to do with the fact that Louis Dumont, the main architect of Dravidian kinship, worked with a Tamil subcaste that prescribes marriage on the mother's side, the quite different marriage on the father's sister's side has not been theorized. As a result, Dumont's claim that the rule of cross-cousin marriage is the "perfect formula" for ensuring the perpetuation of affinity between two groups (1983: 14) remains, if not uncontested (see Good 1980; 1991; 1996; Rudner 1990; Trawick 1990), somewhat current. Among the Pramalai Kallars, Dumont explained, marital relations are inherited from parent to child without being transformed into blood relations. The man who was my father's brother-in-law becomes my father-in-law and his son my brother-in-law. In this way relations of affinity are passed down from one generation to another, becoming realized in ego's generation as relations of alliance. By "alliance" Dumont meant a relation based on marriage and a process by which families or lineages communicate and exchange gifts in a manner that "symbolizes the alliance tie" (1983:80). If I am a married man, my father-in-law is my gift-giver, but when my wife and I have a child, my brother-in-law becomes my child's gift-giver. Thus gift-giving reaffirms generation by generation the hereditary relation of "alliance" between men. I say "men," because as Margaret Trawick rightly points out, "the examples given in Dumont's ethnography indicate that the maintenance of an ongoing relationship between lines of males is really what is at stake" (1990:129). Dumont (1966) went on to show that in the quite different North Indian marriage system, affinal obligations in reference to ceremonial functions and gift-giving are "inherited" in a manner similar to that in South India. "Affinity," he maintained, is a "value" all over India. Yet Dumont's ethnography among the Kallars complicates, and at times even disproves, his claims that South Indian kinship neatly distinguishes kin from permanent affine (also see Rudner 1990). "In principle," he noted, "the obligation is to provide a partner for each _eldest_ son of sisters and for each _eldest_ daughter of brothers" (1986:207; also see Beck 1972:238). The fact that "eldest children's marriages are strictly regulated" while "younger children's marriages seem free" explains why in many of the Kallar genealogies he collected the stated matrilateral preferential rule is often found reversed. But if elder sons marry on the mother's side and younger sons (or at least some of them) on the father's, marital relations cannot be inherited in the manner suggested by Dumont. At each and every generation the double standard for first and last sons reverses the alliance, thereby conflating kin and affine over time. It would also seem that Dumont's other finding that "once an alliance is interrupted by the unavailability of a partner, it is rarely resumed in the following generation" (1986:209) further undermines his argument for the enduring quality of Tamil affinity (1983:30). Also troubling is the fact that in the patrilateral form of cross-cousin marriage the transmission of affinity is not direct: it skips a generation. Usually, the man who was my father's brother-in-law (wife's brother) does not become my father-in-law (wife's father). His son does marry my sister but his grandson does not marry in my direct line of descent. In short, marriage with the father's sister's daughter does not produce unbroken lines of affinity. It is yet another variety of Dravidian marriage that casts the most severe blow to Dumont's "alliance theory," I am referring to marriage with sister's daughter, a practice that is widespread not merely in Tamil Nadu but throughout South India. As early as 1972, Brenda Beck reported that in the Kon.ku area of Tamil Nadu, marriage with mother's brother is "a more frequent marriage statistically than a match with a [cross cousin]" (1972:245-246). That uncle/niece marriage was not merely an upper caste phenomenon, as Louis Dumont seemed to believe, was later evidenced by Katherine Hann's tabulation of the incidence of relation marriage as reported for various South Indian communities in the four southern states (Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka, Kerala, and Tamil Nadu). The results showed "that about 10 per cent of the marriages are between an uncle and his niece" (1985:62). A decade later, Anthony Good updated Hann's chart, confirming that "in several cases [marriage of mother's younger brother and elder sister's daughter] is the commonest form of close inter-marriage, while in most others it is comparable in frequency to marriage with either cross cousin" (1996:6). Good rightly emphasized that the statistics on uncle/niece marriage were "striking, because if relative age rules are taken into account it is to be expected that fewer people will have marriageable relatives of this type than have first cross-cousins" (1996:6; also see Good 1980; Kapadia 1995). To the best of my knowledge no one has attempted to explain why among many South Indian castes "uncle niece" marriage is preferred to those marked by either symmetrical structured terminologies or asymmetric binding (matrilateral or patrilateral) rules. But even in the absence of an explanation, one can see that marriage with sister's daughter contradicts any notion of stark "opposition between kin and alliance" (Dumont 1983:103). In fact, here, relations of affinity merge with genealogical relations: a man's mother's in-law is his sister, a woman's mother's in-law is her mother's mother. The need for a new analysis of Dravidian kinship becomes evident when we note that the Tamils marry a pool of near relatives ( _contam_ ) that far surpasses just cross cousins (whether unilateral or bilateral) or maternal uncles and nieces. Here are three examples drawn from my fieldwork in Madurai. A man and his sister's son are married to two sisters – because of their marriages they are no longer in-laws but _cahalai_ , or "brothers." A woman's classificatory brother (the son of her "little" father) is married to her husband's sister's daughter, so she now becomes sister-in-law to the woman who was previously a daughter-in-law. A man is married to his granddaughter and, while rare, this union is clearly neither inherited nor conducive of any "alliance" à la Dumont. There are so many more variants of Dravidian kinship that the Tamils I worked with sometimes compared their marriage practices to an unbroken chain ( _to_ ṭ _arpu ca_ ṅ _kili_ ) that entangled everyone through loops in a roundabout and inextricable way. Or they resorted to another analogy, evoking a Tamil dish called _i_ ṭ _iyappam_. Anyone who has eaten a plate of these mushy and sticky "string hoppers," or spiral noodles, would know that it makes a perfect symbol of mix-up, jumble and confusion – anything but the neat structure presented by Dumont. The emphasis of this chapter is not to interpret or rather reinterpret Dravidian kinship but to suggest that nowadays, Tamil young people increasingly marry not _contam_ ("that which belongs to oneself") ( _Tamil Lexicon_ 2007:1651) but _anniyam_ ("that which is different or alien") ( _Tamil Lexicon_ 2007:186). Although this longstanding regional practice progressively waned throughout the twentieth century, its incidence remained high as recently as 20 years ago. According to the data from the National Family Health Survey, 1992–1993, "about 35 percent of [South Indian] women have been married to their blood relatives" (in Audinarayana and Krishnamoorty 2000:192). Today such such a percentage is lower if only because India in general, and South India, in particular, is entering uncharted territory in demographic history. DEVELOPMENTAL EXPLANATIONS Between 1881 and 1921, according to the French demographer Christophe Guilmoto, the average number of children per Tamil woman was between 5.08 and 5.57 (1992:25). Since these figures include widows and women who remained sterile, Guilmoto estimates that in the latter part of the nineteenth century, Tamil women must have typically given birth to at least eight children (1992:26). This number may seem very high by modern standards but to Guilmoto it remains far from the conceivable maximum, for Tamil wives then typically began cohabitating with their husbands right after puberty. Two major factors prevented them from reproducing throughout the whole span of their fertile years. First, life expectancy at birth was short, especially for men, and since husbands were usually older than wives, a quarter of women between the ages of 30 and 34 were widowed and therefore less likely to be sexually active (1992:31). Second, the short interval between generations limited the procreativity of women. A woman married at the age of 15 could very well have a married daughter with small children by the time she reached the age of 35 (1992:33). Guilmoto invokes the "complex of the pregnant grandmother" first introduced by David Mandelbaum (1974:29–32) to suggest that because women were ashamed to be with child at the same time as one of their daughters or daughters-in-law, they curtailed their sexuality (Guilmoto 1992:33). Nowadays, improved living standards (better nutrition, healthcare and education ) and governmental public health and contraceptive campaigns have led Tamil people to change when they marry, when they become parents, and how often. Women increasingly enter marriage in their twenties (a few never marry at all), giving birth to only two children on average. The drop in birth rates has had a major impact on the incidence of cross-kin marriage. Quite simply, lower family size reduces the pool of marriageable relatives, as evidenced by Christophe Guilmoto's calculations: "Some 50 years ago," he writes in Chapter 1 of this volume, "the average number of siblings and first paternal cousins was no less than 35." "With three children per woman on average," Guilmoto adds, "everybody has on average eight paternal first cousins and siblings. However, this number reduces to three in smaller families (with two children per woman on average)." The drop in birth rates also widens the gap between generations, such that Bittles, Coble and Rao are correct to state that "the general reduction in family size throughout South India will make uncle-niece unions more difficult to arrange within accepted spousal age difference norms" (1993:115). The few social scientists who write about the decline of South Indian marriage usually focus less on demographic changes (rising age of marriage, lower birth rates and so on) than what they see as a new development: namely, the waning power and authority of older generations over younger family members who, they argue, are increasingly free to choose their own spouses on the basis of affection and love. According to Katherine Hann, for example, "the pressures that are leading to a breakdown in the incidence of relation marriage" include "imitation of Western life-styles," "the gradual increase of 'love marriages,' " and "a gradual erosion of caste traditions" (1985:66; also see Conklin 1973). This line of explanation is reminiscent of the modernizing paradigm used by mid nineteenth-century historians to account for the transformations in northwestern European family life from the 1700s through the mid-1800s. It is worth recalling, however, that a century later historians presented evidence suggesting that change had begun long before 1700. The nuclear household had been common since at least the 1300s, individualism and the autonomy of younger generations could be traced back to the thirteenth century in England, and late marriage and widespread celibacy had been practiced since 1000. In short, northwest European family life never underwent a dramatic, datable, transition from "traditional" to "modern." The grand historical modernization narrative turned out to be a "myth." In a recent book, the sociologist Arland Thornton (2005) argues that the debunking of this myth did not stop scholars from applying the same developmental paradigm to family life around the world, a process which he calls "reading history sideways."1 His basic argument is that the myth of family transformation was integrally linked to what he calls "developmental idealism," a vision that presumes that modernized family forms represent not merely change but moral progress. Thornton summarizes the four key components of developmental idealism as follows: "(1) modern society is good and attainable; (2) the modern family is good and attainable; (3) the modern family is a cause as well as an effect of a modern society; and (4) individuals have the right to be free and equal, with social relationships being based on consent" (2005:8). My feeling is that the argument that marriage with close kin in South India is on the wane because young people are increasingly free to choose their own spouses on the basis of affection and love suffers from the kind of faulty developmental bias identified by Thornton. That analysis may have the virtue of helping us understand changes that replace apparently bewildering practices (for example, marriage with very close kin) with ones that appear accessible and even ethically pleasing: India is developing along the same lines as Western societies, moving away from traditional or "backward" arranged marriages toward modern consensual unions, and this development is a good thing. But this view was not exactly corroborated by my Tamil consultants, and even clashes with the South Indian literary record, indeed with many South Asian literary sources and related practices. In the Can.kam period in India, between the first and third centuries CE, 461 poets contributed to a total of eight anthologies of Tamil poetry. The poetry was classified as being either _akam_ (of the interior) or _puram_ (of the exterior) but the first genre was more extensive. And when we know that love, in all its manifestations, was the subject of _akam_ poetry it is difficult to maintain that prevailing notions of love in Tamil Nadu are simple replicas of the ones we know in the modern West. There is also the question of how traditional, how timeless, arranged marriage exactly is in India. According to the historian Rochona Majumdar, marital practices in Bengal during the late colonial period drew on institutions and ideas central to modernity: urban life, Western education, the print media, monetization of relationships, debates about what constituted a tasteful wedding, legal reforms, and ideas of rights and personhood (2009:2). Her research makes the case that what we in the West take to be an authentic marker of Indian life underwent critical transformations in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and indeed was created as a result of European contact. As Majumdar writes, "arranged marriage in India... is very much a part of Indian modernity and modernization" (2009:1). It would be wrong to deny that a growing culture of individualism, free choice and consumer aspirations is currently promoting ideals of youth autonomy and self-chosen marriage in Tamil Nadu. Television stations stage debates on the relative merits of "arranged marriage" versus "love marriage," and such programs tend to impart the message that all individuals (including women) have the right to be free, equal and enter social relationships based on consent. Moreover, the premium put on education and salaried employment nowadays means that middle-class youth can talk their parents into approving their choice of partners by stressing their similar degrees, interests and professional opportunities (Fuller and Narasimhan 2008). But it would be equally wrong to overstate the incidence of self-chosen marriage in Tamil Nadu. Fuller and Narasimhan themselves admit that "arranged, endogamous marriage still remains the norm, both ideally and statistically" (2008:737). And Guilmoto agrees: "While arranged marriages widely predominate, the rise in the incidence of marriages by personal choice (so-called 'love marriage') in both urban and rural areas of the country remains unfortunately a matter of statistical uncertainty" (Chapter 1 above). This is not to say that romantic unions never take place, but rather that for the most part, parents (in consultation with astrologers and marriage brokers) continue to look for, and find, spouses for their children. The basic explanation is that marriage is too important to be left to chance individual attraction. No one ever argues that sentiments should not exist, and in fact the question of whether the couple like each other is increasingly taken seriously when the final decision is made. But in general Tamil people take it for granted that the best way to secure compatibility is to marry into a family that has the same economic standing, the same reputation, and especially the same caste status. The majority of young men and women (born after 1980) I met in the Tamil town of Madurai in 2007 actually wanted their elders to select their spouses. As a young man bluntly put it: "I don't want to find a bride on my own. I don't want love marriage." As he expanded, "Every society has its limitations; mine is against intercaste marriage. If I were to choose a girl from a different caste, I'd offend my parents. If the bride of my choice were not to adapt to my family, it'd be terrible." This young man's conclusion that "it's best to leave the choice to my mother" echoes the sentiments of many young Indians. In her study of college students from low-income families residing in Mumbai, Leena Abraham also notes: "Although some of the students did favour 'love marriage,' the general opinion was against it" (2004:232). Moreover, her finding that "girls preferred 'arranged marriages' to 'love marriages' as the latter was seen as an arrangement beset with enormous insecurity" (2004:232) is consistent with mine. The young Tamil women I met also said that a girl in a love marriage would have neither the support of her husband's family nor that of her natal family; if her husband mistreated her, she was on her own. For them a marriage contracted against the wishes of parents was a risky proposition, which perhaps explains why the young people who do fall in love often do so with someone who fulfills all the criteria the family expects of a marriage partner.2 But for the most part, they keep their "love" interests to themselves. Much like the "flirtations and romances" documented in Kerala by Osella and Osella (2000; 2006), Tamil premarital affairs rarely develop into marriage. THE SCIENCE OF CONSANGUINITY My personal and fieldwork experiences have taught me that Thornton is right to insist that developmental thinking continues to influence not merely contemporary scholars of family history but also individuals and communities throughout the world, including the West. When I state that I am researching the decline in close-kin marriages in Tamil Nadu, my American friends and French family never fail to throw me a look that says, "this reduction is a good thing." Or they sigh in relief as if I were announcing that I was working with the World Bank to eradicate poverty in India. This typical reaction must be understood in light of the fact that Westerners have very specific hang-ups about consanguinity. It is fair to say that "marrying-in" is, to us, what marrying outside the caste is to most Hindus. It evokes dread – with the difference that our fear is not rooted in notions of purity and pollution but in what we think to be our scientific concepts of genetic inheritance (also see Ottenheimer 1996). The understanding and transmission of scientific ideas, however, is rarely a precise or straightforward process. Specific fears associated with consanguinity in the West include the likelihood of infertility and unhealthy offspring. Thus many Americans would be surprised to learn that science has not yet proven that even the closest blood relationship between parents is directly injurious to their offspring. The most important physiological effect of consanguineous marriage is to intensify any or all inheritable family characteristics or peculiarities by double inheritance of a recessive (or dominant) gene. Yet such notions of the dangers of consanguineous marriage, including their aura of scientific authority, are increasingly common among Tamils, and are receiving distinctive translations in this context. Nowadays, anthropologists like myself do not often hear Tamils say that men transmit blood to their children and women transmit "love," ( _u_ ṟ _avu_ , _p_ ā _cam_ ) and such ideas about physical inheritance are neither widely held, nor consistent (Good 2000:326). More commonly, the people I spoke with borrowed from genetics and said that a child receives 50 percent of his genetic makeup from his mother and 50 percent from his father, and they frequently say that brothers and sisters share 50 percent of their genetics. They have heard of studies proving that "consanguinity" increases the risk of "silent" genetic defects showing up as birth defects or diseases (blindness, blood cancer, breathing problems) in children. Many Tamils cite such studies to make the case that it is "scientifically wrong" to marry close kin. In fact, brothers and sisters may share 50 percent of their genetic material but that would be extremely rare, as the combination of parental chromosomes is not simple "blending" but rather a random assortment, affected first by the variable selection of chromosomes in each parent's sex cells. Moreover, studies show that other biological factors or environmental conditions could account for infertility – not consanguinity alone. Yet the belief that science warrants our strong sentiments against consanguinity (or rather "incest," since the fear is only framed partly in physical terms) somehow persists. This kind of pseudo-scientific discourse is fast replacing the old South Indian concepts of procreation, transmission of life, and the ethnophysiology of inheritance of blood and bodily fluids (for a review see Good 2000). The spread and growing popularity of the scientific discourse of genetics and its supposed warnings against close-relative marriage is a byproduct of the kind of developmental idealism that has taken hold of the Tamil state and the media's imagination. The extensive rural network of primary Health Care Centers (HSC) or subcenters (an HSC caters to 5,000 people), for instance, has been an important conduit for spreading governmental conceptions of the modern family. In this view, a progressive family is characterized by late marriage, exogamy versus endogamy, conjugality rather than consanguinity, low fertility, and healthy children who go to school rather than engage in economically productive labor. In these centers, thus, village health nurses monitor pregnancies, provide antenatal care, record pregnancy outcomes, monitor infant deaths, all the while promoting the Tamil state's family planning campaign and advising against close marriage. The village health nurses' advice is more than just medical guidance. Because such efforts are linked to national agendas and desires for socioeconomic development, what is communicated has its own logic and cultural twists – particularly lacking the moral dread of "incest" that would structure the discussion in a Western context. Village nurses condemn consanguinity on grounds that "relatives share the same blood type, and people with the same blood type beget children with _ku_ ṟ _ai_ ("imperfection," this word is also used to describe a "premature baby"). Morning television shows and magazines broadcast the same message: it is best to marry _anniyam_ (an "outsider") because he or she will have another blood type and that difference will work in favor of genetic fitness. These beliefs about blood type are widespread, indicating something else is at stake here than strict scientific truth. Indeed, the _anniyam_ in question is just as likely to have the same blood type as a relative, and there is no correlation between a man and a woman's blood types and their child's genetic fitness (in fact, it may be more advantageous or "selective" for a pregnant woman to carry a fetus with the same blood type as hers). Yet, in a survey I conducted among young people, the majority of the respondents (34 out of 50) believed that since relatives share the same blood type, they should not get married. I mention these findings not to ridicule village nurses or deride Tamil media but to suggest that what we take as the further development and expansion of our own modernity develops its own quirks and idiosyncrasies in translation into another context. Something like developmental thinking is definitively working against marriages with close kin in Tamil Nadu but such pressure has its own momentum and scope. This is evidenced by the fact that the application of the science of consanguinity in Tamil personal lives and amidst Indian governmental programs produces truths and facts that do not conform with "ours." Paying note to this Tamil type of translation puts the emphasis not so much on sameness between India and the West – as scholars of modernization would have it – but rather on distinctive experimentation with cultural significance and the creation of new marriage patterns. THE NEW "GAME" The most satisfying explanation of the decline of South Indian kinship is one that ironically is inimical to Western modern values. I am referring here to Karin Kapadia's argument about the rising prominence of dowry in South Indian marriages, which contends that in the early 1990s the availability of high school education and salaried employment for young men precipitated "the collapse of close-kin marriage" (1995:58). No longer entering agricultural labor, rural Tamil middle-caste men began to take jobs instead as high-school educated government clerks, bus conductors, peons, and primary school teachers. These new salaried professionals came to want wives who like them would not work in agricultural fields. To Kapadia, the fact that women increasing stayed home without engaging in economically productive labor radically changed the marital relationship and reversed the transfer of gifts and money at Tamil marriages (1995:57–58). In the past, the bridegroom's family made the largest wedding prestations, bearing the entire expense of the wedding feast, and the bride's family contributed modest quantities of jewelry. A couple of days after the ceremony, however, a father gave his newly married daughter what is called in Tamil _c_ ī _rta_ ṉ _am_ : gifts that included land, goats and cows; household items such as blankets, pillows, bed cots, and cooking vessels; and hand utensils that separate chaff from grain or grind cereals into flour. As this word suggests – _c_ ī _ta_ ṉ _am_ is a Tamil corruption of the Sanskrit compound _stri + dhanam_ , which means "woman's wealth" – these things remained for the daughter's exclusive possession, enjoyment and dominion and went to her own daughter(s) after her death. With rising educational attainment and occupational change, Kapadia argues, Tamil rural castes began adopting the matrimonial practices of urban middle classes: they too shifted from the "bride price" ( _pariyam_ ) mode of marriage payment to dowry ( _varadatcinai_ ). Now farming families gave cash, gold (jewels), electronic appliances (refrigerator, videocassette recorders, and so on) and vehicles (a motorcycle or moped) to the bridegroom. I write "bridegroom" because modern dowry is not "woman's wealth." It is a form of investment or bargaining power directed at attracting an educated and salaried young man, preferably a government employee, as a marriage partner; someone, in other words, whose regular paychecks and retirement pension will benefit a daughter (and her family). Kapadia's ethnography needs to be updated. Tamil women are currently catching up with men, increasingly finishing secondary education, graduating from college and professional schools, and finding employment in schools, hospitals, police stations, state government offices and private industries. In other words, the gender gap in schooling and occupation is not as wide as when Kapadia conducted fieldwork and this new trend is reconfiguring the marriage market, with educated and some professional brides now offering less dowry on grounds that they too hold salaried jobs (Fuller and Narasimhan 2008). But essentially Kapadia's findings resonate with my fieldwork experience. In the rural areas of Tamil Nadu, the cash component of dowry has transformed marriage into a commercial transaction, brides and grooms into commodities, and this all the more so now that the economic value of dowry is exorbitant and its negotiation bullish. In 2007 around the town of Madurai, a middle-class family living on a monthly income of about 10,000 rupees (the approximate equivalent then of US$232) was expected to offer a minimum of 15 gold sovereigns (each worth approximately 6,000 rupees or $139) and 30,000 rupees ($697) in cash. Families struggling on 3,000 rupees a month had to pay at least five gold sovereigns plus 10,000 rupees in cash. Such far-fetched sums placed a huge burden on families who on top of that were expected to keep on presenting cash and jewelry well into the marriage. As one small landlord lamented to me, "Before it was not hard to marry three daughters, now it's impossible."3 One would assume that the escalation of the dowry market works in favor of marriages with kin. Indeed, the widespread perception is that uncle-niece marriages are advantageous because "the sister doesn't have to spend much." Again and again I heard people say, "the younger brother is not as demanding. He takes less." Less than whom? Usually, my consultants meant less than the two other _mu_ ṟ _ai_ or "rightful" grooms (the mother's brother's son and the father's sister's son) who nowadays ask for as much dowry as "outsiders." As a man told me, "the brother isn't expecting grand things. He understands that his _akk_ ā [elder sister] can't afford to give more." But the same man conceded that he was speaking of the past. "Nowadays," he added, "the game has changed." Marriage is a game, the French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu wrote. By "game" Bourdieu did not mean something played for fun but a challenging and competitive activity with rules and goals. As he wrote, "The matrimonial game is similar to a card game, in which the outcome depends partly on the deal, the cards held... and partly on the players' skill" (1977:58). To gain or "win" whatever is at stake, you need material and symbolic wealth (what Bourdieu calls "cards") and competence to make the best use of your capital. If you have no good "cards," you are out of luck. You can't compete. Bourdieu had personally observed how in times of change, marriage games evolved and new classes of winners and losers emerged. When urban categories of judgment entered his childhood village in the Béarn in southwestern France in the 1960s, he noted, male peasants became less attractive to local young women who had more quickly assimilated cultural patterns from the city (2004). With urban men fast becoming preferential grooms, some peasants remained single. But for Bourdieu, the rising rates of bachelorhood in the Béarn did not simply overtake the world in which these men lived and made their choices as a result of outside forces. The bachelor's sense of self was not wholly encompassed by the cultural clash between country and city. Quite to the contrary, they embodied their "unmarriageability" in _habitus_ , a concept that Bourdieu variously defined as "attitudes," "dispositions," and tendencies. Thus at local balls – then the only socially approved opportunity for meetings between the sexes – these men adopted and actually amplified the very behavior that disqualified them for marriage. On the rare occasion that a girl would lead a bachelor onto the dance floor, as Bourdieu describes the scene: "he stands firm, embarrassed and delighted. Then he goes once round the floor, deliberately accenting his clumsiness and heavy footedness... and looks back laughing at his mates. When the dance is over, he goes and sits down and will not dance again" (2004:3). To Bourdieu, these and other bodily displays of shyness and gaucherie suggested that men were conscious of their standing and unmarriageability. As I have already hinted in this chapter, the Tamil rural society in which I worked in 2008 was undergoing profound processes of restructuration and detraditionalization. The specific dynamic forces tearing at the social and mental fabric of village life included a rise in the age of marriage, family planning campaigns, generalization of schooling, closing of the gender gap, opportunities for new forms of work, increased cost of and escalation in the practice of dowry, consumerism, and increased prominence of media. All these changes produced conflicts and contradictions, impacting marriage preferences, and young people's relationships with the other sex and their sense of self. The comparison only goes so far. Unlike French peasants almost all Tamil villagers end up marrying, no matter how disadvantaged, for in South India the social category of "bachelor" is virtually nonexistent. Moreover, Tamil "romance" rarely results in marriage, so matrimonial success has little to do with dating savoir-faire and everything to do with the amount of dowry offered, levels of education and employment, particularly of the husband but increasingly of the wife as well, family standing, and so on. But there are similarities. Much as in Bourdieu's Béarn of the 1950s, the new marriage game in Tamil Nadu is excluding whole categories of young people from the competition. To be sure we cannot say that close kin have been entirely eliminated, for as already noted Tamil youth continue marrying relatives. But the category or type of relation that is "right" nowadays is increasingly determined not by genealogical specification (mother's or father's cross-siblings' children, for example) but by financial considerations. Indeed, financial standing and education can override any "rightness" (or "wrongness") in terms of kinship categories or marriage rules. Of course, the profit motive is not specific to current times. As early as 1914, F. J. Richards noted that Tamils distinguished between the " _urimai_ girl," who is "married by virtue of her relationship to her husband," and the " _perumai_ (dignity) girl," who is "chosen to embrace her husband's position or wealth" (1914:195). But today differences in terms of education, income and health have created such disparities that money (especially the lack of money) is strongly reconfiguring the old "preferences" for both women and men. The Tamils no longer ask: Is the groom related? Is the bride his sister's daughter? Is this marriage "right" ( _murai_ )? Those used to be the social questions even if they invited negative answers. The new questions are: How much did her parents spend? How much gold did the groom receive? And so on. The obsession with wealth, the cult of materialism, the growing disparities between rich and poor members of the same family, and above all, the rhetoric that accompanies these: admiration for the rich, disdain for the poor mean that money ( _pa_ ṇ _am_ ) rather than ( _condam_ ) is now the fundamental "preference." Marriage has become a pursuit of material self-interest: indeed this very pursuit now constitutes the new game. This may be gratifying for some (but not all) parents. But the young people I met expressed frustration at the prohibitive cost of dowry. Any conversation with them produced a startling checklist of anxieties. Women of low socioeconomic status have good reason to worry. Will their parents be able to marry them well? But poor men too are at a disadvantage. In fact, men are particular casualties of the changing contexts of Tamil marriage. Usually, Tamil men marry later than women, around the age of 25 or 26, but if unable to move into secure employment they remain single until they acquire the requisite qualifications (in terms of money, education, employment, or social networks) to make attractive husbands or until a sister or a maternal aunt finally finds them a bride.4 During the ten years or so that this process can take, these young men's "habitus" cannot be understood using the simple opposition between village/unsophisticated and city/fashionable made by Bourdieu in his study of mid twentieth-century Béarn. Nowadays Tamil rural youth devalue farm or agricultural work and emulate, with varying degrees of success, the ideals of the city or even of global modernity. Many village young men are stylish and trendy, often wearing black, grey, or silver pants with long-sleeved white shirts. Many have cell phones or even email accounts. But while not displaying the consciousness of their "unmarriageability" in quite the same way as the Béarn peasants of Bourdieu's study, some will inevitably voice their feelings of inadequacy to the ethnographer. CONCLUSION I might agree that the reconfiguration of close-kin marriage in Tamil Nadu is one response to pervasive global developments, particularly the introduction of a competitive job market that demands a long and expensive period of formal education, and constant growth in the production of goods and services. I might also concur that the cultural model of modernization and its associated, "idealist" images of marriage and procreation – maturity of the conjugal pair and two children per family – contribute to the reduction of marriages rates with close kin. But as I tried to show in this chapter, for all its clear goals and promises of development, modernization does not follow any straight path. In South India, at least, its peculiar expressions foster "arranged marriages" and sustain a discourse that – although used to prevent consanguinity – is not exactly an exact derivative of our science of incest. Other than the fact that the decline of Dravidian kinship can be interpreted as a move away from practices generally associated with village tradition and backwardness, it is hard to say what is fully or finally "developmental" about the transformations that are actually occurring. That the Tamils "modernize" in diverse ways and in keeping with some cultural logic – their own – is all the more obvious when we realize that the strongest force working against close-kin marriages, dowry, is a practice that most Westerners would find entirely irrational and nonmodern. And this all the more so when we understand that there is more at stake here than material advantage. Dowry, my consultants insisted, is a matter of "prestige," "a way of showing off your financial status, of saying 'look at me, my daughter is worth a lot! Look at how much we spent on her marriage!' " Because dowry is associated with notions of standing in the eyes of others, I was often told, parents do not hesitate to borrow a lot of money for it. The practice is so entrenched and so extreme that "were the groom to refuse dowry," a woman told me, "parents would beg him to accept it." This potlatch-like behavior and disconcerting logic does not strike me as being particularly imitative of the forms of functionalism and utilitarianism that are associated with Western modernity in both culture and economics. Yet the attempt to give excessively at Tamil marriage is just the thing that the people we anthropologists turn to for insights into change – Tamils themselves – point out as the new thing, the "new game" of modern Tamil marriage practices. We are thus warranted to ask: Why and when did this radical change occur? With what other features of marriage and the family was the change associated? In this chapter, I give only partial answers to these questions. But I hope I have demonstrated that the new culture of Dravidian marriage is formulated out of specific historical and social dynamics that must be included in any analysis of kinship practices; indeed, Tamil explanations and understandings of their own kinship are one of these dynamics. This approach differs from a developmental explanation, which if it does not altogether banish an inclusive social context from the anthropological purview, does impoverish social meaning as an element in explanation, and reduce it to the status of secondary concern. In the end, however, it may be that something yet more fundamental than theory should drive anthropologists to attend to local developments, to particular games and strategies. The models of cosmopolitanism and global culture imply that current change in family and marriage in India are for the best. But modernization is not the same as modernity. The first refers to a fantasy, for certainly history is not the same as progress; the second to a reality that is embedded in new games which may very well produce inequality. In this reality, success is a product not of individual choices, strategy – calculation within differing rules and meanings – or chance alone, but all three interacting in a specific cultural context. NOTES Institutional support for this project has come from two main sources: a small grant from Princeton university funded the initial (one month) and follow-up (one month) ethnographic research in Tamil Nadu, respectively in December 2007 and January 2009. A fellowship from the Fulbright Scholar Program funded seven months of fieldwork in 2008. I would like to thank Kannan Muthukrishnan at the Institut Français de Pondichéry for extending a warm welcome and for the benefit of his intellectual stimulation and support during fieldwork, Ulrike Niklas for her always generous advice and hospitality, and Anand Jothi and N. Jothi for assisting me with such good humor. Alan Mann, my colleague at Princeton University, kindly helped me make sense of the scientific research on consanguinity. I owe hearty and heartfelt thanks to Leo Coleman who read and gave me many helpful comments on this chapter. 1 The method of "reading history sideways" certainly influenced early twentieth-century historiography of Indian family life. At the time population censuses suggested that the Indian household was decreasing in size compared to the textual Indological model of the family. This datum was interpreted as evidence that India was developing along the lines of Western societies and moving toward monogamy and a nuclear type of family organization. Post-Independence empirical studies of the family, however, debunked "the myth of the disintegration of the joint family" (Patel 2005:26–29) and anthropologists evidenced the resilience of joint household in modern India (Singer 1968; Shah 1998). (Also see Lamb's Chapter 27 above.) 2 When I state that love marriage is rarely chosen, I do not mean, of course, that married couples do not come to feel for each other something that "we" in the West call "love." For a comprehensive review of the numerous idioms of love in South Asia, see Orsini 2006. And for a comparative study of "love" and "arranged" marriage in India, see Kapoor and Sen, who found that "no significant differences were found between these two types of marriage with respect to marital adjustment" (2002:126). 3 It is well known to scholars of Indian society that the custom of dowry has dangerous, even deadly, repercussions for women (Oldenburg 2002; Sheel 1999; but see Shenk 2007). In Tamil Nadu the new norms of ritual expenditure at marriages have also given rise to harassment, abuse and murder of brides whose families cannot come up with the money promised; that said, the incidence of discrimination against daughters, sex-selective abortion, female infanticide and dowry violence is not uniformly distributed by region or social class, nor is dowry the only motivation for such behaviors. As elsewhere, legislative prohibition of dowry (Dowry Prohibition Act of 1961) has resulted in virtually no diminution of these social problems. Evidence, however, suggests that the Tamil state government's introduction of all-women police stations has helped curb dowry-related domestic violence. 4 In their study of unemployed or underemployed young men in rural western Uttar Pradesh, Jeffrey et al. make it clear that education does not automatically propel Indian youth toward secure employment. 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Index ABCD (American-born confused _desi_ ) abortion laws Abraham, Leena accountability activism _see also_ Christians, civil society, Islam on the subcontinent, middle class Adams, Vincanne adivasis _see also_ Jharkhand, Maoist insurgency, scheduled tribes administrative units adolescents adulthood advertisement aesthetics affine _see also_ Dravidian kinship affliction age age-based social categories _see also_ marriage agency _see also_ women, youth Aggarwal, Anil aging _see also_ elder care Agra agriculture castes labor reform Ahalya (myth of) ahistoricism of Indian culture Ahmad, Irfan Ahmedabad Alam, Javeed Aligarh alliance theory _see also_ Dravidian kinship Alter, Joe Ambedkar, B. R. Amritsar Anand, Mool Raj Anderson, Michael R. Andhra Pradesh Anglo Indians animal sacrifice anthropology of the body of the city of civil society and colonialism of crafts and artisans of courts/law of dance and demography of globalization and history of India of Indian personhood of kinship medical of modernity of networks and orientalism of peace of political order/state and psychoanalysis of religion of revolution of tourism of the village of youth Appadurai, Arjun army People's Liberation Guerrilla Army (Maoist military force) _see also_ Maoists _Arthashastra_ artisans ethnography of Muslim as symbols of the nation-state urban Arya Samaj _ashrama_ stages of life forest-dweller (model of the late life) ashrams Assayag, Jackie associational life _see also_ civil society, caste associations asylum Attali, Jacques Auclair, Christine Aurangabad authenticity Axel, Brian Ayurvedic literature Ayurvedic medicine for the treatment of HIV/AIDS Babb, Lawrence Babri Masjid mosque in Ayodhya _see also_ Hindutva Bacchetta, Paola bad luck Badri, Narayan Bahujan Samaj Bahujan Samaj Party Bajrang Dal Bakker, Karen Ballard, Roger Banaras _Banarsipan_ children tourism _see also_ Varanasi banditry Bangalore Bareilly Barnett, Marguerite Barth, Fredrik Basu, Amrita Baviskar, Amita Baxi, Pratiksha Baxi, Upendra Bayly, Christopher bazaars _see also_ street, urban centers Beck, Brenda Bedi, Kiran (first Indian policewoman) Benedict, Ruth Bengal Benjamin, Walter Berreman, Gerald Béteille, André Bhagat, Chetan Bhagavad Gita _bhakti_ _see also_ devotion, Hinduism, sufism Bhan, Gautam Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) bharatnatyam _see also_ dance Bharucha, Rustom Bhatia, Bela Bhatt, Chetan Bhilai (steel town) Bhopal Bhubaneshwar Bihar Bijapur bio-morality birth order rates black towns _see also_ Delhi, urban centers, white town Blackburn, Stuart Blee, Kathleen blood Bodh Gaya body anthropology building embodiment Indian new middle class _see also_ middle class, Personality Development and Enhancement (PDE) training Bollywood films _see also_ cinema, films Bollywood lifestyles, emulation of Bollywoodization of Indian culture Bombay 1993 communal riots films _see also_ Mumbai boomerang Boorstin, Daniel Bordia, Devika Bose, Girindrashekhar Bouglé, Célestin Bourdieu, Pierre _brahmacharya_ Brahmans Brahmans in Gujarat _see also_ Tamil Brahmans Brahmanical values paternalism ritual observances _see also_ caste, purity and pollution brass production Brass, Paul breast-cloth controversy Breckenridge, Carol Breman, Jan bribery _see also_ corruption bride price _see also_ dowry, marriage British immigration policy British rule _see also_ colonial period Brouwer, Jan Buddhism Buddhist travellers Bulandshahr district Calcutta _see also_ Kolkata call centers _see also_ Delhi cannabis cultivation capitalism Caplan, Lionel Carman, John Carnatic music Carstairs, G. M. caste anthropological study of associations _see also_ associational life backward castes _see also_ dalits, reservations policies and class definition and diet discrimination distribution dominant and economic development endogamy forward castes _see also_ reservations policies hierarchy _see also_ Louis Dumont in Hindu nationalist parties histories identities inequality mobility and occupation pollution _see also_ ritual purity/pollution quotas relations between castes and religion system traditionalism traditions of education and learning upper castes _see also_ Brahmins castration anxiety Catholicism Goan Catholicism _see also_ Christianity Catholics Goan Catholic women missionaries Santals _see also_ Christians celebrity culture celibacy _see brahmacharya_ census(es) Center for Contemporary Cultural Studies in Birmingham Chabria, Suresh Chadha, Narender Chakrabarty, Dipesh Chamar (dalit) caste _see also_ dalits Chandigarh charity Chatterjee, Partha Chattopadhyay, Kamaladevi Chaudihur, Tapoja Chennai Brahman networks civil society _see also_ Christians, Madras, Tamil Brahmins Chhattisgarh child/children Child Marriage Restraint Act (Sarda Act) development labor of South Asian immigrants childhood China (border conflict with) Chitpavan Brahman caste Chotanagpur Tenancy Act Christianity and caste conversion to and gender Indian Christianity Christianization of traditional village practices Christians activism charismatic healers identity missionary institutions organizations in Tamil Nadu protestant Christians Punjabi Christians violence against cinema _see also_ films Ciotti, Manuela circumcision cities _see also_ black towns, urban centers, white town citizenship civil liberties civil registration civil rights civil service training civil society anthropological study of definition and political society _see also_ Partha Chatterjee as a sphere of middle-class activism _see also_ associational life class class-based critique of modernity lower middle-class men scholarship _see also_ caste, elite groups, middle class(es) Cochin Cockburn, W. Cohen, Lawrence Cohn, Bernard S. colonial period _see also_ British rule commerce commercial sex workers communalism and violence _see also_ Hindutva, nationalism, reservations policies, violence Communist Party community care companionate marriages condom use conflict mediation conflicts Congress Party Congress Socialist Party consanguine unions _see also_ marriage with close kin consanguinity _see also_ Dravidian kinship conservation of the lion population in Rajasthan Constitution of Independent India consumerism critique of consumerism _see also_ middle classes contraception cooking Coomaraswamy, Ananda copperplates Cornille, Catherine corruption _see also_ bribery Courtright, Paul courtrooms ethnography of courts anthropology of cases and social issues high courts and middle-class activists Supreme Court witnesses and village institutions of dispute settlement Coutin, Susan Criminal Tribes Act (CTA) criminality criminalization of traditional usages and practices criminalizing the poor cross-caste sexual liaison Crystal, Eric Csordas, Thomas cultural authenticity cultural involution cultural politics cultural views of late life culture area bound syndrome high and low Indian loss of popular culture _see also_ public culture custom and law D'Andrea, Anthony D'Souza, Rohan Dalits (former untouchables) Christians dalitism in the Naxalite movement panchayat studies subaltern aesthetics subjectivities in Tamilnadu _see also_ reservations policies, untouchables dams dance anthropological study choreographers classical training genres of Indian history of Indian reality shows remix schools sequence ("item number") western _see also_ bharatnatyam, kathak, odissi, manipuri Daniel, Valentine _darshan_ _see also_ divine image, eyes, evil eye, Hinduism, modes of visuality Das, Gurucharan Das, Veena daughter-in-law Davis, Jennifer De Certeau, Michel De Michelis, Elizabeth De Neve, Geert death Debord, Guy decolonization deity Delhi air pollution bhagidari system of participatory governance citizenship courts history lower middle class middle classes old Delhi police poor public health and revanchism slums urban redevelopment waste disposal water governance Deliège, Robert Dembowski, Hans democratic politics demographic change demographic masculinization demography for anthropologists Dempsey, Corrine depression Derrida, Jacques Deshastha Brahman caste Deshpande, Satish desire _devadasis_ development projects developmental idealism devotion _see also_ Bhakti Dharmasastra texts diaspora anthropology of South Asian Government of India's involvement with in Hindi films images of India in old and new _see also_ Indians living abroad, migrations, transnationality diasporic culture(s) diasporic intellectuals discrimination divine image (in Hinduism) _see also darshan_ , modes of visuality divorce _see also_ Hinduism, marriage, women domestic servant's salary domesticity Doniger, Wendy Doron, Assa Douglas, Mary Downs, Frederick dowry _see also_ brideprice, marriage Dravidian language family dream interpretation Dubash, Navroz Dube, Lee Dube, Siddharth Dumont, Louis Dupont, Véronique Durkheim, Émile Dusenbery, Verne Dyson, Jane Eaton, Richard Eck, Diana L. Eckert, Julia economic liberalization reforms of the 1990s education female education level higher privatization secondary school university _see also_ youth, students elder care old age homes old age support systems _see also_ parental care elders electricity elite groups embroidery198, _see also_ textile industries Emergency Rule emotion employment/unemployment encounter killings _see also_ police endogamy Engineer, Ashgar Ali English competence in use in courts entertainment entrepreneurs environmental litigation environmentalists equality Erdman, Joan Eriksonian developmental stages erotic (the) ethnic separatism evil eye ( _nazar)_ removal of exorcism eyes Fakiri community Falasch, Ute family change in patterns and structures _see also_ Dravidian kinship histories joint/extended members networks nuclear planning campaigns scholarship single-child Farmer, Paul fasting Feifer, Maxine Feldman, Allen female infanticide female life expectancy female mobility _see also_ women femininity feminist politics Ferguson, Adam Fernandes, Leela fertility festivals films _see also_ Bollywood, cinema folk culture _see also_ culture, tradition folklore _see also_ lineage stories, myth, oral tradition Foucault, Michel Frankel, Francine Freitag, Sandria Freud, Sigmund friendship Frøystad, Kathinka Fuller, C. J. Galanter, Marc Gandhi, Indira Gandhi, Mahatma Gandhi, Rajiv Gandy, Matthew Ganga Ma (goddess) Ganga Mata story Ganga River Ganges Ganguly-Scrase, Ruchira Gardner, Katy Geary, David Geertz, Clifford gender division of leisure equity in south and north India inequalities identity and Christianity and nationalism and politics switching fantasies gendered forms of violence gendered schooling generational conflict generations genetic fitness gerontologists Ghertner, Asher D. Ghosh, Amitav Ghurye, G. S. global discourses on Islamic practice global health international organizations global inequalities globalization anthropology of Goa Goffman, Erving Gold, Ann Grodzins Golwalker, M. S. Good, Anthony Good, Byron Gooptu, Nandini Gottschalk, Peter Gough, Kathleen governance Government of India _see also_ the state grandchildren grandparents great tradition and little traditions _see also_ culture, tradition Greenough, Paul Greenwood, Davydd Griffiths, Bede Guha, Ranajit Guilmoto, Christophe Gujarat caste and state reservations Hindu nationalism Hindu–Muslim violence in violence against Christians Gujjar caste Gupta, Akhil Gurgaon guru _habitus_ handicraft in India market in Delhi and nationalism women's work Hann, Katherine Hansen, Thomas Blom Hanuman (Hindu god) Hardiman, David Harijans (dalits) _see also_ dalits, untouchables Harkat-ul-Jehadi Islami (HuJI) Harlan, Lindsey Haryana healing (modes of) health care reform _see also_ mental health, public health, reproductive health Heitmeyer, Carolyn Heller, Patrick Henderson, Carol heritage conservation heritage industry Heuzé, Gerard Hiebert, Paul hierarchy _hijras_ Himachal Pradesh Himalayas Hindu identity Hindu women's organizations Hindu–Muslim relations brotherhood scholarship on 309 fn. violence _see also_ violence _see also_ Muslims Hinduism and ascetics and Bharwad community in the diaspora _see also_ diaspora, transnationality goddesses in and legal cases of divorce nationalist constructions of _see_ also nationalism and reform movements reformed Hinduism Hindutva _see also_ Hindu nationalism, Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), Sangh Parivar, Shiv Sena political party, Vishva Hindu Parishad historicity history and anthropology HIV/AIDS adult prevalence rate in India education governmental and nongovernmental responses to people living with Prevention of Parent to Child Transmission (PPTCT) program scholarship on statistics in Tamil Nadu women's vulnerability to Holden, Livia homosexuality Hopper, Kim households human rights Hutnyk, John Hyderabad Telengana movement Hyderabadis abroad hysteria Ibbetson, Denzil identities emancipatory identities regional identities religious identities _see also_ Muslims, Hindu nationalism identity politics identity-development illegitimate union illness incest income level Incredible India! campaign Inden, Ronald India Shining campaign India's 9/11 Indian Administrative Service Indian culture _see also_ indianness Indian Eco-Development Project Indian Mujahideen Indian sociologists Indian village _see also_ village indianness _see also_ Indian culture individual in Hindu religious and social formations in Indian society individualism Indology Indological model of the family Indra (Hindu god) industrial townships _see also_ cities, urban centers informal economy inheritance initiation inter-ocularity international donor institutions internet intimacy irrigation projects Islam Islamist activism Islamic calendar Islamic notions of religiosity Islamic school _madrasa_ Islamicate states in India Islamicization _see also_ Muslims, _pir_ Iyer, Krishna Izhava caste Jacobite sect Jacobsen, Knut Jain, Kalpana Jains Jaipur jajmani _see also_ caste Jallianwala Bagh massacre Jat caste _jati_ Jeffrey, Craig Jharkhand _see also_ Maoist insurgency Johar, Karan John Paul II Jones, Sir William judges judiciary and middle-class/elite groups and public interest noncriminal judiciary cases reforms _see also_ courts, law jurists and social scientists jury system justice Kabir Kakar, Sudhir Kanya-Kubja Brahman caste Kapadia, Karin Kapoor, Geeta Kapur, R. L. Karnataka Karve, Irawati Kashmir Kathak (dance) _see also_ dance _Kathasritsagara_ Kaviraj, Sudipta Kelly, John Kerala Kersenboom-Story, Saskia _khadi_ (cloth) kinship Dravidian kinship fictive kinship milk-kinship Klein, Melanie Kleinman, Arthur Knorringa, Peter Koli (caste) Kolkata _see also_ Calcutta Kondh tribes _see also_ Orissa, scheduled tribes Kothari, Rajni Krishna (Hindu god) Kroeber, Alfred Kshatriya caste Kumar, Nita Kumar, Pratap P. Kunnath, George Kurien, Prema Kurtz, Stanley Kutch Kuwait (Indians in) Ladakh Lalgarh Lamb, Sarah land grants land rights language (in legal processes and court interactions) _see also_ English Lariviere, Richard P. Larkin, Brian Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT) Latour, Bruno Latur law enforcement legal code legal pluralism legal professions legal protection of "underprivileged" groups legal reforms penal code practice of scholarship on _see also_ courts, judiciary, justice lawyer Le Corbusier Lee, Christopher leisure class studies Leonard, Karen Liebig, Phoebe Liebl, Maureen life expectancy life-cycle rituals lineage stories literacy living alone Lohana Thakker community longevity love gifts of affair _see also_ marriage lower castes attitude toward modernity political alliances with poor Muslims Lucknow riots in Luke, P. Y. MacCannell, Dean Madari Sufi order Madhya Pradesh madness Madras Madras Presidency _see also_ Chennai Madurai _Mahabharata_ epic Mahajan, Gurpreet Maharashtra Mahila Aghadi (Women's Front) Mahmood, Saba Maine, Sir Henry S. Majumdar, Rochona male sex workers Mandelbaum, David manipuri (dance) _see also_ dance Mankekar, Purnima Mannheim, Karl Maoist insurgency and anti-alcohol campaigns and courts local support for Maoist insurgents and the state and student organizations and villagers war against Maoist insurgents _see also_ Naxalite revolutionaries Marglin, Frederique marriage age at arranged with close kin with elder sister's daughter intercaste love fn. _see also_ Dravidian kinship Marriott, McKim masculinity in Hindu nationalist movements _see also_ youth Maskiell, Michelle masturbation materialism maternal uncle maternity hospitals Mathur, Saloni Mathur, Shubh Mauss, Marcel Mayaram, Shail Mazumdar, Charu Mazumdar, Ranjani Mazzarella, William McKean, Phillip Mead, Margaret media role in raising awareness of HIV/AIDS _see also_ television medical anthropologists medical anthropology medical care (access to) medicine meditation Meduri, Avanthi Meena (caste) Meerut Mehta, Deepak Mehta, Lyla memory _see also_ remembrance of the past collective Mencher, Joan Menon, Kalyani Devaki Menski, Werner mental health mental illness _see also_ psychiatry Meos (the) Merleau-Ponty, Maurice Metcalf, Barbara Michelutti, Lucia middle class(es) activism body consumption informalities interests in Kolkata as law-abiding citizens in Mumbai opposition to neoliberal reforms religion scholarship subjecthood in Tamilnadu water practices _see also_ class, urban centers, elite groups midwifery Mies, Maria migrant workers in Delhi kin-networks migrations from South Asia (survey of) _see also_ diaspora, Tamil Brahmins, transnationality Mills, C. Wright mineral resources _mirasidar_ Mirpuris (Pakistanis) Mirzapur Mittal, Lakshmi Narayan mobility _see also_ economic liberalization reforms of the 1990s, Sanskritization modernity critique of Modi, Narendra Moffat, Michael Mohanty, Chandra Talpade money monumental spaces morality mosque _see also_ Muslim shrines Mosse, David mother tongue motherhood MSM groups Mughal rule Mughal patronage of performances Muhammad (Prophet) Mukhopadhyay, Anindita Mukkuvar women Mukta, Parita Mumbai construction of water supply system municipal governance police in recognized tenements and undeclared tenements in settlements water department engineers in water supply and distribution in _see also_ Bombay, slums, urban centers, water museum music Muslim(s) artisans in Delhi law Malik community merchants from Uttar Pradesh population religious syntheses with Hinduism Shi'a Muslims shrines ( _dargah_ s) terrorists from Pakistan tombs violence against weavers women worship myth _see also_ lineage stories, narratives Nabokov, Isabelle NACO plan Nadar caste Nader, Laura Nagarattar caste Nair, Janaki Nambudiri Brahman caste Nandy, Ashis Narasimhan, Haripriya Narayanan, Sudha narratives _see also_ caste histories, myth, oral tradition Nash, Dennison Nataraja (Hindu god) nation nation-state national arts national character national crafts museum national culture National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) of India nationalism (Hindu) _see also_ Hindutva, Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), Sangh Parivar, Vishva Hindu Parishad in the US long-distance Naxalite revolutionaries _see also_ Maoists Naujawan Bharat Sabha Nayar caste Nehru, Jawaharlal Nehru's modernization project neighborhood networks (social) New Delhi _see also_ Delhi, shopping malls, water, white town Niyogi Brahman caste Non Resident Indians (NRIs) nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) nonviolence Northeast India Northwestern European family life nuclear tests nutrition O'Shea, Janet Obeyesekere, Gananath Odissi (dance) _see also_ dance Oedipal conflict optic-clash oral tradition _see also_ lineage stories, myth, narratives, Pramalai Kallar Orientalism Orissa violence against Christians Osella, Caroline Osella, Filippo outsourcing Pakistan war with Pakistanis abroad Pallar (Dalit) caste _see also_ dalits, Paraiyars, Tamil Nadu, untouchables Panas (Christian group, formerly Hindu scheduled Caste) _panchayat_ _see also_ custom and law, village Pandey, Gyanendra Pandian, Anand Pandya, Vishvajit Paraiyar (dalit) caste _see also_ dalits, Pallars, Tamil Nadu, untouchables Parakash, Jai Parameswaran, Gowri parental care _see also_ daughter-in-law, elder care, joint family, parents, preference for sons parents Parry, Jonathan Parsis participatory governance partition of India and Pakistan historiography past (remembrance of the) Patanjali Patel, Tulsi Patidar (Patel) caste Patna patriarchal ideologies and practices patronage Pederson, Mathew pension _see also_ elder care, retirement performance and power scholarship on Periyar Tiger Reserve in Thekkady, Kerala personal names Personality Development and Enhancement (PDE) training _see also_ body, middle classes personhood Phalke, D.G. phenomenology photography pilgrimage Pinard, Sylvain Pinney, Christopher _pir_ (Muslim religious leader) _see also_ Muslim shrines Pocock, D. F. poison police and dispute resolution Hindi-language films on the in Jharkhand officers and public confrontations reports vigilantism violence political society anthropology leaders parties violence _see also_ civil society, Partha Chatterjee Poole, Deborah Popkin, Samuel population aging density statistics _see also_ demographic change, rural population, survey of India poverty and party politics rates of and women Power, Margaret Prakash, Gyan Pramalai Kallar (Tevar subcaste) _see also_ Louis Dumont, Tevar cluster Prasad, Madhava precolonial trade routes pregnancy _see also_ maternity hospitals, reproductive health prenatal sex selection Prester, John private sector jobs privatization of healthcare _see also_ public health privatization of water distribution _see also_ water Priya, Ritu processes of amity _see also_ Hindus, Muslims, spaces of enmity procession procreation proletariat psychiatry folk psychoanalysis anthropology's engagement with public culture public health public spaces _puja_ _see also darshan_ , Hinduism Pulaya caste Pune Punjab Punjabi Christians Punjabi refugees _purdah_ Queen of Jhansi Qur'an Radha (consort of god Krishna) Radhasoamis Raheja, Gloria Goodwin Raj, Dhooleka S. Raj, Selva Rajadhyaksha, Ashish Rajagopal, Arvind Rajan, Irudaya S. Rajasthan Rajput caste Ram (Hindu god) Ram, Kalpana Ramanujan, Srinivasa _Ramayana_ epic Randeria, Shalini rape Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) see also Hindutva, nationalism, Sangh Parivar, Shiv Sena political party, Vishva Hindu Parishad Ravidas reciprocity Reddy, Gayatri religion and affiliation and caste popular religion and secularism and values _see also_ secularization, syncretism remix (hybrid form of Indian dance) renunciation reproductive health reservation policies Mandal Commission on backward groups riots and violence _see also_ caste retirement revanchism Richard, Carnac Temple right to inherit temple duties Ring, Laura ritual ritual purity/pollution Christian notions of purity/pollution _see also_ caste Robinson, Rowena Roland, Alan Roy, Arundhati Roy, Tirthankar Rudolph, Lloyd, and Susanne Rudolph rural population density _see also_ demographic change, survey of India, village Sabarimala temple and pilgrimage Saberwal, Satish Sachar Committee sacred geography Sagane, Rajendra Sahlins, Marshall Said, Edward Saldanha, Arun Samkhya philosophy Sangh Parivar _see also_ Hindutva, nationalism, Shiv Sena political party, Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), Vishva Hindu Parishad Sanskritic culture _see also_ Tamil Brahmins vs. Dravidian/Tamilian culture Sanskritization process Sanskritized gods sapinda exogamy Saraswat Brahman caste Sarvakar, Veer Sathianathan, Clarke _sati_ scheduled castes (SCs) _see also_ caste, Dalits scheduled tribes (STs) _see also_ adivasis schizophrenia Scott, James Scrase, Timothy secularism secularization security seeing self-discipline selfhood semen loss Sen, Binayak Sen, Ronojoy service ( _sev_ ) _see also_ elder care Sethi, Geeta sexuality sexuality studies shaman shamanist healing Shankar, Uday Shari'a law Shaw, Rosalind Sherpas Shiv Sena political party and courts founding of scholarly literature on women in _see also_ Hindu Parishad, Hindutva, nationalism, Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), Sangh Parivar, Vishva shopping malls Shresthova, Sangita siblings elder brother/younger brother competition Sikhs Sikh diaspora _see also_ diaspora Sikh movement (Akali) Singer, Milton Singh, Bhagat Singh, Manmohan Singh, Satyapal Singh, V. P. Singha, Radhika Singleton, Mark Sister Alphonsa of Kerala Sivaramakrishnan, Kalyanakrishnan slum(s) on the category dwellers _see also_ Delhi, Mumbai, water Smith, Neil social change _see also_ demographic change, economic liberalization reforms of the 1990s social movements low caste movements (historical perspective on) Narain movement in Bihar Students' Islamic Movement of India (SIMI) _Swadeshi_ movement Tebhaga movement _see also_ anti-Brahman movement, dalits, Hindu nationalism, Hinduism, Naxalites, urban centers, Hyderabad society socioeconomic inequality Songachi project in Kolkata sons preference over daughters value of _see also_ parental care South Asians abroad _see also_ diaspora, transnationality spaces of enmity _see also_ Hindus, Muslims, processes of amity Spear, Percival Special Economic Zones Spencer, Jonathan Sperber, Dan spirit possession spiritual retreat Sri Lanka Srikrishna Commission Srinivas, M. N. Srinivasan, Amrit Srivastava, Sanjay St Thérèse of Lisieux St Thomas St Thomas film project state (the) anthropology Indian and the middle classes representatives of and violence _also see_ police water policy states of India steel plant steel towns sterilization campaigns Stewart, Charles Strauss, Sarah street _see also_ bazaars students politics of _see also_ youth, education subaltern studies subjecthood subjectivity _see also_ body Subrahmanyam, Sanjay substantialization process Sufism and saints and shrines suicide in Kerala old person's _see also_ sati, women survey of India administrative anthropological Swamiji Maharaj syncretism Syrian Christians in Kerala Tambiah, Stanley Tamil Brahmans cultural capital diaspora (in India and overseas) _see also_ diaspora involvement in nationalist movement men modern educational success professions (past and present) traditional village settlement _agraharam_ traditions of education and learning urban migration women _see also_ associational life, Chennai, civil society, Tamil Nadu Tamil Nadu anti-Brahman movement businesses Dalit castes _see also_ Pallars, Paraiyars men non-Brahmans organizations responses to HIV/AIDS state politics villagers women _see also_ civil society, Dravidian kinship, Pramalai Kallars, Tamil Brahmans Tanjore _Tantra_ Tata Motor _tawaifs/baijis_ Taylor, Woodman teachers television _see also_ media, dance Telugu Brahmans temple deities Temple Entry Act temples Tevar caste-cluster _see also_ Pramalai Kallars textile industries textiles _see also_ embroidery, Muslims, weaving industries Thackeray, Bal Thackeray, Meena Thakur caste Thomas of Cana Thomas, M. M. Thompson, E. P. Thornton, Arland Thussu, Daya Kishan _timepass_ Tocqueville, Alexis de tolerance tourism in Benares and children impact on host societies in India scholarship on trade trade associations trade unions traders tradition Indian religious _see also_ authenticity, culture, custom and law, great tradition and little traditions, oral tradition transnationality and capital and dispersal of families and Hindu nationalism and images of India and marriage _see also_ diaspora, migrations Travancore Trawick, Margaret tribals _see also_ scheduled tribes truck drivers Uberoi, Patricia Udaipur United Nations United States immigration policy universal brotherhood untouchability abolition of untouchables _see_ also Backward Castes, Chamars, dalits, Paraiyars, Muslims, reservations polices Upadhay, Brahmabandhab Upanishads urban centers citizenship consumption criminality development elites formations governance informality infrastructure life middle class _see also_ middle class(es) poor scholarship on settlers slums social reform movement space(s) _see also_ cities, villages urbanism urbanization Urdu Urry, John Uttar Pradesh Uttarakhand Uttaranchal Vaishnaivism Vajpayee, Atul Behari van der Veer, Peter Vania (Bania) caste Vankar caste Varanasi _also see_ Banaras Varshney, Ashutosh Vatuk, Sylvia Vedic _shastra_ s vegetarianism Venkatesan, Soumhya Verrier, Elwin Vidal, Denis village and anthropology and caste relations exogamy god health nurses industries _see also_ caste violence against Christians against Muslims against women collective communal explaining routinization state Virgin Mary Vishnu (Hindu god) Vishva Hindu Parishad _see also_ Hindutva, nationalism, Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), Sangh Parivar visuality (modes of) Visvanathan, Susan voting age Wadley, Susan war on terror water availability conservation governance inequalities in accessing as private commodity theft wells _see also_ Delhi, governance, Mumbai Watt, Carey Anthony weaving industry Weber, Max Webster, John Weibel, Peter Weisgrau, Maxine welfare benefits welfare state Werbner, Pnina West Bengal Western expatriates Westphal, Heinz Westphal-Hellbusch, Sigrid Whitcombe, Elizabeth white town _see also_ black towns, Delhi widowhood Wilkinson-Weber, Clare Willigen, John van Wiser, William women bodies divorced educated and family structure groups (Mahila Gath) in Hindu nationalist politics _see also_ Shiv Sena HIV-positive inheritance rights literacy living in slums and mental illness new Indian woman organizations in the public sphere rights as students suicide and un/employment as urban caretakers and womanhood work in textile industry World Bank World Health Organization wrestling Wyatt, Andrew J. K. Xavier, Francis Xiang, Biao Yadav caste yoga _Amrtakunda_ Bharatiya Yog Sansthan (BYS) Bikram Choudhury's Hot Yoga franchise industry and Christianity laughter yoga philosophy postures and Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) ideology as reform agenda _sadhan kendra_ scholarly literature _Yoga Sutra_ youth anthropology cultures political mobilization in rural areas as social reformers in urban areas _zamindari_ Zerah, Marie-Helene	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaBook" }	2,611
2010 Best Places to Work in the Bay Area Names Bio-Rad Laboratories Bio-Rad Life Sciences "For more career info, visit http://www.bio-rad.com/yt/1/careers. Bio-Rad Laboratories, Inc. was named one of the ""Best Places to Work"" in the San Francisco Bay Area for 2010 by the San Francisco Business Times. For three years in a row, Bio-Rad was ranked in the top 10 among Bay Area companies larger than 1,500 employees in an annual survey of employee satisfaction in areas including company benefits, management effectiveness, goal alignment, team effectiveness, individual contribution, work engagement, people practices, and more. There are career opportunities at Bio-Rad in software development, laboratory science, instrument design engineering, chemical and instrument manufacturing, sales, support, and administration. Members of our worldwide team enjoy challenging careers in a dynamic industry. Through its ingenuity, hard work, and dedication, Bio-Rad has become a global leader in Life Science Research, Clinical Diagnostics, Process Separations, Spectroscopy, Food Science, and Education, providing innovative and useful products for its customers. To learn more about working at Bio-Rad, explore current openings, and apply for jobs, visit http://www.bio-rad.com/yt/1/careers. http://www.bio-rad.com/evportal/evolutionBV?nextPage=Jobs&WT.mc_id=yt-gnrl-ww-careers-20120912-PJgdjDN2Sns" GenomicsMolecular Biology Bio-Rad Life Sciences- 1 / 4 Bio-Rad Celebrates Its Diamond Anniversary Teach Me in 10 – Materials for Drug Delivery With Professor Robert Langer 25 views5 days ago BiopharmaDrug DiscoveryGenomicsProteomics and Metabolomics MicroRNA Agomir/Antagomir Synthesis AcceGen Cell CultureCell ScienceMicrobiologyMolecular Biology Custom Stable Cell Lines Cell CultureCell ScienceGenomicsMolecular Biology	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl" }	9,788
Haringen (Clupea) zijn een geslacht van straalvinnige vissen van het noordelijk halfrond. Taxonomie Door veel auteurs wordt ook de sardine (Sardina pilchardus) onder zijn oorspronkelijke naam Clupea pilchardus in dit geslacht ingedeeld. Andere geslachten uit de familie Clupeidae, waartoe onder meer de elften en sprotten behoren, worden eveneens als 'haringen' aangeduid. Soorten en ondersoorten Clupea harengus Linnaeus, 1758 (haring) Clupea harengus harengus Clupea harengus membras Linnaeus, 1761 Clupea manulensis Marion de Procé, 1822 Clupea pallasii Valenciennes, 1847 Clupea pallasii pallasii Clupea pallasii marisalbi Berg, 1923 Clupea pallasii suworowi Rabinerson, 1927 Clupea suworowi Rabinerson, 1927 Niet geaccepteerde soort: Clupea bentincki Norman, 1936 → Strangomera bentincki (Norman, 1936) Clupeidae	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia" }	1,084
Q: Limit of a sequence defined by a non-linear recurrence relation How can one find the limit for the sequence $\{x_n\}^{+\infty}_{n=0}$ where $$x_0 = 0, x_1 = 1, x_{n+1} = \dfrac{x_n + nx_{n-1}}{n+1}$$ By computing the values I came to the conclusion that it converges to $\ln2$, but I can't figure out how to solve this analytically. A: Hint $$x_{n+1}-x_{n}=-\dfrac{n}{n+1}(x_{n}-x_{n-1})\Longrightarrow (n+1)(x_{n+1}-x_{n})=-n(x_{n}-x_{n-1})$$ so $$(n+1)(x_{n+1}-x_{n})=(x_{1}-x_{0})(-1)^n=(-1)^n$$ so $$x_{n+1}-x_{n}=\dfrac{(-1)^n}{n+1}$$ so $$x_{n}=\sum_{i=1}^{n}(x_{i}-x_{i-1})+x_{0}=\sum_{i=1}^{n}\dfrac{(-1)^{i-1}}{i}$$ we konwn $$\ln{2}=1-\dfrac{1}{2}+\cdots+$$ A: Hint : Show $$x_n=\sum_{j=1}^n (-1)^{j+1}\frac{1}{j}$$	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange" }	9,332
Нова За́їмка () — село у складі Заводоуковського міського округу Тюменської області, Росія. Населення — 4143 особи (2010, 4229 у 2002). Національний склад станом на 2002 рік: росіяни — 90 % Примітки Джерела Населені пункти Заводоуковського міського округу Села Тюменської області	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia" }	6,073
#ifndef GlyphPageTreeNode_h #define GlyphPageTreeNode_h #include <string.h> #include "core/platform/graphics/GlyphPage.h" #include <wtf/HashMap.h> #include <wtf/OwnPtr.h> #include <wtf/PassRefPtr.h> #include <wtf/RefCounted.h> #include <wtf/unicode/Unicode.h> #ifndef NDEBUG void showGlyphPageTrees(); void showGlyphPageTree(unsigned pageNumber); #endif namespace WebCore { class FontData; class SimpleFontData; // The glyph page tree is a data structure that maps (FontData, glyph page number) // to a GlyphPage. Level 0 (the "root") is special. There is one root // GlyphPageTreeNode for each glyph page number. The roots do not have a // GlyphPage associated with them, and their initializePage() function is never // called to fill the glyphs. // // Each root node maps a FontData pointer to another GlyphPageTreeNode at // level 1 (the "root child") that stores the actual glyphs for a specific font data. // These nodes will only have a GlyphPage if they have glyphs for that range. // // Levels greater than one correspond to subsequent levels of the fallback list // for that font. These levels override their parent's page of glyphs by // filling in holes with the new font (thus making a more complete page). // // A NULL FontData pointer corresponds to the system fallback // font. It is tracked separately from the regular pages and overrides so that // the glyph pages do not get polluted with these last-resort glyphs. The // system fallback page is not populated at construction like the other pages, // but on demand for each glyph, because the system may need to use different // fallback fonts for each. This lazy population is done by the Font. class GlyphPageTreeNode { WTF_MAKE_FAST_ALLOCATED; public: static GlyphPageTreeNode* getRootChild(const FontData* fontData, unsigned pageNumber) { return getRoot(pageNumber)->getChild(fontData, pageNumber); } static void pruneTreeCustomFontData(const FontData); static void pruneTreeFontData(const SimpleFontData); void pruneCustomFontData(const FontData); void pruneFontData(const SimpleFontData, unsigned level = 0); GlyphPageTreeNode* parent() const { return m_parent; } GlyphPageTreeNode* getChild(const FontData, unsigned pageNumber); // Returns a page of glyphs (or NULL if there are no glyphs in this page's character range). GlyphPage page() const { return m_page.get(); } // Returns the level of this node. See class-level comment. unsigned level() const { return m_level; } // The system fallback font has special rules (see above). bool isSystemFallback() const { return m_isSystemFallback; } static size_t treeGlyphPageCount(); size_t pageCount() const; private: GlyphPageTreeNode() : m_parent(0) , m_level(0) , m_isSystemFallback(false) , m_customFontCount(0) #ifndef NDEBUG , m_pageNumber(0) #endif { } static GlyphPageTreeNode* getRoot(unsigned pageNumber); void initializePage(const FontData, unsigned pageNumber); #ifndef NDEBUG void showSubtree(); #endif static HashMap<int, GlyphPageTreeNode>* roots; static GlyphPageTreeNode* pageZeroRoot; typedef HashMap<const FontData, OwnPtr<GlyphPageTreeNode> > GlyphPageTreeNodeMap; GlyphPageTreeNodeMap m_children; GlyphPageTreeNode m_parent; RefPtr<GlyphPage> m_page; unsigned m_level : 31; bool m_isSystemFallback : 1; unsigned m_customFontCount; OwnPtr<GlyphPageTreeNode> m_systemFallbackChild; #ifndef NDEBUG unsigned m_pageNumber; friend void ::showGlyphPageTrees(); friend void ::showGlyphPageTree(unsigned pageNumber); #endif }; } // namespace WebCore #endif // GlyphPageTreeNode_h	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub" }	2,129
CLANG_VERSION = node['fb_code']['clang']['version'] apt_repository 'llvm' do uri "http://llvm.org/apt/#{node['lsb']['codename']}" distribution "llvm-toolchain-#{node['lsb']['codename']}-#{CLANG_VERSION}" components ['main'] # llvm.org doesn't serve this over https... key 'http://llvm.org/apt/llvm-snapshot.gpg.key' end package [ "clang-#{CLANG_VERSION}", "clang-format-#{CLANG_VERSION}", "clang-tidy-#{CLANG_VERSION}", 'lldb', "llvm-#{CLANG_VERSION}-dev", ]	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub" }	6,584
// // SAPIMainWebView.h // SAPILib // // Created by Vinson.D.Warm on 12/27/13. // Copyright (c) 2013 baidu. All rights reserved. // #import "SAPIWebView.h" @protocol SAPIMainWebViewDelegate <NSObject> @optional - (BOOL)sapiWebView:(SAPIWebView )webView mainViewShouldStartLoadWithRequest:(NSURLRequest )request navigationType:(UIWebViewNavigationType)navigationType; - (void)sapiWebViewDidStartLoadFromNetwork:(SAPIWebView )webView; - (void)sapiWebViewDidStartLoadFromCache:(SAPIWebView )webView; - (void)sapiWebViewDidFinishLoadFromNetwork:(SAPIWebView )webView; - (void)sapiWebViewDidFinishLoadFromCache:(SAPIWebView )webView; - (void)sapiWebView:(SAPIWebView )webView didFailLoadFromNetWorkWithError:(NSError )error; - (void)sapiWebView:(SAPIWebView )webView didFailLoadFromCacheWithError:(NSError )error; @end @interface SAPIMainWebView : SAPIWebView @property (nonatomic, assign) BOOL viewLoaded; @property (nonatomic, weak) id<SAPIMainWebViewDelegate> mainWebViewDelegate; /** * 第三方登录是否成功 / @property (nonatomic, assign, getter = isThirdLoginSucceeded) BOOL thirdLoginSucceeded; // 保存页面包含导航栏的url列表 - (void)saveNavWhiteInfo:(NSDictionary )whiteList; // 检查是否在"页面包含导航栏的url列表"里 - (BOOL)checkInWhiteList:(NSURL )url; // 根据 URL 获取 title - (NSString )titleForWhiteListURL:(NSURL *)url; // 取消所有网络请求 - (void)cancelAllRequest; @end	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub" }	7,203
\section{Introduction} \label{sec:intro} Precision phenomenology of the kind aimed for by the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) physics program requires accurate and reliable theoretical predictions to be compared to an ever increasing range of high precision experimental measurements. Once theoretical and experimental uncertainties become of comparable size, it is crucial to be able to characterise quantitatively the relevance of missing higher order terms in perturbative calculations. In Quantum Chromodynamics (QCD), which we take as a model here given its central role in LHC physics, theoretical uncertainties stemming from missing higher orders in the perturbative series are usually estimated by varying the unphysical renormalisation and factorisation scales that appear in the cross-sections and decay rates calculations. This approach has served the QCD community well for more than thirty years, and can still be regarded as the most effective way to quickly estimate the missing higher order uncertainties (MHOUs). It suffers, however, from some drawbacks. Chiefly among them the fact that its uncertainty intervals cannot be characterised in a statistically meaningful way and therefore cannot be combined easily with, e.g., likelihood profiles for other uncertainties, for instance of experimental origin. One of us (MC) and N.~Houdeau tried in~\cite{Cacciari:2011ze} to overcome this limitation by proposing to estimate MHOUs in a Bayesian context, so as to obtain a statistically meaningful posterior distribution for the probability density profile of the uncertainty interval. The Cacciari-Houdeau approach led to a model (henceforth CH) that relies on simple priors that, at their core, partly mimic assumptions that are anyway implicitly made when one employs the scale-variation method. We refer to~\cite{Cacciari:2011ze} for a more detailed description of the CH approach and its underlying Bayesian character, and e.g. to \cite{Ball:2011us, Goria:2011wa,Forte:2013mda} for some examples of applications of its results. In a context of estimation of MHOUs, we also point out the different but possibly complementary approach of~\cite{David:2013gaa} that focuses on a mathematically motivated approximate completion of a perturbative series. The purpose of this paper is twofold. On the one hand, we revisit the Bayesian CH model, and propose a modified version (which we will denote $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$) which will trade some of the simplicity of the original CH model for a better adaptability to a broader class of observables, namely those related to processes with hadrons in the initial state. On the other hand, we study the results of both the scale-variation and the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model on a large number of perturbatively calculated observables, so as to be able to assess their performance in a (frequentist) statistically meaningful way. For the scale-variation approach, this means that we can attempt to characterise {\sl a posteriori} its uncertainty intervals in terms of some confidence level that they correctly describe the MHOUs. For the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model, this study allows us to either assess whether the {\sl Degree of Belief} (DoB) associated to the uncertainty intervals is correct or, where needed, to estimate the appropriate expansion parameter of the perturbative series that ensures that this be the case. The paper is structured as follows. Section~\ref{sec:desc} reviews the scale-variation approach and the Bayesian method introduced in \cite{Cacciari:2011ze}, and describes the modifications to the CH model that lead to the formulation of the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ approach used in this paper. Section~\ref{sec:global} describes the methodology that we have followed in our study of the performances of the scale-variation and the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ approaches, introduces the list of calculated observables used in the survey, and presents our results. Section~\ref{sec:benchmark} compares the results of the scale-variation and the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ method for the determination of MHOUs for some benchmark processes that we consider either particularly relevant for LHC phenomenology or simply quite iconic, namely $e^+e^-\to$ hadrons, Higgs decay to two gluons and to two photons, $W$ and $Z$ production in $pp$ collisions, $pp\to t\bar t$ and Higgs production in proton-proton collisions. A concluding section follows, while a few appendices collect technical details and the numerical values of the perturbative coefficients of the observables used in the survey and the benchmarking. \section{Estimations of theoretical uncertainties} \label{sec:desc} In this Section we introduce and describe two different approaches to the estimation of the uncertainty stemming from the missing higher orders of a perturbatively calculated observable: \begin{itemize} \item the scale-variation approach, which involves varying the unphysical renormalisation and factorisation scales that appear in higher order perturbative calculations within a given range around a chosen central value; \item the Bayesian approach introduced by Cacciari and Houdeau in \cite{Cacciari:2011ze}, with its modification discussed below. \end{itemize} In the following we review how these two approaches work, and also set the appropriate notations. \subsection{Uncertainty estimation by scale variation}\label{sec:th-sv} The truncated perturbative expansion of an arbitrary observable $O$ calculated up to a fixed order $k$ as a power series expansion in $\alpha_s$, \begin{align} O_k(Q,\mu) = \sum\limits_{n=l}^{k}\alpha_s^n(\mu) c_n(Q,\mu) \,, \end{align} contains a residual, higher-order dependence on the renormalisation and/or factorisation scales, here collectively denoted by $\mu$. The standard approaches to estimate the MHOUs are all based on the idea of varying the scale(s) $\mu$ in an interval $[Q/r,rQ]$, where $r$ is an arbitrary factor often chosen to be equal to 2, and $Q$ is a typical hard scale of the process. The values of the observable obtained at different scales are then used to derive an uncertainty interval. Different recipes can be used to implement this prescription. Writing this interval as $[O_k^-,O_k^+]$ around $O_k$ (not necessarily centred around it), the most common choices are: \begin{enumerate} \item \begin{align} O_k^{-} &= \text{min} \{O_k(Q,Q/r),O_k(Q,rQ), O_k(Q,Q)\}\,, \nonumber \\ O_k^{+} &= \text{max} \{O_k(Q,Q/r),O_k(Q,rQ), O_k(Q,Q) \}\,. \label{eq:scale1} \end{align} \item \begin{align} O_k^{-} = \min_{\mu \in [Q/r,rQ]} \{O_k(Q,\mu)\}\,, \qquad \qquad O_k^{+} = \max_{\mu \in [Q/r,rQ]} \{O_k(Q,\mu)\} \label{eq:scale2} \end{align} \item \begin{align} O_k^\pm = O_k \pm \frac{\delta_k}{2}\,, \label{eq:scale3} \end{align} where we have defined \begin{align} \delta_k \equiv \| O_k(Q,rQ) - O_k(Q,Q/r) \|\,. \end{align} \item Same as eq.~(\ref{eq:scale3}) but with \begin{align} \delta_k\equiv\max_{\mu \in [Q/r,rQ]}\{O_k(Q,\mu)\}-\min_{\mu \in [Q/r,rQ]}\{O_k(Q,\mu)\}\,. \end{align} \end{enumerate} Generalisation to the case of two or more scales is straightforward and follows along the same lines. The prescription which is probably most commonly used (see e.g. the QCD review in~\cite{Agashe:2014kda}) , and which we will also use in our study, is an extension of eq.~(\ref{eq:scale1}), i.e. varying both the renormalisation and the factorisation scale ($\mu_r$ and $\mu_f$) as shown there, but with the additional constraint $1/r \leq \mu_r/\mu_f \leq r$, to avoid the appearance of unnaturally large logarithms.\footnote{To the best of our knowledge, this additional constraint was first adopted in \cite{Cacciari:2003fi}, following a suggestion by Stefano Catani.} The main problem with the scale-variation approach is that it does not provide a probability distribution for the uncertainty interval, which therefore has no statistical meaning. It is also worth noting that the common choice $r=2$ is merely a convention, and that the choice of the central scale around which to perform the variation is also largely arbitrary. In fact, in some cases this central scale is deliberately chosen away from the characteristic scale of the process to satisfy other criteria. This is for instance the case for Higgs production in gluon fusion, where the central scale is often chosen equal to $m_H/2$ to mimic the result obtained when performing soft-gluon resummation~\cite{Anastasiou:2005qj}, and because around this value the cross section shows reduced sensitivity to the scale choice and an improved convergence of the perturbative series~\cite{Anastasiou:2002yz}. \subsection{The Cacciari-Houdeau Bayesian approach} The approach of Cacciari and Houdeau~\cite{Cacciari:2011ze} is a Bayesian framework to evaluate MHOUs. It makes assumptions on the behaviour of the coefficients of a series of the form \begin{equation} \label{eq:chexp} O_k \equiv O_k(Q,Q)=\sum\limits_{n=l}^{k}\alpha_s^n(Q) c_n(Q,Q) \equiv \sum\limits_{n=l}^{k}\alpha_s^n c_n \, , \end{equation} where the unphysical scales $\mu$ have been set to the central value $Q$, and we have implicitly defined $\alpha_s \equiv \alpha_s(Q)$ and $c_n\equiv c_n(Q,Q)$. These assumptions are encoded into specific Bayesian priors (detailed in \cite{Cacciari:2011ze}) and in the choice of the expansion parameter, taken here to be $\alpha_s$, and allow one to determine an uncertainty density profile (the posterior of the model) in the form of a conditional probability density for the remainder of the series\footnote{The use of an upper limit for the summation at infinity in $\Delta_k$ should be considered as merely symbolic, QCD series being asymptotic. In practice, the remainder that we will be dealing with will be limited to the region of apparent convergence of the series, and will be usually approximated by its first term.}, $\Delta_k\equiv\sum_{n=k+1}^\infty\alpha_s^n c_n$, given the known perturbative coefficients, $\{c_l,\dots,c_k\}$. Assuming that the dominant contribution to the remainder comes from the first unknown order, i.e. $\Delta_k \simeq \alpha_s^{k+1} c_{k+1}$, one can derive~\cite{Cacciari:2011ze} a simple analytic expression for the conditional density, \begin{equation} \label{eq:DeltaKnowCkExpression} f(\Delta_k\|c_l,\dots,c_k)\simeq\left(\frac{n_c}{n_c+1}\right) \frac{1}{2\alpha_s^{k+1}\bar c_{(k)}} \left\{ \begin{array}{cc} 1&\mbox{ if } \|\Delta_k\|\leq \alpha_s^{k+1}\bar c_{(k)}\\[10pt] \left(\frac{\alpha_s^{k+1}\bar{c}_{(k)}}{\|\Delta_k\|}\right)^{n_c+1} &\mbox{ if } \|\Delta_k\|>\alpha_s^{k+1}\bar c_{(k)} \end{array} \right. \, , \end{equation} where $\bar{c}_{(k)}\equiv\max(\|c_l\|,\cdots,\|c_k\|)$ and $n_c$ is the number of known perturbative coefficients. From this expression, one can appreciate the characteristics of the posterior distribution for this model: a central plateau with power suppressed tails. The existence of such a probability density distribution for the uncertainty interval represents the main difference with the scale-variation approach, which only gives an interval without a density profile. Given the conditional density in eq.~(\ref{eq:DeltaKnowCkExpression}) it is possible to compute the smallest credibility interval for $\Delta_k$ with a degree of belief (DoB) equal to $p\%$ (i.e. such that $\Delta_k$ is expected with $p\%$ credibility to be contained within the interval $[-d_k^{(p)}, d_k^{(p)}]$) : \begin{align} d_k^{(p)} & =\left\{ \begin{array}{l l} \alpha_s^{k+1} \bar{c}_{(k)} \frac{n_c+1}{n_c} p\% & \text{if} \qquad p\% \leq \frac{n_c}{n_c+1} \\\\ \alpha_s^{k+1} \bar{c}_{(k)} \left[(n_c+1)(1-p\%)\right]^{(-1/n_c)} & \text{if} \qquad p\% > \frac{n_c}{n_c+1} \\ \end{array}\right. \end{align} \subsection{The modified Cacciari-Houdeau approach \texorpdfstring{($\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$)}{}} \label{sec:chbarfac} The CH model described above relies on a specific form of the perturbative expansion, namely eq.~(\ref{eq:chexp}). As a result, its estimate for the uncertainty is not invariant under a rescaling of the expansion parameter from $\alpha_s$ to $\alpha_s/\lambda$. While working on this project we made a number of attempts to reformulate the model in a rescaling-invariant way. Ultimately, none of them turned out to be satisfactory, to the extent that each required formulating priors much too informative, which shaped excessively the final posterior. We eventually settled instead on a slightly modified version of the CH model. In this modified model, henceforth denoted as $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$, we rewrite the perturbative expansion of eq.~(\ref{eq:chexp}) in the form \begin{equation} \label{eq:chbarexp} O_k=\sum\limits_{n=l}^{k}\frac{\alpha_s^n}{\lambda^n} (n-1)! \frac{\lambda^n c_n}{(n-1)!} \equiv \sum\limits_{n=l}^{k}\left(\frac{\alpha_s}{\lambda}\right)^n (n-1)!\, b_n\, , \end{equation} with \begin{equation} b_n \equiv \frac{\lambda^n c_n}{(n-1)!} \, , \end{equation} and submit the new coefficients $b_n$ to the same priors originally used for the $c_n$ in the CH model. This leads to the following expressions for the probability density profile for the remainder function $\Delta_k$ \begin{equation} f(\Delta_k\|b_l,\dots,b_k)\simeq\left(\frac{n_c}{n_c+1}\right) \frac{1}{2k!(\alpha_s/\lambda)^{k+1}\bar b_{(k)}}\left\{ \begin{array}{cc} 1 & \mbox{ if } \|\Delta_k\|\leq k!\left(\frac{\alpha_s}{\lambda}\right)^{k+1}\bar b_{(k)} \\[10pt] \left(\frac{k!(\alpha_s/\lambda)^{k+1}\bar b_{(k)}}{\|\Delta_k\|}\right)^{n_c+1} & \mbox{ if } \|\Delta_k\|>k!\left(\frac{\alpha_s}{\lambda}\right)^{k+1}\bar b_{(k)} \end{array} \right. \, \end{equation} and the credibility interval \begin{align} \label{eq:intervalCHbar} d_k^{(p)}& =\left\{ \begin{array}{l l} k! \left(\frac{\alpha_s}{\lambda}\right)^{k+1} \bar{b}_{(k)} \frac{n_c+1}{n_c} p\% & \text{if} \qquad p\% \leq \frac{n_c}{n_c+1} \\\\ k! \left(\frac{\alpha_s}{\lambda}\right)^{k+1} \bar{b}_{(k)} \left[(n_c+1)(1-p\%)\right]^{(-1/n_c)} & \text{if} \qquad p\% > \frac{n_c}{n_c+1} \\ \end{array}\right.\qquad . \end{align} The introduction of the $(n-1)!$ term in the expansion, which represents the main modification with respect to the original $\mathrm{CH}$ model, can be justified on the ground that such a factor is expected to appear in higher order perturbative calculations, e.g. those in the large-$\beta_0$ limit and in connection with renormalon contributions~\cite{PhysRevLett.73.1207,Zakharov:1992bx,Fischer:1997bs,Beneke:1998ui}. The optimal value for the rescaling factor $\lambda$ can be determined empirically by observing how the model fares in predicting MHOUs for observables for which higher order perturbative computations are available. In Section~\ref{sec:global} we will present such a determination of $\lambda$ from a study based on a comprehensive set including more than thirty observables. This method of determining $\lambda$ brings some frequentist contamination into the Bayesian approach. We consider this drawback acceptable at the present stage, but we note that one could in principle further improve the model by introducing an additional prior for the value of $\lambda$ and thus avoid the frequentist contamination. The frequentist study on $\lambda$ performed in this work can then perhaps be used as a guide for the formulation of such an additional prior. \subsubsection{Extension to hadronic observables} \label{sec:had-observables} The original CH model was formulated focusing on observables in processes without hadrons in the initial state, and its extension to observables with initial state hadrons is potentially not straightforward. A generic hadronic observable (e.g. a total cross section) can be written as a convolution integral \begin{equation} O_k (\tau,Q) = \mathcal{L}(Q) \otimes \sum_{n=l}^k \alpha_s^n C_n(Q) \label{eq:genhadr} \end{equation} where $\mathcal{L}$ is the parton-parton luminosity, $C_n(Q)$ is the hard-scattering coefficient function, $\tau$ is an appropriate hadronic scaling variable, $Q$ is the characteristic energy scale of the process and $\otimes$ denotes a generic convolution in the space of the hadronic scaling variables (not explicitly shown on the right hand side of the equation). The unphysical renormalisation and factorisation scales are taken to be equal to $Q$ as in the non-hadronic case, and they are not explicitly shown. In eq.~(\ref{eq:genhadr}), the perturbative coefficient functions $C_n$ are usually distributions, and not simple numbers like the coefficients $c_n$ in the perturbative expansion of the non-hadronic observables. This means that it is not possible to directly apply the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ method described in Section \ref{sec:chbarfac} to hadronic observables. This problem can be overcome in two ways. \begin{enumerate} \item A first approach is to express the hadronic observable as a series expansion whose coefficients include the convolution with the parton-parton luminosities, i.e. to rewrite eq.~(\ref{eq:genhadr}), in analogy with the non-hadronic case, in the form \begin{equation} O_k (\tau,Q) = \mathcal{L}(Q) \otimes \sum_{n=l}^k \alpha_s^n C_n(Q) \equiv \sum\limits_{n=l}^{k}\left(\frac{\alpha_s}{\lambda_h}\right)^n (n-1)!~H_n(\tau,Q) \label{eq:genhadr2} \end{equation} where we have defined \begin{equation} H_n(\tau,Q) \equiv \frac{\lambda_h^n}{(n-1)!} h_n \equiv \frac{\lambda_h^n}{(n-1)!} \mathcal{L}(Q) \otimes C_n(Q)\, . \end{equation} We now denote the rescaling parameter with $\lambda_h$, rather than $\lambda$, to stress the fact that its value is a priori potentially different from the one used in the case of non-hadronic observables. We then proceed like in the non-hadronic case, submitting the expansion coefficients $H_n$ to the same Bayesian priors used in the non-hadronic case. This approach is based on the assumption that the contribution coming from the non-perturbative physics encoded in the parton-parton luminosity is roughly the same at each perturbative order, or more generally that its presence does not spoil the assumptions of the model. This approach has been adopted in some of the papers that have used the CH approach in its original formulation, e.g. \cite{Goria:2011wa, Forte:2013mda}. \item A second approach is based on rewriting the observable in Mellin space, in the form \begin{equation} O_k(N,Q) = \mathcal{L}(N+1) \sum_{n=l}^k \left(\frac{\alpha_s}{\lambda_h}\right)^n (n-1)!~B_n(N,Q)\, , \end{equation} where \begin{equation} B_n(N,Q) \equiv \frac{\lambda_h^n}{(n-1)!} \int_0^1 dx\, x^{N-1}\, C_n(x,Q) \end{equation} is the Mellin transform of the short-distance coefficient function $C_n$, rescaled by the factor $\lambda_h^n/(n-1)!$ introduced in $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$, and $\mathcal{L}(N+1)$ is the Mellin transform of the parton-parton flux. We then observe that, if the Mellin inversion integral can be shown to be dominated by a single Mellin moment $O_k(N_0,Q)$, one can simply apply the Bayesian priors of the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ approach to the short-distance coefficients $B_n(N_0,Q)$, which are ordinary numbers, and determine the uncertainty for the dominant moment series. This uncertainty can then be translated back to the uncertainty on the full result by an appropriate rescaling. This approach is viable because one can show that at least in some cases (see e.g. \cite{Bonvini:2010tp,Bonvini:2012an}) such a dominant Mellin moment exists and gives a good approximation to the full result. The main limitation of this approach, which a priori would be preferred because it eliminates the possible contamination due to non-perturbative physics, is that it relies on the predominance of not only a single Mellin moment but also a single production channel (e.g. gluon-gluon fusion in Higgs production at the LHC) at all orders. If this is not the case, the need to reweigh the various dominant Mellin moments in the different parton channels will reintroduce contamination from non-perturbative physics. A second, practical, limitation is that perturbative results are rarely available in Mellin moment space from public codes, limiting the straightforward application of this method to very few cases. Because of these limitations we use the first approach, i.e. the convolution, as our main tool in this paper, but we also present in Appendix~\ref{section:mellinAppendix} two case studies for the Mellin-moment method. \end{enumerate} \section{Global survey}\label{sec:global} In this Section we assess the performance of the scale-variation procedure and of the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ approach by studying how well they estimate the MHOUs when applied to a wide set of observables. For every observable in the set we consider two quantities: \begin{enumerate} \item the size of the uncertainty predicted at a given perturbative order $k$ by the approach under consideration; \item the known perturbative result for the same observable at order $k+1$. \end{enumerate} For each of the methods we then determine its {\sl global success rate} in predicting the missing higher order uncertainties at order $k$, defined as {\sl fraction} of observables for which the result of the calculation at order $k+1$ falls within the uncertainty interval predicted by the model for the order $k$ computation. In the case of the scale-variation method we study the behaviour of the global success rate as we vary the scaling factor $r$ defined in Section~\ref{sec:th-sv}. The observed success rate can then be used to assign an \emph{a posteriori} heuristic confidence level (CL) to the uncertainty intervals obtained with a given value of $r$. In the case of the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ Bayesian approach we repeat the analysis described above for various values of $\lambda$ and, since we now have a probabilistic interpretation of the resulting uncertainty intervals, various Degrees of Belief (DoB). This allows us to determine the optimal value of $\lambda$ to be used in $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$, defined as the value of $\lambda$ for which the model has a global success rate which is closest to the requested DoB, for every possible DoB. \subsection{Setup} We perform two separate analyses, one for observables in processes without hadrons in the initial state ({\em non-hadronic} observables) and one for observables in processes with hadrons in the initial state ({\em hadronic} observables). The non-hadronic observables considered in our analysis are listed in Table~\ref{tab:non-hadronic-obs-text}. For each observable we show the leading order in $\alpha_s$, the maximum known order in $\alpha_s$ and a reference to the original literature from which we have extracted the values of the perturbative coefficients. When the leading order contribution for these observables is entirely electroweak in nature, we do not include the first coefficient $c_0$ in the analysis when using the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ approach, as was done in~\cite{Cacciari:2011ze}. This is because we are interested in a perturbative expansion in terms of the strong coupling. \begin{table}[p] \small \centering \ra{1.1} \begin{tabular}{@{}cccc@{}}\toprule \multicolumn{4}{c}{\text{\LARGE Non-Hadronic observables }} \\ Observable & Leading order in $\alpha_s$ & Highest known order in $\alpha_s$ & Reference \\ \midrule $R = \frac{\sigma(e^+e^-\to\text{hadr})}{\sigma(e^+e^-\to\mu^+\mu^-)}$ & 0 & 3 & \cite{Baikov:2008jh} \\ \midrule Bjorken sum rule & 0 & 3 & \cite{Larin:1990zw} \\ GLS sum rule & 0 & 3 & \cite{Larin:1991tj} \\ \midrule $\Gamma(b\to c e\bar{\nu}_{e})$ & 0 & 2 & \cite{Biswas:2009rb} \\ \midrule $\Gamma(Z\to\text{hadr})$ & 0 & 4 & \cite{Baikov:2012er} \\ $\Gamma(Z\to b\bar{b})$ & 0 & 3 & \cite{Chetyrkin:1994js} \\ \midrule 3-jets Thrust & 1 & 3 & \cite{Weinzierl:2009yz} \\ 3-jets Heavy jet mass & 1 & 3 & \\ 3-jets Wide jet broadening & 1 & 3 & \\ 3-jets Total jet broadening & 1 & 3 & \\ 3-jets C parameter & 1 & 3 & \\ 3-to-2 jet transition & 1 & 3 & \\ \midrule $\gamma_{ns}^{(+)}(N=2)$ & 1 & 3 & \cite{Larin:1996wd} \\ $\gamma_{qq}(N=2)$ & 1 & 3 & \\ $\gamma_{qg}(N=2)$ & 1 & 3 & \\ \midrule $H\to b\bar{b}\|_{m_b=0}$ & 0 & 4 & \cite{Baikov:2005rw} \\ $H\to gg$ & 2 & 5 & \cite{Baikov:2006ch} \\ $H\to \gamma\gamma$ & 0 & 2 & \cite{Maierhofer:2012vv} \\ \bottomrule \end{tabular} \caption{List of non-hadronic observables used in the global survey. Note that when the leading term is purely electroweak the first coefficient, $c_0$, is not used when studying these non-hadronic observables in the Bayesian approach.} \label{tab:non-hadronic-obs-text} \end{table} \begin{table}[p] \small \centering \ra{1.1} \begin{tabular}{@{}cccl@{}}\toprule \multicolumn{4}{c}{\text{\LARGE Hadronic observables }} \\ Observable & Leading order in $\alpha_s$ & Highest known order in $\alpha_s$ & Reference \\ \midrule $pp\to H$ & 2 & 4 & HIGLU \cite{Spira:1995rr,Spira:1995mt} \\ $pp \to b\bar{b}\to H$ & 0 & 2 & bbh@nnlo \cite{Harlander:2003ai} \\ $pp\to t\bar{t}$ & 2 & 4 & top++ \cite{Czakon:2013goa} \\ \midrule $pp\to Z \to e^+e^-$ & 0 & 2 & DYNNLO \cite{Catani:2009sm} \\ $pp\to W^+ \to e^+\overline{\nu}_e$ & 0 & 2 & DYNNLO \\ $pp\to W^- \to e^-\nu_e$ & 0 & 2 & DYNNLO \\ $pp\to Z^* \to ZH $ & 0 & 2 & vh@nnlo \cite{Brein:2003wg} \\ $pp\to W^{\pm } \to W^{\pm}H $ & 0 & 2 & vh@nnlo \\ \midrule $pp\to b\bar{b}$ & 2 & 3 & MCFM \cite{Campbell:1999ah,Campbell:2002tg} \\ $pp\to Z+\mathrm{j}$ & 1 & 2 & MCFM \\ $pp\to Z+2\mathrm{j}$ & 2 & 3 & MCFM \\ $pp\to W^\pm+\mathrm{j}$ & 1 & 2 & MCFM \\ $pp\to W^\pm+2\mathrm{j}$ & 2 & 3 & MCFM \\ $pp\to ZZ$ & 0 & 1 & MCFM \\ $pp\to WW$ & 0 & 1 & MCFM \\ \bottomrule \end{tabular} \caption{List of hadronic observables used in the global survey.} \label{tab:hadronic-obs-text} \end{table} The observables included in our hadronic analysis are listed in Table~\ref{tab:hadronic-obs-text}, where again we show the leading order in $\alpha_s$, the highest known order in $\alpha_s$ and a reference to the code implementing the computation that we used to evaluate the perturbative coefficients. In this case, the leading order coefficient (i.e. the first one) is always retained for the analysis with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ approach, independently of its perturbative order in the strong coupling\footnote{When this first coefficient is of zeroth order we set the $(n-1)!$ term equal to one in the perturbative expansion in eq.~(\ref{eq:genhadr2}).}. In order to avoid biasing the analysis by using different parton distribution functions (PDFs) at different orders, we always use the same NNLO PDFs for all perturbative orders, with the exception of the scale-variation study shown in the right plot of Figure~\ref{fig:globalhadronicSV}. All the coefficients and the specific parameters for the calculations are given in Appendix~\ref{sec:tables}, in Tables \ref{tab:non-hadronic-obs} and \ref{tab:hadronic-obs}. For all our analyses, we have used a private Mathematica code. \subsection{Results} \subsubsection{Scale Variation} In this Section, we study the performance of the standard scale-variation approach. An outcome of this analysis is the determination of a heuristic confidence level (CL) for the uncertainty intervals given by scale variation, as a function of the scaling factor $r$ that sets the range over which the scales are varied, $\mu \in [Q/r, rQ]$. In the non-hadronic case, we also compare two of the prescriptions given in Section~\ref{sec:th-sv}, which are supposedly the most widely used ones: a) take the maximum and the minimum of the cross sections obtained with $\mu=rQ$ or $\mu = Q/r$, as explained in eq.~(\ref{eq:scale1}); b) take the maximum and the minimum while scanning the whole interval of scales between $Q/r$ and $rQ$, as explained in eq.~(\ref{eq:scale2}). Results for the first prescription (i.e. using only the extreme values) are given in the left plot of Figure~\ref{fig:SV}. At LO, the heuristic CL of the scale-variation uncertainty intervals for the conventional $r=2$ value is of the order of 50\%, and it reaches a 68\% level for $r$ close to $4$. For larger values of $r$, the CL stabilises around 80\%. At NLO, the CL is still of the order of 50\% at $r=2$, but it increases more rapidly with $r$ than at LO, and it is already around 68\% for $r\simeq 2.5-3$. For higher values of $r$ it stabilises around $80\%$. Results for the second scale-variation prescription (i.e.~doing a full scan) are given in the right plot of Figure~\ref{fig:SV}. While the LO results are identical to those of the first prescription, the NLO heuristic CLs are significantly larger for $r\geq 4$, reaching $100\%$ at $r=5$. This is likely explained by the fact that, being the scale variation of an observable calculated to NLO accuracy usually non monotonic, a full scan can capture better its overall variation than the evaluation of two or three fixed points only. We have also examined scale-variation uncertainties in the case of hadronic observables. Since hadronic cross sections depend on two scales, the factorisation and renormalisation scale, we vary them independently to obtain the scale-variation interval. As often done in literature, we do not perform a full scan (too computationally expensive) but rather evaluate the observables only at the centre and at the extremes of a scale range, avoiding combinations that generate large logarithms, as explained at the end of Section~\ref{sec:th-sv}. Figure~\ref{fig:globalhadronicSV} shows the results of the analysis of the full set of hadronic observables. We have calculated the cross sections both using NNLO PDFs at each order (left plot) and using order-matched PDFs (right plot), i.e. using LO PDFs for the LO computation, NLO ones at NLO, etc\footnote{We have used NNPDF 2.1~\cite{Ball:2011uy} at LO, and NNPDF 2.3~\cite{Ball:2012cx} at NLO and NNLO.}. At each perturbative order, the two choices are equivalent up to higher order terms. In both cases, we see that, as common wisdom dictates, the LO scale-variation uncertainty fails to capture the size of the NLO correction. At NLO the two prescriptions differ qualitatively in their performance. When using always NNLO PDFs we can associate a $40\%$ heuristic CL to the standard scale variation with $r=2$. The $68\%$ CL level is attained around $r=3$, and the CL then stabilises around $90\%$ CL for $r\geq 3.5$. When using order-matched PDFs, on the other hand, we obtain very small heuristic CL (less than $30\%$) for $r\leq 3$. The CL reaches $68\%$ for $r$ just over $4$ and then stabilises around $80\%$ for larger values of $r$. These two analyses for hadronic observables suggest that in the scale-variation approach one may wish to use a rescaling factor $r\sim 3-4$ in order to obtain a reasonably conservative uncertainty interval, with a heuristic CL at least as large as 68\%. \begin{figure} \centering \includegraphics[width=0.48\textwidth]{scale-variation-DoB-extrema.pdf} \includegraphics[width=0.48\textwidth]{scale-variation-DoB-scan.pdf} \caption{Fraction of observables whose known higher order is found to be contained within the uncertainty interval given by scale variation between $\mu=Q/r$ and $\mu=r Q$. Left plot: only the extremes and the central value of the $[Q/r,r Q]$ are used. Right plot: the full $[Q/r,r Q]$ interval is scanned. } \label{fig:SV} \end{figure} \begin{figure} \includegraphics[width=0.48\textwidth]{SV-np.pdf}\quad \includegraphics[width=0.48\textwidth]{SV-om.pdf} \caption{Fraction of observables whose known higher order is found to be contained within the uncertainty interval given by renormalisation and factorisation scale variation between $\mu_{r,f}=Q/r$ and $\mu_{r,f}=r Q$ with the constraint $1/r \le \mu_r/\mu_f \le r$. Only the seven points at the extremes and at the centre of the scale-variation interval are used. Left plot: NNLO-evolved PDFs are used with all perturbative orders. Right plot: PDFs evolution order is matched with the perturbative order of the observable. } \label{fig:globalhadronicSV} \end{figure} \subsubsection{The modified Cacciari-Houdeau model \texorpdfstring{($\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$)}{CH-BAR}} For each of the sets of observables listed in Tables~\ref{tab:non-hadronic-obs-text} and \ref{tab:hadronic-obs-text} we have performed an analysis of the performance of the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model in estimating the MHOUs. In this case, a parameter of the model is the $\lambda$ (or $\lambda_h$ factor) that defines the effective expansion parameter of the perturbative series as written in the model, see eq.~(\ref{eq:chbarexp}) and eq.~(\ref{eq:genhadr2}). As far as the size of the uncertainty intervals is concerned, the parameter $\lambda$ (or $\lambda_h$) plays a role analogous to that of $r$ in the scale-variation approach: the final result will depend on its value. However, since in the Bayesian model the widths of the uncertainty intervals are associated with properly defined credibility values, one can explicitly determine the optimal value for $\lambda$ by requiring that the model performs as expected, i.e. that the observed global success rate corresponds to the DoB of the uncertainty intervals used in the analysis. \begin{figure}[t] \centering \includegraphics[width=0.42\textwidth,trim=0 -1.1cm 0 0]{CHBar-histolambda-nonhadronic.pdf}\quad \includegraphics[width=0.55\textwidth]{CHApproxFac-binomial-all.pdf} \caption{Non-hadronic survey: comparisons between DoB and actual success rate, to determine the most appropriate value for $\lambda$. Left, histogram of the optimal $\lambda$ value obtained with a DoB scan. Right, plot of the success rate vs the requested DoB for six values of $\lambda$.} \label{fig:CHApproxFacAll} \end{figure} \begin{figure}[t] \includegraphics[width=0.42\textwidth,trim=0 -1.1cm 0 0]{CHBar-histogram-hadronic-NODIS.pdf}\quad \includegraphics[width=0.55\textwidth]{CHApproxFac-binomial-all-hadronic.pdf} \caption{Hadronic survey: comparison between DoB and actual success rate to determine the most appropriate value for $\lambda_h$ for all hadronic observables.} \label{fig:globalhadronicNoDIS} \end{figure} We first study the non-hadronic case. We show the results of this analysis graphically in Figure~\ref{fig:CHApproxFacAll} in two different and complementary ways. Both analyses use observables calculated at perturbative orders ranging from LO to N$^3$LO, for a total of 37 tests performed using the numerical coefficients given in Table~\ref{tab:non-hadronic-obs} in Appendix~\ref{sec:tables}. The histogram in Figure~\ref{fig:CHApproxFacAll}~(left) is obtained by varying the DoB between 0.05 and 0.95 in steps of 0.01 (the uncertainty interval returned by $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ varies of course accordingly). For each DoB value, we determine the $\lambda$ value which gives the best agreement with the condition DoB = global success rate. The resulting $\lambda$ values are plotted in a histogram. At LO the preferred values for $\lambda$ can be seen to be between $0.6$ and $0.9$, while at NLO the histogram shows a preference for the range $0.9$~-~$1.1$. The plot in Figure~\ref{fig:CHApproxFacAll}~(right) shows instead how DoB and success rate compare for different values of $\lambda$ in a global analysis of LO, NLO and NNLO observables. We see that for values of $\lambda$ in the $0.9$~-~$1.1$ range the requested DoB agrees well with the observed success rate of the uncertainty prediction.\footnote{This frequentist-like determination of $\lambda$ is itself subject to an uncertainty due to the finite size of the set of observables that we have used, which results in a statistical error on the observed success rate (see Appendix~\ref{section:statuncapp} for a quantitative analysis). This statistical error is displayed as a grey band in Figure~\ref{fig:CHApproxFacAll} (right). One can see how it roughly translates into a limiting precision of $\pm 0.2$ in the determination of $\lambda$. } This is in agreement with the result that we obtain from the histogram analysis. We perform the same analysis for the hadronic observables set using the coefficients given in Table~\ref{tab:hadronic-obs} in Appendix~\ref{sec:tables}. Figure~\ref{fig:globalhadronicNoDIS}~(left) shows the histogram of the optimal values of $\lambda_h$ for the DoB scan made using the full set of hadronic observables. The histogram peaks around $\lambda_h \simeq 0.5$ at NLO, which is smaller than the preferred $\lambda$ value obtained from the analysis of non-hadronic observables. In Figure~\ref{fig:globalhadronicNoDIS}~(right) we plot the success rate as a function of the DoB of the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$ intervals for various values of $\lambda_h$ for all hadronic observables at LO and NLO. We observe that the preferred value of $\lambda_h$ oscillates between $0.5$ and $0.6$ according to the requested DoB. Since we are mainly interested in determining 68\% and 95\% DoB intervals, we choose a value of $\lambda_h$ equal to $0.6$ as our best estimate, since it appears to be the one for which the model performs better in this DoB range. The results of the analyses presented in this section allow us to define the optimal values for the parameters in the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$ model as follows: we use a parameter $\lambda = 1$ when considering non-hadronic observables, while we use $\lambda_h = 0.6$ when considering hadronic observables.\footnote{It may be tempting to speculate that the smaller value of $\lambda$ in the hadronic case (and therefore a larger effective expansion parameter for the series) may be explained by the generally larger number of gluons involved in these processes, and therefore by an expansion parameter closer to $\alpha_s C_A$ than to $\alpha_s C_F$, but we will refrain from doing so.} \section{Benchmark processes} \label{sec:benchmark} In this Section, we compare the results obtained when computing MHOUs using either the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ or the scale-variation prescription for a set of benchmark processes that we consider interesting either because they provide an ideal testing ground for the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ method ($e^+e^-\to$~hadrons and the Higgs decay into two gluons) or are particularly relevant for LHC phenomenology (electroweak vector boson, top quark and Higgs production, Higgs decay into two photons). We use the results obtained in the global survey (see Section~\ref{sec:global}) to fix the parameters of the models. We recall that, for the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model, in the case of observables without initial-state hadrons the preferred value is $\lambda$ = $1$, while for observables involving initial-state hadrons it is $\lambda_h = 0.6$. For each process, we compare the uncertainty intervals obtained from the scale-variation procedure with $r=2$ and $r=4$ with the $68\%$ and $95\%$ DoB intervals obtained using $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$. When analysing the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ results, we also consider the behaviour of the posterior density function for the remainder of the series $\Delta_k$ when increasing the perturbative order. We show how, in most cases, the inclusion of further information leads to a progressive narrowing of the distribution and a consequent reduction of the uncertainty. \subsection{Processes without hadrons in the initial state} We first consider three processes without hadrons in the initial state: the total cross section for the production of hadrons in $e^+e^-$ collisions and the decay of a Standard Model Higgs boson into a pair of gluons or a pair of photons. As discussed in~\cite{Cacciari:2011ze}, the total cross section for $e^{+}e^{-} \to \text{hadrons}$ is an ideal testing case for understanding the behaviour of the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model, as perturbative coefficients up to order $\alpha_s^3$ are available in the literature. Their numerical values are listed in Table~\ref{tab:non-hadronic-obs} in Appendix~\ref{sec:tables}. In Table~\ref{subtable:hadroproduction}, we summarise the results of our study, comparing the size of the 68\% and 95\% DoB intervals obtained with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ method with the uncertainty interval of the scale-variation procedure for $r=2$. A graphical representation of these intervals is shown in Figure~\ref{fig:epembars}. These results show that 68\% DoB intervals from $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ are always larger than scale-variation intervals for $r=2$ and, especially at higher orders, agree better in size with those obtained using scale-variation with $r=4$. In Figure~\ref{fig:epemposterior} we plot the full posterior distribution for the remainder of the perturbative expansion, $\Delta_k \equiv\sum_{n=k+1}^\infty$, at each order $k$. We highlight the regions that contribute to the 68\% and 95\% DoB intervals and compare them to the $r=2$ scale-variation intervals, showing how, in this case, the latter is always contained in the flat part of the Bayesian credibility distribution for $\Delta_k$. \begin{table} \centering \caption{\label{tab:resnonhadr} Results for the analysis of missing higher order uncertainties for benchmark processes without hadrons in the initial state. We quote the perturbative order $k$ at which the observable is calculated, the central value for the theoretical prediction at that order, the MHOs uncertainty intervals computed using the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model at 68\% DoB and 95\% DoB, and the uncertainty interval obtained using the scale variation (SV) procedure with $r=2$.} \subtable[MHOUs for hadron production in $e^+e^-$ collisions at the $Z$ pole. The perturbative series of the observable at the order $k$ is defined as $R_k( e^+e^- \rightarrow Z \rightarrow \mathrm{hadrons} ) = \sum_{n=0}^{k} \alpha_s^n c_n$. $R_0$ is normalised to 1.] { \label{subtable:hadroproduction} \centering \ra{1.1} \begin{tabular}{@{}lcccc@{}}\toprule \multicolumn{5}{c}{\text{\LARGE $e^+e^- \rightarrow Z \rightarrow \mathrm{hadrons}$ }} \\ \toprule Order & $R_k$ & $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$$_\mathrm{68\% DoB}$ & $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$$_\mathrm{95\% DoB}$ & $\mathrm{SV}_{r=2}$ \\ \midrule \vspace{.2cm} $k = 1$ & 1.03756 & $\pm 0.00693$ & $\pm 0.04432$ & {\Large $\substack{+0.0044\\-0.0035}$} \\ \vspace{.2cm} $k = 2$ & 1.03955 & $\pm 0.00107$ & $\pm 0.00270$ & {\Large $\substack{+0.00025\\-0.00084}$} \\ \vspace{.2cm} $k = 3$ & 1.03887 & $\pm 0.00034$ & $\pm 0.00063$ & {\Large $\substack{+0.00006\\-0.00032}$} \\ \bottomrule \end{tabular} } \subtable[MHOUs for Higgs decay into two gluons. The perturbative series of the observable at the order $k$ is defined as $\Gamma_k(H \to gg) = \sum_{n=2}^{k} \alpha_s^n c_n$.] { \label{subtable:Hgg} \centering \ra{1.1} \begin{tabular}{@{}lcccc@{}}\toprule \multicolumn{5}{c}{\text{\LARGE $H \rightarrow gg$ }} \\ \toprule Order & $\Gamma_k$[MeV] & $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$$_\mathrm{68\% DoB}$ & $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$$_\mathrm{95\% DoB}$ & $\mathrm{SV}_{r=2}$ \\ \midrule \vspace{.2cm} $k = 2$ & 0.185 & $\pm 0.065$ & $\pm 0.420$ & {\Large $\substack{+0.044\\-0.032}$} \\ \vspace{.2cm} $k = 3$ & 0.305 & $\pm 0.041$ & $\pm 0.105$ & {\Large $\substack{+0.040\\-0.035}$} \\ \vspace{.2cm} $k = 4$ & 0.342 & $\pm 0.017$ & $\pm 0.031$ & {\Large $\substack{+0.012\\-0.019}$} \\ \vspace{.2cm} $k = 5$ & 0.345 & $\pm 0.009$ & $\pm 0.015$ & {\Large $\substack{+0.0004\\-0.006}$} \\ \bottomrule \end{tabular} } \subtable[MHOUs for Higgs decay into two photons. The perturbative series of the observable at the order $k$ is defined as $\Gamma_k(H \to \gamma\gamma) = \sum_{n=0}^{k} \alpha_s^n c_n$.] { \label{subtable:Hgammagamma} \centering \ra{1.1} \begin{tabular}{@{}lcccc@{}}\toprule \multicolumn{5}{c}{\text{\LARGE $H \rightarrow \gamma\gamma$ }} \\ \toprule Order & $\Gamma_k$[KeV] & $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$$_\mathrm{68\% DoB}$ & $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$$_\mathrm{95\% DoB}$ & $\mathrm{SV}_{r=2}$ \\ \midrule \vspace{.2cm} $k = 1$ & 9.548 & $\pm 0.030$ & $\pm 0.192$ & {\Large $\substack{+0.019\\-0.015}$} \\ \vspace{.2cm} $k = 2$ & 9.556 & $\pm 0.004$ & $\pm 0.011$ & {\Large $\substack{+0.001\\-0.003}$} \\ \bottomrule \end{tabular} } \end{table} At the LHC, Higgs decay rates constitute one of the most important processes which do not involve initial-state hadrons. Their precise knowledge is crucial for the extraction of the Higgs couplings to the other SM particles. For our study we consider two Higgs decay channels which present complementary characteristics with respect to our theoretical knowledge and to their phenomenological relevance. The first one is the Higgs decay into two gluons which, despite being not relevant for Higgs phenomenology at the LHC because of the large irreducible background due to QCD jets, is especially well suited as a test case for our Bayesian analysis. Indeed its perturbative QCD expansion is known up to N3LO, and QCD corrections are quite sizeable. Next we study the decay of a Higgs boson into two photons. In this case, QCD corrections are rather small and its perturbative expansion is only known up to NLO. On the other hand, due to its clean experimental signature, it is of great phenomenological importance and it is indeed one of the channels where signs of new physics beyond the Standard Model are expected to appear. Again, numerical values for the coefficients of the perturbative expansions of these observables are collected in Table~\ref{tab:non-hadronic-obs} in Appendix~\ref{sec:tables}, while the results of our analysis are summarised in Tables~\ref{subtable:Hgg}-\ref{subtable:Hgammagamma}. For the $H \to gg$ process, we plot the uncertainty intervals obtained using the scale-variation and the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ methods in Figure~\ref{fig:hggbars}. We observe that the size of the $68\%$ DoB intervals obtained with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model is, with the exception of the N3LO band, slightly bigger than the $r=2$ and smaller than the $r=4$ scale-variation intervals, coherently with what we have observed in the global survey. We note here that, possibly because of a large NLO $K$-factor, neither the $r=2$ and $r=4$ scale-variation interval nor the $68\%$ DoB $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ interval at LO contains the NLO result. Conversely at higher orders, where successive perturbative corrections decrease in size, the next order result is always included in both the $68\%$ DoB and the $r=2$ intervals. The posterior density distributions for $\Delta_k$ are plotted in Figure~\ref{fig:hggposterior}. We notice that also for this observable, the $r=2$ scale-variation interval is always contained in the central plateau. In addition, we observe a progressive narrowing of distributions with increasing perturbative order. Finally we consider Higgs decay into two photons. In this case predictions at NLO are included within the LO uncertainty intervals determined using both the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ and the scale-variation ($r=2$) methods, as can be seen in Figure~\ref{fig:higgsphotonsbars}. On the other hand, we notice that in this case the $68\%$ DoB intervals are comparable in size with the intervals obtained from scale variation with $r=4$. This suggests that theoretical uncertainties of the Higgs decay into two photon process determined with the scale-variation procedure using $r=2$ may be underestimated if one attempts to assign them a 68\% or larger heuristic CL. \begin{figure}[p] \centering \includegraphics[width=0.7\textwidth]{ee-error-bars-all.pdf} \caption{Size of the MHO uncertainty intervals at LO, NLO and NNLO for the $e^+e^-\to$~hadrons process at the $Z$ pole with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model with $\lambda=1$, compared to those predicted by scale variation.} \label{fig:epembars} \end{figure} \begin{figure} \centering \includegraphics[width=0.9\textwidth]{ee-posterior.pdf} \caption{Posterior distribution for the remainder $\Delta_k$ (blue solid) for the $e^+e^-\to$~hadrons process at the $Z$ pole with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model, $68\%$ DoB interval (blue fill), $95\%$ DoB interval (light-blue fill), scale-variation interval with $r=2$ (red solid)} \label{fig:epemposterior} \end{figure} \clearpage \begin{figure}[p] \centering \includegraphics[width=0.7\textwidth]{hgg-bars-all.pdf} \caption{Size of the MHO uncertainty intervals at LO, NLO, NNLO and N3LO for the $H\to gg$ process with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model with $\lambda=1$, compared to those predicted by scale variation.} \label{fig:hggbars} \end{figure} \begin{figure} \centering \includegraphics[width=0.8\textwidth]{hggDensity.pdf} \caption{Posterior distribution for the remainder $\Delta_k$ (blue solid) for the $H\to gg$ process with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model, $68\%$ DoB interval (blue fill), $95\%$ DoB interval (light-blue fill), scale-variation interval with $r=2$ (red solid).} \label{fig:hggposterior} \end{figure} \clearpage \begin{figure}[p] \centering \includegraphics[width=0.7\textwidth]{HtoPhotons-bars-all.pdf} \caption{Size of the MHO uncertainty intervals at NLO and NNLO for the $H\to\gamma\gamma$ process with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model with $\lambda=1$, compared to those predicted by scale variation.} \label{fig:higgsphotonsbars} \end{figure} \begin{figure} \centering \includegraphics[width=0.9\textwidth]{HtoPhotonsDensity.pdf} \caption{Posterior distribution for the remainder $\Delta_k$ (blue solid) for the $H\to \gamma\gamma$ process with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model, $68\%$ DoB interval (blue fill), $95\%$ DoB interval (light-blue fill), scale-variation interval with $r=2$ (red solid).} \label{fig:higgsphotonsposterior} \end{figure} \clearpage \subsection{Processes with hadrons in the initial state} We now consider a number of processes with hadrons in the initial state for which theoretical predictions are available at least up to NNLO, namely the production in proton-proton collisions of $Z$ and $W$ bosons, top-antitop pairs, and Higgs. These processes are either considered to be standard candles at hadronic colliders or are particularly relevant for LHC phenomenology. They provide precision tests of the Standard Model, and a significant discrepancy between their experimental measurement and theoretical predictions might be a hint of new physics at the TeV scale. The numerical values of the perturbative coefficients together with the values used for the renormalisation and factorisation scales and the strong coupling constant, are collected in Table~\ref{tab:hadronic-obs} in Appendix~\ref{sec:tables}. In Table~\ref{tab:hadr-cuts} in the same Appendix we list the cuts used in the computation of the observables. In Table~\ref{tab:reshadr}, we summarise the results of our studies comparing, for each process, the size of the uncertainty intervals obtained with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ method (68\% and 95\% DoB) to the ones obtained using the scale-variation procedure ($r=2$) at different perturbative orders. As far as weak vector boson production is concerned, a graphical comparison of predictions obtained with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ and the scale-variation methods is shown in Figures~\ref{fig:Wplusbars} and ~\ref{fig:Zbars}. We notice a similar behaviour for $W^+$ and $Z$ production. At LO the 68\% DoB uncertainty intervals obtained with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ prescription are substantially larger than the intervals obtained from the scale-variation prescription with either $r=2$ or $r=4$. At NLO the difference in size is reduced, while at NNLO the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ intervals turn out to be smaller in size than the scale-variation ones. The posterior distributions for $\Delta_k$, shown in Figures~\ref{fig:Wplusposterior} and~\ref{fig:Zposterior}, show a progressive narrowing with the increase of the perturbative order. For the top-pair production process the comparison of uncertainty intervals obtained using the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ and scale-variation methods are shown in Figure~\ref{fig:ttbarbars}. In this case, the NLO result for the cross section is contained in the LO uncertainty band determined by $68\%$ DoB interval of the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ prescription, while this is not the case for the scale-variation interval obtained with $r=2$. On the other hand, the NNLO central prediction for the cross section is outside the LO intervals computed with either method. $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ intervals with a DoB of 68\% are similar in size to the scale-variation intervals with $r=4$, and scale-variation intervals with $r=2$ are always smaller than the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ ones at 68\% DoB. The posterior distributions for $\Delta_k$ plotted in Figure~\ref{fig:ttbarposterior} show the expected narrowing as the perturbative order increases, and that the $r=2$ scale-variation interval is always contained in the flat part of the distribution. As a final benchmark process, we consider Higgs production in proton-proton collisions, a process which is characterised by large perturbative corrections. The graphical comparison in Figure~\ref{fig:ppHbars} shows that uncertainty intervals determined by scale variation with $r=2$ do not give a reliable error estimate for MHOUs for this observable, neither at LO nor at NLO. We observe that the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ 68\% DoB intervals are comparable in size with scale-variation intervals obtained with $r=4$. They both fail to properly estimate the large NLO correction, the central result at NLO being far outside the LO uncertainty band, and the error bars at NLO not even overlapping with the LO ones. The $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ method appears to produce a more reliable estimation of uncertainty intervals at higher orders, with the 68\% DoB intervals at NLO and NNLO showing a substantial overlap. The slowly-converging pattern of the perturbative expansion for the Higgs cross section prediction is reflected in the behaviour of the posterior distributions for $\Delta_k$, which are shown in Figure~\ref{fig:ppHposterior}. We observe that the narrowing of the posterior distribution with increasing perturbative order is now much less pronounced than for the other observables that we have considered in this Section. Also, the flat part of the posterior distribution for Higgs production broadens significantly when going from LO to NLO. \clearpage \begin{table} \centering \caption{Results for the analysis of missing higher order uncertainties for benchmark processes with initial-state hadrons. We quote the perturbative order $k$ at which the observable is calculated, the central value for the theoretical prediction at that order, the MHOs uncertainty intervals computed using the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model at 68\% DoB and 95\% DoB, and the uncertainty interval obtained using the scale variation (SV) procedure with $r=2$.} \label{tab:reshadr} \subtable[MHOUs for $W$ production in the Drell-Yan process at $\sqrt{S} = 8$~TeV. The perturbative series of the observable at the order $k$ is defined as $\sigma_k(pp \rightarrow W^+ \rightarrow l^{+} \nu_l) = \sum_{n=0}^k \alpha_s^n h_n$.] { \centering \ra{1.1} \begin{tabular}{@{}lcccc@{}}\toprule \multicolumn{5}{c}{\text{\LARGE $pp \rightarrow W^+ \rightarrow l^{+} \nu_l$ }} \\ \toprule Order & $\sigma_k$[nb] & $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$$_\mathrm{68\% DoB}$ & $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$$_\mathrm{95\% DoB}$ & $\mathrm{SV}_{r=2}$ \\ \midrule \vspace{.2cm} $k = 0$ & 3.328 & $\pm 1.051$ & $\pm 6.729$ & {\Large $\substack{+0.319\\-0.362}$} \\ \vspace{.2cm} $k = 1$ & 3.718 & $\pm 0.139$ & $\pm 0.351$ & {\Large $\substack{+0.095\\-0.147}$} \\ \vspace{.2cm} $k = 2$ & 3.704 & $\pm 0.050$ & $\pm 0.094$ & {\Large $\substack{+0.061\\-0.077}$} \\ \bottomrule \end{tabular} \label{tab:DYW} } \subtable[MHOUs for $Z$ production in the Drell-Yan process at $\sqrt{S} = 8$~TeV. The perturbative series of the observable at the order $k$ is defined as $\sigma_k(pp \rightarrow Z \rightarrow e^+e^-) = \sum_{n=0}^k \alpha_s^n h_n$.]{ \centering \ra{1.1} \begin{tabular}{@{}lcccc@{}}\toprule \multicolumn{5}{c}{\text{\LARGE $pp \rightarrow Z \rightarrow e^+e^-$ }} \\ \toprule Order & $\sigma_k$[nb] & $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$$_\mathrm{68\% DoB}$ & $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$$_\mathrm{95\% DoB}$ & $\mathrm{SV}_{r=2}$ \\ \midrule \vspace{.2cm} $k = 0$ & 0.4995 & $\pm 0.1548$ & $\pm 0.9907$ & {\Large $\substack{+0.047\\-0.054}$} \\ \vspace{.2cm} $k = 1$ & 0.5574 & $\pm 0.0201$ & $\pm 0.0507$ & {\Large $\substack{+0.012\\-0.020}$} \\ \vspace{.2cm} $k = 2$ & 0.5551 & $\pm 0.0071$ & $\pm 0.0133$ & {\Large $\substack{+0.010\\-0.007}$} \\ \bottomrule \end{tabular} \label{tab:DYZ} } \subtable[MHOUs for $t\bar{t}$ production at $\sqrt{S} = 8$~TeV. The perturbative series of the observable at the order $k$ is defined as $\sigma_k(pp \rightarrow t\bar{t}) = \sum_{n=2}^k \alpha_s^n h_n$.] { \centering \ra{1.1} \begin{tabular}{@{}lcccc@{}}\toprule \multicolumn{5}{c}{\text{\LARGE $pp \rightarrow t\bar{t}$ }} \\ \toprule Order & $\sigma_k$[pb] & $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$$_\mathrm{68\% DoB}$ & $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$$_\mathrm{95\% DoB}$ & $\mathrm{SV}_{r=2}$ \\ \midrule \vspace{.2cm} $k = 2$ & 146.32 & $\pm 82.61$ & $\pm 528.76$ & {\Large $\substack{+51.08\\-34.32}$} \\ \vspace{.2cm} $k = 3$ & 217.38 & $\pm 39.32$ & $\pm 99.46$ & {\Large $\substack{+26.94\\-26.89}$} \\ \vspace{.2cm} $k = 4$ & 244.36 & $\pm 25.24$ & $\pm 47.60$ & {\Large $\substack{+12.42\\-13.52}$} \\ \bottomrule \end{tabular} \label{tab:ttbar} } \subtable[MHOUs for Higgs production in gluon fusion at $\sqrt{S} = 8$~TeV. The perturbative series of the observable at the order $k$ is defined as $\sigma_k(pp \rightarrow H) = \sum_{n=2}^k \alpha_s^n h_n$.] { \centering \ra{1.1} \begin{tabular}{@{}lcccc@{}}\toprule \multicolumn{5}{c}{\text{\LARGE $pp \rightarrow H$ }} \\ \toprule Order & $\sigma_k$[pb] & $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$$_\mathrm{68\% DoB}$ & $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$$_\mathrm{95\% DoB}$ & $\mathrm{SV}_{r=2}$ \\ \midrule \vspace{.2cm} $k = 2$ & 5.6 & $\pm 3.35$ & $\pm 21.46$ & {\Large $\substack{+1.26\\-0.98}$} \\ \vspace{.2cm} $k = 3$ & 13.3 & $\pm 4.51$ & $\pm 11.42$ & {\Large $\substack{+2.74\\-2.17}$} \\ \vspace{.2cm} $k = 4$ & 18.37 & $\pm 3.52$ & $\pm 6.65$ & {\Large $\substack{+2.00\\-2.06}$} \\ \bottomrule \end{tabular} \label{tab:ppH} } \end{table} \clearpage \begin{figure}[p] \centering \includegraphics[width=0.7\textwidth]{Wplus-error-bars-all.pdf} \caption{Size of the MHO uncertainty intervals at LO, NLO and NNLO for the $pp\to W^+$ process at $\sqrt{S} = 8$~TeV with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model with $\lambda_h=0.6$, compared to those predicted by scale variation.} \label{fig:Wplusbars} \end{figure} \begin{figure} \centering \includegraphics[width=0.9\textwidth]{Wplus-posterior.pdf} \caption{Posterior distribution for the remainder $\Delta_k$ (blue solid) for the $pp\to W^+$ process at $\sqrt{S} = 8$~TeV with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model, $68\%$ DoB interval (blue fill), $95\%$ DoB interval (light-blue fill), scale-variation interval (red solid).} \label{fig:Wplusposterior} \end{figure} \clearpage \begin{figure}[p] \centering \includegraphics[width=0.7\textwidth]{Z-error-bars-all.pdf} \caption{Size of the MHO uncertainty intervals at LO, NLO and NNLO for the $pp\to Z$ process at $\sqrt{S} = 8$~TeV with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model with $\lambda_h=0.6$, compared to those predicted by scale variation.} \label{fig:Zbars} \end{figure} \begin{figure} \centering \includegraphics[width=0.9\textwidth]{Z-posterior.pdf} \caption{Posterior distribution for the remainder $\Delta_k$ (blue solid) for the $pp\to Z$ process at $\sqrt{S} = 8$~TeV with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model, $68\%$ DoB interval (blue fill), $95\%$ DoB interval (light-blue fill), scale-variation interval (red solid).} \label{fig:Zposterior} \end{figure} \clearpage \begin{figure}[p] \centering \includegraphics[width=0.7\textwidth]{ttbar-error-bars-all.pdf} \caption{Size of the MHO uncertainty intervals at LO, NLO and NNLO for the $pp\to t\bar t $ process at $\sqrt{S} = 8$~TeV with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model with $\lambda_h=0.6$, compared to those predicted by scale variation.} \label{fig:ttbarbars} \end{figure} \vspace{2cm} \begin{figure} \centering \includegraphics[width=0.9\textwidth]{ttbar-posterior.pdf} \caption{Posterior distribution for the remainder $\Delta_k$ (blue solid) for the $pp\to t\bar t$ process at $\sqrt{S} = 8$~TeV with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model, $68\%$ DoB interval (blue fill), $95\%$ DoB interval (light-blue fill), scale-variation interval (red solid).} \label{fig:ttbarposterior} \end{figure} \clearpage \begin{figure}[p] \centering \includegraphics[width=0.7\textwidth]{ppH-error-bars-all.pdf} \caption{Size of the MHO uncertainty intervals at LO, NLO and NNLO for the $pp\to H$ via gluon fusion process at $\sqrt{S} = 8$~TeV with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model with $\lambda_h=0.6$, compared to those predicted by scale variation.} \label{fig:ppHbars} \end{figure} \begin{figure} \centering \includegraphics[width=0.9\textwidth]{ppH-posterior.pdf} \caption{Posterior distribution for the remainder $\Delta_k$ (blue solid) for the $pp\to H$ via gluon fusion process at $\sqrt{S} = 8$~TeV with the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model, $68\%$ DoB interval (blue fill), $95\%$ DoB interval (light-blue fill), scale-variation interval (red solid).} \label{fig:ppHposterior} \end{figure} \clearpage \section{Conclusions and outlook} In this paper we have investigated the performance of two approaches in estimating the theoretical uncertainties due to missing higher orders in perturbative QCD computations. The first one is the widely used prescription of varying the unphysical factorisation and renormalisation scales around a central value. The second ($\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$) is a modified version of the Bayesian approach introduced by Cacciari and Houdeau in~\cite{Cacciari:2011ze}. We have performed a global survey based on a wide set of perturbative observables. Within this set we have considered two categories, characterised by the absence (``non-hadronic'') or the presence (``hadronic'') of hadrons in the initial state of a process, and we have analysed them separately. The outcome of this survey has allowed us to assign an heuristic confidence level to the uncertainty intervals returned by the scale-variation approach and, in a separate analysis, to determine an optimal expansion parameter to be employed in the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ Bayesian approach. We have found that, in the scale-variation approach, the standard variation within a factor of two with respect to the central scale can lead to uncertainty intervals whose heuristic confidence level (CL) falls short of a conventional 68\%, thereby leading to possibly underestimate the real uncertainty. This is true for both the non-hadronic observables and, more markedly, for the hadronic ones. We have determined that the rescaling factor needed to obtain 68\%-heuristic CL intervals is usually larger than two, with the specific value depending on the class of observables under consideration and on the prescription used. In general, and conservatively, a rescaling factor of between three and four appears more likely to give an estimation of the missing higher orders uncertainty that is consistent with a 68\%-heuristic CL interpretation of the scale-variation intervals. Our analysis of the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ approach has allowed us to determine that $\alpha_s$ is an appropriate expansion parameter for non-hadronic observables, while a slightly larger parameter, $\alpha_s/\lambda_h$, with $\lambda_h \simeq 0.6$, appears to be more appropriate for hadronic observables. Armed with the determination of these expansion parameters from the global survey, we have then compared the performances of the scale-variation and the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ Bayesian approaches in the estimation of the MHOUs for a set of benchmark observables of particular interest for LHC physics, namely the production in proton-proton collisions of electroweak vector bosons, top-antitop pairs and Higgs. The two approaches perform similarly in estimating, to a given heuristic confidence level for the scale-variation approach or to a given credibility level for the Bayesian $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ approach, the MHOUs for these observables, provided that a rescaling factor larger than two is used for scale variation. More importantly, however, the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ approach additionally provides a full probability density distribution for the missing higher orders uncertainty. This probability density can then be used to combine in a meaningful way the MHOU with uncertainties of different origin, e.g. experimental ones. We conclude by commenting on two possible avenues for further development. First, in this paper we have determined the optimal expansion parameter for the perturbative series in the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ approach by performing a frequentist analysis of a set of known observables. One could envisage replacing this analysis with an additional prior on the expansion parameter. Second, in this work we have adopted, in the form of the $\overline{\mathrm{CH}}$\ model, an as generic Bayesian approach as possible, meant to be applied to a wide and open-ended class of perturbative observables. One could instead envisage developing other, more refined Bayesian models, crafted to work on a more restricted and more uniform class of observables. In such a case, more specific knowledge about the perturbative behaviour of the observables would be input into the model, and a trade-off would exist between this amount of information and the model's eventual predictivity. We leave exploration of these avenues to further work. \section{Acknowledgements} This work was supported by in part by the ERC advanced grant Higgs@LHC, by the French Agence Nationale de la Recherche, under grant ANR-10-CEXC-009-01, by the EU ITN grant LHCPhenoNet, PITN-GA-2010-264564 and by the ILP LABEX (ANR-10-LABX-63) supported by French state funds managed by the ANR within the Investissements d'Avenir programme under reference ANR-11-IDEX-0004-02.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv" }	5,384
package examples; import neural.FFNN; import neural.NeuralUtils; public class NHot { public static void main(String[] args) { // This number can't go very high before things start to take forever, // remember that it's an exponential. int maxBits = 8; FFNN n = new FFNN(new int[] { maxBits, maxBits, maxBits }); n.setGammaTruncation(0.5); n.setVerbosity(2); n.setDisplayVisually(true, 500, 500, 0); double[][] problems = NeuralUtils.getBinaryCombos(maxBits); double[][] solutions = new double[problems.length][n.getNumOutputs()]; for (int i = 0; i < problems.length; i++) { for (int j = 0; j < n.getNumOutputs(); j++) { int num = 0; for (int k = 0; k < problems[i].length; k++) { if (problems[i][k] == 1) { num++; } } if (num == 1) { solutions[i][j] = 1; } } } n.trainTillPerfection(problems, solutions); } }	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub" }	742
Gli ptictodonti (Ptyctodontida) sono un ordine di pesci estinti appartenenti ai placodermi. Furono tra gli ordini meno diversificati dell'intero gruppo, con una sola famiglia e con generi molto simili l'uno all'altro. Vissero nel corso del Devoniano, per poi estinguersi al termine del periodo come tutti i placodermi. Descrizione Dotati di grandi teste, grandi occhi e corpi allungati, gli ptictodontidi assomigliavano molto alle attuali chimere (Holocephali). L'armatura tipica dei placodermi era ridotta a una trama di piccole placche intorno alla testa e al collo. Si presume che gli ptictodonti, così come gli estinti acantotoraci e gli stessi olocefali, vivessero nei pressi dei fondali marini e predassero molluschi dotati di guscio. A causa della quasi completa mancanza di armatura, alcuni paleontologi hanno suggerito che gli ptictodonti non fossero veri placodermi, ma olocefali (o comunque loro antenati). Esami molto dettagliati, eseguiti su esemplari completi, hanno però appurato che le somiglianze fra i due gruppi erano soltanto superficiali. Le maggiori differenze riguardavano il rivestimento corporeo: gli ptictodonti avevano placche e scaglie costituite di sostanza ossea, mentre quelle degli olocefali sono costituite di dentina. L'anatomia del cranio degli olocefali, inoltre, è simile a quella degli squali, mentre quella degli ptictodontidi assomiglia a quella degli altri placodermi; l'apparato dentale degli olocefali, infine, era costituito da veri e propri denti, ma quello degli ptictodonti era formato da piastre gnatali. Dimorfismo sessuale Gli ptictodonti sono l'unico gruppo di placodermi in cui è riconoscibile un dimorfismo sessuale: I maschi, infatti, possedevano un paio di strutture simili a uncini sulle pinne pelviche, analoghe ai cosiddetti claspers tipici degli squali maschi e delle chimere. I paleontologi ritengono che i placodermi ancestrali possedessero claspers, ma queste strutture si sarebbero in seguito perse nel corso dello sviluppo evolutivo dei vari ordini di placodermi (trannie gli ptictodontidi). Classificazione A causa della loro armatura ridotta, si pensava che gli ptictodonti fossero i più primitivi tra tutti i placodermi: secondo un'idea in voga alcuni decenni fa, i placodermi si svilupparono da un antenato senza armatura, passando attraverso vari gradi evolutivi fino a giungere alle forme più pesantemente corazzate. Nel corso degli anni '80 e '90, però, analisi comparative svolte sui crani degli ptictodonti e di vari rappresentanti di altri ordini; questi studi hanno dimostrato che l'ipotesi precedente era errata e che gli ptictodonti possono essere considerati il sister group di artrodiri e fillolepidi. Bibliografia Long, John A. (1996): The Rise of Fishes: 500 Million Years of Evolution. Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore. ISBN 0-8018-5438-5 Altri progetti Placodermi	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia" }	6,978
Q: Cannot Instantiate byte[] array in C# coding scripts inside Unity3D; How do I fix that? So I am trying to send/receive messages between my unity project and another window that acts as the server. I cannot use stream.Read() with the byte array I have now. It says it is a NullReferenceException and is not instantiated though I think it is. It may be something super simple, but it is really bugging me lol. Here's the code; the line that gives the exception is the stream.Read(....): using UnityEngine; using System.Collections; using System; using System.Collections.Generic; using System.ComponentModel; using System.Linq; using System.Text; using System.Net.Sockets; using System.Threading; using System.Net; using System.Diagnostics; using System.Net.NetworkInformation; using System.IO; public class Client_Script : MonoBehaviour { byte[] SendBuffer = null; TcpClient client = null; NetworkStream stream = null; int PortNumber = 3003; string IP = "192.168.1.100"; // Use this for initialization void Start () { try { SendBuffer = new byte[1024]; client = new TcpClient(); client.Connect(IP, PortNumber); } catch (Exception e) { //"Couldn't connect to destination" } stream = client.GetStream(); } // Update is called once per frame void Update () { stream.Read (SendBuffer, 0, 1024); string message = BitConverter.ToString (SendBuffer); ASCIIEncoding encoder = new ASCIIEncoding (); SendBuffer = encoder.GetBytes (message); stream.Write (SendBuffer, 0, SendBuffer.Length); } } =============================================================== It really isn't much code; I am just frustrated at how it says it is not instantiated even though it is. It may have no valid data in it, but I created it anyways. It works in Visual Studio projects, just not when I use it inside of Unity3D. A: * You need to make doubly sure that Update() isn't being called before a call to Start() - seen this dozens of times in code where people hook up event handlers first, then they initialize. In the present state, if there's an exception inside of Start(), you're not handling it at all by the looks of it, so 'client' may be returning a null value and this is what actually be the cause of the exception.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange" }	965
Oreogrammitis scabristipes är en stensöteväxtart som först beskrevs av Bak., och fick sitt nu gällande namn av David C. Parris. Oreogrammitis scabristipes ingår i släktet Oreogrammitis och familjen Polypodiaceae. Inga underarter finns listade. Källor Kärlväxter scabristipes	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia" }	1,758
Thomas Buffel (Brujas, 19 de febrero de 1981) es un exfutbolista belga que jugaba de centrocampista. En mayo de 2019 anunció su retirada. Selección nacional Fue internacional con la Selección de fútbol de Bélgica en 35 ocasiones y ha marcado 6 goles. Clubes Palmarés Títulos nacionales Referencias Enlaces externos Perfil en Transfermarkt Ficha en KBVB Futbolistas del Feyenoord Rotterdam Futbolistas del Excelsior Rotterdam Futbolistas del Rangers Football Club Futbolistas del Cercle Brugge Futbolistas del KRC Genk Futbolistas del SV Zulte Waregem Futbolistas de la selección de fútbol sub-15 de Bélgica Futbolistas de la selección de fútbol sub-16 de Bélgica Futbolistas de la selección de fútbol sub-17 de Bélgica Futbolistas de la selección de fútbol sub-18 de Bélgica Futbolistas de la selección de fútbol sub-19 de Bélgica Futbolistas de la selección de fútbol sub-21 de Bélgica Futbolistas de la selección de fútbol de Bélgica en los años 2000 Futbolistas de la selección de fútbol de Bélgica en los años 2010 Deportistas de Brujas Nacidos en Brujas	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia" }	4,077
AirlineRatings.com the world's only safety and product rating website has announced the selection of Air New Zealand as its Airline of the Year for 2015. AirlineRatings.com celebrates and promotes excellence in the airline industry and the pinnacle of these efforts is its Airline Excellence Awards. Winners include: Qantas, Cathay Pacific Airways, Etihad Airways, Emirates, JetBlue, Kululu.com, Lufthansa, Lan Chile, Norwegian, Thai Airways, Scoot and Virgin Australia. AirlineRatings.com also announced its Top Ten airlines for 2015. Air New Zealand is being honored for the second consecutive year for its in-flight innovations, financial performance, operational safety and motivation of its staff that have cemented the airline an industry trendsetter. The editorial team, one of the world's most awarded and experienced, also praised Air New Zealand's commitment to a young fleet and its continual focus on the environment. The airline also won Best Premium Economy Class. AirlineRatings.com's editorial team took special note of Air New Zealand's comprehensive long haul offering which had two multi-award winning products in the Skycouch for economy and Spaceseat for premium economy passengers. "Air New Zealand's focus on its staff has resulted in exceptional performance across the airline in market position, customer service, financial performance, fiscal management and operational safety," said AirlineRatings.com Editor-in-Chief Geoffrey Thomas. "Air New Zealand is an airline of first choice and given the airline's location and the country's size, its performance is extraordinary," said Mr Thomas. "The editors of AirlineRatings.com also noted that the airline's focus on delivering value to passengers has resulted in higher yields and better returns for staff and shareholders. Air New Zealand is unquestionably AirlineRatings.com Airline of the Year for 2015," said Mr Thomas. This award was won by relative newcomer Abu Dhabi-based Etihad Airways which has shaken the industry with its new First Class offerings. "Etihad's commitment to excellence appears to know no bounds. The airline's new First Class and Business Class offerings are breathtaking and have set a new benchmark in luxury travel," said Mr Thomas. Cathay Pacific Airways has won Best Business Class and the award adds to a string of accolades the airline has won for its product offering. Air New Zealand has won Best Premium Economy for the second year running for its innovation in designing its own premium economy seat. The airline is continually innovating in all cabins and this has resulted in higher yields as passengers upgrade their travel experience with value propositions. "Air New Zealand has proven conclusively that passengers will pay more if the product is right and priced accordingly," said Mr Thomas. Thai Airways picks up Best Economy Class for a product that delivers superb value for money and comfort. "Thai Airways offers some of the best value in Economy Class not only in the Asian region but throughout the airline industry. Their service is perfect, meals filling and frequent and the in-flight entertainment of superior quality," said Mr Thomas. Qantas has won this category for a feature that has become as important as in-flight product to many discerning travellers. And in this space Qantas' lounges are a standout. "The Qantas domestic lounge has become an Australian air travel institution and the airline's international offerings are also exceptional with new lounges in Hong Kong and Los Angeles setting new standards," said Mr Thomas. Qantas Lounges not only provide complimentary food and beverages the airline was a leader in installing showers several decades ago. Importantly the airline's lounges have robust broadband internet access that can handle demand – something lacking in many other airlines' lounges. Another win for Qantas for its commitment, not only to first class dining, but to economy travel which makes up 90 per cent of passengers. The airline is rolling out four choices of main meal for economy passengers, a doubling in the size of meals, and the ability to order online ahead of the flight. Emirates, which was one of the pioneers of IFE, wins AirlineRatings.com Best IFE award for the second consecutive year. The airline has an IFE product that few airlines equal. Airlineratings.com editors noted that Emirates was one of the first adopters, particularly for economy class. By 1993 all the airline's seats were fitted with IFE. Emirates ICE has almost endless features. It allows you to follow the progress of your flight, or take in the view from the aircraft's external cameras. You can keep in touch with live business, news and sport headlines. As a communication tool it provides phone, SMS or email capability. For entertainment there are 600 channels of premium entertainment. In an era where domestic offerings are becoming leaner and leaner Qantas's domestic offering is a global standout and in many cases matches or exceeds others' international product. "There is no doubt Australian's are the world's most spoilt passengers with full meal service on all flights across its network," said Mr Thomas. The airline offers complimentary beer and wine offered between capital cities after 4pm on weekdays and between Perth and the East-Coast from lunch time daily. Next year the airline will also offer lie-flat beds on A330 flights which operate all transcontinental services. A new award for AirlineRatings.com the Best New World Carrier acknowledges airlines that are making game changing initiatives to redefine travel to meet rapidly changing passenger expectations. The inaugural winner is Virgin Australia which has redefined what an airline can achieve by morphing from Australia's low fare pioneer as Virgin Blue to an airline that blends low cost efficiencies with a first class product. A true New World Carrier. "The airline has taken what really matters to passengers and given it a makeover and the result is spectacular," said Mr Thomas. Another inaugural award is Best Cabin Crew, again won by Virgin Australia. "The airline's cabin crew treat every passenger whether in row 1 or 31 as a special guest," said Mr Thomas. AirlineRatings.com Best Long Haul Airline awards have been won by: Etihad (Middle East/Africa), Eva Air (Asia/Pacific), Lufthansa (Europe) and Lan Chile (The Americas). AirlineRatings.com winners are: jetBlue (The Americas), Scoot (Asia/Pacific), Kulula (Middle-East/Africa) and Norwegian (Europe). The four airlines are standouts in their respective markets with very clever innovations and they consistently delivery an excellent value proposition. "These airlines may not always offer the lowest fare but what they always do is deliver the best value," said Mr Thomas. And these airlines open new routes and make travel fun for millions who could previously not afford to fly.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4" }	9,927
/editions/lb2021-tote-bag- Limited editions present an opportunity to own a work by a leading contemporary artist who has worked with us. The sale of each edition directly supports Liverpool Biennial's new commissions, exhibitions, talks and education programmes. Liverpool Biennial is part of the Own Art scheme, allowing you to spread the cost of your purchase with an interest-free loan. LB2021 Tote Bag Screen-printed, 5oz dyed organic cotton Shoulder length cotton handles This tote bag was designed for Liverpool Biennial 2021 by Dr Lakra with Sara De Bondt and Mark El-khatib. The bag lists the title of the 11th edition,The Stomach and the Port, with graphics that centre around features of the body and Liverpool's port. This product is also available in orange, find here. Delivery outside of the UK Please note orders outside of the UK may be subject to additional duty and VAT costs dependent on the country the item is being sent to, please contact shop@biennial.com for further information if required.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl" }	3,720
Q: Matrix inverse exists even determinate is zero. We know matrix inverse does not exist if det(matrix)=0. Now a 22 matrix with all entries $x$ has inverse as 22 matrix all entries $1/(4*x)$ . So what is the gap of understanding? A: $\begin{bmatrix}x&x\\x&x\end{bmatrix}\begin{bmatrix}\frac{1}{4x}&\frac{1}{4x}\\\frac{1}{4x}&\frac{1}{4x}\end{bmatrix}=\begin{bmatrix}\frac12&\frac12\\\frac12&\frac12\end{bmatrix}$, and this is not the identity matrix of the full matrix ring $M_2(F)$, which is $\begin{bmatrix}1&0\\0&1\end{bmatrix}$. However, $\begin{bmatrix}\frac12&\frac12\\\frac12&\frac12\end{bmatrix}$ is the identity matrix of the ring of matrices of the form $\left\{\begin{bmatrix}x&x\\x&x\end{bmatrix}\mid x\in F\right\}$. The determinant-invertibility criterion does not hold for this subring. It is meant to work for the full matrix ring $M_2(F)$. In the full matrix ring, you can easily see that $\begin{bmatrix}x&x\\x&x\end{bmatrix}$ isn't invertible since it is a zero divisor: $\begin{bmatrix}x&x\\x&x\end{bmatrix}\begin{bmatrix}1&0\\-1&0\end{bmatrix}=\begin{bmatrix}0&0\\0&0\end{bmatrix}$. If we were able to invert on the left, then we would wind up with $\begin{bmatrix}1&0\\-1&0\end{bmatrix}=\begin{bmatrix}0&0\\0&0\end{bmatrix}$, a contradiction. A: Assuming that $x\ne 0,$ we have $$\begin{bmatrix}x & x\\x & x\end{bmatrix}\begin{bmatrix}1/(4x) & 1/(4x)\\1/(4x) & 1/(4x)\end{bmatrix}=\begin{bmatrix}1/2 & 1/2\\1/2 & 1/2\end{bmatrix},$$ but this is not the identity matrix, as (for an easy example) $$\begin{bmatrix}1 & 0\\0 & 1\end{bmatrix}\begin{bmatrix}1/2 & 1/2\\1/2 & 1/2\end{bmatrix}=\begin{bmatrix}1/2 & 1/2\\1/2 & 1/2\end{bmatrix}\neq\begin{bmatrix}1 & 0\\0 & 1\end{bmatrix}.$$	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange" }	4,871
A halmazelmélet - a matematikai logikával együtt - a matematika legalapvetőbb tudományága, mely a halmaz fogalmát tanulmányozza. A matematikán belül kettős szerepe van. Mint önálló tudomány, elsősorban a végtelen sok elemű matematikai összességek mennyiségi viszonyaival foglalkozik (számosságaritmetika), ti. miképp lehet a véges (egész) számokra megszokott aritmetikai és algebrai törvényeket a végtelen számosságokra átvinni, illetve utóbbiak körében milyen új törvényszerűségek érvényesülnek; ezzel összefüggésben azonban a matematikai logikai és struktúraelméleti (pl. topológiai) módszerekhez hasonlatos eszközökkel, a végtelen halmazok elméletének matematikai megalapozására irányuló vizsgálatokat is folytat. Mint (egy bizonyos értelemben) alkalmazott tudomány, a halmazelmélet felhasználható gyakorlatilag a teljes matematika megalapozására. Ez mutatja a halmazelmélet alapvető jelentőségét (lásd még: matematikafilozófia). A halmazelmélet megalkotója Georg Cantor német matematikus, aki a végtelen halmazokra és a halmazok számosságaira vonatkozó úttörő kutatásaival nemcsak a halmazelméletet indította útjára, hanem gyökeresen megváltoztatta a matematika egész arculatát. Elmélete, az utóbb ellentmondásosnak bizonyult naiv halmazelmélet, megreformálásra szorult ugyan, de alapkoncepciói beépültek a matematika minden szegletébe. A 20. század elején Ernst Zermelo, Abraham Fraenkel, Neumann János és Kurt Gödel munkássága révén sikerült axiomatikus alapokra hozni a halmazelméletet (lásd még: axiomatikus halmazelmélet). A halmazelmélet elterjedésében nem kis szerepe volt az ún. Bourbaki-csoportnak, valamint egyes középiskolai reformoknak. Történet és áttekintés A 19. század vége felé két matematikus, Richard Dedekind és Georg Cantor magán a fogalmak szigorúbb definícióján túlmutató jelentőségű eredményeket ért el a valós számok elméletében. Richard Dedekind bebizonyította, hogy a racionális és irracionális számok mindenhol sűrűn helyezkednek el a valós számok között, azaz minden intervallumban - legyen bármilyen kicsi - van akár irracionális, akár racionális szám. Georg Cantor pedig azt bizonyította be, hogy a valós számok halmaza nem lehet megszámlálhatóan végtelen (a Cantor-tétel egy speciális esete, melyet az átlós eljárással igazolt). Ennek a cikknek az 1874-es publikálását tekintjük a halmazelmélet megszületésének. A halmazelmélet cantori szemlélete szerint tetszőleges tulajdonság egy olyan halmazt határoz meg, mely azokat az elemeket tartalmazza, melyekre teljesül. Ez a komprehenzivitási elv, mely azonban a naiv halmazelmélet javíthatatlan hibáinak forrásává vált. A naiv halmazelméletben ugyanis Bertrand Russell 1904-ben (és ezzel egy időben sokan mások is, például maga Cantor) ellentmondást, úgynevezett antinómiát fedezett fel (lásd: Russell-paradoxon). Mivel közben az is kiderült, hogy a matematika csaknem teljesen a halmazelméletre alapozható, ezért ezek az ellentmondások az egész matematika számára is problémát jelentettek. Legelőször Zermelo végzett eredményes kutatásokat az említett ellentmondások kiküszöbölésére. Zermelo vizsgálatait Fraenkel bővítette – kialakítva az úgynevezett Zermelo–Fraenkel-féle axiómarendszert. Más halmazelméleti axiómarendszereket is alkottak (például a Neumann–Bernays–Gödel-halmazelmélet), melyek nagyban hozzájárultak a modern halmazelméleti kutatások eredményességéhez. A halmazelmélet alapkoncepciói A halmazelméletben mindent le lehet írni két kifejezéssel. Az egyik a "halmaz", a másik az a kijelentés, hogy egy adott dolog "eleme" egy halmaznak. Ezek a halmazelmélet alapfogalmai. Tulajdonságok és igazságtartományok A halmazelmélet legfontosabb objektumai azok a halmazok, melyek egy adott halmaz adott tulajdonságnak eleget tévő elemeiből állnak. Például a természetes számok halmazának, az halmaznak kiválaszthatjuk azon elemeit, melyek négyzetszámok, azaz előállnak egy természetes szám négyzeteiként: Amikor valamely szabályosság, vagy tulajdonság teljesül egy halmaz elemeire, akkor ezt az összetett szimbólummal jelöljük (melyet olyan x-ek a H-ból, melyekre teljesül T(x) -ként mondunk ki) és ahol az ' x ∈ H ' azt jelöli, hogy egy H halmaz elemeiről van szó, a \| (függőleges vonal) azt, hogy ezek közül azokat gyűjtjük össze egy halmazba, melyekre igaz a T(x) tulajdonság. Ez lényegében nem más, mint a T tulajdonság igazságtartománya. A példában eszerint A végtelen halmazelméleti fogalma Megjegyezzük, hogy már Galilei is rámutatott, hogy a négyzetszámok "ugyanannyian" vannak, mint a természetes számok. Ezt Cantor a kölcsönösen egyértelmű megfeleltetésekkel fogalmazta meg. Két halmaz azonos számosságú (lényegében azonos elemszámú), ha az egyik halmaz minden elemét hozzárendelhetjük a másik halmaz egy-egy eleméhez oly módon, hogy különbözőkhöz mindig különbözőket rendelünk. Például az ilyen tulajdonságú, és ekkor a természetes számok és a négyzetszámok egyenlő számosságúak (holott a négyzetszámok halmaza a természetes számoknak egy meglehetősen ritka részhalmaza). Cantor a számosság ezen fogalmával belátta, hogy a természetes számok és a számegyenes pontjai nem azonos számosságúak, azaz nem hozhatók kölcsönösen egyértelmű megfeleltetésbe. A valós számok "sokkal többen vannak", mint a természetes számok. Ez a Cantor-tétel egy variánsa, mely azt a meglepő eredményt közli, hogy nagyon sokféle rendű végtelen van. A végtelen számosságokkal történő számítások a halmazelméletnek máig jelentős része. A matematika halmazelméleti létrehozása Lásd még: rendezett pár, reláció, függvény, rendszám, számosság A halmazelmélet arra is jó, hogy a matematikai fogalmakat előállítsuk benne. Például a 0 számra gondolhatunk úgy, mint arra a halmazra, melynek egyetlen eleme sincs, azaz az üres halmazra: Az 1 számra gondolhatunk úgy, mint egy egyelemű halmazra. A meghatározottság kedvéért legyen 1 az üres halmazt tartalmazó halmaz: A 2 szám legyen ebből a két halmazból álló halmaz: És így tovább, az n-edik természetes szám, az összes halmazelméleti természetes szám halmaza n-ig: Ezt a konstrukciót Neumann találta ki, Frege és Hume hasonló gondolatainak egyfajta halmazelméleti kivitelezéseként. Sőt ennek mintájára, a sort folytatva Neumann megalkotta a rendszám fogalmát és Cantor nemcsak a véges, de a végtelen számosságfogalmát is. A halmazelméletben megfogalmazható még a rendezett pár, a függvény, a valós szám és még nagyon sok matematikai fogalom. Gyakorlatilag az összes. Túl nagy összességek A halmazelmélet absztraktságából (tehát hogy csak a "halmaz" és az "eleme" szavakat használja) következnek bizonyos kényelmetlenségek. A kezdetekkor azt gondolták, hogy akármilyen T tulajdonsággal képezhető az { x \| T(x) } halmaz és ez is lehet eleme egy halmaznak. Gondolhatunk az { x \| x ∉ x } összességre, de valójában az ellentmondás fellépése nélkül nem feltételezhetjük, hogy ez halmaz (lásd: Russell-paradoxon). A tulajdonságokkal történő halmazképzést tehát korlátozni kell, nem lehet akármilyen dolgokat egy halmazba gyűjteni az ellentmondás fellépése nélkül. Az egyik megoldási mód ennek a korlátozásnak a kivitelezése, melyet Neumann vitt végig, és amiből a Neumann–Bernays–Gödel-halmazelmélet született, ez a méret korlátozásának elve. A másik a halmazok egymás után, műveletek segítségével történő felépítésének útja, melyet iteratív vagy kumulatív elvnek nevezünk, és ami a Zermelo–Fraenkel-halmazelméletben ölt testet. Halmazműveletek A halmazok egymásután történő megalkotásának iteratív elve az alábbi, úgynevezett halmazműveleteken nyugszik. Egyesítés, unió Ha A és B halmazok, akkor jelöli azon elemek összességét, melyek A illetve B közül legalább az egyikben benne vannak. Metszet Ha A, B halmazok, akkor jelöli a metszetüket vagy közös részüket, azaz azt a halmazt, amely pontosan A és B közös elemeit tartalmazza. Hasonlóan el lehet készíteni egy akárhány halmazból álló halmazrendszer elemeinek metszetét. Kivonás Egy A és egy B halmaz különbségét a művelettel képezzük, elemei pontosan azok, amelyek elemei A-nak, de nem elemei B-nek: . Komplementerképzés Egy A halmaz komplementerét egy adott U alaphalmaz felett értelmezhetjük, definíciója: Párképzés Az a, b elemeket tartalmazó rendezett pár . Ez valóban rendelkezik a rendezett pártól elvárható tulajdonsággal, ugyanis csak akkor teljesül, ha a = c és b = d. Descartes-szorzat vagy direkt szorzat Az A és B halmazok Descartes-féle szorzatán a következő halmazt értjük: . A szorzathalmaz elemei rendezett párok, amely azt jelenti, hogy az elemek közül az első az első halmazból, a második a második halmazból való. Halmazelméleti függvény Ha adott az és halmaz, akkor az -n értelmezett és -be érkező függvénynek nevezzük és -vel jelöljük, az egy olyan részhalmazát, mely elemeinek első komponensei között az összes eleme szerepel és a reláció egyértelmű a második komponensében, tehát értelmezési tartománya: , továbbá minden egyes elemhez egy és csakis egy olyan -beli elem található, hogy (. Egy -beli -hez tartozó, egyértelműen meghatározott, -beli elemet -szel jelöljük, így . Ekkor azt mondjuk, hogy az értékhez az értéket rendeli. Egy függvényt injektívnek nevezünk, ha különbözőkhöz különbözőket rendel. Egy függvényről azt mondjuk, hogy szűrjektív (vagy ráképez -re), ha minden elemet felvesz értékként -ből. Azt mondjuk, hogy bijekció (vagy kölcsönösen egyértelmű vagy egy-egy értelmű), ha injektív és szürjektív. Axiomatizálás A naiv halmazelméletet követően, az ellentmondások kiküszöbölése céljából axiomatikus halmazelméleteket hoztak létre. Ezekben a halmaz és az elem fogalma alapfogalom, a halmazoktól megkövetelt legfontosabb tulajdonságokat pedig axiómák rögzítik. Ilyen axiómák például az unió műveletének elvégezhetősége (azazhogy két halmaz uniója is halmaz legyen). A halmazelmélet axiomatizálására számos elmélet született. Ezek közül a két legfontosabb: A Zermelo–Fraenkel-halmazelmélet A Neumann–Bernays–Gödel-halmazelmélet Ezeken kívül a probléma megoldását megtalálhatjuk Russellnél (típuselmélet) és Quine-nél (Quine-féle típuselmélet) is. Hivatkozások Megjegyzések Források !	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia" }	4,279
Q: AngularJS local storage - initialize app retrieving local-stored data I'm pretty new to angular and I'm trying to avoid losing items added on a simple cart application when the user refreshes the page. I'm using angularLocalStorage (https://github.com/agrublev/angularLocalStorage) but don't know how to retrieve it back the content. My lines: var myApp = angular.module('ionicApp', ['ionic','angularLocalStorage']); myApp.factory('prodottiData', function($http) { return { getFooOldSchool: function(callback) { $http.get('http://192.168.1.128/hongkongapp/?json=get_recent_posts&post_type=product&custom_fields=all').success(callback); } } }); myApp.factory('DataService', function() { var myCart = new shoppingCart("AngularStore"); return { cart : myCart }; }); myApp.controller('MyController', function MyController ($scope, storage, $ionicSideMenuDelegate, prodottiData, DataService, $sce) { $scope.toggleLeft = function() { $ionicSideMenuDelegate.$getByHandle('mainMenu').toggleLeft(); }; $scope.toggleMySecondMenuLeft = function() { $ionicSideMenuDelegate.$getByHandle('mySecondMenu').toggleLeft(); }; //adding menu data to the scope object prodottiData.getFooOldSchool(function(data) { $scope.menu = data; }); //adding the cart to the scope object $scope.cart = DataService.cart; $scope.to_trusted = function(html_code) { return $sce.trustAsHtml(html_code); } images = $scope.menu; $scope.showloader = function(){ $scope.shownImage = this.post.thumbnail_images.full.url; $scope.itemDesc = this.post.content; $scope.itemPrice = this.post.custom_fields._price[0]; $scope.productName = this.post.title; $scope.skuProdotto = this.post.id; } }); Now, if I check local storage on the console I can see something is really stored, but I miss the way to re-populate the cart at startup. Any help would be great! A: why not just using browser local storage ? you can add it to your services.js as a new service and just used that. var storeService = myAppServices.factory('storeService', function() { var service = { setClientData:function(client_details) { window.localStorage.setItem( "client_data", JSON.stringify(client_details) ); client_data = client_details; }, getClientData:function() { if (client_data == null) { client_data = JSON.parse(window.localStorage.getItem("client_data")); } return client_data; } } var client_data = null; return service; }); A: From the documentation, to retrieve, it's storage.get('key') So, to check after refresh: if (storage.get('someKey')){ $scope.retrieved_value = storage.get('someKey'); }else{ // whatever } A: You can use localStorage instead windows.localStorage. if(typeof(Storage)!=="undefined") { // Code for localStorage/sessionStorage. var hello = "Hello World!!"; localStorage.setItem("hello",hello); // get string console.log(localStorage.getItem("hello")); // will return 'Hello World!!' var me = {name:'abel',age:26,gender:'male'}; localStorage.setItem("user", JSON.stringify(me)); //fetch object console.log(localStorage.getItem("user")); // will return {"name":"myname","age":99,"gender":"myGender"} var objetos = JSON.parse(localStorage.getItem("user")); console.log(objetos.name); } else { // Sorry! No Web Storage support.. }	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange" }	1,683
Home » Sept/Oct 2010 Different and proud of it Written by Samona Murugan My life has always been an uphill struggle, says 28-year old, Sheri Brynard from Bloemfontein. But this did not stop her from achieving her goal to become a teacher and work with children. Sheri was born with Down syndrome and from a young age she was a slower learner than most children her age. In May last year, Sheri Brynard received her diploma in Educare from the Motheo College in Bloemfontein, making her the first person with Down syndrome to graduate from a tertiary institution in the country. "Getting my diploma was not an easy path," says Sheri. "At school and at college there were only normal children and I looked and learned differently from them. I wanted to fit in, so my mother told me to look at what normal children did and try to do the same." There were many times when Sheri didn't want to be a person with Down syndrome. "I wanted to be able to do all the things my friends and sisters could do." "My family and I never focused on my disabilities; we focused on what I could do. I am different and I am proud of that." With a lot of hard work and determination Sheri reached her goal. Samona Murugan"Wearing the graduation robe and receiving my diploma was the most wonderful moment of my life. For the first time I was happy being a person with Downs," says Sheri. "Now I want to make people with Down syndrome aware of their rights and make them speak out and achieve their potential." Sheri says she was inspired by Nelson Mandela. "I felt his courage and strength. He was in jail for 27 years and I have felt like I have been in a jail of my own, because I could not always do or say what I felt." After hearing him say, "You are the master of your destiny and the captain of your soul", Sheri realised that she could not change her circumstances, but she could change the way she looked at them. Since graduating, Sheri has been a role model for people with and without Down syndrome. She is now an inspirational speaker and motivator and has started the self-advocacy movement in the Free State. What is Down syndrome? Down syndrome is a condition in which a child is born with an extra chromosome (chromosomes carry the genetic material of most organisms). Having an extra chromosome affects the way a child develops, both mentally and physically. About 1 in every 800 babies are born with Down syndrome. They usually do not grow their full height and have some health problems, but it varies from person to person. Health problems associated with Down syndrome can be treated. Down syndrome cannot be prevented, but it can be detected before a child is born. For more information, call 0861 369 672 (0861 DOWNSA) or visit: www.downsyndrome.org.za/ ‹ Highlighting South Africa's liberation heritage up Building to empower women › Sept/Oct 2010 Letters - Give us a piece of your mind Heart attacks and strokes - You can reduce your risk Census 2011 - planning for a better future Consumer Protection Act - A fair deal for consumers Government to focus on achieving key goals Schooling 2025 - action plan to improve education Let's support the class of 2010 1 Goal: Education for all! Let us learn How can we help you choose a career? Getting on board the technology train Achieve your dream with a bursary or loan Giving 67 minutes of service Better transport for future generations Building on the best security practices No to xenophobia Highlighting South Africa's liberation heritage Building to empower women Eco-friendly product puts bread on the table Supporting learners with special needs Looking at ways to involve youth in their communities Say yes to education!	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl" }	9,813
It's easy to assume most eco-friendly folk are only interested in saving the environment. However, according to George Clarke from Channel 4's The Home Show and The Restoration Man, the majority of people will typically only change their habits if they can see the advantages for themselves. While this may be a bit of a blanket statement, it's safe to say that saving energy and reducing our impact on the environment should involve a holistic approach, bypassing the need to fork out exorbitant sums in an effort be more eco-friendly. It's perhaps the most obvious advice on the list, but with the estimated combined Co2 emissions from residential properties in the UK reaching an eye watering 86 million tonnes per year, double glazed windows are ideal for lowering energy bills and boosting your eco-friendliness. Indeed, when drafts in the home are reduced, your heating bills lower significantly. Over time, of course, the warmth in your home means the thermostat can be cranked down a notch, leading to more money in your pocket and less harm to the environment. It's a scientific fact that the heat in your home rises – so why haven't you bothered to insulate your loft? Experts recommend using natural or recycled material to do this, with the benefits not taking long to offset the initial expense. For example, a standard loft will cost around £250-£300 to insulate, with this cash recouped through energy savings in around two to three years. If that isn't enough to make you immediately insulate your loft, we don't know what is. It's hardly a secret that we Brits love our tea – but did you know that your run-of-the-mill kettle eats up a phenomenal amount of electricity? This is because most of us tend to boil enough water to make more cups of tea than we actually need. The solution? An eco-kettle. Pick one up and you'll benefit from a device that's not only more energy efficient, but will have you positively glowing at how it can help impact on your energy bill – as well as offering a relaxing cuppa! Do you have any top tips for our readers looking to make their homes more eco-friendly? Why not let us know by leaving a comment below – we'd be delighted to read your thoughts on this important issue.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4" }	6,421
You can bring up to 3 children, under the age of 18, at no additional cost. Other adults will need to have their own One-Day Pass. No. You can't change your reservation online once you've checked in. Contact Reservations for assistance. If you're unable to make your flights, contact Reservations prior to your flight's departure to retain the value of your ticket. Charges or penalties may apply for changes, depending on the fare paid for the ticket. When you've indicated the United States as your country of residence and your passport nationality is other than the United States, you will be asked to provide U.S. Resident Card information. If you're logged in to your AAdvantage account, your notification preferences will be displayed in the "BeNotified" tab in "Your Account". If you don't have the code provided when you created the notification, you won't be able to view, change or delete the notification. If you have your confirmation code and didn't receive your notification, contact technical support. You will be able to create a flight status notification up until the flight's scheduled departure time. FLYAA (35922) from the U.S.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4" }	346
TWTD forum ponders Mick McCarthy return Thumbs up: Mick McCarthy (Photo: Jon Candy under CC BY-SA 2.0) The popular TWTD Ipswich Town news website and forum is wondering if Mick McCarthy could return to the club after his latest sacking. McCarthy lasted just two months at Cypriot club APOEL before getting the boot this week. Having walked out of Ipswich in April 2018 after six years, with his relationship with fans at an all time low, some thought there could be no way back. TWTD But some posters, perhaps tongue in cheek, suggested he could come back to Portman Road. Since he left, with the club still in the Championship, things at Ipswich have spiralled. First, Paul Hurst took over as boss and was awful. Then Paul Lambert was appointed, tasked with keeping the team in the league. But the former Norwich boss failed to keep Ipswich in the Championship – sending the TWTD forum into meltdown when the side slumped to mid-table in League One. This season has not started much better. The Suffolk Gazette does not expect McCarthy to return to Ipswich, but tips him to take the hot seat at Sheffield Wednesday. He's a Yorkshireman, after all. Uppa Towen Buy an Uppa Towen mug to show your support for Ipswich Town. Buy from Dirty Old goat by clicking on the item below…	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl" }	9,198
Posameznik se stara in se zaveda, da je njegov čas življenja vedno krajši. Zaradi zavedanja svoje cilje preusmeri iz znanja, izobraževanja v socialne in čustvene cilje. Posameznik srednjega obdobja starosti svojo pozornost od drugih skrbi nameni strahu. Pozno obdobje odraslosti se deli na tri dele: na mlajše starostnike (65 - 74 let), srednje starostnike (75 – 84 let) in starejše starostnike (84 in več let). Pri njih se količina strahu pred smrtjo razlikuje. Nanjo vplivajo različni dejavniki kot so zdravje, starost, smisel življenja, ki so postavljeni kot kot spremenjljivke v raziskavi kjer se raziskuje strah pred smrtjo pri starostniki. Sprejemanje smrti postane prevladujoče v starosti. Sredina starosti je prehodno obdobje, v katerem je strah pred smrtjo povezan s strahom lastnega obstoja, in da je večji pri starejših ludeh. Tudi jedro strahu pred uničenjem igra pomembno vlogo v strahu pred smrtjo. To pomeni uničenje duha in fizičnega telesa v trenutku smrti. Primerjava med mlajšimi in srednjimi starostniki kaže, da je strah pred neznanim prisoten pri obeh skupinah. Neskladnosti med časom, ki bi ga radi še preživeli in časom življenja, ki je zanje pričakovan, je večja pri srednjih starostnikih. Smisel svojega življenja so višje ocenili mlajši starostniki kot srednji starostniki. Rezultati kažejo, da je zdravstveno stanje mlajših starostnikov bistveno boljše in imajo več časa, ki vodi do načrtovanje večjih ciljev v življenju in manjši strah pred strahom in uničenjem, ki je v nasprotju s starejšimi starostniki. Za obe starostni skupini velja, da se s slabšim zdravjem povečuje želja po daljšem življenju. Mlajši starostniki so boljšega zdravja, zato ima njihovo življenje večji smisel in imajo manjši strah pred smrtjo. Pri srednjih starostnikih je zelo močna želja po daljšem življenju, sploh če čutijo potrebo po izpolnitvi neuresničenih ciljev. Smrt predstavlja oviro na poti do uresničenja ciljev, zato strah pred njo močno narašča. Reference Fobije	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia" }	5,273
set -euo pipefail TEST_SOURCE_DIR="/network-role" C8S_CONTAINER_IMAGE="quay.io/linux-system-roles/c8s-network-role" C7_CONTAINER_IMAGE="quay.io/linux-system-roles/c7-network-role" C9S_CONTAINER_IMAGE="quay.io/linux-system-roles/c9s-network-role" PODMAN_OPTS="--systemd=true --privileged" # exclude bond tests since missing the bonding kernel module # exclude tests/tests_wireless_nm.yml since failing to load mac80211_hwsim kernel # module to mock a wifi network # exclude tests/tests_infiniband_nm.yml since missing the infiniband device EXCLUDE_TESTS_C7=' -e tests/tests_auto_gateway_initscripts.yml -e tests/tests_bond_deprecated_initscripts.yml -e tests/tests_bond_initscripts.yml -e tests/tests_bond_removal_initscripts.yml -e tests/tests_infiniband_nm.yml -e tests/tests_team_nm.yml -e tests/tests_unit.yml -e tests/tests_wireless_nm.yml ' # exclude bond tests since missing the bonding kernel module # exclude tests/tests_wireless_wpa3_owe_nm.yml and tests/tests_wireless_wpa3_sae_nm.yml # since failing to install mac80211_hwsim kernel module # exclude tests/tests_infiniband_nm.yml since missing the infiniband device EXCLUDE_TESTS_C8S=' -e tests/tests_auto_gateway_initscripts.yml -e tests/tests_bond_deprecated_initscripts.yml -e tests/tests_bond_initscripts.yml -e tests/tests_bond_removal_initscripts.yml -e tests/tests_infiniband_nm.yml -e tests/tests_integration_pytest.yml -e tests/tests_team_nm.yml -e tests/tests_unit.yml -e tests/tests_wireless_wpa3_owe_nm.yml -e tests/tests_wireless_wpa3_sae_nm.yml ' # exclude tests_provider_nm.yml and tests_regression_nm.yml since no package # network-scripts available # exclude tests/tests_wireless_wpa3_owe_nm.yml and tests/tests_wireless_wpa3_sae_nm.yml # since failing to install mac80211_hwsim kernel module # exclude tests/tests_infiniband_nm.yml since missing the infiniband device EXCLUDE_TESTS_C9S=' -e tests/tests_infiniband_nm.yml -e tests/tests_provider_nm.yml -e tests/tests_regression_nm.yml -e tests/tests_team_nm.yml -e tests/tests_unit.yml -e tests/tests_wireless_wpa3_owe_nm.yml -e tests/tests_wireless_wpa3_sae_nm.yml ' EXEC_PATH=$(dirname "$(realpath "$0")") PROJECT_PATH=$(dirname "$(realpath "$EXEC_PATH../")") # Default OS_TYPE=c8s while [[ $# -gt 0 ]]; do key="$1" case $key in --os) OS_TYPE=$2 shift # past argument shift # past value ;; ) # unknown option echo "Unknown option, please try $1 --os c8s" exit 1 ;; esac done case $OS_TYPE in "c8s") CONTAINER_IMAGE=$C8S_CONTAINER_IMAGE read -r -d '' TEST_FILES <<EOF \|\| : $(find tests/tests_.yml \| egrep -v ${EXCLUDE_TESTS_C8S}) EOF ;; "c7") CONTAINER_IMAGE=$C7_CONTAINER_IMAGE read -r -d '' TEST_FILES <<EOF \|\| : $(find tests/tests_.yml \| egrep -v ${EXCLUDE_TESTS_C7}) EOF ;; "c9s") CONTAINER_IMAGE=$C9S_CONTAINER_IMAGE read -r -d '' TEST_FILES <<EOF \|\| : $(find tests/tests_.yml \| egrep -v ${EXCLUDE_TESTS_C9S}) EOF ;; *) echo "Unsupported OS type $OS_TYPE" exit 1 ;; esac # shellcheck disable=SC2086 CONTAINER_ID=$(podman run -d $PODMAN_OPTS \ -v "$PROJECT_PATH":$TEST_SOURCE_DIR $CONTAINER_IMAGE) if [ -z "$CONTAINER_ID" ];then echo "Failed to start container" exit 1 fi function clean_up { podman rm -f "$CONTAINER_ID" \|\| true } if [ -z "${DEBUG:-}" ];then trap clean_up ERR EXIT fi # Ensure we are testing the latest packages and ignore upgrade failure sudo podman exec -i "$CONTAINER_ID" /bin/bash -c 'dnf upgrade -y' \|\| true podman exec -i "$CONTAINER_ID" \ /bin/bash -c \ 'while ! systemctl is-active dbus; do sleep 1; done' podman exec -i "$CONTAINER_ID" \ /bin/bash -c 'sysctl -w net.ipv6.conf.all.disable_ipv6=0' sudo podman exec -i "$CONTAINER_ID" \ /bin/bash -c \ 'systemctl start systemd-udevd; while ! systemctl is-active systemd-udevd; do sleep 1; done' podman exec -i "$CONTAINER_ID" \ /bin/bash -c \ 'systemctl restart NetworkManager; while ! systemctl is-active NetworkManager; do sleep 1; done' podman exec -i "$CONTAINER_ID" \ /bin/bash -c \ 'systemctl restart sshd; while ! systemctl is-active sshd; do sleep 1; done' podman exec -i "$CONTAINER_ID" \ /bin/bash -c \ 'cat /dev/zero \| ssh-keygen -q -N ""; cp -v /root/.ssh/id_rsa.pub /root/.ssh/authorized_keys' for test_file in $TEST_FILES; do podman exec -i "$CONTAINER_ID" \ /bin/bash -c \ "cd $TEST_SOURCE_DIR; env ANSIBLE_HOST_KEY_CHECKING=False \ ansible-playbook -i localhost, \ $test_file" done if [ -n "${DEBUG:-}" ];then podman exec -it "$CONTAINER_ID" bash clean_up fi	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub" }	6,584
# Copyright Copyright © 2016 Julie Scelfo Illustrations copyright © 2016 Hallie Heald All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review. ISBN 978-1-58005-653-3 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available. Published by SEAL PRESS An Imprint of Perseus Books A Hachette Book Group Company 1700 Fourth Street Berkeley, California Sealpress.com Cover Design: Jeff Miller, Faceout Studio Interior Design: Emily Weigel, Faceout Studio Interior Production: Domini Dragoone and Tabitha Lahr Distributed by Publishers Group West E3-20180127-JV-NF # CONTENTS 1. Cover 2. Title Page 3. Copyright 4. Dedication 5. Introduction 6. The Settler 7. The Revolutionary 8. The Caretakers 9. The Builders 10. The Liberators 11. The Beacon 12. The Advocates 13. Wall Street 14. The Benefactors 15. The Funder 16. The Ambassador 17. Madison Avenue 18. Hot Stuff 19. The News Makers 20. Harlem Renaissance 21. The Crooks 22. The Authorities 23. The Great White Way 24. The Editrixes 25. The Style Setters 26. The Artists 27. Soundtrack to the City 28. The Mythmakers 29. The Icons 30. The Educators 31. The Politicos 32. The Preservationists 33. The Counterculturists 34. The Intellects 35. The Loudmouths 36. After Hours 37. The Grocers 38. The Restaurateurs 39. The Tastemakers 40. The In-Crowd 41. The Aunties 42. The Ushers 43. The Wisecrackers 44. Acknowledgments 45. About the Author 46. Advance Praise for _The Women Who Made New York_ 47. Selected Bibliography 48. About the Illustrator 49. Index of Names # Navigation 1. Begin Reading 2. Table of Contents For Alice, my grandmother, whom I never got to know, and for all the other women without whom my New York—and yours—wouldn't be And for my Brooklyn boys # INTRODUCTION Read any history of New York City and you will read about men. You will read about male political leaders and male activists and male cultural tastemakers, all lauded for creating the most exciting and influential city in the world. The contributions of men are important, yes. But try for a moment to envision the City without all the women who, over four centuries, wielded pencils and rulers, hammers and washboards, frying pans and guitars. Would NYC look and sound and feel the same? Well, no, actually. Would it have any art museums or dance companies? Would clothing still be so precious that most people would own only one outfit? Would the Brooklyn Bridge be the greatest engineering project never completed? How would the skyline look? Would there be takeout? And who would have stemmed the tide of disease and rescued abandoned children, never mind paraded topless across the bar at Billy's? In short, New York City would not be what it is without the group Simone de Beauvoir only hypothetically dubbed the "second sex." And even if men had found a way to magically reproduce without their estrogen-besotted associates, the City would be something altogether different, like a plate of rice and beans without the beans. Leaving women out of the story gives a false impression of how NYC was built. This volume aims to fix that. This is the story of the women who made New York City the cultural epicenter of the world—both literally and metaphorically. Many are famous, like Billie Holiday and Eleanor Roosevelt. Others led quieter, private lives, but were just as influential—like Emily Warren Roebling, who completed the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge after her engineer husband became ill. When Seal Press asked me to create a list of the twenty-five women who most contributed to the creation of our extraordinary Gotham, my initial thought was: "Easy!" I immediately thought of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Nan Goldin, Judith Jamison, Eliza Jumel, Yuri Kochiyama, Margaret Mead, Bernadette Peters, Letty Cottin Pogrebin, Sonia Sotomayor, Harriet Tubman, Lauren Bacall, Ellen V. Futter, and Sylvia Woods. But as I dove into my research, I turned up more and more women I'd never even heard of and yet without whom New York City would not be what it is today. Such as Hetty Green, the so-called "Witch of Wall Street," who helped save the banks in 1907. And Anne Northup, wife of _Twelve Years a Slave_ author Solomon Northup and a professional cook, who brought sophisticated cuisine to New Yorkers' palates. And Agnes Chan, the City's first female Asian American police officer. And Mary Schmidt Campbell, who revitalized 125th Street and Tisch School of the Arts, New York University's important film school. The more I searched, the more I realized that there have been hundreds, thousands—tens of thousands of women who have contributed to the making of the Big Apple in so many different, important ways. But how to choose whom to feature? How to present all their gifts? It would take years to create a comprehensive research volume. So, to narrow the mass of material down to a concise, easily digestible (and, hopefully, fun-to-read) list, I had to develop very specific criteria for who would, and would not, be included. I opted against identifying "firsts"; rather, I selected women without whom an important part of New York would not exist, or at least not be the same. While someone like Chan broke an important barrier and undoubtedly deserves our gratitude, the NYPD was up and running long before she got there. Lauren Bacall was surely an iconic actress and celebrated City personality, but did her legacy particularly shape New York? And, yes, two Supreme Court justices with enormous influence grew up in NYC, but isn't their influence more on the nation as a whole as opposed to specifically on the City? Ditto Harriet Tubman. So, with a bit of anguish, I crossed these remarkable women off my list. Casting my net as far and wide as possible, I talked to people who studied specific aspects of the City's history (like musical theater, law enforcement, and education), social justice movements (like immigration, labor, abolitionism, suffrage, and LGBTQ concerns), groups that represented various professions (including the New York City Bar Association and the NYPD Policewomen's Endowment Association), and organizations devoted to individual ethnic groups (like the Museum of Chinese in America [MOCA], the Studio Museum in Harlem, El Museo del Barrio, the National Museum of the American Indian, and the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture). I also consulted architects and city planners and zoning specialists who believe, rightfully so, that the credit for building New York should go primarily to those who designed buildings, parks, and memorials _and_ those who crafted the legislation, zoning policies, and budgets that made it possible for the physical city to be brought to life. These underrecognized hero(in)es include women like Sylvia Deutsch, MaryAnne Gilmartin, Janette Sadik-Khan, Billie Tsien, and, most recently, Annabelle Selldorf. (As for the latter, her handsome recycling facility in Brooklyn reshaped the City's expectation for municipal projects in the twenty-first century.) To be sure, those women deserve credit for creating the physical body of New York. (Note that the Beverly Willis Architecture Foundation established their own informative list of significant projects designed by women.) But, to my mind, the essence of New York City resides in its soul. What would NYC be without it? To me, part of that soul derives from the fact that the City has long been a place of transformation. For centuries New York has been the place where immigrants come in search of a better life. It's also where individuals have been able to finally find themselves—or undertake complete reinvention. While an endless number of writers, from Walt Whitman to Ada Calhoun, have tried to describe the miracle that is New York, I think Colson Whitehead singled out something essential when he wrote, two months after the World Trade Center attack: "There are eight million naked cities in this naked city." He observed how "you start building your private New York the first time you lay eyes on it." The coffee shop where you waited for a job interview. The drugstore where you buy gum and imported magazines. "Thousands of people pass that storefront every day, each one haunting the streets of his or her own New York, not one of them seeing the same thing." For every last straggler, New York has offered a unique blend of promise and despair, screaming skyscrapers and gritty sidewalks, Turkish coffee and Sichuan shrimp. The New York that exists in my mind and heart is the place where, during my first visit from Virginia at the age of twelve, I witnessed taxi drivers fighting in several languages, marveled at professional ballerinas in the Capezio store trying on pointe shoes, and, as I inhaled the funky smells and absorbed the cacophony, felt, for the first time, completely at home. My New York was on Bleecker Street, where stoned artists in slashed t-shirts peddled trash-sculptures; it was inside the Craft Caravan, where I bought African tribal jewelry; and it was the Spanish restaurant in SoHo where my groovy aunt shared our teeming plate of mussels with customers at the next table, infuriating the surly, chain-smoking waitress. It was in the awestruck feeling a few years later of walking across Columbia University's stately campus, my belongings in a black garbage bag over my shoulder, and in the hours and hours I spent in the Barnard library and the Strand Bookstore waking up to the world around me. My New York is in the bars on Columbus Avenue, where I drank myself into oblivion before stumbling home arm-in-arm with my best friend, delighted by the sparkling sidewalks and availability of a hot slice from Koronet at 2:00 am. My New York was inside the Limelight nightclub, being momentarily blocked from the exit by a guy with a foot-long spike through his head; in the wondrous displays at Balducci's, the long-gone Italian food emporium on Sixth Avenue at 9th Street where even the stock boys were experts on exotic vegetables; awaiting the inevitable stomach flip during a weekly elevator ride to a job on the forty-fifth floor of the former Pan Am Building; getting high on the hazy, marijuana smoke–filled dance floor at Marylou's; and, memorably, standing on the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge where, while sharing a slice of birthday cake on a freezing November night with the man who was to become my husband, seeing a pack of young men jauntily trot past, clad only in their boxers. My New York wasn't always pretty or kind. CBGB's may have been hip, but during a brutal summer heat wave, a few hours spent in its airless space waiting to see the noise-metal trio Unsane brought on heatstroke. A wrong turn down to the cellar of a Pakistani restaurant in Midwood, Brooklyn, led me to a destitute family, living on the dirt floor. And then there was the drunkard on the downtown sidewalk who, pants around his ankles and brandishing his personal weapon, refused to let me pass. Or another skell who, stoned out of his mind, unzipped his pants and used the full length of the banister along a Christopher Street subway station entrance as an, ahem, scratching post. Late one night outside a long-gone nightclub on 13th Street, there was the panic of being swept up in a crowd of male rap fans fleeing up the middle of Fourth Avenue after a thug pumped six bullets into a man's head. And then being in a taxi stopped at a red light near the Gowanus Houses in Brooklyn, surrounded by a gang of kids, watching, stupefied, as one thrust a gun through the driver's open window and pulled the trigger—a cap gun, it turned out. Or, on the morning of September 11, taking cover from the tsunami of gray matter after the South Tower collapsed, my surprise when a trembling priest who found the same shelter gently asked me for a cigarette. As, over time, I became a co-owner and caretaker of the City, I began to learn how to stop taking other people's shit. Like when I exited a store on Broadway and saw a man with a pair of bolt cutters preparing to cut the steel chain securing my bike to a lamppost. "Hey, that's my bike!" I screamed as I ran toward him, drawing attention from the crowd of passersby. "Uh, sorry," he stammered, looking panicked as he tried to stash the large tool into his backpack. I continued to shame him as he hurried away, demanding: "What, did you think it was _your_ bike?" A decade later, I spied a tall, skinny graffiti artist drawing on the side of my neighbor's house: he took off and I gave chase, but he quickly left me in the dust. My New York also includes unexpected friendships with teachers and writers. Neil Postman, the acclaimed media critic, became a friend and mentor and, while I worked as his assistant, treated me to a year of lunches at Poppolini's near NYU. It includes endless sightings of the glamorous and gifted: like the time in Central Park my eye caught the sheen of silky waist-length hair before I realized it was Catherine Zeta-Jones, husband and family in tow; or turning around to glare at the customer who ran over my heel with her cart at Fairway and seeing an apologetic Bernadette Peters; or when, while touring a townhouse for sale in Park Slope, the realtor introduced me to the homeowner, Gloria Naylor, a writer whose work had torn open a chamber in my heart and filled it with love. My New York includes adventures in dining, like subsisting on bargain-priced taramasalata from East Village Cheese; the first time I discovered a chaat bar at an Indian gala; getting to go inside Floyd Cardoz's spice room at Tabla restaurant with Dorothy Kalins, the founding editor of _Saveur_ magazine; and being whirled around the ballroom floor after dinner at the Waldorf Astoria hotel. My New York includes romantic moments, like the time, returning from a temp paralegal job in Midtown and dressed in a navy silk dress, I found myself trapped in a subway station by torrential rain—until a grandfatherly stranger with an umbrella offered to walk me home. He put his arm around my waist, led me three blocks through the downpour, and, with a mischievous smile, swept me up the stoop to my sublet door. Charmed by his apparent delight, I paused before stepping inside to bestow a quick kiss on his cheek. My New York is home to the hard-core: not necessarily the punks with safety pins in their noses tromping down St. Mark's in their Doc Martens, but the sandhogs who descend sixty stories underground to blast tunnels in the dark, or the lab workers at the NYC Medical Examiner's office who, after 9/11, looked death straight in eye, day after day after day, analyzing more lab samples than previously seen in the department's entire history. Hard-core are the cops in my neighborhood precinct who, among residents fleeing gunshots at a local park, instantly turned and ran _toward_ the gunfire. It's Marlith Rios, a single mother from Peru who spent decades vacuuming office buildings at night so she could feed her sons and make a safe home for them in Queens. It's Dr. Jennifer Mathur, a forensic psychologist at the psychiatric emergency room at Bellevue Hospital, who daily treats society's most deranged individuals, sometimes immediately after they complete grisly crimes. It's Eileen Myles, in her sixty-sixth year, reading her poems at St. Mark's Church. It's Marlon James changing his clothes in a bookstore bathroom, persevering through alienation and multiple rejections of his first novel only to eventually win numerous top literary honors. That is really the best part of New York: how it's filled with magic. Finding chalk sidewalk messages from De La Vega outside your apartment. A dead Christmas tree, deposited in a trash can, joyfully presiding over a snowy street corner. Bumping into Al Franken at the airport, who offers a ride home. The bulk foods guy at Sahadi's Fine Foods handing my stroller-parked toddler his own bag of olives. Resonant chamber music from a neighbor's cello wafting out an open window. And watching the other tortured, twentysomething misfits grow up to win Pulitzers, run companies, and write Broadway shows. Every day, a new concert, someone giving a reading, an opening to attend; and every week, news of yet another old haunt closing down. So much of the City has changed: Union Square, the site of historic labor protests, is now home to a Babies"R"Us and Barnes & Noble. Bleecker Street, home of Rebel Rebel Records, is now a high-end mall. But scrappy creatives can still be found running pop-up shops in NoLIta (North of Little Italy) and building new communities in Bushwick, Brooklyn. Taxicabs are still driven by hopeful immigrants, some more recently arrived than others. And in the West Village, you can still observe intoxicated lovers pausing in a doorway to taste one another's mouths. I am the descendant of many who came through New York. Among them: a Sicilian couple who lived with their five children in a tenement on Hester Street; a couple from Napoli whose son married an Irish-German girl from East New York; a Kabbalah-studying Jew from the Ukraine who practiced Sant Mat and followed the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi; and a Russian boy who, after the Bolshevik Revolution, sailed alone at sixteen to Ellis Island, before eventually finding work as a painter in Westchester County. His daughter Alice was born in 1930, got married at sixteen; a mother of two by nineteen, she wanted something more. Despite the sexism of the "Mad Men" era, she managed to build a career in education publishing, and was one of the first female members of the Book Industry Guild. One day in the early 1970s she arrived at a meeting only to find a sign declaring the space men-only. Having earned her colleaugues' respect, or perhaps their desire, or, most likely, some messy combination of both—the group of several dozen men promptly stood up and abandoned quarters, seeking another place to meet. Slowly, very slowly, those men, and many more like them, are overcoming centuries of tradition (and, let's face it, some lingering cave-era biology) and making space for women like Alice, my grandmother. Making space for all women, like those in this book. Without their contributions—as well as the contributions of countless others, including those who were deprived of recognition and whose names are lost to history—the New York City we know and love would be an entirely different place. This book is merely a first step, a history that is unavoidably incomplete. In order to continue this her-story, I invite you to visit www.webuiltnewyork.com, where, with your help, we can continue recognizing the contributions of all our grandmothers, mothers, and sisters. JULIE SCELFO New York City, 2016 # THE SETTLER In 1639, frustrated by the oppressive religious climate in her native England, LADY DEBORAH MOODY (1583–1659), a widow in her fifties and the daughter of a wealthy, well-connected family, sailed with her grown son to the New England colonies. A member of the then-radical sect of Protestantism known as Anabaptism (which held that only adult believers—and not children—should accept baptism), she settled in Massachusetts among the Puritans, where she soon found their practice of religious persecution equally intolerable. Moody, a single woman, was called out—and exiled—for refusing to accept the dominant church's belief in baptizing children, so she organized a group of like-minded adherents to move far away to the Dutch colony of New Netherland. In 1643, after an arduous journey of about 230 miles, Moody and her followers set up camp on the eastern reaches of what we now know as Brooklyn. But after being soon attacked by Native Americans, they sought refuge even further west in New Amersfoort, an independent Dutch colony that in later years became the neighborhood known as Flatlands. In 1645, Moody, who had by then earned the confidence of New Amersfoort governor Willem Kieft, became the first woman in the New World to receive a land grant to start her own settlement, located farther south in the then-unoccupied southern region of the borough, all the way to the Atlantic shore. That same year she officially established the town of Gravesend, writing the town charter, planning a design for the roads and lots, and starting a school and a town hall government. The town was substantial in size, and may have included what are now known as the neighborhoods of Bensonhurst, Sheepshead Bay, Midwood, and Coney Island. Moody's achievement was remarkable for several reasons. First, her town charter was in English, not Dutch, which indicated a willingness on the part of the Dutch leaders to coexist with a British neighbor. Second, the town patent granted by Kieft permitted complete religious freedom; a novelty in an age of religious fervor, this freedom was tested on several occasions when Moody provided refuge for visiting Quaker missionaries. And third, the physical layout she implemented—based on Kent, England, with a town square and twenty-eight equal parcels of land—made it one of the first towns in the New World with a square block plan, a model so useful it was later repeated in numerous other cities. While the area settled by Moody remained largely rural for more than two hundred years, by 1894 it was one of the six towns consolidated into the city of Brooklyn, which was incorporated into New York City four years later. And though Gravesend today boasts a large Sephardic Jewish population, multimillion-dollar homes, Italian specialty food stores, and the world famous Coney Island Boardwalk, the town of Gravesend still retains the heart of the layout Moody established in the seventeenth century. YOU, SIR! HOW DARE YOU ENTER MY HOUSE IN MY TOWN AND TELL ME HOW TO RUN MY CHURCH! IF I WISH TO GIVE COMFORT AND A PLACE TO WORSHIP, THAT IS MY BUSINESS. —LADY DEBORAH MOODY, CIRCA 1650 # THE REVOLUTIONARY MARGARET CORBIN (1751–1800) and her brother were raised by an uncle after a violent Native American raid on her family's Pennsylvania homestead left them orphaned—her father killed and her mother captured—when she was only four or five. Years later, it was perhaps fear of losing another loved one that led Margaret to follow her husband, John Corbin, to New York to join the fight underway for independence from Great Britain. On November 16, 1776, at Fort Washington, near the northern tip of Manhattan Island, twenty-five-year-old Corbin stood with John at his cannon when approximately 2,900 Continental troops, led by General George Washington, tried to defend New York from an onslaught by roughly eight thousand British and Hessian soldiers. The Battle of Fort Washington was fierce. Corbin helped her husband repeatedly clean and load the massive weapon before he fired. As Hessian troops ascended the ridge, overpowering the Continentals with force, John was fatally shot, crumpling to the ground. But instead of collapsing with grief, Corbin continued to arm and fire the gunnery, displaying what a later report would describe as "fortitude and virtue enough to supply the place of her husband." The battle was said to have lasted more than two and a half hours. Despite being vastly outnumbered, Corbin and the other Continentals continued to hold off their foes—during which time her husband's body still lay dead at her feet. She was eventually hit by grapeshot, a cluster of small cannon balls, which tore through her left breast and shoulder, nearly severing her arm. When the Continentals ultimately surrendered Manhattan, Corbin and fellow surviving soldiers were captured and taken prisoner. At some point she was paroled and received medical treatment in Philadelphia. She remained crippled for the rest of her life, having lost the use of her arm. In 1779, Congress determined that Corbin, who was unable to bathe or dress herself, deserved a regular pension, and granted her "one half of the monthly pay drawn by a soldier in the service of these States, and that she receive out of the public stores one complete suit of cloaths [ _sic_ ] or the value thereof in money." She was also assigned to the Corps of Invalids, a regiment of soldiers unable to perform battlefield duties but who could work as guards and provide training to new soldiers. "Captain Molly," as she came to be known, was assigned to West Point; she lived nearby until her death in 1800. Corbin received recognition from her military contemporaries—as evidenced by both correspondence between military officials and their eventual awarding her a full monthly ration of rum and whiskey, despite the half ration of pay. And yet, sadly, she died poor and in obscurity, likely owing to what locals described as heavy drinking, infrequent bathing, and a cantankerous personality. As the result of efforts by the Daughters of the American Revolution, Corbin's remains were discovered and identified by the wounds she had sustained in battle. She was then reburied with full military honors at the cemetery of the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. A bronze plaque commemorating her courage—and her status as the first woman to fight as a solider in the Revolutionary War—was installed near the battle site in what is now Fort Tryon Park. # THE CARETAKERS DR. ELIZABETH BLACKWELL (1821–1910), the first female MD in the United States, hung out her shingle on University Place in 1851. Unfortunately, she did not attract patients, and so endured abject poverty and disapproving remarks from passersby—all while Madame Restell (a.k.a. Ann Trow), an abortionist with no medical training, accumulated a vast fortune from her practice. Finally, Blackwell managed to open a free dispensary serving the impoverished slum-dwellers of the Eleventh Ward, a teeming neighborhood of squalid tenements on Manhattan's Lower East Side. The one-room dispensary, near what is now Tompkins Square, was immediately inundated by scores of mostly Irish and German immigrants suffering from cholera, tuberculosis, and typhoid. In addition to seeing patients and making deathbed house calls, Blackwell also began sending nurses into slums to teach residents about personal hygiene. After several years of hustling and fund-raising—she was said to possess such a sterling character that many leading male physicians and philanthropists agreed to back her—in 1857 Blackwell established a full-fledged hospital: the New York Infirmary for Indigent Women and Children, which would eventually serve more than one million patients over its 139 years. After a number of mergers and acquisitions over the years, it still exists as part of New York-Presbyterian/Lower Manhattan Hospital. Within the hospital, Blackwell also established a training facility for female doctors; in 1868, it expanded into a medical college for women—the first four-year medical program in the nation, as it happens. Some of her graduates would go on to make even greater strides in public health. One of them, in fact, would become one of the most important innovators in medical history: Sara Josephine Baker. At the turn of the century, the medical profession was devoted mainly to treating sickness; preventing people from getting sick in the first place wasn't physicians' primary focus. DR. SARA JOSEPHINE BAKER (1873–1945), who joined the City's health department in 1901, was among the first to fully appreciate the strong connection between hygiene and the spread of disease. And so, she devised public health programs that made heavily populated neighborhoods more sanitary and, indeed, livable. Early on, Baker was charged with ensuring residents of the Lower East Side got smallpox vaccines, but transients on the Bowery refused the shots. So Baker, an intrepid problem-solver, led a team on rounds at flophouses long after midnight—so they could inoculate the men before they were awake enough to protest. DR. SARA JOSEPHINE BAKER I AM GLAD I, AND NOT ANOTHER, HAVE TO BEAR THIS PIONEER WORK. I UNDERSTAND NOW WHY THIS LIFE HAS NEVER BEEN LIVED BEFORE. IT _IS_ HARD, WITH NO SUPPORT BUT A HIGH PURPOSE, TO LOVE AGAINST EVERY SPECIES OF SOCIAL OPPOSITION. —ELIZABETH BLACKWELL, 1853 In 1907 Baker was tasked with apprehending Mary Mallon, a typhoid-carrying cook known as Typhoid Mary, who refused to believe she carried something called a "germ," and so continued preparing food around the City. Baker chased her through the streets until she caught her; once the patient was installed in the back of an ambulance, Baker sat on top of her all the way to the hospital to ensure she didn't escape. Soon after, the health department became concerned with the City's extraordinary infant death rate. Wanting to test her prevention hypothesis, Baker sent thirty nurses into a "complicated, filthy, sunless, and stifling nest of tenements on the Lower East Side" to teach immigrant mothers about hygiene, ventilation, safety measures (like not putting babies to sleep in long Victorian gowns in which they overheated and sometimes strangled themselves while sleeping), and breast-feeding; by the end of the summer, the area had reported 1,200 fewer infant deaths than the previous year. As a result, the City created a Bureau of Child Hygiene, installing Baker as its head; during her tenure there she solved so many problems the bureau became a model replicated by other states and the federal government. By the time Baker retired in 1923, New York City had the lowest infant mortality rate of any major American city, making it a place where people could survive and thrive—despite the crowded conditions. A doctor wasn't always required to address the plights of early city-dwellers. In 1806, two years after Alexander Hamilton, a founding father, was famously killed by Aaron Burr in a duel, ELIZABETH HAMILTON (1757–1854), Alexander's widow and a member of the state's prominent Schuyler family, joined with two of her friends to cofound an organization devoted to caring for some of the hundreds of orphans then roaming New York City streets. Through the Orphan Asylum Society (OAS), Hamilton, together with Isabella Graham and Johanna Bethune, rented a two-story frame house on what is now known as Barrow Street, hired a married couple to live there, and took in sixteen children who, like Hamilton's husband, had been orphaned at a young age. OAS was among the first institutions to implement caregiving in what's known as the "cottage system," a method that roughly approximates family life in a home setting instead of forcing individuals to live warehoused in an institution—a change that would have lasting consequences for a wide variety of New Yorkers who require extra support. It took about three more decades before other progressive city-dwellers mobilized to assist a more diverse array of needy children. In 1835, the Society for the Relief of Half-Orphan and Destitute Children was established to support poor kids of single parents. In 1836, Quaker women opened New York's Colored Orphan Asylum Society, the first orphanage in the City for black children—who, according to historian William Seraile, may have been parentless in even greater numbers than were white children. Six decades later, in 1889, MOTHER CABRINI (1850–1917), the Catholic sister who would later become a saint—Saint Frances Xavier Cabrini—arrived in New York with several of her missionary sisters to assist struggling and impoverished Italian immigrants, who, viewed as nonwhites, faced relentless discrimination. But their intentions encountered immediate pushback: although Pope Leo XIII had sent Cabrini to work in New York, once they arrived the local archbishop told her fellow Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, which Cabrini had founded in 1880, to return to Italy. With no helpmates, money, or institutional support, Mother Cabrini traversed the streets of Manhattan on her own, begging for alms. Before long she also organized catechism classes at St. Joachim's Church in Little Italy and provided necessities to orphan children. Within a few years, she opened an Italian orphanage, a tiny hospital, and a free school. Her peaceful demeanor was such that acolytes claimed everything she did had the quality of a prayer. And yet, she also demonstrated savvy entrepreneurial skills, despite suffering ill health for most of her life. She established a residence for orphaned children on East 59th Street. In 1899, she opened a boarding school for girls (which eventually became Mother Cabrini High School) in Washington Heights, an area now home to many immigrants from the Dominican Republic. She died in 1917 at the age of sixty-seven. Mother Cabrini's accomplishments and legacy weren't limited to her work in New York; her impact extended across the country, as well as to Central and South America. In 1946 she was canonized as Saint Frances Xavier Cabrini; in 1950, the Vatican declared her patroness of immigrants. Today, 130-plus years later, the nuns of the Cabrini order remain at the forefront of the Catholic social justice movement in fifteen countries on six continents, while thousands of Catholic pilgrims visit the St. Frances X. Cabrini Shrine in Upper Manhattan, which contains a recently restored glass tile mosaic, as well as her corpus (with a wax head) displayed in a glass coffin. In 1932 CLARA HALE (1905–1992), twenty-seven and newly widowed, wanted to give her children the same nurturing and support she and her four siblings had received from her own widowed mother in Philadelphia, but the handful of cleaning jobs she relied on for financial support greatly limited that possibility. So she quit those jobs and opened a day care in her Harlem home. Given the high poverty rates among her neighbors, and how many of them were forced to travel long distances for work, Hale had no shortage of customers. But Clara's day care was more than just a safe place, and Hale had a generous spirit and a gift for understanding children's needs. She offered such a nurturing environment that many of her charges—whose parents, often single mothers themselves, were perpetually exhausted—remained with her for the entire work week, returning to their own mothers only on the weekends. In the 1940s, Hale began fostering a number of children in her Harlem community. She also taught parenting classes and helped find permanent, quality placements for homeless children. She continued this work throughout the 1950s, eventually taking in and lovingly raising more than forty foster kids. In 1969 Hale's biological daughter, Lorraine, brought home a drug-addicted mother and child; Hale nursed them back to wellness. As word of this care spread, more babies born with drug addictions were sent to Hale for similar aid, and a year later, in 1970, she founded Hale House, a fully licensed child-care facility. A few years after that she purchased a five-story home and opened her doors, free of charge, to any addicted child. She cared for these children until they were healthy, at which point she tried to reunite them with family members, or, if that wasn't possible, helped them find families interested in adoption. Many of these children have since reflected on how assiduously "Mother Hale," as she was known, ensured every adoptive family was the right match for each child; she wasn't above turning away families she considered not good enough for "her" babies. Beginning in the 1980s, she expanded her care to include infants who'd lost their parents to HIV/AIDS—or who themselves were born with HIV. She later also provided assistance to troubled teens, and started a variety of programs to help keep women on track after detoxification. In all her years of work, Hale helped over one thousand young citizens of New York, her Hale House serving as a beacon to countless families during some of the City's darkest periods. # THE BUILDERS In 1869, construction began on John A. Roebling's design of the Brooklyn Bridge. That same year, Roebling died as a result of an injury sustained on-site, at which point his son, Washington Roebling, assumed the role of chief engineer. When Washington fell ill three years later, in 1872, several politicians called for his ouster—the project, considered the greatest construction and engineering feat of the nineteenth century, had already seen exorbitant cost overruns and the deaths of numerous workers. But all the builders knew a change in command would have inevitably created further delays and even more complications. Enter EMILY WARREN ROEBLING (1843–1903), Washington's wife, a graduate of the prestigious Georgetown Visitation Convent—today called the Georgetown Visitation Preparatory School—and, according to her husband, "a woman of infinite tact and wisest counsel." Initially, she served as Washington's secretary, taking dictation and making site visits so as to deliver his notes and gather updates. But in short order Emily became so well versed in subjects like catenary curves, stress analysis, and cable construction that she began solving all manner of site problems on her own—eventually earning the respect of the many bigwigs associated with the project, and, many believe, actually embodying the role of chief engineer, even though her husband retained the title. EMILY WARREN ROEBLING Upon the bridge's opening in 1883, Emily received the honor of being the first person to cross it; later, a plaque honoring all three members of the Roebling family was installed on the east-side tower of the bridge, where it remains today. It reads: "Back of every great work we can find the self-sacrificing devotion of a woman." In 1893, LILLIAN WALD (1867–1940), a native of Ohio intent on becoming a doctor, was led by a child to attend to a gravely ill woman in a dilapidated tenement on the Lower East Side. The needs in the neighborhood were so great that she jettisoned her career plans and immediately moved to the impoverished area. Two years later, with her nursing friend Mary Brewster, Wald opened what became the legendary Henry Street Settlement, a neighborhood center on the Lower East Side where educated women lived and worked among the poor; it was also the first organization in the United States to staff nurses who treated at home those too poor or ill to visit a doctor. Wald learned a great deal from her time living among the poor. Ever insightful, she recognized that children's difficulties in school didn't result from a flaw in character but were a byproduct of their impoverished, wretched living conditions. (At one point, the Lower East Side had the highest population density in the world and was said to be more crowded than the slums of Calcutta.) So she undertook a series of measures to provide them with better health and well-being. To prevent sick children from spreading disease, she first installed a nurse in one public school—then successfully lobbied the City to follow suit in all others. Recognizing how hunger causes an array of emotional and behavioral problems that interfere with learning, she convinced the City to provide school lunches. When a boy complained that he couldn't do his homework because his sister was always using the family's one table, she allocated rooms at Henry Street for study halls and pressed the Board of Education to provide study halls in schools. She also devised and brought about public playgrounds, special classes for children with extra needs, and summer camps in the country. Wald's concern about the welfare of poor New Yorkers stemmed as much from her belief in democracy as it did from altruism. "As a nation," she said, "we must rise or fall as we serve or fail these future citizens." In short, Wald invented the idea of growing human capital as an essential civic task, in turn paving the way for the field of social work. In her fight against child labor, she proposed—to her friend President Roosevelt—a federal children's bureau to protect child welfare, which was realized in the subsequent administration. The nonprofit home health care service she created at Henry Street in time became the Visiting Nurse Service, which over the decades played a central role in containing city outbreaks of polio, influenza, and AIDS. AS A NATION, WE MUST RISE OR FALL AS WE SERVE OR FAIL THESE FUTURE CITIZENS. —LILLIAN WALD, 1915 It wasn't just individuals who benefited from disease no longer being the dire threat it had always been; the City itself benefitted from having a more reliable workforce. With that workforce in place, which was essential to the second industrial revolution, the City burgeoned into a base for numerous industries, like finance and fashion. Ultimately, as nurse and creative visionary, Lillian invented an array of practices, including the career of public health nurse, that enabled the City to become a flourishing, functioning metropolis. Every visitor to NYC—even those who just fly over it—have seen the handiwork of commercial real estate broker MARY ANN TIGHE (b. 1948) (pronounced "tie"). An Italian American raised in the South Bronx, Tighe is the CEO of the New York Tri-State Region of CBRE, the world's largest commercial real estate services firm; she has also been repeatedly named, by _Crain's New York Business_ , one of the City's most powerful women. In her thirty-one-plus years in the real estate industry, Tighe has been responsible for ninety-three million square feet of commercial real estate transactions. One example of her impact: Christie's auction house is headquartered in Rockefeller Center, the site of an old garage, because Tighe envisioned its possibility—and then convinced numerous people to spend hundreds of millions of dollars to make it happen. Tighe has also orchestrated several projects that transformed the City's skyline, including the move by chic publishing behemoth Condé Nast to 4 Times Square during the mid-nineties—an era when 42nd Street was still ruled by skells and derelict peepshows. That deal was widely viewed as the cornerstone to the City's efforts to clean up and "revitalize" Times Square, a transformation that successfully ushered in the banal—but decidedly cleaner and safer—Disneyfication of the neighborhood. In a more recent occurrence: with the City still in mourning after the September 11 attack, the financial fate of Lower Manhattan was in jeopardy given how downtown had become so deeply associated with sadness. And so, Tighe convinced Condé Nast to relocate again, this time to 1 World Trade Center, a move that boosted the City's efforts to redevelop the site. So far, she remains the only woman to serve as chair of the Real Estate Board of New York (REBNY), one of the City's most powerful and historic trade groups. "One of the great delights of New York is its embrace of a good idea," Tighe told me. "You show up with a good idea or a talent, and New York will find a use for both." While Mary Ann Tighe brokered the doings of private developers, AMANDA M. BURDEN (b. 1944), the Commissioner of NYC's Department of City Planning during the Bloomberg administration, undertook the largest planning effort since 1961 and spearheaded the City's commitment to creating high-quality public open space. After her appointment in 2002, she rescued the elevated rail line that had been ordered demolished by Mayor Rudolph Giuliani and convinced thirty-three separate developers to cooperate in the opening of the High Line park. To prepare for what her department estimated would be one million more City residents by 2030, she rezoned 40 percent of all blocks and passed regulations ensuring 90 percent of all new development would be within a ten-minute walk to the subway—a remarkable feat considering a single zoning change can entail numerous studies and years of back-and-forth with city officials in other departments. To reclaim the waterfront for public use and enjoyment, she wrote a plan for all 520 miles of it—the longest and most diverse waterfront in the U.S.—which converted what for decades had been lingering industrial eyesores into a vast array of public parks. She also helped New York once again compete with the world's greatest cities by encouraging the hiring of top-flight architects, like Frank Gehry, Richard Rogers, and Diller Scofidio + Renfro; pushing for ambitious architecture; and rejecting components of projects that failed to live up to her high standards. Since Burden was born into an affluent family and is the daughter of style icon Babe Paley, the most famous of Truman Capote's coterie of "swans," she was often dismissed as nothing more than a socialite. While it is true that Burden's romantic life and attendance at glamorous parties was admiringly catalogued in _Vogue_ , that scarlet _S_ has obscured her thirty-year career in urban planning—a career launched when she won an award for her Columbia University master's thesis on the far-from-glamorous subject of solid waste. In the 1980s, she oversaw the design of the resplendent ninety-two-acre Battery Park City, which transformed lower Manhattan—formerly desolate on the weekends—into a livable, vibrant, active waterfront neighborhood. Developers frequently decried the power she wielded, as well as her unrelenting insistence on making all projects great. But many others credit her with initiating and producing the most comprehensive, strategic planning the City has enjoyed in a century. "People need places to mix, to engage, to meet, to feel comfortable, to experience nature, to breathe clean air and see other people," she told me. "Public open spaces make cities work." All city residents—and not just those who can afford a Park Avenue address—deserve good design, she insists. "It's as important on Fulton Street in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, as it is on Melrose Avenue in the Bronx." # THE LIBERATORS As early as the 1820s, women in New York began agitating for liberation, first from the perversity of slavery, then from patriarchy. After spending years immersed in the worlds of abolitionists and jurists, ELIZABETH CADY STANTON (1815–1902), vividly aware of the many social and legal injustices perpetrated against women, was instrumental in creating what became the first women's rights convention: the Seneca Falls Convention of 1848. A few years later Stanton joined forces with SUSAN B. ANTHONY (1820–1906); they were an interesting team. Stanton was a religious skeptic; Anthony was a working-class Quaker with progressive ideals. Stanton had a husband and a small cadre of children, whereas Anthony, who was unmarried, was unburdened by such housekeeping. Together, they proved to be a formidable force in building support for the rights of all women, regardless of upbringing. Over the next four and a half decades, the unlikely pair became warriors for women's emancipation, galvanizing the growing women's rights movements in New York and beyond. Stanton was a bold thinker and clever strategist; Anthony, who initially felt nervous about public speaking, provided the legs for Stanton's ideas. Spurred by what biographers Geoffrey C. Ward and Ken Burns described in _Not for Ourselves Alone: The Story of Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony_ as an "almost manic" level of energy, Anthony constantly traveled, rented halls, raised funds, organized petition drives, and delivered speeches—usually written by Stanton—"wherever she could drum up a crowd." In 1862, when her husband received a federal appointment, Stanton moved to New York City, where she and Anthony helped launch _The Revolution_ , a newspaper that publicized grassroots activism nationwide and overseas. They also organized meetings, gave speeches, and, tapping into the vast political and financial resources of the City, established the National Woman's Suffrage Association in 1869, under whose auspices Victoria Woodhull spoke before a Congressional committee. (We'll meet Victoria Woodhull again in the "Wall Street" chapter.) To say Stanton and Anthony were treated harshly by the male establishment would be a profound understatement. Anthony, who came to personify the movement, routinely faced hostile mobs and received vicious threats. Her backbreaking efforts were often thoroughly degraded—as when, in 1877, presenting the ten thousand signatures she gathered from twenty-six states on a petition calling for a vote on suffrage, the all-male Congress simply laughed at her. Having for two decades argued for universal suffrage based on the idea that it is a fundamental _human_ right, the duo felt betrayed when, after the Civil War, many former political allies (like Frederick Douglass) abandoned women's suffrage in supporting the Fifteenth Amendment, which in 1870 granted black men the right to vote. Newly cynical, Stanton ruthlessly acknowledged she would embrace any political maneuvering necessary to win universal suffrage, even opportunistically disparaging blacks; this stance gave rise to a series of racist remarks by which Stanton is sometimes remembered. WE HOLD THESE TRUTHS TO BE SELF-EVIDENT: THAT ALL MEN AND WOMEN ARE CREATED EQUAL. —ELIZABETH CADY STANTON, 1848 Although neither woman lived to see American women finally get the right to vote in 1920, three-quarters of a century after Seneca Falls, Anthony took great care to document all the work they did, an important step in an era when women's contributions often went unrecorded. In ensuring the movement's history survived, she provided yet another legacy—of self-empowerment—for future generations. Unhappy with her quiet life as a mother of three children in Westchester County, MARGARET SANGER (1879–1966) and her husband moved to New York City in 1911, where she discovered the movement for workers' rights and other radical thinkers like Emma Goldman, an anarchist and early advocate of female sexual empowerment. In Manhattan, Sanger attended meetings of the Women's Committee of the New York Socialist Party. Having been trained as a nurse, she also began giving talks on women's reproductive health, mainly about preventing and treating sexually transmitted disease—information generally unavailable to poor women who couldn't afford doctors. Her speeches were so popular she was asked to turn them into a column, which she did; called "What Every Girl Should Know," it was featured in a socialist daily newspaper. She also joined Lillian Wald and her band of nurses, who visited impoverished workers living in squalid tenements on the Lower East Side. (For more on Wald, see "The Builders" chapter.) On such visits she repeatedly encountered poor mothers who, dreading more children and further impoverishment, undertook desperate, dangerous measures to prevent or abort pregnancies. One especially heart-rending evening proved to be pivotal for Sanger. On this night, she watched a mother die from sepsis resulting from a second self-induced abortion while her three distraught children and husband looked on and wept; in attendance as well was the doctor who had previously declined the woman's pleas for information on avoiding further pregnancies. After this ordeal, Sanger, whose own mother had died young after birthing eleven children, stayed up all night roaming the streets. "That night," she later wrote, "I knew I could not go on merely nursing, allowing mothers to suffer and die. No matter what it might cost, I was resolved to do something to change the destiny of mothers, whose miseries were vast as the sky." So Sanger began researching female reproduction and rudimentary forms of birth control. In 1914, she began publishing a magazine called _The Woman Rebel_ —despite the federal Comstock Law, which since 1873 had made it illegal to circulate anything considered obscene or immoral (and which authorities had previously used to shut down her newspaper column). After a warrant was issued for her arrest, Sanger fled to Europe, where she learned (in Holland) about more advanced forms of contraception like the diaphragm. Soon after her return to New York in late 1915, Sanger opened the country's first birth control clinic, in Brownsville, Brooklyn. Nine days later she was arrested; after being tried and convicted, she spent thirty days in jail—all of which generated loads of press coverage. Indeed, Sanger had chosen Brooklyn as her site for a reason. Although there were states with more enlightened attitudes toward women's health than New York, Sanger knew the City's publicity potential was unparalleled; as such it was the ideal location for raising awareness among women who might not even realize their options were being withheld. Year after year, decade after decade, Sanger tenaciously advanced her mission. In 1921, she founded the American Birth Control League; two years later, she opened the country's first stand-alone medical offices where women could receive an array of gynecological and contraceptive services from female physicians; within two decades the organizations would merge and become Planned Parenthood. She smuggled in diaphragms from Europe, then arranged for their manufacture in America. She funded research that led to spermicidal jellies and powders. Eventually, in the 1950s—when she was in her eighties—her dedication resulted in a revolutionary, infinitely more practical form of contraception: the pill. Not surprisingly, throughout her life she battled the Catholic Church, which used its connections in the New York Police Department to obstruct her activities (including once having her carried off the stage at Town Hall to prevent her from delivering a speech). She also battled the Comstock Law, continually finding new and inventive ways to challenge the idea that communicating about sexual health was "obscene." She battled men, like those on a New York medical committee who argued that contraceptives were "absurd, frequently dangerous, filthy, and usually unsatisfactory," adding that they threatened "personal morality and national strength"—a sentiment later echoed by former President Theodore Roosevelt. Unfortunately, in the twenty-first century some of Sanger's heroic work has been curtailed, as fundamentalist Christians have pushed several states to pass laws privileging the rights of unborn fetuses over the rights of their mothers. All the same, there is no question that Sanger's work helped to establish New York City as the vanguard of the movement to give women ultimate sovereignty over their own bodies. The battle over hearts and minds has been equally epic. For as long as humans have attempted to civilize one another, they have established ideas about self and others that, while useful for shaping identity, often fomented deep wells of intolerance toward difference. As one of the few black girls among a sea of white teenagers attending Hunter High School in Manhattan in the late 1940s, AUDRE LORDE (1934–1992), a daughter of West Indian parents, experienced life like an outsider, both at school and at home. Her mother and father frequently spoke of their fondness for the Caribbean, and about feeling out of place in New York. I AM DELIBERATE AND AFRAID OF NOTHING. —AUDRE LORDE, 1973 While attending Hunter College in the 1950s, Lorde spent time with friends in Greenwich Village, sometimes hanging out at the Waldorf Cafe, which was often frequented by Amiri Baraka, Robert Earl Jones, and James Baldwin. She also began to explore her attraction to other women. But, though she lived in an era when interracial relationships were slowly gaining acceptance among the political left, homosexuality was still taboo—leaving her feeling alone and ostracized. Desperate to survive a dark depression, Lorde began to wonder "what being safe and free could mean." In high school she had written poetry to try to work out feelings she was unable to speak. In her young adult life, as she began to accept her identity as a lesbian and poet, she challenged herself to practice the freedoms—of owning her truths—she had internally defined. And so she began setting down on paper difficult, wrenching verses about what it meant to be a member of multiple oppressed communities, and slowly she began to share them. Over the years, while working as a librarian and raising her kids (the product of an eight-year marriage in the 1960s), she gave voice to the oft-ignored, difficult-to-articulate experience of otherness in a series of works she initially conceived as only for herself. AUDRE LORDE While a poet-in-residence at Tougaloo College—a historic black college in Mississippi where the campus was under siege by whites who routinely shot at or arrested students for non-crimes—Lorde realized she wanted to use poetry as a weapon against social and political forces that assailed marginalized members of society. "I realized I could take my art in the realist way and make it do what I wanted," she said, "altering feelings and lives." Over a two-decade-plus career in New York, the woman who called herself a "black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet" fearlessly confronted love and death, self and otherness, need and fear, shining light on important truths many people were too terrified to face. She stripped away the lies of difference, showing that "liberation is not the private province of any one particular group." She did this by asking whites to confront their treatment of blacks, by asking heterosexuals to reflect on same-sex love, and by inviting prominent white feminists (like Mary Daly) to reflect on the unconscious biases and privileges inherent in a political movement they claimed was on behalf of every woman. The poet Sapphire once recounted to an interviewer how, at a meeting of black nationalists, where many gathered men embraced centuries-old homophobic teachings, Lorde stood up and declared, "I am a lesbian," which amounted to "not just moving the mountain, it was creating a new world." Lorde held teaching posts at multiple universities, was named New York State Poet Laureate, and cofounded Kitchen Table: Women of Color Press in Harlem. Throughout, her pioneering message about seeing difference as an opportunity for acceptance and love—rather than for division and hate—laid the foundation on which nearly every other liberation cause in the City was built, from Third World feminism to transgenderism to pansexuality. In her award-winning book _The Cancer Journals_ , Audre Lorde chronicled her long battle with cancer—to which she ultimately succumbed at the age of just fifty-eight. Striving for meaning in identity to the end, before her death she took a new name in an African naming ceremony: Gamba Adisa, which means "Warrior: She Who Makes Her Meaning Known." For centuries, religious leaders have taught that same-sex attraction is more than just aberrant; it's outright immoral. In the nineteenth century, Anglo-American scientists and lawyers, set on determining whether those accused of criminal sexual behavior had "a constitutional or mental defect," turned to the language of pathology. This led in 1952 to the American Psychiatric Association (APA) codifying homosexuality as a form of mental illness in the _Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders_ (DSM), the official handbook used by health professionals nationwide. It was into a society with this prevailing and deeply entrenched viewpoint that BARBARA GITTINGS (1932–2007) was born. While growing up in Wilmington, Delaware, she began to perceive she was homosexual—and knew this was something she could not broach with others. She turned to libraries to try to make sense of her feelings, but she found almost no information on the subject. Still searching while in college, Gittings pored through card catalogs. Though she found a few entries under "abnormal" and "perversion," these were unhelpful, as she knew instinctively that her orientation was neither unnatural nor a choice. One day when she was home from college, her father caught her reading a lesbian love story—Radclyffe Hall's 1928 _The Well of Loneliness_. Rather than speak about it aloud, he wrote her a letter—though they lived under one roof—demanding that she burn it. Instead, Gittings left home, moved to Philadelphia, and from there, on the weekends, she hitchhiked to Greenwich Village, where she discovered a burgeoning lesbian scene. Around this time, Gittings found Donald Webster Cory's trailblazing book, _The Homosexual in America: A Subjective Approach._ She agreed with Cory's thinking, that gays should organize themselves, and demand their rights be upheld just like other minority groups. Then, in San Francisco, she visited a meeting held by the Daughters of Bilitis, the first lesbian civil and political rights organization in the United States (formed in 1955 in San Francisco by Phyllis Lyon and Del Martin and others). At the behest of Lyon and Martin, she returned to the East Coast and founded the pioneering New York chapter of the group in 1958. In 1962, Gittings became editor of its publication, _The Ladder_ , which served as a lifeline to lesbians throughout the country—many of whom lived in virulently homophobic communities with no other source of support; some even wrote in to say the publication kept them alive. Nonetheless, Gittings felt the founders of the group mistakenly reinforced the notion that homosexuals' sexual orientation was problematic, so she altered the content and tone of the magazine to reflect pride and self-acceptance rather than shame. Gittings also worked to change others' views: writing to the New York Academy of Medicine in 1964, she questioned their characterization of homosexuality as a preventable and treatable illness, and chastised the organization for making the assertion without any sound scientific evidence. Year after year, she led or joined protests, objecting to the classification of homosexuality as a mental illness, at annual meetings of the APA, which publishes the DSM. Finally, in 1972, the APA agreed to host a panel where the harm and inaccuracy of the classification would be discussed. Gittings found and arranged for a closeted gay psychiatrist to come out—although wearing a disguise—onstage, at which point he asked the APA membership to acknowledge the significant population of homosexuals among its ranks. The next year, in 1973, homosexuality was finally removed as a disorder from the DSM, thereby freeing New Yorkers—and Americans everywhere—from the corrosive and damaging view that one's self could somehow be defective or "wrong." This victory solidified Gittings's legacy as a vital force in the fight toward fully liberating all people from the effects of prejudice, discrimination, and self-hate. # THE BEACON A descendant of Sephardic Jews from Portugal who emigrated in the late 1700s, EMMA LAZARUS (1849–1887) was born in New York City to a wealthy family. Her love of poetry developed from such an early age that, according to the American Academy of Poets, by the time she was a teenager she had translated works by Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, and Friedrich Schiller. She also read the modern literature of Germany, Italy, and France, as well as Greek and Latin classics. In 1867, when she was just eighteen, she published translations of German verse along with a collection of her poems; these works attracted attention from critics and poets, including Ralph Waldo Emerson, who became a friend and mentor. Over the next two decades, Lazarus wrote more poetry and other compositions (including a novel and a verse drama) and developed a deep interest in Jewish ancestry. She also became involved in helping Russian Jewish refugees housed in temporary shelters on Wards Island, which functioned as the City's primary immigration station before Ellis Island opened in 1892. In working with these refugees—seeing their troubles up close, and learning of Russian pogroms—she became deeply concerned about the plight of Jewish people. In 1883, a Manhattan civic group raising money to build a granite pedestal for the Statue of Liberty asked Lazarus to compose a sonnet for a fund-raising auction. In penning "The New Colossus," Lazarus was able to broaden her concern to all persecuted immigrants, envisioning America as a refuge for anyone seeking a better life: GIVE ME YOUR TIRED, YOUR POOR, YOUR HUDDLED MASSES YEARNING TO BREATHE FREE, THE WRETCHED REFUSE OF YOUR TEEMING SHORE, SEND THESE, THE HOMELESS, TEMPEST-TOST TO ME, I LIFT MY LAMP BESIDE THE GOLDEN DOOR! The statue, a gift from the French, was intended to commemorate the U.S.–French alliance during the American Revolution; the idea of it serving as an emblem of welcoming wasn't even discussed during its dedication ceremony in 1886. Lazarus died the following year, after battling what is thought to have been Hodgkin's lymphoma. Though thereafter her work began falling into obscurity, her friend Georgina Schuyler, an art patron and great-granddaughter of Alexander Hamilton, himself an immigrant, lobbied to have Lazarus's poem affixed to the statue's pedestal. Almost two decades later, in 1903, Schuyler succeeded, and with her own funds commissioned the poem's inscription on a bronze plaque. From that point forward, the statue—named Mother of Exiles in Lazarus's sonnet—began its journey into the world's consciousness as a symbol of America's promise for liberty to all. At the time of the poem's creation, the poet James Russell Lowell appreciated the profundity of Lazarus's work, writing her to say that he liked the poem "much better than I like the Statue itself" because it "gives its subject a raison d'être which it wanted before quite as much as it wants a pedestal. You have set it on a noble one, saying admirably just the right word to be said, an achievement more arduous than that of the sculptor." STATUE OF LIBERTY # THE ADVOCATES As a teenager, Elizabeth Cochran, whose father had died when she was six years old, dreamed of becoming a teacher so she could support her widowed mother. Presumably, she wasn't the only reader of _The Pittsburgh Dispatch_ who felt a jolt of indignation upon reading "What Girls Are Good For," the title of an 1885 editorial that declared women would do best by staying home and performing domestic duties—citing a working woman as nothing less than "a monstrosity." But only twenty-year-old Cochran was furious enough to craft a fiery rebuttal so well written that the managing editor of the paper offered her a job, paying five dollars a week. Assuming the pen name NELLIE BLY (1864–1922) after a popular song by Stephen Foster, the young woman began reporting on a number of topics relevant to women of the day, such as life in the slums, working in Pittsburgh's factories, and the bias against women inherent in divorce proceedings. Two years later, she left for New York City determined to land a job at Joseph Pulitzer's _New York World_ ; after months of rejections, she finally convinced an editor to send her undercover as a pretend patient into the notorious public asylum on what was then called Blackwell's Island (now known as Roosevelt Island) in the East River. After convincing doctors and judges she was insane, Bly spent ten days living with the other patients, enduring cruel beatings, force-feedings, and frigid baths before the _World_ secured her release. She then described the treatment of patients in excruciating detail: like watching nurses drag an old woman by her hair while calling her names, or being forced to eat rancid butter. Her story proved so embarrassing to City officials that they immediately launched an investigation and increased funds to improve treatment. Bly's exposé was soon followed by investigations into crooked lobbyists, labor abuses, mistreatment of female prisoners, and inadequate medical care for the poor. The peak of Bly's fame came in 1889 for a headline-grabbing race around the globe modeled after Jules Verne's classic adventure novel _Around the World in 80 Days_. But it was her forging of investigative journalism, her revealing of the otherwise-unseen abuses and indignities suffered by New York's poor and marginalized, that galvanized those in power into effecting meaningful change. During WWI, by then a woman in her fifties, she worked overseas as the first American female war correspondent. At war's end she returned to New York, where she advocated for homeless children, seeking homes for them through a column in the _New York Evening Journal_. She died at the age of fifty-seven. The Industrial Revolution, which transformed a more agrarian society to a more mechanized one, provided much-needed employment and invigorated the American economy—and yet also introduced new methods of exploiting workers. Factory owners, aiming to maximize profits, pushed employees to operate machinery, attach widgets, and repeat a wide array of other assembly-line tasks at ever-more efficient speeds. Given the high volume of laborers desperate for income—many of them immigrants—some NYC employers felt free to ruthlessly disregard the physical and emotional toll on workers, and simply replaced anyone who balked. Not surprisingly, the conditions resulting from this equation were appalling. The extent of owners' disregard for human life was on stark display in Manhattan on March 25, 1911, when the City's deadliest workplace disaster to date took place on Washington Place in Greenwich Village. A fire broke out on the eighth, ninth, and tenth floors of the Asch Building, home to the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, from which many workers, mostly young women, were unable to escape. Why? So as to reduce the likelihood of excessive breaks and theft, a main stairwell had been locked by the factory's bosses, who themselves escaped via a different stairwell before it was consumed by fire. Indeed, the foreman with the key also fled, leaving the workers trapped in an inferno. A crowd of bystanders on the street below watched in horror as a macabre parade of women, preferring a quick end to an excruciating one, jumped to their deaths. Many of the jumpers were engulfed in flames, and blood ran in the streets. In the end a total of 146 workers would die in the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, some burned alive in the factory. The incident left City residents aghast, who for the next few weeks held vigils and protests all over the City, demanding a government response. One such meeting took place on April 2, 1911, at the Metropolitan Opera House, where tensions broke out between working-class spectators and the wealthier attendees who seemed more concerned about improving the services of the fire department than about workers' rights. Amid the discussion, ROSE SCHNEIDERMAN (1882–1972), a petite woman (just four foot nine) with striking red hair, took the stage to voice her concerns—and quickly transfixed the audience with her passionate indignations. Schneiderman had experienced firsthand the pay inequality and abuses of factory work: one of four children of Polish immigrants, she had been forced at age thirteen to leave school and find employment after her father died. At the time of this gathering, she had been involved in labor activism for nearly a decade; just two years earlier, she had helped lead a strike by shirtwaist workers, including those at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, only to see several of the largest companies—including Triangle—refuse to comply with demands. As a result, many of the women engaged in that strike, standing elbow to elbow with Schneiderman, had met grisly deaths. Speaking forcefully and yet barely above a whisper, she told those assembled at the Opera House: "I would be a traitor to those poor burned bodies if I were to come here to talk good fellowship. We have tried you good people of the public," she said, pausing, "and we have found you wanting." ROSE SCHNEIDERMAN WE HAVE TRIED YOU GOOD PEOPLE OF THE PUBLIC—AND WE HAVE FOUND YOU WANTING. —ROSE SCHNEIDERMAN, 1911 Her blunt, searing appraisal of how those in power had failed the Triangle girls and numerous other workplace accident victims stunned the well-to-do audience. Schneiderman would go on to help establish the International Ladies' Garment Workers' Union (ILGWU), develop a close friendship with Eleanor Roosevelt, and become a member of FDR's "braintrust" and an advisor to one of his New Deal agencies. She also served for six years (1937–1943) as secretary to the New York State Department of Labor. Among those who were deeply moved by Schneiderman's declarations was FRANCES PERKINS (1880–1965), an ambitious reformer who seized the moment to begin work on what would eventually become some of the most progressive labor reform laws in the nation. Perkins grew up in Massachusetts, very much a daughter of loving "Downeasters" who had for generations farmed and operated a brickyard in rural Maine. She also enjoyed a close bond with a wise, widowed grandmother, who shared many stories about their family's Yankee history of self-sufficiency. But it was while studying the rise of industrialism at Mount Holyoke College that Perkins—who had been taught that nice people were poor because of alcohol or laziness, a widely held viewpoint in that era—was forever changed by a visit to a mill in Connecticut. There she saw women and children enduring slave-like conditions, with no cap on mandatory hours, no safety measures, and no compensation should on-the-job injury render them unable to earn their keep. Because of this experience, Perkins, a devout Episcopalian, decided to dedicate herself to ameliorating such "unnecessary hazards to life," such "unnecessary poverty." In 1909, she moved to New York City, where she took a job with the National Consumers League, an organization taking steps to limit work hours for children and adults, and to establish sanitary and safety regulations for the City's businesses. There, in 1911, Perkins, 31, was among the horrified crowd offering final witness to the Triangle workers jumping to their deaths. (She happened to be taking tea with friends at a townhouse in Washington Square but was drawn outside by the sound of fire trucks.) When in the aftermath of the tragedy a commission was established to recommend new safety regulations, Governor Al Smith appointed Perkins to lead it. Unafraid to confront the abuses head-on, Perkins took legislators on tours of factories and worksites to show them firsthand the dangers of unfettered manufacturing. Those efforts helped produce the first (and most comprehensive) set of workplace health and safety laws in the nation. When Franklin Delano Roosevelt became governor of New York in 1928, he promoted Perkins to oversee the entire New York labor department. He then turned to her for ideas about how to address the rising crisis of unemployment. Perkins soon expanded existing employment programs, organized conferences, and explored the prospect of unemployment insurance, even traveling to England to study the issue. After FDR was elected to the Oval Office, he asked Perkins to join his cabinet as Secretary of Labor. Before accepting the appointment, Perkins wrote out the following goals—now widely considered a basic standard—and insisted that Roosevelt confirm in advance his full support of her vision: the establishment of a forty-hour work week, a minimum wage, abolishment of child labor, unemployment compensation, worker's compensation, social security, a revitalized federal employment service, and universal health care. With his agreement, Perkins became the first female in U.S. history to serve in a presidential cabinet (an occasion that led _The Atlanta Constitution_ to take note of her "extraordinarily well-shaped hands"). With the exception of universal health insurance, which has kept politicians arguing well into the twenty-first century, in time, Perkins achieved all of her goals, thus revolutionizing the life of every American—especially the lives of the many low-level laborers in New York City. Most significantly for New York, Perkins was also the creator and primary driver of what became the Works Progress Administration (WPA), the federal employment agency created as part of Roosevelt's New Deal to combat the Great Depression. By 1936, the federal government was spending $20 million a month in New York City alone. Mayor Fiorello H. La Guardia, taking advantage of the program, used WPA funds to rebuild and/or modernize many NYC sites, including La Guardia Airport, the Prospect Park Zoo, the entire lower section of FDR Drive, 255 playgrounds, and seventeen municipal swimming pools—not to mention repairs to thousands of miles of roads and hundreds of schools and the refurbishment of countless hospitals and police and fire stations. In the process, these works provided much-needed employment for thousands of New Yorkers, from men toiling at the Brooklyn Navy Yard to the artists hired by the New Deal's Federal Arts Project (including the painter Jackson Pollock and photographer Berenice Abbott) to the young scribes (including John Cheever and Ralph Ellison) employed by the Federal Writers' Project. THE DOOR MIGHT NOT BE OPENED TO A WOMAN AGAIN FOR A LONG, LONG TIME, AND I HAD A KIND OF DUTY TO OTHER WOMEN TO WALK IN AND SIT DOWN ON THE CHAIR THAT WAS OFFERED, AND SO ESTABLISH THE RIGHT OF OTHERS LONG HENCE AND FAR DISTANT IN GEOGRAPHY TO SIT IN THE HIGH SEATS. —FRANCES PERKINS, 1945 In 1944, _Collier's_ described Perkins's work over the previous twelve years as "not so much the Roosevelt New Deal as it is the Perkins New Deal." Although Perkins married the economist Paul Caldwell Wilson in 1913, for many years Perkins lived in Washington, DC, with Mary Harriman Rumsey, a socialite whose political sympathies, financial support, and companionship were instrumental in Perkins's success. Today, her grandson, Tomlin Perkins Coggeshall, carries on Perkins's work through the Frances Perkins Center in Maine, which he founded in her honor. In 1927, ELLA BAKER (1903–1986) moved from Raleigh, North Carolina, to New York City. A freshly minted valedictorian from historically black Shaw University, she brought with her a deep concern for fairness and a willingness to confront what she "considered contradictions in what was said and what was done." She held a number of odd jobs, including stints at two Harlem newspapers, where she came into contact with leading black thinkers like George Schuyler, an important social critic. She also joined several community organizations and helped Schuyler start the Young Negroes Cooperative League (YNCL), an early grocery co-op that allowed black New Yorkers to pool funds to get better prices on food. From her work at the YNCL, Baker became so adept at value purchasing that the Works Progress Administration (WPA) hired her to teach buying classes. In addition, Schuyler recognized her gifts in inspiring youth support for activist causes; at his encouragement, she toured the country, grew the ranks of YNCL, and motivated African Americans to participate in the democratic process. Around 1940, Baker was hired by the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), which had been founded in Manhattan in 1909. An astute organizer and strategist, she began representing the NYC headquarters around the country, raising funds and recruiting members, eventually becoming the NAACP's national director of branches. In that post, she assisted with the creation of new chapters, helped local leaders organize grassroots campaigns—campaigns against lynching, for example, and for equal pay and job training—and provided leadership training to local figures, including Rosa Parks. While the NAACP focused its resources on winning the battle for equality through the courts, Baker sensed that lasting change was more likely to emerge from daily life. Her next forum for creating change arose from her role, beginning in 1957, as executive director of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC), a position offered by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. on behalf of several ministers set on mounting boycott campaigns throughout the South. Though she found the members' chauvinist attitudes (and relentless condescension) unpalatable, such didn't stop her from launching the organization—and a theretofore little-known King—onto a national stage. ELLA BAKER But in February 1960, after four black college students in North Carolina refused to leave a Woolworth's lunch counter when they were denied service, Baker left the SCLC to assist the new student activists. She soon organized an event out of which was born the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC; pronounced "snick"), which proved to be one of the most important groups behind the 1960s civil rights movement. Though she spent the majority of her time raising awareness and publicizing her cause, Baker herself was almost never in front of the camera. For one thing, she never sought fame; but also, the pervasive sexism of the day—embodied in Stokely Carmichael's infamous joke that "the only position for women in SNCC is prone"—meant public leadership positions were usually denied to women. That Baker persevered and ultimately succeeded within this environment makes her a symbol of resilience; and though she faced gender oppression even within her ranks, during her life she nonetheless earned the nickname "Fundi," a Swahili word for someone who passes craft down to the next generation. In the end, despite the fact that, or perhaps because, her grandmother had endured the dehumanizing violation of slavery, Baker played a pivotal role in all of the most important civil rights groups of her era. As such, she deserves recognition as the City's—and the country's—first lady of civil rights. Despite the significant gains in racial equality that Baker helped achieve, she and other female leaders often noted that gender could be an even more fraught component of identity than race or ethnicity. In 1963, Ohio-born GLORIA STEINEM (b. 1934), a graduate of Smith College, having gone undercover as a waitress/"bunny" at a newly opened Playboy Club in Manhattan, described the experience in a two-part series for _Show_ magazine. A few years later, she covered a speak-out organized by the Redstockings, a radical feminist group, to protest the fact that the New York State Legislature, when considering a liberalization of abortion law, invited to testify fourteen men and one woman—a nun. With this incident she experienced an awakening of her feminist consciousness, as it brought her to realize just how outraged she was by the injustices experienced by women. "It was the first time in my life I had heard women standing up in public and talking about something that you weren't supposed to talk about, and that only happened to women—and taking it seriously," she told me. "Suddenly I understood the politics of sexism in the deep sense: that it was about controlling reproduction and therefore women's bodies." In clear, calm prose, Steinem began using the political column she wrote for the newly launched _New York_ magazine to directly advocate for women's rights. Taking the many sexist experiences she and other female city-dwellers encountered on a daily basis, she pushed to make her concerns part of the national conversation. In 1970, she delivered a commencement address at Vassar College entitled "Living the Revolution." She told the students: "Our first problem is not to learn but to unlearn, to clear out some of the old assumptions: patriotism means obedience, age means wisdom, black means inferior, woman means submission. They just don't work anymore." Attractive and articulate, and speaking truths that many women had until then only privately endured, Steinem quickly became the face of what is commonly considered the "second wave" of the American feminism movement. She also embraced the popular rallying slogan of the era, "the personal is political," and coined the phrase "reproductive freedom." In 1970, she testified before the U.S. Senate about the necessity of the Equal Rights Amendment. The following year, she published (with Dorothy Pitman Hughes and six founding editors) _Ms._ magazine, the country's first national glossy periodical produced and operated by women. Initially packaged as an insert to _New York_ , the three-hundred-thousand printing sold out in eight days, launching a groundbreaking monthly that is still in operation today. In 1973, Steinem joined with Patricia Carbine, Letty Cottin Pogrebin, and Marlo Thomas to create the Ms. Foundation for Women, which funded domestic violence shelters and sexual-assault hotlines, created programs for women's economic development and sex education, organized groups to work for reproductive rights and social justice, and in 1993 introduced Take Our Daughters to Work Day, a widely successful national public education campaign that was expanded a decade later to include boys. In 2005 she cofounded (with Jane Fonda and Robin Morgan) the Women's Media Center, an organization dedicated to making women more visible and powerful in the media. For decades Steinem has lectured on feminist issues, lent support to student and feminist groups, and tried to bring attention to the distinct needs of women of color. For example, when, by dint of her celebrity, she was invited to speak around the country, she nearly always brought along a speaking partner, like the black feminist Florynce "Flo" Kennedy, or civil rights trailblazer Dorothy Pitman Hughes. Steinem has organized countless benefits, given her time to numerous political organizations, and made many appearances on television. Overall, her advocacy has had an immeasurable impact on women's rights in New York, from which it spread to the rest of the country and—it isn't an overstatement to say—the world. Still publishing and advocating and mentoring younger activists in her eighth decade, this _fundi_ —like Ella Baker, someone who passes craft down to the next generation—spent 2014, the year of her eightieth birthday, as she said, "using myself" to promote feminist causes, offering a message that could be New York City's mantra: "The future depends entirely on what each of us does every day." # WALL STREET In 2016, a former managing director at Bear Stearns revealed in _The New York Times_ that male colleagues had welcomed her to Wall Street with a pizza studded with unwrapped condoms, proving that the work of civilizing men on Wall Street is an unfinished process. But imagine how much further away civility would be if it weren't for VICTORIA WOODHULL (1838–1927). In 1870, Victoria and her younger sister, Tennessee "Tennie" Claflin, opened a brokerage firm on Wall Street (backed by funds from Cornelius Vanderbilt). This was half a century before women were even guaranteed the right to vote. Upon opening shop at 44 Broad Street, Woodhull sent pretty much the entire financial district—not to mention the City's male-dominated newsrooms—into a dither. Bankers and traders, unable to stop themselves from gawking at such exotic specimens, flocked to the firm's storefront window to take a gander, or joined a long line of those keen on actually meeting them. Some fellows even gussied up beforehand, donning their dandiest finery. Woodhull was a relative newcomer to New York, and she had arrived with a checkered past. After surviving an unstable childhood in Ohio, she married at fifteen, divorced, and then reinvented herself—first in the theater in San Francisco, next becoming a traveling "medical clairvoyant." But her possession of generous measures of gumption put her on par with the era's other financial speculators, and the firm quickly made a bundle. Simultaneously, Woodhull became a devotee of Stephen Pearl Andrews, an abolitionist phonography expert and radical philosopher who espoused a philosophy of individualist utopia, leading her to decide her true quest was to help women achieve financial and sexual freedom. In 1871 she launched a newspaper, _Woodhull and Claflin's Weekly_ ; the same year, she became the first woman in history to address a committee of the U.S. Congress. She was also the first person in America to publish an English translation of _The Communist Manifesto_. In 1872, at age thirty-three, she announced her candidacy for U.S. president, becoming the first woman ever to make a run for the White House. Prominent suffragists like Susan B. Anthony were initially thrilled to welcome an attractive, outspoken, attention-seeking addition to the cause; but when, at an important suffrage convention, Woodhull tried to shift focus off of the singular goal of enfranchisement to a wider platform of political issues, they would repudiate her, and all but omit her from their landmark accounts of feminist history. Still, Woodhull was the first to blaze the path, and it wasn't until the panic of 1907 that another woman would affect the financial sector in such a significant way. After stock prices plummeted and investors unloaded billions of dollars in securities, two financial firms declared bankruptcy, setting off a run on the banks. With another firm on the brink of collapse, HETTY GREEN , (1834–1916), one of New York's wealthiest investors, promptly loaned $1.1 million to the City and millions more to individuals and banks, thereby helping to stabilize the market. Despite a reputation for being a miser—which in many ways she was—Green was already the City's largest lender: according to a 1930 biography, the City repeatedly turned to Green for low-interest loans, including one for $4.5 million. Green's vast wealth was achieved after her father's death, when she inherited an estimated one million dollars. Having started reading commodities reports to her father when she was only six, Green should have been known as the "Oracle of Wall Street": she astutely maneuvered the markets and became one of the richest people in the world, worth an estimated $100 to $200 million (the modern day equivalent of at least $2.2 billion). Upon marrying in 1867, she insisted on keeping her funds separate and under her own control; after her husband later risked some of her money without permission, she paid off his debts and left him. Green was widely derided in the press for being miserly (she eschewed new clothes and rented in Hoboken to avoid NYC property tax) and for her habit of dressing in a heavy black dress and veil. But she had grown up in a Quaker home that valued thrift, and began wearing a veil after the death of her husband (from whom she never legally divorced). Instead of being lauded as one of the foremost financial wizards in history, Hetty Green is usually remembered, unfairly and absurdly, as "The Witch of Wall Street." HETTY GREEN, "THE WITCH OF WALL STREET" In 1967, half a century after Green died in 1916, MURIEL SIEBERT (1928–2013) earned a more meaningful title upon purchasing a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. How so? At the time, all 1,365 members of the exchange were men. Despite a predictable onslaught of hazing (including a headline that read "Skirt Invades Exchange," a modernized version of an editorial published upon Woodhull's arrival to the Street more than a century earlier, which read "Vive la froufrou!"), Siebert opened her own financial firm called Muriel Siebert & Co., and in 1975, when laws eliminated fixed commission rates for brokers, she transformed her company into one of the nation's first discount brokerages. While most Wall Street banks were bastions of male dominance, Siebert, who was known as "Mickie," attracted a steady stream of female customers, many who needed sound advice after having been manipulated by greedy men. In 1977, Governor Hugh Carey asked Siebert to become the state's superintendent of banking. Under her leadership, not a single banking institution failed. Eventually the "First Woman of Finance" would direct her comfort with mathematics into creating a personal finance program for middle and high school students. A 2002 autobiography urged women to blaze whatever paths necessary to reach their professional goals, and revealed the habits of thinking that led to her success: "Lead, follow, or get the hell out of the way." # THE BENEFACTORS While her husband, John D. Rockefeller Jr., was busy being heir to the Standard Oil fortune, ABBY ALDRICH ROCKEFELLER (1874–1948) found ways to support progressive causes like the YWCA and the American Birth Control League (ABCL), the forerunner of Planned Parenthood. She served as chair of an American Red Cross Auxiliary, dedicating space in her home to prepare thousands of "comfort bags" for soldiers on fighting fronts abroad, and chaired a YWCA committee to build quality housing for working women. She also collected art that was considered experimental or, in the words of her husband, "unintelligible"; possessing a sophisticated sense of aesthetics, she amassed a collection of work by then-unknowns like Georgia O'Keeffe, Vincent van Gogh, Diego Rivera, Henri Matisse, and Pablo Picasso, which were displayed on an upper floor of the family's townhouse on West 54th Street. After the 1913 Armory Show, the first significant showing of modern work in the United States, several prominent members of the City discussed establishing a museum for modern art—but no one took the initiative to do anything about it until Abby Aldrich Rockefeller resolved otherwise. As her darling husband didn't approve of using their resources to show "indiscernible dreck" to the masses, Rockefeller joined with two friends in raising funds for the project. As the result, the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), the first museum in the country devoted to the modern movement, opened in 1929. During the museum's first decade Rockefeller provided what a biographer called "visionary management"—as well as the institution's first formal purchase funds. She held various positions at what her family affectionately referred to as "Mother's museum," including member of the board of trustees. To honor Rockefeller's contributions, the Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Sculpture Garden, designed by Philip Johnson, was dedicated two years after her death in 1948. Her influence was still felt half a century later when, by decree of her will, MoMA transferred to other museums several valuable impressionistic works she had originally donated. The reason? Always a farsighted thinker, she had believed that, in time, those works would no longer be "modern." At the dawn of the twentieth century, GERTRUDE VANDERBILT WHITNEY (1875–1942) began studying sculpture, both at the Art Students League of New York and, for a period, in Paris, where she visited with Auguste Rodin. She then became an active part of the bohemian Greenwich Village art scene, purchasing a studio on MacDougal Alley, organizing exhibits for fellow artists, and, in 1918, establishing the Whitney Studio Club, a place where young local artists could hang out, play billiards, and utilize the facility's reference library or sketch room. Throughout this time, Whitney came into contact with numerous young artists, whose work she avidly collected. (As she was a great-granddaughter of shipping and railroad magnate "Commodore" Cornelius Vanderbilt and the wife of a member of the prominent Whitney family, money was plentiful.) By 1929, in addition to becoming a successful sculptor in her own right, she had amassed more than five hundred works by the likes of then-unknowns such as Max Weber, Reginald Marsh, and Edward Hopper. Believing American modernists deserved greater recognition, she offered to donate them (with an endowment) to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. But after the traditional-minded Met declined the offer, she instead founded the Whitney Museum of American Art, which opened in 1931 on West 8th Street. The following year, she organized what today remains the preeminent showcase for emerging American artists: the Whitney Annual Exhibition. (After it shifted to a biennial schedule in 1973, it became known as the Whitney Biennial.) Whereas most museums have no regular schedule for obtaining new work, Ms. Whitney utilized the recurring event as a forum for continually growing her collection, thereby establishing the Whitney—and by extension, New York City—as perpetually on the cutting edge of American modern art. In the annals of philanthropy, no socialite could ever mean more to New York than BROOKE ASTOR (1902–2007), the City's grand dame of high society who, throughout the second half of the twentieth century, provided financial support for many of its most beloved cultural institutions, including the New York Public Library, the Bronx Zoo, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. BROOKE ASTOR Astor's third husband, Vincent Astor, was heir to the fortune of John Jacob Astor IV, a fur magnate and financier who went down with the RMS _Titanic_ in 1912. Upon Vincent's death in 1959, Brooke Astor became president of his foundation and began the work of giving away its money. But, unlike most society ladies before her, Astor parlayed her adept social and intellectual abilities into a new kind of philanthropic leadership. She showed up in person wherever she was donating—wearing her trademark pearls and elegant suits—which sent the message that kindergartens in the Bronx were as much a part of the City as the NYPL. Astor funded countless small projects as well, like chess tables in parks; construction of the George Washington Carver Houses in East Harlem (along with its brick outdoor amphitheaters); fire escapes for a homeless residence in the Bronx; and free care for pets of indigent seniors. When she died at 105 in 2007, _The New York Times_ noted the personal creed that rightly earned the headline "Aristocrat of the People" on her obituary: "I grew up feeling that the most important thing in life was to have good manners and to enhance the lives of others." # THE FUNDER By the time the nineteenth century gave way to the twentieth, the great epidemics of smallpox, cholera, and yellow fever had ended. Tuberculosis, however, remained rampant among the City's poor, as did childhood diseases like diphtheria, measles, dysentery, and whooping cough. And though public health was in its infancy, it didn't take much for physicians and researchers to identify a major source of the problem: lack of hygiene. In teeming slums on the Lower East Side, poor immigrant families—often with five, six, even ten children—were packed into one or two small rooms with no ventilation and little or no access to running water. (In 1900, thirty-nine tenement buildings on one block were found to house a total of 2,781 people, who shared just forty taps with hot running water and 264 water closets.) The scarcity of taps meant that bathing was inconvenient and cumbersome—and therefore rarely performed. And with water closets being far from sanitary, disease-carrying bacteria quickly made its way from family to family. Enter ELIZABETH MILBANK ANDERSON (1850–1921), who, in 1884, inherited half her father Jeremiah Milbank's enormous fortune, which he had amassed as a railroad magnate and as an owner of what became the Borden Condensed Milk Company. Given her devotion to her Baptist parents, Elizabeth used her family's name for all of her philanthropic work in the City. Anderson, who lost her only son to diphtheria in 1886, was convinced that health was at the foundation of human happiness. And so, she sought means by which she could help prevent others from suffering. When she became involved with the Association for Improving the Condition of the Poor (AICP), she learned of the plight of fellow New Yorkers lacking access to facilities for basic hygiene. While most affluent philanthropists funded projects that would display their largesse—a museum or a monument—Anderson instead donated funds to build a public bath. Her gift would become a model for the City, as it established the groundwork for hygiene being practiced as the very foundation of public health. When the Milbank Memorial People's Bath opened on East 38th Street in 1904, it was one of just two or three places where the City's poor could bathe—and it could accommodate three thousand bathers in a single day. It was divided into separate sections for men and women and also provided a space for washing clothes. Images from the period show filthy children, many without shoes, crowded onto the building's stairs, waiting for their turn to go inside. Needless to say, the facility greatly transformed tens of thousands of city-dwellers' lives. In addition to addressing sanitation, Anderson sought to strengthen children's health through the provision of meals to 25,000 students in New York City public elementary schools. Anderson's good works didn't end there. In 1905 she created what is now known as The Milbank Memorial Fund, endowing it with $9.3 million. The foundation became a major private source of funds for public health and social and preventive medicine through the twentieth century. By creating a facility with Anne Harriman Vanderbilt where infected patients and their families could convalesce—The Home Hospital for the Tubercular—the fund helped NYC greatly reduce annual deaths from tuberculosis, which in 1910 had numbered over ten thousand. To further help children, in 1909, Anderson provided one million dollars to the Children's Aid Society for the purchase, renovation, and operation of the Chappaqua Mountain Institute as a sanitarium for ill and crippled children. From 1912 until 1922, the "Home For Convalescent Children" provided care to 7,903 boys and girls of impoverished urban families recovering from a variety of diseases. Anderson had also been a major benefactor and trustee of Barnard, a women's college founded in 1889 that operated out of a rented brownstone at 343 Madison Avenue. In 1896, she funded the construction of its own building, "Milbank Hall," a red brick structure on a plot between 119th and 120th Streets, bound by Broadway and Claremont Avenue. Then, in 1903 she anonymously purchased the adjoining three city blocks stretching south all the way to 116th Street; her deeding it to the school ensured Barnard would have an adequate campus. In none of these places throughout the City where her support was so instrumental can the name ELIZABETH MILBANK ANDERSON be found; she always opted instead for simply the Milbank family name. But her (perhaps) modesty aside, her determination to fund projects that would have a lasting effect on New Yorkers' quality of life—and the advancement of the City—lives on. # THE AMBASSADOR After making her social debut, ELEANOR ROOSEVELT (1884-1962), a descendant of the City's earliest Dutch settlers and a granddaughter of Theodore Roosevelt Sr., was inspired by how her friend, the debutante Mary Harriman, utilized her life of privilege to found The Junior League, a group initially devoted to supporting the Settlement House movement. She decided she likewise wanted to do more with her life than attend parties. The teenaged Roosevelt began by teaching dance and calisthenics, then believed to improve health after long hours working in a confined space, at the College Settlement House on Rivington Street. She also worked at The Consumer's League, where she investigated and documented the conditions of tenement sweatshops where people lived and worked. After meeting Franklin Delano Roosevelt, a fifth cousin once removed, during a train ride up the Hudson River, they began a clandestine courtship; in 1905, when she was twenty and he was twenty-two, they married. For about a decade and a half, Roosevelt served as a dutiful political wife—first in Albany and then in Washington, where FDR served as Secretary of the Navy under Woodrow Wilson. She gave birth to the couple's six children, losing one in infancy. When FDR contracted polio, Roosevelt initially oversaw his medical care, but once a secretary was employed to take over household management duties, Roosevelt was freed to pursue her own interests. These included joining the Women's City Club of New York, for which she would make radio broadcasts on current political issues and become part of the organization's leadership, and the Women's Trade Union League, which helped female garment industry laborers unionize and advocate for fair wages and work hours. She also joined the League of Women Voters, became the newsletter editor and columnist for the Women's Division of the New York State Democratic Committee, worked for a variety of publications as a freelance journalist, and, according to the National First Ladies' Library, created a committee to judge a contest in which competitors submitted plans to create world peace. When FDR returned to Albany as Governor in 1929, Roosevelt quit most of her political groups but continued making her "Women in Politics" radio broadcast, remaining home in Manhattan half of her time. She also began utilizing her position as the governor's wife to influence state politics, successfully encouraging FDR to reform employment and labor programs that directly affected the life of workers in the City. Upon becoming First Lady of the United States in 1933, Roosevelt, then forty-eight, decided to continue her work as a writer, public speaker, and media figure, and began leveraging her platform to promote the reform causes to which she had always been devoted. To force news organizations to employ female scribes, she held regular press conferences from which she barred male reporters. She also began writing monthly columns for various women's magazines, and beginning in 1935, she penned a syndicated, six-day-a-week newspaper column called "My Day," in which she encouraged women to develop talents and interests outside traditional roles and advocated for progressive causes like civil rights. She famously used one column to explain her resignation from the Daughters of the American Revolution for its refusal to permit Marian Anderson, the acclaimed African American contralto singer, to perform. She wrote numerous lengthy magazine articles about the moral necessity of civil rights, published books, and gave an estimated 1,400 speeches on a variety of progressive causes. Roosevelt spent an unprecedented three terms in the White House, during which time she routinely spoke out on civil rights for all, refused to soften her stance for political expediency (even letting it be known publicly that she disapproved of the decision by her husband's administration of interning Japanese Americans after the Pearl Harbor attack), invited a wide array of artists into the White House, and, upon seeing the dearth of opportunities available to workers in the New Hyde area where the Roosevelt family owned homes, she joined with friends and opened a factory to put local people to work. Over the twenty-two years of her life after leaving the White House, Roosevelt worked with the NAACP, participated in the creation of a Civil Rights Division within the Justice department, fundraised with Martin Luther King Jr. and Rosa Parks for participants in civil disobedience, lobbied to make permanent the outlawing of racial discrimination in federal employment (after having earlier convinced FDR to issue a similar Executive Order), co-chaired a fundraiser for striking union members, supported the Equal Rights Amendment, and testified before Congress to support legislation guaranteeing gender pay equity. MY VOICE WILL NOT BE SILENT. —ELEANOR ROOSEVELT, 1945 Roosevelt remade the post of the country's first lady. But it was her modeling of a humanist spirit—routinely defending the underdog, picking up the downtrodden, believing in the equality of all races, demonstrating the value of the arts to society and individuals, and repeatedly choosing to devote her time to substantive matters over fluff (she would even, upon finding a dress she liked, order it in several colors to avoid devoting more time to fittings)—that made her a symbol of New York. Her spirit reflected a New Yorker's sensibility and the melting pot ethos—as such she was poised to become the first true citizen of the world. In 1945, she was appointed by President Harry Truman to serve as one of five delegates to the newly formed United Nations, where she successfully promoted a variety of American proposals and advocated for oppressed and tyrannized people worldwide. With decades of writing and editing experience, she took on the formidable task of drafting the first ever-attempted Universal Declaration of Human Rights, an effort that required months of difficult political negotiations between representatives from countries with widely divergent cultures and beliefs. On December 10, 1948, as Human Rights Commission chair, Eleanor presented the declaration to the U.N. General Assembly, and in a historic moment for all people devoted to freedom and social justice, the declaration was ratified. The document remains the principal guide the world over to assess a government's treatment of its people. And it established Roosevelt's place as the ultimate New Yorker. # MADISON AVENUE In the 1960s the phrase "Madison Avenue" became shorthand for the powerful multibillion-dollar advertising industry that drove the fortunes of most American industries and helped to create what came to be known as popular culture. But the role of the advertising industry in promulgating the gospel of consumerism actually began in the 1920s, when American factories transitioned from producing munitions to making a vast array of household appliances and automobiles. In this environment, advertisers needed to do more than just sell products—they also had to devise strategies for creating new markets of people to buy them. Not surprisingly, most professionals involved in that endeavor were men. But, one night in 1911, CHRISTINE FREDERICK (1883–1970), a housewife whose husband worked at the ad agency J. Walter Thompson, found herself fascinated when a business friend of her husband visited their Bronx apartment to discuss topics like "efficiency," "standard practice," and "scientific management." Frederick asked the guest to visit again and tell her more. From subsequent conversations, she quickly absorbed the logic of Taylorism, a late-nineteenth-century system of evaluating every step in manufacturing so as to increase productivity. An immediate convert, she decided to apply this system to the domestic sphere, which she personally found "drudgifying." Through a series of articles for _Ladies' Home Journal_ entitled "The New Housekeeping," she applied the scientific language of efficiency to domestic life, encouraging readers to minimize physical routes between essential locations in the kitchen, to ensure necessary equipment is readily accessible, and, as a means of better maintaining a clean, happy home, to buy "every device she can afford." Next she moved her family to Long Island, where in 1900 she founded the Applecroft Home Experiment Station, a product-evaluation laboratory similar to the Good Housekeeping Institute. At Applecroft she tested a wide variety of devices, then sold her reviews as advertising copy—all the while using her editorial writings (which grew to include two books and a syndicated newspaper column) to push housewives to think of themselves as family "purchasing agents." Over the next decade, Frederick became widely known as a consumer advocate and home-efficiency expert, and she simultaneously worked as a consultant to advertisers. So as to give females a greater voice in the ad industry, in 1912 she and her husband established the League of Advertising Women of New York (now Advertising Women of New York, Inc., or AWNY). But it was her landmark 1929 book, _Selling Mrs. Consumer_ , that brought sales and advertising types to first recognize the importance of women to the consumer economy; this in turn provided the roadmap for Madison Avenue to promote the idea of buying products (for one's family) as an act of familial devotion—even patriotism. Although Frederick seemed blithely unaware of the eventual environmental and social implications of the mass consumerism she preached, she was instrumental in not only validating consumerism in the eyes of American women, but also building the idea in American minds that buying "things" was a social, moral—and even maternal—good, a condition on which Madison Avenue's survival (not to mention a significant part of the U.S. economy) would depend in the coming decades. As a young newlywed, alone in New York while her husband fought in WWII, EILEEN FORD (1922–2014) had spent about two years doing assorted jobs in the fashion industry when, in 1946, she became the secretary of a friend, the model Natalie Nickerson. Tasked with the administrative work of preparing for photo shoots and afterward collecting fees, Ford tackled the job with aplomb; soon she also booked Nickerson on new assignments. Word of her talents spread among Nickerson's modeling friends, many of whom disliked how their male agents often sent them to fend for themselves in scary situations and weren't particularly concerned when they weren't paid. In short order, Ford found herself with about a dozen clients willing to pay $65 a month for her assistance. In the following year her husband, Jerry, returned from service, and she gave birth to their first child. By then, business was booming. Taking the leap to officially establish the Ford Modeling Agency, they used the proceeds from selling their car to pay rent on a small walk-up office on Second Avenue, where Ford quickly began imposing order on the chaotic industry. First, she and Jerry established a fixed billing and payment system. Next she set clear standards about what she would—and would not—allow her models to do; for example, no ads for bras or deodorant, no bathtubs, no "excessive amounts of bosom." Unlike most agents at the time, Ford, who had exacting standards and a strong vision of how her models should look, became personally involved in her models' lives, giving them advice on clothing, hair, and makeup. (Later she augmented her advice with a Rolodex full of dermatologists, nutritionists, and hairdressers.) But her consult wasn't always in the models' favor: she bluntly told those who stayed up all night partying that they wouldn't remain in her employment. Ford's vision of what a model should look like—tall, blonde, glamorous, fresh but not aloof; a preternaturally beautiful (and Caucasian) all-American girl next door—set the standard for models and, consequently, for fashion as a whole. She also discovered some of the twentieth century's most famous faces, including Lauren Hutton, Christie Brinkley, Rachel Hunter, Kim Basinger, Carol Alt, and Christy Turlington. Overall, her professionalization of the modeling industry led to New York becoming the ultimate destination for models, laying the groundwork for the unprecedented level of fame supermodels like Cindy Crawford reached in the 1980s, the era when fashion magazines first began routinely putting celebrities on covers. EILEEN FORD OF COURSE, I'M A LEGEND. BUT IT'S NOT BECAUSE OF ANY GREAT GIFT I HAVE. I'M A RISK TAKER. —MARY WELLS LAWRENCE, 2002 Of course, there's no question that Ford's vision of female perfection contributed to the harmful idealization of white beauty standards and the scourge of perfectionism. All the same, prior to Ford's transformation of the industry, models were regularly exploited. As Lauren Hutton told Ford biographer Robert Lacey, she was "a cloak to us": "She threw a huge cloak of safety over the girls in her care—and that made her, in my book, a great changer for the sake of women." When the English poet and playwright William Congreve wrote in 1697 that hell has no "fury like a woman scorned," he was unlikely to have imagined the moment in 1966 when MARY WELLS LAWRENCE (b. 1928), a highly respected copywriter at Jack Tinker & Partners, was offered a $1 million contract paid over ten years to be essentially the authority of the president of the agency—though she would not hold that title. "It's not my fault, Mary," she recalls the agency's owner telling her. "The world is not ready for women presidents." Indignant, she marched out of the office and soon thereafter opened what quickly became the hottest agency on Madison Avenue, Wells Rich Greene. By the end of its first year, the firm had one hundred employees and $30 million in billings. With legendary bravado and influence, Wells Lawrence helped to create the image of New York as a den of powerbrokers. She also produced an array of clever, innovative means of selling products that revolutionized the industry, such as presenting television commercials as mini-movies or, to quote the Advertising Hall of Fame, as "sixty seconds of visual entertainment with the product as the star." Her firm created some of television's most memorable campaigns, including Alka-Seltzer's "Plop, Plop, Fizz, Fizz" and Ford Motor Company's "Quality Is Job One." She also produced remarkable results for her clients; when she introduced spots stating that two Alka-Seltzer tablets were even better than one, sales of the digestive remedy immediately doubled. In an industry where the most powerful men tended to work behind the scenes—and yes, they were all men—Wells Lawrence put herself out front, pushing her staff to come up with even fresher ideas, outmaneuvering other firms in the process. "Mary was to Madison Avenue what Muhammad Ali was to boxing," said Charlie Moss, the first writer she hired. The excitement surrounding her work became a catalyst for the widespread creative boom the entire industry experienced in the 1960s, which ultimately led Madison Avenue to become a primary engine of the economy and American popular culture. It also led to Wells Lawrence becoming the first female CEO of a company listed on the New York Stock Exchange. The legacy she built for New York City, however, didn't just include its identity as a destination for the best and the brightest; it also became a lasting form of economic stability. In the wake of the City's near-bankruptcy in the 1970s, Wells Lawrence accepted the assignment, free of charge, of figuring out how to tap into NYC's untapped potential for tourism. Armed with research indicating that New York inspired a range of emotions for people everywhere, Wells Lawrence spearheaded the team that created what became known as the "I Love New York" campaign, which put millions of dollars in the City's coffers and turned graphic designer Milton Glaser's "I NY" into an everlasting icon known throughout the world. "I defy you to find someone who's had a better life than me," Wells Lawrence, still swinging at seventy-three years old, told the reporter Bruce Horovitz in 2002. "I'll eat 'em." # HOT STUFF As the nineteenth century gave way to the twentieth, several women drop-kicked aside old notions of a "fairer" sex, and, channeling their inner Aphrodites (and their Henry Fords), built new opportunities in Manhattan for human desire to flourish and, ahem, find satisfaction. By the time eighteen-year-old Brooklyn-born MAE WEST (1893–1980) landed her first role on Broadway in 1911, she had already spent several years performing burlesque on the vaudeville circuit. Recognizing the appeal of her sexually coy characters, West embraced the image of a wanton sexpot, turning it into a public persona. She unabashedly shared with the press the highs and lows of a passionate and tumultuous love affair with a fellow vaudevillian, whether that meant passionate kisses on the street or full-fledged screaming matches. In 1918, when the Shubert brothers (Lee and J.J.) cast her in their revue _Sometime_ , she scandalized and mesmerized audiences by performing the Jazz Age equivalent of Janet Jackson showing her nipple during the 2004 Super Bowl halftime show: dancing the shimmy, shoulders back, bosom forward. Capitalizing on her growing renown as a sexual siren, West began altering scripts to amplify her characters' vivaciousness, crafting a string of double entendres that elevated the coy to the brazen. By 1926 she starred in her own show, entitled _Sex_ , which she also produced and directed. It packed the house for nearly a year before police got around to raiding the theater, jailing West and her entire company and charging them with lewdness and the corruption of the morals of youth. The ensuing trial and West's exoneration did wonders for publicity—and cemented New York's bawdy reputation in the bargain. MAE WEST In 1925, a year before _Sex_ debuted on Broadway for mainstream audiences, Eva Kotchever (1891–1943), a gender-bending Polish Jewish immigrant who went by the name EVE ADAMS , staked out a space for sexual freethinking in Greenwich Village. There, at 129 MacDougal Street, she opened Eve's Hangout, a tearoom where lesbian and bi-curious women could openly discuss radical politics and sexual identity. Behind a front door with a facetious sign that read: MEN ARE ADMITTED, BUT NOT WELCOME, Adams, whose birth name was Chava Zloczower, created what amounted to one of the earliest lesbian bars in NYC, hosting poetry readings, musical performances, and late-night discussions that began the City's tradition of openly celebrating human sexuality in all its permutations. (According to the playwright Barbara Kahn, who researched Adams for several plays, she was an early promoter of the work of Henry Miller and Anaïs Nin.) Many of the neighborhood's prominent poets, writers, and artists liked to stop by. I GENERALLY AVOID TEMPTATION, UNLESS I CAN'T RESIST IT. —MAE WEST, 1940 Admirers referred to Adams as "queen of the third sex"; detractors called her a "man-hater." During a police crackdown in the Village the following year, Adams unknowingly showed an undercover agent a collection of short stories she'd written and self-published for friends entitled "Lesbian Love"; she was promptly arrested, accused of making a homosexual advance toward the officer, and sentenced to a year and a half in the women's penitentiary on Blackwell's Island. During her time behind bars, she met another inmate who'd been charged with similar offenses: Mae West. But whereas West's celebrity status freed her after just seven days, Adams had no such exit ticket and served her entire sentence. Once released, Adams was deported to Poland, despite pleading to authorities that she should be allowed to stay. "I love this country with my whole heart and soul," she said at her hearing. "I want to become a citizen." She spent the 1930s in Paris working as a bookseller, but in 1940, the Nazi invasion drove her south to Nice. Soon thereafter, she was arrested and, in 1943, forced on a train to Auschwitz, where she was promptly murdered. In 1974, Dell Williams dared to open Eve's Garden, the nation's first sex shop catering specifically towards women—on the upper floor of an office building on West 57th Street. Had Eve Adams not created a safe space for women to undertake the historically radical act of exploring their sexual feelings half a century before, this step may not have been possible. Eve Adams succeeded in creating a space for women to undertake the historically radical act of safely exploring their sexual feelings. In the same decade Adams opened her tearoom, a Russian woman uptown set out with a comparatively banal objective: to become the "best goddamn madam in all America." POLLY ADLER (1900–1962), who faced a series of tragic hardships after emigrating alone as a child from Russia in 1914, considered herself lucky when a bootlegger named Tony offered to pay her rent at a new private, Riverside Drive apartment—as long as she occasionally allowed him to meet there with his married lover. Both impoverished and laissez-faire about the concept of sex as a commodity—she later wrote that "whatever men are willing to pay for, someone will provide"—she began "finding" women for Tony and his friends. She earned $100 a week for her efforts—far more than she'd earned working at a factory. As word spread and a steady stream of eager gals sought out her cash-flush connections, Adler grew her business. In 1924 she moved to what would become her best-remembered brothel, the Majestic on West 75th Street. She furnished the living room with plush furniture, creating a "clubhouse" feeling; "Going to Polly's" became what author Karen Abbott described as "the preferred late-night activity for the City's haut monde: gangsters Charles 'Lucky' Luciano and Dutch Schultz, boxer Jack Dempsey, Mayor Jimmy Walker, and members of the Algonquin Round Table, including Dorothy Parker and Robert Benchley." Since regulars came to socialize as much or if not more than to visit the boudoir, revenue streamed to the "Queen of Tarts," as Adler became known, not only from the girls but also from sales of bootleg liquor. For nearly twenty years, Adler ran a string of brothels throughout Manhattan; her business card—featuring a parrot on a perch—bore a seemingly upscale East Side exchange: Lexington 2-1099. And though she was repeatedly arrested as a "keeper of disorderly houses," her mastery of palming cash to cops in the local precinct—not to mention the hidden stairways and secret doors guests employed during police raids—went a long way in keeping her from prosecution. As she said herself, "I am one of those people who just can't help getting a kick out of life—even when it's a kick in the teeth." # THE NEWS MAKERS When she was eighteen years old, JANE GRANT (1892–1972) was hired at _The New York Times_ —though, as she later wrote in "Confession of a Feminist" in _The American Mercury_ , she was "charged not to reveal the fact that a female had been hired" and was warned "there would never be advancement for a woman at the _Times_." In World War I, she went to Europe to entertain troops; while in France she met newspaper writer Harold Ross. They continued their friendship once back in New York—when Grant was made full-fledged reporter—and joined the group of writers, artists, and actors who became known as the "Algonquin Round Table" on account of their frequent merry-making sessions at the Algonquin Hotel, where they swapped ideas, collaborated on creative projects, and traded witticisms and barbs. (It was in part for this last reason that they were also known as the "Vicious Circle.") Grant and Ross also developed a romance; though they privately married in 1920, they agreed to continue their independent careers—an uncommon stance for the era. Although Ross was known to privately grumble about it to friends on occasion, he also agreed that Grant would keep her own name, and that they would continue living with a revolving door of friends and colleagues. It was at a meeting of the Vicious Circle that Ross, a shy, gangly Midwesterner, threw out the idea of starting a magazine. Even though most in the circle didn't think he could do it—and unabashedly delivered that verdict—Grant had other opinions, and took it upon herself to make the magazine a reality. Prodding him into action, she suggested they live off only her earnings and set aside as seed money his $10,000 salary as editor of a magazine for veterans, _The Home Sector._ Then she encouraged Ross to ask his poker buddy Raoul Fleischmann (heir to his family's baking fortune) to contribute to the venture. All the while, Grant presided over the riot of humorists, writers, and literati who hung around, dined, and sometimes resided in their Hell's Kitchen home, a clubhouse of sorts where the group helped hatch plans for the nascent magazine. In the meantime, Grant kept busy with other projects as well. In 1921, she was instrumental in forming, with Ruth Hale, the Lucy Stone League. With the motto "A wife should no more take her husband's name than he should hers. My name is my identity and must not be lost," the women's rights group was the first to fight for women to be allowed to keep and use legally their maiden names after marriage. In 1922, she helped form the New York Newspaper Woman's Club (now the Newswomen's Club of New York), which, according to its website, "was born out of a desire to achieve professional equality for newswomen, meritocracy in newsrooms, and to build a network through which newswomen could help each other." JANE GRANT In 1925, _The New Yorker_ was born, providing a sophisticated and often humorous take on the social and cultural life of Manhattan. Ross was the editor in chief; Grant was responsible for growing circulation. Over time, the magazine would broaden its scope to include politics, literature, and other topics, eventually becoming required reading for the City's sophisticates, as well as for those aiming to keep up with the haut monde. The couple divorced in 1929; Ross continued at the magazine until 1951. Grant, abandoned by many writer-friends who hoped to stay in Ross's good favor, went on to remarry, move to Litchfield, Connecticut, work as a foreign correspondent, and start a successful mail-order gardening business. She also dreamed up a way to launch the magazine into the national consciousness: in 1943, Grant proposed a "pony" edition (that was smaller in size and heavy on cartoons) to be supplied to the armed forces overseas, an idea which, according to an online exhibit created by the University of Oregon library, was initially dismissed by Ross and the publisher. Despite their lack of support, Grant persevered, and what she called the "little _New Yorker_ " turned out to be a massive success: after the war, officers and servicemen, now devoted readers, returned home and bought subscriptions; within two years of the war's end the magazine had doubled its circulation and was now being dispersed everywhere from Cheyenne to Chicago. Although credit for _The New Yorker_ is often ascribed to Harold Ross, it was Grant's initiative and tenacity that truly established the City's iconic publication. When _The New York Times_ owner Adolph S. Ochs passed away in 1935, his daughter IPHIGENE OCHS SULZBERGER (1892–1990) became a trustee of the paper along with her husband, Arthur Hays Sulzberger, who was elected publisher and president. While Ochs Sulzberger remained mostly offstage in the paper's operations, she was also the daughter, wife, mother, mother-in-law, and grandmother of five of the paper's past and current publishers—and, as family matriarch, kept smooth the good familial relationships necessary to jointly manage a business. She also adroitly hosted a nonstop parade of VIPs and dignitaries, many on whom her family's business depended—and some with whom her husband not infrequently faced ideological conflicts. Known as an adult for her dynamic mind and playful sense of humor, Sulz-berger began developing her sophisticated social skills early in life. As a girl, she'd had to memorize and deliver a speech written by her father at a well-attended event to mark the kickoff of construction on the _Times_ 's new tower at 42nd Street and Broadway. She'd also received the numerous Secret Service agents who once commandeered her home prior to the arrival of President William Howard Taft for lunch. As a teenager, she was entreated to socialize with inventor of the wireless telegraph Guglielmo Marconi—a business associate of her father who was two decades her senior; they shared a single, two-strawed ice cream soda in Coney Island. Under Sulzberger family stewardship, which has lasted more than a century, _The New York Times_ became the country's most prestigious news organization; a leading source of international news, it has also captured the most Pulitzer Prizes. And while other newspaper dynasties suffered damaging public feuds (including the Bingham clan in Louisville, Kentucky, and the Scripps family of Cincinnati, Ohio), the Sulzbergers have remained united enough to see the paper through a series of colossal changes, including the sale of its historic buildings off namesake Times Square and the construction of a skyscraper. With the invention of the Internet and its attendant decline in print readership, the century-old business model of financing editorial work with sales of print advertising was nearly destroyed; in its wake, the _Times_ has needed to create a new one—while still maintaining its high journalistic standards and reputation. In her more public roles, Ochs Sulzberger was director of the Times Company from 1917 until 1973. During WWII, she spearheaded several initiatives to assist the war effort, including the creation of _Times_ -printed supplements and booklets for schools. She was also a patron of many city institutions, serving as a trustee at Barnard College, her alma mater, and the Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion. She supported both the National Urban League and Inwood House (a home for unmarried mothers). She served as president and eventually chair of the Park Association, through which she helped restore a park in the Bronx and arranged for a chess and checkers house in Central Park. All in all, without her devotion to her family—serving as confidant to her husband and providing what her granddaughter and biographer, Susan W. Dryfoos, described as an endless supply of loving support and humor— _The New York Times_ would unlikely be the same place. Said Dryfoos: she was "the glue that held us all together." Over the quarter century that BARBARA WALTERS (b. 1929) worked at _20/20_ , the newsmagazine show on ABC, her interviews with dignitaries, celebrities, politicians, and ordinary people alike transformed the practice of journalism, blurred the lines between news and entertainment, and—in the days before cable television, personal computers, and the Internet—fueled the epic, decades-long war between three main television news networks. Walters got her big break when she was hired—and called the " _Toda_ y Girl"—for NBC's _Today_ show in 1964; a decade later, in 1974, she became cohost of the show. In 1976 she moved to ABC News, becoming the first woman to coanchor an evening network news program. She possesses a rare combination of intelligence, camera presence, and charm, which enable her to ask disarmingly direct questions that often lead subjects into surprising moments of self-revelation. In 1977, for example, Bing Crosby told Walters that he wouldn't speak to any child of his who'd had premarital sex. In 1988, Robin Givens admitted fearing for her safety with her husband, Mike Tyson. And, in a prison interview, the man who shot John Lennon calmly and terrifyingly revealed that he thought by killing the legendary songwriter he would "acquire his fame." While critics contend that Walters's interest in her guests' personal lives undermines the loftier goals of journalism, that approach has, for decades, undeniably granted her one exclusive interview after another, driving the fierce rivalry between TV news networks—even rendering some editions of _The Barbara Walters Specials_ (with Super Bowl–level ratings) their own historic moments in popular culture. Moreover, landing an interview with Walters could make—or break—someone's identity in the court of public opinion. When Monica Lewinsky broke her silence about her affair with President Bill Clinton in an interview on _20/20_ , more than forty-eight million people tuned in, making it the most-watched news program to have ever been aired by a single network. While Walters augmented serious journalism with questions about celebrities' personal lives, gossip columnist LIZ SMITH (b. 1923) had no qualms about admitting her fascination for the personal dramas of the famous or affluent; for four decades, she has reigned in Manhattan as the Doyenne of Dish. After ghostwriting the Cholly Knickerbocker society and gossip column in the 1950s, and working for Helen Gurley Brown at _Cosmopolitan_ magazine in the 1960s, the Texas native landed her own self-titled gossip column at the _New York Daily News_ in 1976. Having already befriended Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, she peddled juicy tidbits that made her into the modern-day equivalent of a town crier. Not since Walter Winchell in the 1930s and 1940s did so many people pay attention to a gossip columnist. At her peak, Smith was syndicated in more than seventy-five newspapers worldwide, as much a part of Hollywood as all the celebrities she covered. But while readers in Peoria and Paris alike certainly enjoyed keeping up with the goings-on of NYC's elites, Smith's column played a more essential role in New York City itself. For example, investment bankers could learn about potential splits or family dramas among business partners, and studio heads and sports-team managers could keep tabs on their talent's adventures and misadventures—and try to intervene before they did too much to tarnish their images. The speed and ease of online publishing, not to mention the invention of digital photography and video, eventually led to many people trying to imitate the Doyenne of Dish. But websites like Gawker or TMZ lack Smith's credibility—cred she took with her in 2009 after the _New York Post_ , then home to her column, unceremoniously fired her; she was eighty-six at the time. When asked about the plethora of celebrity websites and blogs in the Internet age, Smith, who at 93 continues her column for the _New York Social Diary_ website, _Huffington Post_ , and _Chicago Tribune Syndicate_ , breezily dismissed them. "I don't pay attention to any of them," she told me. "I never know whether the stories are true." # HARLEM RENAISSANCE As the twentieth century entered its third decade, with the Great War finally over, the economy booming, and the atmosphere replete with messages of self-invention and social advancement through consumerism, New York in the 1920s was downright exuberant. As word about abundant opportunities in the Big Apple spread through the South, African Americans migrated north in search of a better life. Many settled in Harlem, which led to the creation of a majority black neighborhood. The coalescing of so many blacks, not only from the American South but also from all over the United States and the Caribbean, provided what philosopher Alain LeRoy Locke recognized as black America's "first chances for group expression and self-determination." The result: a literary, artistic, and intellectual renaissance that reshaped African American cultural identity and remade the landscape of American letters. A key figure in this cultural moment was ZORA NEALE HURSTON (1891–1960), who, despite being a newcomer to the City, claimed more prizes at a 1925 literary awards dinner than any other writer. Had anyone failed to take notice of Hurston's arrival, she made an entrance to the after-party that brought the room to a halt: striding into the room, she dramatically bellowed the title of her winning play (" _Coloooooor Struuuuuck_!") while flinging a long, richly colored scarf around her neck. Several partygoers sought her acquaintance then and there, including Annie Nathan Meyer, a founder of Barnard College who promptly offered Hurston admission to the thirty-six-year-old school as its first black student. Hurston, who had grown up in the black enclave of Eatonville, Florida, and whose mother had died when she was only thirteen, accepted the offer. Soon she became a member of the pack of literary bohemians—including Langston Hughes, Wallace Thurman, and Richard Bruce Nugent—who hung out in a rooming house on West 136th Street and laughingly dubbed themselves the "Niggerati." Together, these cultural troubadours swapped jokes, traded ideas, and reflected on what Hurston described later as "our business of dream weaving that we call writing." Hurston's remarkable gifts of language and outgoing personality, which biographer Valerie Boyd described as "bodacious charm," meant she embodied the very essence of the era and the City. "When I set my hat at a certain angle and saunter down Seventh Avenue, Harlem City, feeling as snooty as the lions in front of the 42nd Street Library," she wrote in her notable 1928 essay "How It Feels to Be Colored Me," the "cosmic Zora emerges. I belong to no race nor time. I am the eternal feminine with its string of beads." In between producing plays, poems, essays, novels, and paintings, Hurston and her pack fiercely debated whether blacks should aim to achieve success using the same paradigms established by whites or whether they were free to create their own rules. Hurston, who became an anthropologist, inadvertently answered the question by using her eloquence and ethnography to lay claim to the heritage of blacks in the rural South; with her works _Mules and Men_ and _Tell My Horse_ , among other writings, she demonstrated to all the world the previously underacknowledged gifts of folk culture, and how they were, in fact, an inheritance bequeathed to future generations. WHEN I SET MY HAT AT A CERTAIN ANGLE AND SAUNTER DOWN SEVENTH AVENUE, HARLEM CITY, FEELING AS SNOOTY AS THE LIONS IN FRONT OF THE 42ND STREET LIBRARY, THE COSMIC ZORA EMERGES. I BELONG TO NO RACE NOR TIME. I AM THE ETERNAL FEMININE WITH ITS STRING OF BEADS. —ZORA NEALE HURSTON, 1928 Just as new ideas emerged from the uproarious decade, so, too, did new sounds. The singer we know as BILLIE HOLIDAY (1915–1959) was a mere fifteen years old when, waiting tables at a gin mill in Harlem where her mother worked in the kitchen, she started singing for tips. The musicians and entertainers among her customers, impressed by both her voice and her unique talent for phrasing, helped her get auditions at various nightclubs. From there she gradually became part of the neighborhood's music scene, and she was eventually discovered by the record producer John Hammond, who paired her with Benny Goodman and helped her cut her first record. Hammond was struck by Holiday's "uncanny harmonic sense and her sense of lyric content"; after jamming with her one night in the summer of 1932, the guitarist Lawrence Lucie said that he and the other musicians hadn't previously "heard anything like that, a natural _jazz_ feeling." Before long, Billie, nicknamed "Lady Day" by saxophonist Lester Young, was working with all the top musicians of the era and headlining at Café Society in the Village. Although she wasn't a blues singer per se, Holiday's voice evoked a blues mood. (This mood was no doubt a truthful reflection of the tragedy she had seen up close, including being brought to live and work in a brothel by her mother when she was thirteen as well as her lifelong struggle with substance abuse.) Her vocal stylings and improvisation skills rendered her the preeminent jazz singer of her day, touching off one of the City's most important and lasting cultural movements. Between the music, the jumping nightclubs, and the white intelligentsia's sudden interest in black culture, Harlem in the 1920s was the place to be. Some would say there was no one more responsible for the conviviality above 125th Street than A'LELIA WALKER (1885–1931), daughter of entrepreneur and philanthropist Madam C.J. Walker, the country's first black female millionaire. (In 1905 Madam Walker started a company producing African American hair products, building it into a prosperous national chain.) With phenomenal sums of money at her disposal, love of the arts, and experience traveling the globe in the world's most elite circles, the younger Walker hosted a series of parties at her posh townhouse on 136th Street (near what is now Malcolm X Boulevard), where champagne flowed, nightclub quartets crooned, and urbanites of all backgrounds rubbed elbows in close quarters. A'LELIA WALKER The country's first black heiress, who cut a striking nearly six-foot figure and dressed extravagantly, brought together downtown poets, financiers, white socialites, and Harlem number runners—enabling blacks and whites for the first time to socialize on near-equal terms. And they socialized up close: Walker's parties were so notoriously well attended that even invited guests were often unable to squeeze inside. Langston Hughes recounted in his autobiography an occasion when a royal personage ("a Scandinavian prince, I believe") arrived and found no way to get through the crowds into the actual party so he sent in a message to the hostess; demonstrating both her wit and her stature, Walker sent back a message that she couldn't find a way out either, but she would gladly send refreshments to his car. Even when she wasn't hosting a party, Walker routinely opened her home for theatrical rehearsals and art exhibitions and provided rent-free accommodations for artists. This open nature, combined with her love of dramatic fashion (she was known to wear a bejeweled turban), lead Langston Hughes to anoint her nothing less than the "joy goddess of Harlem's 1920s." # THE CROOKS The towering achievements of the great metropolis are as legendary as is its dark side, which has inspired everything from the _Batman_ comics to the _Godfather_ trilogy to the legends of Hell-Cat Maggie and Sadie the Goat. The latter are especially savage female gangsters who appeared in Herbert Asbury's 1928 _The Gangs of New York: An Informal History of the Underworld_ ; note that, though they've been portrayed as factual in numerous prominent New York histories, there is no independent proof they actually existed. But the City's cons and crimes—which arguably began with Peter Minuit's so-called purchase of Manhattan island from the Lenape, a people who did not believe land could belong to humans individually—have always been the purview of women as well as men. After the Civil War, Prussian émigré FREDERICKA "MARM" MANDELBAUM (1818–1894), a savvy street peddler in Kleindeutschland (Little Germany) on the Lower East Side, became one of the City's most infamous fences after she recognized the financial opportunity in supplying a reliable outpost for vending stolen goods. By 1865, she'd moved with her family into a clapboard house at the corner of Clinton and Rivington Streets, where she set up a dry-goods store on the ground floor. Up front, she sold items like scarves, jewelry, and bolts of silk; but in the back she made business arrangements to, ahem, inexpensively obtain the merchandise. By the end of that decade, she was mother hen to the era's most successful organized crime ring; she'd even established a crime school on Grand Street to ensure she had a reliable supply of skilled associates. Nearly six feet tall and weighing two hundred fifty pounds, Mandelbaum helped plan heists, approved deals, and paired thieves and crooks with those who could support their more ambitious undertakings. In 1869 she arranged for the safecracker "Piano" Charlie Bullard to be broken out of jail; the same year, she gave the nod for George Leonidas Leslie to pull off the biggest bank robbery in history, using the then-revolutionary technique of stealing the lock combination in advance rather than dynamiting the safe. These exploits, and Mandelbaum's skill at nurturing the careers of younger crooks, earned her the nickname "The Queen Among Thieves" in the era's newspapers. One protégée of Mandelbaum was the young and beautiful SOPHIE LEVY LYONS (1848–1924), whose family had sent her out to steal pocketbooks before the age of six. By sixteen, Lyons was a skilled femme fatale; while her parents were both serving simultaneous terms in the slammer, Mandelbaum took her under her wing and arranged for her to attend her crime school, then sent her out to ply their trade. CURIOUSLY ENOUGH, THE GREATEST CRIME PROMOTER OF MODERN TIMES WAS A NEW YORK WOMAN, "MOTHER" MANDELBAUM. ALAS! I KNEW HER WELL—TOO WELL. —SOPHIE LEVY LYONS, 1913 After nearly four decades of robberies, cons, and swindles and several turns in the slammer, the self-described "Queen of the Underworld" spent three years in the Detroit House of Correction, where she underwent a conversion. Filled with remorse, she worked to turn others away from crime, and in 1913 she authored her memoirs, _Why Crime Does Not Pay_ , in hopes that others would realize "a life of crime is a life of hard work, great risk, and, comparatively speaking, little pay." In 1913, Sophie Lyons began writing her memoirs, to be published in a book titled _Why Crime Does Not Pay_. It was about a decade later when quick-minded STEPHANIE ST. CLAIR (1897–1969), who had come to New York alone from her birthplace in Guadeloupe at age thirteen, began proving Lyons' title wrong by setting up a numbers racket in Harlem, which, according to author Shirley Stewart, eventually earned her a quarter of a million dollars a year. In _The World of Stephanie St. Clair: An Entrepreneur, Race Woman and Outlaw in Early Twentieth Century Harlem_ , Stewart traces how St. Clair not only became the leader of one of the top policy banks in Harlem but also a maverick gangster who stood up to some of the era's most feared white mobsters—and triumphed. Almost immediately after arriving at Ellis Island in 1911, St. Clair traveled north to Montreal, where her mother had arranged for her to work as a domestic. Within five years, St. Clair crossed back into the U.S. and made her way to Harlem, where she purportedly found work at a dress factory and worked for a racketeer who was running numbers in an organized illegal betting ring. She amassed a savings of $10,000, and using that money, she launched her own operation in 1923, a remarkable feat considering the general dearth of opportunities available to blacks. According to Stewart, in the 1920s, blacks owned less than twenty percent of Harlem's businesses. Running a successful "policy bank" required hard work, business savvy, and the ability to steward an array of parties with various interests. Bankers like St. Clair were expected to act as neighborhood guardians: loaning money, funding community projects, and exerting their authority to keep rogues in line when the police couldn't be bothered. To receive and manage money, they had to hire and run a crew on whom they could depend. And they had to pay off the police. Every week. St. Clair did all of that, and owing to her shrewd business sensibility and authoritative demeanor—she was known for both benevolence and a fiery temper—St. Clair became known by neighborhood residents as "Queenie." According to Ron Chepesiuk's _Gangsters of Harlem: The Gritty Underworld of New York's Most Famous Neighborhood_ , St. Clair eventually employed forty runners and ten controllers, plus a support staff, making her one of the largest policy bankers in Harlem. For a few years, life was good: St. Clair's financial success allowed her to live on an expensive avenue in an area nicknamed Sugar Hill, with neighbors like Madam C.J. Walker, the beauty product tycoon, W.E.B. Du Bois, the scholar and activist, and Thurgood Marshall, an attorney and future Supreme Court justice. But all that began to change in 1928 after Caspar Holstein, Harlem's number-one numbers operator, was kidnapped and a ransom of $50,000 paid by his associates on a Friday night. Astute white mobsters—who had previously ignored Harlem—noticed this sum was produced in cash after banks had closed, tipping them off to just how much money flowed above 110th Street. The notorious bootlegger Dutch Schultz began a violent takeover of Harlem operations and quickly succeeded in putting most of St. Clair's colleagues out of business. Rather than go into hiding, St. Clair, who had been dutifully paying protection money to the cops in her local precinct for years, declared war. She purchased a series of advertisements in the popular _Amsterdam News_ decrying the violence perpetuated on black residents, detailing Schultz's harassment and outing the widespread corruption in law enforcement. These efforts drew St. Clair into politics and led to a crackdown on police corruption—and further inflamed Schultz. Meanwhile, as other numbers-runners backed down, ceding their businesses or watching them become violently seized, St. Clair held firm, demanding of her male employees, "You are men and you will desert me now? What kind of men would desert a lady in a fight?" Even after Schultz put out a contract on her life, St. Clair refused to be intimidated, Stewart reports: In 1932, she walked into a storefront business controlled by Schultz's operation, smashed their plate glass display cases, and demanded they and their cronies leave Harlem. St. Clair was finally relieved of Schultz's interference when a gangster murdered him in 1935. Three years later, St. Clair orchestrated her own demise when she pulled the trigger of a gun three times, firing shots at a lover, landing her in a Westchester prison. Criminality takes all kinds of forms. Later in the twentieth century, Cheng Chui Ping, known as SISTER PING (1949–2014), became what the FBI called "one of the most powerful underworld figures in New York." Over at least two decades, she smuggled thousands of Chinese into the United States. Working out of a variety store in Chinatown, Sister Ping set up an illegal banking network through which aspiring immigrants from China, especially those from her native Fujian province, could wire her tens of thousands of dollars. She smuggled in people on ships. While legions of grateful illegals said she provided them with a new life, prosecutors proved that she had put many desperate charges on faulty ships, leading to an untold number of drownings. Plus, in instances when safe arrivals couldn't afford to pay, Ping sent members of the notoriously violent Fuk Ching gang to abduct, beat, torture, or rape them until relatives made good on their debts. In 1993, the toll of human smuggling became highly visible when a rusty freighter called the _Golden Venture_ ran aground in the Rockaways loaded with three hundred starving Fujianese refugees. Ten of them died, including one of Sister Ping's customers. Though Ping fled, she was eventually tracked down and arrested in Hong Kong in 2000, after which she was tried in federal court in Manhattan. Aided by the testimony of witnesses from around the world—including from Guatemala, Canada, the United States, and Hong Kong—she was convicted of conspiracy to smuggle aliens and take hostages, money laundering, and trafficking in ransom proceeds. In 2014, at the age of sixty-five, the woman known by her associates as the "Mother of all Snakeheads" died in a Texas prison, just eight years after receiving a thirty-five-year sentence. While Ping was being tried in one federal courtroom in New York, another woman, the left-wing attorney LYNNE STEWART (b. 1939) was being tried and convicted in another. Over a decades-long career that was much admired by left-leaning colleagues, Stewart, a former librarian, represented battered women, poor blacks, and Latinos accused of petty crimes. Over the years, she took on increasingly more high-profile cases, like a former member of the Weather Underground and a black man accused of shooting six NYPD cops. But it was during her representation of Sheik Omar Abdel-Rahman, the blind Sheik who was convicted in a 1990s plot to blow up New York landmarks (including the 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center), that her conduct crossed the boundary into unlawfulness. The Sheik, seen as a spiritual leader of the worldwide jihad movement and an opponent of the Hosni Mubarak regime in Egypt, was so dangerous that federal authorities ordered Stewart to sign an agreement that she would not relay any messages from him to the outside world, as his followers would receive them as official directives. In violation of the order, she held a press conference in 2000 where she related that the Sheik rescinded his support for a cease fire by the Islamic Group, a statement she later described as "an advisory." On September 11, 2001, terrorists succeeded in carrying out a major attack inside the United States, something Abdel-Rahman called for in his 1998 fatwa. Stewart was sentenced to twenty-eight months in prison; it was later increased to ten years after she showed a lack of remorse, including telling reporters that she "would do it again." She went to prison in 2009. In 2013, she was diagnosed with terminal breast cancer, then granted "compassionate release." She returned to Brooklyn in early 2014 to live with her son and now posts messages on a website where, as of early 2016, she refers collectively to herself and like-minded readers as "anarchists." # THE AUTHORITIES It wasn't until 1844 that the state legislature decided to replace the City's old system of policing—which consisted primarily of eighty night watchmen. In 1845, a "Day and Night Police" law was established, calling for a company of 800 men to work separate day and night shifts. It would take another nine years before training was implemented and full uniforms adopted, which included a leather helmet and a twenty-two inch baton (to be used only for "urgent self-defense"). Over the next half century, rival political factions would tussle for control of the force—and the myriad of benefits from its widespread corruption—but around the turn of the century, reformers like Charles Parkhurst and police commissioner Theodore Roosevelt helped set the force on a path of professionalization. Although women had served as police "matrons" since 1882—they conducted searches on female prisoners and kept watch over juveniles—it wasn't until 1915 that a police captain began urging his superiors to hire women for the pickpocket squad—a practice already utilized by law enforcement organizations overseas. It took twenty years of convincing, but finally, in 1935, four women were assigned to the pickpocket squad on a provisional basis, including Irish-born MARY SHANLEY (1896–1989) who was five foot eight and weighed 160 pounds. On her first day on the job, Shanley and a colleague nabbed a suspect they saw stealthily opening and closing customers' pocketbooks on a department store counter. Two years later, Shanley landed on the second page of _The New York Times_ after recognizing two known criminals in a subway station; she had chased them uptown and across Times Square, then overtook one while twice firing her revolver in the air to halt the other. In 1938, Dead-Shot Mary (as she had come to be known) impressed colleagues by chasing notorious "hook" Chinatown Charlie down Fifth Avenue, then overtaking him and putting him under arrest. While she wasn't shy about pulling out her gun, she also earned admiration from her superiors for her ability to halt criminals using nothing more than her booming, Irish-brogued voice. Case in point: at a Macy's store in Queens, she ended a tense, ten-minute standoff with a pistol-waving twenty-two-year-old threatening to kill customers. How? By quietly approaching him from behind, then snapping: "Drop that gun, boy!" Though Mary Shanley and her colleagues paved the way for the next class of female officers, no one would think the police department ever lacked for sexism. In 1940, when the police academy graduated its first full class of policewomen—there were eight, including twenty-one-year-old Bronx-born GERTRUDE "GERTIE" SCHIMMEL (1918–2015)—the new officers were issued black pocketbooks (with space to hold their pistols), and the mayor welcomed them with an admonishment to "try to keep that girlish figure." MARY SHANLEY, "DEAD-SHOT MARY" Twenty-one years later, when a fellow policewoman, Felicia Shpritzer, prepared a lawsuit against the City for not letting her take the test for promotion to sergeant, Schimmel helped her out. Despite the police commissioner's arguments that women were physically unable to handle advanced jobs, the court ruled in Shpritzer's favor. Both Schimmel and Shpritzer took the exam; after earning the two highest scores, both were promoted in 1965—although they were only allowed to supervise women. (A front-page story in the next day's _New York Times_ was careful to reassure the public that "no policeman will be supervised by a woman.") Six years after that, in 1971, Schimmel, who frequently worked the night shift so she could be home to see her sons off to school in the morning, became the NYPD's first female captain. In 1978, she was named the first female deputy chief. During her tenure, Schimmel, whose blunt, voluble, and occasionally profane conversation style led Anna Quindlen to later describe her as "the Ethel Merman of the Police Department," helped lay the groundwork for women to finally go on street patrols and in radio cars. Despite these advances, many NYC groups remained resistant to change—including some policemen's wives, who argued that women weren't up to the task of providing backup to their husbands. But Schimmel adroitly dismissed their concerns. "Nothing is factual, it's all emotional," she told a newspaper in 1974. "The men make allowances for each other. They won't tell you about the men they don't want to work with." While Schimmel was climbing the ranks at the NYPD, a young graduate of University of Virginia School of Law named LINDA FAIRSTEIN (b. 1947) went to work for the New York County District Attorney's office. In 1976, she was appointed chief of a sex crimes unit that had been founded just two years earlier by Richard H. Kuh, the Interim Manhattan District Attorney preceding Robert Morgenthau, and Assistant District Attorney Leslie Crocker Snyder. After prosecuting her first few cases, Fairstein, who had grown up near the Bronx in Westchester County and attended Vassar College, was appalled to see judges' cavalier attitude toward sentencing rapists—as they just returned to the streets to assault more women. And so, over what would become more than a quarter century of running the sex crimes unit, Fairstein developed a number of innovations toward holding perpetrators of sex crimes as accountable as other violent criminals, all with a mind to keep them off the streets. This process included changing what had been standard procedure: handing cases off to different officers. Recognizing that victims of assault often found it difficult to share their stories, Fairstein ensured victims continued to work with the same person; this didn't just help them feel more comfortable—it also made it more likely they'd ultimately testify in court. She also started a program to teach counselors in City hospitals how to help victims report crimes. She convinced the NYPD to include prosecutors in rape investigations from their beginnings. And, following a successful approach devised by a prosecutor in Wisconsin, Fairstein became one of the first lawyers in the nation to indict DNA profiles of yet-to-be-identified rapists in order to prevent statutes of limitations from hindering eventual prosecution. Fairstein's work on two high-profile cases in the eighties, "The Preppy Murder" of eighteen-year-old Jennifer Levin in 1986 and the "Central Park jogger" case in 1989 (which was prosecuted by Elizabeth Lederer, who worked in Fairstein's unit), put her name in the public spotlight—as did a side career writing popular crime novels. But Fairstein's most lasting contribution to New York City was her relentless willingness to prosecute commonplace date or acquaintance rape, which had been all but ignored by law enforcement for centuries. New York's district attorneys rarely brought charges against rapists who were known to the victims (at least in part) because, until 1975, state law required a corroborating witness; as that's hard to come by when attacks occur in intimate settings, it made it all but impossible for prosecutors to procure indictments. (In 1969, for example, there were more than one thousand arrests for rape in New York City, but only eighteen convictions.) "When I got out of college in 1969, an all-women's college, I don't think I'd heard the word 'rape' four times in my four years there," she told me. "It was something that people didn't talk about. They were worried about public safety, but rape was not accepted as criminal conduct, nor did the media pay any attention to it." By taking on such cases, as well as those where a victim drank alcohol or took drugs or initially consented, Fairstein helped legitimize the idea that women should have ultimate control over their own bodies. Her work and stance also began shifting public opinion—and, by extension, jurors' decisions—away from the long-entrenched habit of blaming the victim. As she succeeded in prosecutions, even winning several instances of rape by a spouse, New York's sex crime unit became a model for prosecutors across the country. Adding to her influence, in 1993 Fairstein published _Sexual Violence: Our War Against Rape_ , which became a handbook of sorts for law enforcement officers and activists nationwide. In 1999, she began work on helping the City overcome its backlog of more than sixteen thousand unexamined rape kits; this effort, which took four years to complete, cemented the reputation of New York law enforcement as being well ahead of its counterparts in other cities. While the threat of rape will never fully disappear, thanks to Linda Fairstein, the City felt safer—to residents, to college students, and to those students' parents. In 1993, a no-nonsense lawyer named MARY JO WHITE (b. 1947) was confirmed as the United States Attorney for the Southern District of New York, a prestigious federal law enforcement body that predates the Department of Justice in Washington by more than eighty years. White moved into her office in 1993, just three months after the first terrorist attack on the World Trade Center, in which a bomb in a parking garage underneath the north tower killed six people. Over the next nine years the SDNY corps, led by White—who decorated her office with Yankees memorabilia and sometimes rode a motorcycle to work—prosecuted a steady stream of white-collar criminals, civil rights violators, leaders of international drug cartels, and public corruption cases. But while all that was taking place, she was also quietly working with the Joint Terrorism Task Force (JTTF), a group of detectives from the NYPD and FBI who collaborated on monitoring local and international threats. Facing a new kind of enemy—individual terrorists, rather than a state that declared war—White devised new ways to fight them in the court of law; these innovations were necessary because previous enemies of the state had been thwarted only militarily. In 1993, she secured an indictment against Sheik Omar Abdel-Rahman, a blind Egyptian cleric, for his role in plotting to blow up the United Nations and other NYC landmarks; she charged him under a Civil War–era seditious conspiracy law, which makes it illegal to plan to wage war against the government. In 1996, White indicted Khalid Sheikh Mohammed—later the mastermind of the 9/11 attacks—for his role in the foiled plot to blow up nearly a dozen American jetliners as they flew over the Pacific Ocean. Two years later, she obtained an indictment against Osama bin Laden for conspiring to destroy U.S. defense installations and for the bombings of U.S. embassies in East Africa. Afterward, White's SDNY helped to convict an Algerian man tied to a plot to blow up the Los Angeles International Airport during the 2000 millennial celebration. By 2001, there was no prosecutor in the country with more expertise in investigating and successfully prosecuting international terrorism. Having been appointed by President Bill Clinton, she was ready to resign when President George W. Bush took office in 2001. But she stayed on to oversee a number of high-profile terrorism and political-corruption matters for another year, departing in 2002. After more than a decade in private practice at Debevoise & Plimpton, White returned to the public sector in 2013, becoming the chair of the Securities and Exchange Commission. There, as the federal government's top financial cop, she brought a historic number of enforcement cases against companies and individuals, and worked to get stricter standards for advisors who counsel average investors on stock, bond, and fund purchases. Unlike some of her predecessors and successors, White never sought the spotlight; quite the contrary: she took pains to stay out of it. Beloved by her staff, she possessed an interesting combination of no-nonsense attitude toward work and mischievous sense of humor, as she often participated in office pranks. Before she became the first and only woman to lead SDNY, she earned a place in NYC prosecutors' lore when, after a male colleague challenged her to a tennis match, she drove her red Honda motorcycle onto the court with the song "I Am Woman" blaring from a tape player mounted to the back. Measuring a full foot shorter than her opponent's height of six feet, she won. # THE GREAT WHITE WAY ETHEL WATERS (1896–1977), the daughter of a young girl who had been raped at knifepoint by a family acquaintance, grew up in poverty and neglect. Yet her treacherous beginnings didn't stop her from leaving a lasting mark. The cusp of the Roaring Twenties found Waters in Harlem, singing in Edmond's Cellar; by the time she arrived on Broadway in the all-black revue _Africana_ in 1927, she was already a star on the pop charts and in the black theater, having channeled the emotional violence of her childhood into a soul-tugging voice that transformed jazz into the blues and created pop hits like "Dinah" and "Sweet Georgia Brown." But it was her rendition of the torch song "Stormy Weather" at the Cotton Club in 1933 that moved composer and songwriter Irving Berlin to immediately cast her in a new musical revue he was writing with Moss Hart: _As Thousands Cheer_. When Waters took the stage of the Music Box Theatre five months later, she joined the then-nascent ranks of black women who'd appeared on Broadway with a white cast. In his rich biography _Heat Wave: The Life and Career of Ethel Waters_ , historian Donald Bogle documents how whites previously excluded even the most talented black performers, giving rise to the joke that the Great White Way—the nickname for the stretch of Broadway between 42nd and 53rd Streets—was named not for its blinding marquee lights but for its intention of remaining lily-white. In _As Thousands Cheer_ , Waters mesmerized audiences night after night. And she performed despite tremendous personal costs; not only did she endure hostile treatment from white cast members, she nightly had to revisit the darkest emotional depths in order to perform "Supper Time," a song about a woman's response to learning her husband has been lynched—a number so moving it routinely stopped the show. Still, her talent and discipline did not go unrewarded; during the run of _As Thousands Cheer_ , Waters was believed to be the highest-paid female actor on Broadway. Six years before Billie Holiday recorded "Strange Fruit"—the haunting song that shone a light on the horror of lynching—Waters introduced contemporary social commentary to the Great White Way, marking an important shift in both the New York entertainment scene and American popular culture. While it is true that it was Berlin who'd conceived of this new direction for musical theater, he understood that only someone with Waters's theatrical and vocal capacities could actually pull it off. Waters would later star in a popular NBC radio program; become the first black woman to have her own network TV sitcom, _Beulah_ ; and ultimately tour with the evangelist Billy Graham. But it was her performance on Broadway that is most significant, as it began the transition from the glittery, sugary-sweet content of the follies to revues that contained satire as well as frank, honest portrayals about life in all its beauty and harshness. WHAT I'D ALSO DISCOVERED WHILE I HAD MY BACK TO THE WALL WAS THAT HUMAN KINDNESS WAS DEPTHLESS, IMMEASURABLE, AND BROKE ACROSS ALL COLOR LINES AND GEOGRAPHICAL BOUNDARIES. —ETHEL WATERS, 1950 To be sure, comedy was big business, and ETHEL MERMAN (1908–1984) was Broadway's comedy queen. Between 1930 and 1959 she created more than a dozen roles, including the leads in some of musical theater's most iconic shows— _Anything Goes_ (1934), _Annie Get Your Gun_ (1946), and _Gypsy_ (1959)—helping to create what was known as musical theater's Golden Age and solidifying New York as its epicenter. Merman, née Ethel Zimmerman, was born in her grandmother's house in Astoria, Queens. Growing up, she often went to vaudeville shows at the Palace Theatre in Manhattan, where she saw stars like Sophie Tucker and Fanny Brice. (We'll meet Fanny Brice again in the "Wisecrackers" chapter.) Though she never took music lessons, she sang for WWI soldiers as a child; after finishing high school, she moonlighted as a nightclub singer while working as a secretary for the B-K Booster Vacuum Brake Company. Then in 1930, while singing between film shorts at Brooklyn's Paramount Theatre, a Broadway producer caught her act and immediately brought her to meet George and Ira Gershwin. Soon after, Merman debuted in their musical _Girl Crazy_ , where her powerful, take-charge voice electrified the room. "Here was a star who could sell a song all the way up to the second balcony, and win laughs to boot," said theater historian John Kenrick, noting how, at the time, theaters did not have sound designers. Though Merman appeared in numerous movies, her brassy style and non-dainty looks hampered her having a broader film career, especially as male-run Hollywood preferred to cast more stereotypically feminine leading ladies. But her bold sound, combined with crystal-clear diction and precise pitch, made her an ideal muse for songwriters like the Gershwins, Irving Berlin, and Cole Porter. After playing the eighth (and last) Dolly Levi in _Hello, Dolly!_ in 1970—a show written with her in mind that she'd nonetheless turned down about a decade earlier—Merman retired from the Broadway stage, having indelibly altered New York's theater scene. She continued to make TV appearances, including one on _The Muppet Show_ , where she memorably reprised "There's No Business Like Show Business." In 1939, the same year that Ethel Waters was becoming the first black singer to appear on television and Ethel Merman appeared in a frisky but ultimately unpopular show called _Du Barry Was a Lady_ , a New York University drama student named BETTY COMDEN (1917–2006)—a graduate from Brooklyn's famed Erasmus Hall High School—joined with Adolph Green and several friends to launch a cabaret act at the Village Vanguard. The group got a boost when a young musician friend of Green's dropped in to accompany them on the piano. Several years later that musician, Leonard Bernstein, collaborating with the choreographer Jerome Robbins, asked Comden and Green to write the libretto and lyrics to go with their show. The resulting musical, _On the Town_ , opened on Broadway in 1944; featuring the story of three sailors on shore leave in Manhattan, it was an instant smash. NEW YORK, NEW YORK, A HELLUVA TOWN. THE BRONX IS UP, BUT THE BATTERY'S DOWN. THE PEOPLE RIDE IN A HOLE IN THE GROUN'. NEW YORK, NEW YORK, IT'S A HELLUVA TOWN. —FROM "NEW YORK, NEW YORK," BY BETTY COMDEN AND ADOLPH GREEN FROM THE 1944 MUSICAL _ON THE TOWN_ The Hollywood studio Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer quickly adapted _On The Town_ for film (although the word "helluva" in its opening song was changed to "wonderful" in keeping with industry standards), and the show inaugurated a remarkable sixty-year writing partnership through which Comden and Green would give the Great White Way musicals like _Billion Dollar Baby_ , _Wonderful Town_ , _Applause_ , and _The Will Rogers Follies_. Their contributions to Hollywood's Golden Age were likewise significant and included screenplays for _Auntie Mame_ and _Singin' in the Rain_ ; the latter, which the American Film Institute considered the greatest movie musical of all time, fueled the dissemination of ideas from New York stages to screens nationwide. Over the years Comden and Green collected seven Tony Awards, and in 1980 Betty was named to the Songwriters Hall of Fame. And yet, despite her writing successes, Comden always considered herself a performer foremost; for example, in 1958 she and Green put on a two-person off-Broadway show, which earned an Obie Award. All the same, her legacy as one of the most important librettists in the history of American musical comedy is unmatched—a legacy that's especially remarkable given the dearth of female writers during this era. # THE EDITRIXES In 1936, DIANA VREELAND (1903–1989), who had been born in Paris, went to work at _Harper's Bazaar_ —an event that would forever influence the styles seen strutting down New York sidewalks. With a natural-born instinct for originality and flair—plus her penchant for aristocratic luxury—Vreeland introduced the idea of personal style to New York women and, by extension, American women, giving them the tips they'd need to execute it. Then in 1962 she moved to _Vogue_ , where, after becoming editor-in-chief, she transformed the fashion magazine from a stuffy chronicle for the gentry to an of-the-moment field guide to aspiration—telling readers how to live, where to visit, and how they should look while doing so. Having begun closely collaborating with the photographer Richard Avedon while at _Harper's Bazaar_ , she brought him along with her to _Vogue_ , sending him all over the world for elaborate photo shoots, directing him (along with other genre-altering photographers Cecil Beaton and Helmut Newton) in capturing an astoundingly imaginative series of images that would become enduring icons of style. Championing garments like bikinis and denim (something previously unthinkable to mention in pages read by society ladies), Vreeland pushed women to experiment, issuing a never-ending stream of dictums that were closely followed by everyone in the industry, and which were instrumental in cultivating the Garment District's vibrant community of designers and fabricators. And as her penchant for the traditions of European couturiers softened slightly, she gave more attention to New York designers—which provided essential inroads on which the City's fashion industry was built. So influential was Vreeland that, when a magazine editor criticized Jacqueline Kennedy for wearing French-made clothing during her husband's presidential campaign, it was to Vreeland that Mrs. Kennedy turned for recommendations for American-made looks. Simon Doonan—the creative ambassador for Barneys, the famed NYC-based clothing mecca—credits Vreeland with inaugurating what became the fashion industry's creed: "She preached a rule-breaking gospel of daring, innovation, and unconventional thinking," he told me in an email. More than a quarter century after her death, Doonan added, "Vreeland remains the 'patron saint of creativity and _surprise_.'" It would take ANNA WINTOUR (b. 1949) assuming _Vogue_ 's helm in 1988 for a fashion editor other than Vreeland to hold that kind of influence and power. Although both the industry and the magazine were well-established before Wintour's arrival, from day one she faced massive shifts in youth spending, the rise of multinational fashion conglomerates, and the ascendancy of celebrity culture. Owing to her astute understanding of the fashion business, along with her unremitting devotion to the magazine's editorial vision—which has been endlessly remarked on in the press and was the subject of Lauren Weisberger's novel (later adapted into a film) _The Devil Wears Prada_ —she became, and continues to be, nothing less than the industry's czar. She helps new designers get to market, determines which trends get to retail, and has recalibrated the role of fashion in pop culture by featuring in _Vogue_ 's pages performers like Beyoncé and Taylor Swift, and designers like Kanye West. During the last recession, she even played a role in bolstering New York's economy with the introduction of Fashion's Night Out in 2009. Facing ever-increasing competition, from the Internet and other magazines alike, Wintour has managed to maintain the relevancy of her paper-based brand. In one turn, for example, she added more celebrities and Hollywood figures to the guest list of the Metropolitan Museum of Art's annual Costume Institute Benefit. Indeed, so important is Wintour's patronage of the museum that, in 2014, the Costume Institute's space was renamed The Anna Wintour Costume Center—making even more visible her role as one of the most influential women in the City. # THE STYLE SETTERS Manhattan's garment district, which began as a manufacturing center for prêt-à-porter (ready-to-wear clothing) in the 1850s, still anchors a broad array of designers, showrooms, and wholesalers off Seventh Avenue. But the heart of New York's identity as a fashion capital today is Fashion Week, an annual affair devised in the 1940s by fashion empress ELEANOR LAMBERT (1903–2003), which she originally called "Press Week." Lambert came to New York via art school in Indiana. Having always been interested in fashion as an art form, in 1939, she became the director of the New York Dress Institute, the industry's first promotional organization. There she convinced oft-competitive individual designers to group their shows to create a large showcase for the City's talent. This enabled saturated media coverage, from both local and overseas reporters, which, in turn, established New York as a place where designers could make their mark—or fail to impress. In 1962 Lambert founded the Council of Fashion Designers of America, which she also ran for decades thereafter. She relentlessly championed the City's designers in the face of Euro-centricity among the haut monde, and she was instrumental in getting American fashion editors to finally pay attention to stateside work. A big turning point came in 1973: at a fashion show she organized at the Palace of Versailles, New York designers outshone their French counterparts, making the event what was widely considered to be a defining moment in the acceptance of American fashion. Lambert, whose father and grandfather produced circus shows, had a particular knack for interesting the public, which derived from her appreciation of spectacle and fun. And so she introduced the practice of holding over-the-top fashion shows for charity and entertainment; she also produced events at the 1964 New York World's Fair, as well as several Radio City Music Hall Easter spectaculars. She was an early supporter of the Metropolitan Museum of Art's Costume Institute Benefit, and she helped conceive its first gala benefit in 1948, dubbing it the "Party of the Year"—a title that has so far lasted nearly seven decades. Lambert promoted the cause of New York's designers throughout her life. She even continued—almost up until her death at one hundred—to host an exclusive Fashion Week–kickoff tradition: an annual luncheon at her Fifth Avenue apartment held for out-of-town fashion reporters and City friends. Two fashion designers were particularly instrumental in establishing New York as the global headquarters for the fashion industry. One was Diane von Fürstenberg, who in 1970 opened a Seventh Avenue showroom, from which she soon introduced her wrap dress design. And Anna Sui, who began her atelier in her Chelsea apartment in the 1980s and, in time, would see her designs strut into boutiques around the world. But if the essence of fashion is self-expression, perhaps no individual was more responsible for inspiring and empowering the City's trendsetters than a self-described downtown "delinquent" named PATRICIA FIELD (b. 1941) who, since the early 1990s, has dyed her hair the color of red hots. Field spent her early childhood in Manhattan surrounded by clothing: her Turkish Armenian father and Greek mother were partners in a dry cleaning store on Third Avenue and 74th Street, two blocks away from where she attended school on 76th. "I would start my day at my parents' store, have a coffee and a roll, and then go to school," she told me. During high school, she'd travel from her home in Queens (where they moved when she was eight) to the Village to spend time at jazz clubs and nightclubs, for which she and her friends would dress up. Harnessing her delight in dressing up, in 1966, at the age of twenty-four, she opened a clothing store—Pants Pub—with a friend in Greenwich Village on New York University's campus. In 1971 the store had a new name and location—Patricia Field, on 8th Street—which offered a wild, daring array of clothes concisely described by one observer as a "punk rock orgy of shreds, leather, pleather, feathers, and frills." Dazzling stretch lamé mini dresses and Day-Glo corsets intermingled with slashed riding pants and cropped leather jackets. Indeed, punk priestesses like Debbie Harry and Patti Smith shopped there in the 1970s. But with Field's enjoyment of the theatrics of gay theater and burlesque, plus the store's proximity to Christopher Street in the West Village—a central hub for the NYC gay life—it also became a trusted supplier for the City's transvestites and drag queens, who especially appreciated Field's embrace of body-celebrating vestments. "I love legs, I love the body. I love energy," Field once told an interviewer. The store also became a daytime clubhouse for young people with amazing creative talents who had difficulty fitting in elsewhere. "I gave the [transvestites] and the gay kids jobs because they were visually interesting," Field told me. "The way they put themselves together, they were stylists of their own kind, and they exuded fashion. I never looked at them as 'you're gay,' 'you're straight,' 'you're underage,' whatever. It was totally creative and visual." Not only could a transvestite count on "House of Field" having white patent leather go-go boots in size 13W, but as the 1980s club scene took hold, and the store mimicked—and helped fuel—the energy of the downtown club scene, it also came to be a secret among designers; John Galliano, Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana, and other fashion insiders turned to Field for inspiration or just the right outfit-completing accent. She also had an eye for artistic talent and put on shows for street artists like Keith Haring and Jean-Michel Basquiat before they were embraced by the art community. "They were part of our crowd," Field nonchalantly explained. So visionary was Field's style that, in 1987, the director Michael Mann asked her to work as a stylist for the short-lived TV series _Crime Story_. A few years later, she designed costumes for a film, _Miami Rhapsody_ , starring Mia Farrow and Sarah Jessica Parker, who later recommended Field to Darren Star, creator of the HBO series _Sex and the City_ , for which she produced such statement, of-the-moment outfits that the show became as much a showcase for New York fashion as for the adventures of its characters. That success led to a second career for Field, who for the last three decades has been designing costumes for TV shows and films including _The Devil Wears Prada_ , for which she received an Oscar nomination. After being evicted by her alma mater from her 8th Street store and home (for twenty-one years she lived in an apartment above the boutique), she relocated the store, first to West Broadway in SoHo, then in 2005 to the Bowery. But in 2015 she closed its doors for good, freeing herself to tackle new projects, like launching a line of artist-painted clothing and dressing performers for an Italian operatic lingerie show on ice. Today, in her seventies and still fond of fishnets and Lycra dresses, Field remains the epitome of New York chic. # THE ARTISTS Although a significant craft movement began taking shape in rural America after the industrial revolution, artists looking to push the boundaries of traditional portraiture and landscapes flocked to New York, and many of them created work that would permanently alter the cityscape. HILDRETH MEIÈRE (1892–1961), a daughter of New York gentry, became a muralist after cultivating her drawing and painting skills in Florence, Italy, and working with a naval map maker at the Brooklyn Navy Yard during World War I. In 1928 she received commissions to design interior mosaics in Manhattan's Temple Emanu-El and St. Bartholomew's Episcopal Church. Afterward she worked on many architectural projects, both in New York and in other states. But it was an opportunity in 1931 to design the lobby at One Wall Street, located at the corner of Wall and Broadway, that lead to her creating what future critics would regard as an Art Deco masterpiece. "The Red Room" features nearly nine thousand square feet of red and gold glass tile mosaic with geometric patterns that stretch up to the three-story vaulted ceiling. The use of linear patterns, combined with the ceiling shape and saturated color, causes the room to glow a brilliant orange toward the top, creating one of the City's most stunning spaces. Meière's career continued for decades; she served as director of the Municipal Art Society of New York and was eventually the first woman appointed to the NYC Art Commission. But it is her Art Deco designs that remain a defining feature of the cityscape, most notably on the south facade of Radio City Music Hall, where the triptych of medallions she designed in 1932 still visually define the Rockefeller Center complex. BERENICE ABBOTT (1898–1991), whose penetrating, saucer-shaped eyes hinted at her perceptivity, discovered photography while working in Paris as a darkroom assistant to the Dadaist Man Ray. Thereafter she set up a studio where she snapped portraits of many of the era's leading lights. When she returned to New York in 1929, struck by the rapid modernization taking place all around her, she conceived of what would become _Changing New York_ , her now-iconic collection of black-and-white photos taken over a ten-year period that encapsulates both the historic and ever-changing nature of NYC. During the first few years of the project, she staved off poverty by shooting portraits and teaching photography classes at the New School for Social Research. In 1935 she was hired by the Federal Art Project (FAP), a Depression-era government program related to the Works Project Administration, receiving a monthly salary of $145 plus assistants, a secretary, and a 1930 Ford Roadster. Abbott's near-mathematical compositions simultaneously capture the physical body of the City's architecture while using light and human elements to pay tribute to its expansion into a booming modern metropolis. DOES NOT THE VERY WORD "CREATIVE" MEAN TO BUILD, TO INITIATE, TO GIVE OUT, TO ACT—RATHER THAN TO BE ACTED UPON, TO BE SUBJECTIVE? —BERENICE ABBOTT, 1989 When her FAP funding ran out, Abbott authored a highly respected guide to photography, invented various types of photographic equipment, and became a pioneering science photographer. But the jewel of her legacy remains the 1939 publication of _Changing New York_ , a landmark in documentary photography containing images that dazzle to this day. It wasn't until the 1940s that critics began taking note of sculptures by Ukraine-born LOUISE NEVELSON (1899–1988), a collagist of sorts who worked in wood, clay, and found objects. But even once noticed, her work was nonetheless often dismissed on account of her gender: after her first solo show in 1941, a critic wrote, "We learned the artist is a woman, in time to check our enthusiasm... otherwise we might have hailed these sculptural expressions as by surely a great figure among moderns." In the 1950s, Nevelson's work evolved into large-scale walls. She hit her stride working with irregularly shaped wood that she painted a uniform color. Eventually, critics could no longer deny her bravado, and she finally earned widespread recognition; in 1959, she was featured in MoMA's landmark exhibition _Sixteen Americans_. Two decades later, in 1979, she made her most visible imprint on New York by designing a set of sculptures in Cor-Ten steel that appear to float like flags above a triangular plaza in the financial district. On September 14, 1978, a decade before her death, Mayor Ed Koch proclaimed the site, where Maiden Lane intersects with Liberty and William Streets, the Louise Nevelson Plaza, the first public plaza in New York City to be named after an artist. In 1938, French artist LOUISE BOURGEOIS (1911–2010) moved to New York where she, like Nevelson, studied at the Art Students League of New York. By the late 1940s and 1950s, her work appeared in solo shows in various New York galleries. Her dark, sexually explicit subjects were rare for female artists in this era; later in life she revealed that her work was an effort to overcome the childhood trauma of learning about her father's sexual infidelities with a governess who lived with her family. Throughout the sixties, Bourgeois experimented with new materials, like latex, plaster, and rubber. With these she created hanging sculptures, like the provocative and biomorphic _Fillette_ (1968), a dismembered yet erect penis that simultaneously references castration and a distorted female figure. In the 1970s she became a voice for anti-censorship. She also began shaping the next generation of artists by teaching at Pratt Institute, Brooklyn College, and The Cooper Union, as well as by holding weekly salons at her home in Chelsea, where she'd critique younger artists. (Her frank manner and dry sense of humor led students to name the gatherings "Sunday, bloody Sundays.") In 1982, when Bourgeois was seventy-one, she had her first retrospective at MoMA—only the second ever given to a female artist by that institution (the first was for Georgia O'Keeffe in 1946). She continued to work obsessively well into her nineties, playing with new shapes, like giant spiders, to explore themes of fear, anxiety, and sexual victimization. She died in 2010 at the age of ninety-eight. From a very young age, Tokyo-born YOKO ONO (b. 1933) showed an interest in music and creative exploration. She first studied classical musical training at one of Japan's most prestigious private schools, Gakushuin University, where she was also the first female student to enroll in the philosophy department. Then, in the early 1950s, after moving with her family to suburban Westchester, she enrolled in Sarah Lawrence College, where she continued her studies and published a play in the school's literary magazine. Drawn to the work of experimental composers, she began spending time with other artists in downtown Manhattan. In 1960, she rented a loft where she and composer La Monte Young organized a series of music and performance-art events. These events, which drew visionary thinkers like John Cage and Marcel Duchamp, proved pivotal in the formation of New York's avant-garde art scene. Participants included electronic music composer Richard Maxfield; Simone Forti, a post-modern dancer and choreographer; and Jackson Mac Low, a multimedia performance artist and poet. The series became legendary. YOKO ONO Ono also presented her own conceptual pieces, like "Painting to Be Stepped On," a canvas on which the audience was invited to walk. In July 1961, she mounted her first show, _Paintings and Drawings_ , at a gallery established by George Maciunas, a prominent member of Fluxus, a loose group of artists inspired to challenge common perceptions of the role of art. Later creations included "Cut Piece," in which Ono invited the audience to use scissors to cut of parts of the clothing she wore while she remained seated, unmoving. The effect was potent and, for some, traumatic, as it revealed the ways in which sexual violence is perpetrated on women. Other performance works consisted of engaging participants in various acts, such as lighting a match and watching it burn out; in 1964, she published a collection of short writings tied to the conceptual performance series in the celebrated book _Grapefruit_. While in London in 1966 to attend the Destruction in Art Symposium, she met the musician John Lennon. Ono and Lennon began collaborating on films and recordings, and sharing a mutual interest in promoting peace, they organized two weeklong "bed-ins," inviting the press and members of the public into their hotel bedroom to discuss it. They also commissioned billboards in New York and other cities that proclaimed War Is Over! If You Want It. Deeply interested in music, she formed the Plastic Ono Band in 1968, which created rock-inspired compositions for which she provided ululating vocals and other primal sounds. Band members would include Lennon and Ono, Eric Clapton, and Billy Preston. Ono and Lennon continued working as a duo as well, creating six albums, including _Some Time in New York City_ (1972). Meanwhile, she ran newspaper ads for an unsanctioned, one-woman show at The Museum of Modern Art; visitors were left to ponder their conceptions of the meaning of a show after encountering a sign on which Ono invited them to track flies she claimed to have released on the museum grounds. After enduring Lennon's murder in 1980, Ono continued to record music, including a collaboration with her son Sean Lennon, and wrote an Off-Broadway musical, _New York Rock_. While Lennon's fame as a member of the Beatles caused some fans to dismiss her as a sycophant, several retrospectives of her work at major museums throughout the world made clear the prescient nature of her ideas, and the extent to which they predated her relationship with Lennon. Meanwhile, Ono's public activism for non-violence and world peace has continued steadily: in 2012, she and her son Sean enlisted 150 artists to join them in Artists Against Fracking (posting a large billboard on the Major Deegan Expressway that read: Governor Cuomo: Imagine There's No Fracking.). And every year in spring, the tranquil, living memorial she created for Lennon in Central Park, named Strawberry Fields, blooms anew and demonstrates her enduring message of choosing to respond to aggression and pain with harmony. # SOUNDTRACK TO THE CITY When ELLA FITZGERALD (1917–1996), a seventeen-year-old from Yonkers, put her name in the lottery to perform during Amateur Night at the Apollo Theater in 1934, she had been planning to dance. But when she was called to the stage immediately after the Edwards Sisters, an impressive tap dance duo, she feared she wouldn't measure up and chose to sing instead. It was a fortuitous decision: as she crooned "Judy," a favorite song of her mother's written by Hoagy Carmichael, her resonant tones and rich, melodious interpretations brought down the house. The audience demanded encore after encore. And Benny Carter, a professional saxophonist and arranger in the house band that night, resolved to introduce Fitzgerald to contacts who could help launch her career, as did Bardu Ali, a musician who immediately brought her to meet Chick Webb. Fitzgerald had been orphaned at fifteen when her mother died in a car accident in the Great Depression, struggling alone for two years. But in a matter of months after her Apollo break, she was fronting the Chick Webb Orchestra. Within two years she was performing at the Savoy Ballroom and had recorded her first song. And in 1938, four years after her Apollo debut, she released "A-Tisket A-Tasket," a catchy adult version of a child's rhyme; it sold one million copies, making her a star. As the era of big band swing moved into bebop, a term the jazz historian Barry Ulanov traced to one of Fitzgerald's spontaneous riffs, she became the master of scat. And, frequently collaborating with all of the era's other hottest jazz performers—like Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman, and Dizzy Gillespie—she set New York's music clubs on fire. In the 1940s and 1950s, her definitive recordings of the work of America's leading songwriters helped canonize the Great American Songbook; in time, "The First Lady of Song" became one of the most popular jazz singers in the world. During her lifetime she sold over forty million albums and won thirteen Grammy awards. Her wide-ranging, pitch-perfect voice and incomparable artistry became a defining element of New York's jazz scene, setting a standard for performance excellence by which the City's musical talent would always be known. Upon hearing an advance copy of the Gershwin songbook, Ira Gershwin remarked, "I never knew how good our songs were until I heard Ella Fitzgerald sing them." In 1959, while Fitzgerald was recording with Verve and taking top honors at the first-ever Grammy awards, a singer named Guadalupe Victoria Yoli Raymond was stunning audiences at La Red nightclub in Havana, Cuba, by uttering profanities, hitting herself, and ripping at her hair and clothing while performing. Whether she was channeling the country's political turmoil (the revolution took place that year) or some interior turbulence was unclear: LA LUPE (1939–1992), as she was known, lived a life of never-ending melodrama, having been left by her husband after he had an affair with the third member of their musical trio. Whatever the source, she mesmerized audiences with her Santeria-born wild cries, orgasmic shrilling, and self-flagellation (even her husband described one of her performances as resembling "an epileptic fit"). In 1962 La Lupe, by then divorced, joined many other Cuban artists in leaving the country, and she brought her dramatic performance style to New York—where male musicians from all over Latin America had already begun making a vibrant Latin music scene. Although her flamboyant, blatantly sexual performance style shocked some musicians, many of whom were classically trained and considered her behavior déclassé, her soulful singing was popular, leading to several successful records. She also collaborated with Latin jazz and mambo king Tito Puente, after which a string of hits sent her to the top of the Latin charts. Within a short time her powerful voice, uninhibited physicality, and _yiyiyi_ screams earned her the title in the Latin press of "Queen of Latin Soul." New York's Puerto Ricans, meanwhile, eagerly embraced Cuban beats. With producers eager to popularize Latin music among mainstream audiences, the name "salsa" emerged—even though purists objected to lumping together the Cuban Son, Puerto Rican bomba, and Dominican merengue. (In particular, Puente, a jazz composer and band leader who'd trained at Juilliard, repeatedly told reporters, "I am not a cook, I am a musician!") In time, however, the label stuck, and the City's Nuyoricans developed an entire salsa scene. LA LUPE Unfortunately, La Lupe's wild theatrics—derided by some as camp, embraced by others as emotionally authentic—mirrored an unstable personal life that included drug addiction, a mentally ill second husband, and an inability to manage finances. When her behavior became even more erratic, Puente fired her, replacing her with Celia Cruz, who was less fiery but more reliable. As salsa developed an ever-wider following, it was Cruz—and not Lupe—who would ride the wave of the genre's popularity, eventually being crowned the "Queen of Salsa." Meanwhile, Lupe descended into addiction and poverty, eventually suffering a back injury and a house fire before joining a Pentecostal church. Regardless, it was La Lupe's emotional performance style and powerful, sensual, soul-infused renditions of pop classics that had paved the way for the commercial success of New York's Latin music. Many of her fans, including the filmmaker Ela Troyano, regret that La Lupe didn't receive more recognition during her lifetime. "La Lupe was an amazing artist who has never been given her due: because she was black and because her lyrics and her stance were very working class," she told me. In 2008 Troyano released a documentary aimed at restoring La Lupe's rightful place as an artist as visionary and self-empowered as Frida Kahlo. And in 2002, a stretch of East 140th Street in the Bronx was renamed "La Lupe Way." In the early 1970s, several downtown musicians began experimenting with a form of music that, instead of offering melodic emotional reassurances, aimed to fully express the angst and alienation endemic to struggling-to-survive-in-the-City. One of them, DEBBIE HARRY (b. 1945), who had worked as a hostess at the Playboy Club and as a waitress at Max's Kansas City, joined with her boyfriend Chris Stein and formed a band, Angel and the Snake. When they took the stage with their offbeat, unpolished songs at CBGB's, a grungy club on the Bowery that allowed new bands to incubate, they inadvertently helped kick off both the City's first real rock scene and the invention of punk. After just a few performances, Angel and the Snake disbanded, but Harry and Stein quickly formed Blondie, named for the dismissive sobriquet strangers on the street would use to refer to Harry (and not Harry's real name, as many fans incorrectly assumed). Cowriting songs about lost love, falling apart, and wanting to die, Harry and Stein rejected the bland, everything-is-going-to-be-okay approach of mainstream songwriters; instead they penned lyrics about living in a city teetering on the edge of bankruptcy and rife with crime, poverty, and dilapidation. Other downtown bands like Television and the Ramones similarly pushed the boundaries past anything American musicians had done before (following on the heels of nihilist 1960s group The Velvet Underground and the garish, gender-bending New York Dolls, whose burlesque tactics forged what became known as glam rock). Together, these misfits brought about an era of screaming electric guitars and raw, unvarnished lyrics that soon influenced another emerging punk scene across the pond. Most of Blondie's songs were more traditionally composed than those of the era's other groups; this led to a record deal and play on the airwaves, part of what MTV, founded in 1981 in the City, championed as rock's New Wave. While London's Sex Pistols ultimately surpassed all the New York bands in their performed nihilism, Harry's willingness to step out of what, until then, had been a folk-driven rock paradigm was instrumental in establishing downtown's first rock scene, a morass of fractured lyrics and loud combustible sounds for which CBGB's will always be remembered. When in 1980 Harry namechecked hip-hop pioneers Fab Five Freddy and Grandmaster Flash in Blondie's song "Rapture," it became the very first single with rap—the just-burgeoning on the streets New York art form—to top American pop charts. Although the seeds of rap were growing in the seventies, it wasn't until the music industry figure SYLVIA ROBINSON (1936–2011) committed it to vinyl in 1979 that the genre of rap began its meteoric climb to mainstream consciousness. Robinson was a successful rhythm-and-blues recording artist who briefly owned a publishing company and record label before opening a sound studio in New Jersey. One night at the Harlem World Club disco she observed the reaction on the dance floor when the deejay inventively mixed together different recorded albums, improvising rhyme overtop. The "kids were going crazy," she told an interviewer. "He would say something like, 'Throw your hands up in the air,' and they'd do it." Wanting to push the sound out into the market, she quickly assembled a rap group; with $750, she put out the first rap single, "Rapper's Delight," the opening lines of which gave the new movement a name ("I say a hip hop, hibbit to the hibbit to the hip-hip-hop and you don't stop"). Within weeks "Rapper's Delight" had sold two million copies and created a commercial model for what had previously only existed as an unfocused—and therefore difficult to package and sell—form of street art. She named her rap group the Sugarhill Gang, after the affluent Sugar Hill district in Harlem. Soon, as Sugar Hill Records, she and her husband, Joe, were recording other rappers, including Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five. Despite the intensely local nature of the music—many of the songs channeled African Americans' frustration about the violence and discrimination they experienced in New York's roughest neighborhoods—the music resonated across the country. By the mid-eighties, larger companies had big-footed Sugar Hill Records out of business. But among the rap cognoscenti, Robinson was, and will always be, the mother of hip-hop. New York City in the eighties found Madonna honing her act at The Roxy and Danceteria, Cyndi Lauper's New Wave pop and rock on the airwaves, and the beginning of the alternative scene—this in addition to a continuation of the seventies' downtown punk scene. These sounds, along with hip-hop, carried on through the nineties, when electronica birthed the music genres known as club and house. These styles were thriving when Rekha Malhotra, a.k.a. DJ REKHA (b. 1971), began infusing electronic tunes with bhangra—centuries-old celebration music from the Punjab with an impossible-to-ignore rhythmic character. In 1997, she introduced a monthly Basement Bhangra party at SOB's nightclub on Varick Street. (Bhangra was created to celebrate the spring harvest of bhang, or hemp, and is grounded in the forceful beats of a double-headed drum.) These nights didn't just resonate with young South-Asian Americans whose parents remade the complexion of the City after passage of the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965; they also appealed to a wide range of music- and dance-loving club-goers, with bhangra eventually wending its way into hip-hop hits by Jay Z and Missy Elliott. Rekha's ear for house music, along with bhangra's authentic roots in Punjabi culture, both expanded the musical consciousness of New Yorkers and helped elevate New York's South Asian community into the City's pop culture scene. # THE MYTHMAKERS Affluence and its attendant amenities and privileges have always fascinated. So it created quite a stir when in 1889 the daughter of an established New York family, whose lineage stretched back to the earliest Dutch and English settlers, began revealing the goings-on of New York's high society. Eleven years after making her formal society debut on Fifth Avenue in 1879, EDITH WHARTON (1862–1937) was published by _Scribner's Magazine_ ; numerous short stories, essays, and book-length works of fiction followed, including _The House of Mirth_ and _Ethan Frome_. Her masterworks—like _The Age of Innocence_ , which won the Pulitzer Prize—didn't just elevate the overall quality of American literature produced in this era; by chronicling the repression and hypocrisy of the affluent, as well as showing how they were affected by the forces of change in the age of mechanization, she revealed how New York's aristocrats are, in truth, just as lost and confused as everyone else. Decades after Wharton's death in 1937, the fables she created about the beautiful, but tortured, lives of New York's gilded set have continued to endure—and are periodically reaffirmed on the stage and by Hollywood. When JOAN DIDION (b. 1934), a native Californian, wrote in 1967 about the end of her love affair with New York, she too created a lasting parable, but one of a different sort. In "Goodbye to All That," Didion took the longstanding idea of New York as the ultimate testing ground and enshrined it as "the mysterious nexus of all love and money and power, the shining and perishable dream itself." Other writers have described that battle for centuries, but Didion went further, methodically ripping off the veil of external struggle and revealing, in clear, piercing prose, the real adversary city-dwellers seek to confront and conquer: the beast within. She wrote, "[S]ome weeks I had to charge food at Bloomingdale's gourmet shop in order to eat, a fact which went unmentioned in the letters I wrote to California." And later: "I no longer had any interest in hearing about the advances other people had received from their publishers, about plays which were having second-act trouble in Philadelphia, or about people I would like very much if only I would come out and meet them. I had already met them, always." So powerfully did her writing capture both the mesmerizing allure Manhattan has for wandering spirits and the existential despair of trying to survive in a floor-through apartment on East 75th Street that, for the next half century, saying "goodbye to all that" would become nothing less than a literary cliché. NEW YORK WAS NO MERE CITY. IT WAS INSTEAD AN INFINITELY ROMANTIC NOTION, THE MYSTERIOUS NEXUS OF ALL LOVE AND MONEY AND POWER, THE SHINING AND PERISHABLE DREAM ITSELF. —JOAN DIDION, 1967 For more than two decades Didion and her husband, the writer John Gregory Dunne, enjoyed successful, authorly careers in Los Angeles, where they also raised a daughter, Quintana Roo. But the final chapter of her life has provided an ironic coda to her essay: in 1988, she returned to New York, moving back to the same Upper East Side neighborhood she'd previously fled. Then, in 2003 and 2005, Didion suffered the grievous twin losses of her husband and daughter. In between, she wrote _The Year of Magical Thinking_ , an astonishing National Book Award–winning memoir about her husband's death, which producer Scott Rudin asked her to adapt for the stage; in 2007, she watched Vanessa Redgrave perform her script on Broadway. Where else but in the center of power and magic could a tragedy become a book and a book become a Broadway play? Long after her parting shot, Didion proved New York remains a mysterious, powerful nexus. THE BARBIZON HOTEL # THE ICONS From the moment she took top prize at a singing contest at a bar in Greenwich Village in 1960, BARBRA STREISAND (b. 1942), a Jewish girl from Brooklyn, developed a loyal following among various groups of New Yorkers. At nightclubs, gay men adored her torch songs and impromptu one-liners; her show-stopping performance as Miss Marmelstein in _I Can Get It for You Wholesale_ —when she was only nineteen—beguiled Broadway audiences; and so extraordinary was her turn in _Funny Girl_ in 1964 that one drama critic declared: "If New York were Paris," Broadway could temporarily rename itself the "Rue Streisand." Even if Hollywood and record companies took ever-so-slightly longer to warm up to what Letty Cottin Pogrebin described as Streisand's most famous character type, "the Jewish Big Mouth," ultimately it was exactly her unabashed ethnicity, her Jewish looks, her outspokenness, and her lush multiplatinum, Grammy-Emmy-Tony-Oscar-winning voice that catapulted her to iconic status. Babs's personification of a Brooklyn-bred "New Yawka" came to represent how people worldwide think of New Yorkers in general. Or, as a writer in a Jewish feminist periodical once said, "By shoving a Jewish girl's face in front of the cameras, she was announcing, beneath all the self-deprecation, _I'm here, I'm a bagel, and you're gonna learn to love me_." Some artists express themselves in music; others in clay or paint. But few are more gifted at assembling an outfit than IRIS APFEL (b. 1921), an interior designer who, at the age of eighty-five, became what she refers to as "a geriatric starlet." Apfel was raised in Astoria, Queens; in her younger years, she helped run a textile company with her husband, Carl. All the while, she amassed a world-class collection of all manner of jewelry and tchotchkes. For more than six decades—seriously, _sixty years_ —she was well-known among the City's design cognoscenti for using her innate style to create magnificent ensembles that blend multicultural elements into a cohesive whole. But it wasn't until the Metropolitan Museum of Art's Costume Institute featured an exhibit of her outfits in 2005 that Coach, Kate Spade, Finlandia Vodka, and MAC Cosmetics asked her to star in ad campaigns—publicity that soon generated a book and an Albert Maysles documentary. Still going strong in her mid-nineties, and still wearing her signature saucer-sized glasses, Iris—among the chosen few with single-name status—continues to prove why charm and wit remain the most attractive of all accessories. Responding to a question from the writer Taffy Brodesser-Akner, Iris replied, "No matter how marvelous" an outfit is, "if you're not comfortable with it... you're gonna look like a jerk." Given a choice, "it's better to be unstylish but happy." IRIS APFEL Wit is, perhaps, the most prized of all traits among sophisticates. Rarely has it existed in greater abundance than among the Algonquin Round Table, the name for a group of writers, editors, actors, and publicists who famously convened at the "Gonk" hotel during the Prohibition era to swap stories, make merry, and collaborate on creative projects. But even among New York's creative elites, the writer, poet, and mistress of bon mots DOROTHY PARKER (1893–1967) stood out for her rapier dialogue and machine-gunned one-liners. Parker joined _The New Yorker_ at its inception in 1925, ultimately contributing more than one hundred book reviews, profiles, poems, and short stories to the magazine. She was known as much for her searing takedowns of those in power as for her darkly comical views. Both qualities were present in much of her writing, especially in her unforgettable wisecracks, like "Brevity is the soul of lingerie" or "Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clean to the bone." But she also wrote about deeper concerns, like in "Arrangement in Black and White," a short story from 1927 that mocked the hypocrisy of prejudiced whites. Though Parker was often successful at wringing humor from pain—as in, "I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy"—she waged a ferocious battle with depression, which in its reign included alcoholism and several suicide attempts. Social inequality and prejudice were major sources of the pain she felt; she once told an interviewer that what disturbed her most about America was injustice, intolerance, stupidity, and segregation. DOROTHY PARKER She worked to mitigate that pain by promoting social justice. In the 1930s she raised money in support of the Scottsboro Boys (black Alabama teenagers wrongly convicted and sentenced to death for allegedly raping two white women); in 1950 she defended Paul Robeson when he was banned from television; and, upon her death at age seventy-three, she left her entire estate to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Still, it was her bon mots that personified New York wit and continue to delight. These include numerous phrases now in common usage (such as "what the hell") and ditties like this timeless tribute to human suffering, titled "Resumé": RAZORS PAIN YOU, RIVERS ARE DAMP, ACIDS STAIN YOU, AND DRUGS CAUSE CRAMP. GUNS AREN'T LAWFUL, NOOSES GIVE, GAS SMELLS AWFUL. YOU MIGHT AS WELL LIVE. Several years after Parker died in her Upper East Side hotel suite, another witty, cynical character sought refuge in the City from the torment of suburban life in Morristown, New Jersey. To survive on her own after arriving as a teenager, FRAN LEBOWITZ (b. 1950) started out driving a taxi and writing pornography, but she ultimately couldn't help but follow her natural-born profession as a writer and social critic—even if she would become more well-known for all the writing she avoided than what she produced. "I write so slowly," she once said, "that I could write in my own blood without hurting myself." The first editor to hire Lebowitz was pop art and nightlife impresario Andy Warhol, who gave her a gig as a columnist for _Interview_ magazine. Soon after, she published two essay collections: _Metropolitan Life_ (1978) and _Social Studies_ (1981), both steeped in her cosmopolitan, New York viewpoint. But it was her outspoken judgmentalism, endless supply of sardonic wit, and unabashed butch lesbian appearance that rendered her the embodiment of 1970s cool—a personification that lasted into, and was still being exalted in, the twenty-first century. Thirty years, a title on _Vanity Fair_ 's masthead, and scores of public appearances later, Lebowitz's publisher is still waiting for her third book. (In the meantime, Vintage Books compiled her previous two volumes into _The Fran Lebowitz Reader_ in 1994.) Despite the dearth of printed output, Lebowitz—who describes herself as "the outstanding waster of time of my generation"—occupies such a unique, only-in-New-York role that Martin Scorsese created the 2010 documentary _Public Speaking_ to showcase her talents as a conversationalist. "You start with a topic, and then she would riff, like a jazz performer," Mr. Scorsese said. "It's in the timing, the telling of the story, the punchlines, the pauses, that's the music, see. That's the writing." It's for her conversational virtuosity that her friend Graydon Carter, longtime editor of _Vanity Fair_ , has remained her steadfast patron. Through her talks, which she delivers nationwide, she continues to serve as New York's erstwhile counterculture ambassador. "Everyone says New York has changed tremendously but unfortunately I have not," Lebowitz gushed forth to me in March 2016. "It's not the New York I came to." Asked whether she had ever considered leaving, she had a quick reply: "Where else would you live? Every place else is Atlanta." WHEN YOU LEAVE NEW YORK, YOU ARE ASTONISHED AT HOW CLEAN THE REST OF THE WORLD IS. CLEAN IS NOT ENOUGH. —FRAN LEBOWITZ, 1978 # THE EDUCATORS In the early days of the republic, when it came to education, privileged white men concerned themselves with sending their sons to Kings College (now Columbia University, founded in 1754 by royal charter of King George II of England). Fortunately for the remaining youngsters, there were some women who recognized the importance of giving _all_ children the tools necessary to grow into thriving adults. An example: CATHERINE "KATY" FERGUSON (1774–1854) was a cake baker who took notice of the orphaned white and black children roaming the streets near her residence in lower Manhattan. When she was about nineteen she began inviting them into her home every Sunday for rudimentary lessons—and one need look no further than her own background to understand her impulse in doing so. According to Lewis Tappan, a prominent merchant and founder of the American Anti-Slavery Society who interviewed Ferguson in 1850, she was born to a Virginia woman held in the bonds of slavery; when she was just eight years old, her mother was sold off by her master, and lost to Katy forever. Although Ferguson, still a teenager herself, had never learned to read or write, she taught the children the life skills and scripture her mother had taught to her in her youngest years. Then, when a minister at a nearby church learned of her efforts, he invited her to move the meetings into the church basement. In Tappan's view, Ferguson deserved to be credited with establishing the first Sunday School in the City. In 1801, a group of female Quakers—the name for members of the Christian denomination known as the Religious Society of Friends—likewise took notice of the youngsters of all backgrounds who weren't being helped by existing charities. Earlier, CATHARINE BOWNE MURRAY (1758–1819), who married into the clan of Murrays of Murray Hill fame, had invited the others to gather at her home, where they formed the the Association of Women Friends for the Relief of the Poor (commonly referred to as the "Female Association"). Their focus was on providing education to any boy or girl "whose parents belong to no religious society, and who, from some cause or other, cannot be admitted into any of the charity schools of this city." This notion—that _all_ children of the City deserved education regardless of sex, race, creed, or their parents' finances or religious observance—was incalculably significant. Until then, most adults had only seen fit to teach youngsters who were members of their own ethnic or religious groups. By working with the concept that education could exist independent of religious groups or racial identity, these women laid the foundation for a uniform system of education that, in theory, offered _every_ individual opportunity for advancement—which is the very heart of the American dream. It also established the concept of NYC as melting pot: No matter what a person looked like, or from where one came, or from whose womb one emerged, in the eyes of these women, every child was potential-in-waiting. This conception of education established the principle on which the largest public school system in the nation would eventually be built. Prior to the formation of the Female Association, education in the City consisted of an array of individual efforts. Affluent families hired tutors to instruct their children at home. Churches established charity schools for poor members of the faith. And, in 1794, a group of well-to-do white men who advocated for the full abolition of slavery—including John Jay and Alexander Hamilton—established the African Free School, a one-room schoolhouse on Cliff Street that used donations to provide schooling for about forty black students. When in June 1801, the Female Association opened its first co-ed public school, it combined elements of those different efforts into one approach. Pooling their resources, the women rented a room for the school and, according to a Friends history given by William H.S. Wood in 1902, hired "a widow woman of good education and morals as instructor." Four years later, in 1805, Mayor DeWitt Clinton convened the New York Free School Society, a group aimed at providing a free education to the City's children—by which the participants actually meant NYC's Caucasian boys. For many years, the group looked to the Female Association for assistance establishing and running schools for boys—and began providing them with public funds to keep teaching the girls. (When the Female Association opened its second school soon after, it was exclusively for girls.) In 1825, all of the groups were folded together under the name the Public School Society; this would later be reorganized in 1842 under the Board of Education. By 1871, the NYC Board of Education served more than 35,000 children at eighty-nine grammar schools, where the vast majority of teachers were female—an arrangement that persists today. Of the City's approximately 76,000 teachers in 2016, more than 75 percent are women. "The whole public school system rests on the work of women," the eminent historian of education Diane Ravitch told me. Although in the early years the names on all the records were men, she added, "the whole schooling of public schoolchildren—millions of children—always rested on the backs of women." Even after nineteenth-century New York had, at least on paper, embraced the idea of educating all children, there proved another significant obstacle to educating even the Caucasian kids who made up the bulk of the City's poor youth: their parents. Most poor immigrants, and especially those who came to New York from rural peasant communities in Europe, relied on their children to work to bring in money for the family. Unsure of how they'd get their next meal, many parents had a hard time fathoming how giving up potential wages could ultimately benefit the family. "Most immigrants were not eager to get their kids in school," said Jonathan Zimmerman, historian of education at New York University. "They were eager to get their kids in the workforce. It was actually a very hard sell." Enter JULIA RICHMAN (1855–1912). She was one of the first graduates of NYC's first high school for women, which was established in 1870 with the aim of providing the City with more adequately trained teachers. (Initially called the Normal School, this institution opened as an alternative to the higher level of education available to men at the City University of New York. In 1914 the Normal School was renamed Hunter College.) Richman, who had grown up in a prosperous German Jewish family, was active in her community's philanthropic efforts to "Americanize" the large number of émigrés from Eastern Europe. Upon her graduation from the Normal School, she started out as a teacher—but in 1884 she became principal of the girls' department of P.S. 77. Then, in 1903, the Board of Education saw fit to name her district superintendent of schools on the Lower East Side. It was in that post that she implemented many programs to aid children of recently arrived immigrants, including "Steamer classes"—so named for the passenger ships on which immigrants arrived—which were essentially English classes for nonnative speakers to aid children's assimilation to their new land and culture. Now, historians have noted the pragmatic self-interest New Yorkers of German Jewish descent displayed in pushing the influx of Eastern European Jews to quickly assimilate; some say that, as racism and discrimination escalated against the newcomers, the established citizens feared losing the WASP acceptance they had already achieved. As such, one can hardly consider Steamer classes and the like to be entirely altruistic ventures. But all the same, it can't be denied that the helping hand given by Richman and other progressives working in schools and settlement houses provided immigrants with much-needed stepping stones, enabling them to secure stable futures for themselves. Getting the City's children off the streets and into schools was important. But as educators and psychologists developed a greater understanding of child development and its wholly normal range of variations, a number of educators in the early twentieth century began questioning the wisdom of forcing young children to adhere to rigid lessons and assembly-line learning. So several New York women instead developed a new style of teaching that became known as the progressive movement in education. It was while teaching in nearby Philadelphia in the 1880s that CAROLINE PRATT (1867–1954), an educator who had grown up in rural New York, found herself dissatisfied with the era's prevailing pedagogical approach of forcing children to curb their natural curiosity and instead focus strictly on uniform teacher-directed lessons. Attributing most of her own learning not to her studies at Teachers College, Columbia University but to the independent exploration of farms, fields, and forests she enjoyed as a child, Pratt began looking for alternative ways of teaching that would similarly give students opportunities to learn from real experiences. She believed in offering children opportunities to encounter frustrations and setbacks, which, when overcome, provided both valuable lessons and a sense of self-empowerment. IT SEEMED TO ME THAT IF WE COULD KEEP [THE DESIRE TO LEARN] ALIVE THROUGH CHILDHOOD AND INTO ADULT LIFE, WE WOULD RELEASE A FORCE MORE PRECIOUS AND POWERFUL FOR GOOD THAN ANY PHYSICAL FORCE THE SCIENTISTS EVER DISCOVERED. —CAROLINE PRATT, 1948 By 1913, Pratt, who lived and socialized among other progressive thinkers in the Village, was convinced that learning occurred best through creative play with open-ended materials. She envisioned a classroom that allowed for children's self-directed planning and problem solving, augmented by field trips and activities that permitted children to participate in authentic social interactions with other members of their community. The benefits of learning from one's own doing had been reinforced for her during a trip to Sweden, where Pratt observed "Educational sloyd," a learning practice of utilizing woodworking and other handicrafts to foster critical-thinking skills in children. She spent many hours observing children happily immersed in creative play, in which they were naturally driven to think carefully before acting, and thereby would develop a strong interior sense of responsibility and judgment. Devising a new approach to what "school" could mean, Pratt founded the Play School in 1914 in a three-room apartment in Greenwich Village; soon after it was renamed the City and Country School and was moved to larger quarters on West 12th Street. To facilitate the creative play she determined was so important, Pratt devised two sets of blocks that would allow children to freely construct structures and engage in dramatic play of their own design, whether indoors or out: indoor wooden unit blocks of corresponding measurement that led children to intuit math relationships and provided the foundation for lessons in collaborative problem-solving, and large outdoor blocks that required lifting, carrying, pushing, and pulling, sometimes by more than one student, to strengthen gross motor skills and foster a need for social interaction. In time, Pratt's blocks would become a staple of classrooms all over the City, and the breadth of their educational benefits would become known across America and beyond. However, it wasn't until 1947—when Pratt was eighty—that the educator known for favoring human interaction over worship of books would begin setting down her philosophy in writing. The name of her volume, published in 1948 when she was eighty-one: _I Learn From Children: An Adventure in Progressive Education_. In 1916, teacher LUCY SPRAGUE MITCHELL (1878–1967) cofounded the Bureau of Educational Experiments. There she and a staff of teachers and researchers carefully observed how preschool-aged children interacted with their teachers and classroom materials in order to "find out what kind of environment is best suited to [children's] learning and growth, to create that environment, and to train adults to maintain it." Through these observations Mitchell developed a strong belief in experiential rather than passive learning. From there she opened a nursery school with an affiliated training center for teachers. In 1950, this center was renamed Bank Street College of Education, which still trains teachers to be sensitive to the delicate interplay between the emotional, intellectual, and psychological aspects of children's development. After several years teaching in public school, ELISABETH IRWIN (1880–1942), a psychologist and social worker, became outraged by the widespread practice of what was then called "retardation": the holding back of students who failed to perform as well as their peers. With as much as 30 or 40 percent of students in a single classroom facing retention each year—according to Nicholas O'Han, an historian who works at Irwin's school—this practice had become so common that the situation had reached crisis proportions. "There they sat, thousands of students often two and three years older than their age-appropriate classmates, often off in a corner—'the old dunce-cap atrocity,'" Irwin called it. The greatest tragedy, Irwin felt, was the deleterious effects suffered by the students, which included damage to self-esteem as well as truancy—internalizing the message that they were somehow inferior, or that there was no point in continuing, many students simply elected to drop out. So Irwin decided to find out more for herself. After administering intelligence tests to these students, often discovering in them comparable—and in some cases, "superior"—intelligence, she came to believe that, instead of imposing authoritarian demands, teachers should instead work to meet the needs of individual students. In 1921, Irwin founded the Little Red School, an alternative public elementary school where children were offered instruction that allowed them to proceed at their own pace—without being subject to reprimand or shaming. "Threats of all kinds were taboo," Irwin once explained. "Children were treated humanely, respectfully, and firmly. Above all, they were treated not as little adults, but as children, each one a unique moral, mental, and creative agent, and each one expected to be a contributing member of the classroom community." Seventy years after Little Red opened, the eminent scholar bell hooks, writing in _Teaching to Transgress: Education as the Practice of Freedom_ , captured what is essentially the same philosophy: a classroom is a "location of possibility" where "we have the opportunity to labor for freedom, to demand of ourselves and our comrades an openness of mind and heart that allows us to face reality even as we collectively imagine ways to move beyond boundaries." # THE POLITICOS In the 1950s, when the Democratic Party was dominated by white men, SHIRLEY CHISHOLM (1924–2005) decided it was time for the progressive party to do a better job of representing black New Yorkers. Born in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Chisholm was the daughter of a factory laborer from Guyana and a domestic worker from Barbados. She first became interested in politics during college. After earning a master's degree in early childhood education from Teachers College, Columbia University, she joined a Democratic clubhouse in Brooklyn, helped to elect Brooklyn's first African American municipal court judge, and cofounded the Bedford-Stuyvesant Political League, a group aimed at bolstering political participation among African Americans. But Chisholm didn't just talk the talk; she walked the walk. In 1964, the outspoken but always dignified Chisholm won a seat in the New York State Assembly, where she worked on issues like extending unemployment benefits to domestic workers, protecting tenure rights of teachers during pregnancy, and promoting assistance to poor students for college. After a court-ordered redistricting finally gave Bed-Stuy its own congressional district, in 1968 Chisholm ran for Congress, campaigning with the slogan "Unbought and Unbossed." From a sound truck parked in front of housing projects, she'd announce: "Ladies and gentlemen... this is Fighting Shirley Chisholm." She won, making her the first African American woman elected to the U.S. Congress. She then took her forthright style to Washington, where she backed numerous bills to help women and minorities and was a founding member of both the Black Caucus and the National Women's Political Caucus (NWPC). In 1972, even though she knew she stood little chance of winning her party's nomination, Chisholm declared her candidacy for the presidency. Despite few funds, a short campaign, and no support from party machinery, she got on the ballot in fourteen states and received more than 150 votes at the Democratic National Convention. "The next time a woman runs, or a black, or a Jew, or anyone from a group that the country is 'not ready' to elect to its highest office," Chisholm later wrote of her unsuccessful bid, "I believe that he or she will be taken seriously from the start.... I ran because someone had to do it first." No matter what office Chisholm held, she had a singular goal: to ensure the government was accountable to all citizens, not just white ones. "There are people in our country's history who don't look left or right, they just look straight ahead," said President Barack Obama upon posthumously awarding the Presidential Medal of Freedom to Chisholm in 2015. "Shirley Chisholm was one of those people." SHIRLEY CHISHOLM While Chisholm was unfailingly courteous, Bronx native BELLA ABZUG (1920–1998), a lifelong lefty with a loud, gravelly voice and a penchant for wide-brimmed hats, was so brash she earned the nickname "Battling Bella." "If you combined Churchill, Oprah, Dr. Ruth, and Emma Goldman, you'd get a picture of Bella," Gloria Steinem once said about her friend. As a preteen, Abzug, the academically gifted second daughter of Russian Jewish émigrés, stood on the street soliciting donations for a Labor Zionist youth group. In her adult years, she spent a quarter century as a political activist and labor lawyer until, at the age of fifty, she decided she wanted to represent the City in Washington. And so, in 1970, she ran for Congress. Having cofounded and run both Women Strike for Peace and the Coalition for a Democratic Alternative, she channeled antiwar sentiment into an upset victory over the Democratic incumbent in the 1970 primary, becoming both the first Jewish woman ever elected to Congress and the first person ever elected on a women's rights/peace platform. In Washington, Abzug spearheaded many of the policies that future generations of women would take for granted, like the Equal Credit Opportunity Act (ECOA), which gives women fair access to consumer credit, and Title IX regulations, which prohibit educational institutions receiving federal money from discriminating on the basis of gender. She also introduced an amendment to expand the 1964 Civil Rights Act to include protection for gays and lesbians; coauthored the Freedom of Information Act, which provides the public access to government records; and wrote what came to be known as the Clean Water Act, one of the nation's first and most influential environmental laws. IF THEY DON'T GIVE YOU A SEAT AT THE TABLE, BRING IN A FOLDING CHAIR. —SHIRLEY CHISHOLM, 1984 Abzug's career as an elected official ended in 1976 when she left the House to run for the Senate and lost by a fraction of a percentage point. But she continued to campaign, first for mayor of New York City (traversing the boroughs in a yellow Chevrolet Impala convertible), and, later, in two more failed congressional bids. By stepping up to the microphone and demanding that Washington address women's needs, Abzug made it acceptable for other second-wave feminists in New York (and beyond) to assert, rather than request, their legal entitlements. And by frequently—and unapologetically—deploying blunt and colorful language, she fueled the stereotype of New Yorkers as being brash and aggressive. While Abzug's shrewd political maneuverings produced many tangible improvements for the City (including significant funds to maintain the subways), her legacy is perhaps best summed up by comments she made to _The New York Times_ during her very first race: "[W]e've got to get out there and raise holy hell." _Holy hell_ might be an appropriate description of the public drubbing that GERALDINE A. FERRARO (1935–2011), a former congresswoman from Queens, received in 1984 when she became the first woman in U.S. history nominated for national office by a major political party. An Italian American who was encouraged to join politics by longtime New York governor Mario Cuomo, Ferraro's down-to-earth personality and image as a devoted mother from a blue-collar family led Democrats to believe she could help Walter F. Mondale win votes. And, indeed, her spirited personality, confidence in standing up to frequently condescending male opponents, and pragmatic approach to abortion (she consistently supported women's right to choose while acknowledging that she opposed the procedure personally) propelled her to national prominence. But with the enormous popularity of the incumbent Reagan-Bush ticket, and given the cloud of questions that arose after her husband initially refused to release his tax returns—and how their accumulated wealth, once revealed, undermined her working-class image—their campaign to enter the White House fizzled. For New Yorkers, however, Ferraro's political career was a resounding success. Having lost her father when she was eight, she had grown up the product of a single mother who earned a living working as a seamstress. She later attended law school at night while working as a public school teacher; once her children were in school, she became a Queens assistant district attorney. For five years she investigated rape, domestic violence, and crimes against the elderly, growing ever more frustrated by the challenges working people face. In 1978, she won a seat in Congress, then utilized an assignment to the Public Works and Transportation Committee to win support for improving mass transit near LaGuardia Airport. Although the bulk of her constituents came from Archie Bunker territory—in deference to those constituents, she sometimes supported conservative legislation—she frequently pushed back against Reagan administration policies that she viewed as harmful to those in her district. In particular she fought to minimize budget cuts that devastated public schools, libraries, and hospitals and sponsored legislation reforms that would be more economically supportive of women. This included, most notably, an act that ultimately resulted in the historic health insurance continuation program now known as COBRA. While Ferraro's nomination didn't get her all the way to the Oval Office, it did bring women a few steps closer; it took another twenty-four years before a woman would again run on a major party's national ticket—Sarah Palin as running mate for John McCain—and another eight years for a woman to finally win enough major party delegates to be nominated for president: Hillary Rodham Clinton in 2016. And it confirmed the role of New York in providing political leadership for the national stage, something that began with the country's founding in the eighteenth century and continues today. # THE PRESERVATIONISTS As a reporter for an architecture magazine in the 1950s, JANE JACOBS (1916–2006) found herself regularly confounded by the City's efforts at "urban renewal," which consisted of bulldozing so-called slums and replacing them with large, sterile new building complexes that felt unwelcoming and usually failed to attract either people or commerce. She began talking to residents of East Harlem about the specifics of what was and was not needed to improve their lives; from their conversations she realized that most planners, while steeped in academic theory, had not invested any time in understanding the nitty-gritty details of neighborhood functioning. The result was her 1961 masterwork, _The Death and Life of Great American Cities_. Her book didn't just shake the foundations of urban planning and provide a new blueprint for rebuilding cities; it also touched off an eventual backlash against Robert Moses, the planning czar who had for decades led massive construction projects throughout the City—causing a significant amount of neighborhood demolition. Those in power at the time typically believed that cities benefitted from more open space, lower population density, and the construction of large buildings—which was essentially polite speak for the view that congested, working-class neighborhoods were nothing more than visual eyesores and breeding grounds for trouble. Jacobs, however, cogently argued that population density and diverse, mixed-use buildings were essential for the organic intermingling of residents that gives rise to vibrant, vital neighborhoods. She wrote that urban neighborhoods, like complex ecosystems, are a series of ever-changing, untidy interactions between people and space, interactions that provide "eyes on the street"—people of all ages and classes coming and going at different times of day and night. This density of observers, she concluded, provides not only safety but a shared sense of responsibility for community well-being—an idea that would later come to be known as "social capital" and considered of paramount importance to economists and political scientists. When Moses's plans for the Lower Manhattan Expressway threatened to cut through Washington Square Park and her own beloved Greenwich Village neighborhood, Jacobs spearheaded a committee to stop it. She arranged and participated in multiple protests, for which she was arrested at least twice. Despite how planners and the architectural academe excoriated her treatise—and her—when _The Death and Life of Great American Cities_ came out, the book became required reading in universities worldwide. And despite Moses's seemingly unstoppable power—known as the "master builder," he was ultimately responsible for billions of dollars of bridges and towers and arenas and highways, including the Cross Bronx Expressway, which displaced millions of city-dwellers—Jacobs's people-power won out, and the City's congested, beloved Greenwich Village and Washington Square Park remain a central part of downtown life today. In 1963, an editor for _The New York Times_ created a post specifically for another talented writer, ADA LOUISE HUXTABLE (1921–2013). As the _Times_ 's first architecture critic, Huxtable wrote fierce, passionate critiques of various projects throughout the City, championing the importance of historic buildings that played an ongoing role in modern life. So powerful were her critiques that an approval or rejection from Huxtable could determine a project's fate. And her ability to astutely distill the nuances of the built environment in the context of city life put a concern for architecture and city planning into popular consciousness in a way it had never been before—and may never be again. Her persuasive writing was a driving force in the 1965 establishment of the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission, which empowered the City to prevent destruction or deformation of significant properties and neighborhoods, even when privately owned. As Huxtable loved to be dazzled by architecture, she was a champion of architects willing to take risks and make bold statements—and yet, at the same time she shared a Jacobsian concern for city-dwellers. She celebrated projects that promoted the "urban greatness" of the City, like the installation of a steel sculpture by Isamu Noguchi in Lower Manhattan, and condemned those she felt were "too facile and empty to be called architecture at all." Without fail, Huxtable championed the City above politics, developers, and investors. Her devotion to NYC was such that she "took architectural insults to her city personally," noted the architecture critic Alexandra Lange. And she captured the majesty and magic of the built city in a way that forced developers to consider the philosophical—and not just financial—implications of their work. THERE IS NO LOGIC THAT CAN BE SUPERIMPOSED ON THE CITY; PEOPLE MAKE IT, AND IT IS TO THEM, NOT BUILDINGS, THAT WE MUST FIT OUR PLANS. —JANE JACOBS, 1961 "When it is good, New York is very, very good," she wrote in 1968. "Which is why New Yorkers put up with so much that is bad. When it is good, this is a city of fantastic strength, sophistication, and beauty. It is like no other city in time or place. [It fills us with] awe in the presence of massed, concentrated steel, stone, power, and life." Following the 1963 assassination of her husband, President John F. Kennedy, JACQUELINE KENNEDY ONASSIS (1929–1994), who had a long-standing interest in arts and preservation, moved to Fifth Avenue with her two children, where she would live for years to come. (In 1968 she married Greek shipping tycoon Aristotle Onassis, who died in 1975.) In New York, she resumed her writing career as a book editor (begun before her first marriage), raised her kids, and continued to inspire devotion as a fashion icon. Then, when Grand Central Terminal was threatened with demolition, the former First Lady entered the arena of activism: under the auspices of the Municipal Art Society, in 1975 she headed the Committee to Save Grand Central Station and fought against Penn Central Transportation Company's proposal to replace it with a tower, becoming the public face of a campaign that ultimately wound up before the Supreme Court. Onassis's side prevailed, and the majestic, iconic terminal survived. Then, an extensive cleaning and restoration by hand in 1996 returned the painted celestial ceiling to its magnificent original splendor. In 1982, when Lever House—an early glass skyscraper designed by Skidmore, Owings & Merrill on Park Avenue at 51st Street—was threatened, she stepped in as well, orchestrating a meeting at City Hall with Comptroller Jay Goldin, who held the deciding vote on the building's landmark status, and who she'd heard wanted a photo op. At the conclusion of the meeting she walked him out to the City Hall steps where paparazzi awaited and gave him a peck on the cheek; the next day all the tabloids ran the photo, one with the headline "The Kiss That Saved Lever House." Again and again, Onassis stepped in to support the preservation and restoration of old buildings. Since her death in 1994, the Municipal Art Society has bestowed an annual medal in her name to individuals who make "an extraordinary impact on the quality of New York's built environment," those who are devoted to the same principle that drove Onassis: "a more glorious New York City." In the mid-seventies, when the City was on the verge of bankruptcy, Central Park was a scary place: most surfaces were marred by graffiti, vandalism had closed the Belvedere Castle, benches and lights were broken, the lake littered with beer cans, its lawns turned to dust. That's when ELIZABETH BARLOW ROGERS (b. 1936) stepped in. An expert on the City's parks and wetlands, and author of a book about Frederick Law Olmsted (Central Park's codesigner, with Calvert Vaux), she began organizing volunteer clean-up groups and raising private funds to pay for repairs. JACQUELINE KENNEDY ONASSIS In 1979, Mayor Ed Koch appointed her as administrator to the park; when she succeeded the following year in cofounding the Central Park Conservancy, a private organization, she became its leader. As such, 1980 was the first time since the park's founding that a single individual was responsible for all its management and maintenance. She told me, "People always say 'I don't know how I could live in New York without the park,' and I totally agree." Rogers's first major act was to oversee an exhaustive, three-year study of all aspects of the park, from soil conditions to traffic patterns; next, she produced a comprehensive master plan for a "systematic and coherent renovation over a fifteen-year period." In addition to the nuts and bolts of the project, she argued that landscape design "is as much a part of our heritage as painting and sculpture" is, and that the park "should be treated like any other cultural institution, like any museum, botanical garden, zoological society." Her vision was so practical and persuasive, it captured the necessary financial support to make most of it a reality; by the end of the 1980s, Central Park had become a place for locals and visitors to stretch out on Sheep Meadow and dine at the boathouse—while also serving as a backdrop for films about urban elegance and romance (instead of mugging jokes). It is true that naysayers decry the decision to allow private-interest control over public spaces—an issue that continues to affect municipalities the world over; today the CPC provides 75 percent of the park's annual $65 million operating budget. But no one disputes that Rogers's vision, organizational skills, and fund-raising abilities allowed the park to remain the City's crowning jewel into another century. Today, after taking a walk through the park every morning, she runs the nonprofit Foundation for Landscape Studies, an organization devoted to fostering what she describes as "an active understanding of the importance of place in human life." # THE COUNTERCULTURISTS Maybe it was her physician father's interest in the bodily expression of human behavior and feeling. Maybe it was the collision of ballet and folk dances from around the world she learned at Denishawn, the dance company in Los Angeles she attended in her early twenties. Or maybe the seeds of experimentation existed in her DNA. Whatever the source, after MARTHA GRAHAM (1894–1991) made her debut in New York as an independent artist in 1926, the City and the dance world were forever changed. Before that moment Graham spent several years dancing in the Greenwich Village Follies revue and earning extra money teaching classes at the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, New York. Then, wanting to experiment with using the body as a form of lyrical expression, she opened a small studio in Greenwich Village, the Martha Graham Center of Contemporary Dance, and quickly attracted other dancers. Instead of practicing and teaching traditional folk dances or ballet, both of which followed long-established patterns of movement, Graham began developing a new language around the basic actions of the human form, focusing not on ornate details but on elemental movements, especially contraction and release. Starting with how breath is experienced during different emotions, she created a vocabulary of gestures to express a wide array of human experiences, thereby establishing the first significant alternative to the idiom of classical ballet. And as other dancers learned and embraced this form of movement—which in time formally became known as the genre of modern dance—legions of the City's dancers would follow in her footsteps. On April 18, 1926, Graham gave her first independent concert at the Forty-Eighth Street Theatre, which she rented with borrowed money, and shocked the audience with radical movements like spiral twists, asymmetrical balances, and a wide variety of falls. These and several of her other early works, which were devoid of the elaborate sets and costumes common to most ballet and folk productions, were often found by New York critics and audiences to be stark, obscure—even ugly. In later performances, she incorporated avant-garde music and minimalist sculpture—fruit of collaboration with the Japanese American sculptor Isamu Noguchi. As her choreography and personal practice became more sophisticated, she created social commentaries on American life, exploring political, psychological, and sexual themes. Over sixty-six years of teaching, choreographing, and directly running her company, Graham influenced scores of City choreographers and dancers, including Twyla Tharp, Merce Cunningham, and Paul Taylor, thereby establishing NYC as the country's epicenter of modern dance. She also paved the way for what seems to be the only other invention of an entire idiom of movement—by the action choreographer Elizabeth Streb—who began work in the 1960s and continues to develop her repertoire of "extreme action" at the Streb Lab for Action Mechanics in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. By the 1950s, New York native DIANE ARBUS (1923–1971) (pronounced DEE-ann ARE-bus) had become a successful fashion photography shoot stylist, working in partnership with her husband, Allan, and seeing her work printed in publications like _Vogue_. But wanting to cultivate her own photography, Arbus, who grew up in an affluent family and attended the prestigious Fieldston school, began exploring many unglamorous locales throughout the City, where she found herself fascinated by society's outcasts. In the City's seedy motels, public parks, mental institutions, Coney Island circus tents and freak shows, even a morgue, she befriended the downtrodden and deformed—those from whom most people usually avert their eyes—and celebrated their uniqueness in carefully considered photographs. Her subjects included a smoking transvestite in curlers, a Jewish giant at home with his parents, a smiling Mexican dwarf in his hotel room, and a set of matching twins with eerily dissimilar expressions. In 1963 and 1966 she won Guggenheim Fellowships. In 1967, her work was featured with that of two other photographers in _New Documents_ , a landmark exhibition at MoMA celebrating the willingness to face and honor components of the human experience usually considered taboo. MOST PEOPLE GO THROUGH LIFE DREADING THEY'LL HAVE A TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCE. FREAKS WERE BORN WITH THEIR TRAUMA. THEY'VE ALREADY PASSED THEIR TEST IN LIFE.THEY'RE ARISTOCRATS. —DIANE ARBUS, 1970 Beset throughout her life with the travails of mental illness, Arbus completed suicide in July 1971 at the age of forty-eight. For decades after, critics questioned whether her work constituted a form of exploitation, or if it possibly revealed something about her internal struggles with depression. But many others, including Arbus's daughter Doon, who became the caretaker of her mother's estate, believed those critics missed her essential idea: that the images should stand on their own, therein forcing viewers to reflect on how society does or does not accept those whose physical appearance falls outside the mainstream. In doing so, the images, which became known throughout the world, also celebrate New York as a home for so many marginalized people. The year before her death, while teaching a photography class in 1970 at the artists' residence Westbeth, located on the western reaches of Greenwich Village, Arbus explained the beauty she found in misfits. "There's a quality of legend about freaks," she told her students. "Like a person in a fairy tale who stops you and demands that you answer a riddle. Most people go through life dreading they'll have a traumatic experience. Freaks were born with their trauma. They've already passed their test in life. They're aristocrats." In 1961, when her aspiring playwright brother needed an audience for his work, ELLEN STEWART (1919–2011) transformed a basement on East 9th Street into a makeshift theater and entreated passersby to come in and watch. Stewart, who had an eye for fashion and worked at Saks Fifth Avenue designing clothes, had been nicknamed "Mama" by the Eastern European seamstresses who worked for her, which led to someone suggesting the "theater"—which had a dirt floor and sat just twenty-five people—be named La MaMa. The name stuck even after her effort grew from a single gesture of kindness into an underground club, which in time became an essential platform for emerging artists in New York's theater scene. But, soon after first opening in 1961—when Stewart's primarily white neighbors, alarmed by the number and variety of white men visiting a black woman in the basement, complained to the authorities—the City cited fire code violations and shut her down. Instead of giving up, Stewart, an African American with a striking, deep voice and colorful personality, moved to a loft on Second Avenue. As her endeavors proceeded, she found so much satisfaction in helping new playwrights see their work come to fruition that she quit her job at Saks Fifth Avenue so she could devote herself full-time to their cause. But, lacking funds to transform spaces to meet NYC codes, City officials shut her down again—and arrested her twice. With her indefatigable spirit, Stewart obtained nonprofit status, then grants from the Ford, Rockefeller, and Doris Duke Foundations, which in 1968 allowed the still-always-cash-strapped theater to settle into a former meatpacking plant on East Fourth Street, where Stewart could finally hang a sign and operate legally without fear of being shut down. Stewart's intimate forum allowed an endless parade of aspiring creatives with nowhere else to turn to experiment with writing styles, performance techniques, and even the audience's relationship to the theatergoer. Perhaps just as important, Stewart routinely supported these artists (who, starting in the twenty-first century, were crudely referred to as "content providers," but whom Stewart called her "children") in various ways. She personally introduced the performances, allowed dramatists to tackle any subject they wished, and endlessly entreated audience members to donate money. She even sometimes provided them with a place to sleep (on the couch in her apartment or in the theater) or do their laundry. The result: La MaMa became the cornerstone of what came to be called "off-off Broadway," which changed the course of American theater. Over the years, a significant number of major players in the City's theater scene developed or debuted work at La MaMa, including Sam Shepard, Lanford Wilson, Harvey Fierstein, Tom O'Horgan (who helped create the rock musical _Hair_ ), and Joseph Papp, who would later found New York's Shakespeare in the Park and The Public Theater. Among the actors to perform on La MaMa's stage in the 1960s and 1970s were Diane Lane, Robert De Niro, and Al Pacino. Stewart also provided an early home for such visionaries as Meredith Monk, the genre-bending composer, singer, choreographer, and filmmaker; Richard Foreman, founder of the Ontological-Hysteric Theater; and Blue Man Group. Over the years, Stewart expanded the breadth of La MaMa's offerings by opening her doors to foreign theater groups, thus further enlivening the entire New York cultural scene. In 1985, Stewart received the MacArthur Foundation "Genius" award. In 1993, owing to her significance in New York theater—doubly remarkable given the dearth of women or blacks when she started—she became the first off-off Broadway producer inducted into the Broadway Theatre Hall of Fame. PATTI SMITH The artist, poet, and musician PATTI SMITH (b. 1946) had no idea what she was doing in 1967 when she dropped out of a teachers college in New Jersey and moved to New York. There, she joined forces with kindred wandering spirit (and future art photographer) Robert Mapplethorpe, after encountering him for the second time in an East Village park. For several years she was one of any number of drifting, mesmerized, penniless dreamers feeding off the City's creative energy while trying to eke out an existence. She restocked books at the Strand and occasionally resorted to shoplifting art supplies from Jake's when she had only enough money for a grilled cheese. But at some point she began wanting to infuse the poetry she endlessly scribbled in notebooks with, as she would later describe, the "immediacy and frontal attack of rock and roll." So when in 1971 Mapplethorpe arranged for her to give a reading at an event organized by the Poetry Project, she was spurred into action. She asked Lenny Kaye, a guitarist who worked at the Village Oldies record store (later renamed Bleecker Bob's), if he could "play a car crash with an electric guitar." He said yes. SOME OF US ARE BORN REBELLIOUS. —PATTI SMITH, 2010 Taking the stage at St. Mark's Church-in-the-Bowery, where the crowd included Lou Reed, Andy Warhol, and Todd Rundgren, firebrand Smith delivered a performance that both crystallized the punk spirit of the era and immediately established her cred among the City's countercultural prophets. _CREEM_ magazine published a suite of her poems. She began writing freelance for _Rolling Stone_. She got a gig at Max's Kansas City, then formed her own band and wrote a song with Bruce Springsteen. In 1975 she played a two-month residency at CBGB's with Richard Hell's band Television and debuted her first album. After spending most of the 1980s out of the public eye, living with her family in Michigan, Smith resumed her musical career in the 1990s. She spent the first decade of the twenty-first century writing what became _Just Kids_ , a National Book Award–winning tour de force about her coming of age with Mapplethorpe. The book perfectly captured both the particular zephyr of downtown New York in the 1970s and something even more elusive and wonderful: the tender hearts of artists. After Chicago native LAURIE ANDERSON (b. 1947) graduated from Barnard and completed an MFA in sculpture at Columbia University in 1972, she abandoned a gig teaching Egyptian and Assyrian architecture at City College in order to experiment with mixed-media installations and ephemeral, live-action art. One example of the latter: playing her violin while standing on a block of ice, wearing ice skates, performing until it melted. While Anderson, who had begun playing the violin when she was eight, was interested primarily in the power of words and language, she was also fascinated by the power of technology, especially its ability to modify sound and visual imagery. Amid a residency at The Kitchen in SoHo, she composed several avant-garde performance pieces that combined musical work with visual and technological elements. These led to widespread recognition in New York, which in turn led to invitations to perform in concert halls, art festivals, and museums abroad. But whereas many of her avant-garde peers eschewed mainstream outlets, infusing their work with haughty solemnity, Anderson, who grew up with seven siblings and has a gentle, elfin presence, was thrilled for her work to reach a broader public, once telling an interviewer she wanted to make things that "wouldn't just sit in museums." In 1980, "O Superman"—her song exploring the intersection of humanity and technology with electronically altered speech—climbed the pop charts. It generated so much interest that Warner Bros. gave her a recording contract, the result of which was the 1982 release of _Big Science_ , her first solo album. Over the next three decades, Anderson starred in and directed her first film, experimented with various sound technologies, invented several new machines (including a bow for her violin made from recorded magnetic tape), and produced more spoken word albums and a CD-ROM. She also published eight books, created a multi-media presentation inspired by Herman Melville's _Moby Dick_ , collaborated with other artists—including the choreographer Trisha Brown, the Paris Opera Ballet, and the singer and songwriter Lou Reed (her partner of nearly two decades)—and became NASA's first artist-in-residence. By embracing rather than rejecting establishment venues, Anderson brought her vanguard work to large audiences, thereby breaking down barriers in the New York art scene. She also showed other artists how to remain true to their vision while nonetheless becoming a vital voice in speaking out against what David Bowie once called "the tyranny of the mainstream." Nowhere was this more evident than in 2015, when she arranged for the live projection (or "telepresence") of Mohammed el Gharani, one of the youngest men detained by the United States at the Guantanamo prison, into the center of the cavernous Park Avenue Armory, where, amid a celestial-like light display and a soundscape derived from guitar reverb, visitors could reflect on time, space, and the human impact of American foreign policy. # THE INTELLECTS By the time German-born philosopher HANNAH ARENDT (1906–1975) arrived in New York in 1941, she had already witnessed some of our species' ugliest behaviors, and had begun her intellectual inquiry into the complexities of the human condition. A preternaturally bright child, Arendt lost her father when she was just seven, having watched him slowly overtaken by paresis, or syphilitic insanity. As a young adult, she studied with famed philosopher Martin Heidegger, then Karl Jaspers, who supervised her doctoral dissertation. She went on to work for a Zionist organization, but her efforts were halted in 1933 when she was arrested by the political police in Berlin. After fleeing to Paris, she was rounded up with other Jews and sent by train to a detention camp in Gurs. She managed to escape, and with help from an American rescue committee, she made her way first to Portugal and from there to the Upper West Side. Soon after arriving in New York, she became closely associated with the influential literary journal _Partisan Review_. Her major works, including the three-part _The Origins of Totalitarianism_ , published in 1951, and _The Human Condition_ in 1958, not only shaped the focus of inquiry among the City's intellectuals but also would eventually become essential political philosophy texts of the twentieth century. Meanwhile, her frequent essays in the City's most erudite publications—including _Commentary_ , _Dissent_ , and _The New York Review of Books_ —put her at the center of debate. It was a five-part series in _The New Yorker_ about a Nazi war criminal, however, that caused bitter divisions within the New York intellectual world, divisions so acute that social critic Irving Howe lamented two decades later that they "would never be entirely healed." Sent by the magazine to observe the trial of Adolf Eichmann, a Nazi leader who had personally arranged for over 1.5 million Jews to be sent to killing centers, Arendt watched—as did much of the world—as the horrific nature of the Holocaust was described in chilling detail by the prosecutor, survivors, and Eichmann himself, who testified from behind bulletproof glass. Yet Arendt didn't describe Eichmann in the way most people expected—as akin to the devil incarnate. Instead, she described him as a thoughtless bureaucrat who looked "terribly and terrifyingly normal." The label she gave to the conundrum of his "normalcy" and what he had done was "the banality of evil," a concept so beyond what most people took for common sense that she elicited near-universal outrage. Compounding the proposal that "evil" could be something other than the deliberate machinations of a malevolent actor, Arendt also acknowledged, with her characteristic pragmatism, the role of some German Jewish leaders in aiding Nazi predators, which most German Jewish intellectuals and many others interpreted as tantamount to blaming the victim. The uproar was swift and fierce. There were more than a thousand published responses, and a bitter public dispute emerged among intellectuals and others who disagreed with—or were offended by—her thesis. "Every intellectual in New York had to take sides," the head of the Hannah Arendt Center for Politics and Humanities at Bard College, Roger Berkowitz, told me. "No one was neutral. It was war." This "war" became a scandal, and a defining moment in New York's intellectual life: as described by Howe, the founding editor of _Dissent_ , in his comprehensive 1969 essay "The New York Intellectuals," the "violent dispute" showed that "[n]owhere else in the country could there have been the kind of public... debate sometimes ugly and outrageous, yet urgent and afire." Arendt went on to teach at the Graduate Faculty of New School for Social Research, publish essays on American political life, and write two volumes of an uncompleted work, _The Life of the Mind_ , which was published posthumously in 1978. Today, the Hannah Arendt Center at Bard College, established exactly a century after her birth, promotes the cause which Arendt, the embodiment of a New York thinker, so passionately manifested. In her name, the school is committed to combatting the "absence of thinking—which is so ordinary an experience in our everyday life, where we have hardly the time, let alone the inclination, to stop and think." This sensibility remains crucial—indeed our only hope—of overcoming hatred and other elements of totalitarianism, something Arendt spent her life trying to teach us. After graduating from high school in Southern California at the age of fifteen, SUSAN SONTAG (1933–2004), a rapacious explorer of ideas, went on to earn two master's degrees and undertake doctoral work in philosophy. But it was during a trip to Paris in 1957 that she discovered an engaged intellectual community outside of academic institutions, something she would be instrumental in fostering in New York. Upon returning to the States, she moved to the City in 1959 and resolved to become a writer. With an omnivorous appetite for literature, film, philosophy, art, and aesthetic movements of all kinds, no subject was too obscure or foreign for Sontag's critical attention, and she quickly found numerous outlets for her passionate, elegantly composed essays. By applying the tools of an academic to a vast array of cultural, political, and artistic developments, she made even the most esoteric of ideas comprehensible to a wide audience of readers, which helped bring about the kind of thoughtful, provocative conversations she had observed taking place in Paris. In 1964 she published two particularly notable essays. "Notes on 'Camp,'" which appeared in _Partisan Review_ , argued for the value of high and low culture; "Against Interpretation," printed in the _Evergreen Review_ , chastised highbrow critics for a bourgeois failure to allow the importance of art on its own merits. Both pieces so stirred New York's intelligentsia that she immediately attracted attention from all corners of the City. SUSAN SONTAG LITERATURE IS FREEDOM. —SUSAN SONTAG, 2003 Sontag was among the first contributors to _The New York Review of Books_. Over the years she would continue to publish there and in _The New Yorker_ in between producing a steady stream of novels and essay collections for the eminent publishing house Farrar, Straus and Giroux. She also published in mainstream magazines like _Vogue_ , _Mademoiselle_ , _Harper's Bazaar_ , _Life_ , and _Time_ , all of which put her name and ideas into popular circulation. Taken together, for four decades she worked to bridge the previously self-contained and insular world of the literary elite with the City's wider consciousness. Some of her essays, like the book-length _On Photography_ , became instant classics, posing essential, ingenious questions regarding how to engage with art or technology. Others, like the short story "The Way We Live Now," serve as definitive works in that they so acutely capture the atmosphere of a particular historical moment—in this case, the HIV/AIDS crisis in the 1980s. Sontag devoted endless hours to cultivating New York's arts and letters scene, mentoring younger writers, giving talks at Town Hall, and moderating readings at the 92nd Street Y. She also served as president of PEN American Center from 1987 to 1989, during which time she thrust New York's literary community onto the international stage by speaking out against the fatwa issued by Ayatollah Khomeini, the Supreme Leader of Iran, calling for Salman Rushdie to be put to death for his book _The Satanic Verses_. Soon after the devastating and deadly attack on the World Trade Center, she spoke out against the dominant narrative of American impermeability widely repeated in the press, writing in the September 24, 2001, issue of _The New Yorker_ that: "In the matter of courage (a morally neutral virtue): whatever may be said of the perpetrators of Tuesday's slaughter, they were not cowards." She also questioned the unanimity among political leaders and media pundits in denying the complexities of American foreign policy. While her words stung the fresh wounds of the City and invited outrage from tabloids that branded her a traitor, the overarching thesis of her statements—that a mature democracy requires more honest engagement by all parties—would ultimately be proven crucial. Today, more than a decade after her death in 2004, this belief remains vital, especially in light of former CIA employee Edward Snowden's 2013 revelations regarding the extent to which the United States spies on its own citizens. # THE LOUDMOUTHS The idea that New Yorkers are loud and judgmental surely predates Del Lord's 1932 comedy film short, _The Loud Mouth_ , about a guy from Brooklyn who unabashedly offers his opinions to strangers, which constantly gets him into trouble. But, in the second half of the twentieth century, the outspokenness of several New York women would foster the City's identity as a place where phoniness and ineptitude are not tolerated. After seeing several cabaret shows while growing up in Detroit, Michigan, ELAINE STRITCH (1925–2014) became determined to live her life in the spotlight. So while still a teenager she moved to New York to follow her dream. Or, at least at first, it was her dream with a twist, since her strict Catholic parents required that she live in a convent. All the same, she took acting classes for about a year before she landed her first gig in a small off-Broadway show. Then, in 1946, she made her debut on the Great White Way. Over a career that would span nearly seven decades, Stritch—whose hilarious, acerbic personality onstage was matched (or perhaps superseded) by her irascible personality offstage—would work with many of Broadway's leading lights. These included Noël Coward and Stephen Sondheim, who, for his 1970 musical _Company_ , wrote "Ladies Who Lunch," Stritch's ultimate showcase: a biting, tragicomic skewering of rich socialites and their attendant difficulties that also revealed the intense blend of insecurity, jealousy, and anger her character—and, as it happens, she, too—felt underneath. Offstage, Stritch was likewise hilarious and astringent, a tough broad with a whiskey voice whose wisecracks revealed a breathtaking mix of arrogance and vulnerability, including a forty-year battle with alcoholism. In her seventh decade, Stritch took up residence in the posh Carlyle Hotel. She continued working well into her eighties, landing a recurring role on Tina Fey's _30 Rock_ and costarring with Bernadette Peters in _A Little Night Music_. Her one-woman show directed by George C. Wolfe, _Elaine Stritch at Liberty_ , won both a Tony and a Drama Desk Award. In 2014, Stritch finally "left the building," her favorite and oft-employed euphemism for death. But her legacy as a bigmouth—and de facto truth-teller—endures. "Few people have been so honest about what it takes to be on a stage, or so direct about how much some people desire the spotlight, drink it in, and live off of it," Rachel Syme later wrote in _The New Yorker_. "If nothing else, she was relentlessly true." Truth is something JOAN RIVERS (1933–2014), the Brooklyn-born daughter of Russian immigrants, was never afraid to confront, no matter how painful. In fact, it was at the heart of the abrasive and self-deprecating comedy she began practicing in the early 1960s, first in Greenwich Village coffeehouses, then in its comedy clubs; it was also what eventually made her the first female stand-up to succeed in the attack tradition—something that was extra challenging given what one prominent critic blithely described in 1965 as her "handicap" of being "a woman comic." An appearance on _The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson_ in 1965 ushered her into the big time. After this she served as Carson's backup as well as hosting several of her own shows, during which she coined her iconic catchphrase "Can we talk?" (This inquiry typically preceded a harsh and funny line, like when she asked a guest point-blank, "Who's your favorite husband?" before counting off their names on her fingers.) In the early 1970s she worked around censors and dared to make jokes about sex, divorce, and abortion. When the singer Karen Carpenter died from anorexia in 1983, Rivers declared, "I refuse to feel sorry for anyone thin enough to be buried in pleats." The ultimate showcase for Rivers's outrageous wit began in 1995 when she created and cohosted, with her daughter, Melissa, _Live from the Red Carpet_ for the E! Entertainment Television network. Like a Jewish aunt whose neural inhibitors had malfunctioned, she sandbagged celebrities and demanded, "Who are you wearing?" before offering skewering comments to the cameras, like: "If Kate Winslet had dropped a few pounds, the _Titanic_ would never have sunk." But no one was more victimized by Rivers's stilettos than was Rivers herself. In a quest to stay young, she submitted repeatedly to plastic surgery, then mocked her own vanity: "I am definitely going to watch the Emmys this year! My makeup team is nominated for Best Special Effects." She was also a successful author, QVC home shopping network host, and philanthropist; she often devoted her time and resources to God's Love We Deliver, a New York City charity created to deliver meals to those with HIV/AIDS. Rivers once explained her pioneering career this way: "I succeeded by saying what everyone else is thinking." After her unexpected death in 2014, the result of complications from yet another cosmetic surgery, the comedian Amy Schumer paid tribute: "I'm not going to say how big of balls she had... because she has taught us time and time again that having balls has nothing to do with it." In the early 1970s one of the City's hottest nightclubs, the Continental, was actually a gay bathhouse that operated in the basement of the Ansonia hotel. There, a young performer, BETTE MIDLER (b. 1945)—accompanied by the pianist Barry Manilow, who frequently dressed, like the patrons, in only a white, waist-wrapped towel—let loose her inner diva, dazzling the nearly all-male crowd. Two years later, with this devoted following firmly established, Midler turned her stage persona, The Divine Miss M, into the title of her first album; released by Atlantic Records in 1972, it contained many hit singles and achieved nationwide fame. WHEN IT'S THREE O'CLOCK IN NEW YORK, IT'S STILL 1938 IN LONDON. —BETTE MIDLER, 1978 Midler was an entertainment triple threat: blessed with powerful pipes, a capacity for great warmth in acting, and the ability to be funny. But it was saying things she's not supposed to—primarily speaking out for gay rights—that established her as one of the City's beloved bigmouths. For example, in 1973 she made a surprise appearance at a rally concluding one of the City's first gay pride parades. And in as early as 1975 she gave interviews to _The Advocate_ , a prominent LGBTQ publication, and straightforwardly acknowledged her debt to the gay male audience. During the first-ever Hollywood fundraiser in support of gay rights in 1977, Richard Pryor turned against the audience and declared, you all can "kiss my happy, rich black ass!" before walking off stage. Midler followed this by drolly asking, "Who wants to kiss this rich, white ass?" In time, she began speaking out for the physical city itself. Midler grew up in Hawaii and has said she considers caring for the land to be as natural as breathing. In the mid-nineties, she was angered by what she considered the disgraceful mistreatment of NYC space in general, and of Fort Tryon Park in particular, a park in the uppermost portion of Manhattan that had been mired in trash and neglect for years. "I took one look and couldn't believe my eyes," Midler recalled to Marlo Thomas in 2012. "It was a dumping ground. People would come from all over the tri-state area and dump their trash. There was drug dealing and prostitution. I vividly remember people sitting at the bus stop outside the park, and the garbage was literally two feet high around them." So what did she do? She spent $300,000 of her own money, hired a crew of six, and cleaned up the park. She also founded the New York Restoration Project (NYRP), which since 1995 has helped revitalize green spaces in the City's low-income neighborhoods, and began donating $2,000 a month to the City's Adopt-A-Highway trash pickup program, which led the City to post her name on the Bronx River Parkway. Then, when in 1999 the City announced a plan to auction off over a hundred neglected community gardens, Midler organized a coalition to save them; she then established a group to take ownership of sixty of them, as well as a volunteer program for their maintenance. In 2003, Midler opened Sherman Creek Park on the Harlem River, which boasts Swindler Cove, a boathouse, a children's garden, and a facility where free environmental education programs are provided to poor students. The following year, she began paying to clean up two trash-polluted miles of the Major Deegan Expressway near Yankee Stadium in the Bronx. By 2015, her New York Restoration Project had planted more than a million trees in the City. Amidst her greening efforts, Midler all the while continued recording new albums and starring in shows. In 2015 she undertook her tenth international concert tour, Divine Intervention, to promote her latest album, _It's the Girls!_ In 2016, at age seventy, Midler shows no signs of slowing down—or keeping quiet. She is scheduled to star in a revival of _Hello, Dolly!_ opening on Broadway in 2017. And just a few hours before the Oscars aired in February she sent a tweet out to her followers taking a position on the #OscarsSoWhite controversy: "The Oscars are today! You know, the awards show where Leonardo DiCaprio is 'overdue' but black people can 'wait till next year.'" # AFTER HOURS Long before the mic drop meme entered popular culture, MARY LOUISE CECELIA "TEXAS" GUINAN (1884–1933), a spunky performer from Waco, Texas, picked up a microphone at a post-show party in 1924 and single-handedly transformed what had been a sedate soiree into a swinging, champagne-flowing bash. Guinan had spent more than a decade trying to make it as an actress when Larry Fay, an enterprising bootlegger, observed her natural-born instinct for enticing reluctant sinners and promptly installed her as mistress of ceremonies at the El Fay, his soon-to-become legendary juice joint. Armed with a whistle, a booming voice, and a garish but loveable streak of sequins and wisecracks, Guinan perched on a stool in the center of the room, greeting visitors by shouting, "Hello, sucker!"—rendering guests willing and eager to part with their greenbacks. Guinan's merriment-creating abilities led to the El Fay becoming one of the City's most popular speakeasies and Guinan being anointed queen of nightlife. Her reign continued even after she split with Fay and opened the 300 Club, which itself became a smash, making it a prime target for temperance-minded authorities. Several times in 1927 the club was padlocked and Guinan arrested, but each time she responded with characteristic aplomb, turning one nine-hour detention into an opportunity to entertain the precinct with her showgirls. While anybody with a pulse and a dollar was welcome at Guinan's clubs, RÉGINE ZYLBERBERG (b. 1929) sought something different when she opened an American outpost of her namesake Parisian nightclub, Régine's, at the Delmonico Hotel in 1976. Charging a $600 membership fee, which guaranteed free entrance for clients with up to eight guests, Régine's offered the same mix of upscale clientele and elaborate, rotating theme parties that had drawn the likes of Brigitte Bardot and Premier Georges Pompidou to her original location. Indeed, droves of American A-listers flocked in, piqued by Régine's particular brand of charm (she was as likely to teach patrons the Hula-Hoop as the cha-cha), her never-ending flow of bubbly, and her hard-line stance about maintaining exclusivity. "Texas" Guinan ring-led the Roaring Twenties. Régine invented bottle service and the velvet rope. And no one but the singer and model GRACE JONES (b. 1948) could crawl onto a stage several hours after midnight clad in nothing but Keith Haring's Maasai warrior–inspired body paint, blowing the minds of seventies revelers high on Quaaludes. After conquering Paris runways with her obsidian, statuesque beauty, Jones, a native of Jamaica raised in a Pentecostal family, returned to New York in the 1970s and found a fitting home in Studio 54 for what _The New York Times_ called her "catwalk-Kabuki mischief and provocation." While pushing herself past every conceivable boundary, the sometimes singer, always provocateur performance artist became "The Disco Queen," forming alliances with a cadre of artists, producers, and fashion designers with whom she would eventually make films and record albums and produce other mayhem. BETTER A SQUARE FOOT OF NEW YORK THAN ALL THE REST OF THE WORLD... BETTER A LAMPPOST ON BROADWAY THAN THE BRIGHTEST STAR IN THE SKY. —TEXAS GUINAN, 1933 GRACE JONES It was Jones's embrace of the outré that brought gender-bending, avant-garde exploration out of the art studios and into NYC nightlife, paving the way for later fantasyland-style nightclubs like The Roxy, Limelight, and the Palladium, where in the 1980s deejay Anita Sarko would bridge the City's punk and disco scenes and open new worlds of musical crossover. # THE GROCERS The diets of the original residents of New York—the Lenape—had been flavorful and seasonally diverse. But after two centuries of Dutch and English rule, later residents developed more austere culinary habits; according to William Grimes's _Appetite City: A Culinary History of New York_ , by the 1820s "local tastes ran to beef, beer, oysters, and bread." That began to change in the 1840s, when immigrants from other parts of Europe began expanding New Yorkers' palates with a wider variety of foods and spices, launching what would make New York for many years the most diverse culinary city in the world. German émigrés hawked sausages and cabbage, often traveling with a shaver to slice the vegetable for making sauerkraut at home. Eastern Europeans sold pickles, pretzels, breads, and knishes. Italians purveyed peanuts, chestnuts, fruits, and vegetables, including dandelion greens, which they scavenged from empty lots on the Lower East Side. Indeed, members of nearly all ethnic groups vended, though their histories were unfortunately rarely recorded. An exception: LILLIAN HARRIS DEAN (1870–1928), known as Pig Foot Mary, sold pigs' feet, hog maws, and chitterlings (or "chitlins") out of a repurposed baby carriage at the corner of West 135th Street—what is now Malcolm X Boulevard. As their resources grew, some peddlers expanded by renting large wooden pushcarts, which could be had for ten cents a day in the 1880s. Others opened stalls in one of more than a dozen markets that existed in that era, including the Fulton, Jefferson, and Catharine Markets, as well as the Essex Street Market, which operated off Ludlow Street before moving to its current location at Delancey Street in 1940. Women and children were as likely as men to operate as peddlers; the "hot corn girls" hawking cobs from cedar pails filled with hot water were as legendary in the nineteenth century as hot dog and pretzel cart vendors would become in the late twentieth. And though most of the grocers operating stalls in the markets were men, Thomas DeVoe, writing in _The Market Book_ in 1862, noted how Elizabeth Kline petitioned the Catherine Market in 1801 for permission to sell coffee and chocolate, and a "Mrs. Jeroleman" sold hot coffee and doughnuts at the Oswego Market. But it was in the twentieth century that several women helped establish specialty food stores with a lasting influence on the City. One such store—and story—begins with a father named Joel Russ. After immigrating from Strzyzów, a rural village in what is now southern Poland, Russ had trod the streets peddling strings of mushrooms on his shoulders before switching to selling herring out of a barrel. He saved enough money for a pushcart, then a horse and wagon. In 1914, he opened his first store, J. Russ Cut Rate Appetizing, on Orchard Street; six years later he moved it around the corner to East Houston, where he broadened his inventory of pickled and cured fish. In the store's tenth year, Joel's oldest daughter, HATTIE RUSS GOLD (1913–2014), just eleven years old herself, began working alongside her father. In time her sisters, IDA RUSS SCHWARTZ (1915–2001) and ANNE RUSS FEDERMAN (b. 1921), took their places behind the counter as well. Then, in 1933, their father made a business decision considered shocking at the time: he changed the name of his business to Russ & Daughters—an event that made the newspapers, since it was almost unheard of to name a business after daughters rather than sons. "Our delivery truck used to get stopped," Hattie Russ Gold recalled. "People wanted to know if that was really the name. They couldn't believe it." Today, more than one hundred years after selling its first lox, Russ & Daughters is still family-run, and, as the Smithsonian Institute puts it, is a "part of New York's cultural heritage." That success is due largely to Federman, a tireless toiler who continued to oversee the store with her husband, Herb, even after Schwartz left in the forties and Gold left in the sixties. Even after the Federmans' son, Mark, joined the business in the late seventies with his wife, Maria, Federman remained the matriarch and guiding spirit. In 2009, Mark and Maria passed the torch to their daughter, Niki Russ Federman, a fourth generation owner, who, today, runs the business with Joshua Russ Tupper, another one of Anne Russ Federman's grandchildren. In 2014, the pair of fourth generation owners opened the company's first restaurant, Russ & Daughters Cafe, two and a half blocks away; this was followed by a bakery and a second sit-down eatery inside the Jewish Museum on the Upper East Side. As a young woman, LILLIAN ZABAR (1905–1995) fled the pogroms of her homeland and traveled alone to the United States, where she lived with relatives in Philadelphia and worked as a hatmaker. On a visit to New York, she ran into an acquaintance from her Ukrainian village, Louis Zabar, and in 1927 they married. Louis, an illegal immigrant who had entered the States via Canada, had no papers—and therefore had no work option but self-employment. So the couple worked in a deli in the Brighton Beach area of Brooklyn, then sold produce on Flatbush Avenue. In 1934, believing they could earn a better living on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, then an affluent Jewish neighborhood, Lillian and Louis opened a smoked fish counter in a bustling market on Broadway. By 1941 they were successful enough to move into another Broadway storefront between 80th and 81st Streets, where they introduced some of the prepared foods Lillian had grown up with: blintzes, potato salad, stuffed cabbage, and coleslaw. Over the years, the store expanded to fill several additional storefronts on the block and added a wider variety of products. Today, Zabar's continues to be a beacon of Eastern European specialties. Saul Zabar, one of the couple's three sons, who has been running the store with his brother Stanley since about 1960, told me that today their store sells in excess of 1,000 pounds of smoked salmon every week. In 1946, MARIA BALDUCCI (1900–1989) and her husband, Louis, opened a fruit stand at the triangle-shaped intersection at Christopher Street and Greenwich Avenue. Before sunrise every morning, Louis visited wholesalers and acquired the day's inventory; upon his return, he'd nap while Maria manned the outfit—which was essentially a shack. Soon they developed a reputation for selling off-season produce, a nearly unheard-of practice in the mid-twentieth century, which earned them business from many of the City's prominent restaurants, including Lüchow's. In 1972, when the couple had to vacate their spot, they decided to move into an empty storefront across Sixth Avenue at 9th Street—but as it was 3,000 square feet, they needed to fill the space. Louis had for years been bringing home produce too blemished to sell, with which Maria made Italian specialties for their family. It was an obvious next step to try selling them in the store. "She started bringing roasted peppers, fried peppers, stuffed eggplant—and it would sell in a blink of an eye," her daughter Grace Balducci Doria told me. A kitchen was built in the cellar, from which emerged an endless parade of Italian fare like steaming stuffed artichokes, hearty lasagna, and braciole, or grilled, rolled-up flank steak stuffed with cheese and breadcrumbs, creating aromas that stopped shoppers in their tracks and lured them to the counter. Many of the City's food writers excitedly chronicled the store's new introductions: like the arrival of spaghetti squash in 1978, or fresh pasta in 1980. Over time, as New Yorkers' palates expanded, so too did their requests for ever more exotic products, leading Balducci's to become an early purveyor of imported oils, vinegars, and other (then) hard-to-find condiments. Today, there are six supermarkets and two "gourmet on the go" stores using the Balducci's name, including one inside the Hearst Building. In 1898, a Lebanese immigrant named Abrahim Sahadi opened a store on Washington Street in Little Syria, a neighborhood south and west of the World Trade Center site, where he sold imported lentils, pistachios, and olives. In the 1920s, he hired on his nephew Wade. Two decades later, when construction began on a tunnel connecting their neighborhood to Brooklyn, Wade purchased a building on Brooklyn's Atlantic Avenue; under the stewardship of his sons, Charlie and Robert, that store would continue to provide Middle Eastern foodstuffs for half a century. But it was Charlie's daughter, the fourth-generation family member CHRISTINE SAHADI WHELAN (b. 1966), who concluded that the store's ethnically diverse customers would enjoy prepared Middle Eastern specialties. In 1986, Whelan, a culinary-school-trained food-lover, added a prepared foods department to the market from which she sold humus, kibbee, and lebany. These she prepared using recipes from her mother, Audrey Sahadi, a native of Aleppo, Syria—with input from hired cooks of Persian and Egyptian descent. Sahadi's prepared foods counter soon became an important lunchtime destination for the legions of workers in downtown Brooklyn. And as a reliable source of takeout and catering, it also helped to fuel the borough's ever-widening obsession with all things gastronomic. Throughout the nineties and into the twenty-first century, Whelan would continue to add an ever-wider array of specialty foods from around the world—even from regions facing political conflict. Owing to the family's long-standing relationships with farmers and spice purveyors in Lebanon and Syria, the store continued to supply the City's home cooks and professional chefs with products that would otherwise be hard to come by. In early 2016, at age seventy-two, Charlie, a gregarious and beloved fixture in the neighborhood, decided to "retire"; for him this means working in the store just one or two days a week instead of six. Aided by her Uncle Bob and her brother Ron, Whelan remains at the helm of the store five days a week, where she champions the renaissance of artisanal foodstuffs lately embraced by young Brooklynites. # THE RESTAURATEURS Over the twentieth century, several women had a hand in creating a restaurant scene that, today, is a central draw of City life. But in the nineteenth century, the social hubs of New York life were taverns where men—and almost never women—convened around beverages; food was a secondary consideration. That became a bit of a problem in the 1890s, when women began joining the office workforce in great numbers. Existing establishments that sold prepared food were typically steakhouses or pubs that offered greasy, gut-pleasing heavy fare more suited to men. (Even today, the menu at McSorley's Old Ale House, one of the oldest Irish bars in the City, consists of little more than a liverwurst sandwich, a burger, or a plate of cheese and crackers with onions.) Saloonkeepers didn't know what to do about the sudden influx of skirt-wearing patrons—but Jane Shattuck did. In 1898, candy salesman Frank Shattuck opened a store at Broadway and 36th Street to sell chocolates made by the Boston company Schrafft's. Soon afterward his sister, JANE SHATTUCK (1865–1948), thought to add a menu of tearoom fare: light sandwiches—including grilled cheese and "fresh asparagus on toast"—salads, and ice cream sodas, all offered in a bright, dainty setting well suited to this new type of working woman. With this innovation, one of the City's most legendary restaurant chains was born, and the dames showed up in droves. By 1928, the revenue at Schrafft's restaurants from lunch was $1 million a month; before long, 18 outlets dotted the City. Frank M. Shattuck, a great-grandson of the founder, told me that one house specialty in particular contributed to the restaurant's popularity: whiskey. "Women would sip gin and whiskey out of their dainty little tea cups. Very discreet," he shared. "They made the whiskey in-house. It was a well-kept secret." With its many locations, the ubiquity of Schrafft's—combined with its genteel atmosphere and pleasing menu—helped to overturn the previously long-standing stigma about women being seen having a meal in public. All told, Schrafft's was one of several attractive restaurants that gave rise to NYC being seen as an attractive dining destination. Even as recently as the sixties, most Americans still regarded Italian fare as exotic, and knew of only Southern Italian red sauce dishes. These were publicly introduced, in part, by LUISA LEONE (1870–1940). Leone often hosted large dinner parties for the friends and clients of her wine merchant husband. It was at one such gathering that the Italian tenor Enrico Caruso commented that Luisa's cooking deserved a wider showing; he then talked her skeptical husband into granting permission for her to open a restaurant. So, in 1906 she unveiled Leone's, inside their home on West 34th Street. On opening night, which included Caruso, they could fit just twenty diners at a time, and the seven-course meal she offered was priced at fifty cents. The restaurant, an instant hit, expanded over the years, eventually occupying eleven dining rooms over 35,000 square feet on 48th Street. In 1959, it was acquired by Restaurant Associates, who changed its name to Mama Leone in tribute to its founder. (By then the quality of the food was rather lackluster, nothing like during the restaurant's heyday.) According to William Grimes in _Appetite City: A Culinary History of New York_ , the $4 million in profits Mama Leone's brought in helped then-nascent Restaurant Associates bankroll some of the City's most famed dining establishments, including the Four Seasons and Central Park's Tavern on the Green. Joe Baum, Restaurant Associates's original president, would later go on to open many more legendary fine dining spots, like Windows on the World, with the help of pioneering City foodies like Barbara Kafka and Rozanne Gold. EDNA LEWIS (1916–2006) grew up in Freetown, a close-knit community in Virginia where her family lived off the land and prepared food according to the seasons. Later living in New York, she was known among friends for hosting convivial dinner parties with delicious food. So, when in 1948 her friend Johnny Nicholson planned to open a café in the rear garden of his antique store on East 58th Street, she easily talked him into letting her oversee its fare. A week later, Lewis was running Café Nicholson, a fanciful spot that quickly charmed the City's artsy and intellectual types. At this time, NYC already had plenty of what Grimes described to me as "snooty French restaurants and he-man steakhouses," whereas Lewis was among the first to serve truly delectable dishes in a quirky and relaxed setting. Café Nicholson was something of a shared secret among the in-crowd; devotees included Truman Capote, Paul Robeson, Eleanor Roosevelt, Gore Vidal, and Tennessee Williams. In the mid-fifties, Lewis left the restaurant (which had by then moved to a larger space), instead embarking on other adventures, including authoring important cookbooks documenting American food history—rightfully the primary source of her acclaim. Still, Lewis's concept of a restaurant—bringing inquisitive people together over flawless, satisfying food in an unexpected setting—was an important forerunner to many distinctive restaurants later opened by women in the City. These included Buonavia, opened in 1971 by Lidia Bastianich in the Forest Hills section of Queens, the namesake regional Mexican restaurant started in 1987 by Zarela Martinez in Midtown, and Prune, opened in 1999 by Gabrielle Hamilton in the East Village. A decade and a half after Lewis introduced her carefully prepared American dishes to the City, another Southern-born chef, SYLVIA WOODS (1926–2012), opened an eponymous luncheonette that for decades reigned as Harlem's de facto social center. Sylvia's Restaurant opened in 1962 at Lenox Avenue near 127th Street, offering fried chicken, ribs, corn bread, and hot cakes. With six booths and fifteen stools, it wasn't large, but the immense popularity of the food drew local and national politicians, celebrities, and food lovers from all over the City. The Queen of Soul Food eventually acquired more space and Sylvia's became the cornerstone for more commercial development in Harlem. Arthur Schwartz, the NYC restaurant expert and Food Maven podcaster, also credits Woods with helping break down color barriers between white and black residents. "In the old days," he told me, "Sylvia's was the only place where white people could go to and feel comfortable in Harlem. After church all the church ladies would go to Sylvia's. The politicians would go to Sylvia's. So you always heard about Sylvia's and it made you feel safe. Sylvia's was very welcoming to everybody." # THE TASTEMAKERS Long before competitive cooking shows, online restaurant reservations, and food truck festivals, a small handful of epicures were among the country's first exponents of gastronomy, avidly championing the pleasures of eating well. For example, the food section of _The New York Times_ had long included only tips for homemakers; it wasn't until the 1960s that Craig Claiborne began broadening their coverage, bringing in food criticism and creating the four-star rating system. And even when MIMI SHERATON (b. 1926) became the _Times_ 's restaurant critic in 1976—assuming the post after a twenty-year career as a freelance food writer—dining out was still not a regular part of American life. Having grown up in a food-loving Brooklyn family, Sheraton delighted in all things gastronomic; similarly, she served eight years at the paper as her many readers' gastronomic guide. In search of the City's best chicken salad, she over time sampled sixty kinds from thirty-one shops. With the aim of deciphering Thai food for the uninitiated, she explained in 1978 how it "combines elements of the Chinese, Malaysian, and Indian kitchens." She also helped natives and visitors alike figure out where to eat, so as not to miss, as she advised in 1976, "some of the best atmosphere and most interesting food in the country." WE HAVE HIGHER QUALITY CONVERSATIONS IN RESTAURANTS THAN AT HOME. IT'S AS THOUGH WE RISE TO THE OCCASION BY SELECTING WORTHWHILE, LESS MUNDANE SUBJECTS TO DISCUSS WHEN EATING OUT. —MIMI SHERATON, 2004 Sheraton—who over the course of eleven months tasted all 1,196 items in the Bloomingdale's food department for an article in _New York_ magazine—patiently helped readers "who might not have had time, money or, most importantly, the interest and natural inclination to learn the finer points of eating," explaining foods, describing restaurant practices, and demystifying unknown cuisines. Sheraton also became known for her frank, unvarnished delivery of a restaurant's failings. In 1978, she complained about a bistro's "tendency to garnish luncheon dishes drugstore-style, with a wedge of unripe tomato and a limp lettuce leaf." A review in 1983 warned readers: "As a rule of thumb, avoid anything made with a cream or near-cream sauce." Later, she penned an award-winning _Vanity Fair_ article about the fortieth anniversary of the Four Seasons restaurant, in addition to about a dozen books, including _1,000 Foods to Eat Before You Die_. In the days before the word "foodie" even existed, Sheraton taught New Yorkers just what it meant to be one. Another important herald of the City's restaurant scene was GAEL GREENE (b. 1933), a freelance writer for _McCall's_ and _Cosmopolitan_ who became the nascent _New York_ magazine's first restaurant reviewer. Greene, a native of Detroit and self-described sybarite, threw herself into the role, gleefully recounting every last morsel she consumed in the City's best restaurants. Like her counterparts in the New Journalism movement of the sixties, Greene, whose hunger for sex is as notorious as her appetite for food, worked in the first person, using lusty language to build passionate, sometimes shocking crescendos of satisfaction. Writing in 1969, here's how she described meals at Café Chauveron: GREAT SENSUOUS FEASTS TO STAGGER HOME FROM, GIGGLING, PLEASED WITH THE SHEER BRILLIANCE OF HAVING CHOSEN SO WELL. LES MOULES AU CHABLIS GLACÉES, MUSSELS BURIED IN A SUBLIME WINE SAUCE ENRICHED WITH WHIPPED CREAM, THEN GLAZED UNDER THE SALAMANDER. TENDER, PINK-FLESHED RACK OF LAMB WITH PRIMEURS, INFANT VEGETABLES TASTING AS IF THEY'D BEEN GROWN IN BUTTER. AND THEN A GREAT VOLUPTUOUSNESS OF THE CHOCOLATE, THE CHAUVERON MOUSSE—THE SOPHIA LOREN OF MOUSSES—GUTSY, NOT THE LEAST BIT SUBTLE, WRAPPED IN A THIN SPONGE-CAKE PACKAGE, SERVED WITH A WHIPPED-CREAM-FLUFFED SABAYON SAUCE AND—HOLY GLUTTONY!—MOIST ALMOND-SCENTED MACAROONS. FRESH STRONG CAFÉ FILTRE. MEASURE THAT CLIMAX, DR. MASTERS! Buoyed by both the adventurous spirit of the 1960s and early 1970s and her editors' desire to publish a brash reflection of the City, Greene helped legitimize the idea of dining out as a form of entertainment. And after half a century of relentless pleasure-hunting—her thirty-four-year run as critic was followed by her Ask Gael column, which she still writes at age eighty-three—she has proven herself to be truly insatiable, which became the title of her 2006 autobiography. In 1993, RUTH REICHL (b. 1948), who grew up in Greenwich Village but spent her formative years immersed in California's food revolution, returned to New York from the West Coast, bringing with her all the talents developed over her time as a chef, restaurant owner, and food writer and critic, including for the _Los Angeles Times_. Donning elaborate disguises so as to not be recognized as a critic, she infiltrated the City's fine dining temples—then smartly demystified them for readers, explaining ever-more complex dishes and cutting through the haughty façade many eateries presented. She also treated ethnic food with the same respect accorded fine French technique—something earlier writers, in their zeal to celebrate the arrival of sophisticated cooking, had overlooked. (Beginning in 2012, this approach would be elevated anew by the _Times_ 's Ligaya Mishan, who does for unsung ethnic restaurants in her weekly column, Hungry City, what Lester Bangs did for rock.) Reichl's time in the critic's perch overlapped directly with an explosion in the NYC restaurant culture—brought on, in part, from the opening of Jams in 1984 and the expansion of big-money restaurant-as-spectacle palaces. For more than four decades, writing for the _Times_ as well as authoring her own books, she has served as an important guardian of food as a central, authentic expression of love. In 1999, Reichl left her critic's post to be _Gourmet_ magazine's editor-in-chief, where she would do even more to awaken the national consciousness to the deeper importance of food. In 1979, NINA ZAGAT (b. 1942) and her husband Tim, both lawyers who enjoyed dining out, were at a dinner party when one of the guests complained that restaurant reviews at a major newspaper had been unreliable. Tim suggested they survey their friends for their own restaurant reviews; before long, the couple had compiled the opinions of two hundred friends and associates reviewing one hundred NYC restaurants. They printed out the results on legal paper and shared them with friends, who found their makeshift guide surprisingly handy for picking just the right spot for clients. Whereas professional critics use literary finesse to celebrate the finer points of gastronomy and décor, what was particularly helpful about these amateur reviews was that ordinary diners provided useful firsthand tips on practical concerns, like cost, waiting times, and service. Inspired by the response, the Zagats (pronounced zah-GAT as in "the cat") pitched their idea for a crowd-sourced guide to several publishers—who turned them down, "claiming local content would never sell." "The fact that our vision was to have something that was social, local, and mobile was the reason that the professionals rejected us," Nina Zagat told an alumni publication for her alma mater, Vassar, in 2013. But, "Of course, that's exactly the reason the guides became popular." Soon, the couple began self-publishing, driving boxes of books to New York bookstores. After a cover story about the guide in _New York_ magazine in 1986, sales took off, quickly reaching 75,000 per month. By the 1990s—before the Internet became central to American life—the guide functioned as a bible for the growing cult of food-obsessed New Yorkers, who often worked their way through the list of top-rated restaurants to ensure they had experienced all the best offerings in the City. "We would give people a way to make smart decisions for themselves about what was most important to them on a particular day," Zagat told me, referring to the practice of separately rating the categories for food, décor, and service. "People are looking for different things at different times; we empowered them to make their own decisions for a particular occasion." The arrival of the Internet meant that the Zagat guide competed with an infusion of crowd-sourced eating guides in the form of Yelp. But that doesn't take away the fact that, for years, the Zagat guide served as the primary directory for a devoted foodie's explorations. Plus, it's now available for readers both in and beyond the City, at www.zagat.com. # THE IN-CROWD After restaurateur ELAINE KAUFMAN (1929–2010) opened her namesake bar and grill in 1963, she couldn't help but fuss over the struggling writers and artists who came in, encouraging them with kind words, free meals, and the occasional kick in the butt. As the years passed and some of those young creatives bloomed into Woody Allen, Nora Ephron, George Plimpton and Gay Talese, and as a friend in public relations began bringing in more actors, agents, and directors, Elaine's soon became the preeminent clubhouse for the City's glitterati. One reason Kurt Vonnegut Jr., Elaine Stritch, Lucille Ball, and George Steinbrenner, as well as Leonard Bernstein and Noel Coward, were all regulars at Elaine's was that Kaufman, heavyset and with an imposing presence, made the chosen ones feel at home, joining them at their tables, making introductions, and framing and hanging the authors' book covers. She also vociferously protected celebrated actors from wannabes and paparazzi—famously turning away anyone she didn't consider important enough to deserve a table along "the line" in the main dining room—and occasionally delivering rude rejoinders when those she considered unworthy (or, heaven forbid, a tourist) dared to question her treatment of them. ELAINE KAUFMAN Whereas appearing impressed by celebrities was long considered a sign of unsophistication, Elaine Kaufman mastered the art of nonchalance. In response to a visitor asking how to get to the powder room, she once replied, "Take a right at Michael Caine." Her establishment was so well known—and so quintessentially New York—it had cameo roles in Woody Allen's 1979 film _Manhattan_ , in the opening credits of _Saturday Night Live_ , and in Billy Joel's song "Big Shot." After she died from complications of emphysema in 2010, an heir had no choice but to close up shop, explaining, "There's no Elaine's without Elaine." Long before Sardi's restaurant became a legendary Broadway institution, sixteen-year-old Eugenia Pallera, the eldest of six children from a poor Northern Italian family, sailed alone to New York. She found work at the Bertholdi Inn, a boarding house in the theater district, where she met Vincent Sardi, another Piedmontese immigrant who had also found work at the Bertholdi. They married, and in 1921, they opened a small restaurant called "The Little Place" in an old brownstone on West 44th Street. Six years later, when the brownstone was torn down to build the St. James Theater, the couple moved their eatery to a new location down the block and rechristened it Sardi's. Despite the apostrophe's misplacement, both Eugenia, by then known as JENNY SARDI (1889–1978), and her husband together created a clubhouse where the leading lights of Broadway's golden era, from playwright Tennessee Williams to the actors Helen Hayes and John Barrymore, would come to celebrate opening nights, await the first newspaper reviews, and—when gigs and money ran dry—seek comfort and camaraderie. By the forties, Sardi's was the place to see and be seen, especially for aspiring stars—and the business folks who hoped to profit from them. In 1947, producer Brock Pemberton was lunching at Sardi's and lamenting the recent death of his business partner, Antoinette Perry, when he hatched the idea of establishing a theater prize in her memory. The prize was named the "Tony" Award, after Antoinette's nickname. Thespians had been initially drawn to Sardi's not only for its central location but also because the couple had offered two menus: one for regular customers and another lower-priced "actor's menu." While Vincent was often publicly recognized for his generosity, which included feeding down-on-their-luck actors in exchange for IOUs (in 1947, the couple's son discovered a drawer with 500 or more of them dating back to the restaurant's opening), Jenny, a stunning brunette with a screen-siren figure, exuded a rare warmth that, along with the red leather banquettes and walls adorned with caricatures, was an intrinsic part of Sardi's magnetism. In a biography about Lorenz Hart, half of the famous Broadway songwriting team Rodgers and Hart, Vincent Sardi described how Jenny tried to help the lyricist with his ongoing struggle with depression and alcoholism: "My wife Jenny treated him like a son," he said. "Unfortunately, he did not have much willpower. He would promise my wife that he was going to stop drinking so much, and then friends of his would arrive and ask him to sit down, and the next thing he knew he would be drinking again. Some nights when he would fall asleep, exhausted, my wife would make a bed for him in the back of the restaurant." Jenny provided something else that was essential to Sardi's success, especially in its early days: hard work. From stocking the kitchen to cooking the food and functioning as a waitress and cashier, it was Jenny who kept the back of the house functioning. "She was basically the backbone of the operation," the current owner, Max Klimavicius, told me. Indeed, Jenny was such a workhorse that when she finally retired in 1947, her son, Vincent Sardi Jr., who ran the business until his death in 2007, faced a quandary: "I had to hire three men to replace her, and they weren't her equal on the job," he told the Associated Press. In tribute, the restaurant now boasts a Eugenia Room, where special events like the Outer Critics Circle Awards are held. # THE AUNTIES In the 1820s, two hundred years after Dutch settlers arrived on the island that natives called "Manahatta" (which meant "the place where we get bows"), a first great wave of European immigrants arrived from Ireland and Germany. A second wave from southern and eastern countries began around 1880. But after immigration laws changed in 1965, most new immigrants came from Latin America and Asia, a trend that continued well into the twenty-first century. The arrival in New York of Dominicans, Puerto Ricans, Mexicans, Vietnamese, Indians, Thai, Sengalese, and many more ethnicities infused the medley of City life with even more rhythms and flavors. But it took some special women to help their _paesans_ (or _bori_ or _desi_ ) feel more at home in New York—while also protecting and celebrating cherished cultural traditions from back home. In 1950, twenty-six-year-old BETTY LEE SUNG (b. 1924), a daughter of Chinese laundry owners, was hired to write scripts for the New York office of Voice of America. There she quickly became annoyed by the dearth of available information about Chinese contributions to American life. Even worse, the few published articles she could find in libraries were both inaccurate and overwhelmingly negative. As Sung later wrote in her autobiography, _Defiant Second Daughter: My First 90 Years_ , "I mostly found reports that reinforced stereotypes of the Chinese as cheap laborers, opium smokers, undesirable heathens, and unassimilable aliens—ad nauseam." Vowing to make known what she saw as the "intelligence, industry, and dignity" of New York's Chinese American community, Sung began attending male-only meetings of Chinatown's unofficial governing body—the Chinese Consolidated Benevolent Association—where she learned all about the activities in Chinatown. Then she gathered original source material from all over the country and in 1967 published her findings in her first book, _Mountain of Gold: The Story of the Chinese in America_ ; it was received with great acclaim, especially in academia, where Asian Americans had also previously been overlooked. As a result Sung was invited to create and teach one of the country's first classes about Asians at the City University of New York (CUNY), which was itself just opening to a more diverse population. Soon after, with Sung's support, students successfully pressured CUNY into creating the country's first Asian Studies department. Sung was its first teacher; after continuing her research, earning a PhD, and publishing several more books, she became the department head. She also cofounded the CUNY Asian American/Asian Research Institute and participated in dozens of conferences, seminars, and panels throughout the City. Though New York's Chinatown had existed since the 1880s, it was Sung who championed the work of Chinese immigrants, making its laborers, restaurants, and customs visible to the broader city. Like Sung, ANTONIA PANTOJA (1922–2002), who was born in Puerto Rico and moved to New York in 1944, was troubled by the absence of her _compatriotas_ in New York's public life—as well as by the crippling poverty of fellow immigrants in the barrios of the Bronx and Manhattan. Utilizing both her training as a teacher and what acquaintances described as a powerful speaking voice, Pantoja undertook what became a decades-long career in community organizing and improving education for Nuyoricans. A few years after helping found New York's first Puerto Rican foster care and adoption agency in 1953, she helped create the Puerto Rican Forum, a broad-ranging advocacy group modeled on the NAACP and the American Jewish Committee. Then, in 1961 she established ASPIRA, an organization devoted to fostering education and leadership among Hispanic youth—which eventually won a landmark lawsuit forcing New York City to provide bilingual instruction. ASPIRA, which means "inspire" in Spanish, was so successful in the Bronx that it grew into a national organization. But Pantoja, a tireless worker, didn't stop there: she also assisted Mayor John Lindsay with reforming the City's education system and helped forge a lasting toehold for Puerto Ricans in higher education by creating the institution that eventually became Boricua College. DR. UMA MYSOREKAR Whereas many Puerto Ricans settled in the Bronx, immigrants from India often settled in Queens, which is where DR. UMA MYSOREKAR (b. 1944) landed in 1970. Making a home in Flushing, she observed how fellow Hindus lacked community resources and places to worship. So she joined with other Indians to establish the Hindu Temple Society of North America; and, in 1977, she helped consecrate the first Hindu place of worship in the country, on land previously used by a Russian Orthodox Church. As Flushing became home to huge numbers of Chinese and Korean immigrants, Mysorekar resolved to make the Ganesh Temple, as the Hindu Temple Society of North America is commonly known (named for a Hindu deity), a resource for all her neighbors, Hindu and non-Hindu alike. She hosted celebrations for Diwali and other festivals and invited New Yorkers of all persuasions; she organized interfaith dialogues, reaching out to City Christians, Buddhists, and Jews; and, after relentless fund-raising, she opened a much-needed senior center, providing a place to go for the neighborhood's many elders. Over the years, despite running a busy OB/GYN practice, Mysorekar gave increasingly more time to the temple. In 1989 she became a Society trustee; in 1994, she was elected president, at which point she began fund-raising for an expansion of the overcrowded facility in Flushing, which has become one of the most ethnically diverse areas in the country. Due largely to Mysorekar's efforts, and a personal donation of more than $1 million, the sixteen-thousand-square-foot community center opened in 1998, where it remains a beacon for city-dwellers and visitors from all over the world. Whereas Mysorekar noticed how Hindus were largely absent from the public eye, DEBBIE ALMONTASER (b. 1966), a public schoolteacher who came from Yemen at the age of three, watched with dismay when, following the September 11 attacks, Arab Americans in New York City were subjected to unprecedented negative public scrutiny. Having already been involved in Brooklyn's The Dialogue Project, a group of Jews, Palestinians, Muslims, Christians, and others who meet monthly to talk about the issues of the world, Almontaser recognized the need for New Yorkers to learn about the rich heritage of Arabs and Muslims. So she worked with Educators for Social Responsibility/Metro and Columbia University's Muslim Communities Project to develop curricula about Muslim and Arab history. She also cofounded the Brooklyn Bridges Project, a program through which members of the community can serve as escorts for women wearing religious garb who feel fearful about traveling around Brooklyn. In 2005, Almontaser was asked to help found a school that became the Khalil Gibran International Academy (named after the Christian poet Khalil Gibran), the country's first English-Arabic public school. Unfortunately, in 2007, the _New York Post_ incorrectly quoted her about a T-shirt—which read Intifada NYC; created by a girls' youth group, the phrase referred not to the armed revolt of Palestinians against Israeli occupation, but to the word's literal meaning of "shaking off." In the ensuing media firestorm she was ousted from the school, although a federal court eventually found she was wrongfully terminated. Since 2009 Almontaser has served as president of the board of directors of the Muslim Community Network, which organizes an array of programs to support New York's Muslim community, help parents and teachers of all backgrounds prevent bullying, and facilitate interfaith dialogue. It also puts on a conference for girls called "BElieve in YOUrself," through which, hopefully, the next generation of the City's leaders will learn from Almontaser's hard work and tenacity. # THE USHERS After her opening night singing the lead role of Pamira in _L'Assedio di Corinto_ at Teatro alla Scala in Milan in 1969, coloratura soprano BEVERLY SILLS (1929–2007) was nicknamed "La Fenomena" by the local press. Stateside, she was just as popular, having performed on radio and television to the delight of audiences in New York and beyond. But it was in her second career as an arts administrator and advocate, which she began at age fifty in 1979, that America's Queen of Opera would make over the City's cultural life. After attending her first board meeting of New York City Opera in 1977, Sills, who was born in Brooklyn and known since childhood by the nickname "Bubbles," used her celebrity as a performer to raise more than a million dollars for the struggling organization. But when she became director in 1979, she learned the organization was several million dollars in debt. Though most judged the problems insurmountable, Sills refused to declare bankruptcy and instead relentlessly raised funds, no matter how dispiriting the process. "There were days when I could hardly talk myself into coming to the office," Sills later told _Time_ magazine. "There would be a big meeting on Tuesday morning, and I would be told there was no money for the Friday payroll." But within five years finances were under control, at which point she ushered in a new era for the company, complete with an adventurous new repertory. In 1983 she made City Opera the first American opera house to introduce supertitles—translations projected above the stage during performances. Although they were enormously controversial at the time, they helped popularize the art form and were eventually adopted by nearly every opera company in the world. In 1994 she became chair of the Lincoln Center for Performing Arts, the largest performing arts complex in the country. Over an eight-year term in the unpaid but enormously influential post, she introduced the annual Lincoln Center Festival, and hosted numerous "Live from Lincoln Center" television broadcasts. Wanting to ensure the center's longtime survival, she formed a committee to study the campus's brick-and-mortar needs. This became a $1.2 billion capital campaign that ultimately transformed the iconic campus—and put the organization on a stable course for the twenty-first century. In her final act of stewardship, Sills assumed the title of chair of the Metropolitan Opera in 2002, where she had served on the board in a volunteer position since 1991. In addition to guiding the then-119-year-old company through the massive campus redevelopment, she convinced the board to install Peter Gelb as general manager. Then, after a longtime corporate sponsor withdrew support for Met Opera's Saturday afternoon radio broadcasts—which reach eleven million people in forty-two countries—she personally took to the airwaves to ask for support. She got it, and thanks to Sills, the broadcasts continue and the Met Opera endures. IF I WAS AN OVERNIGHT'S SENSATION, IT WAS CERTAINLY THE LONGEST NIGHT'S JOURNEY UNTO DAY THAT ANYONE HAS EVER SEEN. —BEVERLY SILLS, 1976 In 1979, when KAREN BROOKS HOPKINS (b. 1951) became a fund-raiser for the Brooklyn Academy of Music, known as BAM, the notion of a Brooklyn-based cultural polestar was a tough sell. Its Fort Greene location, a neighborhood first settled by black shipyard workers in the late nineteenth century, was a garbage-strewn eyesore, still mired in the economic depression and easy heroin of the 1970s. And the BAM's stately Beaux-Arts building, owned by the City, was badly in need of repair even before a thirty-inch water main burst under the adjacent street. To add to the challenge, Manhattanites haughtily dismissed the idea of traveling to an outer borough—even though BAM is a mere four subway stops from Wall Street. "I would tell people a show would be at BAM and then in London, and people would say, 'okay, I'll see it in London,'" Hopkins told me. "They wouldn't want to cross that bridge." But Hopkins, appreciating the institution's storied history, which stretched back before even the Civil War, saw through these trifles. And she saw the value in producing a venue for performers like Twyla Tharp and The Living Theatre. Over a thirty-five-year career, she has helped build BAM into both a world-class cultural establishment and the City's primary vehicle for reliable avant-garde and international programming. Through relentless cheerleading, cajoling, and fund-raising, Hopkins—working for two decades with former president Harvey Lichtenstein—secured the funds to introduce in 1981 what became the Next Wave Festival, a program that looked beyond the established genres of theater and dance to highlight experimental and cross-disciplinary work by young artists in the United States and abroad. In 1999 Hopkins assumed the presidency along with Joseph V. Melillo—she ran the business, and he oversaw the programming. As funding and programs increased and the building was refurbished, BAM served to anchor both Brooklyn's renaissance as well as the borough's eventual takeover from Manhattan as the heart of the City's cutting edge. BAM also anchored a vast cultural district, which today includes BRIC, the Mark Morris Dance Center, and the massive, 18,000-seat Barclays Center, which, since opening in 2012, has hosted the likes of P!nk, Andrea Bocelli, and Jay Z. During her tenure, Hopkins guided an expansion to a second, and then a third, building and she set plans in motion for two more additions: BAM Strong, which will have exhibition space and a new facility to house BAM's archives along with additional cinemas and an educational studio. By the time Hopkins retired in 2015, the annual operating budget had increased from $21 to $54 million, with annual attendance exceeding 700,000. She also established an endowment of $100 million, including pledges, where previously none existed. In 2014, Hopkins was one of only two women (with Diane von Fürstenberg) in _Crain's New York Business'_ inaugural ten-member Hall of Fame. But her colleagues came up with a more personal tribute: the new building, with an anticipated completion in 2018, will be called the "BAM Karen." # THE WISECRACKERS From the age of thirteen, when she won an amateur night competition at Keeney's Theatre in Brooklyn, FANNY BRICE (1891–1951) had pursued the dream of being an entertainer. That dream led her to singing in a burlesque house in 1910, where she so impressed Florenz Ziegfeld Jr.—who'd opened his wildly popular "Follies" in 1907—that he offered the singer $75 a week to star in his show, a proposal she jumped at. A natural goof with an innate sweetness, Brice quickly became a sensation, helping the Follies become _the_ event of the Broadway season, talked about from coast to coast. Brice's warmth and self-deprecating style captivated audiences and drew crowds, despite the fact that she poked fun at nearly everyone. In keeping with accepted practice of the era, she sang in blackface, performed with fake Irish and German accents, and routinely mimicked Yiddish—stunts for which Broadway's entertainment value would become legendary. In 1916 she introduced her comic version of a dying swan ballet, which became an iconic vaudeville routine. But she had other sides to her repertoire as well: in 1921 her heart-rending rendition of the torch song "My Man" brought her international fame. After becoming the first woman to star in a motion picture with sound, in 1938 Brice began a weekly radio program, during which she played a character of her invention, terrible toddler Baby Snooks. Despite competition from the increasingly popular new medium of television in the late 1940s, Brice remained one of the City's biggest stars up until her death in 1951. Her wit would later be memorialized by Barbra Streisand in _Funny Girl_ , a 1968 film about Brice's life. In 1974, instead of relying on reruns of _The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson_ , NBC wanted original programming for the 11:30 pm Saturday timeslot. They turned to Dick Ebersol, who got a pitch for a comedy variety show from a Canadian-born TV writer named Lorne Michaels. Casting _Saturday Night Live_ the following year, Michaels's first hire was comedic actress GILDA RADNER (1946–1989), who he'd seen perform with the Second City comedy troupe in Toronto. Having observed what he once described as "a remarkable quality to her, a goodness, which came through whatever she was doing," Michaels didn't even ask her to audition. During her five years on the show, Radner, who had wild hair, kind eyes, and an impish grin, brought to life a series of zany and unforgettable characters that helped the New York–centered show become one of the country's preeminent platforms for comedy: a nasal-voiced, prone-to-rambling broadcaster named Roseanne Roseannadanna; Candy Slice, a masochistic punk rock star; and Baba Wawa, a spoof version of Barbara Walters. Her characters were so popular that Radner performed them in a revue, _Gilda Live,_ at Broadway's Winter Garden Theatre in 1979, which was later produced as a film. Radner's continued feistiness and humor in the face of ovarian cancer became perhaps her most enduring legacy. A year before her death in 1989, she appeared on _It's Garry Shandling's Show_ and, borrowing a line from Mark Twain, joked that "Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated." In Radner's honor, Gene Wilder, her widower, established Gilda's Club, a free counseling center for cancer patients and their families, which today continues to be based in the West Village even after expanding into a national organization. To be an SNL cast member, you have to be funny. To be an SNL writer, you have to be funny and scintillating. Since the show has reached as many as 20.8 million viewers, to become head writer—a position held by only fourteen people over the show's first quarter century—you have to be funny, brilliant, and unfailing. Even though she lacked a "big hunk of meat between the legs," as an adroit predecessor once declared was helpful for humor writing, TINA FEY (b. 1970) was so relentlessly clever that in 1999, at just twenty-nine years old, she became the first and, so far, only female head writer for the show. TINA FEY And though the program had been losing its luster for some time, in 2000, when Fey stepped in front of the cameras to coanchor _Weekend Update_ (with newbie Jimmy Fallon), _SNL_ regained ratings and cultural clout. It also began an epochal shift in New York's comedy landscape: Fey, who had been one of just three women among the twenty-two-member writing staff when she joined, devised a series of sketches that broke heretofore unthinkable boundaries for female comedians—establishing that women could be just as crass and irreverent as their male counterparts. (Consider, for example, Fey's ribald 2003 sketch "Colonel Angus Comes Home," set on a plantation in the Deep South called Shady Thicket, where the primary character's name functions as a double entendre.) She made it a priority to feature female comedians like Amy Poehler, Rachel Dratch, and Kristen Wiig. In 2004 she wrote her first screenplay, _Mean Girls_ , then became one of the few, if not the only, women to write, create, and star in a network sitcom, _30 Rock_ , for which she picked up an armload of Emmys. So convincing was Fey at playing Liz Lemon, her _30 Rock_ writer–main character, so cerebral did she look in a bespectacled American Express ad campaign, so mannish were the arms on the cover of her 2011 autobiography, _Bossypants_ , that the City's media establishment (and Hollywood's) welcomed her as a power player. In 2013, she and sidekick Amy Poehler were asked to host the Golden Globes, an honor repeated another two times. By continuing to produce and star in movies, create a new TV series, and write hilarious sketches that chip away at what increasingly appears to be a thinly shellacked veneer of patriarchy, Fey cut inroads through the thicket of male-dominated mass media—paths on which women like Mindy Kaling, Lena Dunham, and Phoebe Robinson continue to travel. Nowhere was this more evident than on the stunned faces of the audience during a monologue at the 2015 Golden Globes. After noting the actor George Clooney's recent marriage to Amal Alamuddin, Fey straight-facedly delivered these lines: "Amal is a human rights lawyer who worked on the Enron case, was an advisor to Kofi Annan regarding Syria, and was selected for a three-person UN commission investigating rules of war violations in the Gaza Strip. So tonight her _husband_ is getting a lifetime achievement award." Fresh after graduating from Wellesley in 1962, NORA EPHRON (1941–2012), the Beverly Hills–reared daughter of two playwright/screenwriters, alighted on Manhattan Island. Seeking a career in journalism, she got a job as a mail girl at _Newsweek_. But it was the astutely witty essays she wrote for _Esquire_ and _New York_ in the early 1970s that grabbed readers in a way that perhaps only Dorothy Parker, Manhattan's original "it girl," had ever done before: by tapping into the deepest of human needs, wants, and fears with meringue-light quips. After writing several TV scripts, Ephron expanded into screenwriting, turning her 1983 novel about her divorce from journalist Carl Bernstein into the screenplay for _Heartburn_. But it was through a romantic comedy about two New York neurotics, _When Harry Met Sally_..., that she achieved a formula that would establish her as queen of the City's creative class, embedding fierce social criticism in a populist, New York–centric comedy. In the most unforgettable scene from _When Harry Met Sally_..., the actress Meg Ryan loudly and dramatically fakes an orgasm during lunch at Katz's Delicatessen, decisively ending every man's belief in his own efficaciousness (and simultaneously affirming the centrality of pickles to crucial human interactions). When a middle-aged woman at a nearby booth (played by Estelle Reiner, the real-life mother of the film's director Rob Reiner) reacts by informing the waiter, "I'll have what she's having," it was the comedic and feminist equivalent of a one-two punch—delivered fourteen years before Fey would tip her hat to Colonel Angus. Subsequently, Ephron became a rare triple-hyphenate in male-dominated Hollywood by writing, directing, and producing _You've Got Mail_ (1998) and _Julie & Julia_ (2009), a feat outmatched only by the hilarity and humanity she displayed in her crackling-with-life personal essays. After a thirty-year break from the essay-writing genre, she published two best-selling essay collections cataloging her life in the City. At the 2015 premiere of _Everything Is Copy_ , a documentary about Ephron that her son, Jacob Bernstein, began making after her death in 2012, Bernstein observed why comedy plays such an important role in human life—and in the life of the City. Comedy, he said, "exists at the intersection of bravery and ruthlessness." # ACKNOWLEDGMENTS A wide array of scholars, journalists, researchers, friends, and even strangers suggested women to be considered for this volume. Their ideas were inspiring and, in many cases, incorporated into the book. All errors of fact or judgment are mine alone. I am especially grateful to those who provided interviews about their areas of expertise or helped in tracking down the right sources, including Liz Abzug, Tyler Anbinder, Michael Arena, Charlie Bagli, Simeon Bankoff, Chris Bartlett, Peter Blauner, Beth Broome, Lucille Burrascano, Laurie Fendrich, Andrew Friedman, Sr. Catherine Garry, Todd Gitlin, David Gonzalez, Penelope Green, William Grimes, Daniel Hertzberg, Tonya Hopkins, Charles Kaiser, Dorothy Kallins, Jerome Kohn, Ronald A. Kurtz, Beth Lebowitz, John Leland, Barry Lewis, Dr. Elizabeth Lorde-Rollins, Elaine Louie, Geoffrey Mark, Sylvia Martinez, Laurence Maslon, Cathleen McGuigan, Randolph Michael McLaughlin, Paul Moakley, Julia Moskin, Hank O'Neal, Matthew Payne, Dr. Wilhelmina Perry, Peter Plagens, Robin Pogrebin, Barbara Raab, Diane Ravitch, David Rieff, Melissa Rivers, Ozzie Rodriguez, Jody Rosen, Fran Morris Rosman, Dan Saltzstein, Izzy Sanabria, Arthur Schwartz, Kim Severson, Todd Simmons, Arthur Sulzberger, Jr., Kay Tobin Lahusen, Mike Wallace, Jamie Wellford, Jan Whitaker, Jonathan Zimmerman, Curtis Zunigha, and Tracy Zwick. Several friends and loved ones, including Jerry Adler, Joni Dwyer, Stefania Geraci, Barbara Kantrowitz, Mariah LeBlanc, Linda Ryan, Robert Sands, Sima Saran, Andrea Sluchan, Peg Tyre, and Leslee Vichengrad, provided immeasurable kindness and support. Peter J. Scelfo, a lifelong New York-ophile, provided inspiration, and C. Michele Simon generously helped with several weeks of childcare. I would especially like to thank Louise Mirrer, President of the New-York Historical Society, who assured me that no single book or exhibit could ever tell the whole story, and former NYHS president Kenneth T. Jackson, who first exposed me to the City's many stirring histories in his Columbia University classroom twenty years ago. I am also thankful for the reference librarians (and Maureen Maryanski in particular) at the NYHS library, the Brooklyn Public Library, and the New York Public Library, which remain among the City's most important institutions. The book would not have been possible without Susan Szeliga and Anna Bernstein, intrepid researchers who tracked down endless books and documents and frequently shared their own astute observations. Thank you. Cindy Rosenthal, a lifelong New Yorker, generously collected and organized the names of more than two hundred other influential women. After an exhausting search trying to prove the negative existence of Hell-Cat Maggie, Luc Sante generously acknowledged that in the years since publishing _Low Life: Lures and Snares of Old New York_ , he has come to believe that she (and other characters) did not exist as described by Herbert Asbury in 1928. I am deeply indebted to Laura Mazer, one of the finest editors of her generation, not only for envisioning this book and entrusting me to write it, but for taking the time many years ago to share words of wisdom with a green reporter who really needed them. And to my husband, who, many years ago in a Park Slope kitchen, looked directly into my eyes and lovingly told me what I most needed to hear. # ABOUT THE AUTHOR JULIE SCELFO is a frequent contributor to _The New York Times_ , where her stories about how we live routinely appear on the _Times_ 's most e-mailed list. Prior to joining the _Times_ in 2007, Scelfo was a Correspondent at _Newsweek_ , where she covered breaking news and wrote about society and human behavior. She covered the events of September 11, 2001, live from lower Manhattan, then reported extensively on the attack's environmental and emotional aftermath. Scelfo lives with her family in New York City, where she rides a push-scooter to ease travel back and forth between neighborhoods. She is a member of PEN America, a supporter of Narrative 4, and believes radical empathy is where it's at. More information about her work can be found at www.juliescelfo.com. # ADVANCE PRAISE FOR _THE WOMEN WHO MADE NEW YORK_ "Julie Scelfo has produced a must-read for anyone who loves New York, filling every page with fresh stories and great details about the fascinating and important women we all should know, but don't. Now I'm no longer embarrassed by my ignorance of the REAL history of the city. This book filled that huge gap." —JONATHAN ALTER, _New York Times_ bestselling author of _The Center Holds: Obama and His Enemies_ "What would NYC be without women? In this glittering volume, Julie Scelfo provides the indisputable answer: not much. These women are my muses." —ZAC POSEN, fashion designer "Julie Scelfo's astonishing collection of fabulously fearless females reminds us that New York City has always been a magnet for taboo-busting, rule-breaking women." —SIMON DOONAN, author of _The Asylum: True Tales of Madness from a Life in Fashion_ and creative ambassador for Barneys New York "Finally—in Julie Scelfo's brilliant collection of portraits and vignettes, the Town Mothers of NYC loom as large as the Town Fathers, often towering over them. Edith Wharton, Margaret Sanger, Billie Holiday, Diana Vreeland, Zora Neale Hurston, and so many more. This is a book that you'll want to keep on your shelf and pass along to the next generation." —TERESA CARPENTER, Pulitzer Prize–winner and bestselling author of _New York Diaries 1609–2009_ "After centuries of women's work being written out of history, _The Women Who Made New York_ gracefully and passionately rewrites that wrong. For anyone who loves this city or any city at all, this book is both a public service and a pleasure." —IRIN CARMON, _New York Times_ bestselling co-author of _The Notorious RBG: The Life and Times of Ruth Bader Ginsburg_ "What an inventive and important book! And long overdue. Ms. Scelfo has produced a history of New York City which we've never read, filled with insightful portraits of the women who influenced all facets of our city. Page after page is filled with a thrilling sense of discovery, as you realize the extent of contributors who have remained unheralded. This book is the definition of a must-read!" —NANCY BASS WYDEN, co-owner of the Strand Bookstore, New York City "A welcome antidote to male-centered history, _The Women Who Made New York_ should be taught in every New York high school. I long for the day when books like this become unnecessary." —DAVID BYRNE, award-winning composer, songwriter, singer, and author, best known for being the frontman of the Talking Heads "These women were the original prizefighters—the trailblazers and visionaries who built the best city in the world. If you want to keep believing that New York was made by only men... well, don't read this book." —JESSICA BENNETT, _New York Times_ columnist and author of _Feminist Fight Club_ "Finally finally finally: the mighty women whose formidable ghosts still walk the streets of New York get their due. A rollicking and necessary book." —VIRGINIA HEFFERNAN, _New York Times Magazine_ contributor and author of _Magic and Loss: The Internet as Art_ "How can we begin to contemplate New York's history without including the women who helped build it? Julie Scelfo makes clear that without the contributions of some famous and not-so-famous women, the city would not exist as we know it. Taken together, these brief biographies reveal a dynamism and diversity as rich as New York City itself." —VALERIE PALEY, Chief Historian and Director of the Center for Women's History at the New-York Historical Society # SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY Abbott, Berenice. _Berenice Abbott, Photographer: A Modern Vision_. New York: New York Public Library, 1989. Abbott, Karen. "The House that Polly Adler Built," _Smithsonian.com_ , April 12, 2012, Accessed July 2, 2016, http://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/the-house-that-polly-adler-built-65080310. 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For more about Hallie Heald and her work, please visit hehdesignsny.com. # INDEX OF NAMES Page numbers in _italics_ refer to illustrations A Abbott, Berenice, , 174–176 Abbott, Karen, Abzug, Bella, 224–226 Adams, Eve, , Adler, Polly, 114–115 Almontaser, Debbie, 308–309 Alt, Carol, Anderson, Elizabeth Milbank, 89–91 Anderson, Laurie, 249–251 Anderson, Marian, Anthony, Susan B., 41–42, , Apfel, Iris, , __ Arbus, Diane, 241–243 Arbus, Doon, Arendt, Hannah, 253–255 Astor, Brooke, , __ , B Bacall, Lauren, , Baker, Ella, 69–70, __ , 72–73, Baker, Sara Josephine, , , Balducci, Maria, 279–280 Ball, Lucille, Bardot, Brigitte, Basinger, Kim, Bastianich, Lidia, Beauvoir, Simone de, Bethune, Johanna, Beyoncé, Blackwell, Elizabeth, 21–22, Bly, Nellie, 59–60 Bourgeois, Louise, 177–178 Boyd, Valerie, Brice, Fanny, , 317–318 Brinkley, Christie, Brodesser-Akner, Taffy, Brown, Helen Gurley, Brown, Trisha, Burden, Amanda M., 37–39 C Cabrini, Saint Frances Xavier, 27–28 Calhoun, Ada, Campbell, Mary Schmidt, Carbine, Patricia, Carpenter, Karen, Chan, Agnes, , Chisholm, Shirley, 221–222, __ , Claflin, Tennessee, Clinton, Hillary Rodham, Comden, Betty, 159–161 Corbin, Margaret, 17–19 Crawford, Cindy, Cruz, Celia, D Daly, Mary, Dean, Lillian Harris, Deutsch, Sylvia, Didion, Joan, 194–196 Doria, Grace Balducci, Dr. Ruth (Ruth Westheimer), Dratch, Rachel, Dryfoos, Susan W., Dunham, Lena, EF Elliott, Missy, Ephron, Nora, , 322–323 Fairstein, Linda, 149–151 Farrow, Mia, Federman, Anne Russ, Federman, Niki Russ, Ferguson, Catherine "Katy," 209–210 Ferraro, Geraldine A., 226–227 Fey, Tina, , __ , 321–322 Field, Patricia, 169–171 Fitzgerald, Ella, 183–184 Fonda, Jane, Ford, Eileen, 101–102, __ , Forti, Simone, Frederick, Christine, 99–101 Fürstenberg, Diane von, , Futter, Ellen V., G Gilmartin, MaryAnne, Ginsburg, Ruth Bader, Gittings, Barbara, 51–53 Givens, Robin, Gold, Hattie Russ, Gold, Rozanne, Goldin, Nan, Goldman, Emma, , Graham, Isabella, Graham, Martha, 239–241 Grant, Jane, 117–118, __ , Green, Hetty, , __ , __ Greene, Gael, 291–293 Guinan, Mary Louise Cecilia "Texas," 269–270, H Hale, Clara, 28–29 Hale, Ruth, Hall, Radclyffe, Hamilton, Elizabeth, Hamilton, Gabrielle, Harriman, Mary, Harry, Debbie, , 188–189 Holiday, Billie, , 130–131, Hopkins, Karen Brooks, 314–315 Hughes, Dorothy Pitman, Hunter, Rachel, Hurston, Zora Neale, 127–130 Hutton, Lauren, , Huxtable, Ada Louise, , IJ Irwin, Elisabeth, 218–219 Jackson, Janet, Jacobs, Jane, 229–230, Jamison, Judith, Jones, Grace, , __ , Jumel, Eliza, K Kafka, Barbara, Kahlo, Frida, Kahn, Barbara, Kaling, Mindy, Kalins, Dorothy, Kaufman, Elaine, , __ , Kennedy, Florynce "Flo," Kennedy, Jacqueline see Onassis, Jacqueline Kennedy Kline, Elizabeth, Kochiyama, Yuri, L La Lupe, 184–185, __ , Lambert, Eleanor, 167–168 Lane, Diane, Lauper, Cyndi, Lazarus, Emma, 55–57 Lebowitz, Fran, 205–207 Lederer, Elizabeth, Leone, Luisa, 284–285 Levin, Jennifer, Lewinsky, Monica, Lewis, Edna, 285–286 Lorde, Audre, 47–48, __ , 50–51 Lyon, Phyllis, Lyons, Sophie Levy, 136–138 M Madonna, Mallon, Mary (Typhoid Mary), Mandelbaum, Fredericka "Marm," 135–136 Martin, Del, Martinez, Zarela, Mathur, Jennifer, Mead, Margaret, Meière, Hildreth, 173–174 Merman, Ethel, 158–159 Meyer, Annie Nathan, Midler, Bette, 264–267 Mishan, Ligaya, Mitchell, Lucy Sprague, 217–218 Monk, Meredith, Moody, Deborah, 13–15 Morgan, Robin, Murray, Catharine Bowne, 210–212 Myles, Eileen, Mysorekar, Uma, __ , 307–308 N Naylor, Gloria, Nevelson, Louise, 176–177 Nickerson, Natalie, Nin, Anaïs, Northup, Anne, O O'Keeffe, Georgia, , Onassis, Jacqueline Kennedy, 233–234, __ Ono, Yoko, , __ , 180–181 P Paley, Babe, Palin, Sarah, Pantoja, Antonia, Parker, Dorothy, , , __ , , Parker, Sarah Jessica, Parks, Rosa, , Perkins, Frances, 65–69 Peters, Bernadette, , , Ping, Sister, 141–142 P!nk, Poehler, Amy, Pogrebin, Letty Cottin, , , Pratt, Caroline, 214–217 QR Quindlen, Anna, Radner, Gilda, 318–319 Ravitch, Diane, Redgrave, Vanessa, Reichl, Ruth, 293–294 Reiner, Estelle, Rekha, DJ, Richman, Julia, 213–214 Rios, Marlith, Rivers, Joan, 262–264 Rivers, Melissa, Robinson, Phoebe, Robinson, Sylvia, 189–190 Rockefeller, Abby Aldrich, 83–84 Roebling, Emily Warren, , , __ , Rogers, Elizabeth Barlow, 236–237 Roosevelt, Eleanor, , , 93–97, Rumsey, Mary Harriman, Russ, Niki, Ryan, Meg, S Sadik-Khan, Janette, Sanger, Margaret, 44–47 Sapphire, Sarko, Anita, Sardi, Jenny, 299–301 Schimmel, Gertrude "Gertie," 148–149 Schneiderman, Rose, , __ , 64–65 Schumer, Amy, Schuyler, Georgina, 56–57 Schwartz, Ida Russ, Selldorf, Annabelle, Shanley, Mary, 145–146, __ Shattuck, Jane, 283–284 Sheraton, Mimi, 289–291 Shpritzer, Felicia, Siebert, Muriel, Sills, Beverly, 311–313 Smith, Liz, 124–125 Smith, Patti, , __ , 247–248 Snyder, Leslie Crocker, Sontag, Susan, , __ , 258–259 Sotomayor, Sonia, St. Clair, Stephanie, 138–141 Stanton, Elizabeth Cady, 41–44 Steinem, Gloria, 73–75, Stewart, Ellen, 243–245, __ Stewart, Lynne, 142–143 Stewart, Shirley, , , Streb, Elizabeth, Streisand, Barbra, , Stritch, Elaine, 261–262, Sui, Anna, 168–169 Sulzberger, Iphigene Ochs, 121–123 Sung, Betty Lee, 303–304 Swift, Taylor, Syme, Rachel, T Taylor, Elizabeth, Tharp, Twyla, , Thomas, Marlo, , Tighe, Mary Ann, 36–37 Trow, Ann (Madame Restell), Troyano, Ela, Tsien, Billie, Tubman, Harriet, , Tucker, Sophie, Turlington, Christy, VW Vreeland, Diana, 163–164 Wald, Lillian, 33–36, Walker, A'lelia, , __ , Walker, Madam C.J., , Walters, Barbara, 123–124, Waters, Ethel, 155–157 Weisberger, Lauren, Wells Lawrence, Mary, , 105–107 West, Mae, , __ , , , Wharton, Edith, Whelan, Christine Sahadi, 280–281 White, Mary Jo, 151–153 Whitney, Gertrude Vanderbilt, 84–85 Wiig, Kristen, Williams, Dell, Winfrey, Oprah, Winslet, Kate, Wintour, Anna, 164–165 Woodhull, Victoria, , 77–78 Woods, Sylvia, 286–287 Z Zabar, Lillian, Zagat, Nina, 294–295 Zeta-Jones, Catherine, Zloczower, Chava, Zylberberg, Régine,	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaBook" }	5,321
\section{Proofs for the Universal Interval-Certified Approximation} \label{app:universal_approx_thm} \begin{lemma}[Monotonicity] The operations $+, -$ are monotone, that is for all $[a_1, b_1], [a_2, b_2], [c_1, d_1], [c_2, d_2] \in \mathcal{B}(R)$ such that $[a_1, b_1] \subseteq [a_2, b_2]$ and $[c_1, d_2] \subseteq [c_2, d_2]$ holds \begin{align} [a_1, b_1] +^\sharp [c_1, d_1] &\subseteq [a_2, d_2] +^\sharp [c_2, d_2] \\ [a_1, b_1] -^\sharp [c_1, d_1] &\subseteq [a_2, d_2] -^\sharp [c_2, d_2] \\ [a_1, b_1] \cdot^\sharp [c_1, d_1] &\subseteq [a_2, d_2] \cdot^\sharp [c_2, d_2]. \\ \end{align} Further the operation $$ and $R$ are monotone, that is for all $[a, b], [c, d] \in \mathcal{B}(R)$ and for all $\lambda \in \mathbb{R}_{\geq 0}$ such that $[a,b]\subseteq[c,d]$ holds \begin{align} \lambda \cdot^\sharp [a, b] &\subseteq \lambda \cdot^\sharp [c,d] \\ R^\sharp([a, b]) &\subseteq R^\sharp([c, d]). \end{align} \end{lemma} \begin{proof} \begin{align} [a_1, b_1] +^\sharp [c_1, d_1] = [a_1 + c_1, b_1 + d_1] &\subseteq [a_2 + c_2, b_2 + d_2] = [a_2, d_2] +^\sharp [c_2, d_2] \\ [a_1, b_1] -^\sharp [c_1, d_1] = [a_1 - d_1, b_1 - c_1] &\subseteq [a_2 - d_2, b_2 - c_2] = [a_2, d_2] -^\sharp [c_2, d_2] \end{align} \begin{align} \lambda \cdot^\sharp [a, b] = [\lambda a, \lambda b] &\subseteq [\lambda c, \lambda d] = [\lambda c, \lambda d] \\ R^\sharp([a, b]) = [R(a), R(b)] &\subseteq [R(c), R(d)] = R^\sharp([c, d]). \end{align} \end{proof} \begin{definition}[$N$-slicing] \label{def:app:const_N_slicing} Let $\Gamma \subset \mathbb{R}^m$ be a compact $m$-dimensional box and let $f \colon \Gamma \to \mathbb{R}$ be continuous. The \emph{$N$-slicing} of $f$ is a set of functions $\{f_k\}_{0 \leq k \leq N-1}$ defined by \begin{equation} f_k \colon \Gamma \to \mathbb{R}, \quad x \mapsto \begin{cases} 0 & \text{if } f(x) \leq \xi_k, \\ f(x) - \xi_k & \text{if } \xi_k < f(x) < \xi_{k+1}, \\ \xi_{k+1} - \xi_k & \text{ otherwise}, \end{cases} \;\; \forall k \in \{0, \dots, N-1\}, \end{equation} where $\xi_k := \frac{k}{N}(\xi_{\max} - \xi_{\min})$, $k \in \{0, \dots, N\}$, $\xi_{\min} := \min f(\Gamma)$ and $\xi_{\max} := \max f(\Gamma)$. \end{definition} \begin{lemma}[$N$-slicing] \label{lem:app:identity_func_N_slicing} Let $\{f_k\}_{0 \leq k \leq N-1}$ be the $N$-slicing of $f$. Then for all $x \in \Gamma$ we have $f(x) := \xi_0 + \sum_{k=0}^{N-1} f_k(x)$. \end{lemma} \begin{proof} Pick $x \in \Gamma$ and let $l \in \{0,\dots,N-1\}$ such that $\xi_l \leq f(x) \leq \xi_{l+1}$. Then \begin{align} \xi_0 + \sum_{k=0}^{N-1} f_k(x) &= \xi_0 + \sum_{k=0}^{l-1} f_k(x) + f_l(x) + \sum_{k=l+1}^{N-1} f_k(x) = \xi_0 + \sum_{k=0}^{l-1} (\xi_{k+1} - \xi_k) + f_l(x) \\ &= \xi_l + f_l(x) = f(x). \end{align} \end{proof} \begin{definition}[clipping] Let $a, b \in \mathbb{R}$, $a < b$. We define the \emph{clipping} function $R_{[, b]} \colon \mathbb{R} \to \mathbb{R}$ by \begin{align} R_{[, b]}(x) &:= b - R(b - x). \end{align} \end{definition} \begin{lemma}[clipping] \label{lem:app:alpha_beta_clipping} The function $R_{[, b]}$ sends all $x \leq b$ to $x$, and all $x > b$ to $b$. Further, $R_{[, b]}^\sharp([a', b']) = [R_{[,b]}(a'), R_{[,b]}(b')]$. \end{lemma} \begin{proof} We show the proof for $R_{[a,b]}$, the proof for $R_{[,b]}$ is similar. \begin{align} x < b & \Rightarrow R_{[,b]}(x) = b - R(b - x) = b - b + x = x \\ x \geq b & \Rightarrow R_{[,b]}(x) = b - R(b - x) = b - 0 = b \end{align} Next, \begin{align} R_{[, b]}^\sharp([a', b']) &= b -^\sharp R^\sharp(b -^\sharp [a', b']) \\ &= b -^\sharp R^\sharp(b +^\sharp [-b', -a']) \\ &= b -^\sharp R^\sharp([b - b', b - a']) \\ &= b -^\sharp [R(b - b'), R(b - a')] \\ &= b +^\sharp [- R(b - a'), - R(b - b')] \\ &= [b - R(b - a'), b - R(b - b')] \\ &= [R_{[, b]}(a'), R_{[, b]}(b')]. \end{align} \end{proof} \begin{definition}[nmin] We define the ReLU network $\text{nmin} \colon \mathbb{R}^2 \to \mathbb{R}$ by \begin{equation} \text{nmin}(x, y) := \frac{1}{2} \begin{pmatrix} 1 & -1 & -1 & -1 \end{pmatrix} R \left( \begin{pmatrix} 1 & 1 \\ -1 & -1 \\ 1 & -1 \\ -1 & 1 \\ \end{pmatrix} \begin{pmatrix} x \\ y \end{pmatrix} \right). \end{equation} \end{definition} \begin{lemma}[nmin]\label{lem:app:nmin} Let $x, y \in \mathbb{R}$, then $\text{nmin}(x,y) = \min(x,y)$. \end{lemma} \begin{proof} Because $\text{nmin}$ is symmetric in its arguments, we assume w.o.l.g. $x \geq y$. \begin{align} \text{nmin}(x, y) &= \frac{1}{2} \begin{pmatrix} 1 & -1 & -1 & -1 \end{pmatrix} R \left( \begin{pmatrix} 1 & 1 \\ -1 & -1 \\ 1 & -1 \\ -1 & 1 \\ \end{pmatrix} \begin{pmatrix} x \\ y \end{pmatrix} \right) \\ &= \frac{1}{2} \begin{pmatrix} 1 & -1 & -1 & -1 \end{pmatrix} R \begin{pmatrix} x + y \\ - x - y \\ x - y \\ - x + y \\ \end{pmatrix} \end{align} If $x + y \geq 0$, then \begin{align} \text{nmin}(x, y) = \frac{1}{2} (x + y - x + y) = y. \end{align} If $x + y < 0$, then \begin{align} \text{nmin}(x, y) = \frac{1}{2} (x + y - x + y) = y. \end{align} \end{proof} \begin{definition}[$\text{nmin}_N$] \label{def:app:nmin} For all $N \in \mathbb{N}_{\geq 1}$, we define a ReLU network $\text{nmin}_N$ defined by \begin{align} \text{nmin}_1(x) &:= x \\ \text{nmin}_N(x_1, \dots, x_N) &:= \text{nmin}(\text{nmin}_{\lceil N/2 \rceil}(x_1, \dots, x_{\lceil N/2 \rceil}), \text{nmin}_{\lceil N/2 \rceil + 1}(x_{\lceil N / 2 \rceil + 1}, \dots, x_N)). \end{align} \end{definition} \begin{lemma} \label{lem:app:min_abstract} Let $[a, b], [c, d] \in \mathcal{B}(\mathbb{R})$. Then $\text{nmin}^\sharp([a, b], [c, d]) = \text{nmin}^\sharp([c, d], [a, b])$ and \begin{equation} \text{nmin}^\sharp([a, b], [c, d]) = \begin{cases} [c + \tfrac{a - b}{2}, d + \tfrac{b - a}{2}] & \text{if } d \leq a \\ [a + \tfrac{c - d}{2}, b + \tfrac{d - c}{2}] & \text{if } a \leq d \text{ and } b < c \\ [a + c - \tfrac{b + d}{2}, \tfrac{b + d}{2}] & \text{if } a \leq d \text{ and } b \geq c \end{cases} \end{equation} \end{lemma} \begin{proof} The symmetry on abstract elements is immediate. In the following, we omit some of $\sharp$ to improve readability. \begin{align} \text{nmin}^\sharp([a, b], [c, d]) &= \frac{1}{2} \begin{pmatrix} 1 & -1 & -1 & -1 \end{pmatrix} R^\sharp \left( \begin{pmatrix} 1 & 1 \\ -1 & -1 \\ 1 & -1 \\ -1 & 1 \end{pmatrix} \begin{pmatrix} [a, b] \\ [c, d] \end{pmatrix} \right) \\ &= \frac{1}{2} \begin{pmatrix} 1 & -1 & -1 & -1 \end{pmatrix} R^\sharp \left( \begin{pmatrix} [a, b] + [c, d] \\ -[a, b] -[c, d] \\ [a, b] -[c, d] \\ -[a, b] + [c, d] \end{pmatrix} \right) \\ &= \frac{1}{2} \begin{pmatrix} 1 & -1 & -1 & -1 \end{pmatrix} R^\sharp \left( \begin{pmatrix} [a + c, b + d] \\ [- b - d , - a - c] \\ [a - d , b - c] \\ [c - b, d - a] \end{pmatrix} \right) \\ &= \frac{1}{2} \begin{pmatrix} 1 & -1 & -1 & -1 \end{pmatrix} \begin{pmatrix} [R(a + c), R(b + d)] \\ [R(- b - d), R(- a - c)] \\ [R(a - d), R(b - c)] \\ [R(c - b), R(d - a)] \end{pmatrix} \\ &= \frac{1}{2} ( [R(a + c), R(b + d)] - [R(- b - d), R(- a - c)] \\ & \quad - [R(a - d), R(b - c)] - [R(c - b), R(d - a)] ) \\ &= \frac{1}{2} ( [R(a + c), R(b + d)] + [- R(- a - c), - R(- b - d)] \\ & \quad + [- R(b - c), - R(a - d)] + [- R(d - a), - R(c - b)] ) \\ &= \frac{1}{2} ( [R(a + c) - R(- a - c), R(b + d) - R(- b - d)] \\ & \quad + [- R(b - c) - R(d - a), - R(a - d) - R(c - b)] ) \end{align} Claim: $R(a + c) - R(- a - c) = a + c$. If $a + c > 0$ then $- a - c < 0$ thus the claim in this case. Indeed: If $a + c \leq 0$ then $ - a - c \geq 0$ thus $R(a + c) - R(- a - c) = - R(- a - c) = -(-a -c) = a + c$. Similarly $R(b + d) - R(- b - d) = b + d$. So the expression simplifies to \begin{align} \text{nmin}^\sharp([a, b], [c, d]) &= \frac{1}{2} ( [a + c, b + d] + [- R(b - c) - R(d - a), - R(a - d) - R(c - b)] ) \end{align} We proceed by case distinction: Case 1: $b - c \leq 0$: Then $a \leq b \leq c \leq d$: \begin{align} \text{nmin}^\sharp([a, b], [c, d]) &= \frac{1}{2} ( [a + c, b + d] + [a - d, b - c] ) \\ &= \frac{1}{2} ( [a + c + a - d, b + d + b - c] ) \\ &= [a + \tfrac{c - d}{2}, b + \tfrac{d - c}{2}] \end{align} Case 2: $a - d \geq 0$: Then $c \leq d \leq a \leq b$. By symmetry of $\text{nmin}$ equivalent to Case 1. Hence \begin{align} \text{nmin}^\sharp([a, b], [c, d]) &= [c + \tfrac{a - b}{2}, d + \tfrac{b - a}{2}]. \end{align} Case 3: $a - d < 0$ and $b - c > 0$: \begin{align} \text{nmin}^\sharp([a, b], [c, d]) &= \frac{1}{2} ( [a + c, b + d] + [c - b - d + a, 0] ) \\ &= \frac{1}{2} ( [a + c + c - b - d + a, b + d] ) \\ &= [a + c - \tfrac{b+d}{2}, \tfrac{b+d}{2}] \end{align} Thus we have \begin{equation} \text{nmin}^\sharp([a, b], [c, d]) = \begin{cases} [a + \tfrac{c - d}{2}, b + \tfrac{d - c}{2}] & \text{if } b \leq c \\ [c + \tfrac{a - b}{2}, d + \tfrac{b - a}{2}] & \text{if } d \leq a \\ [a + c - \tfrac{b + d}{2}, \tfrac{b + d}{2}] & \text{if } a < d \text{ and } b > c \end{cases} \end{equation} \end{proof} \begin{definition}[neighboring grid points] Let $G$ be as above. We define the set of \emph{neighboring grid points} of $x \in \Gamma$ by \begin{equation} \mathcal{N}(x) := \{g \in G \mid g \in \|\|x - g\|\| \leq \tfrac{1}{M}\} \setminus \{x\}. \end{equation} For $U \subset \mathbb{R}^m$, we define $\mathcal{N}(U) := \{ \mathcal{N}(x) \mid x \in U \} \setminus U$. \end{definition} \begin{definition}[local bump] \label{def:app:local_bump} Let $M \in \mathbb{N}$, $G := (\frac{\mathbb{Z}}{M})^m$, $\ell = 2^{\lceil \log_2 2m \rceil+1}$ and let $c = \{\tfrac{i_1^l}{M}, \tfrac{i_1^u}{M}\} \times \cdots \times \{\tfrac{i_m^l}{M}, \tfrac{i_m^u}{M}\} \subseteq G$. We define a ReLU neural network $\phi_c \colon \mathbb{R}^m \to [0, 1]$ w.r.t. the grid $G$ by \begin{equation} \phi_c(x) := R \left(\text{nmin}_{2m} \bigcup_{1 \leq k \leq m} \left\{ R_{[,1]}(M \ell (x_k - \tfrac{i_k^l}{M}) + 1), R_{[,1]}(M \ell (\tfrac{i_k^u}{M} - x_k) + 1) \right\} \right) \end{equation} \end{definition} \begin{lemma} \label{lem:app:local_bump} It holds: \begin{equation} \phi_c(x) := \begin{cases} 0 & \text{if } x \notin \text{conv}(\mathcal{N}(c)) \\ 1 & \text{if } x \in \text{conv}(c) \\ \min \left( 0, \bigcup_{k=1}^m \{ M \ell (x_k - \tfrac{i_k^l}{M}) + 1 \} \cup \{ M \ell (\tfrac{i_k^u}{M} - x_k) + 1 \} \right) & \text{otherwise}. \end{cases} \end{equation} \end{lemma} \begin{proof} By case distinction: \begin{itemize} \item Case $x \notin \mathcal{N}(c)$. Then there exists $k$, such that either $x_k < \tfrac{i_k^l-1}{M}$ or $x_k > \tfrac{i_k^u+1}{M}$. Then $M \ell (x_k - \tfrac{i_k^l}{M}) + 1$ or $M \ell (\tfrac{i_k^u}{M} - x_k) + 1$ is less or equal to 0. Hence \begin{equation} \phi_c(x) = 0. \end{equation} \item Case $x \in \text{conv}(c)$. Then for all $k$ holds $\tfrac{i_k^l}{M} \leq x_k \leq \tfrac{i_k^u}{M}$. Thus $M \ell (x_k - \tfrac{i_k^l}{M}) + 1 \geq 1$ and $M \ell (\tfrac{i_k^u}{M} - x_k) + 1 \geq 1$ for all k Hence \begin{equation} \phi_c(x) = 1. \end{equation} where $\alpha \geq 1$. \item Case otherwise: For all $x$ exists a $k$ such that $ M \ell (x_k - \tfrac{i_k^l}{M}) + 1$ or $M \ell (\tfrac{i_k^u}{M} - x_k) + 1$ is smaller or equal to all other arguments of the function $\min$ and smaller or equal to $1$. If the smallest element is smaller than 0, then $\phi_c(x)$ will evaluate to 0, otherwise it will evaluate to $ M \ell (x_k - \tfrac{i_k^l}{M}) + 1$ or $M \ell (\tfrac{i_k^u}{M} - x_k) + 1$. Thus we can just drop $R$ and $R_{[,1]}$ from the equations and take the minimum also over 0: \begin{align} \phi_c(x) &= R \left(\min \bigcup_{k=1}^m \left\{ R_{[,1]}(M \ell (x_k - \tfrac{i_k^l}{M}) + 1), R_{[,1]}(M \ell (\tfrac{i_k^u}{M} - x_k) + 1) \right\} \right) \\ &= \min \left(0, \bigcup_{k=1}^m \{ (M \ell (x_k - \tfrac{i_k^l}{M}) + 1) \} \cup \{ (M \ell (\tfrac{i_k^u}{M} - x_k) + 1) \} \right) \\ &= \min \bigcup_{k=0}^m \{M \ell (x_k - \tfrac{i_k^l}{M}) + 1\} \cup \{M \ell (\tfrac{i_k^u}{M} - x_k) + 1 \} \end{align} \end{itemize} \end{proof} \begin{lemma} Let $[u_1, 1], \dots, [u_{N}, 1]$ be abstract elements of the Interval Domain $\mathcal{B}$. Then \begin{equation} \text{nmin}^\sharp_{N}([u_1, 1], \dots, [u_N, 1]) = [u_1 + \cdots u_N + 1 - N, 1]. \end{equation} \end{lemma} \begin{proof} By induction. Base case: Let $N = 1$. Then $\text{nmin}_1^\sharp([u_1, 1]) = [u_1, 1]$. Let $N = 2$. Then $\text{nmin}_2^\sharp([u_1, 1], [u_2, 1]) = [u_1 + u_2 - 1, 1]$. Induction hypothesis: The property holds for $N'$ s.t. $0 < N' \leq N-1$. Induction step: Then it also holds for $N$: \begin{align} \text{nmin}^\sharp_{N}([u_1, 1], \dots, [u_N, 1]) &= \text{nmin}^\sharp( \text{nmin}^\sharp_{\lceil N/2 \rceil}([u_1, 1], \dots, [u_{\lceil N/2 \rceil}, 1]), \\ &\qquad \text{nmin}^\sharp_{N - \lceil N/2 \rceil}([u_{\lceil N/2 \rceil +1}, 1], \dots, [u_N, 1])) \\ &= \text{nmin}^\sharp( [u_1 + \cdots + u_{\lceil N/2 \rceil} + 1 - \lceil N/2 \rceil, 1], \\ &\qquad [u_{\lceil N/2 \rceil +1} + \cdots u_N + 1 - N + \lceil N/2 \rceil, 1] ) \\ &\overset{\cref{lem:app:min_abstract}}{=} [u_1 + \cdots + u_N + 2 - \lceil N/2 \rceil - N + \lceil N/2 \rceil - 1, 1] \\ &= [u_1 + \cdots + u_N + 1 - N, 1] \end{align} \end{proof} \begin{lemma} \label{lem:app:min_abstract_minimal_elem} Let $[a, b], [u, 1] \in \mathcal{B}(\mathbb{R}_{\leq 1})$. Then \begin{equation} \text{nmin}^\sharp([a, b], [u, 1]) \subseteq [a + \tfrac{u - 1}{2}, \tfrac{b + 1}{2}] \end{equation} \end{lemma} \begin{proof} \begin{align} \text{nmin}^\sharp([a, b], [u, 1]) &= \begin{cases} [a + \tfrac{u - 1}{2}, b + \tfrac{1 - u}{2}] &\text{if } b \leq u \\ [a + u - \tfrac{b + 1}{2}, \tfrac{b + 1}{2}] &\text{if } b \geq u \end{cases} \end{align} If $b \leq u$ then $b + \tfrac{1-u}{2} \leq b + \tfrac{1 - b}{2} = \tfrac{b+1}{2}$. If $u \leq b$ then $a + u - \tfrac{b + 1}{2} \geq a + u - \tfrac{u+1}{2} = a + \tfrac{u-1}{2}$. So \begin{equation} \text{nmin}^\sharp([a, b], [u, 1]) \subseteq [a + \tfrac{u - 1}{2}, \tfrac{b + 1}{2}]. \end{equation} \end{proof} \begin{lemma} \label{lem:app:min_estimate} Let $N \in \mathbb{N}_{\geq 2}$, let $[u_1, 1], \dots, [u_{N-1}, 1], [u_N, d] \in \mathcal{B}(\mathbb{R})$ s.t. $b \leq 1$ be abstract elements of the Interval Domain $\mathcal{B}$. Furthermore, let $H(x) := \tfrac{1+x}{2}$. Then there exists a $u \in \mathbb{R}$ s.t. \begin{equation} \text{nmin}^\sharp_{N}([u_1, 1], \dots, [u_{N-1}, 1], [u_N, d]) \subseteq [u, H^{\lceil \log_2 N \rceil + 1}(d)] \end{equation} \end{lemma} \begin{proof} By induction: Let $N = 2$: \begin{equation} \text{nmin}^\sharp_2([u_1, 1], [u_2, d]) \overset{\cref{lem:app:min_abstract_minimal_elem}}{=} [a + \tfrac{u_1 - 1}{2}, H(d)] \end{equation} Let $N = 3$: \begin{align} \text{nmin}^\sharp_3([u_1, 1], [u_2, 1], [u_3, d]) &= \text{nmin}^\sharp(\text{nmin}^\sharp([u_1, 1], [u_2, 1]), [u_3, d]) \\ &= \text{nmin}^\sharp([u_1 + u_2 - 1, 1], [u_3, d]) \\ &\subseteq [u_3 + \tfrac{u_1 + u_2 - 2}{2}, H(d)] \\ % \text{nmin}^\sharp_3([u_1, 1], [a, b], [u_2, 1]) &= \text{nmin}^\sharp_3([u_3, d], [u_1, 1], [u_2, 1]) \\ &= \text{nmin}^\sharp(\text{nmin}^\sharp([u_3, d], [u_1, 1]), [u_2, 1]) \\ &= \text{nmin}^\sharp([u_3 + \tfrac{u_1 - 1}{2}, H(d)], [u_2, 1]) \\ &\subseteq [u_3 + \tfrac{u_1 + u_2 - 2}{2}, H^2(d)] \end{align} So $\text{nmin}^\sharp_3([u_3, d], [u_1, 1], [u_2, 1])$ is always included in $[u_3 + \tfrac{u_1 + u_2 - 2}{2}, H^2(d)]$. Induction hypothesis: The statement holds for all $2 \leq N' \leq N-1$. Induction step: Then the property holds also for $N$: \begin{align} \text{nmin}^\sharp_{N}([u_N, d], [u_1, 1], \dots, [u_{N-1}, 1]) &= \text{nmin}^\sharp( \text{nmin}^\sharp_{\lceil N/2 \rceil}([u_N, d], [u_1, 1], \dots, [u_{\lceil N/2 \rceil -1}, 1]), \\ & \quad \text{nmin}^\sharp_{N - \lceil N/2 \rceil}([u_{\lceil N/2 \rceil}, 1], \dots, [u_{N-1}, 1])) \\ &= \text{nmin}^\sharp( [u', H^{\lceil \log_2 \lceil N/2 \rceil \rceil + 1}(d)], [u'', 1] ) \\ & \subseteq \text{nmin}^\sharp( [u', H^{\lceil \log_2 N/2 \rceil + 1}(d)], [u'', 1] ) \\ &= \text{nmin}^\sharp( [u', H^{\lceil \log_2 N - \log_2(2) \rceil + 1}(d)], [u'', 1] ) \\ &= \text{nmin}^\sharp( [u', H^{\lceil \log_2 N - 1 \rceil + 1}(d)], [u'', 1] ) \\ &= \text{nmin}^\sharp( [u', H^{\lceil \log_2 N \rceil}(d)], [u'', 1] ) \\ &= [u''', H^{\lceil \log_2 N \rceil + 1}(d)] \end{align} and similarly for other orderings of the arguments. \end{proof} \begin{lemma} \label{lem:app:H_identity} Let $H(x) := \tfrac{1 + x}{2}$. For all $N \in \mathbb{N}_{>0}$, we have that $d \leq 1 - 2^N$ implies $H^{N}(d) \leq 0$. \end{lemma} \begin{proof} By induction. $N = 1$: Then $H(1 - 2) = \tfrac{1 + 1 - 2}{2} = 0$ Induction hypothesis. The statement holds for all $N'$ such that $0 < N' \leq N$. Induction step: $N+1$: $d \leq 1 - 2^N$: \begin{align} H^{N+1}(d) \leq H^{N+1}(1 - 2^{N+1}) = H^N(H(1-2^{N+1})) = H^N(\tfrac{1 + 1 - 2^{N+1}}{2}) = H^N(1 - 2^N) \leq 0 \end{align} \end{proof} \begin{lemma} \label{lem:app:local_bump_abstract} For all boxes $B \in \mathcal{B}(\mathbb{\mathbb{R}^m})$, we have \begin{equation} \phi_c^\sharp(B) = \begin{cases} [1, 1] &\text{if } B \subseteq \text{conv}(c) \\ [0, 0] &\text{if } B \subseteq \Gamma \setminus \text{conv}(\mathcal{N}(c)) \end{cases} \end{equation} Furthermore, $\phi_c^\sharp(B) \subseteq [0,1]$. \end{lemma} \begin{proof} Let $\phi_c$ be a local bump and let $B = [a, b] \in \mathcal{B}(\mathbb{R}^m)$. Let $[r_k^1, s_k^1], [r_k^2, s_k^2] \in \mathcal{B}(\mathbb{R})$ such that $M \ell ([a_k, b_k] - \tfrac{i_k^l}{M}) + 1 = [r_k^1, s_k^1]$ and $M \ell (\tfrac{i_k^u}{M} - [a_k, b_k]) + 1 = [r_k^2, s_k^2]$. \begin{itemize} \item If $[a, b] \subseteq \text{conv}(c)$: Then $1 \leq r_k^1$ and $1 \leq r_k^2$ for all $k \in \{1,\dots,m\}$. Thus \begin{align} \phi^\sharp_c([a, b]) &= R^\sharp(\text{nmin}^\sharp_{2m} \{R^\sharp_{[,1]}([r_k^p, s_k^p])\}_{(p, k) \in \{1, 2\} \times \{1, \dots, m\}} ) \\ &= R^\sharp(\text{nmin}^\sharp_{2m} \{[1, 1] \}_{(p, k) \in \{1, 2\} \times \{1, \dots, m\}}) \\ &= [1, 1] \end{align} \item If $[a, b] \subseteq \Gamma \setminus \text{conv}(\mathcal{N}(c))$: Then there exists a $(p', k') \in \{1, 2\} \times \{1, \dots, m\}$ such that $s_{k'}^{p'} \leq 1 - 2^{\lceil \log_2 N \rceil + 1}$. Using \cref{lem:app:H_identity} and \cref{lem:app:min_estimate}, we now that there exists a $u \in \mathbb{R}$ s.t. \begin{align} \phi^\sharp_c([a, b]) &= R^\sharp(\text{nmin}^\sharp_{2m} \{R_{[,1]}^\sharp([r_k^p, s_k^p]) \}_{(p, k) \in \{1, 2\} \times \{1, \dots, m\}}) \\ &= R^\sharp(\text{nmin}^\sharp_{2m} \{[R_{[,1]}(r_k^p), R_{[,1]}(s_k^p)] \}_{(p, k) \in \{1, 2\} \times \{1, \dots, m\}}) \\ &\subseteq R^\sharp(\text{nmin}^\sharp_{2m} \{[R_{[,1]}(r_k^p), 1] \}_{(p, k) \neq (p', k')} \cup \{ [r^{p'}_{k'}, s^{p'}_{k'}] \}) \\ &\subseteq R^\sharp([u, 0]) \\ &= [0, 0] \end{align} \end{itemize} For any $[a, b] \in \mathcal{B}(\Gamma)$ we have $\phi_c^\sharp([a, b]) \subseteq [0,1]$ by construction. \end{proof} \begin{lemma} \label{lem:app:Rn_slice} Let $\Gamma \subset \mathbb{R}^m$ be a closed box and let $f \colon \Gamma \to \mathbb{R}$ be continuous. % For all $\delta > 0$ exists a set of ReLU networks $\{n_k\}_{0 \leq k \leq N-1}$ of size $N \in \mathbb{N}$ approximating the $N$-slicing of $f$, $\{f_k\}_{0 \leq k \leq N-1}$ ($\xi_k$ as in \cref{def:app:const_N_slicing}) such that for all boxes $B \in \mathcal{B}(\Gamma)$ \begin{equation} n_k^\sharp(B) = \begin{cases} [0, 0] &\text{if } f(B) \leq \xi_k - \tfrac{\delta}{2} \\ [1, 1] &\text{if } f(B) \geq \xi_{k+1} + \tfrac{\delta}{2}. \end{cases} \end{equation} and $n_k^\sharp(B) \subseteq [0, 1]$. \end{lemma} \begin{proof} Let $N \in \mathbb{N}$ such that $N \geq 2 \tfrac{\xi_{\max} - \xi_{\min}}{\delta}$ where $\xi_{\min} := \min f(\Gamma)$ and $\xi_{\max} := \max f(\Gamma)$. % For simplicity we assume $\Gamma = [0,1]^m$. Using the Heine-Cantor theorem, we get that $f$ is uniformly continuous, thus there exists a $\delta' > 0$ such that $\forall x, y \in \Gamma . \|\|y-x\|\|_\infty < \delta' \Rightarrow \|\|f(y) - f(x)\|\| < \tfrac{\delta}{2}$. % Further, let $M \in \mathbb{N}$ such that $M \geq \tfrac{1}{\delta'}$ and let $G$ be the grid defined by $G := (\tfrac{\mathbb{Z}}{M})^m \subseteq \mathbb{R}^m$. Let $C(B)$ be the set of corner points of the closest hyperrectangle in $G$ confining $B \in \mathcal{B}(\Gamma)$. We construct the set \begin{equation} \Delta_{k} := \{C(B) \mid B \in \mathcal{B}(\Gamma) : f(B) \geq \xi_{k+1} + \tfrac{\delta}{2}\}. \end{equation} We claim that $\{n_k\}_{0 \leq k \leq N-1}$ defined by \begin{equation} n_k(x) := R_{[,1]} \left( \sum_{c \in \Delta_{k}} \phi_c(x) \right) \end{equation} satisfies the condition. Case 1: Let $B \in \mathcal{B}(\Gamma)$ such that $f(B) \geq \xi_{k+1} + \tfrac{\delta}{2}$. Then for all $g \in \mathcal{N}(B)$ holds $f_k(g) = \delta_2$. By construction exists a $c' \in \Delta_{k}$ such that $B \subseteq \text{conv}(c')$. Using \cref{lem:local_bump_abstract} we get \begin{align} n_k^\sharp(B) &= R_{[,1]}^\sharp \left( \sum_{c \in \Delta_{k}} \phi_c^\sharp(B) \right) = R_{[,1]}^\sharp \left( \phi_{c'}^\sharp(B) + \sum_{c \in \Delta_{k} \setminus c'} \phi_c^\sharp(B) \right) \\ &= R_{[,1]}^\sharp \left( [1, 1] + [p_1, p_2] \right) = [1,1], \end{align} where $[p_1, p_2] \in \mathcal{B}(\mathbb{R}_{\geq 0})$. Indeed, by case distinction: Case 2: Let $B \in \mathcal{B}(\Gamma)$ such that $f(B) \leq \xi_k - \tfrac{\delta}{2}$. Then for all $g \in \mathcal{N}(B)$ holds $f_k(g) = 0$. Further, $B \cap \text{conv}(\mathcal{N}(c)) = \emptyset$ for all $c \in \Delta_{k}$ because $G$ is fine enough. % Using \cref{lem:local_bump_abstract} we obtain \begin{equation} n_k^\sharp(B) = R_{[,1]}^\sharp \left( \sum_{c \in \Delta_{k}} \phi_c^\sharp(B) \right) = R_{[,1]}^\sharp ([0,0]) = [0,0]. \end{equation} By construction we have $n_k^\sharp(B) \subseteq [0, 1]$. \end{proof} \section{Background} \label{sec:background} In this section we provide the concepts necessary to describe our main result. \paragraph{Adversarial Examples and Robustness Verification} Let $n : \mathbb{R}^m \rightarrow \mathbb{R}^k$ be a neural network, which classifies an input $x$ to a label $t$ if $n(x)_t > n(x)_j$ for all $j \neq t$. For a correctly classified input $x$, an adversarial example is an input $y$ such that $x$ is imperceptible from $y$ to a human, but is classified to a different label by $n$. Frequently, two images are assumed to be ``imperceptible'' if there $l_p$ distance is at most $\epsilon$. The $l_p$ ball around an image is said to be the adversarial ball, and a network is said to be $\epsilon$-robust around $x$ if every point in the adversarial ball around $x$ classifies the same. In this paper, we limit our discussion to $l_\infty$ adversarial balls which can be used to cover to all $l_p$ balls. The goal of robustness verification is to show that for a neural network $n$, input point $x$ and label $t$, every possible input in an $l_\infty$ ball of size $\epsilon$ around $x$ (written $\mathbb{B}^\infty_{\epsilon}(x)$) is also classified to $t$. \paragraph{Verifying neural networks with Interval Analysis} The verification technique we investigate in this work is interval analysis. We denote by $\mathcal{B}$ the set of boxes $B = [a, b] \subset \mathbb{R}^m$ for all $m$, where $a_i \leq b_i$ for all $i$. Furthermore for $\Gamma \subseteq \mathbb{R}^m$ we define $\mathcal{B}(\Gamma) := \mathcal{B} \cap \Gamma$ describing all the boxes in $\Gamma$. The standard interval-transformations for the basic operations we are considering, namely $+, -, \cdot$ and the ReLU function $R$ (\citet{ai2}, \citet{ibp}) are \begin{minipage}{.5\linewidth} \begin{align} [a, b] +^\sharp [c, d] &= [a + c, b + d] \\ R^\sharp ([a, b]) &= [R(a), R(b)] \end{align} \end{minipage}% \begin{minipage}{.5\linewidth} \begin{align} -^\sharp [a, b] &= [- b, - a] \\ \lambda \cdot^\sharp [a, b] &= [\lambda a, \lambda b], \end{align} \end{minipage} \vspace{0.3cm} where $[a, b], [c, d] \in \mathcal{B}(\mathbb{R})$, and $\lambda \in \mathbb{R}_{\geq 0}$. Furthermore, we used $\sharp$ to distinguish the function $f$ from its interval-transformation $f^\sharp$. To illustrate the difference between $f$ and $f^\sharp$, consider $f(x) := x - x$ evaluated on $x = [0, 1]$. We have $f([0,1]) = 0$, but $f^\sharp([0,1]) = [0,1] -^\# [0, 1] = [0, 1] +^\# [-1, 0] = [-1, 1]$ illustrating the loss in precision that interval analysis suffers from. Interval analysis provides a sound over-approximation in the sense that for all function $f$, the values that $f$ can obtain on $[a,b]$, namely $f([a,b]) := \{f(x)\mid x \in [a,b] \}$ are a subset of $f^\sharp([a,b])$. If $f$ is a composition of functions, $f = f_1 \circ \cdots \circ f_k$, then $f_1^\sharp \circ \cdots \circ f_k^\sharp$ is a sound interval-transformer for $f$. Furthermore all combinations $f$ of $+,-,\cdot$ and $R$ are monotone, that is for $[a,b], [c,d] \subseteq \mathcal{B}(\mathbb{R}^m)$ such that $[a, b] \subseteq [c, d]$ then $f^\#([ a, b]) \subseteq f^\#([ c, d])$ (\cref{app:universal_approx_thm}). For boxes $[x, x]$ representing points $f^\sharp$ coincides with $f$, $f^\sharp([x,x]) = f(x)$. This will later be needed. \section{Conclusion} We proved that for all real valued continuous functions $f$ on compact sets, there exists a ReLU network $n$ approximating $f$ arbitrarily well with the interval abstraction. This means that for arbitrary input sets, analysis using the interval relaxation yields an over-approximation arbitrarily close to the smallest interval containing all possible outputs. Our theorem affirmatively answers the open question, whether the Universal Approximation Theorem generalizes to Interval analysis. Our results address the question of whether the interval abstraction is expressive enough to analyse networks approximating interesting functions $f$. This is of practical importance because interval analysis is the most scalable non-trivial analysis. \section{Introduction} Much recent work has shown that neural networks can be fooled into misclassifying adversarial examples \citep{adversarialDiscovery}, inputs which are imperceptibly different from those that the neural network classifies correctly. Initial work on defending against adversarial examples revolved around training networks to be empirically robust, usually by including adversarial examples found with various attacks into the training dataset \citep{gu2014towards, papernot2016limitations, zheng2016improving, athalye2017synthesizing, evtimov2017robust, moosavi2017universal, xiao2018generating}. However, while empirical robustness can be practically useful, it does not provide safety guarantees. As a result, much recent research has focused on verifying that a network is certifiably robust, typically by employing methods based on mixed integer linear programming \citep{tjeng2017evaluating}, SMT solvers \citep{katz2017reluplex}, semidefinite programming \citep{RaghunathanSL18a}, duality \citep{kolter2018provable, krishnamurthy2018dual}, and linear relaxations \citep{ai2, FastLin2018, WangPWYJ18, CrownIBP, eran, Salman}. Because the certification rates were far from satisfactory, specific training methods were recently developed which produce networks that are certifiably robust: \citet{diffai, RaghunathanSL18b, mixtrain, kolter2018provable, wong2018scaling, ibp} train the network with standard optimization applied to an over-approximation of the network behavior on a given input region (the region is created around the concrete input point). These techniques aim to discover specific weights which facilitate verification. There is a tradeoff between the degree of the over-approximation used and the speed of training and certification. Recently, \citep{CohenRK19} proposed a statistical approach to certification, which unlike the non-probabilistic methods discussed above, creates a probabilistic classifier that comes with probabilistic guarantees. So far, some of the best non-probabilistic results achieved on the popular MNIST \citep{mnist} and CIFAR10 \citep{cifar} datasets have been obtained with the simple Interval relaxation \citep{ibp, diffai2}, which scales well at both training and verification time. Despite this progress, there are still substantial gaps between known standard accuracy, experimental robustness, and certified robustness. For example, for CIFAR10, the best reported certified robustness is 32.04\% with an accuracy of 49.49\% when using a fairly modest $l_\infty$ region with radius 8/255 \citep{ibp}. The state-of-the-art non-robust accuracy for this dataset is $>$ 95\% with experimental robustness $>$ 50\%. Given the size of this gap, a key question then is: \emph{can certified training ever succeed or is there a fundamental limit}? \begin{wrapfigure}{r}{0.33\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=0.31\textwidth]{figures/theorem.pdf} \caption{Illustration of \\ \cref{thm:intro:universal_approx_thm}.} \label{fig:thm_expl} \vspace{-0.5cm} \end{wrapfigure} In this paper we take a step in answering this question by proving a result parallel to the Universal Approximation Theorem \citep{cybenko1989approximation, hornik1989multilayer}. We prove that for any continuous function $f$ defined on a compact domain $\Gamma \subseteq \mathbb{R}^m$ and for any desired level of accuracy $\delta$, there exists a ReLU neural network $n$ which can certifiably approximate $f$ up to $\delta$ using interval bound propagation. As an interval is a fairly imprecise relaxation, our result directly applies to more precise convex relaxations (e.g., \citet{CrownIBP, DeepPoly}). \begin{theorem}[Universal Interval-Certified Approximation, \cref{fig:thm_expl}] \label{thm:intro:universal_approx_thm} Let $\Gamma \subset \mathbb{R}^m$ be a compact set and let $f \colon \Gamma \to \mathbb{R}$ be a continuous function. For all $\delta > 0$, there exists a ReLU network $n$ such that for all boxes $[a,b]$ in $\Gamma$ defined by points $a, b \in \Gamma$ where $a_k \leq b_k$ for all $k$, the propagation of the box $[a, b]$ using interval analysis through the network $n$, denoted $n^\sharp([a, b])$, approximates the set $[l, u] = [\min f([a, b]), \max f([a, b])] \subseteq \mathbb{R}$ up to $\delta$, \begin{equation} [l + \delta, u - \delta] \subseteq n^\sharp([a, b]) \subseteq [l - \delta, u + \delta] . \label{eq:introduction} \end{equation} \end{theorem} \input{introfig} We recover the classical universal approximation theorem ($\|f(x) - n(x)\| \leq \delta$ for all $x \in \Gamma$) by considering boxes $[a, b]$ describing points ($x = a = b$). Note that here the lower bound is not $[l,u]$ as the network $n$ is an approximation of $f$. Because interval analysis propagates boxes, the theorem naturally handles $l_\infty$ norm bound perturbations to the input. Other $l_p$ norms can be handled by covering the $l_p$ ball with boxes. The theorem can be extended easily to functions $f \colon \Gamma \to \mathbb{R}^k$ by applying the theorem component wise. \paragraph{Practical meaning of theorem} The practical meaning of this theorem is as follows: if we train a neural network $n'$ on a given training data set (e.g., CIFAR10) and we are satisfied with the properties of $n'$ (e.g., high accuracy), then because $n'$ is a continuous function, the theorem tells us that there exists a network $n$ which is as accurate as $n'$ and as certifiable with interval analysis as $n'$ is with a complete verifier. This means that if we fail to find such an $n$, then either $n$ did not possess the required capacity or the optimizer was unsuccessful. \paragraph{Focus on the existence of a network} We note that we do not provide a method for training a certified ReLU network -- even though our method is \emph{constructive}, we aim to answer an existential question and thus we focus on proving that a given network exists. Interesting future work items would be to study the requirements on the size of this network and the inherent hardness of finding it with standard optimization methods. \paragraph{Universal approximation is insufficient} We now discuss why classical universal approximation is insufficient for establishing our result. While classical universal approximation theorems state that neural networks can approximate a large class of functions $f$, unlike our result, they do not state that robustness of the approximation $n$ of $f$ is actually certified with a scalable proof method (e.g., interval bound propagation). If one uses a non scalable complete verifier instead, then the standard Universal approximation theorem is sufficient. To demonstrate this point, consider the function $f: \mathbb{R} \rightarrow \mathbb{R}$ (\cref{fig:network:f}) mapping all $x \leq 0$ to $1$, all $x \geq 1$ to $0$ and all $0 < x < 1$ to $1-x$ and two ReLU networks $n_1$ (\cref{fig:network:notprovable}) and $n_2$ (\cref{fig:network:provable}) perfectly approximating $f$, that is $n_1(x) = f(x) = n_2(x)$ for all $x$. For $\delta = \tfrac{1}{4}$, the interval certification that $n_1$ maps all $x \in [0,1]$ to $[0,1]$ fails because $[\tfrac{1}{4}, \tfrac{3}{4}] \subseteq n_1^\sharp([0,1]) = [0, \tfrac{3}{2}] \not\subseteq [-\tfrac{1}{4}, \tfrac{5}{4}]$. However, interval certification succeeds for $n_2$, because $n_2^\sharp([0,1]) = [0,1]$. To the best of our knowledge, this is the first work to prove the existence of accurate, interval-certified networks. \section{Related work} After adversarial examples were discovered by \citet{adversarialDiscovery}, many attacks and defenses were introduced (for a survey, see \cite{akhtar2018threat}). Initial work on verifying neural network robustness used exact methods \citep{katz2017reluplex, tjeng2017evaluating} on small networks, while later research introduced methods based on over-approximation \citep{ai2, RaghunathanSL18a, eran, Salman} aiming to scale to larger networks. A fundamentally different approach is randomized smoothing \citep{li2018certified,LecuyerAG0J19,CohenRK19}, in which probabilistic classification and certification with high confidence is performed. As neural networks that are experimentally robust need not be certifiably robust, there has been significant recent research on training certifiably robust neural networks \citep{RaghunathanSL18b, diffai, diffai2, kolter2018provable, wong2018scaling, mixtrain, ibp, dvijotham2018training, xiao2018training, CohenRK19}. As these methods appear to have reached a performance wall, several works have started investigating the fundamental barriers in the datasets and methods that preclude the learning of a robust network (let alone a certifiably robust one) \citep{khoury2018geometry, schmidt2018adversarially, tsipras2018robustness}. In our work, we focus on the question of whether neural networks are capable of approximating functions whose robustness can be established with the efficient interval relaxation. \paragraph{Feasibility Results with Neural Networks} Early versions of the Universal Approximation Theorem were stated by \citet{cybenko1989approximation} and \citet{hornik1989multilayer}. \citet{cybenko1989approximation} showed that networks using sigmoidal activations could approximate continuous functions in the unit hypercube, while \citet{hornik1989multilayer} showed that even networks with only one hidden layer are capable of approximating Borel measurable functions. More recent work has investigated the capabilities of ReLU networks. Here, \citet{arora2018understanding}, based on \citet{tarela1999LatticePWL}, proved that every continuous piecewise linear function in $\mathbb{R}^m$ can be represented by a ReLU network. Later, \citet{ReLU_DNN_FiniteElements} reduced the number of neurons needed using ideas from finite elements methods. Relevant to our work, \citet{arora2018understanding} introduced a ReLU network representations of the $\min$ function. Further, we use a construction method that is similar to the construction for nodal basis functions given in \citet{ReLU_DNN_FiniteElements}. Universal approximation for Lipschitz constrained networks have been considered by \citet{anil2018sorting} and later by \citet{cohen2019universal}. A bound on the Lipschitz constant of a network immediately yields a certified region depending on the classification margin. \citet{anil2018sorting} proved that the set of Lipschitz networks with the GroupSort activation is dense in the space of Lipschitz continuous functions with Lipschitz constant 1, while \citet{cohen2019universal} provide an explicit construction to obtain the network. We note that both of these works focus on Lipschitz continuous functions, a more restricted class than continuous functions, which we consider in our work. \section{Proving Universal Interval-Provable Approximation} \label{sec:universal_approx_thm} In this section, we provide an explanation of the proof of our main result, \cref{thm:universal_approx_thm}, and illustrate the main points of the proof. The first step in the construction is to deconstruct the function $f$ into slices $\{f_k \colon \Gamma \to [0, \tfrac{\delta}{2}]\}_{0 \leq k < N}$ such that that $f(x)=\xi_0+\sum_{k=0}^{N-1}f_k(x)$ for all $x$, where $\xi_{0}$ is the minimum of $f(\Gamma)$. We approximate each slice $f_k$ by a ReLU network $\tfrac{\delta}{2} \cdot n_k$. The network $n$ approximating $f$ up to $\delta$ will be ${n(x):=\xi_0+\tfrac{\delta}{2}\sum_{k}n_k(x)}$. The construction relies on 2 key insights, (i) the output of $\tfrac{\delta}{2} \cdot n_k^\sharp$ can be confined to the interval $[0, \tfrac{\delta}{2}]$, thus the loss of analysis precision is at most the height of the slice, and (ii) we can construct the networks $n_k$ using local bump functions, such that only 4 slices can contribute to the loss of analysis precision, two for the lower interval bound, two for the upper one. The slicing $\{f_k\}_{0 \leq k < 5}$ of the function $f \colon [-2,2] \to \mathbb{R}$ (\cref{fig:function}), mapping $x$ to $f(x) = -x^3+3x$ is depicted in \cref{fig:sliced_function}. The networks $n_k$ are depicted in \cref{fig:local_bumps}. In this example, evaluating the interval-transformer of $n$, namely $n^\sharp$ on the box $B = [-1, 1]$ results into $n^\sharp([-1,1]) = [-2, 6/5]$ lies is within the $\delta=\tfrac{8}{5}$ bound of $f([-1, 1]) = [-2, 2]$. \begin{definition}[$N$-slicing (\cref{fig:sliced_function})] \label{def:const_N_slicing} Let $\Gamma \subset \mathbb{R}^m$ be a closed $m$-dimensional box and let $f \colon \Gamma \to \mathbb{R}$ be continuous. The \emph{$N$-slicing} of $f$ is a set of functions $\{f_k\}_{0 \leq k < N}$ defined by \begin{equation} f_k \colon \Gamma \to \mathbb{R}, \quad x \mapsto \begin{cases} 0 & \text{if } f(x) \leq \xi_k, \\ f(x) - \xi_k & \text{if } \xi_k < f(x) < \xi_{k+1}, \\ \xi_{k+1} - \xi_k & \text{if } \xi_{k+1} \leq f(x), \end{cases} \qquad \forall k \in \{0, \dots, N-1\}, \end{equation} where $\xi_k := \xi_{0} + \frac{k}{N}(\xi_N - \xi_{0})$, $k \in \{1, \dots, N-1\}$, $\xi_{0} := \min f(\Gamma)$ and $\xi_N := \max f(\Gamma)$. \end{definition} \begin{figure} \centering \begin{minipage}{.48\textwidth} \centering \begin{tikzpicture}[scale=0.6, every node/.style={scale=0.8}] \pgfmathsetmacro{\l}{1.5} \pgfmathsetmacro{\h}{3} \foreach \i in {1,...,5} \foreach \j in {1,...,5} { \coordinate (\j \i) at (\i \l, \j * \l); } \coordinate (c) at (3 * \l, \h, 3 * \l); \foreach \i in {1,...,4} \foreach \j in {1,...,5} { \draw[dotted] (\i * \l, \j * \l) -- (\i * \l + \l, \j * \l); } \foreach \i in {1,...,5} \foreach \j in {1,...,4} { \draw[dotted] (\i * \l, \j * \l) -- (\i * \l, \j * \l + \l); } \draw[blue] (4.45 * \l, 4.45 * \l) -- (4.55 * \l, 4.55 * \l); \draw[blue] (4.45 * \l, 4.55 * \l) -- (4.55 * \l, 4.45 * \l); \node[blue] at (4.7 * \l, 4.5 * \l){$x$}; \node at (4 * \l, 4 * \l)[circle,fill=blue,inner sep=1.5pt]{}; \node at (4 * \l, 5 * \l)[circle,fill=blue,inner sep=1.5pt]{}; \node at (5 * \l, 4 * \l)[circle,fill=blue,inner sep=1.5pt]{}; \node at (5 * \l, 5 * \l)[circle,fill=blue,inner sep=1.5pt]{}; \node[red] at (2.2 * \l, 1.7 * \l){$U$}; \draw [fill=red,red] (0.9 * \l , 0.9 * \l) rectangle (1.1 * \l, 1.1 * \l); \draw [fill=red,red] (1.9 * \l , 0.9 * \l) rectangle (2.1 * \l, 1.1 * \l); \draw [fill=red,red] (2.9 * \l , 0.9 * \l) rectangle (3.1 * \l, 1.1 * \l); \draw [fill=red,red] (0.9 * \l , 1.9 * \l) rectangle (1.1 * \l, 2.1 * \l); \draw [fill=red,red] (2.9 * \l , 1.9 * \l) rectangle (3.1 * \l, 2.1 * \l); \draw [fill=red,red] (2.9 * \l , 2.9 * \l) rectangle (3.1 * \l, 3.1 * \l); \draw [fill=red,red] (1.9 * \l , 2.9 * \l) rectangle (2.1 * \l, 3.1 * \l); \draw [fill=red,red] (0.9 * \l , 2.9 * \l) rectangle (1.1 * \l, 3.1 * \l); \draw [red] plot [] coordinates { (1.3\l, 1.3\l) (2.7\l, 1.3\l) (2.7\l, 2.7\l) (1.3\l, 2.7\l) (1.3\l, 1.3\l) }; \end{tikzpicture} \captionof{figure}{Neighbors $\mathcal{N}(x)$ (blue dots) and $\mathcal{N}(U)$ (red squares).} \label{fig:neighbours} \end{minipage} % \begin{minipage}{.48\textwidth} \vspace{-0.5cm} \centering \includegraphics[scale=0.4]{figures/b_clipping.pdf} \vspace{-0.18cm} \captionof{figure}{$R_{[,b]}(x)$} \label{fig:b_clipping} \end{minipage} \end{figure} To construct a ReLU network satisfying the desired approximation property (\cref{eq:introduction}) if evaluated on boxes in $\mathcal{B}(\Gamma)$, we need the ReLU network $\text{nmin}$ capturing the behavior of $\min$ as a building block (similar to \cite{ReLU_DNN_FiniteElements}). It is given by \begin{equation} \text{nmin}(x, y) := \frac{1}{2} \begin{pmatrix} 1 & -1 & -1 & -1 \end{pmatrix} R \left( \begin{pmatrix} 1 & 1 \\ -1 & -1 \\ 1 & -1 \\ -1 & 1 \\ \end{pmatrix} \begin{pmatrix} x \\ y \end{pmatrix} \right). \end{equation} With the ReLU network $\text{nmin}$, we can construct recursively a ReLU network $\text{nmin}_N$ mapping $N$ arguments to the smallest one (\cref{def:app:nmin}). Even though the interval-transformation loses precision, we can establish bounds on the precision loss of $\text{nmin}_N^\sharp$ sufficient for our use case (\cref{app:universal_approx_thm}). Now, we use the clipping function $R_{[,1]} := 1 - R(1 - x)$ clipping every value exceeding $1$ back to $1$ (\cref{fig:b_clipping}) to construct the local bumps $\phi_c$ w.r.t. a grid $G$. $G$ specifies the set of all possible local bumps we can use to construct the networks $n_k$. Increasing the finesse of $G$ will increases the approximation precision. \begin{definition}[local bump, \cref{fig:local_bump}] \label{def:local_bump} Let $M \in \mathbb{N}$, $G := \{ (\tfrac{i_1}{M}), \dots, \tfrac{i_m}{M} \mid i \in \mathbb{Z}^m \}$ be a grid, $\ell = 2^{\lceil \log_2 2m \rceil+1}$ and let $c = \{\tfrac{i_1^l}{M}, \tfrac{i_1^u}{M}\} \times \cdots \times \{\tfrac{i_m^l}{M}, \tfrac{i_m^u}{M}\} \subseteq G$ be a set of grid points describing the corner points of a hyperrectangle in $G$. We define a ReLU neural network $\phi_c \colon \mathbb{R}^m \to [0, 1] \subset \mathbb{R}$ w.r.t. $G$ by \begin{equation} \phi_c(x) := R \left(\text{nmin}_{2m} \bigcup_{1 \leq k \leq m} \left\{ \begin{matrix} R_{[,1]}(M \cdot \ell \cdot (x_k - \tfrac{i_k^l}{M}) + 1), \\ R_{[,1]}(M \cdot \ell \cdot (\tfrac{i_k^u}{M} - x_k) + 1) \end{matrix} \right\} \right). \end{equation} \end{definition} \input{figures/local_bump.tex} We will describe later how $M$ and $c$ get picked. A graphical illustration of a local bump for in two dimensions and $c = \{\tfrac{i_1^l}{M}, \tfrac{i_1^u}{M}\} \times \{\tfrac{i_2^l}{M}, \tfrac{i_2^u}{M}\} = \{c^{ll}, c^{lu}, c^{ul}, c^{uu}\}$ is shown in \cref{fig:local_bump}. The local bump $\phi_c(x)$ evaluates to 1 for all $x$ that lie within the convex hull of $c$, namely $\text{conv}(c)$, after which $\phi_c(x)$ quickly decreases linearly to 0. $\phi_c$ has $1+2(2d-1)+2d$ ReLUs and $1+\lceil \log_2(2d+1) \rceil +1$ layers. By construction $\phi_c(x)$ decreases to 0 before reaching the next neighboring grid points $\mathcal{N}(\text{conv}(c))$, where $\mathcal{N}(x) := \{g \in G \mid \|\|x - g\|\|_\infty \leq \tfrac{1}{M}\} \setminus \{x\}$ denotes the neighboring grid points of $x$ and similarly for $\mathcal{N}(U) := \{\mathcal{N}(x) \mid x \in U\} \setminus U$ (\cref{fig:neighbours}). The set $\mathcal{N}(\text{conv}(c))$ forms a hyperrectangle in $G$ and is shown in \cref{fig:local_bump} using red squares. Clearly $\text{conv}(c) \subseteq \text{conv}(\mathcal{N}(c))$. Next, we give bounds on the loss of precision for the interval-transformation $\phi_c^\sharp$. We can show that interval analysis can (i) never produce intervals exceeding $[0, 1]$ and (ii) is precise if $B$ does no intersect $\text{conv}(\mathcal{N}(c)) \setminus \text{conv}(c)$. \begin{lemma} \label{lem:local_bump_abstract} For all $B \in \mathcal{B}(\mathbb{R}^m)$, it holds that $\phi_c^\sharp(B) \subseteq [0,1] \in \mathcal{B}$ and \begin{equation} \phi_c^\sharp(B) = \begin{cases} [1, 1] &\text{if } B \subseteq \text{conv}(c) \\ [0, 0] &\text{if } B \subseteq \Gamma \setminus \text{conv}(\mathcal{N}(c)). \end{cases} \end{equation} \end{lemma} The formal proof is given in \cref{app:universal_approx_thm}. The next lemma shows, how a ReLU network $n_k$ can approximate the slice $f_k$ while simultaneously confining the loss of analysis precision. \begin{lemma} \label{lem:Rn_slice} Let $\Gamma \subset \mathbb{R}^m$ be a closed box and let $f \colon \Gamma \to \mathbb{R}$ be continuous. For all $\delta > 0$ there exists a set of ReLU networks $\{n_k\}_{0 \leq k < N}$ of size $N \in \mathbb{N}$ approximating the $N$-slicing of $f$, $\{f_k\}_{0 \leq k < N}$ ($\xi_k$ as in \cref{def:const_N_slicing}) such that for all boxes $B \in \mathcal{B}(\Gamma)$ \begin{equation} n_k^\sharp(B) = \begin{cases} [0, 0] &\text{if } f(B) \leq \xi_k - \tfrac{\delta}{2} \\ [1, 1] &\text{if } f(B) \geq \xi_{k+1} + \tfrac{\delta}{2}. \end{cases} \label{eq:lem:Rn_slices} \end{equation} and $n_k^\sharp(B) \subseteq [0, 1]$. \end{lemma} It is important to note that in \cref{eq:lem:Rn_slices} we mean $f$ and not $f^\sharp$. The proof for \cref{lem:Rn_slice} is given in \cref{app:universal_approx_thm}. In the following, we discuss a proof sketch. Because $\Gamma$ is compact and $f$ is continuous, $f$ is uniformly continuous by the Heine-Cantor Theorem. So we can pick a $M \in \mathbb{N}$ such that for all $x, y \in \Gamma$ satisfying $\|\|y - x\|\|_\infty \leq \tfrac{1}{M}$ holds $\|f(y) - f(x)\| \leq \tfrac{\delta}{2}$. We then choose the grid $G = (\frac{\mathbb{Z}}{M})^m \subseteq \mathbb{R}^m$. Next, we construct for every slice $k$ a set $\Delta_k$ of hyperrectangles on the grid $G$: if a box $B \in \mathcal{B}(\Gamma)$ fulfills $f(B) \geq \xi_{k+1}+\tfrac{\delta}{2}$, then we add a minimal enclosing hyperrectangle $c \subset G$ such that $B \subseteq \text{conv}(c)$ to $\Delta_k$, where $\text{conv}(c)$ denotes the convex hull of $c$. This implies, using uniform continuity of $f$ and that the grid $G$ is fine enough, that $f(\text{conv}(c)) \geq \xi_{k+1}$. Since there is only a finite number of possible hyperrectangles in $G$, the set $\Delta_k$ is clearly finite. The network fulfilling \cref{eq:lem:Rn_slices} is \begin{equation} n_k(x) := R_{[,1]}\left( \sum_{c \in \Delta_k} \phi_c(x)\right), \end{equation} where $\phi_c$ is as in \cref{def:local_bump}. The $n_k$ are depicted in \cref{fig:local_bumps}. Now, we see that \cref{eq:lem:Rn_slices} holds by construction: For all boxes $B \in \mathcal{B}(\Gamma)$ such that $f \geq \xi_{k+1} + \tfrac{\delta}{2}$ on $B$ exists $c' \in \Delta_k$ such that $B \subseteq \text{conv}(c')$ which implies, using \cref{lem:local_bump_abstract}, that $\phi_{c'}^\sharp(B) = [1,1]$, hence \begin{alignat}{3} n_k^\sharp(B) &= R_{[,1]}^\sharp( \phi_{c'}^\sharp (B) + \sum_{c \in \Delta_k \setminus c'} \phi_c^\sharp(B)) \qquad \qquad && \forall c \neq c' : \phi_c^\sharp(B) \subseteq [0,1] \text{(\cref{lem:local_bump_abstract})} \\ &= R_{[,1]}^\sharp( [1,1] + [p_1, p_2]) \qquad && [p_1, p_1] \in \mathcal{B}(\mathbb{R}_{\geq 0}) \\ &= R_{[,1]}^\sharp( [1+p_1,1+p_2]) && \\ &= [1, 1]. \end{alignat} Similarly, if $f(B) \leq \xi_k - \tfrac{\delta}{2}$ holds, then it holds for all $c \in \Delta_k$ that $B$ does not intersect $\mathcal{N}(\text{conv}(c))$. Indeed, if a $c \in \Delta_k$ would violate this, then by construction, $f(\text{conv}(c)) \geq \xi_{k+1}$, contradicting $f(B) \leq \xi_k - \tfrac{\delta}{2}$. Thus $\phi_c^\sharp(B) = [0, 0]$, and hence $n^\sharp(B) = [0, 0]$. \begin{theorem} \label{thm:universal_approx_thm_prelim} Let $\Gamma \subset \mathbb{R}^m$ be a closed box and let $f \colon \Gamma \to \mathbb{R}$ be continuous. Then for all $\delta > 0$, exists a ReLU network $n$ such that for all $B \in \mathcal{B} (\Gamma)$ \begin{equation} [l+\delta, u-\delta] \subseteq n^\sharp(B) \subseteq [l-\delta, u+\delta], \end{equation} where $l := \min f(B)$ and $u := \max f(B)$. \end{theorem} \textit{Proof. } Pick $N$ such that the height of each slice is exactly $\tfrac{\delta}{2}$, if this is impossible choose a slightly smaller $\delta$. % Let $\{n_k\}_{0 \leq k < N}$ be a series of networks as in \cref{lem:Rn_slice}. Recall that $\xi_{0} = \min f(\Gamma)$. We define the ReLU network \begin{equation} n(x) := \xi_{0} + \tfrac{\delta}{2} \sum_{k=0}^{N-1} n_k(x). \label{eq:final_network} \end{equation} Let $B \in \mathcal{B}(\Gamma)$. Thus we have for all $k$ \begin{alignat}{2} f(B) \geq \xi_{k+2} &\Leftrightarrow f(B) \geq \xi_{k+1} + \tfrac{\delta}{2} \quad &&\overset{\cref{lem:Rn_slice}}{\Rightarrow} \quad n_k^\sharp(B) = [1, 1] \label{eq:thm:proof:1} \\ f(B) \leq \xi_{k-1} &\Leftrightarrow f(B) \leq \xi_k - \tfrac{\delta}{2} \quad &&\overset{\cref{lem:Rn_slice}}{\Rightarrow} \quad n_k^\sharp(B) = [0, 0]. \label{eq:thm:proof:2} \end{alignat} Let $p, q \in \{0,\dots,N-1\}$ such that \begin{align} \xi_p \leq l = \min f(B) \leq \xi_{p+1} \label{eq:thm:cond1} \\ \xi_q \leq u = \max f(B) \leq \xi_{q+1}, \label{eq:thm:cond2} \end{align} % \begin{wrapfigure}{r}{0.33\textwidth} \centering \vspace{-0.4cm} \includegraphics[width=0.235\textwidth]{figures/proof.pdf} \caption{Illustration of the proof for \cref{thm:universal_approx_thm_prelim}.} \label{fig:proof_expl} \vspace{-3cm} \end{wrapfigure} % as depicted in \cref{fig:proof_expl}. Thus by \cref{eq:thm:proof:1} for all ${k \in \{0, \dots, p-2\}}$ it holds that $n_k^\sharp(B) = [1, 1]$ and similarly, by \cref{eq:thm:proof:2} for all $k \in \{q+2, \dots, N-1 \}$ it holds that $n_k^\sharp(B) = [0, 0]$. Plugging this into \cref{eq:final_network} after splitting the sum into three parts leaves us with \begin{align} n^\sharp(B) &= \xi_{0} + \tfrac{\delta}{2} \sum_{k=0}^{p-2} n_k^\sharp(B) + \tfrac{\delta}{2} \sum_{k=p-1}^{q+1} n_k^\sharp(B) + \tfrac{\delta}{2} \sum_{k=p+1}^{N-1} n_k^\sharp(B) \\ &= \xi_{0} + (p-1) [\tfrac{\delta}{2}, \tfrac{\delta}{2}] + \tfrac{\delta}{2} \sum_{k=p-1}^{q+1} n_k^\sharp(B) + [0, 0]. \end{align} Applying the standard rules for interval analysis, leads to \begin{equation} n^\sharp(B) = [\xi_{p-1}, \xi_{p-1}] + \tfrac{\delta}{2} \sum_{k=p-1}^{q+1} n_k^\sharp(B), \end{equation} where we used in the last step, that $\xi_{0} + k \tfrac{\delta}{2} = \xi_k$. For all terms in the sum except the terms corresponding to the 3 highest and lowest $k$ we get \begin{equation} n_k^\sharp(B) = [0, 1] \qquad \forall k \in \{p+2, \dots, q-2\}. \end{equation} Indeed, from \cref{eq:thm:cond1} we know that there is $x \in B$ such that $f(x) \leq \xi_{p+1} = \xi_{p+2} - \tfrac{\delta}{2}$, thus by \cref{lem:Rn_slice} $n_k^\sharp([x, x]) = [0, 0]$ for all $p+2 \leq k \leq q-2$. Similarly, from \cref{eq:thm:cond2} we know, that there is $x' \in B$ such that $f(x) \geq \xi_q = \xi_{q-1} + \tfrac{\delta}{2}$, thus by \cref{lem:Rn_slice} $n_k^\sharp([x',x']) = [1,1]$ for all $p+2 \leq k \leq q-2$. So $n_k^\sharp(B)$ is at least $[0,1]$, and by \cref{lem:Rn_slice} also at most $[0,1]$. This leads to \begin{alignat}{3} n^\sharp(B) &= [\xi_{p-1}, \xi_{p-1}] + \tfrac{\delta}{2} \sum_{k=p-1}^{p+1} n_k^\sharp(B) + \tfrac{\delta}{2} ((q-2)-(p+2) + 1) [0,1] && + \tfrac{\delta}{2} \sum_{k=q-1}^{q+1} n_k^\sharp(B) \\ &= [\xi_{p-1}, \xi_{p-1}] + \tfrac{\delta}{2} \sum_{k=p-1}^{p+1} n_k^\sharp(B) + [0, \xi_{q-1} - \xi_{p+2}] && + \tfrac{\delta}{2} \sum_{k=q-1}^{q+1} n_k^\sharp(B). \end{alignat} We know further, that if $p + 3 \leq q$, than there is an $x \in B$ such that $f(x) \geq \xi_{p+3} = \xi_{p+2} + \tfrac{\delta}{2}$, hence similar as before $n_{p+1}^\sharp([x, x]) = [1,1]$ and similarly $n_{p}^\sharp([x,x])=[1,1]$ and $n^\sharp([x,x])=[1,1]$. So we know, that $\tfrac{\delta}{2} \sum_{k=p-1}^{p+1} n_k^\sharp(B)$ includes at least $[3\tfrac{\delta}{2},3\tfrac{\delta}{2}]$ and at the most $[0, 3\tfrac{\delta}{2}]$. Similarly, there exists an $x' \in B$ such that $n_{q-1}^\sharp([x', x']) = [0,0]$, $n_{q}^\sharp([x', x']) = [0,0]$ and $n_{q+1}^\sharp([x', x']) = [0,0]$. This leaves us with \begin{align} [3\tfrac{\delta}{2},3\tfrac{\delta}{2}] \subseteq \tfrac{\delta}{2} \sum_{k=p-1}^{p+1} n_k^\sharp(B) \subseteq [0, 3\tfrac{\delta}{2}] \\ [0,0] \subseteq \tfrac{\delta}{2} \sum_{k=q-1}^{q+1} n_k^\sharp(B) \subseteq [0, 3\tfrac{\delta}{2}], \end{align} If $p + 3 > q$ the lower bound we want to prove becomes vacuous and only the upper one needs to be proven. Thus we have \begin{equation} [l + \delta, u - \delta] \subseteq [\xi_{p+2}, \xi_{p-1}] \subseteq n^\sharp(B) \subseteq [\xi_{p-1, \xi_{q+2}}] \subseteq [l - \delta, u + \delta], \end{equation} where $l := \min f(B)$ and $u := \max f(B)$. \qed \begin{theorem}[Universal Interval-Provable Approximation] \label{thm:universal_approx_thm} Let $\Gamma \subset \mathbb{R}^m$ be compact and $f \colon \Gamma \to \mathbb{R}^d$ be continuous. For all $\delta \in \mathbb{R}^m_{\geq 0}$ exists a ReLU network $n$ such that for all $B \in \mathcal{B} (\Gamma)$ \begin{equation} [l+\delta, u-\delta] \subseteq n^\sharp(B) \subseteq [l-\delta, u+\delta], \end{equation} where $l, u \in \mathbb{R}^m$ such that $l_k := \min f(B)_k$ and $u_k := \max f(B)_k$ for all $k$. \end{theorem} \begin{proof} This is a direct consequence of using \cref{thm:universal_approx_thm_prelim} and the Tietze extension theorem to produce a neural network for each dimension $d$ of the codomain of $f$. \end{proof} Note that \cref{thm:intro:universal_approx_thm} is a special case of \cref{thm:universal_approx_thm} with $d=1$ to simplify presentation.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv" }	5,953
Q: OneDrive file changed notification subscription cannot be created we are building an Office 365 solution where we need to be notified when there is a change in a user's OneDrive. We are able to create webhook subscription for notifications of file changes using /beta Graph API but some user's result in the following error being emitted: Code: ExtensionError Message: Operation: Create; Exception: [Status Code: Forbidden; Reason: Forbidden] Inner error First, we have thought this was caused due to a bug introduced into our code, which caused the creation of multiple subscriptions for test user accounts. However, after fixing the bug, this issue appeared also for a user account for which we were creating only one subscription. So far there was only two test users with this issue but plenty of other accounts for which everything works fine. Every tested user has the same settings. Bellow is the C# code for creating the subscription. We have also tried direct REST API calls with the same results. string clientState = Guid.NewGuid().ToString(); string oneDriveResource = resourceUrl + "/drive/root"; GraphServiceClient graphClient; Subscription subsFromAzure = await graphClient. Subscriptions .Request() .AddAsync(new Subscription { Resource = oneDriveResource, // users/{guid}/drive/root ChangeType = "updated", NotificationUrl = hooksNotificationUrl, ClientState = clientState, ExpirationDateTime = DateTime.UtcNow + new TimeSpan(0, 0, 15, 0) }); A: * you can check the permission for test users again, I ever forget to set some permission for very few test accounts. If the permersion is ok. You can try to add a new test account or re-create an existing account to test this again. *Adjust your setting to create a new Subscription for all users and check the result. Due to we don't know your actual configuration, so just some guess. And Microsoft Graph Beta Api is not suggested to be use in the production environment. Some more information may help,note from the "Maximum length of subscription per resource type": Existing applications and new applications should not exceed the supported value. In the future, any requests to create or renew a subscription beyond the maximum value will fail. A existing issue may help on this too: Limitations Certain limits apply and may generate errors when exceeded: Maximum subscription quotas Per App: 50,000 total subscriptions Per Tenant: 35 total subscriptions across all apps Per App and Tenant combination: 7 total subscriptions	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange" }	1,915
{"url":"https:\/\/physics.stackexchange.com\/questions\/703904\/evaluating-electric-conductivity-using-kubo-formula-scalar-potential-vs-vector\/705795","text":"# Evaluating electric conductivity using Kubo formula. Scalar potential vs vector potential\n\nIt is well known that the electric field can be written in terms of scalar $$\\phi(r)$$ and vector $$A(r)$$ potential as $$E=-\\nabla\\phi - \\partial_tA$$. Then the Hamiltonian $$H_{ext}$$ for the electromagnetic field perturbation can be written in two ways\n\n1. $$\\quad$$ $$H_{ext}^{(1)} = \\int d^3r \\rho(r)\\phi(r) \\tag{1}$$\n2. $$\\quad$$ $$H_{ext}^{(2)} = \\int d^3r J(r)\\cdot A(r) \\tag{2}$$\n\nhere $$\\rho(r)$$ and $$J(r)$$ are particle density and particle current density, respectively. The electrical conductivity $$\\sigma_{xy}$$ is defined by equation $$J_x=\\sigma_{xy} E_y$$.\n\nAfter a long derivation of the Kubo formula, the DC conductivity for perturbation $$H_{ext}^{(1)}$$ become $$\\sigma_{xy}^{(1)} = \\lim_{\\omega\\to0}\\frac{1}{i\\omega} \\left[\\Pi(\\omega) - \\Pi (\\omega)\\right] \\quad ; \\quad \\Pi(\\omega) = \\int dt e^{-i\\omega t} \\langle[J_x(t),J_y(0)]\\rangle \\tag{3}$$ However, when we use $$H_{ext}^{(2)}$$ as perturbation, we get two parts of $$J(r)$$, namely paramagnetic $$J^{(p)}$$ and diamagnetic $$J^{(d)}$$. The DC response is given as calculated from the sum of both para and diamagnetic currents. For example $$\\sigma_{xy}^{(2)} = \\lim_{\\omega\\to0} \\left[\\sigma_{xy}^{(p)}+\\sigma_{xy}^{(d)}\\right] \\tag{4}$$\n\nIt is argued that for correct conductivity, one should take care of the diamagnetic part, which is connected with the \"magnetization currents\" - currents that are present in the system even in the absence of external perturbation. In non-magnetic materials, Eq $$(3)$$ gives correct results as there are no magnetization currents. However, in magnetic materials, we must add a term of magnetization current to get the correct conductivity, for example in this article.\n\nQuestion:\n\nI know that when we use $$H_{ext}^{(1)}$$ as a perturbation, we must add an extra term of magnetization current. I want to know if we need to add this magnetization current term when we use $$H_{ext}^{(2)}$$. Does not diamagnetic term take care of magnetization current?\n\nI think there is a baseline of linear response plus there are the external effects to be considered separately.\n\nFirst consider the linear response without extra effects: in this case you have two scenarios one is that you have a probe electric field e.g. your perturbation $$H^1_{ext}$$ and then you measure the current, and second scenario is that you have a probe electric current $$H^2_{ext}$$ and you see the outcoming Electric field, in total you are still computing the conductivity $$\\sigma_{ij}$$ or the inverse matrix i.e. the resistivity $$\\rho_{ij}$$. You have a derivation of formula (3) from perturbation (1), But If you see Tong QHE pdf he derives your formula (3) from perturbation (2) and the two of them are the two faces of the same medal.\n\nIn the simple scenario you do this linear response without a background field, but you can also do it in a fixed given external background, that you can imagine as the magnetic or electric field that you enforce from the outside of the sample or the \"lab\".\n\nThen on top of these two fields the paper is adding a thermoelectric effect and therefore an additional current term. In your case I expect you want to add some paramagnetic or diamagnetic effect and that one you can also add it again as a separate term (i.e. separate extra magnetic fields or extra electric fields that comes back in the perturbation). The magnetization currents are actually an extra background that is generated inside the sample (and that one may have it's own modeling).\n\n$$A_{tot}=A_{probe} + A_{bg} + A_{dia} + A_{para}\\\\ \\phi_{tot} = \\phi_{probe} + \\phi_{bg} + \\phi_{th}$$\n\nAnd each of these if the total response is still linear, i.e. if essentially each contribution is small, will lead to a separate contribution to the conductivity.\n\nPS: The 2 kubo papers are actually a good place to learn linear response.","date":"2022-07-04 12:31:34","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 27, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.881166398525238, \"perplexity\": 198.96762033284875}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2022-27\/segments\/1656104375714.75\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20220704111005-20220704141005-00644.warc.gz\"}"}	null	null
LandAirWeaponsSecurityTechnologyIntelligenceGeopoliticsDefenseOpinionNavy DNTV Special Coverage COBERTURA ESPECIAL - Paris Air Show - Air June 15, 2015 - 16:30 ( Brasília ) Milestone Aviation Group to Acquire 28 H175 Airbus Helicopters Airbus Helicopters, a division of Airbus Group, and Milestone Aviation Group, a GE Capital Aviation Services company and the global leader in helicopter leasing, announced today that Milestone has increased its combined orders and options to a total of 28 H175s, the largest order for Airbus' new super-medium-lift twin-engine rotorcraft. "We have full confidence in the Airbus Helicopters' leadership team and are delighted to expand our relationship with the introduction of the H175 to our fleet," said Richard Santulli, Milestone's Chairman. "The H175 is well-aligned with our commitment to offering the most innovative product solutions for our customers." "Today's H175 order is illustrative of the Milestone team's sharp focus on long-term industry growth," said Daniel Rosenthal, Milestone's President. "We have been impressed by the H175's successful introduction into service and felt it was the appropriate time to further our commitment to the aircraft." Airbus Helicopters' H175 was designed to meet the most demanding oil and gas industry transportation requirements, offering new levels of comfort with the largest cabin in its class, as well as low in-flight vibration and noise levels. The rotorcraft provides highly cost-efficient service, with a capacity of up to 18 passengers, low fuel consumption and the range to reach a large percentage of the world's offshore installations. "This latest agreement builds on our outstanding relationship with Milestone, who owns one of the most valuable Airbus civilian helicopter fleets in operation and on order in the world," said Guillaume Faury, the President & CEO of Airbus Helicopters. "It also reinforces the H175 as an aircraft of choice in the super-medium category." The H175 entered service last December and is demonstrating high availability in more than 900 flight hours performed by customers to date, while also confirming the rotorcraft's designed-in maintainability – which is backed by Airbus Helicopters' support and services. It is certified to the latest airworthiness standards, covering both the helicopter and the new Helionix® avionics suite – providing increased safety through reduced pilot workload, enhanced situational awareness, improved flight envelope protection and system redundancy. Contributing to the H175's competitive edge is its recommended cruise speed of 150 kts., while the maximum cruise speed exceeds 165 kts. – all achieved at extremely low vibration levels. Excellent power performance for the H175 includes hover out of ground effect (HOGE) with a maximum 7.5-metric-ton take-off weight at 5,800 ft. at ISA+20°C conditions; one engine inoperative (OEI) hover performance, which ensures safety during hoisting for search and rescue missions; and extensive power reserve ensuring heli-deck performance (PC1) at maximum take-off weight in ISA+20°C conditions. The helicopter's radius-of-action in an oil and gas mission configuration enables 16 passengers to be transported to offshore rigs at distances of 140 nautical miles (NM.) on crew change flights, extending to nearly 200 NM. when 12 passengers are carried. Further certification of the H175 at an increased maximum take-off weight of 7,800 kg. will offer operators the ability to further expand the radius-of-action by 40 NM., or to carry 300 kg. of additional payload. The H175 is a perfect complement to Airbus Helicopters' heavy-lift H225, which is deployed worldwide by oil and gas airlift service providers. As a tandem offered only by Airbus Helicopters, the H175 and H225 are able to support the oil and gas sector's development in terms of both range and payload. Milestone Aviation Group Milestone Aviation Group, a GE Capital Aviation Services Company, is the world's leading commercial helicopter leasing company. Milestone has a fleet of 187 helicopters worth US $3.2 billion and supports 33 operators in 26 countries on six continents. The company has a forward order book of 117 firm and option aircraft with an estimated aggregate purchase price of US $2.4 billion. These near-term delivery positions of in-demand helicopters are made available for lease globally. Milestone partners with helicopter operators worldwide and supports them through lease financing. The company provides financing for helicopters serving a variety of industries, including offshore oil and gas, search and rescue, emergency medical services, police surveillance, mining and other utility missions. GE Capital Aviation Services GE Capital Aviation Services (GECAS) is a world leader in aviation leasing and financing. With over 45 years of experience, GECAS offers a wide range of aircraft types including narrowbodies, widebodies, regional jets/props, freighters and helicopters, plus multiple financing products and services including operating leases, purchase/leasebacks, secured debt financing, capital markets, engine leasing, airframe parts management and airport/airline consulting. GECAS owns or services a fleet of over 2,200 aircraft (1,900 fixed wing/300 rotary wing) in operation or on order, plus provides loans collateralized on an additional 400 aircraft. GECAS serves over 270 customers in over 75 countries from a network of 24 offices. GE imagines things others don't, builds things others can't and delivers outcomes that make the world work better. GE brings together the physical and digital worlds in ways no other company can. In its labs and factories and on the ground with customers, GE is inventing the next industrial era to move, power, build and cure the world. CAPA DEFESANET Russia Docs \| 16 JAN, 19:00 Putin - Important Kremlin Revision of World War II Vladimir Putin - Presidential Address to the Federal Assembly Sikorsky and Rheinmetall Submit Proposal for Germany's New Heavy Lift Helicopter, the CH-53K Damen and Blohm + Voss selected for construction German MKS180 frigates Rheinmetall and Thales are teaming in Germany within the field of unguided and guided rockets EmbraerX and Elroy Air Sign Agreement to Collaborate on Unmanned Air Cargo China Power SWEDEN'S CHINA PROBLEM Iveco Defence Vehicles to supply the Romanian Armed Forces Other Special Coverage Última atualização 16 JAN, 19:00 Home Land Air Weapons Security Technology Intelligence Geopolitics Defense Opinion Navy Empresa Contato Arquivo Publicidade Privacidade DefesaNet não se responsabiliza pelo conteúdo de sites externos. DefesaNet © 2020 · Todos Direitos Reservados	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl" }	3
ClassPass is the world's leading marketplace platform for studio and gym fitness. Since our founding 2013 by Payal Kadakia we've successfully created a new vertical in the fitness industry by aggregating class inventory from boutique studios and other fitness providers and merchandising it to consumers as a monthly subscription. Our users have booked over 50 million reservations to date and we're just getting started. We're looking for a Data Analyst to help us solve the company's toughest problems and uncover new insights about our business. This role sits on ClassPass's Functional Analytics team which is charged with providing wide-ranging analytical support to all teams at the company, from Product to Pricing to Marketing. As such this role is a great fit for someone looking to get broad exposure to a wide range of functional areas and business problems at a fast-growing technology company. This role will involve regular deep dives into the data to answer crucial business questions asked by members of our executive team, support strategic programs and key business initiatives, support A/B tests and experiments, . understand the impact of new programs and product features. An Analyst should be able to get into the weeds of a particular data problem, but also be able to make a high-level presentation of findings to key figures throughout the organization. As a rapidly growing start-up, we are looking for someone who is agile, forward-thinking, and looking to grow along with the organization. They should be self-driven and proactive, but also a team player. Analysts get exposure to and work closely with all parts of the organization: marketing, product, pricing, sales, account management, so someone who is flexible and eager to learn is a must.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4" }	7,459
\section{Introduction}\label{sec:Intro} Image blur is an undesirable degradation that often accompanies the image formation process and may arise, for example, because of camera shake during acquisition. Blind image deblurring strategies aim to recover a sharp image from only a blurry, compromised observation. Extensive efforts have been devoted to the uniform blur (shift-invariant) case, which can be described with the convolutional observation model \begin{equation} \y = \kk\ast \x + \n, \end{equation} where $\ast$ denotes 2D convolution, $\x$ is the unknown sharp image, $\y$ is the observed blurry image, $\kk$ is the unknown blur kernel (or point spread function), and $\n$ is a zero-mean Gaussian noise term with covariance $\lambda\II$ ~\cite{Fergus06removingcamera,hqdeblurring_siggraph2008,LevinWDF11_PAMI, fast_motion_deblur_2009, XuJ10_ECCV, norm_sparse,WangYYZ08,BeckT09}. Unfortunately, many real-world photographs contain blur effects that vary across the image plane, such as when unknown rotations are introduced by camera shake~\cite{LevinWDF11_PAMI}. More recently, algorithms have been generalized to explicitly handle some degree of non-uniform blur using the more general observation model \begin{equation} \y = \HH \x + \n, \end{equation} where now (with some abuse of notation) $\x$ and $\y$ represent vectorized sharp and blurry images respectively and each column of the blur operator $\HH$ contains the spatially-varying effective blur kernel at the corresponding pixel site ~\cite{Whyte_non-uniformdeblurring, Gupta10singleimage, HarmelingHS_NIPS10, HirschSHS_ICCV11, hu_bmvc2012, ChoCTL12, Xu_depth-awaremotion, non_uniform_restoration_chp3, JiHui12}. Note that the original uniform blur model can be achieved equivalently when $\HH$ is forced to adopt a simple toeplitz structure. In general, non-uniform blur may arise under several different contexts. This paper will focus on the blind removal of non-uniform blur caused by general camera shake (as opposed to blur from object motion) using only a single image, with no additional hardware assistance. While existing algorithms for addressing non-uniform camera shake have displayed a measure of success, several important limitations remain. First, some methods require either additional specialized hardware such as high-speed video capture~\cite{Tai09kasittr} or inertial measurement sensors~\cite{JoshiKZS10} for estimating motion, or else multiple images of the same scene~\cite{ChoCTL12}. Secondly, even the algorithms that operate given only data from a single image typically rely on carefully engineered initializations, heuristics, and trade-off parameters for selecting salient image structure or edges, in part to avoid undesirable degenerate, no-blur solutions~\cite{Gupta10singleimage,HarmelingHS_NIPS10, HirschSHS_ICCV11, hu_bmvc2012}. Consequently, enhancements and rigorous analysis may be problematic. To address these shortcomings, we present an alternative blind deblurring algorithm built upon a simple, closed-form cost function that automatically discounts regions of the image that contain little information about the blur operator without introducing any additional salient structure selection steps. This transparency leads to a nearly parameter free algorithm based upon a unique, adaptive sparsity penalty and provides theoretical arguments regarding how to robustly handle non-uniform degradations. An example of estimated non-uniform or spatially-varying blur kernels is shown in Figure \ref{fig:illus}. \begin{figure}[t] \centering \includegraphics[height=6cm]{Fig1.eps} \caption{{\bf Non-uniform blur example.} \emph{Left}: A blurry photo from \cite{HarmelingHS_NIPS10}. \emph{Right}: Estimated spatially-varying blur kernel array obtained using proposed method. The resulting deblurred image is shown later in Figure~\ref{fig:Harmeling}.} \label{fig:illus} \end{figure} The rest of the paper is structured as follows. Section~\ref{sec:related_works} briefly reviews relevant existing work on blind deblurring. Section~\ref{sec:model_non_uni} then introduces the proposed non-uniform blind deblurring model, while theoretical justification and analyses are provided in Section~\ref{sec:Theoretical_analysis}. Experimental comparisons with \emph{state-of-the-art} methods are carried out in Section~\ref{sec:Exp} followed by conclusions in Section~\ref{sec:con}. \section{Related Work} \label{sec:related_works} Perhaps the most direct way of handling non-uniform blur is to simply partition the image into different regions and then learn a separate, uniform blur kernel for each region, possibly with an additional weighting function for smoothing the boundaries between two adjacent kernels. The resulting algorithm admits an efficient implementation called \emph{efficient filter flow} \mbox{(EFF)}~\cite{Filter_Flow, HirschSSH10} and has been adopted extensively \cite{Leary, HarmelingHS_NIPS10, Xu_depth-awaremotion, non_uniform_restoration_chp3, JiHui12}. The downside with this type of model is that geometric relationships between the blur kernels of different regions derived from the the physical motion path of the camera are ignored. In contrast, to explicitly account for camera motion, the \emph{projective motion path} (PMP) model \cite{Tai09kasittr} treats a blurry image as the weighted summation of projectively transformed sharp images, leading to the revised observation model \begin{eqnarray}\label{eq:obs_model_proj} \begin{split} \y = \sum_j w_j \PP_j\x +\n, \end{split} \end{eqnarray} where $\PP_j$ is the $j$-th projection or homography operator (a combination of rotations and translations) and $w_j$ is the corresponding combination weight representing the proportion of time spent at that particular camera pose during exposure. The uniform convolutional model can be obtained by restricting the general projection operators $\{\PP_j\}$ to be translations. In this regard, (\ref{eq:obs_model_proj}) represents a more general model that has been used in many recent non-uniform deblurring efforts~\cite{Tai09kasittr, Whyte_non-uniformdeblurring, Gupta10singleimage,hu_bmvc2012,ChoCTL12}. PMP also retains the bilinear property of uniform convolution, meaning that \begin{eqnarray}\label{eq:obs_model_proj_bilinear} \begin{split} \y &= \HH\x + \n = \D\w +\n, \end{split} \end{eqnarray} where $\HH = \sum_j w_j \PP_j$ and $\D = [\PP_1\x, \PP_2\x, \cdots, \PP_j\x, \cdots]$ is a matrix of transformed sharp images. The disadvantage of PMP is that it typically leads to inefficient algorithms because the evaluation of the matrix-vector product $\HH\x = \D\w$ requires generating many expensive intermediate transformed images. However, EFF can be combined with the PMP model by introducing a set of basis images efficiently generated by transforming a grid of delta peak images~\cite{HirschSHS_ICCV11}. The computational cost can be further reduced by using an active set for pruning out the projection operators with small responses~\cite{hu_bmvc2012}. Furthermore, while the projective transformations (homographies) can generally involve six degrees-of-freedom (three for rotation and three for translation), recent work has demonstrated the effectiveness of using lower-dimensional restricted forms. For example, a 3D rotational camera motion model (i.e., using on roll, pitch, and yaw, no translations) is considered in~\cite{Whyte_non-uniformdeblurring}. Likewise, a 3D camera motion model with $x,y$-translations and in-plane rotations has been used successfully in several other deblurring algorithms \cite{Gupta10singleimage,HirschSHS_ICCV11,hu_bmvc2012}. These two approximations display similar performance for sufficiently long focal lengths due to rotation-translation ambiguity in this setting~\cite{Gupta10singleimage}. \section{A New Non-Uniform Deblurring Model} \label{sec:model_non_uni} Following previous work~\cite{Fergus06removingcamera,LevinWDF11}, we work in the derivative domain of images for ease of modeling and better performance, meaning that $\x \in \mathbb{R}^m$ and $\y \in \mathbb{R}^n$ will denote the lexicographically ordered sharp and blurry image derivatives respectively.\footnote{The derivative filters used in this work are $\{[-1, 1], [-1, 1]^T\}$. Other choices are also possible.} We will now derive a new non-uniform deblurring cost function followed by a majorization-minimization algorithm. \subsection{Cost Function Derivation} The observation model (\ref{eq:obs_model_proj}) is equivalent to the likelihood function \begin{eqnarray}\label{eq:likelihood} p(\y\|\x, \w, \lambda) \propto \exp \left[ -\frac{1}{2\lambda} \Vert \y - \HH\x \Vert_2^2 \right]. \end{eqnarray} Maximum likelihood estimation of $\x$ and $\w$ using (\ref{eq:likelihood}) is clearly ill-posed and so further regularization is required to constrain the solution space. For this purpose, we adopt a sparse prior on $\x$ (in the gradient domain) as advocated in~\cite{Fergus06removingcamera,Whyte_non-uniformdeblurring}. We assume the factorial form $p(\x) = \prod_{i=1}^m p(x_i)$ for this prior, where \begin{equation} \label{eq:convex_prior_xi} p(x_i) = \max_{\gamma_i \geq 0} \ \mathcal{N}(x_i; 0,\gamma_i) \exp \left(-\frac{1}{2} f(\gamma_i) \right), \end{equation} which represents a weighted maximization over zero-mean Gaussians with different variances $\gamma_i$. Here $f$ is some non-negative energy function, with different selections producing different priors on $\x$. While it has been shown in \cite{Wipf_VEM_NIPS05} that any prior expressible in the form of (\ref{eq:convex_prior_xi}) will be super-Gaussian (sparsity promoting), we will rely on the special case where $f=0$ for our model. This selection has been advocated in other applications of sparse estimation \cite{Wipf_Latent_Variable_TIT11}, has the advantage of being parameter free, and leads to a particularly compelling algorithm as will be shown below. The hyperparameter variances $\gam = [\gamma_1,\ldots,\gamma_m]^T$ provide a convenient way of implementing several different estimation strategies \cite{Wipf_VEM_NIPS05}. For example, perhaps the most straightforward is a form of MAP estimation given by \begin{equation} \max_{\x; \gam, \w\ge0} p(\y\|\x, \w, \lambda) \prod_i \mathcal{N}(x_i; 0,\gamma_i), \end{equation} \noindent where simple update rules are available via coordinate ascent over $\x$, $\gam$, and $\w$ (a prior can also be included on $\w$ or $\lambda$ if desired). However, recently it has been argued that an alternative estimation procedure may be preferred for canonical sparse linear inverse problems \cite{Wipf_Latent_Variable_TIT11}. The basic idea, which naturally extends to the blind deconvolution problem, is to first integrate out $\x$, and then optimize over $\w$, $\gam$, as well as the noise level $\lambda$. The final latent sharp image $\x$ can then be recovered using the estimated kernel and noise level along with standard non-blind deblurring algorithms. Later we will provide rigorous, independent rationalization for why the objective function produced through this process is ultimately superior to standard MAP. Mathematically, this alternative estimation scheme requires that we solve \begin{equation} \label{eq:type_II_cost_function} \max_{\gam,\w,\lambda \geq 0} \int p(\y\|\x,\w,\lambda) \mathcal{N}(x_i; 0,\gamma_i) d \x \equiv \min_{\gam,\w,\lambda \geq 0} \y^T \left(\HH \GM \HH^T + \lambda \II \right)^T \y + \log \left\| \HH \GM \HH^T + \lambda \II \right\|, \end{equation} where $\GM \triangleq \mbox{diag}[\gam]$. While optimizing (\ref{eq:type_II_cost_function}) is possible using various general techniques such as the EM algorithm, it is computationally expensive in part because of the high-dimensional determinants involved with realistic-sized images. Therefore, we instead minimize a convenient upper bound allowing us to circumvent this issue. Specifically, using standard determinant identities we have \begin{eqnarray} \label{eq:det_upper_bound} \log \left\| \HH \GM \HH^T + \lambda \II \right\| & = & n\log\lambda + \log\|\GM\| + \log \left\| \lambda^{-1} \HH^T \HH + \GM^{-1} \right\| \nonumber \\ & \leq & n\log\lambda + \log\|\GM\| + \log \left\| \lambda^{-1} \mbox{diag}\left[\HH^T \HH \right] + \GM^{-1} \right\| \nonumber \\ & \equiv & \sum_i \log \left(\lambda + \gamma_i \Vert \wbar_{i} \Vert^2_2 \right), \end{eqnarray} where $\HH = [ \wbar_1, \wbar_2, \ldots, \wbar_m]$. Here $\wbar_i$ denotes the $i$-th column of $\HH$ and represents the local blur kernel vector associated with pixel location $i$ in the image plane. The local kernel $\wbar_i$ can be calculated by \begin{eqnarray} \wbar_i = \HH\ii_i = \sum_j w_j \PP_j \ii_i = \B_i \w, \end{eqnarray} where $\ii_i$ denotes an all-zero image with a 1 at site $i$, and $\B_i \triangleq [\PP_1 \ii_i, \PP_2 \ii_i, \cdots, \PP_j \ii_i, \cdots]$. Consequently we have $\Vert \wbar_i \Vert^2_2 = \w^T (\B_i^T \B_i) \w$ for the norm embedded in (\ref{eq:det_upper_bound}). The use of this diagonal approximation will not only make the proposed model computationally tractable, but it will also lead to an effective deblurring algorithm, as will be verified by the extensive experimental results in Section~\ref{sec:Exp}. While optimizing (\ref{eq:type_II_cost_function}) using the bound from (\ref{eq:det_upper_bound}) can be justified in part using Bayesian-inspired arguments, the $\gam$-dependent cost function is far less intuitive than the standard penalized regression models dependent on $\x$ that are typically employed for blind deblurring. However, using the framework from \cite{Wipf_Latent_Variable_TIT11}, it can be shown that the kernel estimate obtained by this process is formally equivalent to the one obtained via \begin{eqnarray} \label{eq:cost_fun_non_uni} \begin{split} \min_{\x, \w\ge0, \lambda \geq 0} \frac{1}{\lambda} \Vert \y - \HH \x \Vert_2^2 + \g(\x, \w, \lambda), \end{split} \end{eqnarray} where \begin{eqnarray} \label{eq:penalty} \begin{split} \g(\x, \w, \lambda) \triangleq \sum_i g(x_i,\wbar_i,\lambda) \end{split} \end{eqnarray} \noindent and \begin{equation}\label{eq:g_full} g(x_i, \wbar_i, \lambda ) \triangleq \frac{2\|x_i\| \\|\wbar_i \\|_2}{\|x_i\| \\|\wbar_i \\|_2 + \sqrt{4\lambda + x_i^2 \\|\wbar_i \\|_2^2}} + \log \left(2\lambda + x_i^2 \\|\wbar_i \\|_2^2 + \|x_i\| \\|\wbar_i \\|_2 \sqrt{4\lambda + x_i^2 \\|\wbar_i \\|_2^2 }\right). \end{equation} The optimization from (\ref{eq:cost_fun_non_uni}) closely resembles a standard penalized regression (or equivalently MAP) problem used for blind deblurring. The primary distinction is the penalty term $\g$, which jointly regularizes $\x$, $\HH$, and $\lambda$. We discuss a tractable algorithm for optimization that accounts for this intrinsic coupling in Section \ref{sec:algorithm}, followed by analysis in Section \ref{sec:Theoretical_analysis}. \begin{algorithm}[t] \caption{Non-Uniform Blind Deblurring.} \begin{algorithmic}[1] \STATE {\bf Input:} {a blurry image $\y$} \STATE {\bf Initialize:} blur parameter vector ${\w}$, noise level $\lambda$, and $d = n 10^{-4}$ \STATE {\bf While} stopping criteria is not satisfied, do \vspace{0.4cm} { \begin{itemize} \item {\bf Image Update:} \\ $ \x \leftarrow [\frac{{\HH}^T {\HH}}{{\lambda}} + {\GM}^{-1} ]^{-1} \frac{{\HH}^T \y}{{\lambda}}$\quad where $\GM \triangleq \mbox{diag}[\gam]$ \vspace{0.7cm} \item {\bf Latent Representation Update:}\\ $ {\gamma_i} \leftarrow {x_i}^2 + z_{i}$, \mbox{ with } $z_{i} = \frac{1}{\frac{\Vert \wbar_i \Vert^2_2}{\lambda} + \gamma_i^{-1}}$ \vspace{0.4cm} \item {\bf Blur Update:} \\ $ \w \leftarrow \arg \min_{\w\ge 0} \ \Vert \y - \D \w\Vert_2^2 + \w^T \left(\sum_i z_i \B_i^T\B_i \right) \w $ \vspace{0.4cm} \item {\bf Noise Level Update:} \\ $ {\lambda} = \frac{\Vert \y - \HH \x \Vert_2^2 + \beta +d}{n}$, \mbox{ with } $\beta = \sum_i \frac{\Vert \wbar_i \Vert^2_2}{\frac{\Vert \wbar_i \Vert^2_2}{\lambda} + \gamma_i^{-1}}$ \vspace{0.4cm} \end{itemize} } \STATE {\bf End} \end{algorithmic} \label{algo:algo_non_uniform_BDB} \end{algorithm} \subsection{Minimization Algorithm} \label{sec:algorithm} The proposed practical blind deblurring algorithm simply involves solving (\ref{eq:cost_fun_non_uni}). This can be accomplished by instead minimizing a convenient upper bound $\mathcal{L}(\x, \w, \gam, \lambda)$ defined as \begin{eqnarray}\label{eq:cost_fun_upperbound} \mathcal{L}(\x, \w, \gam, \lambda) \triangleq \frac{1}{\lambda} \Vert \y - \HH \x \Vert_2^2 + \sum_i \left[\frac{x_i^2}{\gamma_i} + \log(\lambda + \gamma_i \Vert \wbar_i \Vert^2_2)\right], \end{eqnarray} where $\gam \triangleq [\gamma_1,\ldots,\gamma_m]^T$ is a vector of latent variables controlling the shape of the bound. The form of (\ref{eq:cost_fun_upperbound}) is motivated by the fact that the proposed penalty function satisfies \begin{equation} \label{eq:g_in_variational_form} g(x_i,\w,\lambda) = \min_{\gamma_i \geq 0} \frac{x_i^2}{\gamma_i} + \log(\lambda + \gamma_i \Vert \wbar_i \Vert^2_2). \end{equation} This expression can be shown by optimizing over $\gamma_i$, plugging in the resulting value which can be obtained in closed-form, and then simplifying. From (\ref{eq:g_in_variational_form}) it then follows that \begin{equation} \mathcal{L}(\x, \w, \gam, \lambda) \geq \frac{1}{\lambda} \Vert \y - \HH \x \Vert_2^2 + \g(\x, \w, \lambda) \end{equation} for all $\gam \geq 0$, with equality when each $\gamma_i$ solves (\ref{eq:g_in_variational_form}). Consequently we can solve (\ref{eq:cost_fun_non_uni}) iteratively by minimizing $\mathcal{L}(\x, \w, \gam, \lambda)$ in an alternating fashion over $\x$, $\w$, $\gam$, and $\lambda$. This majorization-minimization technique~\cite{CCCP_NIPS03,Wipf_Latent_Variable_TIT11} has similar convergence properties to the EM algorithm. The resulting procedure is summarized in Algorithm~\ref{algo:algo_non_uniform_BDB}. The details of each constituent subproblem are derived in Appendix~\ref{apd:algo_derivation}. Algorithm~\ref{algo:algo_non_uniform_BDB} is very straightforward. The image and blur are updated by solving simple quadratic minimization problems. The update rules for the latent variables $\gam$ and the noise level $\lambda$ are also minimally complex. For simplicity in practice, we have only used projection operators $\PP_j$ involving in-plane translations and rotations similar to~\cite{Gupta10singleimage} for modeling the camera shake, and use the EFF model \cite{HarmelingHS_NIPS10} for reducing the computational expense. We have also incorporated the technique similar to the one used in \cite{hu_bmvc2012}, whereby irrelevant projection operators are pruned out while some new ones are added by sampling around the remaining projections using a Gaussian distribution with a small variance. Note that this heuristic is only for reducing the computational complexity; using the fully sampled basis set would generate the best results. Also, a standard multi-scale estimation scheme is incorporated consistent with most recent blind deblurring work \cite{Fergus06removingcamera,LevinWDF11, Whyte_non-uniformdeblurring, HirschSHS_ICCV11}. Finally, we emphasize that Algorithm \ref{algo:algo_non_uniform_BDB} only provides an estimate of $\x$ in the gradient domain. Consequently, consistent with other methods we use the estimated blur parameters $\w$ in a final non-blind deconvolution step to recover the latent sharp image. \section{Theoretical Analysis}\label{sec:Theoretical_analysis} The proposed blind deblurring strategy involves simply minimizing (\ref{eq:cost_fun_non_uni}); no additional steps for structure or salient edge detection are required unlike other state-of-the-art approaches. This section will examine theoretical properties of the proposed penalty function $\g$ embedded in (\ref{eq:cost_fun_non_uni}) that ultimately allows such a simple algorithm to succeed. We note that, unlike prototypical penalized sparse regression models used for blind deblurring, $\g$ is non-separable with respect to the image $\x$ and the blur parameters $\w$, meaning that it cannot be decomposed as $\g(\x, \w, \lambda) = h_1(\x) + h_2(\w)$ for some functions $h_1$ and $h_2$. Moreover, it also depends on the noise level $\lambda$, a novel dependency with important consequences as shown below. To address these distinctions, we will examine $\g$ from two complementary perspectives. First, we will treat $\g$ as a function of $\x$ parameterized by $\w$ and $\lambda$, and then subsequently we will treat it as a function of $\w$ parameterized by $\x$ and $\lambda$. This will ultimately serve to demonstrate that the intrinsic coupling is highly advantageous over any separable functions $h_1$ and $h_2$. \subsection{The Effective Penalty on $\x$} For analysis purposes we first introduce the definition of \emph{relative concavity}~\cite{RC_Palmer}. \begin{Def}[Relative Concavity]\label{def:1} Let $\gfun$ be a strictly increasing function on $[a, b]$. The function $\ffun$ is \textbf{concave relative} to $\gfun$ on the interval $[a,b]$ if and only if $\ffun(y) \le \ffun(x) + \frac{\ffun'(x)}{\gfun'(x)} \left[ \gfun(y)-\gfun(x) \right]$ holds $\forall x,y \in [a, b]$. \end{Def} We will use $\ffun \prec \gfun$ to denote that $\ffun$ is concave relative to $\gfun$ on $[0,\infty)$. This can be understood as a natural generalization of the traditional notion of a concavity, in that a concave function is equivalently \emph{concave relative to a linear function} per Definition \ref{def:1}. In general, if $\ffun \prec \gfun$, then when $\ffun$ and $\gfun$ are set to have the same functional value and the same slope at any given point (i.e., by an affine transformation of $\gfun$), then $\ffun$ lies completely under $\gfun$. Now consider the function $h(\cdot; \rho) :\mathbb{R}^+ \rightarrow \mathbb{R}$ defined as \begin{equation}\label{eq:x_only_penalty} h(z; \rho ) \triangleq \frac{2z }{z + \sqrt{4\rho + z^2 }} + \log \left(2\rho + z^2 + z \sqrt{4\rho + z^2 }\right). \end{equation} It follows then that \begin{equation} \label{eq:reexpress_g} \g(\x,\w,\lambda) = \sum_i h(\|x_i\|; \rho_i) + \sum_i 2\log \\|\wbar_i \\|_2 \end{equation} where $\rho_i \triangleq \lambda/\Vert \wbar_i \Vert^2_2$. The second summation in (\ref{eq:reexpress_g}) is independent of $\x$, so here we will focus on the first term, which suggests that the penalty function shape over the image $\x$ depends only on this ratio of noise level to the squared norm of the local kernel. This leads to some desirable properties relevant to blind deblurring. Figure~\ref{fig:penalty_fun} shows how $h(\|x\|;\rho)$ varies its shape with $\rho$. \begin{figure} \centering \includegraphics[height=6cm]{Fig2.eps} \caption{(a) A 1D example of the coupled penalty $h(\|x\|, \rho)$ (normalized) with different $\rho$ values. The $\mathcal{\ell}_1$ norm is included for comparison. (b) A 2D example surface plot of the coupled penalty function $h(\|x\|, \rho)$.} \label{fig:penalty_fun} \end{figure} \vspace{0.4cm} \begin{Thm}[Spatially-Adaptive Sparsity] \label{thm:spa_adap_sparsity} The proposed penalty $h$ satisfies: \begin{enumerate} \item $h(z; \rho)$ is a concave, non-decreasing function of $z$ for all $\rho \ge 0$. \item If $\rho_1<\rho_2$, then $\frac{\partial h(z; \rho_1)}{\partial z} > \frac{\partial h(z; \rho_2)}{\partial z}$ and $h(z; \rho_1) \prec h(z; \rho_2)$. \end{enumerate} \end{Thm} \vspace{0.4cm} The proof has been deferred to Appendix~\ref{apd:proof}. The first property of Theorem~\ref{thm:spa_adap_sparsity} implies that the derived penalty function $h$ favors solutions $\x$ with some entries exactly equal to zero.\footnote{When $\w$ and $\lambda$ are fixed, optimization of $\x$ using (\ref{eq:cost_fun_non_uni}) falls into the canonical form $\min_{\x} \\|\y - \A \x \\|_2^2 + \lambda \sum_i \psi(\|x_i\|)$, where $\psi$ is a concave, non-decreasing function by virtue of Theorem \ref{thm:spa_adap_sparsity}. Such problems will provably have some elements of $\x$ equal to zero if $\A$ is overcomplete and/or if $\lambda$ is sufficiently large \cite{RaoECPK03,Wipf_Latent_Variable_TIT11}.} In this sense it is similar to more traditional penalty functions based on the $\ell_p$ pseudo-norm $\sum_i \|x_i\|^p$, $p \in (0,1]$, or other related sparsity measures. Consequently, the more unique attributes of $h$ stem from the second property of Theorem~\ref{thm:spa_adap_sparsity}, which leads to a desirable spatially-adaptive form of sparsity. To understand the significance of these properties, it helps to review an important practical consideration involved when designing robust deblurring systems. First, blind deconvolution algorithms applied to deblurring are heavily dependent on some form of stagewise coarse-to-fine approach, whereby the blur operator is repeatedly re-estimated at successively higher resolutions. At each stage, a lower resolution version is used to initialize the estimate at the next higher resolution. One way to implement this approach is to initially use large values of $\lambda$ such that only dominant, primarily low-frequency image structures dictate the optimization \cite{LevinWDF11_PAMI}. During subsequent iterations as the blur operator begins to reflect the correct coarse shape, $\lambda$ can be gradually reduced to allow the recovery of more detailed, fine structures. A highly sparse (concave) prior can ultimately be more effective in differentiating sharp images and fine structures than a convex one. Detailed supported evidence for this claim can be found in \cite{Fergus06removingcamera, sps_deblur, KrishnanF09_NIPS, Cho_PAMI}. However, if such a prior is applied at the initial stages of estimation, the iterations are likely to become trapped at suboptimal local minima, of which there will always be a combinatorial number. Moreover, in the early stages, the effective noise level is actually high due to errors contained in the estimated blur kernel, and exceedingly sparse image penalties are likely to produce unstable solutions. Theorem \ref{thm:spa_adap_sparsity} implies that the proposed method may implicitly avoid these problems by initializing with a large $\lambda$ (and therefore a large $\rho$), such that the penalty function is initially nearly convex in $\|x_i\|$ at all pixels $i$. As the iterations proceed and coarse structures are resolved, the effective noise level (or modeling error) reduces, along with the estimated $\lambda$. Consequently, later when fine structures need to be resolved, the penalty function becomes less convex as $\lambda$ is automatically reduced by the learning process, but the risk of local minima and instability is ameliorated by the fact that we are likely to be already in the neighborhood of a desirable basin of attraction. The form of image penalty adaptation just described occurs globally across all pixels. However, a more interesting and nuanced shape adaptation occurs regionally based on differences in the local blur estimate $\wbar_i$, which also affects the pixel-wise parameter $\rho_i$. Recall that $\wbar_i$ can be viewed as the local blur kernel around pixel $i$, meaning that in this local region the blurry image can be roughly modeled as $\wbar_i \ast \x$, where $\ast$ denotes the standard 2D convolution. Given the feasible simplex $\w \geq 0$ and $\sum_i w_i = 1$ commonly assumed for blind deblurring, it can be shown that $1/L \leq \\| \wbar_i \\|_2^2 \leq 1$, where $L$ is the maximum number of pixels in any local kernel. The upper bound is achieved when the local kernel is a delta solution, meaning only one nonzero element and therefore minimal blur. This scenario produces the highest relative concavity (i.e., sparsity) by virtue of Theorem \ref{thm:spa_adap_sparsity} since $\rho_i$ will be minimized. Such a high degree of sparsity is warranted here because there is little risk of local minima in regions with such a simple kernel and the added concavity can help to differentiate small-scale structures necessary for obtaining a globally reasonable solution. Note also that if we estimate the correct $\w$ based on a few local regions, then the overall deblurred image will be sharp to the extent that our forward model is correct. In contrast, the lower bound on $\\| \wbar_i \\|_2^2$ occurs when every element of $\wbar_i$ has an equal value. Now $\rho_i$ is maximized and the relative concavity is minimal, meaning $h(\|x_i\|; \rho_i)$ is the closest to being convex. Again, this represents a desirable tuning mechanism. A uniformly distributed $\wbar_i$ indicates maximal blur, and therefore higher risk for local minima. Moreover, in such regions, only dominate edges/structures will remain, and so a nearly convex penalty is sufficient for disambiguation of residual coarse details. Moreover, because of property two, not only is $h$ nearly convex, but its slope is also minimal, meaning the influence to the overall cost function is also minimized. Consequently, regions with smaller local blur kernels and significant edges will automatically dominate the image penalty, while flat regions or areas with large blur will be discounted. Importantly, this spatially-adaptive sparsity occurs without the need for additional structure selection measures, meaning carefully engineered heuristics designed to locate prominent edges such that good global solutions can be found with minimally non-convex image penalties \cite{hqdeblurring_siggraph2008,fast_motion_deblur_2009, XuJ10_ECCV,HarmelingHS_NIPS10,HirschSHS_ICCV11}. Figure~\ref{fig:effects_non_uni} presents example deblurring results on the real-world {\small\ttfamily Elephant} image from \cite{HarmelingHS_NIPS10} both with and without the described spatially-adaptive sparsity mechanism. We also display the corresponding image of $\brho \triangleq [\rho_1,\ldots, \rho_m]$ values in Figure~\ref{fig:kernel_norm_map_bar}, which determines which regions of the estimated sharp image will have the greatest impact on the cost function for the spatially-adaptive case. For purely uniform blur, this $\brho$-map would be constant neglecting small boundary effects, while for rotational blur, it would be smallest at the rotation center, and larger on the periphery. The learned $\brho$-map from a real image is refined across the coarse-to-fine hierarchy and reflects a combination of rotations and translations, modulating the relatively concavity using the inverse of the estimated local kernel spread. Importantly, if we remove this spatial adaptation, and instead substitute the fixed norm $\\| \w \\|_2^2$ for all $i$, the performance degrades as shown in Figure~\ref{fig:effects_non_uni}. \begin{figure}[t] \centering \includegraphics[width=16cm]{Fig3.eps} \caption{{\bf Effectiveness of spatially adaptive sparsity.} The deblurred images and estimated kernel maps obtained using the proposed spatially adaptive sparsity (\emph{left}) and standard spatially non-adaptive sparsity (\emph{right}) for the {\ttfamily Elephant} image shown in Figure~\ref{fig:Harmeling}.} \label{fig:effects_non_uni} \end{figure} \begin{figure}[t] \centering \includegraphics[width=16cm]{Fig4.eps} \caption{Map of $\brho$ as estimated by the proposed algorithm at different resolutions using the blurry {\ttfamily Elephant} image shown in Figure~\ref{fig:Harmeling}. This map reflects the degree of local blurring which ultimately controls the shape of the image penalty.} \label{fig:kernel_norm_map_bar} \end{figure} \subsection{The Effective Penalty on $\w$} We may also consider $\g$ as a function of $\w$ with shape modulated by $\x$ and $\lambda$ as well as the basis functions $\B_i$, leading to an interesting, complementary perspective. With this intent in mind, we define \begin{equation}\label{eq:w_only_penalty} \nu(\w; \mu, \B ) \triangleq \frac{2 \mu \\|\w\\|_{\B}}{\mu \\|\w\\|_{\B} + \sqrt{4 + \mu^2 \\|\w\\|_{\B}^2}} + \log \left(2 + \mu^2 \\|\w\\|_{\B}^2 + \mu \\|\w\\|_{\B} \sqrt{4 + \mu^2 \\|\w\\|_{\B}^2 }\right). \end{equation} where $\\| \w\\|_{\B}$ denotes the weighted quadratic norm $\sqrt{\w^T (\B^T \B) \w}$ (and so it follows that $\\| \w\\|_{\B_i} = \\| \wbar_i \\|_2$). By definition we then have \begin{equation} \g(\x,\w,\lambda) = \sum_i \nu(\w; \mu_i, \B_i) + m \log \lambda, \end{equation} where $\mu_i \triangleq \|x_i\|/\sqrt{\lambda}$. Note that because many $x_i$ may equal zero (in regions with zero gradient), we must define the shape parameters $\mu_i$ differently from the previous section. Moreover, while certain symmetries exist between the effective penalties on $\x$ and $\w$, the analysis and interpretations turn out to be significantly divergent. Interestingly, $\nu$ is completely blind to image regions determined to be relatively flat. More specifically, if a gradient $x_i$ is zero, then $\mu_i$ is zero and $\nu(\w; 0, \B_i) = 0$ contributes no penalty on $\w$. Consequently, as estimation proceeds and coarse image gradient estimates become available, the blur operator penalty is increasingly dominated by edges and structured image areas. However, it is important to examine how the shape of $\nu$ changes depending on where and how these edges are distributed relative to local blurring as dictated by each $\B_i$. Simply put, if the majority of large gradients occur near the center of some rotations, then the penalty will provably become nearly flat. This occurs because the corresponding $\B_i$ for such regions will be nearly a zero matrix with a single row of ones (and if location $i$ is directly in the rotation center, it will be exactly so). Given the constraint $\sum_i w_i = 1$, any feasible $\w$ will then necessarily produce almost the same $\\| \w \\|_{\B_i}$ value, and hence $\nu$ will be relatively flat. This is consistent with the intuition that minimal kernel regularization is required when there is limited blurring of the primary edges. In contrast, when the majority of significant gradients occur in areas with large local blurring (as a combination of translations and distant rotations), then the kernel penalty will impose strong quadratic regularization on $\w$. This can be explained by noting that $\B_i^T \B_i$ will be approximately an identity matrix for translations (ignoring boundary effects) and distant rotations (which behave like translations far from the rotation center). This is also desirable consequence since a relatively diffuse blurring operator will be needed to resolve such edges. Thus ultimately, the penalty on $\w$ transitions between a form of quadratic regularizer, which favors many nonzero elements of $\w$ suitable for characterizing larger blur, and no penalty at all (within the specified constraint set). Moreover, this adaptive regularization is processed using a non-linearity in $\nu$ such that data-fit and kernel penalties are properly balanced. By this we mean that if the image gradients $\x$ are scaled by some factor $\alpha$ (i.e., $\x \rightarrow \alpha \x$), then the $\w$ which solves \begin{equation} \label{eq:w_only_cost} \min_{\w} \Vert \y - \D \w\Vert_2^2 + \sum_i \nu(\w; \mu_i,\B_i), \end{equation} will simply be scaled by the same factor $\alpha$. Because (\ref{eq:w_only_cost}) represents the cost function from (\ref{eq:cost_fun_non_uni}) with $\x$ fixed, this form of invariance helps to explain why the proposed algorithm is largely devoid of trade-off parameters that are typically used to calibrate the kernel penalty. Note that \emph{both} the nonlinearity with respect to the norms $\\| \w \\|_{\B_i}$ \emph{and} the $x_i$-dependency in $\nu$ contribute to this invariance while simultaneously maintaining an integrated cost function over both $\x$ and $\w$ (which is easily shown to be globally scale invariant as well). \section{Experiments} \label{sec:Exp} This section compares the proposed method with several \emph{state-of-the-art} algorithms for both uniform and non-uniform blind deblurring using real-world images. \subsection{Uniform Deblurring} Any non-uniform deblurring approach should naturally reduce to an effective uniform algorithm when the blur transformations are simply in-plane translations. We first evaluate our algorithm in the uniform case where existing benchmarks facilitate quantitative comparisons with state-of-the-art methods. For this purpose we reproduce the experiments from \cite{LevinWDF11} using the benchmark test data from~\cite{LevinWDF11_PAMI},\footnote{{\url{http://www.wisdom.weizmann.ac.il/~levina/papers/LevinEtalCVPR09Data.rar}}} which consists of 4 base images of size $255\times 255$ and 8 different blurring effects, leading to a total of 32 blurry images. Ground truth blur kernels were estimated by recording the trace of focal reference points on the boundaries of the sharp images. The kernel sizes range from $13\times 13$ to $27\times 27$. We compare the proposed method with only in-plane translation, with the algorithms of Shan \emph{et al.}~\cite{hqdeblurring_siggraph2008}, Xu \emph{et al.}~\cite{XuJ10_ECCV}, Cho \emph{et al.}~\cite{fast_motion_deblur_2009}, Fergus \emph{et al.}~\cite{Fergus06removingcamera} and Levin \emph{et al.}~\cite{LevinWDF11}. The SSD (Sum of Squared Difference) metric defined in~\cite{LevinWDF11_PAMI} is used for measuring the error between estimated and the ground-truth images. To normalize for the fact that a harder kernel gives a larger image reconstruction error even when the true kernel is known (because the corresponding non-blind deconvolution problem is also harder), the SSD ratio between the image deconvolved with the estimated kernel and the image deconvolved with the ground-truth kernel is used as the final evaluation measure. The cumulative histogram of the error ratios is shown in Figure~\ref{fig:acc_hist}. The height of the bar indicates the percentage of images having error ratio below that level. Higher bars indicate better performance, revealing that the proposed method significantly outperforms existing methods on uniform deblurring tasks. \begin{figure}[t] \centering \includegraphics[height=6cm]{Fig5.eps} \caption{Evaluation of uniform deblurring results using cumulative histogram of the deconvolution error ratios across 32 test examples from~\cite{LevinWDF11_PAMI}. The height of the bar indicates the percentage of images having error ratio below that level. Higher bars indicate better performance.} \label{fig:acc_hist} \end{figure} \begin{figure}[t] \centering \includegraphics[width=16cm]{Fig6.eps} \caption{Non-uniform deblurring comparisons with Harmeling \emph{et al.}~\cite{HarmelingHS_NIPS10} and Hirsch \emph{et al.}~\cite{HirschSHS_ICCV11} using the three real-world test images {\ttfamily Butchershop}, {\ttfamily Vintage-car}, and {\ttfamily Elephant} provided in~\cite{HarmelingHS_NIPS10}. Additionally, ground-truth local blur kernels associated with each of these deblurring results are shown in Figure~\ref{fig:kernel_pattern} below.} \label{fig:Harmeling} \end{figure} \begin{figure}[t] \centering \includegraphics[width=16cm]{Fig7.eps} \caption{Non-uniform kernel estimation comparisons associated with the {\ttfamily Butchershop}, {\ttfamily Vintage-car}, and {\ttfamily Elephant} images from Figure \ref{fig:Harmeling} above. Note that kernels have been resized for display purposes.} \label{fig:kernel_pattern} \end{figure} \subsection{Non-uniform Deblurring} For non-uniform deblurring, quantitative comparisons are much more difficult because of limited benchmark data with available ground truth. Moreover, because source code for most state-of-the-art non-uniform algorithms is not available, it is not feasible to even qualitatively compare all methods across a wide range of images. Consequently, the only feasible alternative is simply to visually compare our algorithm using images contained in previously published papers with the deblurring results presented in those papers. In this context, a successful non-uniform blind deblurring algorithm is one that consistently performs comparably or better than all existing algorithms on the respective images where these algorithms have been previously tested. This section strongly suggests that the proposed approach is such a successful algorithm, even without any effort to optimize the non-blind deconvolution step (which is required after kernel estimation as mentioned previously). {\bf Comparisons with Harmeling \emph{et al.}~\cite{HarmelingHS_NIPS10} and Hirsch \emph{et al.}~\cite{HirschSHS_ICCV11}:} Figure~\ref{fig:Harmeling} displays deblurring comparisons based on the {\small\ttfamily Butchershop}, {\small\ttfamily Vintage-car}, and {\small\ttfamily Elephant} images provided in~\cite{HarmelingHS_NIPS10}. Overall, the proposed algorithm typically reveals more fine details than the other methods, despite its simplicity and lack of salient structure selection heuristics or trade-off parameters.\footnote{Results throughout this section are better viewed electronically with zooming.} Note that with these three images, ground truth blur kernels were independently estimated using a special capturing process. See \cite{HarmelingHS_NIPS10} for more details on this process. As shown in the Figure~\ref{fig:kernel_pattern} using a $7 \times 9$ (or $9 \times 7$) array for visualization, the estimated blur kernel patterns obtained from our algorithm are generally better matched to the ground truth relative to the other methods, a performance result that compensates for any differences in the non-blind step. {\bf Comparisons with Whyte \emph{et al.}~\cite{Whyte_non-uniformdeblurring} and Hirsch \emph{et al.}~\cite{HirschSHS_ICCV11}:} We further evaluate our algorithm using the {\small\ttfamily Pantheon} and {\small\ttfamily Statue} images from~\cite{Whyte_non-uniformdeblurring}. Results are shown in Figure~\ref{fig:Whyte}, where we observe that the deblurred image from Whyte \emph{et al.}~has noticeable ringing artifacts. In contrast, our result is considerably cleaner. On the {\small\ttfamily Pantheon} example the deblurring result from Whyte \emph{et al.} has significant ringing artifacts while the result from Hirsch \emph{et al.} seems to be suffering from some chrome distortions as indicated by the dome area of the pantheon. Our result on the other hand, has very few artifacts or chrome distortions. On the {\small\ttfamily Statue} image the result of Whyte \emph{et al.} is generated using a blurry image paired with another additional noisy image of the same scene captured with a shorter exposure time length. Our method and that of Hirsch \emph{et al.}, without the benefit of such additional image data, can nonetheless generate a deblurring result with comparable quality. {\bf Comparisons with Gupta \emph{et al.}~\cite{Gupta10singleimage} and Hirsch \emph{et al.}~\cite{HirschSHS_ICCV11}:} We next experiment using the test images {\small\ttfamily Magazines} and {\small\ttfamily Building} from~\cite{Gupta10singleimage}, which contain large, challenging rotational blur effects. Figure~\ref{fig:Gupta} reveals that our algorithm contains fewer artifacts and more fine details relative to Gupta \emph{et al.}, and comparable results to Hirsch \emph{et al.} on the {\small\ttfamily Magazines} image. Note that Hirsch \emph{et al.} do not provide a deblurring result for the {\small\ttfamily Building} image. \begin{figure}[t] \centering \includegraphics[width=16cm]{Fig8.eps} \caption{Non-uniform deblurring comparisons with Whyte \emph{et al.}~\cite{Whyte_non-uniformdeblurring} and Hirsch \emph{et al.}~\cite{HirschSHS_ICCV11} on the real-world images {\ttfamily Pantheon} and {\ttfamily Statue} from~\cite{Whyte_non-uniformdeblurring}.} \label{fig:Whyte} \end{figure} \begin{figure}[t] \centering \includegraphics[width=16cm]{Fig9.eps} \caption{Non-uniform deblurring comparisons with Gupta \emph{et al.}~~\cite{Gupta10singleimage} and Hirsch \emph{et al.}~~\cite{HirschSHS_ICCV11} on the real-world images {\ttfamily Magazines} and {\ttfamily Building} from~\cite{Gupta10singleimage}. Note that Hirsch \emph{et al.}~do not provide a deblurring result for the {\ttfamily Building} image.} \label{fig:Gupta} \end{figure} \begin{figure}[t] \centering \includegraphics[width=16cm]{Fig10.eps} \caption{Non-uniform deblurring comparisons with Joshi~\cite{JoshiKZS10} and Harmeling~\cite{HarmelingHS_NIPS10} using the real-world images {\ttfamily Porsche} and {\ttfamily Sculpture} provided in \cite{JoshiKZS10}. Note that Harmeling \emph{et al.} do not provide a deblurring result for the {\ttfamily Sculpture} image.} \label{fig:Joshi} \end{figure} {\bf Comparisons with Joshi \emph{et al.}~\cite{JoshiKZS10} and Harmeling \emph{et al.}~\cite{HarmelingHS_NIPS10}:} Joshi \emph{et al.}~present a deblurring algorithm that relies upon additional hardware for estimating camera motion~\cite{JoshiKZS10}. However, even without this additional hardware assistance, our algorithm still produces a better sharp estimate of the {\small\ttfamily Porsche} and {\small\ttfamily Sculpture} images from~\cite{JoshiKZS10}, with fewer ringing artifacts and higher resolution details. See Figure~\ref{fig:Joshi} for the results, where Harmeling \emph{et al.} have also produced results for the {\small\ttfamily Porsche} image. {\bf Comparison with Cho \emph{et al.}~\cite{ChoCTL12}:} Finally, we evaluate deblurring results using the {\small\ttfamily Antefix} and {\small\ttfamily Doll} images from \cite{ChoCTL12}. The method of Cho \emph{et al.}~requires two blurry images of the same scene as input while we ran our algorithm using only the first blurry image in each test pair. Despite this significant disadvantage, our method still produces higher quality estimates in both cases. The results are shown in Figure~\ref{fig:Cho}. \begin{figure}[t] \centering \includegraphics[width=16cm]{Fig11.eps} \caption{Non-uniform deblurring comparisons with Cho \emph{et al.}~\cite{ChoCTL12} on the real-world images {\ttfamily Antefix} and {\ttfamily Doll} from~\cite{ChoCTL12}. Note that the method of Cho \emph{et al.}~requires two blurry images as input while we ran our algorithm using only the first blurry image in each test pair.} \label{fig:Cho} \end{figure*} \section{Conclusion} \label{sec:con} This paper presents a strikingly simple yet effective method for non-uniform camera shake removal based upon a principled, transparent cost function that is open to analysis and further extensions/refinements. Moreover, both theoretical and extensive empirical evidence are provided demonstrating the efficacy of the adaptive approach to sparse regularization which emerges from our model. Extending the current framework to handle multiple images and video represents a worthwhile topic for future research.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv" }	7,672
Q: Latency and number of FMA units I'm trying to implement the convolution algoritm descibed in this paper. The authors state that the number of independent elements processed by FMA instructions is lower bounded by the latency of FMA istructions and it is upper bounded by the number/width of vector registers in the following way: N_vec * N_fma * L_fma < X < N_reg * N_vec Where: * N_vec: Number of elements contained in a vector register N_reg: Number of vector registers N_fma: Number of FMA units L_fma: Latency of one FMA instruction I'm using an Intel Core i7-10510U, and I set the parameters as follow: NAME VALUE N_vec 8 N_reg 16 N_fma 2 L_fma 4 This is motivated by the following reasons: I'm using 256b registers (N_reg=16). I'm using 4B single precision floating point data (N_vec=8). My question is about the latency and the number of FMA units. From Intel Intrisic guide I see that on my architecture (i.e., Skylake) the _mm256_fmadd_ps instruction has a throughput of 0.5 (cycle/instructions) and a latency of 4 cycles. For this reason I assumed to have 2 FMA units. By doing so I obtaing the bounds for X: (8 * 2 * 4) < X < (16 * 8) => 64 < X < 128 However, by running some experiments, I see that the execution time is shorter when I use X=256 or X=512. Am I getting any of the above parameters wrong? Especially N_fma and L_fma	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange" }	6,832
{"url":"https:\/\/in.mathworks.com\/help\/optim\/ug\/linear-or-quadratic-problem-with-quadratic-constraints.html","text":"This example shows how to solve an optimization problem that has a linear or quadratic objective and quadratic inequality constraints. It shows how to generate and use the gradient and Hessian of the objective and constraint functions.\n\nSuppose that you can put your problem in the form\n\n`$\\underset{x}{\\mathrm{min}}\\left(\\frac{1}{2}{x}^{T}Qx+{f}^{T}x+c\\right)$`\n\nsubject to\n\n`$\\frac{1}{2}{x}^{T}{H}_{i}x+{k}_{i}^{T}x+{d}_{i}\\le 0,$`\n\nwhere 1\u00a0\u2264\u00a0i\u00a0\u2264\u00a0m. Assume that at least one Hi is nonzero; otherwise, you can use `quadprog` or `linprog` to solve this problem. With nonzero Hi, the constraints are nonlinear, and the Optimization Decision Table states that `fmincon` is the appropriate solver.\n\nThe example assumes that the quadratic matrices are symmetric. This is without loss of generality; you can replace a nonsymmetric H (or Q) matrix with an equivalent symmetrized version (H + HT)\/2.\n\nIf x has N components, then Q and the Hi are N-by-N matrices, f and the ki are N-by-1 vectors, and c and the di are scalars.\n\n### Objective Function\n\nFormulate the problem using `fmincon` syntax. Assume that `x` and `f` are column vectors. (`x` is a column vector when the initial vector `x0` is.)\n\n```function [y,grady] = quadobj(x,Q,f,c) y = 1\/2x'Qx + f'x + c; if nargout > 1 grady = Qx + f; end```\n\n### Constraint Function\n\nFor consistency and easy indexing, place every quadratic constraint matrix in one cell array. Similarly, place the linear and constant terms in cell arrays.\n\n```function [y,yeq,grady,gradyeq] = quadconstr(x,H,k,d) jj = length(H); % jj is the number of inequality constraints y = zeros(1,jj); for i = 1:jj y(i) = 1\/2x'H{i}x + k{i}'x + d{i}; end yeq = []; if nargout > 2 grady = zeros(length(x),jj); for i = 1:jj grady(:,i) = H{i}x + k{i}; end end gradyeq = [];```\n\n### Numeric Example\n\nFor example, suppose that you have the following problem.\n\n```Q = [3,2,1; 2,4,0; 1,0,5]; f = [-24;-48;-130]; c = -2; rng default % for reproducibility % Two sets of random quadratic constraints: H{1} = gallery('randcorr',3); % random positive definite matrix H{2} = gallery('randcorr',3); k{1} = randn(3,1); k{2} = randn(3,1); d{1} = randn; d{2} = randn;```\n\n### Hessian\n\nCreate a Hessian function. The Hessian of the Lagrangian is given by the equation\n\n`${\\nabla }_{xx}^{2}L\\left(x,\\lambda \\right)={\\nabla }^{2}f\\left(x\\right)+\\sum {\\lambda }_{i}{\\nabla }^{2}{c}_{i}\\left(x\\right)+\\sum {\\lambda }_{i}{\\nabla }^{2}ce{q}_{i}\\left(x\\right).$`\n\n`fmincon` calculates an approximate set of Lagrange multipliers \u03bbi, and packages them in a structure. To include the Hessian, use the following function.\n\n```function hess = quadhess(x,lambda,Q,H) hess = Q; jj = length(H); % jj is the number of inequality constraints for i = 1:jj hess = hess + lambda.ineqnonlin(i)*H{i}; end```\n\n### Solution\n\nUse the `fmincon` `interior-point` algorithm to solve the problem most efficiently. This algorithm accepts a Hessian function that you supply. Set these options.\n\n```options = optimoptions(@fmincon,'Algorithm','interior-point',... 'SpecifyObjectiveGradient',true,'SpecifyConstraintGradient',true,... 'HessianFcn',@(x,lambda)quadhess(x,lambda,Q,H));```\n\nCall `fmincon` to solve the problem.\n\n```fun = @(x)quadobj(x,Q,f,c); nonlconstr = @(x)quadconstr(x,H,k,d); x0 = [0;0;0]; % column vector [x,fval,eflag,output,lambda] = fmincon(fun,x0,... [],[],[],[],[],[],nonlconstr,options);```\n\nExamine the Lagrange multipliers.\n\n`lambda.ineqnonlin`\n```ans = 12.8412 39.2337```\n\nBoth nonlinear inequality multipliers are nonzero, so both quadratic constraints are active at the solution.\n\n### Efficiency When Providing a Hessian\n\nThe interior-point algorithm with gradients and a Hessian is efficient. Examine the number of function evaluations.\n\n`output`\n```output = iterations: 9 funcCount: 10 constrviolation: 0 stepsize: 5.3547e-04 algorithm: 'interior-point' firstorderopt: 1.5851e-05 cgiterations: 0 message: 'Local minimum found that satisfies the constraints. Optimization compl...'```\n\n`fmincon` used just 10 function evaluations to solve the problem.\n\nCompare this to the solution without the Hessian.\n\n```options.HessianFcn = []; [x2,fval2,eflag2,output2,lambda2] = fmincon(fun,[0;0;0],... [],[],[],[],[],[],nonlconstr,options); output2```\n```output2 = iterations: 17 funcCount: 22 constrviolation: 0 stepsize: 2.8475e-04 algorithm: 'interior-point' firstorderopt: 1.7680e-05 cgiterations: 0 message: 'Local minimum found that satisfies the constraints. Optimization compl...'```\n\nThis time `fmincon` used about twice as many iterations and function evaluations. The solutions are the same to within tolerances.\n\n### Extension to Quadratic Equality Constraints\n\nIf you also have quadratic equality constraints, you can use essentially the same technique. The problem is the same, with the additional constraints\n\n`$\\frac{1}{2}{x}^{T}{J}_{i}x+{p}_{i}^{T}x+{q}_{i}=0.$`\n\nReformulate your constraints to use the Ji, pi, and qi variables. The `lambda.eqnonlin(i)` structure has the Lagrange multipliers for equality constraints.","date":"2020-06-05 01:12:35","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 4, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.8947693109512329, \"perplexity\": 851.7960617512693}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2020-24\/segments\/1590348492295.88\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20200604223445-20200605013445-00224.warc.gz\"}"}	null	null
\section{Structures and Training Settings of Neural Networks} \label{appendix:tables} \begin{table}[H] \begin{center} \begin{tabular}{c \| c \| c \| c \| c } \hline \hline Layer & Kernel Size & Strides & Padding & Init \\ \hline \hline Convolution & $5 \times 5 \times 32$ & $1 \times 1$ & Same & Default \\ \hline MaxPool & $2 \times 2$ & $2 \times 2$ & - & - \\ \hline ReLU & - & - & - & - \\ \hline Convolution & $5 \times 5 \times 64$ & $1 \times 1$ & Same & Default \\ \hline MaxPool & $2 \times 2$ & $2 \times 2$ & - & - \\ \hline ReLU & - & - & - & - \\ \hline Flatten & - & - & - & - \\ \hline Dense & $1024$ & - & - & Default \\ \hline ReLU & - & - & - & - \\ \hline Dense & $10$ & - & - & Default \\ \hline Softmax & - & - & - & - \\ \end{tabular} \end{center} \caption{MNIST and Fashion-MNIST Classifier Structure} \label{table:mnist-classifier-structure} \end{table} \begin{table}[H] \begin{center} \begin{tabular}{c \| c \| c \| c \| c } \hline \hline Layer & Kernel Size & Strides & Padding & Init \\ \hline \hline Dropout & $0.2$ (drop rate) & - & - & - \\ \hline Convolution & $3 \times 3 \times 96$ & $1 \times 1$ & Same & He \\ \hline ReLU & - & - & - & - \\ \hline Convolution & $3 \times 3 \times 96$ & $1 \times 1$ & Same & He \\ \hline ReLU & - & - & - & - \\ \hline Convolution & $3 \times 3 \times 96$ & $1 \times 1$ & Same & He \\ \hline ReLU & - & - & - & - \\ \hline MaxPool & $2 \times 2$ & $2 \times 2$ & - & - \\ \hline Dropout & $0.5$ (drop rate) & - & - & - \\ \hline Convolution & $3 \times 3 \times 192$ & $1 \times 1$ & Same & He \\ \hline ReLU & - & - & - & - \\ \hline Convolution & $3 \times 3 \times 192$ & $1 \times 1$ & Same & He \\ \hline ReLU & - & - & - & - \\ \hline Convolution & $3 \times 3 \times 192$ & $1 \times 1$ & Same & He \\ \hline ReLU & - & - & - & - \\ \hline MaxPool & $2 \times 2$ & $2 \times 2$ & - & - \\ \hline Dropout & $0.5$ (drop rate) & - & - & - \\ \hline Convolution & $3 \times 3 \times 192$ & $1 \times 1$ & Valid & He \\ \hline ReLU & - & - & - & - \\ \hline Convolution & $1 \times 1 \times 192$ & $1 \times 1$ & Same & He \\ \hline ReLU & - & - & - & - \\ \hline Convolution & $1 \times 1 \times 192$ & $1 \times 1$ & Same & He \\ \hline ReLU & - & - & - & - \\ \hline GlobalAvgPool & - & - & - & - \\ \hline Dense & $10$ & - & - & Default \\ \hline Softmax & - & - & - & - \\ \end{tabular} \end{center} \caption{CIFAR10 allCNN Classifier Structure} \label{table:cifar-classifier2-structure} \end{table} \begin{table}[H] \begin{center} \begin{tabular}{ c \| c \| c \| c } \hline \hline Setting & MNIST & Fashion-MNIST & CIFAR10 \\ \hline \hline Optimizer & Adam & Adam & Momentum \\ Learning Rate & $1e^{-4}$ & 0.01 & 0.01 \\ Learning Rate Decay & - & 0.1 & 0.1 \\ Momentum & - & - & 0.9 \\ Weight Decay & - & - & 0.001 \\ Batch Size & 128 & 128 & 128 \\ Shuffle & Yes & Yes & Yes \\ Width Shift & - & - & 0.1 \\ Height Shift & - & - & 0.1 \\ Horizontal Flip & No & No & Yes \\ Epoch & 80 & 80 & 350 \\ \end{tabular} \end{center} \caption{Classifier Training Setting} \label{table:classifier-training} \end{table} \begin{table}[H] \begin{center} \begin{tabular}{c \| c \| c \| c \| c } \hline \hline Layer & Kernel Size & Strides & Padding & Init \\ \hline \hline Dense & 32 & - & - & Default \\ \hline ReLU & - & - & - & - \\ \hline Dense & 64 & - & - & Default \\ \hline ReLU & - & - & - & - \\ \hline Dense & 32 & - & - & Default \\ \hline ReLU & - & - & - & - \\ \hline Dense & 1 & - & - & Default \\ \hline Sigmoid & - & - & - & - \\ \end{tabular} \end{center} \caption{Discriminator Structure} \label{table:discriminator-structure} \end{table} \begin{table}[H] \begin{center} \begin{tabular}{ c \| c } \hline \hline Setting & MNIST, Fashion-MNIST and CIFAR10 \\ \hline \hline Optimizer & Adam \\ Learning Rate & $1e^{-4}$ \\ Batch Size & 128 \\ Inner Epochs & 3 \\ Shuffle & Yes \\ $\gamma$ & 2 \\ \end{tabular} \end{center} \caption{Discriminator Training Setting} \label{table:discriminator-training} \end{table} \end{appendices} \section{Background and Related Work} \label{sec:background} In this section, we introduce background material about adversarial example generators and defensive mechanisms for better understanding of the concepts presented in this work. We also provide relevant references for further information about each topic. \subsection{Generating Adversarial Examples} The methods for generating adversarial examples against NN classifiers can be categorized according to several different aspects. In one aspect, these methods could be distinguished by the adversary's knowledge of the target NN classifier. In White-box methods, the adversary is assumed to have full knowledge about the target NN classifier (structure, parameters and inner status), and hence the generated examples are called white-box adversarial examples. On the other hand, black-box methods assume that the adversary has no access to the inner information of the target NN classifier, and hence, the generated examples are called black-box adversarial examples. On another aspect, adversarial example generation methods could be categorized into single-step or iterative methods according to the process of generating the examples. Single-step methods only run gradient descent (ascent) algorithm once when solving the proposed optimization problem, while iterative methods repeat the computation several times until hitting predefined convergence thresholds. Based on previous works, an adversarial example generator is generally formulated as an optimization problem which searches a small neighboring area of the original image (usually defined by $l_{1}$, $l_{2}$ or $l_{\infty}$ norm) for the existence of adversarial examples. If we denote an original image by $\bar{x}$ and the example with perturbation $\delta$ by $\hat{x} = \mathcal{F} (\bar{x} + \delta)$, then the process of searching adversarial examples can be formulated as follows \cite{goodfellow2014explaining}: \begin{equation} \begin{aligned} & \underset{\delta}{\text{minimize}} & & \|\| \hat{x} - \bar{x} \|\| \\ & \text{subject to} & & \mathcal{C} (\hat{x}) = z^{o} \\ & & & \mathcal{F} (\bar{x} + \delta) \in \mathbb{R}_{[-1,1]}^{m} \end{aligned} \end{equation} The function $\mathcal{C}$ represents the classifier and outputs the pre-softmax logits based on input image. The function $\mathcal{F}$ projects the pixel value of any input image back to $\mathbb{R}_{[-1,1]}$ and ensures that the generated adversarial example is still a valid image. A perturbation is considered strong enough to fool the classifier if and only if $\mathcal{C} (\hat{x}) = z^{o}$, where $z^{o}$ is the objective pre-softmax logits designed by adversary. The global optimum of this problem corresponds to the strongest adversarial example for a given image. However, modern classifiers are highly non-linear, which makes it hard to solve the optimization problem in its original form, and hence each generator has its own approximation to make the optimization problem solvable. Table \ref{table:summary-notation} summarizes all the notations that we use throughout this paper. In the following, we describe the design approaches of several popular adversarial example generators that we consider in this work. \begin{table}[tb] \begin{center} \begin{tabular}{ p{.25\linewidth} \| p{.65\linewidth} } \hline \hline $\mathcal{L}, ~ \mathcal{L}_{\text{CLP}}, ~ \mathcal{L}_{\text{CLS}}$ & loss function of NN classifier \\ $\mathcal{F}$ & regulation function for pixel value of generated example \\ $z^{o}$ & objective pre-softmax logits designed by adversary \\ $l_{1}, ~ l_{2}, ~ l_{\infty}$ & the 1st order, 2nd order and infinity order norm \\ $\bar{x}, ~ \bar{X}; ~ \hat{x}, ~ \hat{X}; ~ x, ~ X$ & original example; example with perturbation; their union \\ $\bar{t}, ~ \bar{T}; ~ \hat{t}, ~ \hat{T}; ~ t, ~ T$ & ground truth of $\bar{x}, ~ \bar{X}; ~ \hat{x}, ~ \hat{X}; ~ x, ~ X$ \\ $\bar{z}, ~ \bar{Z}; ~ \hat{z}, ~ \hat{Z}; ~ z, ~ Z$ & pre-softmax logits of $\bar{x}, ~ \bar{X}; ~ \hat{x}, ~ \hat{X}; ~ x, ~ X$ \\ $\bar{s}, ~ \bar{S}; ~ \hat{s}, ~ \hat{S}; ~ s, ~ S$ & source indicator of $\bar{x}, ~ \bar{X}; ~ \hat{x}, ~ \hat{X}; ~ x, ~ X$ \\ $\delta$ & perturbation \\ $\mathcal{C}, ~ \mathcal{C}^{}$ & NN based classifier \\ $\mathcal{D}, ~ \mathcal{D}^{}$ & NN based discriminator \\ $J, ~ J'$ & reward function of the minimax game \\ $\Omega, ~ \Omega_{\mathcal{C}}, ~ \Omega_{\mathcal{D}}$ & weight parameter in the NN model \\ $\lambda, ~ \gamma$ & trade-off hyper-parameters in CLP, CLS and GanDef \\ \hline \hline \end{tabular} \end{center} \caption{Summary of Notations} \label{table:summary-notation} \end{table} \textbf{Fast Gradient Sign Method (FGSM)} is introduced by Goodfellow et. al in \cite{goodfellow2014explaining} as a single-step white-box adversarial example generator against NN image classifiers. This method tries to maximize the loss function value, $\mathcal{L}$, of NN classifier, $\mathcal{C}$, to find adversarial examples. The calculation of loss is usually defined as the difference between ground truth, $t$, and the softmax transformation, $f(z_{i}) = \frac{e^{z_{i}}}{\sum_{z_{j}} e^{z_{j}}}$, of pre-softmax logits. \begin{equation} \begin{aligned} & \underset{\delta}{\text{maximize}} & & \mathcal{L} (\hat{z}=\mathcal{C}(\hat{x}), t) \\ & \text{subject to} & & \mathcal{F} (\bar{x} + \delta) \in \mathbb{R}_{[-1,1]}^{m} \end{aligned} \end{equation} As a single-step generator, only one iteration of gradient ascent is executed to find adversarial examples. It simply generates examples with perturbation, $\hat{x}$, from original images, $\bar{x}$, by adding small perturbation, $\delta$, which changes each pixel value along the gradient direction of the loss function. Although running one iteration of gradient ascent algorithm can not guarantee finding a solution which is close enough to optimal one, empirical results show that adversarial examples from this generator can mislead Vanilla NN classifiers. Intuitively, FGSM runs faster than iterative generators at the cost of weaker adversarial examples. That is, the success rate of attack using the generated examples is relatively low due to the linear approximation of the loss function landscape. \textbf{Basic Iterative Method (BIM)} is introduced by Kurakin et. al in \cite{kurakin2016adversarial} as an iterative white-box adversarial example generator against NN image classifiers. BIM utilizes the same mathematical model as FGSM but runs the gradient ascent algorithm iteratively. In each iteration, BIM applies small perturbation and maps the perturbed image through the function $\mathcal{F}$. As a result, BIM approximates the loss function landscape by linear spline interpolation. Therefore, it generates stronger examples and achieves higher attack success rate than FGSM within the same neighboring area. \textbf{Projected Gradient Descent (PGD)} is another iterative white-box adversarial example generator recently introduced by Madry et. al in \cite{madry2017towards}. Similar to BIM, PGD solves the same optimization problem iteratively with projected gradient descent algorithm. However, PGD randomly selects initial point within a limited area of the original image and repeats this several times to search adversarial example. Since the loss landscape has a surprisingly tractable structure \cite{madry2017towards}, PGD is shown experimentally to solve the optimization problem efficiently and the generated examples are stronger than those of BIM. \subsection{Adversarial Example Defensive Methods} Here, we categorize the design of defensive methods against adversarial examples into three major classes. The first is based on applying data augmentation and regularization during the training. The second class aims at adding protective shell on the target classifier, while the last class focuses on utilizing some adversarial examples to retrain the target classifier. In the following, we introduce representative examples from each of the above three approaches: \textbf{Augmentation and Regularization} usually utilize synthetic data or regulate hidden states during training to enhance the test accuracy on adversarial examples. One of the early ideas in this direction is the defensive distillation. In the context of adversarial example defense, distillation is done by using the prediction score from original NN, which is usually called the teacher, as ground truth to train a smaller NN with different structure, usually called the student \cite{papernot2016distillation}\cite{papernot2017extending}. It has been shown that the calculated gradients from student model become very small or even reach zero and hence, can not be utilized by adversarial example generators \cite{papernot2017extending}. Examples of recent approaches under this category of defenses include Fortified Network \cite{lamb2018fortified} and Manifold Mixup \cite{verma2018manifold}. Fortified Network utilizes denoising autoencoder to regularize the hidden states. With this regularization, trained NN classifiers learn to mitigate the difference in hidden states between original and adversarial examples. Manifold Mixup also focus on hidden states but follows a different way. During training, Manifold Mixup uses interpolations of hidden states and logits instead of original training data to achieve regularization. However, this set of defenses is shown to be not very reliable as they are vulnerable to certain adversarial examples. For example, defensive distillation is vulnerable to Carlini attack \cite{carlini2016towards} and Manifold Mixup can only defend against single step attacks. \textbf{Protective Shell} is a set of defensive methods designed to reject or reform adversarial examples. Meng et. al introduced an approach called MagNet \cite{meng2017magnet} which falls under this category. MagNet has two types of functional components; the detector and the reformer. Adversarial examples are either rejected by the detector or reformed by the reformer to clean up adversarial perturbations. Other recent approaches like \cite{liang2017detecting}, \cite{zhao2018detecting} and \cite{samangouei2018defense} also fall under this category and they are differentiated by the way they implement the protective shell. In \cite{liang2017detecting}, authors carefully inject adaptive noise to input images to break adversarial perturbations without significantly degrading classification accuracy. In \cite{zhao2018detecting}, a key based cryptography method is utilized to differentiate adversarial examples from original ones. In \cite{samangouei2018defense}, a generator is utilized to generate images that are similar to the inputs. By replacing the inputs with generated images, the approach shows good resistance to adversarial examples. The main limitation of the approaches under this category is the assumption that the shell is black-box to adversary, which turns to be inaccurate. For example, \cite{athalye2018obfuscated} presented different ways to break this assumption. \textbf{Adversarial Training} is based on the idea that adversarial examples can be considered as blind spots of the original training data \cite{xu2016automatically}. By retraining with samples of adversarial examples, the classifier learns perturbation patterns from adversarial examples and generalizes its prediction to account for such perturbations. In \cite{goodfellow2014explaining}, adversarial examples generated by FGSM are used for adversarial training of a NN classifier. The results show that the retrained classifier can correctly classify adversarial examples of this single step attack (FGSM). Later works in \cite{madry2017towards} and \cite{tramer2017ensemble} enhance the adversarial training process so that the trained models can defend not only single step attacks but also iterative attacks like BIM and PGD. A more recent work under this category \cite{kannan2018adversarial} introduces two zero knowledge adversarial training defenses. The defenses use Gaussian random noise for perturbations and include a penalty term based on pre-softmax logits, $z$. However, the design of penalty term is simple and not flexible enough to handle complex patterns in $z$. Our goal in this work is to design a flexible zero knowledge defense that handles $z$ in a more sophisticated way to achieve higher test accuracy on adversarial examples. \section{Conclusion} \label{sec:conclusion} In this paper, we introduce a new zero knowledge adversarial training defense, ZK-GanDef, which combines adversarial training and feature learning to better recognize and identify adversarial examples. We evaluate the test accuracy and the training overhead of ZK-GanDef against state-of-the-art zero knowledge adversarial training defenses (CLP and CLS) as well as full knowledge adversarial training defenses (FGSM-Adv and PGD-Adv). The results show that ZK-GanDef enhances the test accuracy on original and adversarial examples by up to 49.17\% compared to zero knowledge defenses. More importantly, ZK-GanDef has close test accuracy to full knowledge defenses (test accuracy degeneration is below 8.46\%), while taking much less training time (more than 51.53\% on training time reduction). Additionally, in contrast to full knowledge defenses, ZK-GanDaf can adapt to new types of adversarial examples because its training is adversarial example agnostic. \section{ZK-GanDef: GAN based Zero Knowledge Adversarial Training Defense} \label{sec:defense} In this section, we first introduce existing zero knowledge adversarial training defenses, then, we present the design and the algorithmic details of ZK-GanDef. \begin{figure}[tb] \centering \begin{minipage}[c]{.3\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/CLP.jpg} \subcaption{Clean Logit Pairing} \label{fig:clp-train} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.3\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/CLS.jpg} \subcaption{Clean Logit Squeezing} \label{fig:cls-train} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.3\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/ZKG.jpg} \subcaption{ZK-GanDef} \label{fig:zkg-train} \end{minipage} \caption{Training Procedure of Different Zero Knowledge Defenses} \label{fig:zero-knowledge-defenses} \end{figure} \subsection{Zero Knowledge Adversarial Training} Recall that full knowledge adversarial training defenses retrain NN classifier with adversarial examples. Since adversarial examples are created by solving an optimization problem, its preparation consumes significant amount of computation, especially when iterative adversarial examples are utilized. Based on experiments in \cite{kannan2018adversarial}, generating adversarial examples on Imagenet dataset requires a cluster of GPU servers. To overcome this limitation, authors in \cite{kannan2018adversarial} also introduce two zero knowledge adversarial training defenses dubbed CLP and CLS. Instead of retraining with adversarial examples, these approaches retrain with examples perturbed with random Gaussian noise. The idea here is to speedup the training process by eliminating the computationally expensive step of adversarial examples generation. The caveat, however, is that since the retraining is performed with "fake" adversarial examples, the test accuracy against "true" adversarial examples degrades. The training process of CLP is visualized in Figure \ref{fig:clp-train}. The retraining dataset consists of several pairs of randomly sampled original examples perturbed with random Gaussian noise. After the feed forward pass through the NN classifier, two different pre-softmax logits are generated. The differences between these pre-softmax logits and their corresponding ground truths are calculated as the first part of the total loss. The $l_{2}$ norm of the difference between these two pre-softmax logits is also calculated and used as the second part in the total loss. Based on the total loss, the weights, $\Omega$, of the NN classifier are updated by gradient descent algorithm and back propagation. The training loss of CLP can be summarized as follows: \begin{equation} \begin{aligned} & \mathcal{L}_{\text{CLP}}(\mathcal{C}) = & \mathcal{L}(\hat{z}_{1} = \mathcal{C}(\hat{x}_{1}), \hat{t}_{1}) & + \mathcal{L}(\hat{z}_{2} = \mathcal{C}(\hat{x}_{2}), \hat{t}_{2}) \\ & & & + \lambda l_{2}(\mathcal{C}(\hat{x}_{1}) - \mathcal{C}(\hat{x}_{2})) \end{aligned} \end{equation} The training process of the other zero knowledge approach, CLS, is shown in Figure \ref{fig:cls-train}. Similar to CLP, CLS retrains with examples perturbed with random Gaussian noise. However, instead of using pairs of inputs, CLS uses individual inputs to the NN classifier in the forward pass. The first term of the total loss in CLS is still calculated by a predefined loss function of pre-softmax logits and the corresponding ground truths. Different from the CLP, CLS directly calculates the $l_{2}$ norm of pre-softmax logits as the second term in its total loss. Thereafter, it follows the same training process with gradient descent algorithm and back propagation to update the weights, $\Omega$, in the NN classifier. The loss function of CLS is as follows: \begin{equation} \begin{aligned} & \mathcal{L}_{\text{CLS}}(\mathcal{C}) = & \mathcal{L}(\hat{z} = \mathcal{C}(\hat{x}), \hat{t}) & + \lambda l_{2}(\mathcal{C}(\hat{x})) \end{aligned} \end{equation} The hypothesis behind CLP and CLS is that abnormal large values in pre-softmax logits are signals of adversarial examples. Therefore, they both add penalty term to the loss function during the training in order to prevent such over confident predictions. Although the penalty terms are different, both defenses encourage the NN classifier to output small and smooth pre-softmax logits. \subsection{Design of ZK-GanDef} As mentioned in the previous subsection, CLP and CLS try to prevent overconfident predictions by penalizing high pre-softmax logits. However, the penalty terms used are oversimplified and do not utilize other valuable information contained in the pre-softmax logits. This results, as we see in the evaluation section, in poor accuracy on complex datasets. On the other hand, our ZK-GanDef is designed to better utilize the rich information available in the pre-softmax logits. As Figure \ref{fig:zkg-train} shows, Zk-Gandef comprises a classifier and a discriminator. The input to the classifier includes both original images and randomly perturbed examples. It has been shown in transfer learning, \cite{goodfellow2016deep}, that the pre-softmax logits output of the classifier relates to the extracted features from its inputs. Therefore, we use a discriminator to identify whether the logit output of the classifier belongs to an original image or a perturbed example. The intuition here is that the features extracted by a Vanilla NN classifier from perturbed examples will contain some kind of perturbations, and hence can be recognized by a trained discriminator. In this work, we envision that the classifier could be seen as a generator that generates pre-softmax logits based on selected features from inputs. Then, the classifier and the discriminator engage in a minmax game, which is also known as \textit{Generative Adversarial Net} (GAN) \cite{goodfellow2016deep}. In this minimax game, the discriminator tries to make perfect prediction about the source of inputs (original or perturbed). At the same time, the classifier tries to correctly classify inputs as well as hide the source information from the discriminator. This process trains a classifier which makes prediction based on perturbation invariant features from inputs, as well as a discriminator which can identify whether the features used by the fellow classifier contain any perturbations. \textcolor{black}{Through training in this competition game, the feature learning in the classifier is regulated by the discriminator and it finally leads to defense against adversarial examples.} Compared with the CLP and CLS, ZK-GanDef has a more sophisticated way of utilizing pre-softmax logits. Instead of encouraging the NN classifier to make small and smooth logits, ZK-GanDef aims at differentiating the latent pattern of logits between original images and examples with perturbations. Therefore, the NN classifier in ZK-GanDef is encouraged to select perturbation invariant features, which enhance its test accuracy of adversarial examples on complex datasets. \textcolor{black}{It is worth to mention that an example with Gaussian perturbation is not necessary to be an adversarial example. However, results in \cite{kannan2018adversarial} show that defenses against adversarial examples can be built by training against examples with Gaussian perturbation. Our method is built upon this empirical conclusion.} \subsection{ZK-GanDef Training Algorithm} Given the training data pair $\langle x, t \rangle$, where $x \in \cup (\bar{X}, \hat{X})$, we try to find a classification function $\mathcal{C}$, which uses $x$ to give a proper pre-softmax logits $z$ corresponding to $t$. The goal is to train the classifier in ZK-GanDef to model the conditional probability $q_{C}(z\|x)$ with only perturbation invariant features. To achieve this, we employ another NN and call it a discriminator $\mathcal{D}$. $\mathcal{D}$ uses the pre-softmax logits $z$ from $\mathcal{C}$ as inputs and predicts whether the input image to $\mathcal{C}$ was $\bar{x}$ or $\hat{x}$. This process can be performed by maximizing the conditional probability $q_{D}(s\|z)$, where $s$ is a Boolean variable indicating whether the input to $\mathcal{C}$ was original or randomly perturbed image. The combined minmax problem of the classifier and the discriminator is formulated as: \begin{equation} \begin{aligned} & \underset{\mathcal{C}}{\text{min}} ~ \underset{\mathcal{D}}{\text{max}} ~ J(\mathcal{C}, \mathcal{D}) \end{aligned} \end{equation} \begin{equation} \begin{aligned} & \text{where} ~~ J(\mathcal{C}, \mathcal{D}) = \\ & \underset{x \sim X, t \sim T}{\mathbb{E}} \{- log [q_{C}(z\|x)]\} - \underset{z \sim Z, s \sim S}{\mathbb{E}} \{- log [q_{D}(s\|z=\mathcal{C}(x))]\} \end{aligned} \end{equation} In words, the training process of the classifier ($\mathcal{C}$) tries to minimize the log likelihood of predicting $s$ from $z$, while maximizing the log likelihood of predicting $z$ from $x$. At the same time, the goal of the discriminator ($\mathcal{D}$) is to maximize the log likelihood of predicting $s$ from $z$. Recall that, similar to CLP and CLS \cite{kannan2018adversarial}, ZK-GanDef uses inputs ($x$) perturbed with random Gaussian noise as an approximation of true adversarial examples. The pseudocode for training of ZK-GanDef is shown in Algorithm \ref{algorithm:defense}. During the sampling in lines \ref{alg2:sample1} and \ref{alg2:sample2}, a number (predefined by user) of examples is evenly sampled from original images $\bar{X}$ and examples with Gaussian perturbations $\hat{X}$ to form a training batch. In lines \ref{alg2:freeze1} and \ref{alg2:freeze2}, the weight parameters in the classifier (discriminator) are frozen before updating the weight parameters in the discriminator (classifier). Finally, in lines \ref{alg2:update1} and \ref{alg2:update2}, the weight parameters are updated through the stochastic gradient descent algorithm. In this algorithm, we iteratively update the classifier and the discriminator one at a time to emulate the proposed minimax game. \begin{algorithm} \caption{Training ZK-GanDef} \label{algorithm:defense} \begin{algorithmic}[1] \Require training data $X$, ground truth $T$, classifier $\mathcal{C}$, discriminator $\mathcal{D}$ \Ensure classifier $\mathcal{C}$, discriminator $\mathcal{D}$ \State Initialize weight parameters $\Omega$ in both classifier and discriminator \For {the global training iterations} \For {the discriminator training iterations} \State Sample a batch of training pair, $\langle x, t \rangle$ \label{alg2:sample1} \State Generate a batch of boolean indicator, $s$, corresponding to training inputs \label{alg2:prepare} \State Fix $\Omega_{\mathcal{C}}$ in classifier $\mathcal{C}$ \label{alg2:freeze1} \State Update $\Omega_{\mathcal{D}}$ in discriminator $\mathcal{D}$ \label{alg2:update1} \EndFor \State Sample a batch of training pair, $\langle x, t \rangle$ \label{alg2:sample2} \State Generate a batch of boolean indicator, $s$, corresponding to training inputs \State Fix $\Omega_{\mathcal{D}}$ in discriminator $\mathcal{D}$ \label{alg2:freeze2} \State Update $\Omega_{\mathcal{C}}$ in classifier $\mathcal{C}$ \label{alg2:update2} \EndFor \end{algorithmic} \end{algorithm} \subsection{Theoretical Analysis} Given that $J$ is a combination of the log likelihood of $Z\|X$ and $S\|Z$, \textcolor{black}{we provide a mathematical intuition here that the solution of the minimax game is a classifier which makes correct predictions based on perturbation invariant features.} It is worth noting that our analysis is conducted in a non-parametric setting, which means that the classifier and the discriminator have enough capacity to model any distribution. \begin{prop} \label{prop:1} If there exists a solution $(\mathcal{C}^{}, \mathcal{D}^{})$ for the aforementioned minmax game $J$ such that $J(\mathcal{C}^{}, \mathcal{D}^{}) = H(Z\|X) - H(S)$, then $\mathcal{C}^{}$ is an optimal classifier which correctly classifies adversarial inputs. \end{prop} \begin{proof} For any fixed classification model $\mathcal{C}$, the optimal discriminator can be formulated as \begin{equation} \begin{aligned} \mathcal{D}^{} &= \text{arg} ~ \underset{\mathcal{D}}{\text{max}} ~ J(\mathcal{C}, \mathcal{D}) \\ &= \text{arg} ~ \underset{\mathcal{D}}{\text{min}} ~ \underset{z \sim Z, s \sim S}{\mathbb{E}} \{- log [q_{D}(s\|z=\mathcal{C}(x))]\} \end{aligned} \end{equation} In this case, the discriminator can perfectly model the conditional distribution and we have $q_{D}(s\|z=\mathcal{C}(x)) = p(s\|z=\mathcal{C}(x))$ for all $z$ and all $s$. Therefore, we can rewrite $J$ with optimal discriminator as $J'$ and denote the second half of $J$ as a conditional entropy $H(S\|Z)$ \begin{equation} \begin{aligned} & J'(\mathcal{C}) = \underset{x \sim X, t \sim T}{\mathbb{E}} \{- log [q_{C}(z\|x)]\} - H(S\|Z) \end{aligned} \end{equation} For the optimal classification model, the goal is to achieve the conditional probability $q_{C}(z\|x) = p(z\|x)$ since $z$ can determine $t$ by taking softmax transformation. Therefore, the first part of $J'(\mathcal{C})$ (the expectation) is larger than or equal to $H(Z\|X)$. Combined with the basic property of conditional entropy that $H(S\|Z) \leq H(S)$, we can get the following lower bound of $J$ with optimal classifier and discriminator \begin{equation} \begin{aligned} & J(\mathcal{C}^{}, \mathcal{D}^{}) \geq H(Z\|X) - H(S\|Z) \geq H(Z\|X) - H(S) \end{aligned} \end{equation} This equality holds when the following two conditions are satisfied: \begin{itemize} \item The classifier perfectly models the conditional distribution of $z$ given $x$, $q_{C}(z\|x) = p(z\|x)$, which means that $\mathcal{C}^{}$ is an optimal classifier. \item The $S$ and $Z$ are independent, $H(S\|Z) = H(S)$, which means that perturbations do not affect pre-softmax logits. \end{itemize} \end{proof} In practice, the assumption of unlimited capacity in classifier and discriminator may not hold and it would be hard or even impossible to build an optimal classifier which outputs pre-softmax logits independent from adversarial perturbations. Therefore, we introduce a trade-off hyper-parameter $\gamma$ into the minimax function as follows: \begin{equation} \begin{aligned} & \underset{x \sim X, t \sim T}{\mathbb{E}} \{- log [q_{C}(z\|x)]\} - \gamma \underset{z \sim Z, s \sim S}{\mathbb{E}} \{- log [q_{D}(s\|z=\mathcal{C}(x))]\} \end{aligned} \end{equation} When $\gamma = 0$, ZK-GanDef is the same as traditional adversarial training. When $\gamma$ increases, the discriminator becomes more and more sensitive to information of $s$ contained in pre-softmax logits, $z$. Based on previous proof, ZK-GanDef achieves feature selection through the design of minimax game with discriminator. By selecting perturbation invariant features, the classifier could defend against adversarial examples since they are also combinations of original image and adversarial perturbations. \section{Evaluation Settings} \label{sec:experiment} \begin{figure}[tb] \centering \begin{minipage}[c]{.4\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/eva-framework.png} \caption{Evaluation Framework} \label{fig:framework} \end{minipage} \end{figure} This section presents the framework that we use to evaluate our defensive method, ZK-GanDef, under different popular adversarial example generators and compare it with other state-of-the-art zero knowledge adversarial training defenses. Figure \ref{fig:framework} depicts the main components of this framework, which include: (1) Preprocessing module, (2) Attack module and (3) Defense module. Different adversarial example generators and defensive methods could be used as plug-ins to Attack and Defense modules respectively, to form different test scenarios. In the following subsections, we present the datasets utilized, the detailed description of each module, and a summary of the evaluation metrics used. \subsection{Datasets} During our evaluations, the following datasets are utilized: \begin{itemize} \item MNIST: Contains a total of 70K images and their labels. Each one is a $28 \times 28$ pixel, gray scale labeled image of handwritten digit. \item Fashion-MNIST: Contains a total of 70K images and their labels. Each one is a $28 \times 28$ pixel, gray scale labeled image of different kinds of clothes. \item CIFAR10: Contains a total of 60K images and their labels. Each one is a $32 \times 32$ pixel, RGB labeled image of animal or vehicle. \end{itemize} The images in each dataset are evenly labeled into 10 different classes. Although Fashion-MNIST has exactly the same image size as MNIST, images in Fashion-MNIST have far more details than images from MNIST. \subsection{Preprocessing Module} Preprocessing module involves the following operations: \begin{itemize} \item Scaling: Gray scale images use one integer to represent each of their pixels, while RGB images use three different integers (each between 0 and 255) to represent each of their pixels. To simplify the process of finding adversarial examples and to be consistent with the related work, scaling is used to map pixel representations from discrete integers in the range $\mathbb{Z}_{[0,255]}$ into real numbers in the range $\mathbb{R}_{[-1,1]}$. \item Separation: This operation is used to split each input dataset into two groups: training-dataset and testing-dataset. The training dataset is used to train the supervised machine learning models which are the different NN classifiers in this work, while the testing dataset is used by the attack module to generate adversarial examples in order to evaluate the NN classifier under test. The detailed separation plans are: (1) the 70K MNIST and Fashion-MNIST images are randomly separated into 60K training and 10K testing images, respectively and (2) the 60K CIFAR10 images are randomly separated into 50K training and 10K testing images. \item Augmentation: This operation is used to generate augmented examples for different zero knowledge adversarial training methods. Based on the description in \cite{kannan2018adversarial} and our communication with its authors, we keep the same augmentation which is adding a Gaussian perturbation with mean $\mu = 0$ and standard deviation $\sigma = 1$. The Gaussian perturbation used in this work is not guaranteed to be the optimal choice and we keep the detailed comparison of different augmentation methods as future work. \end{itemize} \subsection{Attack Module} The attack module implements three popular adversarial example generators, the FGSM \cite{goodfellow2014explaining}, the BIM \cite{kurakin2016adversarial} and the PGD \cite{madry2017towards}. \textcolor{black}{As we mention in the previous section, all adversarial example generators are utilized under the white-box scenario. Moreover, each original example has its own corresponding adversarial counterparts (FGSM, BIM, PGD).} Adversarial examples from same dataset share same maximum $l_{\infty}$ perturbation limits which are 0.6 in MNIST \& Fashion-MNIST and 0.06 in CIFAR10. For the BIM, we also limit the per step perturbation to 0.1 in MNIST \& Fashion-MNIST and 0.016 in CIFAR10. Finally, for the PGD, we run generation algorithm 40 iteration with 0.02 per step perturbation on MNIST \& Fashion-MNIST and 20 iteration with 0.016 per step perturbation on CIFAR10. To ensure the quality of the adversarial example generators, we choose the standard python library, CleverHans \cite{papernot2018cleverhans}, which is adopted by the community. \subsection{Defense Module} This module implements the Vanilla NN classifiers as well as the different defense methods that we evaluate in this work. For the same dataset, different defense methods share the same structure of the classifier as that of the Vanilla. \textcolor{black}{Hyper-parameters of defenses we compare with are the exact ones used in their original papers. Our ZK-GanDef is tuned by line search to find a suitable hyper-parameter setting.} \subsubsection{Vanilla Classifier} For each dataset, we use as a baseline a NN classifier with no defenses, which is also referred to as the Vanilla classifier. We select different Vanilla classifiers for each dataset. The structure of the Vanilla classifier used in MNIST and Fashion-MNIST dataset is LeNet \cite{madry2017towards}. For the CIFAR10 dataset, we use the allCNN based classifier \cite{springenberg2014striving}. Due to space limitations, the detailed NN structure and training settings are not listed. \subsubsection{Zero Knowledge Defenses} We implement here three different approaches: (1) a classifier trained with CLP \cite{kannan2018adversarial}, (2) a classifier trained with CLS \cite{kannan2018adversarial}, and (3) a classifier trained with ZK-GanDef. As Figures \ref{fig:clp-train} and \ref{fig:cls-train} show, CLP and CLS train only with randomly perturbed examples. On the other hand, ZK-GanDef (Figure \ref{fig:zkg-train}) trains with both original and randomly perturbed examples. We note also that the structure of the discriminator in ZK-GanDef (Table \ref{table:discriminator-structure}) does not change with different datasets. Training of the discriminator utilizes the Adam optimizer \cite{kingma2014adam} with 0.001 learning rate. \subsubsection{Full Knowledge Defenses} We implement here three of the full knowledge defenses: (1) a classifier trained with original and FGSM examples (FGSM-Adv), (2) a classifier trained with original and PGD examples (PGD-Adv), and (3) a classifier trained with original and PGD examples through GAN based training (PGD-GanDef). Among them, PGD-Adv is the state-of-the-art full knowledge adversarial training defense. \begin{table}[tb] \begin{center} \begin{tabular}{c \| c \| c \| c \| c } \hline \hline Layer & Kernel Size & Strides & Padding & Activation \\ \hline \hline Dense & 32 & - & - & ReLU \\ \hline Dense & 64 & - & - & ReLU \\ \hline Dense & 32 & - & - & ReLU \\ \hline Dense & 1 & - & - & Sigmoid \\ \hline \hline \end{tabular} \end{center} \caption{Discriminator Structure} \label{table:discriminator-structure} \end{table} \subsection{Evaluation Metrics} The overall classifier performance is captured by the \textit{test accuracy} metric, which is defined as the ratio of the total number of tested images minus the number of failed tests to the total number of tested images (both original and adversarial). \begin{equation} \begin{aligned} \text{test accuracy} \equiv \frac{\text{total \# of test examples}~ - ~\text{\# of failed tests}}{\text{total \# of test examples}} \end{aligned} \end{equation} A test is considered failed when: (1) original example is missclassifed, (2) original example is rejected, or (3) adversarial example is accepted with incorrect classification. To be more precise during evaluation, we separately compute the test accuracy on original and adversarial examples. When a defensive method tries to maximize classifier's capability to identify adversarial examples, the classifier may reject or missclassify more original examples than the corresponding Vanilla classifier. The trade-off between correctly classifying original and adversarial examples is the same as the trade-off between \textit{true positive rate} and \textit{true negative rate} in machine learning. The other important metric to evaluate defense approaches is the training time it takes to build the model. As mentioned earlier, a significant amount of computation is consumed to generate the adversarial examples for full knowledge adversarial training. The two main contributing factors to the training time are: (1) the structure of the classifier (number of layers and parameters) and (2) the searching algorithm of adversarial examples (e.g., single-step vs. iterative approaches). The goal is to minimize the training time while maintaining acceptable test accuracy. \section{Future Work} \label{sec:future} In the future, we want to continue our research on designing defensive methods which provide defense against different single-step and iterative adversarial examples while consume less computation during the training. \section{Introduction}\label{sec:introduction} Due to the surprisingly good representation power of complex distributions, \textcolor{black}{neural network (NN)} classifiers are widely used in many tasks which include natural language processing, computer vision and cyber security. For example, in cyber security, NN classifiers are used for spam filtering, phishing detection as well as face recognition \cite{rowley1998neural} \cite{abu2007comparison}. However, the training and usage of NN classifiers are based on an underlying assumption that the environment is attack free. Therefore, such classifiers fail when adversarial examples are presented to them. Adversarial examples were first introduced in 2013 by Szegedy et. al \cite{szegedy2013intriguing} in the context of image classification. They show that adding specially designed perturbations to original images could effectively mislead fully trained NN classifier. For example, in Figure~\ref{fig:fgm-example}, the adversarial perturbations added to the image of panda are visually insignificant to human eyes, but are strong enough to mislead the classifier to classify it as gibbon. Yet, more scary, the research shows that adversary could arbitrarily control the output class through carefully designed perturbations and can achieve high success rate against Vanilla classifiers, i.e., classifiers without defenses \cite{carlini2016towards}\cite{kurakin2016adversarial}\cite{madry2017towards}. \begin{figure}[tb] \centering \begin{minipage}[c]{.4\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/FGM-example.png} \caption{Fast Gradient Sign Example \cite{goodfellow2014explaining}} \label{fig:fgm-example} \end{minipage} \vspace{-5mm} \end{figure} Current defensive mechanisms against adversarial examples can be categorized into three different groups \cite{meng2017magnet}\cite{papernot2016distillation}. The approaches of the first group utilize augmentation and regularization to enhance test accuracy on adversarial examples. The idea here is to improve the generalization of the model as a defense against adversarial examples \cite{papernot2016distillation}. Approaches in the second group try to build protective shells around the classifier to either identify adversarial examples and filter them out, or reform perturbations and rollback to original images \cite{meng2017magnet}\cite{samangouei2018defense}. The approaches in the last group retrain NN classifiers with adversarial examples to recognize and correctly classify perturbed inputs \cite{kurakin2016adversarial}. The intuition here is that by observing some adversarial examples with their ground truth, the NN classifiers learn the patterns of adversarial perturbations and adapt to recognize similar ones. Current defenses enhance test accuracy of existing NN models on adversarial examples and help us better understand the problem. However, such defenses are still far from wining the battle against this continuously evolving problem. Among different defenses, adversarial training with iterative adversarial examples is shown to be the state-of-the-art choice \cite{athalye2018obfuscated}. However, such defense requires too much computation to generate iterative adversarial examples during training. Based on \cite{kannan2018adversarial}, the adversarial training with iterative adversarial examples requires a cluster of GPU servers on Imagenet dataset. \textcolor{black}{Although there are defense methods that do not rely on adversarial training \cite{rajabi2018towards}\cite{xu2017feature}, these methods only address weaker attack scenarios (black-box and gray-box).} \textcolor{black}{With these limitations on existing defenses, researchers start a new line of research on \textbf{zero knowledge} adversarial training which is independent of adversarial examples.} The idea here is to replace adversarial examples with random noise perturbations while retraining of NN classifiers \cite{kannan2018adversarial}. The intuition is to trade small decrease in accuracy for better scalability, efficiency and quick adaptability. In this work, the adversarial training approaches which utilize adversarial examples are denoted as \textbf{full knowledge} adversarial training, in contrast with zero knowledge ones. As we show in our evaluation, existing zero knowledge adversarial training approaches, clean logit pairing (CLP) and clean logit squeezing (CLS) \cite{kannan2018adversarial}, suffer from poor prediction accuracy. In this work, we propose a GAN based zero knowledge adversarial training defense, dubbed \textbf{ZK-GanDef}. ZK-GanDef is designed based on adversarial training approach combined with feature learning \cite{louppe2017learning}\cite{xie2017controllable}\cite{lample2017fader}. It forms a competition game of two NNs: a classifier and a discriminator. We show analytically that the solution of this competition game generates a classifier which usually makes right predictions and only relies on perturbation invariant features. We conduct extensive set of experiments to evaluate the performance and the prediction accuracy of ZK-GanDef on MNIST, Fashion-MNIST and CIFAR10 datasets. Compared to CLP and CLS, the results show that ZK-GanDef has the highest test accuracy in classifying different \textbf{white-box adversarial examples} with significant superiority. Our contributions can be summarized as follows: \begin{itemize} \item We design a GAN based zero knowledge adversarial training defense, ZK-GanDef, which utilizes feature selection to enhance test accuracy on adversarial examples. \item \textcolor{black}{We provide a mathematical intuition for the competition game used in ZK-GanDef that its trained classifier usually makes right predictions based on perturbation invariant features.} \item We empirically show that ZK-GanDef significantly enhances the test accuracy on adversarial examples over state-of-the-art zero knowledge adversarial training defenses. \item Existing work only tests CLP and CLS on small datasets like MNIST. In this work, we empirically show that CLP and CLS do not scale well to complex datasets such as CIFAR10. In contrast, we show that ZK-GanDef can defend adversarial examples in such complex datasets. \item We empirically show that ZK-GanDef can achieve comparable test accuracy to the state-of-the-art full knowledge defenses. At the same time, it significantly reduces the training time compared to full knowledge defenses. For example, its training time is 92.11\% less than that of PGD-Adv on MNIST dataset \end{itemize} The rest of the work is organized as follows. Section \ref{sec:background} presents background material. The design and mathematical proof of ZK-GanDef are given in Section \ref{sec:defense}. Section \ref{sec:experiment} presents the test-bed design and the experimental settings. The evaluation results are shown in Section \ref{sec:results}. Section \ref{sec:conclusion} concludes the paper and Section \ref{sec:future} presents our future direction. \section{Experimental Results} \label{sec:results} \begin{figure}[p] \centering \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/mnist-zero-ori.png} \label{fig:mnist-zero-ori} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/mnist-zero-fgsm.png} \label{fig:mnist-zero-fgsm} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/mnist-zero-bim.png} \label{fig:mnist-zero-bim} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/mnist-zero-pgd.png} \label{fig:mnist-zero-pgd} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/mnist-full-ori.png} \label{fig:mnist-full-ori} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/mnist-full-fgsm.png} \label{fig:mnist-full-fgsm} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/mnist-full-bim.png} \label{fig:mnist-full-bim} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/mnist-full-pgd.png} \label{fig:mnist-full-pgd} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/fmnist-zero-ori.png} \label{fig:fmnist-zero-ori} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/fmnist-zero-fgsm.png} \label{fig:fmnist-zero-fgsm} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/fmnist-zero-bim.png} \label{fig:fmnist-zero-bim} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/fmnist-zero-pgd.png} \label{fig:fmnist-zero-pgd} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/fmnist-full-ori.png} \label{fig:fmnist-full-ori} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/fmnist-full-fgsm.png} \label{fig:fmnist-full-fgsm} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/fmnist-full-bim.png} \label{fig:fmnist-full-bim} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/fmnist-full-pgd.png} \label{fig:fmnist-full-pgd} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/cifar-zero-ori.png} \label{fig:cifar-zero-ori} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/cifar-zero-fgsm.png} \label{fig:cifar-zero-fgsm} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/cifar-zero-bim.png} \label{fig:cifar-zero-bim} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/cifar-zero-pgd.png} \label{fig:cifar-zero-pgd} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/cifar-full-ori.png} \label{fig:cifar-full-ori} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/cifar-full-fgsm.png} \label{fig:cifar-full-fgsm} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/cifar-full-bim.png} \label{fig:cifar-full-bim} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.24\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/cifar-full-pgd.png} \label{fig:cifar-full-pgd} \end{minipage} \caption{Test Accuracy on Different Examples (\textit{In the $1^{st}$ and $2^{nd}$ rows, the results on MNIST dataset are presented. In the $3^{rd}$ and $4^{th}$ rows, the results on Fashion-MNIST dataset are presented. In the $5^{th}$ and $6^{th}$ rows, the results on CIFAR10 dataset are presented. The results in odd number rows compare the proposed ZK-GanDef with Vanilla as well as existing zero knowledge methods, CLP and CLS. The results in even number rows compare the proposed ZK-GanDef with full knowledge defenses which include FGSM-Adv, PGD-Adv and PGD-GanDef.})} \label{fig:test-acc} \end{figure} \begin{table}[tb] \begin{center} \begin{tabular}{ c \| c c c c \| c c c c \| c c c c } \hline \hline & \multicolumn{4}{c \|}{MNIST} & \multicolumn{4}{c \|}{Fashion-MNIST} & \multicolumn{4}{c}{CIFAR10} \\ & Original & FGSM & BIM & PGD & Original & FGSM & BIM & PGD & Original & FGSM & BIM & PGD \\ \hline Vanilla & 98.92\% & 21.01\% & 1.00\% & 0.77\% & 92.43\% & 7.01\% & 5.62\% & 4.06\% & 89.92\% & 9.97\% & 4.93\% & 4.06\% \\ CLP & 99.13\% & 88.70\% & 72.61\% & 59.93\% & 85.65\% & 44.78\% & 22.30\% & 16.14\% & 10.00\%\footnotemark & 10.00\%\footnotemark[\value{footnote}] & 10.00\%\footnotemark[\value{footnote}] & 10.00\%\footnotemark[\value{footnote}] \\ CLS & 99.24\% & 89.29\% & 73.84\% & 60.63\% & 86.37\% & 41.14\% & 18.55\% & 14.17\% & 10.00\%\footnotemark[\value{footnote}] & 10.00\%\footnotemark[\value{footnote}] & 10.00\%\footnotemark[\value{footnote}] & 10.00\%\footnotemark[\value{footnote}] \\ ZK-GanDef & 98.95\% & 98.97\% & 98.89\% & 98.71\% & 81.95\% & 70.19\% & 64.97\% & 63.34\% & 79.33\% & 60.91\% & 46.27\% & 54.85\% \\ FGSM-Adv & 99.07\% & 98.79\% & 12.24\% & 9.73\% & 91.17\% & 90.48\% & 7.97\% & 6.81\% & 79.88\% & 41.53\% & 30.74\% & 33.86\% \\ PGD-Adv & 99.15\% & 97.60\% & 94.75\% & 95.60\% & 82.33\% & 76.42\% & 66.72\% & 71.80\% & 82.06\% & 56.18\% & 49.21\% & 51.51\% \\ PGD-GanDef & 99.10\% & 96.85\% & 94.28\% & 95.31\% & 84.09\% & 68.19\% & 52.35\% & 59.51\% & 84.05\% & 54.14\% & 46.64\% & 49.21\% \\ \hline \hline \end{tabular} \end{center} \caption{Test Accuracy on Different Examples (\textit{The left column shows the test results on MNIST dataset. The middle column shows the test results on Fashion-MNIST dataset. The right column shows the test results on CIFAR10 dataset.})} \label{table:summary-test-accuracy} \vspace{-3mm} \end{table} In this section, we present comparative evaluation results of the ZK-GanDef with other state-of-the-art zero knowledge as well as full knowledge adversarial training defenses introduced previously. The evaluation results are summarized in three subsections. In the first subsection, we provide comparative evaluation of ZK-GanDef with other zero knowledge and full knowledge adversarial training defenses on classifying original and different types of adversarial examples. Then, we compare the computational consumption of ZK-GanDef with other full knowledge adversarial training defenses in terms of training time per epoch. In the third subsection, we analyze the convergence issues of CLP and CLS on CIFAR10 dataset. \subsection{Test Accuracy on Different Examples} In this subsection, we show the test accuracy of the Vanilla classifier and the classifiers with defenses against different types of examples. As mentioned earlier, the experiments are conducted on MNIST, Fashion-MNIST and CIFAR10 datasets. For each dataset, a total of 28 different results are calculated. These results span all possible pairs of 7 different classifiers (Vanilla, CLP, CLS, ZK-GanDef, FGSM-Adv, PGD-Adv and PGD-GanDef) and 4 different kinds of examples (original, FGSM, BIM and PGD). All the validation results are presented in Figure \ref{fig:test-acc} and detailed in Table \ref{table:summary-test-accuracy}. \subsubsection{On Original Examples} In Figure \ref{fig:test-acc}, we first focus on the results presented in the first column sub-figures. These results represent the test accuracy on original examples from different datasets. As a baseline, the Vanilla classifier achieves 98.92\% test accuracy on MNIST, 92.43\% test accuracy on Fashion-MNIST and 89.92\% test accuracy on CIFAR10. These results are consistent with the benchmark ones presented in \cite{benchmark-list}. We then evaluate the test accuracy of the three zero knowledge defenses (CLP, CLS and ZK-GanDef) on different datasets. On MNIST dataset, their test accuracy on original examples is at the same level as that of the Vanilla classifier. The detailed results from Table \ref{table:summary-test-accuracy} show that the difference in test accuracy among the defenses is within 0.5\%, which is small enough to be ignored. On Fashion-MNIST dataset, the test accuracy of CLP and CLS is 5\% higher than that of ZK-GanDef on original examples. Moreover, the test accuracy of all zero knowledge approaches is (6\% to 11\%) lower than that of the Vanilla classifier. This small degeneration is a result of tuning the model to enhance test accuracy on adversarial examples. On CIFAR10 dataset, CLP and CLS have a significantly lower test accuracy compared with the Vanilla classifier and ZK-GanDef. This is because the classifiers with the CLP and CLS methods do not converge at the beginning of the training. A detailed study of this phenomenon is provided in the following subsection. \footnotetext{On CIFAR10 dataset, CLP and CLS have convergence issues during training and hence the classifier is making random guessing. A detailed study of this issue is provided in a following subsection.} Finally, we conduct the same evaluation with full knowledge adversarial training defenses and perform comparison with the proposed ZK-GanDef. On MNIST dataset, all full knowledge defenses and ZK-GanDef achieve the same level of test accuracy as that of the Vanilla classifier. On Fashion-MNIST dataset, FGSM-Adv achieves similar test accuracy on original examples to that of the Vanilla classifier, while ZK-GanDef, PGD-Adv and PGD-GanDef have about 10\% to 12\% degeneration from that of the Vanilla classifier. On CIFAR10 dataset, ZK-GanDef performance is similar to that of full knowledge defenses and their test accuracy on original examples are 6\% to 10\% lower than that of the Vanilla classifier, respectively. To enhance test accuracy on adversarial examples, the decision boundary of the classifier becomes complex with more curves, which causes the degeneration on classifying original examples compared to the Vanilla classifier \cite{madry2017towards}. \subsubsection{On Single-step Adversarial Examples} We discuss here the accuracy results on FGSM examples, which are depicted on sub-figures on the second column of Figure \ref{fig:test-acc}. Intuitively, the Vanilla classifier has poor performance on these single-step adversarial examples, with test accuracy of 21.01\% on MNIST, 7.01\% on Fashion-MNIST, and 9.97\% on CIFAR10. Compared with the Vanilla classifier, all zero knowledge defenses achieve a significant enhancement in terms of test accuracy on all datasets, with the exception of CLP and CLS on CIFAR10 dataset. Among the zero knowledge approaches, ZK-GanDef achieves the highest test accuracy on all the datasets with significant margin. On MNIST, the test accuracy is 88.70\%, 89.29\%, and 98.97\% with CLP, CLS, and ZK-GanDef, respectively. On Fashion-MNIST, the test accuracy is 44.78\%, 41.14\%, and 70.19\% CLP, CLS, and ZK-GanDef, respectively. On CIFAR10, ZK-GanDef is the only zero knowledge defense that reasonably works test accuracy around 60.91\%. In general, full knowledge approaches have better understanding of the adversarial examples since such examples are part of their training datasets. Therefore, full knowledge approaches should, intuitively, have better test accuracy compared to their zero knowledge counterparts. Our results confirm this observations. The results show that the test accuracy of full knowledge approaches is significantly higher than those of CLP and CLS, especially on Fashion-MNIST and CIFAR10 datasets. On the other hand, the test accuracy of ZK-GanDef is comparable to those of full knowledge defenses. In fact, the test accuracy of ZK-GanDef (98.97\%) is higher than those of all the full knowledge defenses (98.79\%, 97.6\% and 96.85\%). This is because handwritten digits in MNIST are gray scale figures with no detailed texture, and therefore, ZK-GanDef can train to select strongly denoised (even binarized) features without losing information. As a result, ZK-GanDef can achieve even higher test accuracy than full knowledge approaches. On Fashion-MNIST, FGSM-Adv achieves the highest test accuracy (90.48\%). The PGD-Adv, PGD-GanDef and ZK-GanDef achieve the second tier test accuracy (76.42\%, 68.19\% and 70.19\%). This is because FGSM-Adv utilizes only original and FGSM examples during training, and therefore, the trained classifier is overfitting on FGSM examples. This behavior has been observed in \cite{tramer2017ensemble} and denoted as gradient masking effect. On CIFAR10, PGD-Adv, PGD-GanDef and ZK-GanDef achieve comparable test accuracy (56.18\%, 54.14\% and 60.19\%, respectively), while the test accuracy of FGSM-Adv is only at 41.53\%. Due to the input dropout in allCNN classifier, the diversity of training data is enhanced and the overfitting of FGSM-Adv is inhibited \cite{tramer2017ensemble}. However, FGSM examples are generated with the weaker single-step method, and hence the test accuracy degenerates on the stronger iterative examples.\\ \begin{figure}[tb] \centering \begin{minipage}[c]{.3\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/time-model-1.png} \label{fig:time-model-1} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.3\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/time-model-2.png} \label{fig:time-model-2} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[c]{.3\textwidth} \centering \includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{img/convergence-cls.png} \label{fig:loss-cls} \end{minipage} \caption{Training Time and Training Loss \textit{The left sub-figure is training time on MNIST and Fashion-MNIST. The middle sub-figure is training time on CIFAR10. The right sub-figure is the training loss of CLS under different hyper-parameters.}} \label{fig:training-time-loss} \vspace{-3mm} \end{figure*} \subsubsection{On Iterative Adversarial Examples} We analyze here the test accuracy results on BIM and PGD examples, which are depicted on the sub-figures of the third and the fourth columns of Figure \ref{fig:test-acc}, respectively. The figure clearly shows that the Vanilla classifier completely failed with both BIM and PGD examples. This is because BIM and PGD are iterative adversarial examples and hence are carefully crafted to mislead Vanilla classifiers. Based on the test accuracy results, using zero knowledge defenses could still enhance the performance on these stronger adversarial examples. However, these enhancements are lower than those on FGSM examples. Among zero knowledge defenses, the test accuracy of ZK-GanDef is significantly higher than those of CLP and CLS on all iterative adversarial examples. On MNIST, the test accuracy of ZK-GanDef with BIM and PGD examples is 25\% and 38\%, respectively, higher than those of CLP and CLS. On Fashion-MNIST, the test accuracy of ZK-GanDef on BIM and PGD examples is 42\% and 47\%, respectively, higher than those of CLP and CLS. On CIFAR10, only ZK-GanDef could work and it achieves 46.27\% and 54.85\% test accuracy on BIM and PGD examples, respectively. As mentioned earlier, full knowledge defenses could achieve larger enhancement in test accuracy compared to the existing zero knowledge defenses, CLP and CLS. FGSM-Adv is the exception as evidenced by its poor performance in defending iterative adversarial examples due to the reasons we mentioned in the previous sub-section. On MNIST and Fashion-MNIST, the test accuracy of FGSM-Adv on BIM and PGD examples has a huge decrease from over 90\% to around 10\%. Although such huge decrease does not exist in the case of CIFAR10, the test accuracy of FGSM-Adv is clearly lower than that of PGD-Adv and PGD-GanDef. On all datasets, PGD-Adv and PGD-GanDef have much stable test accuracy with limited decrease of test accuracy on FGSM examples. More importantly, the results show that the test accuracy of ZK-GanDef is close to those of PGD-Adv and PGD-GanDef on iterative adversarial examples from the three datasets. We summarize our findings from the results as: (i) ZK-GanDef is significantly better than existing zero knowledge defenses (CLP and CLS) due to its higher test accuracy on adversarial examples and its scalability to large datasets. This clearly supports our vision that utilizing a more flexible and sophisticated way to handle the pre-softmax logits (ZK-GanDef) is better than forcing the pre-softmax logits to be smooth at a small scale (CLP and CLS). (ii) The test accuracy of ZK-GanDef is comparable to that of the state-of-the-art full knowledge adversarial training defenses. This supports our hypothesis that using perturbation invariant features in the classifier could greatly enhance test accuracy on adversarial examples. (iii) On contrast with full knowledge defenses, ZK-GanDef is adaptable to new types of adversarial examples. We see from the results that FGSM-Adv has significant adaptability issue on MNIST and Fashion-MNIST datasets. This issue is not observed on CIFAR10 due to the input dropout in classifier structure \cite{tramer2017ensemble}. For PGD-Adv, the current evaluation does not show its adaptability issue, but it is not guaranteed given that stronger adversarial examples could be generated in the future \cite{tramer2017ensemble}\cite{samangouei2018defense}. On the other hand, the results show that ZK-GanDef has better adaptability to new types of adversarial examples because its training is independent of such examples. \subsection{Generalizability} \textcolor{black}{ In the previous evaluation, all iterative adversarial examples are generated by methods based on projected gradient descent. In order to show the generalizability of ZK-GanDef, we conduct the evaluation on an extra set of adversarial examples, Deepfool \cite{moosavi2016deepfool} and Carlini \& Wagner (CW) examples \cite{carlini2016towards}. Unlike adversarial examples used in previous evaluation, Deepfool and CW adversarial examples contain perturbation patterns that are significantly different from Gaussian perturbation. Therefore, this evaluation could reveal the generalizability of ZK-GanDef in defending other adversarial examples. The evaluation is conducted on all three datasets. The Deepfool and CW adversarial examples utilize the same hyper-parameter setting as PGD adversarial examples. } \textcolor{black}{ The evaluation results are summarized in Table \ref{table:eval-deepfool-cw}. It is clear that ZK-GanDef can classify Deepfool adversarial examples with over 85\% accuracy in all three datasets which matches the test error presented in \cite{moosavi2016deepfool}. The reason is that Deepfool tries to find adversarial examples with smaller perturbation than projected gradient descent based adversarial examples (FGSM, BIM, PGD). As a result, Deepfool examples are easier to defend. For CW examples, ZK-GanDef achieves the same level of test accuracy on all three datasets. To conclude, ZK-GanDef is not limited to defend a specific type of perturbation. Although ZK-GanDef only utilizes Gaussian noise perturbation during training, its defense can be generalized to a wide range of adversarial examples which include FGSM, BIM, PGD, Deepfool and CW examples. } \textcolor{black}{ \begin{table}[tb] \begin{center} \begin{tabular}{ c c \| c c \| c c } \hline \hline \multicolumn{2}{c \|}{MNIST} & \multicolumn{2}{c}{Fashion-MNIST} & \multicolumn{2}{\| c}{CIFAR10} \\ Deepfool & CW & Deepfool & CW & Deepfool & CW \\ \hline 98.72\% & 98.46\% & 89.52\% & 66.43\% & 86.08\% & 47.22\% \\ \hline \hline \end{tabular} \end{center} \caption{Test Accuracy on Deepfool and CW Examples} \label{table:eval-deepfool-cw} \end{table} } \subsection{Training Time} We evaluate here the training time of ZK-GanDef in terms of seconds per training epoch. MNIST and Fashion-MNIST share the same image size and classifier structure and hence has the same training time. Since the test accuracy of ZK-GanDef is significantly higher than those of the existing zero knowledge defenses, CLP and CLS, we only compare the training time of ZK-GanDef with those of full knowledge defenses (FGSM-Adv, PGD-Adv and PGD-GanDef). \textcolor{black}{We utilize a fixed number of training epochs (80 for MNIST and 300 for CIFAR10) and results show that all defensive methods converge at epoch 30 on MNIST and at epoch 240 on CIFAR10. Since the records of training time per epoch have a very small deviation, we take the average value of records in all epochs and compare different defense methods with it.} The results are recorded during the training on a workstation with a NVIDIA GTX 1080 GPU. The left sub-figure of Figure \ref{fig:training-time-loss} shows that the training time of ZK-GanDef on MNIST/Fashion-MNIST (8.75s) is close to that of FGSM-Adv (7.83s), while it surges to 110.85s and 132.75s in the case of PGD-Adv and PGD-GanDef, respectively. The evaluation results on CIFAR10 dataset (the middle sub-figure of Figure \ref{fig:training-time-loss}) follow a similar trend to that of the results on MNIST and Fashion-MNIST datasets. ZK-GanDef and FGSM-Adv take much less training time per epoch (71.20s and 62.85s, respectively) compared to that of PGD-Adv (146.91s) and that of PGD-GanDef (257.72s). For example, on CIFAR10 dataset, the end-to-end training time of PGD-Adv takes 14.3 hours, while training of ZK-GanDef only takes 6.9 hours. In summary, ZK-GanDef provides test accuracy close to that of the best state-of-the art full knowledge defesnses (PGD-Adv), while reducing the training time by 92.11\% and 51.53\% on MNIST/Fashion-MNIST and CIFAR10, respectively. \subsection{Convergence Issue} As presented earlier, the evaluation results of CLP and CLS on CIFAR10 dataset show that these two zero knowledge adversarial training defenses fail to correctly classify both original and adversarial examples. This is mainly because the training loss of CLP and CLS does not converge during training. The mathematical models of CLP and CLS (section \ref{sec:defense}) follow the same design logic that aims at preventing over confident predictions. CLP achieves its goal by adding $l_{2}$ norm penalty on the difference of two randomly selected pre-softmax logits, while CLS adds $l_{2}$ norm penalty on any pre-softmax logits. Moreover, CLP and CLS do not include original examples in their training dataset, which means that they miss important features that can help discriminate examples with and without perturbations. Therefore, this design logic is too simple and lacks flexibility compared with ZK-GanDef, which utilizes minimax game with discriminator and trains on examples with and without perturbations. When training on complex datasets like CIFAR10, the simple and less flexible design logic leads to convergence issues for CLP and CLS. To further validate this conclusion, we record the loss of CLS during the first 30 training epochs and depict the results on the right sub-figure of Figure \ref{fig:training-time-loss}. The training loss is recorded on four different hyper-parameter settings of CLS: (1) normal CLS ($\sigma = 1.0, \lambda = 0.4$), (2) CLS with reduced perturbations ($\sigma = 1.0, \lambda = 0.01$), (3) CLS with reduced penalty ($\sigma = 0.1, \lambda = 0.4$), and (4) CLS with reduced perturbation and penalty ($\sigma = 0.1, \lambda = 0.01$). The figure shows that the curves of the first three settings overlap with each other and form the horizontal curve on the top. This clearly shows that CLS does not learn any useful features and hence the training loss does not converge (does not decrease) under these three settings. Under the last setting, CLS was able to learn useful features and hence the training loss decreases towards convergence. However, with the last setting, CLS falls back to Vanilla classifier, which fails to defend against adversarial examples. A similar experiment is also conducted with CLP and the results follow the same pattern. The only difference is that the training loss goes to ``nan'' on CLP under the first three settings, which means that the classifier diverges during training.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv" }	3,383
/* * EVE Swagger Interface * An OpenAPI for EVE Online * * * * NOTE: This class is auto generated by the swagger code generator program. * https://github.com/swagger-api/swagger-codegen.git * Do not edit the class manually. / package net.troja.eve.esi.model; import java.util.Objects; import com.fasterxml.jackson.annotation.JsonProperty; import com.fasterxml.jackson.annotation.JsonCreator; import io.swagger.annotations.ApiModel; import io.swagger.annotations.ApiModelProperty; import java.io.Serializable; /* * Summary of kills done by the given corporation against enemy factions / @ApiModel(description = "Summary of kills done by the given corporation against enemy factions") public class CorporationFwStatsKills implements Serializable { private static final long serialVersionUID = 1L; @JsonProperty("last_week") private Integer lastWeek = null; @JsonProperty("total") private Integer total = null; @JsonProperty("yesterday") private Integer yesterday = null; public CorporationFwStatsKills lastWeek(Integer lastWeek) { this.lastWeek = lastWeek; return this; } /* * Last week's total number of kills by members of the given corporation * against enemy factions * * @return lastWeek / @ApiModelProperty(example = "null", required = true, value = "Last week's total number of kills by members of the given corporation against enemy factions") public Integer getLastWeek() { return lastWeek; } public void setLastWeek(Integer lastWeek) { this.lastWeek = lastWeek; } public CorporationFwStatsKills total(Integer total) { this.total = total; return this; } / * Total number of kills by members of the given corporation against enemy * factions since the corporation enlisted * * @return total / @ApiModelProperty(example = "null", required = true, value = "Total number of kills by members of the given corporation against enemy factions since the corporation enlisted") public Integer getTotal() { return total; } public void setTotal(Integer total) { this.total = total; } public CorporationFwStatsKills yesterday(Integer yesterday) { this.yesterday = yesterday; return this; } / * Yesterday's total number of kills by members of the given corporation * against enemy factions * * @return yesterday / @ApiModelProperty(example = "null", required = true, value = "Yesterday's total number of kills by members of the given corporation against enemy factions") public Integer getYesterday() { return yesterday; } public void setYesterday(Integer yesterday) { this.yesterday = yesterday; } @Override public boolean equals(java.lang.Object o) { if (this == o) { return true; } if (o == null \|\| getClass() != o.getClass()) { return false; } CorporationFwStatsKills corporationFwStatsKills = (CorporationFwStatsKills) o; return Objects.equals(this.lastWeek, corporationFwStatsKills.lastWeek) && Objects.equals(this.total, corporationFwStatsKills.total) && Objects.equals(this.yesterday, corporationFwStatsKills.yesterday); } @Override public int hashCode() { return Objects.hash(lastWeek, total, yesterday); } @Override public String toString() { StringBuilder sb = new StringBuilder(); sb.append("class CorporationFwStatsKills {\n"); sb.append(" lastWeek: ").append(toIndentedString(lastWeek)).append("\n"); sb.append(" total: ").append(toIndentedString(total)).append("\n"); sb.append(" yesterday: ").append(toIndentedString(yesterday)).append("\n"); sb.append("}"); return sb.toString(); } / * Convert the given object to string with each line indented by 4 spaces * (except the first line). */ private String toIndentedString(java.lang.Object o) { if (o == null) { return "null"; } return o.toString().replace("\n", "\n "); } }	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub" }	6,258
A birth doula is a woman who helps another woman labor. Sharon McDermott provides Birth Doula Services. She is certified by Long Island Doula Association (LIDA). A doula provides emotional and physical comfort to the Mom and her partner during the labor and delivery process. Sharon is currently working as a volunteer doula at NYU/Winthrop Hospital in Mineola, NY. Helps advocate for Mom and Dad's wishes for a great labor.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4" }	8,417
The Mid Morning Mixdown With Gary Davison Excellent Online Radio Station in Chichester Welcome to Wyrelite Radio The home of The Mid Morning Mixdown, we're an online radio broadcasting service that belts out the best tunes around. Though we are based in Chichester, the fact that we're online means that you can listen to our sweet soundwaves from anywhere on the planet. If you've got a song request or a shout-out to pass on, then you can email us here [email protected] or send a text message to 84433 starting your message with the word wyrelite. Alternatively, you can get in touch via the form below. Our listeners No radio station would be successful without listening to their listeners' feedback. That's at least what we believe. Our aim is to use your feedback to guide the evolution of our programmes to ensure the songs we play are the ones you want to hear on the daily. You can see that this works a treat as our customer reviews are stellar, and our listening figures keep growing! Why not give us a try today? The best songs are right here! If you're anything like us, you need some good jams to get you through the day. Our station airs a variety of different music shows for those who listeners who like a bit of variety throughout the day. Our DJs offer the best insights into new bands formed around the world, and there's even time for some competitions to win sweet, sweet prizes. Tune in today to try us out, you won't be disappointed. The original Mid Morning Mixdown Show on Wyrelite Radio was hosted by then station owner Dj Cushty, and proved a huge success, now years from that era Gary has revived the show in his own intimate way. There is the daily guess The Mystery Voice Game, and great music from the last six decades, along with topical chat and some side bursting laughter, it will make your work day mornings fly past. All this and much much more on a Tuesday Thursday and a Friday from 11am UK Time only on www,wyrelite.com About Your Host Gary Davison Hello, I'm Gary Davison; I'm a 51 year old radio presenter from Selsey in West Sussex. I joined Wyrelite Radio back in 2006, and have kept the name going with the intention of re branding it, i now am the owner and proud to say we have a fantastic team of presenters and behind the scene people who give up thier spare time to help. For the last 15 years I worked as a Night Security Manager for Bunn Leisure, a very large Holiday Park in Sunny Selsey, Then moving on to be a Store Manager of my Local Nisa Shop. But due to ill health i had to stop working in june 2017 Now in 2018 i have returned to re lauch Wyrelite Radio for the 2nd time and am loving it. I am happily married to Tracey and in 2004 my wife gave birth to Siobhan my princess and is in my every thought. The Mid Morning Mix Down was originally presented by Dj Cushty in the early years of wyrelites life and was a huge succusse, it now arrives on your radio curtisey of Gary Davison on a Tuesday Thursday and Friday at 11am uk time, features include guess the mystery voice game and a great selection of music spanning the last six decades. The 1st song I ever bought was Living after midnight by Judas Priest, unfortunately I never got to play the record to cut a long story short when I got home from the Ok record store I remember placing the dam record on the seat of my go cart, what I did next was to haunt me forever, yes you guessed correct I sat on the record and that was the end of it. I have been involved in internet radio for quite a few years, and presenting now for about 10 years. The 1st year I started to present a show on a small internet station we came 3rd in The Internet Radio awards, being a part of a team who all pulled together in any situation was a great feeling this made me aware more than ever that this is what i wanted to do. If I could interview anyone my choice would have to be my co host Gavin Bass, I would love to get in side his mind and find out what makes him tick, Gavin is a pleasure to work with and some of his replies are pure gold in entertainment My Kind Of Music Every Wednesday evening at 6pm uk time on Wyrelite Radio you can catch my other show, its as the title says my kind of music. The music played will have a special moment in my life be it a birthday memory, or a Christmas gone by, something that i remember from days that have gone but never forgotten. If you have such a memory and would like to share it with us please feel free to email [email protected] and it will be added to the next show OK What Was That TV Theme Starting on Tuesday 1st October 2019 Ever caught yourself singing a tune in your head, then thinking now, where do i know that from, only to find out it was a theme tune to a classic TV programme, well this segment of the show will make you think even harder, and may well cause an argument in the office, so get your thinking caps on and good luck The Mystery Voice Game Are your ears well trained to listen to certain things, or can you remember a persons voice off the television, then this game is for you Finished for now but will be back for Christmas 2019 Every show we will feature either a solo artist or group, doing what they do best, entertaining their fans at a live concert Daily Chat A new chat topic on every show, some may be news related and of a serious nature, but most are of the highest humor so dont panic. Well its approaching the time of year when the big fella forces his way down your chimney, i certainly hope you have been a good upstanding person this year, and get what you always wanted, if not you will have to suffer us all over the festive period, we are sure there will be some surprises and giveaways. My advice is not to over indulged in food or drink, but take it in moderation, and have a fantastic Christmas and a Happy New Year 2020 My Family & The Producers Wi-Fi on premise Please note that The Mid Morning Mixdown With Gary Davison may not be able to honour booking requests made. www.wyrelite.com	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl" }	2,337
ALL Ladies League (ALL) is an international women's chamber for the welfare and empowering women's leadership. The organization was founded in 2015 by Harbeen Arora. Activities ALL confers Awards. Distinguished people who have received the Women of the Decade awards include Sania Mirza, Saina Nehwal, Chanda Kocchar, Naina Lal Kidwai, Shobhana Bhartia, Sharmila Tagore, Ritu Kumar, Somdutta SinghSangeeta Reddy, Jodie Underhill and others. It has also conferred Grassroots Women of the Decade awards to recognize and felicitate rural women leaders in different spheres. References International women's organizations Women's organisations based in India	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia" }	2,760
\section{\uppercase{Introduction}} Comets are conceived to be amongst the most primitive objects in the solar system as they are generally less thermally evolved. They offer opportunities of scientific importance to help understand the formation and early history of the solar system. One of the aspects we ought to know is the size distribution of the cometary nuclei because it gives insight to their evolution. The size distribution is usually described by a simple power law as \begin{equation} {\rm d}n \propto R_{\rm N}^{-\mathit{\Gamma}} {\rm d}R_{\rm N} , \end{equation} \noindent where $R_{\rm N}$ is the radius of a cometary nucleus, $\mathit{\Gamma}$ is the slope index, which is usually assumed to be a constant, and ${\rm d}n$ is the number of cometary nuclei having radii ranging from $R_{\rm N}$ to $R_{\rm N} + {\rm d} R_{\rm N}$. The slope index $\mathit{\Gamma}$ is particularly important, because it is associated with evolutionary paths. For instance, Johansen et al. (2015) show that $\mathit{\Gamma} = 3.0$ will be expected if the comets formed by accretion of chondrules in the outer protoplanetary disc, in contrast to $\mathit{\Gamma} = 3.5$ for a collisional evolutionary path given the same material strength (Dohnanyi 1969). However, in cases where the collisional fragments have material strength correlated with size, the slope index varies in different size intervals (O'Brien \& Greenberg 2003). If the comets were evolved from accretion of binaries in a dynamically cold disc, the slope index is not a constant either, but changes from ${\it \Gamma} \sim 2$ ($10 \la R_{\rm N} \la 30$ km), to $\sim$5.8 ($2 \la R_{\rm N} \la 10$ km), and then to $\sim$2.5 ($0.1 \la R_{\rm N} \la 2$ km), discovered by Lamy et al. (2004) and Schlichting et al. (2013). Revealing the size statistics for cometary nuclei is ambiguous compared to asteroids due to presence of comae. One of the methods is to observe comets at large heliocentric distances (e.g., $r_{\mathrm{H}} \gtrsim 5$ AU). However, the geometric conditions inevitably lead to faint nucleus signals, and any ongoing weak activity can easily skew estimates of nucleus sizes as well. Another way was first developed by Lamy \& Toth (1995) and improved subsequently (e.g., Lamy et al. 1998), which is termed the cometary nucleus-extraction technique. It removes contribution from the coma with some empirical models which are fitted from the observation, and measured the leftover signal from the coma-model-subtracted images. This technique has been widely used since it appeared in literatures (e.g., Lisse et al. 1999; Lamy et al. 2007; Fern\'{a}ndez et al. 2013; Bauer et al. 2015). In a few cases it did reveal nucleus sizes in excellent agreement with measurements in situ by spacecraft (19P/Borrelley, Lamy et al. 1998; 81P/Wild 2, Fern\'{a}ndez et al. 1999; 9P/Tempel 1, Fern\'{a}ndez et al. 2003; and 103P/Hartley 2, Lisse et al. 2009). However, in other cases it can also fail terribly (e.g., {\it Hubble Space Telescope} ({\it HST}) observations of comet C/2013 A1 (Siding Spring), J.-Y. Li, private communication; Bauer et al. 2017). Therefore, it is inevitable to question the reliability of this technique. In this paper, we endeavoured to investigate this point, and present our results. \section{\uppercase{Method}} \label{sec_mtd} The basic idea of the nucleus-extraction technique is that the signal from an optically thin coma and a nucleus are separable, and that the coma profile can be fitted by some simplistic model, which can be mathematically expressed as \begin{align} \nonumber F_{\rm m} \left( \rho, \theta \right) & = \left[ k_{\rm N} \delta \left(\rho \right) + k_{\rm C} \left( \theta \right) \rho^{-\gamma \left(\theta \right)} \right] \ast \mathcal{P} \\ & = k_{\rm N} \mathcal{P} + \left[ k_{\rm C} \left( \theta \right) \rho^{-\gamma \left(\theta \right)} \right] \ast \mathcal{P} \label{eq_I} . \end{align} \noindent Here $F_{\rm m}$ is the modelled flux of the comet as a function of the projected distance on the sky plane from the coma optocenter $\rho$ and the azimuthal angle $\theta$, $\delta\left( \rho \right)$ is the Dirac delta function, the symbol $\ast$ is the convolution operator, and $\mathcal{P}$ is the point-spread function (PSF) of the used optical system. In reality, shapes of PSFs can vary as a function of pixel coordinates of an image. In our experiment, PSFs remain constant across the field-of-view. We started with Gaussian PSFs. The first term in the right-hand side of Equation (\ref{eq_I}) represents the contribution from the nucleus flux, viz., the PSF scaled by a factor $k_{\mathrm{N}}$. Signal from the coma is represented by the second term, which is assumed to be a power-law distribution in this work. The scaling factor $k_{\mathrm{C}}$ and the slope index $\gamma$ are both free parameters to be fitted from observations from a certain portion (annulus of inner and outer radii $\rho_1$ and $\rho_2$, respectively) of the coma, ideally without contamination from the nucleus signal. A crucial assumption of the method is that the portion of near-nucleus coma can be extrapolated from the coma-fitting region, regardless of what specific function is adopted to fit the coma. The coma-model image, which was constructed on a finer pixel grid with subsampling factor $\mathcal{S}$, is shifted by $\left\|\Delta x \right\| < 1$ and $\left\| \Delta y \right\| < 1$ in the subpixel grid, meaning that a total number $\left(2 \mathcal{S} + 1 \right)^2$ of coma-model images were produced. Each coma-model image was then rebinned back to the original resolution, and subsequently subtracted from the observed image. The resulting images are termed leftover images, where we measured the remaining flux presumably from the nucleus, by means of aperture photometry, whose centroid was also shifted in the subsampled pixel grid. The scaling factor for the nucleus signal $k_{\rm N}$ is then the ratio between the remaining flux and the flux of an energy-normalised PSF measured in the same photometry configuration. We then constructed scaled PSF images whose centers were determined by the subpixel coordinates of the photometry centroid, which were subsequently subtracted from the nucleus images, leaving us residual images. The goodness of fit was then calculated from summation of the residual counts weighted by flux uncertainty over the central region: \begin{equation} \chi^2 \left(x_{\rm C},y_{\rm C},k_{\rm N}, x_{\rm N}, y_{\rm N} \right) = \sum_{x,y} \frac{\left( F_{\rm m} - F_{\rm o} \right)^{2}} {\sigma_{F_{\rm o}}^{2}} \label{eq_chi2} , \end{equation} \noindent where $x_{\rm C}$ and $y_{\rm C}$ are pixel coordinates of the coma peak, $x_{\rm N}$ and $y_{\rm N}$ are for the nucleus, and $\sigma_{F_{\rm o}}$ is the flux uncertainty at pixel coordinates $\left(x,y \right)$, which is computed from \begin{equation} \sigma_{F_{\rm o}} \left(x, y\right) = \frac{1}{t_{\rm exp}}\sqrt{\frac{1}{{\mathcal{G}}} \left[ F_{\rm o} \left(x, y\right) t_{\rm exp} + \frac{\sigma_{\mathrm{RN}}^{2}}{\mathcal{G}} \right] + \mathfrak{f}^2 F_{\rm o}^2 \left(x, y \right) t_{\rm exp}^{2}} \label{eq_photsig}. \end{equation} \noindent Here, $\mathcal{G}$ and $\sigma_{\mathrm{RN}}$ are respectively the gain and readout noise of the observing CCD, $t_{\rm exp}$ is the exposure time, and $\mathfrak{f}$ represents the flat-field noise in a unit of the source signal. Our way to obtain $k_{\rm N}$ is reliable if the leftover profile is similar to that of a scaled PSF; no further aperture correction is needed. In this work, we opted to create a series of synthetic symmetric power-law comae with different coma-slope indices, and then added synthetic nuclei of different brightness to the synthetic images at the optocenter of comae. Noise was added to the images by arbitrarily adopting $\mathcal{G} = 1.56$ e$^{-}$/DN, $\sigma_{\rm RN} = 3.08$ e$^{-}$, $\mathfrak{f} = 0.01$, and $t_{\rm exp} = 285$ s in Equation (\ref{eq_photsig}).\footnote{These used values are typical for, e.g., {\it HST} observations (see Holtzman et al. 1995; Sirianni et al. 2005; Dressel 2012). } Our synthetic coma is circularly symmetric, i.e., no dependence upon $\theta$. A singularity exists at the optocenter of the coma ($\rho = 0$). Our solution was to compute a multiplicity coefficient $\mu$ under the polar coordinates, which is a function of the coma-slope index as \begin{equation} \mu \left( \gamma \right) = 2\frac{\iint_{\mathfrak{S}_0} \rho^{1-\gamma \left(\theta \right)} \mathrm{d}\theta \mathrm{d}\rho} {\iint_{\mathfrak{S}_1} \rho^{1-\gamma \left( \theta \right)} \mathrm{d}\theta \mathrm{d}\rho } \label{eq_sing}, \end{equation} \noindent where region $\mathfrak{S}_0$ is defined by radii ranging from $0 \le \rho \le 1$ pixel and azimuths from $\theta$ to $\mathrm{d}\theta$, and $\mathfrak{S}_1$ has $1 \le \rho \le 2$ pixels and the same azimuthal limit as $\mathfrak{S}_{0}$. The meaning of $\mu$ is simply the ratio between the mean pixel count at the peak of the coma and that at the adjacent pixel. In cases where the coma slope index is nearly a constant, and satisfies $\gamma < 2$, Equation (\ref{eq_sing}) can be simplified to be \begin{equation} \mu \left( \gamma \right) = \frac{3}{2^{2 - \gamma} - 1} \label{eq_sing_mu}. \end{equation} \noindent We plot $\mu$ versus $\gamma$ in Figure \ref{fig_slope_vs_pixval}. For the best-fit coma models, the replacement of the singularity was done in the same manner, yet the central pixel of the coma is assigned by a mean value: \begin{equation} F_{\rm C} \left( \rho = 0 \right) = \frac{\int_{0}^{2\pi} \mu \left( \gamma \right) k_{\rm C} \left(\theta \right) {\rm d} \theta}{2 \pi} \label{eq_avg_mu}, \end{equation} \noindent since when constructing best-fit coma models, we assumed nothing about the symmetry of the coma. Therefore the obtained $k_{\rm C}$ and $\gamma$ could vary azimuthally. The nucleus-extraction technique was then applied on these synthetic images, whereby we obtained a set of values of the nucleus signal. We then compared the original nucleus signal and the nucleus signal extracted from the synthetic images, and evaluated the successfulness of the technique. With this approach, we quantitatively assessed how good/bad this technique is and under what conditions we can reliably extract the nucleus photometry. We arbitrarily picked $k_{\rm C} = 5$ DN s$^{-1}$, and used $\rho_1 = 10$ pixels and $\rho_2 = 90$ pixels to fit the comae (see Section \ref{sec_cfr}). \section{\uppercase{Results}} Our results revealed an obvious systematic bias in the nucleus-extraction technique, strongly depending on how bright the nucleus is with respect to the surrounding coma. The fainter the nucleus is, compared to the surrounding coma, the more biased the technique becomes. For this reason, hereafter we express nucleus signal in terms of parameter $\eta$, the ratio between the nucleus flux and the total flux, enclosed by a circular aperture of radius $\rho_{\mathrm{aper}} = 15$ pixels, which is arbitrarily chosen. Other factors that influence the bias include the PSF, the subsampling factor, the steepness of the coma surface brightness profile, and the coma-fitting region. In this work, the bias $\mathcal{B}$ is computed through the following equation \begin{equation} \mathcal{B} = \frac{k_{\rm N}^{({\rm m})} - k_{{\rm N}}^{({\rm o})}}{k_{\rm N}^{({\rm o})}} \times 100\% \label{eq_bias}, \end{equation} \noindent where the superscripts (m) and (o) denote the calculated and the real values, respectively. If $\mathcal{B} < 0$, the technique underestimates values for the nucleus signal. \subsection{PSF} We studied the effect from PSFs by choosing a narrow (${\rm FWHM} =1.0$ pixel), a moderate (3.0 pixels) and a wide (5.0 pixels) ones. For the wide-PSF case, we changed the inner radius to 20 pixels, otherwise the fitted region will be noticeably contaminated by the nucleus signal, leading to serious oversubtraction of the central region. The result is shown in Figure \ref{fig_bias_fwhm}, where we can see that for the narrow-PSF case, the systematic bias is less significant than the others. So we infer that the bias becomes worse as FWHM of PSF increases. This correlation is within our expectation, because, convolution with wider PSFs essentially blurs features more, and thus leads to loss of original information. The indication is that in reality, good seeing and sharp imaging are two of the requirements for ground-based telescopes to perform observations seeking for nucleus sizes. Without interference from the atmospheric turbulence, space telescopes such as the {\it HST} are apparently superior to the ground-based ones. \subsection{Subsampling Factor} Researchers have been using a variety of different subsampling factors in literatures. For example, Lisse et al. (1999) used a subsampling factor of $\mathcal{S} = 5$, Lamy et al. (1998) used 8, and Li et al. (2017) used 10, etc. However, as shown in Figure \ref{fig_bias_rsmp}, in which we tested odd subsampling factors from 1 (no subsampling) to 9 with a Gaussian PSF of ${\rm FWHM} = 3$ pixels, the technique is found to have an obvious systematic bias as a function of the subsampling factor. At a first glimpse, surprisingly, the bias trend for $\mathcal{S} = 9$ is worse than that for $\mathcal{S} = 3$. We think that the origin of this problem is closely related to the arrangement of the pixel value at $\rho = 0$, which is a singularity in Equation (\ref{eq_I}). In our computation, we replaced the singularity using Equation (\ref{eq_sing_mu}). If we instead perform substitution of the singularity with the mean of the closest neighbouring pixel values, the bias trends for small $\mathcal{S}$ are impacted, but the influence dwindles as $\mathcal{S}$ increases. If the singularity is replaced by some larger number than given by Equation (\ref{eq_sing_mu}), the order of the bias trends can be completely reversed. This is to say, the bias trend for $\mathcal{S} = 1$ becomes the worst by having the most negative values, whereas the one for $\mathcal{S} = 9$ not only becomes the best of all, but also remains largely unchanged from the one with the singularity replaced by Equation (\ref{eq_sing_mu}). Therefore, we recommend using large $\mathcal{S}$ so as to minimise effects from the way that the singularity at $\rho = 0$ is handled. However, inevitably this costs more computation time as $\mathcal{S}$ increases. The original purpose for subsampling is to find out the subpixel locations of coma and nucleus centers, because, in reality, they do not necessarily overlap in images, as a result from inhomogeneous activity. So, we specifically investigated this issue, by creating circularly symmetric coma models, but with non-overlapping nucleus and coma centers. We tested three different scenarios: \begin{enumerate} \item Nucleus shifted only, where the location of the nucleus center is shifted arbitrarily from the coma center by some subpixel displacement, whereas the center of coma remains at a pixel center. \item Coma shifted only, where the coma center is shifted by some subpixel displacement whereas the location of the nucleus center is situated at a pixel center. \item Both coma and nucleus shifted, by different amounts of subpixel displacements. \end{enumerate} We relaxed the search region for nucleus centers to $\left\| \Delta x \right\| \le 3$ and $\left\| \Delta y \right\| \le 3$, because otherwise there are cases where the obtained centers occur at the boundary of the original search region described in Section \ref{sec_mtd}. All the three scenarios were found to have broadly similar results. The bias trend for the largest subsampling factor we tested, i.e., $\mathcal{S} = 9$, is found to be the least affected, as the global shape is similar to the one in Figure \ref{fig_bias_rsmp}. The major difference that there are kinks present in Figure \ref{fig_nonsym_bias} due to the sudden jumps of the best-fitted coma and nucleus center values in the subpixel grid. The kinks are basically even more prominent for smaller values of $\mathcal{S}$, which is in line with the fact that asymmetric patterns in leftover and residual images are more severe as $\mathcal{S}$ decreases. Therefore, larger $\mathcal{S}$ ought to be adopted. We also found that, under no circumstances could we recover the a priori location offsets of the nucleus and coma centers from the pixel center. The reason is that, when we constructed the coma model from the best-fit parameters, the origin has already been set to the peak pixel center of the whole comet, which comprises of both the nucleus and the coma. The best-fit parameters for the coma then clearly become sinusoidal (see Figure \ref{fig_nonsym}), which are already deviated from the a priori parameters. Therefore, we conclude that, the subsampling operation fails to unravel the actual displacement information. The original purpose of subsampling cannot be fulfilled, unless for each subpixel shifted locations of the coma center, the best-fit coma model is recalculated, which is extremely time consuming and possibly unnecessary, since the bias trends for large $\mathcal{S}$ are similar to symmetric cases except for the existence of kinks. This suggests that the extraction technique is able to yield reasonably good nucleus-size estimates for comae of typical slopes, merely off by no more than a few percent, if one uses large values of $\mathcal{S}$ (e.g., $\mathcal{S} \ga 7$) when the nucleus is not too faint with respect to the surrounding coma (e.g., $\eta \ga 10\%$). \subsection{Slope of Coma Surface Brightness} We present the systematic bias of the nucleus-extraction technique with the Gaussian PSF of ${\rm FWHM} = 3$ pixels as a function of the steepness of the coma surface brightness in Figure \ref{fig_bias_slope}. The slope index $\gamma$ varying between 0.9 (which is slightly less steep than the one in a steady-state coma, i.e., $\gamma = 1.0$) and 1.5 (corresponding to a coma under the influence of the solar radiation pressure; Jewitt \& Meech 1987), in a step of 0.1, has been tested. We fixed $\mathcal{S} = 9$. Our result is that the magnitude of systematic bias shrinks as the coma becomes less steep. The reason is that the convolution with the PSF generally has more influence upon coma surface profiles of larger values of $\gamma$. For a hypothetic coma which is completely flat across the whole image, i.e., $\gamma = 0$, convolution will not change its profile at all, so such a coma model can be accurately constructed from the observed profile without any loss, which is unfortunately not the case for comae of steeper $\gamma$. Given the coma-fitting region, as $\gamma$ increases, the technique tends to overestimate the slope index more significantly, resulting in oversubtraction of the coma. \subsection{Coma-Fitting Region} \label{sec_cfr} The bias of the nucleus-extraction technique comes into being whenever the coma profile cannot be perfectly reproduced. If the modelled coma is forced to be constructed using a priori values of parameters $k_{\rm C}$ and $\gamma$, the bias will no longer exist above the noise level. We found that how the coma-fitting region is selected strongly affects the bias trend. We thus decided to qualitatively investigate what this relationship is by varying the inner and outer radii of the annulus within which the coma profile is fitted. We found that the trends for comae of different $\gamma$ and Gaussian PSFs of different FWHM are the same. When $\rho_1$ is small, the signal around the central region of the coma is overestimated, thereby leading to an underestimated nucleus signal. As $\rho_1$ increases, the technique then begins to systematically overestimate the nucleus signal. When the annulus is too narrow, e.g., $2\rho_1 \ga \rho_2$, the constructed coma models are no longer good approximation to the synthetic ones by being strongly asymmetric, due to the existence of noise. Before the annulus becomes too narrow, increasing $\rho_1$ whilst decreasing $\rho_2$ can reduce the systematic bias. The behaviours can be understood from Figure \ref{fig_psfcomp}, which shows the pre-/post-convolution radial profiles of a steady state coma with the Gaussian PSF having ${\rm FWHM} = 3.0$ pixels in the logarithmic space. It is visually obvious that the slope of the post-convolution profile is steeper than the pre-convolution one when $2 \la \rho \la 10$ pixels. So if this portion of the coma is fitted, the modelled coma will then have a steeper best-fit $\gamma$, which gets even steeper after convolution with the PSF. This is the reason why smaller $\rho_1$ leads to oversubtraction of the central region. In addition to this, nucleus signal extended by PSF convolution worsens the deviation, leading to even worse oversubtraction. Starting from $\rho \sim 20$ pixels (not shown in Figure \ref{fig_psfcomp}, because the difference is extremely tiny), the slope of the post-convolution profile becomes less steep than the pre-convolution slope, and the two curves converge in an asymptotic manner. Thus, if this portion of the coma is used to construct the coma model, the central region will be underestimated. Ideally, the larger are $\rho_1$ and $\rho_2$, the better will be the best-fit coma model. However, seldom can this be realised in reality, because the signal of this portion of coma may well have insufficient SNR or can be blended with background sources. Also, comets tend to have changes in activity as functions of time, resulting in non-extrapolatable radial profiles. So in these cases the obtained coma model may be even worse than the one constructed from the portion where distortions by convolution with PSF are present. Obviously these behaviours are highly dependent on the PSF, and also sensitive to the coma profile. So we cannot think of a simple way which can be applicable to all scenarios in reality to debias results from the nucleus-extraction technique. We did attempt to search for best-fit parameters for the synthetic comae after applying deconvolution to the synthetic comet images. However, it did not necessarily provide us with less biased results, because the noise was amplified after the operation. Neither did we determine how good the SNR should be for this procedure to work due to entangling complication factors. What we found is that for comets with typical SNR comparable to those observed by the {\it HST} (e.g., 19P, Lamy et al. 1998; C/2017 K2, Jewitt et al. 2017), deconvolution does not bring in observable improvement whatsoever, but may even deteriorate the bias. We thus conjecture that this systematic bias is probably uncorrectable. Generally speaking, we strongly recommend that, in order to obtain a reliable nucleus value, high resolution imaging about the coma with SNR as high as possible is a must. Otherwise we will expect an enormous bias stemming from the technique. \section{\uppercase{Tests with {\it HST} Observations}} The {\it HST} plays a unique role in measuring cometary nucleus sizes with the nucleus-extraction technique that we discussed here. It has three advantages over almost all ground-based telescopes to apply this technique: \begin{enumerate} \item The high spatial resolution attenuates the coma signal relative to the nucleus signal in the central region. \item The high resolution also shortens the physical distance of inner coma to be extrapolated from the coma model. \item Resulted from being in space, it has the extremely stable PSFs, which are accurately modelled even at finer pixel grids, allowing for accurate fitting to the nucleus. \end{enumerate} The {\it HST} has been providing high-spatial resolution images of comets since its operation, e.g., 19P (Lamy et al. 1998), 252P (Li et al. 2017), C/2012 S1 (Lamy et al. 2014), C/2017 K2 (Jewitt et al. 2017), etc. A number of nucleus sizes or constraints have been obtained through the telescope. We thus feel the necessity to adopt the PSF of cameras WFPC2 and WFC3 onboard the {\it HST}, examine the bias trends from the nucleus-extraction technique, and also assess quality of extracted nucleus values from some of these observations. We performed completely the same procedures as we did for the Gaussian case on synthetic comet models with the WFPC2/WFC3 PSFs. The bias trends (see Figures \ref{fig_bias_hst_wfpc2} and \ref{fig_bias_hst_wfc3}) are generally similar to those presented in Figures \ref{fig_bias_rsmp} and \ref{fig_bias_slope}, given that a larger inner radius of the coma-fitting region ($\rho_1 = 15$ pixels for both cameras) was used. We found that the change of the bias trends with regard to the coma-fitting region differs from that in the Gaussian case. The radial profile of post-convolution image has a steeper slope starting from $\rho \la 20$ pixels, wherein it is also slightly brighter. Thus, with the used $\rho_1$ and $\rho_2$, the technique systematically oversubtracts the central region (Figures \ref{fig_bias_hst_wfpc2} and \ref{fig_bias_hst_wfc3}). Otherwise, choosing smaller radii of the coma-fitting region (e.g., $\rho_1 = 7$ pixels, $\rho_2 = 30$ pixels) leads to undersubtraction of the coma in the central region, because the slope of the post-convolution radial profile therein is shallower. Our argument that a high subsampling factor value shall be exploited mainly to avoid influence from inaccuracy of the singularity replacement is reinforced (see Figures \ref{fig_bias_hst_wfpc2}a \& \ref{fig_bias_hst_wfc3}a). We then proceeded to assess the quality of the obtained nucleus values from several {\it HST} observations by the nucleus-extraction technique, where the nucleus sizes are known or constrained. Three comets of different activity levels are selected as representatives: 19P (weakly active), C/2013 A1 (active), and C/1995 O1 (hyperactive). Archival {\it HST} data were retrieved via the {\it HST} Moving Target Pipeline\footnote{\url{https://archive.stsci.edu/prepds/mt/}}. \subsection{Example of Weakly Active Comet: 19P/Borrelley} \label{sec_wac} The size and shape of the nucleus of this comet obtained by Lamy et al. (1998) are found to be in remarkable consistence with in situ measurements by the spacecraft Deep Space 1 (see Lamy et al. 2004 and references therein). We applied the nucleus-extraction technique on one of the F675W-filtered {\it HST}/WFPC2 images from UT 1994 November 28.41. Descriptions of the observation are detailed in Lamy et al. (1998). Cosmic rays were removed by the LA Cosmic package (van Dokkum 2001) prior to applying the nucleus-extraction technique. The sky background value was computed from near-edge regions sufficiently far from the coma and then subtracted from the observed image. We varied the inner and outer radii to find best-fit parameters for the portion of coma in good SNR. The subsampling factor was fixed to be $\mathcal{S} = 9$. Table \ref{tab_19P_HST} summarizes the apparent {\it V}-band magnitudes of the nucleus of 19P with different coma-fitting region parameters, converted from the extracted fluxes by following the recipes by Holtzman et al. (1995). Estimates of the equivalent circle radius were computed by adopting an {\it R}-band geometric albedo of $0.072 \pm 0.020$, which was scaled to a {\it V}-band one with a mean color of Jupiter-family cometary nuclei ($\vr = 0.50 \pm 0.03$; Lamy \& Toth 2009; Jewitt 2015), a phase slope of 0.043 mag deg$^{-1}$, and additionally an opposition surge of 0.3 mag (Li et al. 2007). The trend of extracted values of nucleus signal versus the varying coma-fitting region is in excellent agreement with the results from our synthetic tests, i.e., less oversubtraction as $\rho_1$ and $\rho_2$ move inward to the peak of coma. By comparison, Lamy et al. (1998) obtained $R_{\rm N} = 2.12$ km for the nucleus with $\rho_1 = 7$ and $\rho_2 = 30$ pixels, which turns out to be consistent with ours (see Table \ref{tab_19P_HST}), although they exploited an optimisation approach to obtain the scaling factor $k_{\rm N}$ whilst we did not, and they adopted $\mathcal{S} = 8$, a less steep phase slope, and a lower geometric albedo. Nevertheless, our obtained nucleus size is consistent with the actual value ($2.17 \pm 0.03$ km, cube root of triaxial dimensions by Buratti et al. 2004). During the observation, the nucleus had $\eta \sim 10\%$ within $\rho_{\rm aper} = 15$ pixels, which marginally falls in the regime where the value obtained from the nucleus-extraction technique is less biased. In conclusion, we can see that, in cases where the comet is only weakly active, the nucleus-extraction technique is capable of rendering a reasonable estimate of the nucleus size. \subsection{Example of Active Comet: C/2013 A1 (Siding Spring)} \label{sec_ac} We applied the nucleus-extraction technique on an {\it HST}/WFC3 image of the comet taken in UT 2014 March 11.11 through the F606W filter, after cosmic rays were cleaned by the LA Cosmic package. Detailed information of the observation can be seen in Li et al. (2014). Our result is that, for coma-fitting regions with large $\rho_1$ and $\rho_2$ (e.g., $\rho_1 = 10$ and $\rho_2 = 70$ pixels), we obtained an oversubtracted central region of the coma, wherein a ``blackhole" feature is present in leftover images. For small values of $\rho_1$ and $\rho_2$ (e.g., $\rho_1 = 4$ and $\rho_2 = 30$ pixels), instead a fuzzy positive leftover feature is obtained. This is completely the same as our synthetic cases where a nucleus has a tiny $\eta$ value. In order to verify this, we adopted $R_{\rm N} \sim 0.5$ km as the nucleus size of C/2013 A1 estimated by Farnham et al. (2017) from the HiRISE camera onboard {\it Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter} ({\it MRO}) during a close approach to Mars within a distance of $\sim$$1.4 \times 10^{5}$ km (Farnocchia et al. 2014). The corresponding apparent {\it V}-band magnitude of a bare nucleus of the given size having {\it V}-band geometry albedo 0.04, and phase coefficient parameter 0.04 mag deg$^{-1}$ will then be $V \approx 25.2$ during the {\it HST}/WFC3 observation. We measured the total flux centered on the peak in the {\it HST}/WFC3 image encircled by an aperture of $\rho_{\rm aper} = 15$ pixels in radius, which can be then transformed to apparent magnitude by assuming a Sun-like color. We obtained $V \approx 18.0$. Therefore, the nucleus signal in the same aperture (94.1\% of the overall) during the {\it HST}/WFC3 observation occupied merely $\sim$0.12\% of the total flux. Taking the associated uncertainties in our assumption into consideration, we remain highly confident that the nucleus signal did not exceed $\sim$0.1\%, exactly falling in the regime where the technique terribly biases actual nucleus sizes (e.g., Figure \ref{fig_bias_hst_wfc3}b). Therefore, the failure of the nucleus-extraction technique is totally within our expectation, and we envision that similar failures will occur to other active comets, unless observations are conducted during close encounters which boost the fraction of nucleus signal $\ga$10\%. Given this, we conjecture that the surprisingly flat nucleus-size distribution of long-period comets by Bauer et al. (2017) is probably not real, but due to the intrinsic bias of the technique, since, except a few (Hui 2018), the long-period comets are generally more active than short-period comets, thereby more susceptible to the bias. \subsection{Example of Hyperactive Comet: C/1995 O1 (Hale-Bopp)} \label{sec_hac} We downloaded an F675W image of the comet taken by the {\it HST}/WFPC2 in UT 1996 October 17.64. Details about the {\it HST} observations are given in Weaver at al. (1997). We conducted the same procedures as in Sections \ref{sec_wac} and \ref{sec_ac}. Results of the extracted nucleus-size values from a series of inner and outer radii are listed in Table \ref{tab_HB_HST}, with the {\it V}-band geometric albedo $0.04 \pm 0.03$, the phase function coefficient $0.04$ mag deg$^{-1}$, and a mean color of nuclei of nearly isotropic comets ($\vr = 0.44 \pm 0.02$; Lamy \& Toth 2009; Jewitt 2015). Our results are consistent with previous attempts to reveal the size of the nucleus (effective radius $R_{\rm N} = 30 \pm 10$ km; Fern{\' a}ndez 2002). However, we are aware that the shapes of the leftover completely differ from the {\it HST}/WFPC2 PSF, where asymmetric patterns similar to strong cometary jets are seen in the images after the coma was subtracted (Figure \ref{fig_HB_hst}). The patterns could not be removed regardless of how we adjusted the coma-fitting region, even if an inappropriately small inner radius $\rho_1 = 4$ pixels was used. This is because the dimension of the jet features is too small compared to the annulus of the coma-fitting region (see Figure \ref{fig_HB_hst}c), thus violating the important presumption of the nucleus-extraction technique -- the near-nucleus coma shall be extrapolatable from the outer region. Therefore, solely based upon this aspect, we shall regard the nucleus-size estimates as meaningless, and the method as a failure. Besides, the other issue that leads to the failure of the method is that comet Hale-Bopp was so active during the observation, such that its coma possibly became optically thick near the nucleus region (Weaver \& Lamy 1997). As a result, the dominant flux in the leftover is likely from strong jets in its inner coma, rather than from the nucleus, which coincides in the observed morphology of the leftover. We thus expect a much smaller nucleus size for comet Hale-Bopp than our extracted values. To conclude, this method fails to reveal the nucleus size of comet Hale-Bopp. So will it for other hyperactive comets. \subsection{Inference on C/2017 K2 (PANSTARRS)} \label{sec_k2} This comet is identified as a dynamically old member from the Oort cloud, currently on its way to perihelion (Hui et al. 2017; Kr{\'o}likowska \& Dybczy{\'n}ski 2018; de la Fuente Marcos \& de la Fuente Marcos 2018). Estimates of its mass-loss rate by Jewitt et al. (2017) and Hui et al. (2017) suggest that it is activity level is ordinary in terms of a long-period comet, but on the other hand, remarkable, given the fact that it has been active when it was as far as $r_{\rm H} \approx 24$ AU, which is a record for comets in inbound legs hitherto known (Jewitt et al. 2017; Meech et al. 2017; Hui et al. 2017). Thus, we are curious about its nucleus size, and reanalysed the {\it HST}/WFC3 observations obtained by Jewitt et al. (2017) from UT 2017 June 27. The images were taken through the broadband F350LP filter and were median combined with registration on the apparent motion of the comet. We applied the nucleus-extraction technique on the coadded image using a series of $\rho_1$ and $\rho_2$. Due to the great distance of the comet ($r_{\rm H} = 15.9$ AU) during the {\it HST} observation, the angular size of the coma where the power law is still a good approximation was not big enough (angular radius $\la 2\arcsec$, or 50 pixels; Jewitt et al. 2017), so that we set $\rho_2 \le 50$ pixels as an upper boundary. We summarized the results in Table \ref{tab_K2_HST}. The nucleus sizes were converted from the apparent magnitudes, with the assumed {\it V}-band geometric albedo 0.04 and phase slope 0.04 mag deg$^{-1}$. It seems that the effective nucleus radius of the comet is $\sim$4--5 km. However, we are aware that the obtained nucleus flux is merely $\la$0.7\% of the total flux, suggesting the unreliability of the results. If the coma is extrapolatable all the way to the near-nucleus region, the nucleus sizes revealed by the nucleus-extraction technique are expected to be underestimated. Otherwise it is unclear how the estimates are off from the actual nucleus size. Instead, we prefer a conservative upper limit to its nucleus size using the threshold of $\eta < 10\%$. Therefore the nucleus during the {\it HST} observation was $V > 23.3$, corresponding to an equivalent circle radius of $R_{\rm N} \la 20$ km. Future high-resolution observations of the comet aiming at better constraining (or revealing) its nucleus size are certainly encouraged when the comet gets much closer to the Earth, which will potentially boost the fraction of nucleus contribution to the total signal within the same photometric aperture. \clearpage \section{\uppercase{Summary}} We assessed the widely used cometary nucleus-extraction technique in a systematic way for the first time. Key conclusions are summarized as follows. \begin{enumerate} \item The application of the nucleus-extraction technique should be restricted to cases of optically thin comae only. \item Nucleus signal obtained from the nucleus-extraction technique can be strongly biased. The fainter the nucleus with respect to the surrounding coma, the more biased is the extracted value. Only when the nucleus signal occupies $\ga$10\% of the total signal, can the result be trusted, as the bias will be only a few percent. \item The bias is stemmed from distortion of the coma surface profile by convolution with PSF, which is probably uncorrectable due to noise. We recommend that the portion that is less perturbed by convolution and also has good SNR shall be used. High spatial resolution images of comets are required in order to avoid embedded biases as much as possible. \item Large subsampling factors should be adopted to overcome inaccuracy of singularity replacement, and also to get rid of asymmetric artificial patterns otherwise present in residuals. \item Attributed to the extremely stable and well modelled PSFs, high spatial resolution space telescopes (e.g., {\it HST}) are advantageous over ground-based ones on characterisation of non-bare cometary nuclei with the nucleus-extraction technique. \end{enumerate} \acknowledgements { We appreciate comments on the manuscript from Ariel Graykowski, David Jewitt and the anonymous referee. Suggestions from James Gerbs Bauer and Xinnan Du has benefited this work. M.-T.H. is financially supported by David Jewitt through a NASA grant. }	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv" }	4,245
A Spinosaurus (nevének jelentése "tüskésgyík" vagy "hátgerinces gyík") a theropoda dinoszauruszok egyik húsevő neme, amely a mai Észak-Afrikában élt a kréta időszak kora albai–kora turoni korszaka idején, körülbelül 112–93,5 millió évvel ezelőtt. A nem fosszíliáit elsőként 1910-ben Egyiptomban fedezte fel és írta le Ernst Stromer német őslénykutató. Az eredeti maradványok megsemmisültek a második világháború idején, de később újabb koponyadarabok kerültek elő. Tisztázatlan, hogy a leírt fosszíliák egy vagy két fajt képviselnek. A legjobban ismert faj az egyiptomi S. aegyptiacus, azonban Marokkóból egy második lehetséges faj, a S. marocannus is ismertté vált. A Spinosaurus egyedi "tüskéi" a csigolyák hosszú nyúlványai. 1,65 méter hosszúra nőttek, és valószínűleg bőr fedte és kötötte össze őket, ami egy vitorlaszerű szerkezetet alkotott. Egyes szerzők szerint azonban izmok is kapcsolódtak hozzájuk, amik egy púpot vagy tarajt alkottak. A szerkezet feladatával kapcsolatban több elképzelés is született, mint például a hőszabályozás és a jelzés vagy párválasztással kapcsolatos nemi szelekció. Újabb keletű becslések szerint a Spinosaurus talán a legnagyobb ismert húsevő dinoszaurusz, a Tyrannosaurus, a Giganotosaurus és a Carcharodontosaurus méretét megközelítő vagy valamivel meghaladó állat volt. 2005-ös, 2007-es és 2008-as becslések szerint 12,6–18 méter hosszú és 7–20,9 tonna tömegű lehetett. 2014 és 2018 közötti becslések egy teljesebb példány alapján 15–16 méterre becsülték a hosszát. A legújabb becslések szerint 6,4–7,5 tonna tömegű lehetett. Anatómia Bár a Spinosaurus a mérete, vitorlája és meghosszabbodott koponyája miatt közismertnek számít, az időközben előkerült fogak és koponyaelemek mellett leginkább olyan maradványok alapján ismert, amik időközben megsemmisültek. Emellett csak a koponyáról és a gerincről készült részletes leírás, a végtagok csontjait nem találták meg. Az állcsont és a koponya 2005-ben publikált leletanyaga megmutatta, hogy ez a húsevő dinoszaurusz rendelkezett a ragadozó dinoszauruszok között az egyik leghosszabb koponyával, melynek hossza elérte az 1,6–1,68 métert. A koponya szűk orr-részét egyenes, kúpos, recézetlen fogak töltötték meg. A felső állcsont premaxilla részében elöl hat vagy hét fog helyezkedett el, mögöttük, a maxillában pedig további tizenkettő volt. A második és harmadik fog mindkét oldalon jóval nagyobbra nőtt a premaxillában levőknél, és helyet biztosított az állkapocsban levők számára a felső állcsont elején és végén levő fogak között. A pofa legelején levő nagy fogak megnyúltak, a szemek előtt pedig egy kisebb fejdísz helyezkedett el. A Spinosaurus vitorláját nagyon magas hátcsigolyanyúlványok alkották. Ezek a tüskék hétszer, de akár tizenegyszer is magasabbak voltak a csigolyáknál, amikből kiálltak. A tüskék elölről hátrafelé haladva egyre magasabbak, de alapjuk hosszabbodott meg, nem a magasságuk nőtt, így eltértek a pelycosaurusok közé tartozó Edaphosaurus és Dimetrodon vékony háttüskéitől. Osztályozás A Spinosauridae család névadója a Spinosaurus, de mellette ide tartozik a dél-angliai Baryonyx, a brazil Irritator és az Angaturama (amely talán az Irritator szinonimája), a közép-afrikai Nigerből származó Suchomimus és talán a Thaiföldről, töredékes maradványok alapján ismert Siamosaurus is. A Spinosaurus a szintén recézetlen, egyenes fogakkal rendelkező Irritatorral áll legközelebbi rokonságban, mellyel ketten alkotják a Spinosaurinae alcsaládot. 2003-ban Oliver Rauhut felvetette, hogy Stromer Spinosaurus holotípusa egy kiméra volt, ami egy Acrocanthosaurushoz hasonló carcharodontosaurida hátcsigolyájából és egy Baryonyxhoz hasonló nagy theropoda állkapcsából állt. Ezt az elemzést azonban az újabb keletű cikkekben elvetették. Felfedezés és fajok A Spinosaurus elsőként leírt maradványait az egyiptomi Baharijja-oázisban fedezték fel 1912-ben, és Ernst Stromer német őslénykutató nevezte el 1915-ben. A Baharijjából származó további töredékes fosszíliákat, köztük csigolyákat és a mellső láb csontjait Stromer 1934-ben "Spinosaurus B"-ként jelölte meg. Stromer úgy ítélte meg, hogy elég nagy a különbség ahhoz, hogy a maradványok egy másik fajhoz tartozzanak, és ez beigazolódott, ugyanis az újabb expedíciók és leletek révén kiderült, hogy a Carcharodontosaurustól vagy a Sigilmassasaurustól származnak. A Spinosaurus fosszíliák egy része megrongálódott a németországi Münchenben levő Deutsches Museumba történő szállítás során, és a megmaradt csontok 1944-ben teljesen elvesztek egy, a szövetségesek által végrehajtott bombatámadás következtében. A Spinosaurus két faját nevezték el: a Spinosaurus aegyptiacust (jelentése 'egyiptomi tüske gyík') és a Spinosaurus marocannust (jelentése 'marokkói tüske gyík'). A S. marocannusról új fajként először Dale Russell készített leírást egy nyakcsigolya hossza alapján. A későbbi szerzők a témát illetően megoszlottak, némelyikük a csigolya hosszát egyedenként eltérőnek vélte, így a S. marocannust érvénytelennek, illetve a S. aegyptiacus szinonimájának tekintették, míg mások megtartották érvényes fajként. Példányok Hat részleges Spinosaurus példányról készült leírás. Az egyedek lehetséges méretét más ismert spinosauridákkal való összehasonlítás alapján becsülték meg. Az alábbi becslés forrása a Theropod adatbázisa (Theropod Database), illetve Cristiano dal Sasso és szerzőtársai 2005-ös cikke. A holotípus a Stromer által 1915-ben leírt IPHG 1912 VIII 19 jelzésű lelet, amely a Baharijja-formációból került elő. E majdnem kifejlett példány maradványai megsemmisültek a második világháború alatt, azonban részletes ábrák és leírások készültek róla. A becsült hossza 14 méter, míg a tömege 6,7 tonna lehetett. A lelet részét képezi egy maxilla (felső állcsont) töredéke, egy 75 centiméter hosszú hiányos állkapocs (a koponya becsült hossza az 1,34 méteres állkapoccsal együtt 1,45 méter), 19 fog, két részleges nyakcsigolya, 7 hátcsigolya, háti és hasi bordák, valamint 8 farokcsigolyatest. Ez volt az a példány, amit Rauhut kimérának tartott. A marokkói Kem Kem-rétegekben talált CMN 50791 jelzésű lelet, melyet Russell írt le 1996-ban, a Spinosaurus marocannus holotípusa. Hozzá tartozik egy 19,5 centiméter hosszú középső nyaki csigolya, egy elülső hátcsigolya nyúlványa, valamint egy elülső és egy középső állkapocs darab. A Taquet és Russell által 1998-ban leírt algériai MNHN SAM 124 egy részleges premaxillából egy részleges maxillából, ekecsontokból és fogtöredékekből áll. E példány becsült hossza 14–14,4 méter lehetett, a tömege pedig elérhette a 6,5–6,7 tonnát. A koponya körülbelül 1,42 méter hosszú volt. Az Office National des Mines nBM231 leírását Buffetaut és Ouaja készítette el 2002-ben, egy, a tunéziai Chenini-formációból származó állkapocs elülső darabja alapján, ami nagyon hasonlít a S. aegyptiacus meglevő leletanyagához. A marokkói Kem-rétegekből származó MSNM V4047 jelzésű lelet, amit a milánói Városi Természetrajzi Múzeumban (Museo Civico di Storia Naturale) dolgozó Cristiano dal Sasso és kollégái írtak le 2005-ben, egy premaxillából, egy részleges maxillából, és egy részleges orrcsontból áll, melyek együttes hossza körülbelül 98,8 centiméter. A súlyos koponya becsült hossza 1,6–1,68 méter, az állat teljes hossza pedig körülbelül 15–16 méter lehetett. Az UCPC-2 egy, a szemek előtt elhelyezkedő hornyolt fejdísz, melynek leírását szintén Sasso és kollégái végezték el 2005-ben. FSAC-KK 11888 A további ismert példányok nagyon töredékes maradványokból és elszórt fogakból állnak. Például az egyik fogat, amit a nigeri Echkar-formációban fedeztek fel, a S. aegyptiacushoz kapcsolták. A Spinosaurushoz tartozó lehetséges anyagról számoltak be a kenyai Turkana-homokkőből és a (hauterivi korszakbeli) líbiai Cabao-formációból, bár az utóbbit csak átmeneti jelleggel kapcsolták ehhez a nemhez. Ősökológia A Spinosaurus egykori élettere nagyrészt lefedi a mai Észak-Afrikát, bár az élőhely értelmezése és az ökoszisztémában elfoglalt helye még kérdéses. Például a mai Egyiptomban élt Spinosaurusoknak a partmenti árapálysíkságokon és csatornáknál levő élőhelyeken olyan hasonló méretű ragadozó dinoszauruszokkal és egyéb állatokkal kellett megosztozniuk, mint a Bahariasaurus és Carcharodontosaurus, az óriás titanosaurus sauropoda, a Paralititan, a kisebb titanosaurus, az Aegyptosaurus, a 10 méter hosszú krokodil, a Stomatosuchus, és a coelacanthusok közé tartozó Mawsonia. Táplálkozás Nem tisztázott, hogy a Spinosaurus elsődlegesen szárazföldi ragadozó volt-e, vagy inkább halevő, amire meghosszabbodott állcsontja, kúpos fogai és magasan elhelyezkedő orrlyukai utalnak. Azt az elméletet, ami szerint a spinosauridák halevésre specializálódtak, korábban A. J. Charig és A. C. Milner a Baryonyxszal kapcsolatban vetette fel. Ez a krokodiloknál és a típuspéldány bordái mögött talált, gyomorsav által károsított halpikkelyek anatómiai hasonlóságán alapul. A spinosauridák faunájából ismert nagy halak közé tartozik az Észak-Afrikában és Brazíliában, a kréta időszakban élt Mawsonia. A spinosauridák táplálkozására vonatkozó közvetlen bizonyítékok az európai és dél-amerikai taxonoktól származnak. A Baryonyx egyetlen ismert példánya a gyomrában halpikkelyekkel és egy fiatal Iguanodon csontjaival együtt került elő. De egy Baryonyx egyed fogait egy dél-amerikai pterosaurus csontjába ágyazódva találtak, ami arra utal, hogy a spinosauridák alkalmanként a repülő archosaurusokra vadásztak. A Spinosaurus valószínűleg elterjedt és a táplálékválasztékra nem igényes ("opportunista") ragadozó volt, talán a grizzly medve kréta időszaki megfelelője lehetett, amely a halászatot részesítette előnyben, de kétségtelenül dögevő is volt, és sokféle kis vagy közepes méretű zsákmányt ejtett el. Ősbiológia Méret Felfedezése óta a Spinosaurus versenyben áll a leghosszabb és legnagyobb theropoda dinoszaurusz címért, bár ez a tény a nyilvánossághoz nem jutott el a Jurassic Park III. című filmben való szerepléséig és egy új példány 2005-ben történt leírásáig. Friedrich von Huene és Donald F. Glut az áttekintéseikben évtizedekre egymástól, 6 tonnás tömeggel és 15 méteres hosszal a legsúlyosabb theropodák között tartották számon. 1988-ban Gregory S. Paul szintén a leghosszabb theropodák közé sorolta be 15 méteres testhosszal, a tömegét azonban kisebbre becsülte. A 2005-ben leírt példányokon alapuló tömegbecslések 16–18 métert és 7–9 tonnát állapítanak meg. François Therrien és Donald Henderson 2007-es cikkében egy koponyahosszon alapuló arányszámítás található, ami ellentétben áll a korábbi becslésekkel, eszerint ugyanis a megállapított hossz túl nagy, a tömeg pedig túl kicsi. A számítás alapján a hossz 12,6–14,3 méter, míg a tömeg 12–20,9 tonna. A tanulmányt kritika érte az összehasonlításhoz használt theropodák kiválasztása (a nagy theropodák csontvázának többségét arra használták fel, hogy beállítsák a spinosauridákétól eltérő testfelépítésű tyrannosauridákhoz és carnosaurusokhoz tartozó kiindulási egyenleteket) és a spinosaurida koponya rekonstrukcióik miatt. A becslések helyességéről való döntéshez teljesebb fosszíliákra lenne szükség. Vitorla A Spinosaurus vitorlája szokatlan, de ugyanabban az időben ugyanazon a területen más dinoszauruszok, például az ornithopodák közé tartozó Ouranosaurus és a sauropodák közé tartozó Amargasaurus hátcsigolyáiból is hasonló szerkezeti adaptáció fejlődött ki (ez azonban vitatott; ahogy ez az említett állatokról szóló szócikkekben is olvasható). A vitorla feltehetően analóg a perm időszaki synapsidáéval, a Dimetrodonéval, bár ez az állat jóval a dinoszauruszok megjelenése előtt élt, így e hasonlóság csak a konvergens evolúció eredménye. Elképzelhető, hogy ez a rész a bölényekéhez hasonlóan inkább púpszerű, mint vitorlaszerű volt, ahogy legutóbb Jack Bowman Bailey is megjegyezte, a Spinosaurus tüskéi nem vékony rudak voltak, hanem elölről hátrafelé kiszélesedtek, és lehet hogy nem bőrvitorlát, hanem egy vastagabb, zsíros struktúrát tartottak. Ez esetben akár táplálék zsírként való raktározását is szolgálhatták, mint pl. a tevéknél, vagy izmok tapadási helyei lehettek. E vitorlák feladata nem egyértelmű; a tudósok több elméletet állítottak fel, amik között a hőszabályozás és a jelzés is szerepel. Emellett egy ilyen, háton levő feltűnő tulajdonság látszólag nagyobbá tette a tulajdonosát, mint amilyen volt, megfélemlítve a többi állatot. Ha a vitorlához bőséges érhálózat tartozott, akkor az állat e testrész nagy felületét a hő elnyelésére használhatta. Ez arra utal, hogy legfeljebb csak részben vált melegvérűvé, és hogy olyan éghajlaton élt, amin az éjszaka hűvös vagy hideg, az ég pedig rendszerint felhőtlen volt. Erre magyarázattal szolgálhat az az elképzelés, ami szerint a Spinosaurus és az Ouranosaurus a Szahara egykori változatának határán vagy területén élt. Az is lehetséges, hogy a vitorla nem begyűjtötte a hőt a test számára, hanem kisugározta azt onnan. Mivel a nagy állatok a testtömegükhöz viszonyítva aránylag kis testfelülettel rendelkeznek (a Haldane-elv alapján) jóval nagyobb problémát okozhat a felesleges hő elnyelése a magas, mint az alacsony hőmérsékleten. Az ilyen dinoszauruszok vitorlái nagymértékben megnövelték a bőr felületét, miközben a tömeget csak kismértékben gyarapították. Ráadásul, ha a vitorla elfordult a naptól, vagy 90 fokos szögben a hűvös széllel szemben állt, az állat elég hatékonyan hűthette magát a kréta időszaki Afrika meleg éghajlatán. A bonyolult testfelépítés számos modern állatnál az ellenkező nemű állatok vonzására szolgál a párzás idején. Nagyon is lehetséges, hogy az ilyen dinoszauruszok a vitorlájukat az udvarlás során használták, ahogyan a pávák a farkukat. Stromer úgy vélte, hogy a hímek és a nőstények csigolyatüskéinek mérete eltérhetett. Ha ez így volt, akkor talán a vitorlák ragyogó színűek is lehettek, de ez pusztán spekuláció. Végül is elég valószínű, hogy a vitorla egyesítette ezeket a funkciókat; általában hőszabályozóként működött, a párzási időszakban pedig az udvarlás segédeszközévé vált, a Spinosaurus hűtötte vele magát, és alkalmanként, amikor fenyegetve érezte magát, más állatok elriasztására használta. A kevés megtalált példány alapján nemi kétalakúságot nem lehet bizonyítani. Testhelyzet Bár hagyományosan két lábon járó állatként ábrázolják, az 1970-es évek közepén felmerült, hogy a Spinosaurus legalábbis alkalmanként négy lábon mozgott. Ezt alátámasztotta a rokonságába tartozó, erőteljes karokkal rendelkező Baryonyx felfedezése. Bailey (1997-ben) szintén elképzelhetőnek találta a négylábú testhelyzetet, ami ilyen rekonstrukciók megjelenéséhez vezetett. Ez az elmélet legalábbis szokványos pózként vesztett a népszerűségéből, de van aki szerint lehetséges, hogy a spinosauridák lekuporodtak a négylábú pózba. Egy 2014-es rekonstrukció szerint egy fiatal példány újonnan megtalált fosszíliái alapján a Spinosaurus lábai túl rövidek voltak a hatékony szárazföldi mozgáshoz. A tanulmányt több kritika is érte. John Hutchinson szerint különböző példányok használata kimérákat eredményezhet. Scott Hartman szintén kritikát fogalmazott meg, miszerint a felnőtt példányok hátsó lába és medencéje 27%-kal nagyobb lehetett, és nem állnak összhangban a közzétett méretekkel. A szerzők válasza után azonban Mark Witton megbízhatónak találta a méréseket. Vízi életmód Néhány újabb keletű tanulmány szerint a Spinosaurus és rokonai a krokodilokéra emlékeztető, félig vízi életmódot folytathattak. Erre utalnak az arccsontokon levő nyílások, melyek a krokodilokéhoz hasonló módon, a víz alatti vadászatot segítő nyomásérzékelőket tartalmazhattak. A fosszíliáik oxigénizotópos vizsgálata a δ18O esetében a kortárs dinoszauruszokénál alacsonyabb, a teknősökre és a krokodilokra jellemző értéket mutatott. Emellett a kora kréta korból, Spanyolországból származó nyomfosszíliák arra utalnak, hogy ezen a területen, ahol a spinosauridák gyakran előfordultak, egyes theropodák időnként a vízbe is belegázoltak. Popkulturális hatás A Spinosaurus már régóta szerepel a népszerű, dinoszauruszokról szóló könyvekben, de a spinosauridák megfelelő ábrázolásához csak nemrégiben vált ismertté elég információ. Egy Albert-Félix de Lapparent és Réné Lavocat által készített jelentős, 1955-ös csontváz rekonstrukció szokványos felegyenesedett theropodaként jelenítette meg a többi nagy theropodáéhoz hasonló koponyával, a hátán vitorlával és négyujjú kezekkel együtt. A Spinosaurus szerepelt a 2001-es Jurassic Park III. című filmben. A Tyrannosaurusnál nagyobb és erősebb állatként jelent meg; az egyik jelenetben a két feltámasztott ragadozó megküzd egymással, és a Spinosaurus az ellenfele nyakát eltörve győzelmet arat. A valóságban ez a küzdelem sosem történhetett volna meg, mivel a két fajt több ezer kilométeres távolság és több millió év választotta el egymástól. A Jurassic Park III. után a Spinosaurus a filmekhez kapcsolódó termékek között is felbukkant, például akciófiguraként és a videójátékok, mint például az Operation Genesis szereplőjeként. A Spinosaurus szerepelt a Discovery Channel 2009-es Megaragadozók (Mega beasts vagy Monsters resurrected) című hatrészes minisorozat harmadik részében, amelyben csúcsragadozóként állították be. A műsorban a Spinosaurus mérete el van túlozva és a koponyája is szélesebb, mint amilyen a valóságban lehetett. A Spinosaurus szintén megjelent az Őslények kalandorai (Primeval) 2011-es 4. évadának 1. részében, amiben átjött egy Anomálián és London városában tombolt. Jegyzetek Fordítás Források További információk Spinosauridák Kréta időszaki dinoszauruszok Afrika dinoszauruszai Kiemelt cikkek	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia" }	3,023
Excerpt: '… Let's imagine that the entire world agreed on how to bring this brutal military occupation to a peaceful close, but that, in defiance of this overwhelming international consensus, the occupying power brazenly refused to withdraw to its legal borders. Let's imagine that, when a number of individuals finally got together and tried to do something to bring the nightmare to an end, Jonathan Freedland came along and issued to them a heartfelt 'plea': guys, take it down a notch. The upshot of Freedland's wretched article ['My plea to the left: treat Jews the same way you'd treat any other minority'] here is this: for a half-century nothing has been done to put a stop to the brutal, immoral and illegal persecution of the Palestinians, and it's time to do less. We are witnessing a wave of orchestrated hysteria over claims that the Labour Party is rife with antisemitism and has a 'problem with Jews.' This is not true. Yes there is indeed a problem. The problem is that some people – Jewish and otherwise, inside and outside the party – use allegations of anti-Semitism as a stick to beat the Corbyn leadership, regardless of the damage caused. Those who are making allegations of anti-Semitism are talking a different language. It is not anti-Semitism but anti-Zionism that is their concern. It is opposition to Israeli racism not anti-Jewish racism that concerns them. This campaign of vilification is intended to undermine Labour's new leaders, because of their commendable record of supporting justice for Palestine. The wider aim is to crush support for the solidarity movement, which is working to achieve for Palestinians basic rights that are endorsed by international legal bodies. '…an investigation by The Electronic Intifada has found that some of the most prominent stories about anti-Semitism in the party are falsified. It is a matter of historical record that some Zionists tried to do a deal with the Nazis in the 1930s. We should try and see this through what they knew at the time rather than with the aid of hindsight. Before Kristallnacht in 1938 it is quite possible that the Zionists saw the Nazis as maybe worse but not different in kind from the pogroms Jews of Eastern and Central Europe had suffered and survived for centuries; the brownshirts were just the new Cossacks. Maybe a closer reading of Mein Kampf would have told them different but neither they, nor anyone else, foresaw the Holocaust. What is important is the lessons that are to be drawn from Heskem Haavara. In 1933 the Zionists in Germany thought that doing a deal with the Nazis would help them establish a Jewish state in Palestine. That the Nazis were antisemites was less important to them than that they supported proto-Israel. But you can only learn from history if you acknowledge history and Zionist organisations try to pretend that the Haavara never happened: Haavara denial. Why is this important to those not interested in the minutiae of pre-war history? It is because the Israeli Government and their Zionist apologists are still seeking the support of visceral antisemites providing they support Israel. We can see this in the affectionate relationship between Israel and the US Christians United for Israel (CUFI). CUFI was founded by John Hagee who has claimed that, "God sent Hitler as a 'hunter,' in order to 'hunt them [Jews] from every mountain and from every hill and out of the holes of the rocks … to get them to come back to the land of Israel'". Hagee has argued with another Christian Zionist Joseph Farah CEO of WorldNetDaily about who has the purest antisemitic views. They argue their points in terms of the fate of Jews and their eternal damnation as foretold in the Book of Revelations in the Christian Bible and Isiah in the Jewish Bible. We can infer however that their views are more practical. Like the Nazis they would rather the Jews were somewhere else rather than living next door. Having them forgather in Israel solves that problem as well as prefiguring the rapture. From 9/11 onward we may also suspect that they have come to hate Muslims even more than Jews and their Islamophobia leads them to ally themselves with Israel against their feared Islamic invasion of America – Europe to them is already lost. None of this prevented Benjamin Netanyahu embracing Hagee when CUFI held their conference in Jerusalem in 2012. In the same year the largest US pro-Israel lobby Group, AIPAC (American Israel Public Affairs Committee) inviting Hagee to give the keynote speech at their annual conference. What is clear is that antisemitism is unimportant to Israel providing you support their actions. For Zionists, perceiving antisemitism is a weapon to bludgeon their opponents not a principle. Proclaiming antisemitism is a tactic to attempt to scare diaspora Jews into making Aliyah, migrating to Israel. The lesson of the thirties is that doing business with those who wish you dead may, or may not, be tactically astute; it does not promise long life and happiness.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4" }	2,227
Vision of a Stellar Ending Mary W. Jackson NASA Headquarters Sign Installation Penny J. Pettigrew, ISS Payload Communications Manager at NASA's Marshall Space Flight Center Station Commander Akihiko Hoshide Checks His Spacesuit SpaceX Crew-3 Rollout The Force Awakens in a Newborn Star Remembering Sept. 11 Hubble Sees a Cluster of Red, White, and Blue Lucy Is Going to Space! Update on National Programme for Prevention and Control of Cancer, Diabetes, Cardiovascular Diseases and Stroke (NPCDCS) Ministry of Health and Family Welfare Update on National Programme for Prevention and Control of Cancer, Diabetes, Cardiovascular Diseases and Str Under the National Programme for Prevention and Control of Cancer, Diabetes, Cardiovascular Diseases and Stroke (NPCDCS) launched in 2010 as part of National Health Mission (NHM), the Union Ministry of Health & Family Welfare provides technical and financial support to the States/UTs based on the proposals received from the States/UTs and subject to the resource envelope. The programme focuses on strengthening infrastructure, human resource development, health promotion & awareness generation for prevention, early diagnosis, management and referral to an appropriate level of healthcare facility for treatment of the Non-Communicable Diseases (NCDs). The total fund provided to States/UTs, in NPCDCS Program under Flexible Pool for Non-Communicable Diseases programme (NCD) under NHM during 2021-22 is Rs. 56118.07 Lakhs. Under NPCDCS, 677 NCD clinics at District level, 187 District Cardiac Care Units, 266 District Day Care Centres and 5392 NCD clinics at Community Health Centre level has been set up to ensure the treatment of common NCDs. A population-based initiative for prevention, control and screening for common Non-Communicable Diseases (NCDs) i.e. diabetes, hypertension and common cancers has been rolled out in the country under NHM and also as a part of Comprehensive Primary Health Care. Under the initiative, persons more than 30 years of age are targeted for their screening for the common NCDs. Screening of these common NCDs is an integral part of service delivery under Ayushman Bharat – Health and Wellness Centres. Preventive aspect of Cancer is strengthened under Comprehensive Primary Health Care through Ayushman Bharat Health Wellness Centre scheme, by promotion of wellness activities and targeted communication at the community level. Other initiatives for increasing public awareness about Cancer and for promotion of healthy lifestyle includes observation of National Cancer Awareness Day, World Cancer Day and use of print, electronic and social media for continued community awareness. Furthermore, healthy eating is also promoted through FSSAI. Fit India movement is implemented by Ministry of Youth Affairs and Sports, and various Yoga related activities are carried out by Ministry of AYUSH. In addition, NPCDCS gives financial support under NHM for awareness generation (IEC) activities for Cancer to be undertaken by the States/UTs as per their Programme Implementation Plans (PIPs). The Union Minister of State for Health and Family Welfare, Dr Bharati Pravin Pawar stated this in a written reply in the Rajya Sabha today. MV/AL HFW/PQ/Update on NPCDCS/14thDecember2021/6 Read this release in: Tamil Mission Olympic Cell approves sailors' proposal to train overseas in preparation for Asian Games Auxin visualized for the first time From toxic ions to single-atom copper Ocean bacteria release carbon into the atmosphere Eye movements of those with dyslexia reveal laborious and inefficient reading strategies Diverse spectrum of neurons that govern movement ganari January 11, 2022 The history of the end of poverty has just begun Can we reduce fertilizer use without sacrificing food production? We just published our new work on global fish stocks and overfishing ganari October 7, 2021 The International Energy Agency publishes the detailed, global energy data we all need, but its funders force it behind paywalls. Let's ask them to change it.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl" }	330
{"url":"http:\/\/www.tug.org\/pipermail\/tex-k\/2005-March\/001254.html","text":"Karl Berry karl at freefriends.org\nThu Mar 3 15:20:29 CET 2005\n\nHello Olaf and all,\n\nHow hard would it be to relax the restriction that \\patterns can only be\nexecuted by initex? E.g., so a TeX document could load replacement\npatterns for a language for that document, instead of having it embedded\nin a format?\n\nOr, looking at it another way, what would be the downside of always\nusing initex? I doubt the initialization speed is an issue these days.\n\nI seem to remember some stuff in tex.web that makes me think it might be\nreplacement for a given \\language is more important than being able to\n\nThe reason for this whole idea is that it would be nice to be able to\nimprove hyphenation patterns as time goes by, like everything else,\ninstead of being stuck with, say, Knuth's 1982 patterns for US English\nfor the rest of time. On the other hand, of course there's a need for\narchived documents to be able to be typeset again as they were.\n\nThe thing that makes hyphenation patterns different than style files in\nthis regard is that it's relatively easy to get TeX to load different\nstyle files, if you want some archived snapshot (e.g., put them all in\nthe current directory). But to load different patterns, you have to\nbuild a new format, which is pretty impractical (version skew,\nunportable, and just plain painful).\n\nSo if we could load new patterns dynamically, in the sources, we could,\nsay, build latex.fmt with a hypothetical hyphen-en-US-2005.tex, and old\nsource files could explicitly input the original hyphen.tex if there was\na concern for archival typesetting.\n\nWdyt?\n\nThanks,\nk","date":"2017-10-19 12:49:24","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": false, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.9158691763877869, \"perplexity\": 2768.2958695073003}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": false, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2017-43\/segments\/1508187823284.50\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20171019122155-20171019142155-00292.warc.gz\"}"}	null	null
{"url":"https:\/\/math.stackexchange.com\/questions\/3179213\/winding-number-in-4d-su2-group","text":"# Winding number in 4D & SU(2) group\n\nIn the book 'Quantum field theory' by Mark Srednicki (chapter 93, pages 575-576) in order to compute winding number, $$n$$, in a 4-dimensional space with coordinates $$x = (x_1, x_2, x_3, x_4)$$ and such that\n\n$$\\hat{x} = (\\sin\\chi \\sin\\psi \\cos\\phi, \\sin\\chi \\sin\\psi \\sin\\phi, \\sin\\chi \\cos\\psi, \\cos\\chi), \\quad \\sum_\\mu \\hat{x}_\\mu \\hat{x}_\\mu = 1$$\n\n$$n$$ is given by\n\n$$n = -\\frac{1}{24\\pi^2}\\int_0^\\pi d\\chi\\int_0^\\pi d\\psi \\int_0^{2\\pi} d\\phi\\ \\epsilon^{\\alpha\\beta\\gamma}tr\\{(U\\partial_\\alpha U^\\dagger) (U\\partial_\\beta U^\\dagger) (U\\partial_\\gamma U^\\dagger)\\}, \\quad \\epsilon^{\\chi\\psi\\phi} = +1$$\n\nWhere $$U$$ is only dependent on $$\\hat{x}$$, belongs to $$SU(2)$$ and has associated the winding number $$n$$. $$tr$$ represents the trace.\n\nBut suddenly Srednicki says that you can write $$n$$ as an integral over the surface of this 4-dimensional space of the form\n\n$$n = \\frac{1}{24\\pi^2}\\int dS_\\mu\\ \\epsilon^{\\mu\\nu\\sigma\\tau}tr\\{(U\\partial_\\nu U^\\dagger) (U\\partial_\\sigma U^\\dagger) (U\\partial_\\tau U^\\dagger)\\}, \\quad \\partial_\\nu = \\partial\/\\partial x^\\nu\\ {\\rm and\\ so\\ on}$$\n\nI don't understand how you can go from one expression of $$n$$ to the other.","date":"2019-05-20 09:31:06","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 13, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.9397568702697754, \"perplexity\": 139.69151617545458}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2019-22\/segments\/1558232255837.21\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20190520081942-20190520103942-00400.warc.gz\"}"}	null	null
Raptors fans know that the Chicago Bulls and the Charlotte Hornets have been thorns in the sides of Toronto basketball teams for the past few years, despite the fact that Raptors squads tend to be better on paper. Since the 2011-12 campaign, the Hornets have won eight of the last ten games at home against the Raptors. During their last meeting, the Raps pulled off a narrow, two-point win. This time, Toronto isn't at full strength, with key personnel missing entirely or on the limp. An injury bug has run through the Toronto Raptors locker room, claiming their most consistent forwards this season. Patrick Patterson has been on the mend with a knee issue, Lucas Nogueira suffers from concussion repercussions and DeMarre Carroll was kicked in the head by Pascal Siakam during the 76ers loss. Jared Sullinger made a surprise return from his pre-season injury, but will remain on a restricted minutes schedule, reducing his contributions. Charlotte's been healthy other than Jeremy Lamb, who's struggling through a foot injury. Keep a close eye on the lineup, as last minute rotation changes could shift the outcome of this matchup. Neither team has been impressive as of late, featuring strong backcourts who haven't received great support from the rest of their squad. Kyle Lowry and DeMar DeRozan lead the Raptors in production on a nightly basis, combining to top 50 points on many nights. Nic Batum and Kemba Walker don't boast the same level of consistent offensive production, but still have the ability to dominate the outcome of a game. Walker occasionally goes off for 40 points while Batum's defense, shooting and all-around game can lock down top swingmen, like DeMar DeRozan. Sportsbooks list this matchup as a close one, even though the Hornets just stemmed a five-game losing streak, barely making it back to .500. Toronto has had trouble defeating the Hornets over the past half-decade, flattening the point spread more than usual. Over the past 18 games, the Raptors have won only seven times, with two of those victories earned on the road. As a result, the spread peaks at one point, and some bookies aren't even offering an ATS wager for this game. The projected total stand at 215, which appears to be a bit low for this matchup because the two teams combined for 224 points in November. Both the Raptors and the Hornets feature troubled defensive lineups which rank below average. However, last season, these two teams didn't reach 215 points in four games. Interestingly, the Raptors and the Hornets average 216 points this season, which implies that bookies expect a slightly lower offensive output than normal. Given the Raptors injuries and their previous performance against Philadelphia, betting under appears to be the safer wager this time around. This Friday evening in the NBA features a busy schedule, with a total of nine games taking place across the association. Easily the biggest matchup of the night, the Golden State Warriors visit the Houston Rockets at the Toyota Center. The last time these two teams collided resulted in one of the best ball games this season, as Houston earned a 132-127 road victory in double overtime. The Warriors have been listed as moderate favorites for this matchup, along with a relatively weak spread of 5.5 points. Golden State won't be caught off guard again, and should be able to summarily dismiss the Rockets.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4" }	6,925
eBaoCloud is a family of products based on 4G insurance technologies (cloud native and microservices architecture based). eBaoCloud current offerings include both PaaS (API) and SaaS (APP).The design has experienced several iterations according to business requirement changes. This is the first shipped product I participate in for full product life cycle. I worked in a scrum team cooperating closely with product managers and developers. We were in the Agile Development Team. This was the first time I led the design process as a principle designer. Except for the design itself, I first analyzed the situation when I took this responsibility. 1. Product model concepts always changed from top managers. 2. The development framework – vaddin – had its own design restrictions. 3. Previous designs had complicated interactions which led to less flexibility.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4" }	2,673
BEIJING - American arena football in China will go into full swing when the China Arena Football League (CAFL) kicks off during the National Day holiday. Guangzhou Power is to take on the Qingdao Clipper in an afternoon match, while Dalian Dragon Kings will fight against Shenzhen Naja in a night session on Oct 1 at the Beijing LeTv Sports Center, originally known as the MasterCard Center. The Beijing Lions will host the Shanghai Skywalkers on Oct 2 at the same venue. Originally held only in China's sports universities, the league will be played in the landmark sporting centers of six Chinese cities this year. The six teams will play weekend matches first in Beijing, followed by Shanghai, Dalian, Qingdao, Guangzhou, and Shenzhen. The championship winner will be decided in a title game dubbed the "China Bowl" in the first weekend of November at the Shanghai Oriental Sports Center. The owner of AFL's Philadelphia Soul Martin Judge brought the game to China in 2012 and promoted arena football in six of China's sports universities. He had hoped to launch a six-team China Arena Football League in 2014, but he says circumstances forced him to wait until now. "The Chinese association and I decided it would be best to allow the universities playing arena football for some time in order to have better Chinese players in the professional CAFL," Judge said. Arena football has since developed rapidly in China. The CAFL has been approved by the China Rugby Football Association and is now listed on its annual competition agenda. A total of 132 US and Chinese players are registered for the competition, 60 of whom are pros from the North American Arena Football League. The Chinese players underwent a total of 20 rounds of tests in Beijing, Shanghai and Philadelphia in order to qualify for play. Wang Lei, a 23-year-old sprinter at the Wuhan Sports University, said that the lack of knowledge and experience about football are the biggest hurdles for Chinese players like him. "We have so much to learn in a year or two, while our American peers have already learned it for more than 10 years," he said. "But my explosive acceleration and speed are my advantages," added Wang, "I just love this game." Judge said there are tremendous marketing and advertisement opportunities in the six host cities with professional squads, and adds that he is confident the league will be expanded to at least 22 cities over the next five years.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4" }	4,110
#ifndef FLANN_CUDA_KD_TREE_BUILDER_H_ #define FLANN_CUDA_KD_TREE_BUILDER_H_ #include <thrust/host_vector.h> #include <thrust/device_vector.h> #include <thrust/sort.h> #include <thrust/partition.h> #include <thrust/unique.h> #include <thrust/scan.h> #include <flann/util/cutil_math.h> #include <stdlib.h> // #define PRINT_DEBUG_TIMING namespace flann { // template< typename T > // void print_vector( const thrust::device_vector<T>& v ) // { // for( int i=0; i< v.size(); i++ ) // { // std::cout<<v[i]<<std::endl; // } // } // // template< typename T1, typename T2 > // void print_vector( const thrust::device_vector<T1>& v1, const thrust::device_vector<T2>& v2 ) // { // for( int i=0; i< v1.size(); i++ ) // { // std::cout<<i<<": "<<v1[i]<<" "<<v2[i]<<std::endl; // } // } // // template< typename T1, typename T2, typename T3 > // void print_vector( const thrust::device_vector<T1>& v1, const thrust::device_vector<T2>& v2, const thrust::device_vector<T3>& v3 ) // { // for( int i=0; i< v1.size(); i++ ) // { // std::cout<<i<<": "<<v1[i]<<" "<<v2[i]<<" "<<v3[i]<<std::endl; // } // } // // template< typename T > // void print_vector_by_index( const thrust::device_vector<T>& v,const thrust::device_vector<int>& ind ) // { // for( int i=0; i< v.size(); i++ ) // { // std::cout<<v[ind[i]]<<std::endl; // } // } // std::ostream& operator <<(std::ostream& stream, const cuda::kd_tree_builder_detail::SplitInfo& s) { // stream<<"(split l/r: "<< s.left <<" "<< s.right<< " split:"<<s.split_dim<<" "<<s.split_val<<")"; // return stream; // } // // // std::ostream& operator <<(std::ostream& stream, const cuda::kd_tree_builder_detail::NodeInfo& s) { // stream<<"(node: "<<s.child1()<<" "<<s.parent()<<" "<<s.child2()<<")"; // return stream; // } // // std::ostream& operator <<(std::ostream& stream, const float4& s) { // stream<<"("<<s.x<<","<<s.y<<","<<s.z<<","<<s.w<<")"; // return stream; // } namespace cuda { namespace kd_tree_builder_detail { //! normal node: contains the split dimension and value //! leaf node: left == index of first points, right==index of last point +1 struct SplitInfo { union { struct { // begin of child nodes int left; // end of child nodes int right; }; struct { int split_dim; float split_val; }; }; }; struct IsEven { typedef int result_type; __device__ int operator()(int i ) { return (i& 1)==0; } }; struct SecondElementIsEven { __host__ __device__ bool operator()( const thrust::tuple<int,int>& i ) { return (thrust::get<1>(i)& 1)==0; } }; //! just for convenience: access a float4 by an index in [0,1,2] //! (casting it to a float* and accessing it by the index is way slower...) __host__ __device__ float get_value_by_index( const float4& f, int i ) { switch(i) { case 0: return f.x; case 1: return f.y; default: return f.z; } } //! mark a point as belonging to the left or right child of its current parent //! called after parents are split struct MovePointsToChildNodes { MovePointsToChildNodes( int* child1, SplitInfo* splits, float* x, float* y, float* z, int* ox, int* oy, int* oz, int* lrx, int* lry, int* lrz ) : child1_(child1), splits_(splits), x_(x), y_(y), z_(z), ox_(ox), oy_(oy), oz_(oz), lrx_(lrx), lry_(lry), lrz_(lrz){} // int dim; // float threshold; int* child1_; SplitInfo* splits_; // coordinate values float* x_, * y_, * z_; // owner indices -> which node does the point belong to? int* ox_, * oy_, * oz_; // temp info: will be set to 1 of a point is moved to the right child node, 0 otherwise // (used later in the scan op to separate the points of the children into continuous ranges) int* lrx_, * lry_, * lrz_; __device__ void operator()( const thrust::tuple<int, int, int, int>& data ) { int index = thrust::get<0>(data); int owner = ox_[index]; // before a split, all points at the same position in the index array have the same owner int point_ind1=thrust::get<1>(data); int point_ind2=thrust::get<2>(data); int point_ind3=thrust::get<3>(data); int leftChild=child1_[owner]; int split_dim; float dim_val1, dim_val2, dim_val3; SplitInfo split; lrx_[index]=0; lry_[index]=0; lrz_[index]=0; // this element already belongs to a leaf node -> everything alright, no need to change anything if( leftChild==-1 ) { return; } // otherwise: load split data, and assign this index to the new owner split = splits_[owner]; split_dim=split.split_dim; switch( split_dim ) { case 0: dim_val1=x_[point_ind1]; dim_val2=x_[point_ind2]; dim_val3=x_[point_ind3]; break; case 1: dim_val1=y_[point_ind1]; dim_val2=y_[point_ind2]; dim_val3=y_[point_ind3]; break; default: dim_val1=z_[point_ind1]; dim_val2=z_[point_ind2]; dim_val3=z_[point_ind3]; break; } int r1=leftChild +(dim_val1 > split.split_val); ox_[index]=r1; int r2=leftChild+(dim_val2 > split.split_val); oy_[index]=r2; oz_[index]=leftChild+(dim_val3 > split.split_val); lrx_[index] = (dim_val1 > split.split_val); lry_[index] = (dim_val2 > split.split_val); lrz_[index] = (dim_val3 > split.split_val); // return thrust::make_tuple( r1, r2, leftChild+(dim_val > split.split_val) ); } }; //! used to update the left/right pointers and aabb infos after the node splits struct SetLeftAndRightAndAABB { int maxPoints; int nElements; SplitInfo* nodes; int* counts; int* labels; float4* aabbMin; float4* aabbMax; const float* x,* y,* z; const int* ix, * iy, * iz; __host__ __device__ void operator()( int i ) { int index=labels[i]; int right; int left = counts[i]; nodes[index].left=left; if( i < nElements-1 ) { right=counts[i+1]; } else { // index==nNodes right=maxPoints; } nodes[index].right=right; aabbMin[index].x=x[ix[left]]; aabbMin[index].y=y[iy[left]]; aabbMin[index].z=z[iz[left]]; aabbMax[index].x=x[ix[right-1]]; aabbMax[index].y=y[iy[right-1]]; aabbMax[index].z=z[iz[right-1]]; } }; //! - decide whether a node has to be split //! if yes: //! - allocate child nodes //! - set split axis as axis of maximum aabb length struct SplitNodes { int maxPointsPerNode; int* node_count; int* nodes_allocated; int* out_of_space; int* child1_; int* parent_; SplitInfo* splits; __device__ void operator()( thrust::tuple<int&, int&,SplitInfo&,float4&,float4&, int> node ) // float4: aabbMin, aabbMax { int& parent=thrust::get<0>(node); int& child1=thrust::get<1>(node); SplitInfo& s=thrust::get<2>(node); const float4& aabbMin=thrust::get<3>(node); const float4& aabbMax=thrust::get<4>(node); int my_index = thrust::get<5>(node); bool split_node=false; // first, each thread block counts the number of nodes that it needs to allocate... __shared__ int block_nodes_to_allocate; if( threadIdx.x== 0 ) block_nodes_to_allocate=0; __syncthreads(); // don't split if all points are equal // (could lead to an infinite loop, and doesn't make any sense anyway) bool all_points_in_node_are_equal=aabbMin.x == aabbMax.x && aabbMin.y==aabbMax.y && aabbMin.z==aabbMax.z; int offset_to_global=0; // maybe this could be replaced with a reduction... if(( child1==-1) &&( s.right-s.left > maxPointsPerNode) && !all_points_in_node_are_equal ) { // leaf node split_node=true; offset_to_global = atomicAdd( &block_nodes_to_allocate,2 ); } __syncthreads(); __shared__ int block_left; __shared__ bool enough_space; // ... then the first thread tries to allocate this many nodes... if( threadIdx.x==0) { block_left = atomicAdd( node_count, block_nodes_to_allocate ); enough_space = block_left+block_nodes_to_allocate < nodes_allocated; // if it doesn't succeed, no nodes will be created by this block if( !enough_space ) { atomicAdd( node_count, -block_nodes_to_allocate ); out_of_space=1; } } __syncthreads(); // this thread needs to split it's node && there was enough space for all the nodes // in this block. //(The whole "allocate-per-block-thing" is much faster than letting each element allocate // its space on its own, because shared memory atomics are A LOT faster than // global mem atomics!) if( split_node && enough_space ) { int left = block_left + offset_to_global; splits[left].left=s.left; splits[left].right=s.right; splits[left+1].left=0; splits[left+1].right=0; // split axis/position: middle of longest aabb extent float4 aabbDim=aabbMax-aabbMin; int maxDim=0; float maxDimLength=aabbDim.x; float4 splitVal=(aabbMax+aabbMin); splitVal=0.5f; for( int i=1; i<=2; i++ ) { float val = get_value_by_index(aabbDim,i); if( val > maxDimLength ) { maxDim=i; maxDimLength=val; } } s.split_dim=maxDim; s.split_val=get_value_by_index(splitVal,maxDim); child1_[my_index]=left; splits[my_index]=s; parent_[left]=my_index; parent_[left+1]=my_index; child1_[left]=-1; child1_[left+1]=-1; } } }; //! computes the scatter target address for the split operation, see Sengupta,Harris,Zhang,Owen: Scan Primitives for GPU Computing //! in my use case, this is about 2x as fast as thrust::partition struct set_addr3 { const int val_, * f_; int npoints_; __device__ int operator()( int id ) { int nf = f_[npoints_-1] + (val_[npoints_-1]); int f=f_[id]; int t = id -f+nf; return val_[id] ? f : t; } }; //! converts a float4 point (xyz) to a tuple of three float vals (used to separate the //! float4 input buffer into three arrays in the beginning of the tree build) struct pointxyz_to_px_py_pz { __device__ thrust::tuple<float,float,float> operator()( const float4& val ) { return thrust::make_tuple(val.x, val.y, val.z); } }; } // namespace kd_tree_builder_detail } // namespace cuda std::ostream& operator <<(std::ostream& stream, const cuda::kd_tree_builder_detail::SplitInfo& s) { stream<<"(split l/r: "<< s.left <<" "<< s.right<< " split:"<<s.split_dim<<" "<<s.split_val<<")"; return stream; } class CudaKdTreeBuilder { public: CudaKdTreeBuilder( const thrust::device_vector<float4>& points, int max_leaf_size ) : /out_of_space_(1,0),node_count_(1,1),/ max_leaf_size_(max_leaf_size) { points_=&points; int prealloc = points.size()/max_leaf_size_16; allocation_info_.resize(3); allocation_info_[NodeCount]=1; allocation_info_[NodesAllocated]=prealloc; allocation_info_[OutOfSpace]=0; // std::cout<<points_->size()<<std::endl; child1_=new thrust::device_vector<int>(prealloc,-1); parent_=new thrust::device_vector<int>(prealloc,-1); cuda::kd_tree_builder_detail::SplitInfo s; s.left=0; s.right=0; splits_=new thrust::device_vector<cuda::kd_tree_builder_detail::SplitInfo>(prealloc,s); s.right=points.size(); (splits_)[0]=s; aabb_min_=new thrust::device_vector<float4>(prealloc); aabb_max_=new thrust::device_vector<float4>(prealloc); index_x_=new thrust::device_vector<int>(points_->size()); index_y_=new thrust::device_vector<int>(points_->size()); index_z_=new thrust::device_vector<int>(points_->size()); owners_x_=new thrust::device_vector<int>(points_->size(),0); owners_y_=new thrust::device_vector<int>(points_->size(),0); owners_z_=new thrust::device_vector<int>(points_->size(),0); leftright_x_ = new thrust::device_vector<int>(points_->size(),0); leftright_y_ = new thrust::device_vector<int>(points_->size(),0); leftright_z_ = new thrust::device_vector<int>(points_->size(),0); tmp_index_=new thrust::device_vector<int>(points_->size()); tmp_owners_=new thrust::device_vector<int>(points_->size()); tmp_misc_=new thrust::device_vector<int>(points_->size()); points_x_=new thrust::device_vector<float>(points_->size()); points_y_=new thrust::device_vector<float>(points_->size()); points_z_=new thrust::device_vector<float>(points_->size()); delete_node_info_=false; } ~CudaKdTreeBuilder() { if( delete_node_info_ ) { delete child1_; delete parent_; delete splits_; delete aabb_min_; delete aabb_max_; delete index_x_; } delete index_y_; delete index_z_; delete owners_x_; delete owners_y_; delete owners_z_; delete points_x_; delete points_y_; delete points_z_; delete leftright_x_; delete leftright_y_; delete leftright_z_; delete tmp_index_; delete tmp_owners_; delete tmp_misc_; } //! build the tree //! general idea: //! - build sorted lists of the points in x y and z order (to be able to compute tight AABBs in O(1) ) //! - while( nodes to split exist ) //! - split non-child nodes along longest axis if the number of points is > max_points_per_node //! - for each point: determine whether it is in a node that was split. If yes, mark it as belonging to the left or right child node of its current parent node //! - reorder the points so that the points of a single node are continuous in the node array //! - update the left/right pointers and AABBs of all nodes void buildTree() { // std::cout<<"buildTree()"<<std::endl; // sleep(1); // Util::Timer stepTimer; thrust::transform( points_->begin(), points_->end(), thrust::make_zip_iterator(thrust::make_tuple(points_x_->begin(), points_y_->begin(),points_z_->begin()) ), cuda::kd_tree_builder_detail::pointxyz_to_px_py_pz() ); thrust::counting_iterator<int> it(0); thrust::copy( it, it+points_->size(), index_x_->begin() ); thrust::copy( index_x_->begin(), index_x_->end(), index_y_->begin() ); thrust::copy( index_x_->begin(), index_x_->end(), index_z_->begin() ); thrust::device_vector<float> tmpv(points_->size()); // create sorted index list -> can be used to compute AABBs in O(1) thrust::copy(points_x_->begin(), points_x_->end(), tmpv.begin()); thrust::sort_by_key( tmpv.begin(), tmpv.end(), index_x_->begin() ); thrust::copy(points_y_->begin(), points_y_->end(), tmpv.begin()); thrust::sort_by_key( tmpv.begin(), tmpv.end(), index_y_->begin() ); thrust::copy(points_z_->begin(), points_z_->end(), tmpv.begin()); thrust::sort_by_key( tmpv.begin(), tmpv.end(), index_z_->begin() ); (aabb_min_)[0]=make_float4((points_x_)[(index_x_)[0]],(points_y_)[(index_y_)[0]],(points_z_)[(index_z_)[0]],0); (aabb_max_)[0]=make_float4((points_x_)[(index_x_)[points_->size()-1]],(points_y_)[(index_y_)[points_->size()-1]],(points_z_)[(index_z_)[points_->size()-1]],0); #ifdef PRINT_DEBUG_TIMING cudaDeviceSynchronize(); std::cout<<" initial stuff:"<<stepTimer.elapsed()<<std::endl; stepTimer.restart(); #endif int last_node_count=0; for( int i=0;; i++ ) { cuda::kd_tree_builder_detail::SplitNodes sn; sn.maxPointsPerNode=max_leaf_size_; sn.node_count=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&allocation_info_[NodeCount]); sn.nodes_allocated=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&allocation_info_[NodesAllocated]); sn.out_of_space=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&allocation_info_[OutOfSpace]); sn.child1_=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&(child1_)[0]); sn.parent_=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&(parent_)[0]); sn.splits=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&(splits_)[0]); thrust::counting_iterator<int> cit(0); thrust::for_each( thrust::make_zip_iterator(thrust::make_tuple( parent_->begin(), child1_->begin(), splits_->begin(), aabb_min_->begin(), aabb_max_->begin(), cit )), thrust::make_zip_iterator(thrust::make_tuple( parent_->begin()+last_node_count, child1_->begin()+last_node_count,splits_->begin()+last_node_count, aabb_min_->begin()+last_node_count, aabb_max_->begin()+last_node_count,cit+last_node_count )), sn ); // copy allocation info to host thrust::host_vector<int> alloc_info = allocation_info_; if( last_node_count == alloc_info[NodeCount] ) { // no more nodes were split -> done break; } last_node_count=alloc_info[NodeCount]; // a node was un-splittable due to a lack of space if( alloc_info[OutOfSpace]==1 ) { resize_node_vectors(alloc_info[NodesAllocated]2); alloc_info[OutOfSpace]=0; alloc_info[NodesAllocated]=2; allocation_info_=alloc_info; } #ifdef PRINT_DEBUG_TIMING cudaDeviceSynchronize(); std::cout<<" node split:"<<stepTimer.elapsed()<<std::endl; stepTimer.restart(); #endif // foreach point: point was in node that was split?move it to child (leaf) node : do nothing cuda::kd_tree_builder_detail::MovePointsToChildNodes sno( thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&(child1_)[0]), thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&(splits_)[0]), thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&(points_x_)[0]), thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&(points_y_)[0]), thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&(points_z_)[0]), thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&(owners_x_)[0]), thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&(owners_y_)[0]), thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&(owners_z_)[0]), thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&(leftright_x_)[0]), thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&(leftright_y_)[0]), thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&(leftright_z_)[0]) ); thrust::counting_iterator<int> ci0(0); thrust::for_each( thrust::make_zip_iterator( thrust::make_tuple( ci0, index_x_->begin(), index_y_->begin(), index_z_->begin()) ), thrust::make_zip_iterator( thrust::make_tuple( ci0+points_->size(), index_x_->end(), index_y_->end(), index_z_->end()) ),sno ); #ifdef PRINT_DEBUG_TIMING cudaDeviceSynchronize(); std::cout<<" set new owners:"<<stepTimer.elapsed()<<std::endl; stepTimer.restart(); #endif // move points around so that each leaf node's points are continuous separate_left_and_right_children(index_x_,owners_x_,tmp_index_,tmp_owners_, leftright_x_); std::swap(tmp_index_, index_x_); std::swap(tmp_owners_, owners_x_); separate_left_and_right_children(index_y_,owners_y_,tmp_index_,tmp_owners_, leftright_y_,false); std::swap(tmp_index_, index_y_); separate_left_and_right_children(index_z_,owners_z_,tmp_index_,tmp_owners_, leftright_z_,false); std::swap(tmp_index_, index_z_); #ifdef PRINT_DEBUG_TIMING cudaDeviceSynchronize(); std::cout<<" split:"<<stepTimer.elapsed()<<std::endl; stepTimer.restart(); #endif // calculate new AABB etc update_leftright_and_aabb( points_x_, points_y_, points_z_, index_x_, index_y_, index_z_, owners_x_, splits_,aabb_min_, aabb_max_); #ifdef PRINT_DEBUG_TIMING cudaDeviceSynchronize(); std::cout<<" update_leftright_and_aabb:"<<stepTimer.elapsed()<<std::endl; stepTimer.restart(); print_vector(node_count_); #endif } } template<class Distance> friend class KDTreeCuda3dIndex; protected: //! takes the partitioned nodes, and sets the left-/right info of leaf nodes, as well as the AABBs void update_leftright_and_aabb( const thrust::device_vector<float>& x, const thrust::device_vector<float>& y,const thrust::device_vector<float>& z, const thrust::device_vector<int>& ix, const thrust::device_vector<int>& iy,const thrust::device_vector<int>& iz, const thrust::device_vector<int>& owners, thrust::device_vector<cuda::kd_tree_builder_detail::SplitInfo>& splits, thrust::device_vector<float4>& aabbMin,thrust::device_vector<float4>& aabbMax) { thrust::device_vector<int> labelsUnique=tmp_owners_; thrust::device_vector<int>* countsUnique=tmp_index_; // assume: points of each node are continuous in the array // find which nodes are here, and where each node's points begin and end int unique_labels = thrust::unique_by_key_copy( owners.begin(), owners.end(), thrust::counting_iterator<int>(0), labelsUnique->begin(), countsUnique->begin()).first - labelsUnique->begin(); // update the info cuda::kd_tree_builder_detail::SetLeftAndRightAndAABB s; s.maxPoints=x.size(); s.nElements=unique_labels; s.nodes=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&(splits[0])); s.counts=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&( (countsUnique)[0])); s.labels=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&( (labelsUnique)[0])); s.x=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&x[0]); s.y=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&y[0]); s.z=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&z[0]); s.ix=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&ix[0]); s.iy=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&iy[0]); s.iz=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&iz[0]); s.aabbMin=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&aabbMin[0]); s.aabbMax=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&aabbMax[0]); thrust::counting_iterator<int> it(0); thrust::for_each(it, it+unique_labels, s); } //! Separates the left and right children of each node into continuous parts of the array. //! More specifically, it seperates children with even and odd node indices because nodes are always //! allocated in pairs -> child1==child2+1 -> child1 even and child2 odd, or vice-versa. //! Since the split operation is stable, this results in continuous partitions //! for all the single nodes. //! (basically the split primitive according to sengupta et al) //! about twice as fast as thrust::partition void separate_left_and_right_children( thrust::device_vector<int>& key_in, thrust::device_vector<int>& val_in, thrust::device_vector<int>& key_out, thrust::device_vector<int>& val_out, thrust::device_vector<int>& left_right_marks, bool scatter_val_out=true ) { thrust::device_vector<int>* f_tmp = &val_out; thrust::device_vector<int>* addr_tmp = tmp_misc_; thrust::exclusive_scan( /thrust::make_transform_iterator(/ left_right_marks.begin() /,cuda::kd_tree_builder_detail::IsEven/ /())/, /thrust::make_transform_iterator(/ left_right_marks.end() /,cuda::kd_tree_builder_detail::IsEven/ /())/, f_tmp->begin() ); cuda::kd_tree_builder_detail::set_addr3 sa; sa.val_=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&left_right_marks[0]); sa.f_=thrust::raw_pointer_cast(&(f_tmp)[0]); sa.npoints_=key_in.size(); thrust::counting_iterator<int> it(0); thrust::transform(it, it+val_in.size(), addr_tmp->begin(), sa); thrust::scatter(key_in.begin(), key_in.end(), addr_tmp->begin(), key_out.begin()); if( scatter_val_out ) thrust::scatter(val_in.begin(), val_in.end(), addr_tmp->begin(), val_out.begin()); } //! allocates additional space in all the node-related vectors. //! new_size elements will be added to all vectors. void resize_node_vectors( size_t new_size ) { size_t add = new_size - child1_->size(); child1_->insert(child1_->end(), add, -1); parent_->insert(parent_->end(), add, -1); cuda::kd_tree_builder_detail::SplitInfo s; s.left=0; s.right=0; splits_->insert(splits_->end(), add, s); float4 f; aabb_min_->insert(aabb_min_->end(), add, f); aabb_max_->insert(aabb_max_->end(), add, f); } const thrust::device_vector<float4> points_; // tree data, those are stored per-node //! left child of each node. (right child==left child + 1, due to the alloc mechanism) //! child1_[node]==-1 if node is a leaf node thrust::device_vector<int>* child1_; //! parent node of each node thrust::device_vector<int>* parent_; //! split info (dim/value or left/right pointers) thrust::device_vector<cuda::kd_tree_builder_detail::SplitInfo>* splits_; //! min aabb value of each node thrust::device_vector<float4>* aabb_min_; //! max aabb value of each node thrust::device_vector<float4>* aabb_max_; enum AllocationInfo { NodeCount=0, NodesAllocated=1, OutOfSpace=2 }; // those were put into a single vector of 3 elements so that only one mem transfer will be needed for all three of them // thrust::device_vector<int> out_of_space_; // thrust::device_vector<int> node_count_; // thrust::device_vector<int> nodes_allocated_; thrust::device_vector<int> allocation_info_; int max_leaf_size_; // coordinate values of the points thrust::device_vector<float>* points_x_, * points_y_, * points_z_; // indices thrust::device_vector<int>* index_x_, * index_y_, * index_z_; // owner node thrust::device_vector<int>* owners_x_, * owners_y_, * owners_z_; // contains info about whether a point was partitioned to the left or right child after a split thrust::device_vector<int>* leftright_x_, * leftright_y_, * leftright_z_; thrust::device_vector<int>* tmp_index_, * tmp_owners_, * tmp_misc_; bool delete_node_info_; }; } // namespace flann #endif	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub" }	7,402
Lakatoro – miasto w Vanuatu; na wyspie Malekula; 1 290 mieszkańców (2013). Stolica prowincji Malampa. Miasta na Vanuatu	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia" }	7,912
{"url":"https:\/\/www.tutorialspoint.com\/How-can-I-include-dashed-line-for-border-with-CSS","text":"# How can I include dashed line for border with CSS\n\nJavascriptWeb DevelopmentFront End Scripts\n\nTo include a dashed line for the border, use the\u00a0border-style property.\n\n## Example\n\nYou can try to run the following code to implement\u00a0border-style\u00a0property value dashed\u00a0to set dashed border:\n\n<html>\n<head>\n<\/head>\n<body>\n<p style = \"border-width:3px; border-style:dashed;\">\nThis is a dotted border.\n<\/p>\n<\/body>\n<\/html>\nPublished on 17-Apr-2018 08:21:48\nAdvertisements","date":"2021-09-21 16:16:00","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 1, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.2535412907600403, \"perplexity\": 8351.093041746964}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": false}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2021-39\/segments\/1631780057225.57\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20210921161350-20210921191350-00495.warc.gz\"}"}	null	null
import textwrap ###### # START IMPORTANT METHODS ###### # Returns a list (see below) of all matching sequences in the given scaffold # with a given initial search length. # Returns: [search_length, (start_index, end_index), ...] def find_matching_seqs(scaffold, sequence, initialSearchLength=5): searchLength = initialSearchLength - 1 outputList = [] workList = [] while True: searchLength += 1 outputList = workList workList = [] for start in substrings(scaffold, sequence[:searchLength]): workList.append((start, start+searchLength)) if len(workList)==0: outputList.insert(0, searchLength-1) return outputList # Returns a codon sequence for a given RNA sequence def to_codon(seq): cDict = codon_dict() output = "" s = split_by_n(seq, 3) for codon in s: if cDict.get(codon) != None: if cDict[codon] == "Stop": break else: output += cDict[codon] return output # Transcribes DNA into RNA, returning an RNA seq def transcribe_DNA(seq): rna = '' for c in seq: if c == 'T': rna += 'U' else: rna += c return rna # Transcribes RNA back into DNA def RNA_to_DNA(seq): dna = '' for c in seq: if c == 'U': dna += 'T' else: dna += c return dna ###### # START UTILITY METHODS ###### # generator for fasta files - returns (name, seq) # Call using 'with open(file) as f' def read_fasta(fileHandle): title = None data = None for line in fileHandle: if line[0]==">": if title != None: yield (title,data) title = line[1:] data = '' else: data += line.strip() if title == None: yield None yield (title,data) # Takes a list of [(title, seq), ...] tuples and prints as a FASTA file # to the given filename def write_fasta(listOfTuples, fileName): output = "" if fileName.find(".txt",0) == -1: fileName += ".txt" for data in listOfTuples: output += (">" + data[0]) output += textwrap.fill(data[1], 70) output += "\n" with open(fileName, 'w') as outFile: outFile.write(output) # Generates list of locations of all substrings in seq def substrings(seq, sub): start = 0 while True: start = seq.find(sub, start) if start == -1: break else: yield start start += 1 # Generates sequence split by n units def split_by_n(seq, n): while seq: yield seq[:n] seq = seq[n:] # Returns a codon dict, used in to_codon def codon_dict(): return file_to_dict("codons.txt") # Creates dicts from two-cell tables in txt files def file_to_dict(file): mDict = {} with open(file) as f: lines = f.readlines() for l in lines: mList = l.split() mDict[mList[0]] = mList[1] return mDict ###### # START I/O METHODS ###### # Returns a single tuple (head, name) for a given fasta file # In other words, gets the first fasta entry from a fasta file def fasta_to_strings(fileName): with open(fileName, encoding="cp1252") as f: for name, seq in read_fasta(f): return (name, seq) # Called when search returns only a single result. Uses filename # and desired sequence length from user and outputs fasta file with # region upstream of found sequence def single_result(length, start, searchName, scaffoldSeq, fileName, bp): print("Matching sequence of length " + str(length) + " found in scaffold at index " + str(start+1) + ".") x = start - int(bp) # Makes sure the sequence doesn't wrap around the scaffold if x < 0: x = 0 seq = scaffoldSeq[x:start] title = "Upstream of " + searchName + " from " + str(x) + " to " + str(start) title = title.replace("\n", "") + "\n" write_fasta([(title, seq)], fileName) print("File '" + fileName + "' saved.") # Called when sequenceSearch returns multiple results. Uses filename # and desired sequence length from user and outputs fasta file with # all seq upstream of found sequence def multiple_result(length, startCodons, searchName, scaffoldSeq, fileName, bp): print("Multiple matching sequences found of length " + str(length)) listOfTuples = [] for i in range(1, len(startCodons)): start = startCodons[i][0] x = start - int(bp) # Makes sure the sequence doesn't wrap around the scaffold if x < 0: x = 0 title = "Upstream of " + searchName + " from " + str(x) + " to " + str(start) title = title.replace("\n", "") + "\n" seq = scaffoldSeq[x:start] listOfTuples.append((title, seq)) write_fasta(listOfTuples, fileName) print("File '" + fileName + "' saved.") # Searches in the scaffold for a given sequence. If it finds a sequence, allows # the user to output a sequence upstream of the start position in the scaffold # as a file. def sequence_search(): print("Sequence search.") print() # Gets search and scaffold seq, adds .txt to names scaffoldFasta = input("Input scaffold's fasta filename: \n") searchFasta = input("Input search sequence's filename: \n") if scaffoldFasta.find(".txt",0) == -1: scaffoldFasta += ".txt" if searchFasta.find(".txt",0) == -1: searchFasta += ".txt" # Builds a tuple of (name, seq) out of each fasta w/ uppercase seq scaffold = fasta_to_strings(scaffoldFasta) search = fasta_to_strings(searchFasta) searchSeq = search[1].upper() scaffoldSeq = RNA_to_DNA(scaffold[1].upper()) # Runs search startCodons = find_matching_seqs(scaffoldSeq, searchSeq) # Gets desired filename and length of upstream region to be returned fileName = input("What would you like to name the output fasta file? \n") bp = input("How many base pairs upstream would you like to find? \n") # Sets clear variables for search sequence's name and length searchName = search[0] length = startCodons[0] # If only one result found, output in fasta file if len(startCodons) == 2: start = startCodons[1][0] single_result(length, start, searchName, scaffoldSeq, fileName, bp) # If multiple results found, all are output in a single fasta file elif len(startCodons) > 2: multiple_result(length, startCodons, searchName, scaffoldSeq, fileName, bp) # In other cases, return no results else: print("No results found.") # Called in positionSearch to get correct list of positions from user. # If position is greater than given max integer or less than zero, # called recursively to get new list of integers. def get_positions(max): inputPositions = input() positions = [int(x) for x in inputPositions.split(',')] for p in positions: if ((p < 0) or (p > max)): print("Position " + str(p) + " not in range of scaffold. Enter new position(s):") getPositions(max) return positions # Called in position_search. Uses filename # and desired sequence length from user and outputs fasta file with all seq X # bp upstream of found sequence def position_result(positions, scaffoldName, scaffoldSeq, fileName, bp): listOfTuples = [] for i in range(0, len(positions)): start = positions[i] x = start - int(bp) # Makes sure the sequence doesn't wrap around the scaffold if x < 0: x = 0 title = scaffoldName + " from bp " + str(x) + " to " + str(start) title = title.replace("\n", "") + "\n" seq = scaffoldSeq[x:start] listOfTuples.append((title, seq)) write_fasta(listOfTuples, fileName) print("File '" + fileName + "' saved.") # Searches in the scaffold for given positions. Allows the user # to output a sequence upstream of the positions as a file. def position_search(): print("Position search.") print() # Gets scaffold seq and adds .txt to name scaffoldFasta = input("Input scaffold's fasta filename: \n") if scaffoldFasta.find(".txt",0) == -1: scaffoldFasta += ".txt" # Builds (name, seq) tuple of scaffold and changes seq to uppercase scaffold = fasta_to_strings(scaffoldFasta) scaffoldName = scaffold[0] scaffoldSeq = RNA_to_DNA(scaffold[1].upper()) # Gets scaffold position to find the upstream region of print("Enter position(s) to find, separated by commas: ") positions = get_positions(len(scaffoldSeq)) # Gets desired filename and length of upstream region to be returned fileName = input("What would you like to name the output fasta file? \n") bp = input("How many base pairs upstream would you like to find? \n") # Outputs all desired sequences in a single fasta file position_result(positions, scaffoldName, scaffoldSeq, fileName, bp) def main(): # Prints a nicely formatted introduction introText = '''Searches inside a scaffold DNA/RNA sequence for either positions in the scaffold or the start position of a given sequence in the scaffold. Outputs a region upstream of the found position(s) of a given length as a FASTA file.''' intro = textwrap.wrap(introText) for line in intro: print(line) print() print("Are you searching by position or with a sequence?") print("1: Position 2: Sequence") searchType = input("") if (searchType=="1") or (searchType=="Position") or (searchType=="position") or (searchType=="pos"): position_search() elif (searchType=="2") or (searchType=="Sequence") or (searchType=="sequence") or (searchType=="seq"): sequence_search() main()	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub" }	6,436
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June 26, 2019 5:59AM EDT Dispatches In Sudan, Repression of Protests by Another Name The Rise of the Abusive Rapid Support Forces A group of protesters from the ministry of irrigation march at the sit-in outside the military headquarters, in Khartoum on Thursday, May 2, 2019. © 2019 AP Images Sudanese protesters were hopeful that the ouster of former president Omar al-Bashir would signal a break from 30 years of abuses. They spent over four months protesting in the streets despite violence by government forces that killed over 100 civilians and subjected many to unfair detentions and ill-treatment. Witnesses told us the National Intelligence and Security Service (NISS), Sudan's intelligence agency, was at the forefront of those responsible for abuses against protesters. After overthrowing al-Bashir in April, the new Transitional Military Council, vowed to restructure NISS in response to protesters' demands. However, we have seen no reform of NISS and no justice for violations by its officers. Instead, Sudan's de facto leaders have promoted the Rapid Support Forces (RSF). These forces, which carried out abusive counterinsurgency campaigns in Darfur, Southern Kordofan, and Blue Nile since 2013, led the attack on the Khartoum sit-in on the morning of June 3, killing well over 100 protesters. They are now deployed in large numbers in Khartoum and other towns, using violence against protesters. Their commander, Lt. General Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo ("Hemedti"), is also deputy head of the Transitional Military Council, so the RSF is more powerful than ever before, with little reason to fear being held to account for violations and crimes against civilians. Increasingly, they are starting to act like the NISS. For example, on June 20, the Sudanese Journalists Network reported that journalist Amar Mohamed Adam was arrested and detained by Rapid Support Forces officials, who handed him over to NISS after hours of questioning. RSF also detained employees from the health ministry and the National Oil Corporation who had staged a stand in front of their work premises in Khartoum, on June 20. These forces have also prevented public events opposing the military council from taking place by occupying the designated locations hours before. They have also used force to disperse events, saying that organizers need permission from the Rapid Support Forces in advance, just as NISS had done. It is clear that the Transitional Military Council has just given the NISS another name. June 24, 2019 Letter UN Human Rights Council Should Create Fact-Finding Group for Sudan June 12, 2019 News Release Sudan: End Network Shutdown Immediately "Men With No Mercy" Rapid Support Forces Attacks against Civilians in Darfur, Sudan "No Control, No Choice" Lack of Access to Reproductive Healthcare in Sudan's Rebel-Held Southern Kordofan Hong Kong Bars Human Rights Watch Head	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl" }	7,618
I've seen a lot of trailers in my life, both for tv and film and ones hauling cars, but this one blew me away. It was just plain fun, the type of fun you'd expect from Clarkson, Hammond and May, but not as likely this late into their careers. However, here they are as reckless and stupid (see Hammond on the bridge) and downright enjoyable as ever. It certainly doesn't hurt either that they set it all to that little ditty written by John Lennon and Paul McCartney, "With a Little Help From My Friends." The newest season of The Grand Tour, the third for those counting, airs on Amazon Prime January 18th. Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond, and James May return with season 3 of The Grand Tour on 18th January, only on Prime Video. In addition to Hammond once again risking one of his nine lives as he struggles to keep his Jeep on a tiny bridge over a steep canyon in Colombia, the three comrades taking on epic challenges in Detroit and Nevada, visits to Mongolia and China, Jeremy and Abbie attempting an unusual snowy challenge in Sweden, and James May playing the bag pipes in Scotland, along with a tour of the Stansted Airport.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4" }	1,516
Washington (HAN) August 09, 2014. Expert Analysis, Your Power & Regional Influence Magazine, opinion page sent to Geeska Afrika Online Editorial by DR. Mohamoud Uluso. The formation of federal Member States (FMS) without legal and political consensus sparks fresh political and social turmoil in all regions of Somalia. It is unequivocally clear that the federal system based on clan ownership of territory has become major obstacle to national reconciliation, peacebuilding, and statebuilding in Somalia. It polluted the notion of state, citizenship, and Islamic values and intensified clan rivalry and vanity within the Somali society everywhere. In an interview with VOA, President Hassan made the surprising argument that the ongoing formation of federal states is a kind of "temporary structure" and the debate over the real federal states has to wait until legal instruments are passed by parliament. This is contrary to the way government should work, which is obligated to act in accordance with constitution, laws, and regulations. The President's argument makes the federal government lawless. In an interview with Aljazeera correspondent, Prime Minister Abdiweli Sheikh Ahmed justified federalism as follows: "Federalism is inherent in Somali culture. Somalis have always been independent minded and through centuries have wanted to manage their own affairs." PM Abdiweli Sheikh seems confused about the difference between individual freedom and clan federalism based on territory ownership. Leaders of Puntland State (Harti Darod Enclave) brushed aside the need for a serious debate over the pros and cons of federalism for national reconciliation, unity, and prosperity. The clan demarcation line established within the Galkaio Town symbolizes the underlying clan hatreds inherent in clan federalism. Mogadishu residents removed the civil war Green Line for reconciliation. There are made-up excuses to not seriously deal with the real problem of Somalia which is the lack of a national government that enjoys the support and confidence of the majority of Somalis. The accusation that there is a "centralist" government in Mogadishu, when the federal government protected by foreign forces does not have existence outside Mogadishu is red herring. The continuous clashes between Somaliland and Puntland are also evidence for the unsettled existence of both entities. The claim that clan federalism heals civil war grievances and mistrusts, advances reconciliation, or adequately responds to the secession stance of Somaliland, or promotes democratic system of governance and national integration for socio economic development and political stability is indefensible. It is like saying that the divorce between wife and husband leads to reconciliation. Somali Commentators argue that Puntland and Somaliland use 3.5 clan formulas for political power sharing- the three Mohamud Salebaans in Puntland and Others, and the three moms (Habars) of Isaaq and Others in Somaliland. For example, Cadceed.Com Website and AllSanaag Website report many complaints about the clan discriminations perpetrated in Somaliland and Puntland. The Khatumo State seceded from Puntland for similar reasons. The International Crisis Group (ICG) issued a gloomy report in December 2013 on the clan tensions destroying Puntland. On July, 30, 2014, President Hassan announced the formation of the third Federal Member State (FMS) by merging Mudug and Galgudud regions which I dub (the Unity State) at the signing of another unconstitutional document by four members of the Council of Ministers and representatives of three organizations (Ahlu Sunna Wal Jama (ASWJ), Galmudug State, and Himan and Heeb State). This latest announcement follows the disputed Jubbaland and Southwest States formed in different processes and guarantors. The leaders of Puntland strongly opposed this third regional State. As usual, US, AU, UN, EU, and IGAD issued press releases of support for the new FMS. However, the press release of the United States contains an important paragraph that deserves close attention. It says that "the United States remains a committed partner to the government and citizens of Somalia and will continue to support Somalia's path towards a peaceful, stable, and prosperous future." This could hopefully mean that the United States is attempting to move away from clan restructuring process underway in Somalia. All processes used to form the Federal States have undermined the sovereignty and political independence of the federal government, usurped the responsibilities of the federal parliament, and legitimized political dishonesty and disregard of the rule of law. They abolished the right of the Somali citizens to challenge the unconstitutionality and harmful consequences of the clan based States. Nepotism, injustices, economic and financial mismanagement, rampant corruption, and abuse of political power, have caused the total collapse of the Somali State. The fight against those negative clan influences in the public sphere of Somalia is fundamental for rebuilding the Somali State. There are tested legal systems, public administration practices, and economic policies that guarantee regional autonomy or decentralization of state power while strengthening the leadership authority of the central government for national unity and harmony. The path for Somalia's recovery starts and ends with patriotic conscience, respect and defense of the rule of law and Islamic values rather than in clan rivalry and discrimination disapproved by Almighty Allah. The Somali society enjoys unique culture that has less to share with Germany, Switzerland, or United States of America in terms of the latters' choices for different federal systems of governance suitable for them. Somalia needs a system of governance that counters clan ills. The litigation over the federal and local governments' democratic performances with respect to the rule of law would make sense after the establishment of shared central government that exercises power all over Somalia through integrated governance structures. Then, the current temporary clan formula of 4.5 or 3.5 in Puntland and Somaliland will be replaced by a transparent and well administered electoral political system. Clan federalism weakens national identity, unity, and reliance.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4" }	107
<?php if(!defined('IN_PHPVMS') && IN_PHPVMS !== true) { die(); } ?> <body class="hold-transition login-page" style="background-color: #222222;"> <div class="login-box"> <div class="login-logo"> <a href="" style="color: white;">Crew<b>Center</b></a> </div> <!-- /.login-logo --> <div class="login-box-body"> <p class="login-box-msg" style="font-size: 13px;">Please complete this form to create your account.</p> <form method="post" action="<?php echo url('/registration');?>"> <div class="form-group"> <input type="text" name="firstname" class="form-control" value="<?php echo Vars::POST('firstname');?>" placeholder="First Name"> <?php if($firstname_error == true) echo '<p class="error">Please enter your first name</p>'; ?> </div> <div class="form-group"> <input type="text" name="lastname" class="form-control" value="<?php echo Vars::POST('lastname');?>" placeholder="Last Name"> <?php if($lastname_error == true) echo '<p class="error">Please enter your last name</p>'; ?> </div> <div class="form-group"> <input type="text" name="email" class="form-control" value="<?php echo Vars::POST('email');?>" placeholder="Email"> <?php if($email_error == true) echo '<p class="error">Please enter your email address</p>'; ?> </div> <div class="form-group"> <input type="password" name="password1" id="password" class="form-control" placeholder="Password"> </div> <div class="form-group"> <input type="password" name="password2" class="form-control" placeholder="Confirm Password"> <?php if($password_error == true) echo '<p class="error">'.$password_error.'</p>'; ?> </div> <div class="form-group"> <select name="location" class="form-control"> <?php foreach($countries as $countryCode=>$countryName) { if(Vars::POST('location') == $countryCode) $sel = 'selected="selected"'; else $sel = ''; echo '<option value="'.$countryCode.'" '.$sel.'>'.$countryName.'</option>'; } ?> </select> <?php if($location_error == true) echo '<p class="error">Please enter your location</p>'; ?> </div> <div class="form-group"> <select name="code" id="code" class="form-control"> <?php foreach($allairlines as $airline) { echo '<option value="'.$airline->code.'">'.$airline->code.' - '.$airline->name.'</option>'; } ?> </select> </div> <div class="form-group"> <select name="hub" id="hub" class="form-control"> <?php foreach($allhubs as $hub) { echo '<option value="'.$hub->icao.'">'.$hub->icao.' - ' . $hub->name .'</option>'; } ?> </select> </div> <?php //Put this in a seperate template. Shows the Custom Fields for registration Template::Show('registration_customfields.tpl'); ?> <div class="form-group"> <?php if(isset($captcha_error)){echo '<p class="error">'.$captcha_error.'</p>';} ?> <div class="g-recaptcha" data-sitekey="<?php echo $sitekey;?>"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://www.google.com/recaptcha/api.js?hl=<?php echo $lang;?>"></script> </div> <div class="row"> <div class="col-xs-8"> <a href="<?php echo url('/login'); ?>">Already have an account</a> </div> <div class="col-xs-4"> <input type="submit" class="btn btn-primary btn-block btn-flat" name="submit" value="Register" /> </div> <!-- /.col --> </div> </form> <center style="margin-top: 30px;"> <p class="text-muted">CrewCenter by Mark Swan</p> </center> </div> <!-- /.login-box-body --> </div> <!-- /.login-box --> <!-- iCheck --> <script src="<?php echo SITE_URL?>/lib/skins/crewcenter/plugins/iCheck/icheck.min.js"></script> <script> $(function () { $('input').iCheck({ checkboxClass: 'icheckbox_square-blue', radioClass: 'iradio_square-blue', increaseArea: '20%' // optional }); }); </script>	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub" }	9,363
The Beginning Of The End For Obama's Eligibility Cover-Up. by Volubrjotr • 21 Jan 2012 The author of the best-selling "Where's the Birth Certificate? The Case That Barack Obama Is Not Eligible To Be President"charged today the resignation of White House counsel Bob Bauer is the result of his participation in the release of Barack Obama's "Certificate of Live Birth," which he fears would not stand up to the scrutiny of any serious investigation by the FBI, Congress or the media.When the announcement about Bauer's departure was made today, the AP said he was returning to private practice and to represent Obama as his personal attorney and as general counsel to Obama's re-election campaign. He's being replaced by Kathy Ruemmler, a former assistant U.S. attorney. The AP reported Obama praised Bauer, who before his White House post had defended Obama against lawsuits that challenged his eligibility to be president. But Jerome Corsi, Ph.D., who authored the "Where's the Birth Certificate?" book that debuted at No. 6 on the New York Times best-sellers list after reaching No. 1 several weeks earlier at Amazon.com, said, "I think Bauer's resignation marks the beginning of the Obama eligibility cover-up starting to unwind." Corsi believes Bauer "felt compelled" to resign because of the growing substance to worries that the eligibility issue will blow up into a full-scale investigation. "Bauer sent Perkins and Coie attorneys to Honolulu to pick up from the Hawaii Department of Health what he believed would be two certified copies of Obama's 1961 long-form, hospital-generated birth certificate," Corsi said. "When theWhiteHouse released to the public the birth certificate in the form of a PDF computer file obviously created on Adobe software and a Xerox copy, Bauer realized the Hawaii DOH had participated in the fraud," Corsi charged. Corsi said he had been tipped off early in February that a long-form birth document for Obama had been forged and that the document was to be released. Powerful evidence and testimony from an expert with many years of experience with typesetting and document images proves that Obama's long form birth certificate PDF file posted on the White House servers on 27 April 2011 is a fake and is a fabricated, composite document forgery:http://www.scribd.com/doc/55642721/News-Release-Legal-proof-that-President-Obama%E2%80%99s-Certificate-of-Live-Birth-is-a-forgery When will Obama be seriously and fully investigated by the Congress , the FBI, or the Main Stream Media for his many criminal activities! Meet 'The Three Enablers' of Obama's usurpation of office and who are continuing to allow him to get a pass on his crimes. CDR Charles Kerchner (Ret) http://cdrkerchner.wordpress.com http://www.protectourliberty.org "The information came from a mole within the Hawaii DOH who had been examining the vault logbook for months," Corsi explained. "Until just prior to February 24, no Obama long-form hospital-generated birth record could be found in the Hawaii DOH." Corsi, whose book also has ascended to the upper reaches of other best-seller tabulations, said that when Hawaii Gov. Neil Abercrombie "could not find the Obama birth records he had been searching for and radio journalist Mike Evans said so in a broadcast repeated over a series of radio stations across the nation, a decision was made within the White House to use a forgery that may have been in the works since as early as 2008." Corsi said he believes the scenario developed this way: Obama and Valerie Jarrett wanted to continue the stonewalling strategy they had used since 2008, relying on the short-form Certification of Live Birth and having Hawaii DOH claim that long-form birth certificate copies were no longer available, not even to Obama. Obama and Jarrett had planned to use the forged birth certificate as an October surprise, just prior to the November 2012 election, if the pressure on Obama's eligibility remained an obstacle to his reelection. But this strategy was overruled by White HouseChief of Staff Bill Daley. He determined that a birth certificate, if it existed, had to be released now – to prevent the issue from gaining momentum. "I believe both Daley and Bauer believed until recently that Obama was telling the truth and that the birth certificate was really there in the Hawaii DOH," Corsi said. "But when they realized that the last-modified date stamp on the computer file of the Obama birth certificate – put up on the WhiteHousewebsite on April 27 – was thatvery samemorning, it contradicted the idea the file was an earlier scan of the original Obama birth certificate in the Hawaii vault log book. What modifications to the file were being made at the White House? Was the file originally created at the White House? Why wasn't the file made and closed in Hawaii where the scan of the original document was supposedly made? Bauer realized the White House was lying to say a scan of the original document was being released." Corsi said he's convinced that now top White House operatives such as Daley and Bauer believe there is no document in the Hawaii Department of Health that can withstand forensic analysis. He said the legal challenges to a specific document that has been made public could be harder to deflect than a lawsuit generally alleging an ineligibility on Obama's part. Corsi also said he believes top operatives in the Democratic Party "have concluded that if Obama does not kill the birther issue soon, he may have to resign – with the likelihood that Hillary Clinton will be elevated into the DNC presidential candidate in 2012." Corsi suggested Republicans also are staying away from the "birther" issue because they have reached the same conclusion – and the RNC does not want "to have to face Hillary in the 2012 presidential election in the wake of an Obama resignation." "What forced the release of the birth certificate on April 27 was the coming publication of the [Where's the Birth Certificate?] book," said Corsi. "Bauer's resignation is the first step in the crumbling of inside support for ObamaintheWhiteHouse." Corsi said pursuit of the "forger" who created the Obama Certificate of Live Birth already is well under way. "The forgery consists of a composite of these various Hawaii 1961 legitimate documents, onto which was added Obama-specific information, with the result that the final version was composed in Adobe software," Corsi said. WND reported when Bauer joined the White House. Obama announced at that point he was waiving ethicsrulesfor Bauer, his personal and campaign lawyer – and the same attorney who has defended Obama in lawsuits challenging his eligibility to be president. Obama As The Lies Come Crashing Down: Pakistan Has Doubled The Size Of Its Nuclear Arsenal. Breaking => Concerted Effort By Democrats To Eliminate Article 2 Section 1 Clause 5 Of The U.S. Constitution Just Prior To Obama's Election: Presidents To Be Natural Born Citizens! Breaking => U.S. District Court Subpoena To Be Delivered To Hawaii Department of Health For Barrack Obama Vault Birth Certificate. Husband To Anita Dunn & Council For Obama's $2.8 Million COLB Legal Fees: Bob Bauer Resigns From Obama Administration! But Executive Order 13490, "Ethics Commitments by Executive Branch Personnel," prohibits political appointees from participating in any matter involving specific parties that is directly and substantially related to former employers or former clients. The rule typically expires two years after the date of appointment. According to the ethics waiver posted on the White House website, Bauer was exempted from the requirements of the ethics pledge "solely with respect to his former client the DemocraticNationalCommittee (DNC), and with respect to his former employer Perkins Coie LLP (Perkins Coie) in its capacity as counsel to the DNC and to President Barack Obama in his personal capacity." The waiver suggested the ethics rules would have prevented Bauer from working on Obama's financial disclosure forms or issues related to the DemocraticNational Committee. As WND reported, in April 2009, Bauer sent a letter to plaintiff Gregory Hollister of Hollister v. Soetoro, a retired Air Force colonel, threatening sanctions if he didn't withdraw his appeal of the eligibility case that earlier was tossed by a district judge because the issue already had been "twittered." "For the reasons stated in Judge Robertson's ruling, the suit is frivolous and should not be pursued," Bauer's letter warned. "Should you decline to withdraw this frivolous appeal, please be informed that we intend to pursue sanctions, including costs, expenses and attorneys' fees, pursuant to Federal Rule of Appellate Procedure 38 and D.C. Circuit Rule 38." Bauer also represented Obama and the DNC in Philip Berg's eligibility lawsuit and various other legal challenges. During the 2008 presidential campaign, Bauer functioned as an "attack lawyer," threatening with FEC complaints groups wanting to run anti-Obama television ads. Also during the 2008 presidential campaign, Bauer as counsel for the Obama campaign wrote letters to television station managers and to Department of Justice Assistant Attorney General John Keeney arguing that airing an anti-Obama ad pointing to the known association between Obama and Weather Underground radical Bill Ayers would violate federal election rules. Additionally, during the 2008 campaign, Bauer intervened on behalf of Obama to block the California-based American Leadership Project from running a television ad campaign over support from unions, including the Service Employees International Union. Again, Bauer filed a complaint with the FEC alleging that the union-funded television campaign the American Leadership Project planned to run in Indiana against Obama was illegal under federal electionlaws. In addition to representing Obama on eligibility cases, Bauer also served as legal counsel to represent the president in the criminal probe into the activities of former Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich. Obama's Natural Born Status To Enter Senate Ethics Committee! (politicalvelcraft.org) Breaking Update – Judge Subpoenas Obama and Multiple Documents (politicalvelcraft.org) Blagojevich Awaits Obama In Prison: Obama's Natural Born Status To Enter Senate Ethics Committee! (politicalvelcraft.org) NWO's British Petroleum Ruins America's Gulf ~ But Drills 15 New Oil & Gasoline Projects In Obama's Indonesia To Be Online In 2012. (politicalvelcraft.org) Obama argues against appearing at eligibility hearing (bullittcountyfreedomfighters.wordpress.com) New Hampshire Lawmakers Require Obama To Produce Vault Long Form Birth Certificate. (politicalvelcraft.org) CertifiGATE !!! (2012patriot.wordpress.com) The Obama "mama" Timeline: 6 Lost Months Prior To Birth (politicalvelcraft.org) Joe's Getting the Goods on BO (fellowshipofminds.wordpress.com) Massachusetts and Illinois Join Georgia concerning Obama eligibility to be President (iamacitizen.wordpress.com) Tags: birth certificate Federal Bureau of Investigation hawaii jerome corsi neil abercrombie The New York Times Best Seller list Valerie Jarrett White House ← Weekend Reflections: Kentucky Was To Investigate Obama Eligibility "But Then 4 Days Later" Kentucky Settles Eric Holder's Lawsuit. Connection? Weekend Reflections: Anita Dunn's Husband & Council For Obama's $2.8 Million COLB Legal Fees: Bob Bauer Resigns From Obama Administration! →	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl" }	2,287
Biografia Nata ad Atlanta, Edith McGuire ha corso nella sua carriera atletica per la Tennessee State University, la stessa università per cui hanno corso negli anni sessanta campionesse olimpiche come Wilma Rudolph e Wyomia Tyus. Nonostante la carriera di Edith McGuire sia stata piuttosto breve, vince sei titoli AAU (divisi in tre differenti specialità, prima atleta nella storia a riuscirvi). La specialità in cui ha raccolto i migliori risultati sono stati i 200 m piani, prova in cui ha vinto 4 dei suoi 6 titoli nazionali. Durante i Giochi panamericani del 1963 a San Paolo vince l'oro nei 100 metri ed il bronzo nel salto in lungo. Ai Giochi olimpici del 1964 a Tokyo si presenta come una delle protagoniste annunciate delle prove di velocità. Sui 100 metri è argento in 11"62, battuta solo dalla connazionale Wyomia Tyus. Nella finale dei 200 metri conquista invece la medaglia d'oro battendo la polacca Irena Szewińska e stabilendo il nuovo record olimpico in 23"05. Alle due medaglie già conquistate ne aggiunge una terza vinta con la staffetta 4×100 m, prova in cui le statunitensi si classificano seconde dietro alla Polonia. Chiude la stagione agonistica del 1964 vincendo tutte le prove dei 200 metri a cui prende parte. Termina la sua carriera nel 1966 per intraprendere l'attività di insegnante. È stata successivamente introdotta nella Tennessee Sports Hall of Fame (1975), nella US Track and Field Hall of Fame (1979), e nella Georgia Sports Hall of Fame (1980). Palmarès Note Altri progetti Collegamenti esterni Sportivi afroamericani	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia" }	4,845
<?php namespace Doctrine\Tests\ORM\Functional\Ticket; use Doctrine\Tests\Models\Cache\Bar; use Doctrine\Tests\ORM\Functional\SecondLevelCacheAbstractTest; class DDC4003Test extends SecondLevelCacheAbstractTest { public function test_reads_through_repository_same_data_that_it_wrote_in_cache() { $this->loadFixturesCountries(); $this->loadFixturesStates(); $this->loadFixturesCities(); $this->loadFixturesAttractions(); // Get the id of the first bar $id = $this->attractions[0]->getId(); $repository = $this->_em->getRepository(Bar::CLASSNAME); /** * This instance is fresh new, no QueryCache, so the full entity gets loaded from DB. * It will be saved in the WRONG KEY (notice the cache.bar at the end): * doctrine_tests_models_cache_attraction[doctrine_tests_models_cache_attraction_doctrine.tests.models.cache.bar_1][1] * * @var Bar $bar / $bar = $repository->findOneBy(['id' => $id]); // Let's change it so that we can compare its state $bar->setName($newName = uniqid()); $this->_em->persist($bar); $this->_em->flush(); /* * Flush did 2 important things for us: * 1: saved the entity in its right key (notice the cache.attraction at the end): * doctrine_tests_models_cache_attraction[doctrine_tests_models_cache_attraction_doctrine.tests.models.cache.attraction_1][1] * 2: Updated the TimestampRegion cache, so that the QueryCache is actually discarded. * * So, first findOneBy will hit DB, and its entity will not be loaded from cache. / $repository->findOneBy(['id' => $id]); // Lets clear EM so that we don't hit IdentityMap at all. $this->_em->clear(); /* * Here's the failing step: * Right now QueryCache will HIT, as nothing changed between the last one and now. * QueryCache holds a reference to the WRONG KEY, as we saw was formed in line 24 of this test. * So this instance won't be updated and will have the original name ("Boteco São Bento"), and not the uniqid(). * * @var Bar $cached */ $cached = $repository->findOneBy(['id' => $id]); $this->assertEquals($newName, $cached->getName()); } }	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub" }	6,364
TAIL-WAGGING PRAISE FOR THE BARKING DETECTIVE MYSTERIES "This series is hilarious! The antics of Geri and her talking dog make the reader laugh out loud. An interesting cast of characters, an enjoyable read." —RT Book Reviews "Pepe and Geri make a great crime-solving team. Guaranteed: lots of smiles." —Hudson Valley News CHIHUAHUA CONFIDENTIAL "Light as a feather and a whole lot of fun." —Seattle Times "Hop on board the TV-studio tour bus for this light cozy." —Library Journal "Hollywood is the stage for this enjoyable caper starring amateur P.I. Geri Sullivan and her talking Chihuahua/partner, Pepe. The characters are comical, especially Pepe, who will have you laughing out loud. A great read." —RT Book Reviews "An adult mystery with young adult appeal . . . The second in Curtis's fun new series featuring Geri and Pepe is tailor-made for anyone who can't get enough dog mysteries and those readers who never miss an episode of Dancing with the Stars." —VOYA (Voice of Youth Advocates) DIAL C FOR CHIHUAHUA "Three woofs and a big bow-wow for Dial C for Chihuahua. Pepe is one cool sleuth—just don't call him a dog! I really loved the book." —Leslie Meier, author of the Lucy Stone mysteries "Readers will sit up and beg for more." —Sushi the Shih Tzu, canine star of the Trash 'n' Treasures mysteries by Barbara Allan "Writing duo Curtis has created a humorous but deadly serious mystery. Pepe is a delight and more intelligent than most humans in the book. An ex-husband and current love interest keep Geri's life hopping. Crafty plotting will keep you engrossed until the end and have you eagerly awaiting the next book." —RT Book Reviews (four stars) "Every dog has its day and there'll be plenty of days for Geri Sullivan and Pepe in this fun twist on the typical PI partnership." —Simon Wood, author of Did Not Finish "Waverly Curtis has created a delightful cast of human and canine characters in Dial C for Chihuahua. Pepe never loses his essential dogginess, even as he amazes gutsy Geri Sullivan, his partner in crime detection, with his past exploits and keen nose for detail. I look forward to Pepe's next adventure!" —Bernadette Pajer, author of the Professor Bradshaw Mysteries "Move over, Scooby-Doo, there's a new dog in town! Dial C for Chihuahua is a fun and breezy read, with polished writing and charming characters, both human and canine. If you like a little Chihuahua with your mystery, former purse-dog Pepe is a perfect fit!" —Jennie Bentley, author of the Do-It-Yourself Home Renovation mysteries Also by Waverly Curtis Dial C for Chihuahua Chihuahua Confidential The Big Chihuahua A Chihuahua in Every Stocking (e-short) The Chihuahua Always Sniffs Twice Waverly Curtis KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP. http://www.kensingtonbooks.com All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected. Table of Contents TAIL-WAGGING PRAISE FOR THE BARKING DETECTIVE MYSTERIES Also by Waverly Curtis Title Page Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Recipes Acknowledgments THE SILENCE OF THE CHIHUAHUAS Copyright Page Chapter 1 It was a sunny day in July—the kind of beautiful summer day that makes living in rain-soaked Seattle worthwhile. My Chihuahua, Pepe, was lying on the top of the sofa, sprawled in a sunbeam that lit up his short white fur. He's like a cat, the way he likes to perch in the sun—which doesn't go over well with my actual cat, Albert, who used to be able to soak up sunshine anyplace he chose. Instead, Albert now has to share his domain. They were getting along for the moment, anyway, and I'd taken a seat on the front porch with a glass of iced tea and the latest Sparkle Abbey mystery. Then the phone rang. I jumped up and went back inside, hoping it was Felix, the handsome dog trainer I was dating. We were supposed to get together for dinner, though sometimes he had cancellations in his busy schedule. But when I looked at the caller ID on my phone, I saw the name Gerrard Agency. "Hi, Jimmy G," I said. Pepe perked up. Jimmy G is our boss; he owns the private detective agency that Pepe and I work for. "Hey, doll, Jimmy G needs you at the office. Toot sweet!" Jimmy G added. He always talks about himself in the third person. "What for?" I asked. I was reluctant to give up on my plan for a lazy afternoon. I had signed on with Jimmy G thinking he was going to train me to be a PI. It turned out to be a little bit more involved than just getting hired. Private eyes in Washington State need to complete a training course and take a test. I was registered for an upcoming class at the University of Washington. Meanwhile, Jimmy G called me his girl Friday and kept me busy picking up his dry cleaning and fetching coffee. "Jimmy G cannot explicate over the horn," he said. "Shake a leg!" And he hung up. "Do we have a case, Geri?" Pepe asked, standing at my feet and looking up at me. Yes, my Chihuahua talks. It was a shock to me when he began speaking, a couple of hours after I adopted him from a Seattle shelter, but I've gotten used to it. Unfortunately, no one else can hear him. "Sounds like it," I said. "The boss wants us to meet him at the office." "Vamonos!" he said. Then he glanced over at Albert the Cat, who'd already jumped up on the sofa and taken Pepe's former spot in the sun. "Enjoy it while you can, gato," he told Albert. "If you are still in my place when I return, we will have words." Jimmy G's office is in an old brick building on the edge of downtown Seattle, near the Greyhound bus station. The building is always deserted even in the middle of the day. Pepe and I strolled down the long hallway, past the frosted-glass windows of offices where the lights were always out. Jimmy G's office is at the end of the hallway. When I knocked, I heard Jimmy G talking to someone, but when he opened the door, the office was empty. "Who were you talking to?" I asked, looking around. The place was a mess, as usual. Candy-bar wrappers, crumpled cellophane from cigars, and wadded-up pieces of paper covered the desk and floor. The latest goldfish was floating belly up in the swamp Jimmy G called an aquarium. The air reeked of cigar smoke and tuna salad. "Client. On the phone," said Jimmy G. He glanced at the old black rotary phone sitting on a corner of his desk. He seemed uncharacteristically jumpy. He actually cleared a place on the small black-leather sofa beside his desk so I could sit down. "I have seen better dumps at the dump," said Pepe. (The rips in this couch, a thrift-store find, had been "fixed" by our boss with Xs of silver duct tape.) I was longing to do a makeover—before I became a PI, I was a stager, making houses for sale look appealing to prospective buyers—but Jimmy G said he liked his office the way it was. Jimmy G took a seat behind his desk. He has a rugged face, with a nose that looks like it might once have been broken, and big brown eyes that bulge out more than Pepe's. He was dressed, as usual, like a 1940s private eye, but he'd outdone himself this morning. He had on a blue-and-white-striped shirt with red suspenders. A brown fedora clung to the back of his head. His pencil-thin moustache finished off his retro look with perfection. Pepe headed for the overflowing wastebasket and began rooting around. "So, I suppose," said the boss, "you're probably wondering why Jimmy G wanted you in the office this morning." "Yes," I said. "The thought has crossed our minds," said Pepe, looking up from his scrounging. "Jimmy G has a case for you!" Those were the words I had been waiting to hear ever since I started working for Jimmy G, private dick, as he likes to call himself. (Sometimes Pepe and I call him a public dick, but only to each other.) "You and your rat-dog." He looked at Pepe, who was sniffing something he had found in a corner. "Yum!" I heard Pepe say. "Don't eat anything you find down there," I warned him. "I don't want you getting sick." "Funny you should say that," Jimmy G said. "That's the case. Someone tried to poison some dogs. They had to be rushed to the vet." "Oh, my God! That's terrible!" I said. "Who would do such a thing?" "Sí!" said Pepe, coming over to me, quivering with indignation. "A poisoner of perros! Lower than a cucaracha! Such a person would have to possess a heart of ice-cold stone!" Pepe is given to overly melodramatic statements, possibly derived from the Spanish telenovelas he loves to watch. Jimmy G spoke up. "Whoever did it obviously wants the old lady's money." "Tell him to start at the beginning," said Pepe, who has a keen sense of propriety. "What old lady?" "An old lady hired us?" I asked Jimmy G. "No. Our client is Barrett Boswell. He's the trustee of the old lady's estate," said Jimmy G. "The old lady died and left her entire fortune to her dogs. The house. The money. Everything. We're talking a whole pile of moola. Millions." "The senora was someone who truly appreciates and rewards the loyalty of her canine friends," observed Pepe. "Too bad she is no longer around. I think she would enjoy my company." "So is Boswell meeting us here?" I asked. "No, you've got an appointment with him at his office," said Jimmy G. "Three-thirty this afternoon. He's up in Port Townsend. You better get a move on, doll." "What about you?" I asked Jimmy G. Technically, I wasn't a private investigator yet. "Jimmy G has another case," he said in a hurry. Jimmy G always has another case, yet he's always in the office. "Do not worry, Geri," said Pepe. "We are seasoned detectives. We can handle this on our own." It is true we had managed to solve two murder cases, but more by getting in the way of the murderer than through our detecting skills. Chapter 2 As soon as Geri and her Chihuahua left the office, Jimmy G picked up the phone again. "Bickerstaff here," said the voice on the other end. "Jimmy G reporting in," Jimmy G said. "Just wanted to let you know that Jimmy G has assigned his operatives to the case. They're on their way to meet with Boswell as we speak." "Excellent," said Bickerstaff. "I want an update immediately as soon as you hear anything from them." "Will do," said Jimmy G. "No one would be stupid enough to leave a million dollars to a bunch of dogs," said Bickerstaff. "There has to be something else going on." "Agreed," said Jimmy G, pouring himself a few fingers of bourbon. "Can't win a war without intelligence," said Bickerstaff. "Agreed," said Jimmy G, putting his feet up on his desk. This action tipped his desk chair perilously far back, and his fedora dropped to the floor. He swiveled around to pick it up. "Have you considered a raid on Boswell's office?" Jimmy G asked, clapping his hat back on top of his head. There was a long silence on the other end. Jimmy G polished off the bourbon. "I like the way you think," said Bickerstaff. "Devious means are necessary when there is so much at stake." "Devious is Jimmy G's middle name," said Jimmy G. Actually, his middle name was Francis, but he never admitted that. "I'll see what I can do," said Bickerstaff. "Meanwhile, I need you here. How long will it take you to get to Port Townsend?" Jimmy G straightened up. "Jimmy G doesn't usually handle cases personally." "I need feet on the ground," said Bickerstaff. Jimmy G was about to suggest that there must be private detectives in Port Townsend when Bickerstaff added. "I'll double what I offered earlier." "Ah, now we're talking," said Jimmy G, thinking of the fat retainer he had already deposited in his bank account. He started calculating his course. A short hop on the ferry over to Bremerton, then a drive up the Kitsap Peninsula to Port Townsend. Maybe he'd stop and see an old buddy of his who lived in Bremerton. "Jimmy G can be there in three hours." "We can't meet at my office," said Bickerstaff. "It's right across the hall from Boswell's office, and your operatives might still be there." "Doubt it," said Jimmy G. "Still better to be safe than sorry," said Bickerstaff. "There's a bar on the main street called the Windjammer. Let's meet there." "Jimmy G is on the way." Chapter 3 To get to Port Townsend from Seattle, you have to cross the water—the deep waters of Puget Sound that cut a long channel separating Seattle from the Olympic Peninsula, home to one of the last old-growth forests in the Northwest. You can get there several ways. We chose the scenic route, driving north from Seattle to the little seaside town of Mukilteo, taking the ferry across to Whidbey Island, driving up the highway through the still mostly rural island, and then crossing over to Port Townsend on another ferry. Since dogs aren't allowed on deck on the Washington State Ferries, we stayed in the car. "It is nice that you chose to stay with me, Geri," said Pepe. "Well, I didn't want to leave you all alone in the car." "That is bueno. Muy bueno," he told me. "Perhaps I should entertain you with some sea chanteys." "Do you know any?" I asked, always amazed at my dog's wide range of experience. "No, I do not," he said. "But it is the thought that counts, is it not?" We got into Port Townsend around two. No matter how many times I take a ferry, I always have a moment of panic when I drive off the boat. Because our Washington ferries come into the dock nose first to load and unload, the only thing holding them against the dock is the power of the aft engines. I always have a nagging fear that the ferry will drift back as I drive off the metal gangplank to shore and dump me into the drink. (It actually happened to somebody once at Seattle's downtown ferry dock.) "You should not have told me about that," said Pepe as our front wheels rolled onto the metal gangplank with a loud clunking sound. "Sorry," I said. I concentrated on making sure the tires didn't swerve on the metal grate. "How well do you swim?" he asked me. "I'm an excellent swimmer," I said. "You're the one who's afraid of water. But neither of us will do much swimming if we go down in the car." "Is that supposed to be reassuring?" Pepe asked, with some degree of tension in his voice. He stood stiff as a board in the passenger seat as we disembarked. Well, I thought, if the only thing my fearless pooch feared was getting off a ferryboat, that was pretty good. "I was not afraid," Pepe told me as we drove up the dock toward the main street. "Quite the opposite. It is well known that perros and their humans pick up on each other's emotions. I was merely reflecting your vibes—my own vibes were rock steady and muy calm." "Sure," I said. "Geri?" he asked me. "Just out of curiosity. Is there another way home besides the ferry?" "Yes, but it would add about an hour to our trip." "But we are not in a hurry to get home," Pepe pointed out. "Perhaps you aren't," I said. I was thinking about my plans to have dinner with Felix Navarro. We had met when Pepe tried to attack his Great Dane. Pepe did not approve of the match. He thought Felix was too controlling. Frankly, the way I saw it, Pepe wanted to be the only person bossing me around. A sandy bluff, about fifty feet tall, ran parallel to the only road into town from the ferry dock. It was topped with huge Victorian mansions. Most were wooden structures that were beautifully preserved; they still displayed the original fish-scale siding and gingerbread embellishments. They were painted in bright colors with complementary trim work: purple and orange, olive green and maroon. These, and many others, had been built by the town's movers and shakers just before the turn of the century, when it was thought that Port Townsend, not Seattle, would become the main shipping terminal for northwest Washington. "This city is muy old, is it not?" said Pepe as we drove into the downtown proper, only six blocks or so from the ferry dock. The ancient brick buildings were similar to those in Seattle's Pioneer Square. "Yes," I said, thinking that it was like Pioneer Square in another respect—crawling with tourists on a sunny summer day. All the old buildings, most three or four stories tall, had restaurants and shops catering to the tourist trade on the ground floor. It was hard to believe that the majority of these old, red-brick buildings had originally been saloons and cathouses way back when. "Gato houses!" said Pepe in horror. "Which ones? Stay away from them!" "Not that kind of gato," I told him, having forgotten about my fearless dog's only other fear—that of cats. "Not real cats, Pepe," I said. "Cathouse is just slang for a whorehouse." "Oh, that is not so scary," said Pepe. "I spent many happy hours in a whorehouse in Tijuana. Those women have hearts of gold." "Really?" I said. Pepe is always full of colorful stories, most of which I don't believe. "Yes, when I worked for the DEA, the agents would leave me there between assignments, and the women would dress me up and feed me treats." About halfway into town, I spotted the address I'd been looking for. It was a narrow, two-story building on the water side of the street. We found parking half a block away and walked back, Pepe trotting by my side, and both of us enjoying the salty breeze that tempered the heat of the sun. The double doors were open and led into a small foyer with a white tile floor, dark oak trim, a twelve-foot ceiling, and the same exposed, red-brick walls in the interior as on the building's exterior. A big ceiling fan whirred overhead, providing a little ventilation. A brass plaque by the wide stairwell leading upstairs read, BOSWELL & BICKERSTAFF, ATTORNEYS-AT-LAW—2ND FLOOR. "I think I will like this attorney," said Pepe as we climbed the stairs. "Why's that?" "Because he cares enough for perros to represent them." At the top of the stairs was an oak door with an old-fashioned, smoked-glass window in it. BOSWELL & BICKERSTAFF was stenciled in gold on the glass. I knocked on the door, but no one answered, so I turned the knob and walked in. We were in a small waiting room, with two chairs and a table. A neat fan of magazines was splayed on the table: Smithsonian, House and Garden, and Sunset. There were two doors leading off the room. One bore the name BARRETT BOSWELL, the other BERNARD BICKERSTAFF. Boswell's door was slightly ajar. "Hello," I called, pushing it most of the way open and giving it another knock. Still no answer. I opened it all the way and took a step inside. It was a luxurious office, with a fine Persian carpet on the floor and a stunning view of the water. I could see the ferry, like a floating white wedding cake, heading back out across the dark blue waters of Puget Sound. But there was no sign of Mr. Boswell. "Geri!" said Pepe. He had trotted around the desk. "Geri! There is something you should know—" "What?" I asked, coming around the desk. And then, "Oh my God!" A man lay sprawled on the carpet between the desk and the back wall. He was wearing a gray suit. His face was bright red and all contorted like some medieval gargoyle. His eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling. And his hands were curled like claws. "Not this again," said Pepe. "Why do we keep meeting muerte people on our cases?" "Good lord!" came a man's voice from behind us. I turned and saw a middle-aged man, slightly balding, clutching a briefcase in one hand. He was peering over the desk at the body on the floor. Then he turned to me. "Who are you?" "I'm Geri Sullivan," I said. "I was supposed to meet Mr. Boswell, but found him dead." "I'm Boswell," said the man. "That's Bernie Bickerstaff." Chapter 4 Boswell set down his briefcase and approached the body. An odd expression flickered over his face—perhaps disgust or revulsion. He knelt down and placed his fingers against Bickerstaff's neck. "Definitely dead," he said. Having ascertained this to be true, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. "I want to report a death," he said. "I came into my office—Two Water Street, Suite 201—and found my colleague dead." There was a pause. Then he said, "Yes, we will be here." Then he clicked off the phone and looked at me. "Who are you?" he asked again. "Geri Sullivan," I said, holding out my hand. "I had an appointment at three-thirty with Mr. Boswell—I mean you." I waved my hand at Pepe. "And this is my dog." "And partner," said Pepe. "And my partner, Pepe," I said. "Ah, yes," said Boswell studying him intently. "So this is the famous dog. Frankly, I expected him to be a bit bigger." Pepe was actually large for a Chihuahua at seven pounds. And all of that muscle, as Pepe would have said. "But fully capable of solving any crime," said Pepe, "including this one." "He's been invaluable to me," I said, and it was true. Together Pepe and I had solved multiple murders, starred on Dancing with Dogs, and broken up a dog-napping ring. "Very well," said Boswell. He did not seem very concerned about the death of his colleague. "Perhaps we can meet in Bernie's office while we wait for the police." I followed Boswell back into the waiting room. The door that read BERNARD BICKERSTAFF was locked. Boswell rattled it impatiently. Then he pulled out a ring of keys, fitting each one into the lock and rejecting it when it failed to produce the desired results. "Geri, he is possibly contaminating a crime scene," Pepe pointed out. "That's right," I said, grateful that no one else can hear my dog since it makes me look so much smarter. "It's just as well," I said to Boswell, "because the police will want to go over his office for clues." "Yes! And what was he doing in my office?" Boswell asked, marching back into it. He went over to the bank of file cabinets against the wall. "Do you normally lock your office?" I asked, following him back in. "Yes, but Bernie has a key. We both have keys to each other's offices." He was thumbing through the files, tsking as he went. "If he poked his nose into the Carpenter case, I will be most vexed." He turned his attention to a folder that lay open on his desk. "Is that the case you were having us investigate?" I asked. "Yes, and Bernie had no business availing himself of this information," said Boswell, snapping up the folder. "Geri!" said Pepe. "Yes, I know, it's evidence," I said. "It is also my livelihood," said Boswell. "Eighty percent of my current income comes from this trust. I'm not going to let the police interfere with that. At least I have the satisfaction of knowing that whatever Bernie may have learned did not leave this room." "I'm confused," I said. "Weren't you partners?" I was thinking of the signs downstairs. "Oh, no," said Boswell. "We simply share an office and an answering service. We are actually on opposite sides in this litigation." Pepe was sniffing the dead body. "Do you smell anything, Pepe?" I asked. Pepe didn't answer, seemed oblivious to my question, and just continued to sniff the corpse from head to toe and side to side. I'd seen him this way before, totally engaged in an olfactory pursuit, as only a dog can be, and figured he was onto some kind of clue. I stepped closer to the body and repeated my question, "Do you smell anything, Pepe?" "Sí, I smell lemonade, and a faint floral odor. I know what it is. It is lavender. Sí, lavender." "Lavender?" I asked. "And lemonade?" "Lavender lemonade," said Boswell. "My favorite summer beverage." He pointed to a large glass pitcher on a silver tray near the window and an empty glass on the edge of the desk. Boswell reached for it, but I rushed over and stopped him before he could put his hands on it. "There might be fingerprints on it," I pointed out. "Of course there are," he said. "Bernie was sitting in my office, snooping around my case, and swiping my lemonade. His fingerprints will be all over it." "Yes, but it's evidence." He looked at the corpse and frowned. Then he turned to me. "What do you mean evidence?" "In the murder investigation," I said. "Murder?" Boswell looked positively frightened. "What makes you think Bernie was murdered?" I was embarrassed to admit that I automatically assumed all deaths were homicides. Call it the fate of the hardened PI. "What do you think happened to him?" I asked. "Well, I assume he died of a heart attack or a stroke. He's been taking medication for high blood pressure. Probably popped a blood vessel when he saw how much I'm getting paid by Lucille's trust." There was a clatter of feet in the hall outside, and two uniformed policemen came into the room. They quickly called for backup and the E.M.T.s, then moved us into separate rooms. Luckily, the police never think to separate me and Pepe, so we did have a chance to get our story straight. And our story was that we had an appointment with Boswell at 3:30 PM and had entered his office to find the body sprawled on the floor. "What was your business with Mr. Boswell?" the lead detective asked me. "We're private eyes. Out of Seattle. We're working a case." "We?" He looked around. "Down here, senor," said Pepe. "I may be small, but I am mighty." "My dog helps me," I said. "Especially on this case. It involves dogs." "Oh, Mrs. Carpenter," said the detective. "Very disturbing, that." "So you know about somebody trying to poison her dogs?" "No." He frowned. "I know about her leaving five million dollars to four cocker spaniels. Ridiculous. Dogs don't live long enough to spend five million dollars." "I could easily spend that," said Pepe. "Fresh, organic food, prepared by a private chef." Pepe has discriminating tastes. After all, he was once the pampered pet of movie star Caprice Kennedy. "Trips around the world to visit sites of historic interest to dogs." "What sites?" I asked Pepe. "Do you know, Geri," said Pepe, "there is actually a statue of a dog in a Tokyo subway?" "Yes. The dog named Hachiko," I said. That was a tragic story: about how the Akita waited patiently for his master every night at the train station where he had last seen his master. "So sad." "It is sad," said the policeman. "People around here are pretty riled up about it. They'll be even more angry when they find out Bernie's dead." "Why is that?" I asked. "Because Bernie was hired by the kids to get back the money Mrs. Carpenter left to the dogs. Most people in town are on their side. Nice kids. Nice family. Been here for decades. Mrs. Carpenter was an outsider. She brought a bunch of money with her, it's true. Helped Mr. Carpenter save his farm. But then she alienated everyone with her high-and-mighty ways and that pack of yapping dogs that went everywhere with her." I looked at Pepe, figuring he'd have something to say about that, but he just shrugged his shoulders. "It is true. Some dogs yap." Another policeman poked his head into the room. "The ME's here," he said. "Got some bad news." "What's that?" "Looks like Bernie might have been poisoned." Chapter 5 When we next saw our client, his composure was shaken. His face was a pasty white, and his hands were shaking. "They think the poison was meant for me," he said. "I can't believe it." "Ah! I thought so!" said Pepe. "What makes you think he was poisoned?" I asked Pepe. But Boswell misunderstood. "I thought he had a heart attack!" "Elementary," said Pepe. "You noted the horrible grimace on Senor Bickerstaff's face? And the clawlike clutch of his hands in muerte?" "Yes, but—" "The same thing happened to Ramon on Paraíso Perdido. He was poisoned by his wife, who had learned he was having an affair with her sister. He suffered terrible contractions of all his muscles as he writhed in agony on the floor. He looked much like Mr. Bickerstaff as he expired." Pepe was so excited he was dancing around the room. "Settle down," I told him. "Yes. You're right," said Boswell, taking a deep breath. "I do need to settle down. Let's adjourn to the bar downstairs." "Are you done talking to the police?" I asked. I was surprised. Usually when I got dragged in for questioning, which was happening all too often since I had started working for Jimmy G, I would be stuck at the station for hours. "No, they want me to come down to the station, but I need a little nip before I head over there." We headed to the restaurant downstairs, which was packed with tourists. We ended up in the bar section in back, which was nice and bright since it had an outside deck that seemed as large as the bar itself. I thought we'd go out there, but Boswell bellied up to the bar, pulled out one of the green faux-leather stools for me, then took a seat beside me. Most of the seats at the bar were empty, perhaps because they faced away from the water and the view. The bartender, a thirtyish guy with a chubby, ruddy face, came right over to us. "Hey, Barry," he said. "What's happening upstairs?" "Bickerstaff's dead," said Boswell, shuddering. "You're kidding?" "No, looks like he was poisoned. They think it was meant for me." "Damn. That sucks." The bartender shook his head. "The usual?" Boswell nodded. "And you, ma'am?" the bartender turned to me. I don't usually drink while working, but this situation seemed to require some attitude adjustment. "I'll take a glass of your house white," I said. "And I will have a bowl of water," said Pepe. "No chaser." "Plus a bowl of water," I said. "For my dog." I couldn't put Pepe on the floor. He was sure to wander off and someone would trip on him, so I set him up on the bar. He wandered down a ways, sniffing as he went, looking for food, no doubt. "My boss gave me only the bare details about the case," I said to Boswell as we waited for our drinks. "Can you tell me more about why you hired us?" "As the executor of Mrs. Carpenter's estate, it's my job to make sure the dogs are well cared for. And, obviously, if somebody is trying to kill them, I'm not doing my job. So I need you to find out who is trying to kill the dogs." The drinks arrived. Boswell's came in a tall glass full of ice. It looked like lemonade, which shocked me, as that is the last thing I would drink considering the circumstances. Boswell took a long gulp, then set down the glass and turned to me. "How do you know someone is trying to kill the dogs?" I asked. Pepe inspected his bowl of water, then sniffed and turned away from it. "What's wrong? Do you think it's poisoned?" I asked. "Well, someone tried to poison them," Boswell said. "Ask him what kind of poison," Pepe said. "What kind of poison?" "I understand it was chocolate," said Boswell. "Chocolate is very bad for perros," Pepe told me. "So what happened?" I asked. Boswell took another long gulp of his lemonade. "Hugh will know. You can talk to him about it." "Who's Hugh?" I asked. "Mrs. Carpenter's vet. He's the one who cares for the dogs." "And does he think it was deliberate?" "Again, you'll have to talk to him," said Boswell. "All I know is my job is to keep those dogs alive." He took another sip and looked at me. "I'm the trustee." "Wouldn't the job of trustee usually go to a relative?" I asked. "Not always," said Boswell. "Some people, in an effort to be sure their trust is handled in an objective manner, select a professional, like a lawyer or a banker. In this case, Mrs. Carpenter knew there would be trouble brewing. Lots of bad blood between the kids. So she left each of them a small bequest in her will and put the rest in a trust for the dogs." "How small a bequest?" "One hundred dollars each," Boswell said. "And the entire estate is worth?" "Several million. Five point seven to be exact." "Ouch!" I said. "That must have hurt her children." "But pleased the perros," said Pepe. "And for some people, perros are more precious than kids." He looked at me wistfully. "Like for you, Geri!" It was a sore point between us. Pepe dislikes kids. I think I might want to have kids someday. Pepe is worried that he will be pushed aside in my affections if that ever happens. "Stepchildren," said Mr. Boswell. "There's no love lost there. Although she did have children by a previous marriage. They had already inherited from their father's estate, but they were expecting more when their mother died. So they were insulted, too." "So they would be the obvious suspects," said Pepe. "What happens if the dogs die?" I asked. "When the dogs die," said Boswell, "the remainder passes to the local humane society." "Not to her children?" "No. That's the way Lucille wanted it. I wrote the original trust document," said Boswell, "so I do know what I'm talking about." "Can I see a copy of the trust document?" I asked. "Certainly," said Boswell. "There's a copy in my office." He frowned. "Unless Bickerstaff got his hands on it." He frowned again. "But I guess he didn't get a chance to remove anything he found." He waved the bartender over to us. "Can I have the bill?" "I'll just put it on your tab," said the bartender. "Don't worry about it." As we got up to go out the door, we were stopped at the front door by two policemen in dark uniforms and shiny badges. "Barrett Boswell?" said one of them, stepping forward, his hand on his belt, right above a pair of handcuffs. Boswell nodded, a bit annoyed. He tried to brush past them. The younger of the two put out a hand and blocked his passage. "We need you to come with us, sir." "First I need to get some papers from my office for this young lady," said Boswell, pointing his finger at me. "The office is off-limits," the policeman said. "No one's getting in there until we're done analyzing the crime scene." "But that's ridiculous," said Boswell. He didn't seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation. The other policeman held out the handcuffs. Everyone in the restaurant had stopped eating and was watching the drama. "I think you should go with them," I said, stepping forward. "I can wait." "Yes, you should come with us," the policeman repeated to Boswell. Then he turned to me. "It will be a long wait. We've got a lot of questions." "I'll have to get you the documents later," Boswell told me. He didn't seem fazed by all the attention. Customers were backed up into the lobby, trying to see what was happening in the restaurant. "Meanwhile you should go talk to Hugh. He can tell you more about the attempt to poison the dogs." "Where do I find this Hugh?" "At his veterinary clinic. It's just outside of Sequim. I'll give you the address." Boswell pulled a small notepad from his pocket and scribbled something on it before handing it to me. It was an address. I looked at it. "Is there a problem?" Boswell asked. "Well, I've got a date in Seattle tonight, and—" "Partner," Pepe interrupted, "this is an opportunity to learn more about the situation. We can interrogate this vet." He said the last word contemptuously. Pepe did not have a high opinion of vets. Pepe had a good point. It would be better to question the vet without Boswell present. "Sure, I'll do whatever it takes," I said. "Good," said Boswell. "I'll be in contact later." "Come on," said the policeman. "I've got a date myself tonight, and wouldn't mind being able to keep it." At least somebody would have a date tonight, I thought, as we left. Chapter 6 Jimmy G sat at the bar of the Windjammer and stared at his empty glass. The damn client had stood him up. At least that's how it appeared. It was true Jimmy G had arrived late, after stopping to have a beer with his buddy in Bremerton, but he had called Bickerstaff and left a message on his phone, telling him about the delay. It took a while, but Jimmy G finally flagged down the bartender and indicated that he wanted another drink. The restaurant was packed and the outdoor deck was full. The bartender was busy filling orders for the waitresses. "Sorry, sir," said the bartender, when he finally came over with the glass of bourbon. "It's been a really crazy evening. Lots of excitement in the building today." Jimmy G rolled his eyes. He meant to indicate that he was not the slightest bit interested in small-town gossip, but apparently it had the opposite effect. "The police came in here and made an arrest in a murder investigation," said the bartender. "A very prominent citizen, too," he added. Jimmy G tipped up his glass and took a swig. "The murder happened just this afternoon," the bartender went on. That was disturbing. After all, Jimmy G had operatives in town. He was responsible for their safety. "Who got murdered?" he asked. "Lawyer name of Bickerstaff," said the bartender. Jimmy G almost dropped his glass. Fortunately he did not. He polished off the drink and tapped the rim of the empty glass. He noticed the bartender hesitated. His name tag said his name was Flynn. Jimmy G slid a twenty across the counter toward him. "Bernie Bickerstaff?" Jimmy G asked, as Flynn pocketed the twenty and poured him another shot. Flynn nodded. "You know him?" Jimmy G shrugged. "Mere acquaintance," he said. He wondered about the ethics of this situation. Could he keep the retainer even though he hadn't done any work for the guy? At least it solved another ethical dilemma. He really didn't feel good about keeping Geri and Pepe in the dark about the true nature of the case. With Bickerstaff dead, any work they did for Boswell would be legitimate. "So you said they caught the guy who killed him?" Jimmy G asked. The bartender nodded. "Another lawyer. Shared offices with Bickerstaff. A guy named Boswell." This time Jimmy G did drop his glass. Flynn was right there to mop it up and pour him another shot. Jimmy G knocked it back. What was going on? Had Geri and Pepe been with Boswell when he committed the murder? He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He hated the newfangled thing, but Geri had insisted on it. In this case it would come in handy. The phone began ringing as he fumbled to unlock it. "What's up, doll?" he said, thinking it was Geri. But the female voice on the other end was not familiar. "Am I speaking to James Gerrard?" she asked. "Who wants to know?" Jimmy G asked. "This is Detective Michelle Howard of the Homicide Division of the Port Townsend Police Department," she said. "We need to talk to you." Chapter 7 The veterinary clinic was halfway between Port Townsend and Sequim, which meant we were getting farther away from Seattle and my date with Felix. It was a long, low, modern building, all concrete, glass, and steel, with a cantilevered roof and large, smoked-glass windows. The front was landscaped with box hedges and feathery white pampas grass. Set among the landscaping was a curved-steel sign engraved with the words WILLIAMS VETERINARY HOSPITAL. I had called Felix to let him know I probably wouldn't be back in Seattle in time for our dinner. He didn't answer his phone, so I left a voice mail. Meanwhile, Pepe added his scent to what was surely a medley of doggie scents on one of the concrete posts holding up the sign. I looked around the car for his leash, but it seemed he'd hidden it again. Pepe hates the leash. He always fights me when I try to put it on him, but he also likes to pick fights with any large dog he sees. I guess you could call it "small-dog complex." "Are you coming in with me?" I asked him when he was through with his business. "Or do you prefer to wait in the car?" "Of course I am coming in with you," Pepe said huffily. "I know this is not our vet—nobody here will prod and poke and foist sundry other indignities on me." "Whatever you say. But if there are any dogs in there, particularly big dogs," I told him, picking him up as we headed into the clinic, "I don't want you making a scene." Luckily the waiting room was empty. It was bright and airy, with a stained concrete floor and a desk made of poured green glass, topped with a slab of polished stainless steel. It was furnished with two chrome-accented, black-leather benches and matching chairs that looked as if they'd come from a Scandinavian design store. There was a bell on the desk. I went over and gave it a ring. After a few moments, a woman came out through a stainless-steel double door behind the desk. She was quite good-looking, in a Barbie doll sort of way. She wore a pink smock, her blond hair was frosted and piled up on top of her head, and she had long, bubblegum-pink nails that looked like claws. The plastic name tag pinned to her smock said her name was Bonnie. "Hello," she said in a high, squeaky voice. "Do you have an appointment?" "We're here to talk to the vet," I said. "Mr. Boswell sent us." "Oh," she said. "I'll get Hugh. He's in back." She turned and went out through the double door. A few minutes later, the door opened and a man emerged. He was so good-looking, he took my breath away. He was about my age—somewhere in his midthirties. He was dressed casually, in blue jeans and a white doctor's coat, open over an ice-blue shirt. He had a square jaw and sandy-blond hair, a bit long, that kept falling forward over his startlingly blue eyes. "Geri, restrain yourself," Pepe told me. "What are you talking about?" I asked him. "Do not be offended, Geri," he said. "I recognize the symptoms of heat." I swear, there's nothing as disconcerting as having your dog be so knowledgeable about your love life. I felt myself blush—I mean, really blush. "Hello," the vet said, as he extended his hand, "I'm Doctor Hugh Williams." I took his hand—it was as warm as the flush on my cheeks. "Yes," I managed to say, noting his grip was firm but very gentle. "I'm Geri—Geri Sullivan." I thought about withdrawing my hand, but Doctor Hugh was giving me little electric tingles. (Either that or I had a pinched nerve, which I very much doubted.) "You seem flushed," Hugh told me. "Are you hot?" "Sí!" Pepe told him. "She is muy caliente." "No, I'm fine," I said. He let go of my hand and turned his attention to Pepe, who was still snuggled in my arms. "Cute little Chihuahua. What's her name?" Pepe bristled at the suggestion that he was a female dog. "I am Pepe el Macho," he declared. "Pepe," I said. "He's my partner," I added. "Ah! Of course," said the vet. "You're the private detectives. It was wise of Barry to hire you to protect Mrs. Carpenter's dogs." "I'd like to ask you some questions about them if I could." "Yes, of course. My pleasure," Hugh said. He led us into his office, which was as modern and composed as the rest of the building. A burnished teak desk dominated the room. Bookcases lined one wall, while his diplomas were mounted on the other. The outside wall was all glass and looked out over the bay, glimpsed through a scrim of evergreen trees. Hugh motioned us to sit on a couch covered in buttery black leather and seated himself in a matching swivel chair behind the desk. "I don't think I've ever met a private detective," he said. "Let alone such an attractive one, if you don't mind my saying so." I didn't mind one bit, but just said, "Thanks. It's nice of you to take the time to talk to us." "Get to the point, Geri," Pepe told me. "That is why we are here." I pulled out my notebook. "Could you tell me more about what happened with the dogs?" I asked. "Sure," said Hugh. "It didn't amount to much. Someone scattered some chocolate-chip cookies in the yard. Yolanda knew chocolate was poisonous for dogs, so she wanted me to check them out." "And the dogs were OK?" Hugh nodded. "There wasn't enough chocolate in those cookies to kill a dog. They'd have to eat dozens to suffer any truly serious effects." "So if someone wanted to poison the dogs," I said, "they really didn't do a very good job." "That's correct," said Hugh. "Henry was the only dog we were concerned about. Just because he's older. We decided to keep him overnight for observation." "And how is he doing?" "He's fine. Ready to go home." "Ask him about Mrs. Carpenter," Pepe reminded me. "What can you tell me about Mrs. Carpenter?" I asked Hugh. Hugh pointed to a framed photograph on the wall surrounded by his diplomas. It showed an older woman with white hair, styled in the pageboy that was popular among movie stars in the forties. She was draped in white furs, dripping with diamonds, and surrounded by four cocker spaniels. "That's Lucille Carpenter right there," he said. "A magnificent woman. She was very particular, too. She expected the highest quality of care for her animals." "Well, she seems to have found it with you," I said. "You've got a very modern clinic here." "Thanks to Lucille," he said. "This was just a dumpy little small-town clinic before I met her. She tore it down and hired an architect to design this building. She really knew how to get things done. Smart as a whip; learned a lot from her husband—he was a general contractor." "Oh," I said. "I thought he was a farmer." "You must mean Chuck Carpenter. He was her second husband. I'm talking about her first husband, Fred. He built several large shopping malls in Seattle." "I see," I said. "After he died, she moved here to Sequim. Said she wanted a little more sun in her life." "I heard there are three hundred days of sunshine in Sequim," I said. "You heard right," said Hugh. "That's why we are able to grow lavender here. And speaking of lavender, are you staying for the lavender festival? It's this weekend." "I wasn't planning on it," I said. "Tell me about it." "There are booths in town selling lavender products, and more booths at the fairgrounds serving lavender-themed food and products, and musical groups playing all day long. Then there are buses that take people around to tour the various lavender farms." "Sounds fascinating," I said. "If you're interested, I could arrange a special, private dinner with a focus on lavender," Hugh said. "I know quite a few restaurant owners." He paused. "If you decide to stay around." "I think we'll be back in Seattle by the weekend," I said, "but I appreciate the invitation." "Well, if you change your mind, just give me a call," he said, standing up. He scribbled a number on the back of one of his professional cards. When he handed it to me, he pressed it into my palm. I swear I blushed again. His attractive receptionist appeared in the doorway. "Hugh," she said in a high-pitched scolding tone. "Jean just called to remind you to bring the financials to the meeting." "Oh!" He glanced down at his appointment book. "You're right. Why don't you print them up for me?" After she left, Hugh explained, "I'm the treasurer for the local humane society. We're trying to develop a no-kill shelter here. Far too many dogs, and other pets, are needlessly killed every year. We've got a major investor who is going to give us a large sum of money if we can raise enough money to match his grant." "That sounds like an amazing cause," I said. "But, unfortunately, going to the meeting means I can't take Henry back home, as I intended. Would you be willing to take him up to the Carpenter mansion for me?" When you get a request like that from a handsome vet with a heart of gold, it's hard to resist. I looked at Pepe. "A good chance to do more investigating, partner," he said. "Sure," I said. "And be sure to tell Yolanda that I've scheduled Henry for dental surgery on Tuesday. I think he has a few teeth that need to come out." Pepe shuddered. Hugh looked at him. "Has your little dog had his teeth checked recently?" I shook my head. Pepe started shivering. "It's one of my favorite exams to conduct," said Hugh with hearty good humor, his own perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth gleaming. "It can make such a difference in terms of how comfortable they feel." Pepe turned and ran out of the room. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind," I said. Chapter 8 "So, how do you explain that?" the detective asked Jimmy G. She leaned down, her face only inches from Jimmy G's nose. He took his time, looked around the small room. Some sort of weird foam padding on the walls. A big mirror he knew was a one-way window. Jimmy G was no stranger to police stations. He knew how to handle an interrogation. "Can't explain it," he said. No way he was going to give her what she wanted. Detectives and police—they were natural enemies, like cats and dogs. "According to the preliminary tests, he died less than ten minutes after he called you and about three hours before you left a message on his phone," the detective said. Jimmy G lifted his eyebrows. He felt like he was winning this round. She was giving away more information than she was getting. "So I'm going to ask you again," she said. "What was the subject of your conversation?" "Confidential," said Jimmy G. "You realize this is a murder investigation?" "I thought you had a suspect in custody," he replied. She frowned, then shook her head. "Boswell? No, he was the intended victim." She must have realized she had made a mistake. She squinted her eyes. "How do you know about that?" "Small town," Jimmy G said. He held out his hands in an attempt to look hapless, which was easy, as Jimmy G usually was hapless. "Heard about it at the bar." She shook that off by dismissing it with her hand. She tried a new tack. "If you were working for Mr. Bickerstaff, you are no longer obligated by client privilege. Just think about that." Jimmy G did think about it. How would the police react if they knew Jimmy G was working both sides? Maybe they knew already. The door opened, and an older man entered the room. He was stocky and square, with graying hair. He introduced himself as a homicide detective by the name of Rick Moore. The female detective stood back against the closed door with her arms crossed. Moore threw a piece of paper on the table in front of Jimmy G. It made his head spin. It was covered with numbers. He couldn't made heads or tails out of it. "We know that a call was placed to your office by Barrett Boswell earlier in the day," Moore said. He leaned over the table. "So?" said Jimmy G. "Lots of people call Jimmy G." "Why was Boswell calling you?" Jimmy G shrugged his shoulders again. "Don't know. Didn't talk to him." A glimmer of an idea appeared in his brain. "Probably he talked to my girl Friday. Her name is Geri Sullivan. I can give you her number, if you want it." He could see that was effective. The two detectives looked at each other. Jimmy G pulled out his brand-new cell phone and started poking buttons. He found the call log, then realized that it recorded his calls to and from Bickerstaff, then realized they already knew about that. He was getting confused. "I think I need a lawyer," he said. He shoved the cell phone back into his pocket. "We've already made contact with Miss Sullivan," said Moore. That surprised Jimmy G, but he tried not to show it. "Am I under arrest?" he asked. "No, you're free to go," said Moore, stepping aside. "We'll be in touch if we have more questions." Jimmy G got up, nodding to both detectives. He ambled out of the room, found his way through the warren of little hallways, and emerged in the lobby. Outside, the sun was just setting. As he went through the lobby, a tall, fair-haired man in a tight gray T-shirt got up from one of the benches where he had been studying a newspaper. "Ah, Mr. Gerrard," he said, stepping in front of Jimmy G. He opened the front door with a flourish and waved Jimmy G through. There was a long black limousine idling outside. "My boss wants to speak to you," the man said. Chapter 9 The light was beginning to fade out of the sky as we drove off with the snoozing Henry in the backseat. I followed the directions Hugh had given me, heading west, then pulling off the highway about ten miles down the road and following a two-lane road that angled off toward the foothills on the outskirts of Sequim. We passed farmhouses, surrounded by rows of cottonwoods, and manufactured homes that overlooked gardens studded with gnomes. Then we went over a rise and entered a valley full of lavender, long rows of rounded purple bushes, slanting across the countryside in the golden light of the sunset. The sweet scent permeated the car. A sign on the left read CARPENTER MANOR. I turned and proceeded up a long driveway. At the top was a sprawling Tudor-style mansion. The walls were made of white plaster and crisscrossed with dark beams. The windows were mullioned, and the roof was covered in gray slate. The house was perfectly positioned at the top of a low rise. As we rolled to a stop, next to a silver Mercedes, we got a magnificent view of the lavender fields. The sweet scent became even stronger, almost cloying, as it drifted in through the open car window and surrounded us. And so did the dogs. Two cocker spaniels, one chocolate colored and one black, came tearing out of the open front door and surrounded the car, yapping and turning in circles. "Hola, fellow perros!" said Pepe, greeting the dogs through the window. "I am called Pepe. Perhaps you have heard of my exploits." Hearing the familiar sounds of his pack, Henry, with some effort, got to his feet and also looked out the car window. "Woof !" he said with a small wag of his tail. "Woof ! Woof!" It wasn't a very big bark, but it seemed to be a happy one. Both dogs turned and looked at me as if waiting for me to open the door and let them out. Henry, at least, was polite about it. Pepe, on the other hand, was Pepe. "Vamonos, Geri!" he commanded, hopping up and down. "OK, OK," I told him, taking off my seat belt. "When I let you out, you're not going to cause trouble with these other dogs, are you?" "Far be it from me," he said. "I wish only to investigate, identify, and apprehend the evil miscreant who so vilely attempted their demise." It was clear that my dog watched too many telenovelas. It was affecting his vocabulary. Pepe jumped down, but Henry waited for me to lift him out of the car. My pooch's idea of investigation turned out to be some butt sniffing and cavorting with the friendly cockers as they barked greetings to their returning pal, Henry, whom I was still carrying. A winding stone path led from the driveway to the house through an English cottage garden overflowing with peonies and snapdragons, hollyhocks and foxgloves, and edged with neatly trimmed box hedges. As we got closer to the door, we saw a golden cocker spaniel sitting on the stoop. She was different than the others. For one thing, she had a certain regal presence. For another, she was calm. I don't know how I knew it, but I was sure this beautiful animal was female. Pepe realized the same thing. He swaggered up to her, stopped just a few feet away from her, and said, "Ah, nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered." I'd forgotten that my dog knew some Shakespeare. He'd quoted something from the bard when he first met his Pomeranian love, Siren Song. And it had gone pretty well for him with her after that. But there the similarity ended. After uttering his come-on line to the cocker spaniel, he sauntered up to give her a friendly butt sniff and got a growling snap at his shoulder for his efforts. He jumped away from her faster than I'd ever seen him move. "Pepe!" I called. "Do not worry, Geri," he said, returning to my side. "She is just playing hard to get, that is all." He said this nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal, but I did notice that his tail was between his legs. A woman in her fifties stepped out onto the stoop. She had dark hair, pulled back from her face, with just a few hints of silver around the edges. Her neck was long and swan-like, her eyes dark. She wore a dark, rather understated dress that set off the caramel color of her skin. "I see that someone has just met the Queen," she said, looking at Pepe, then at the cocker spaniel who was still sitting at the bottom of the steps. She had a faint accent, but I couldn't quite place it. "The Queen?" I said. "Yes," said Boswell. He stepped out onto the porch beside the woman. "Her name is Mary," he continued, giving a nod toward the golden cocker. "We call her Queen Mary." "Because she doesn't stand for any monkey business," said the woman on the stoop. "Like what your dog just tried, for example." "I am no monkey," Pepe told me, sounding offended. "How did you get here?" I asked Boswell, puzzled. Boswell put a protective arm around the woman's shoulder. "I wanted to apprise Yolanda of recent developments in person, rather than over the phone." "What is she talking about, Barry?" Yolanda turned to him. "Let's go inside," he said. We followed Yolanda through a dark-paneled vestibule and into a large room with a low-beamed ceiling. There was a massive stone fireplace with a beam for a mantel and a fire lit within it, despite the heat of the day. All the windows were open, admitting the scent of hot dust and lavender. The floor was dark, polished oak. The dogs' nails made little clicking sounds as they raced around in circles. All except Queen Mary, who padded over to a wicker basket near the hearth and settled down in it, her golden head lifted, surveying the scene. Eventually the two other dogs settled down as well: one jumped up on a sofa, while the other curled up in a basket placed along the wall. I set Henry down, and he wobbled over to another basket, circled around, and lay down, as if he had just been on a long, weary journey. I noticed that each of the baskets bore a silver nameplate above it; there was one for each dog: Mary, Henry, Victoria and James. "Lucille always named her dogs after English royalty," Boswell explained. The sofas and armchairs in the room were covered in purple and pink floral chintz. We all found our places, just like the dogs, and then Yolanda sent her niece, Clara, to fetch tea. "Hugh says that he wants to see Henry again on Tuesday for some oral surgery," I said. Boswell frowned. "I think he's taking advantage of the trust," he said. "What do you mean?" "Well, under the terms of the trust, he gets paid every time he provides any veterinary services for the dogs," Boswell said, "but I'm beginning to think he's scheduling unnecessary procedures just to make a little extra money." "How would we know, Barry?" Yolanda asked. "We're not veterinarians. We have to trust his judgment." "There is another vet in town," Boswell pointed out. "Maybe we need to get a second opinion." Just then the tea arrived on a fancy silver tray, complete with delicate bone china cups, painted with floral designs and rimmed with gold. We each had our own cup and saucer, plus Yolanda poured a little bit of tea out into saucers for each of the dogs. There were also tiny bits of toast for the dogs, cut into diamonds and smeared with some kind of liver pâté. Boswell noticed my raised eyebrows. "It's one of the terms of the trust," he said. "The caretaker of the dogs is to provide them with high tea every day." "Do they like it?" I asked. I didn't think tea would be good for dogs. But Pepe seemed to be enjoying it. He was polishing off his toast when the doorbell rang. The melody was familiar. I think it was "God Save the Queen." Clara came into the room and had a whispered conversation in Spanish with Yolanda. Yolanda looked frightened and hurried out into the hall. "What's going on, Pepe?" I asked. But before he could answer, Yolanda returned, clutching a fat envelope. "It's an envelope from Bernard Bickerstaff," she said. "It came certified. I had to sign for it." She handed the envelope to Boswell. "Will you tell me what it says? You know I'm not comfortable with legal documents." "Hmmm," said Boswell, setting down his teacup. He examined the postmark. "It appears he mailed this yesterday. How unfortunate!" He pried open the flap and pulled out a sheaf of papers, stapled at one corner. As he read them, his brow furrowed, and the color drained from his face. "What is it?" Yolanda asked. "Calm down, my dear," Boswell told her. "This has infinitely more to do with me than with you." "Just tell her what it is, will you?" said Clara, crossing to Yolanda and putting a hand on her shoulder. "You know how my aunt worries." Boswell cleared his throat, then spoke in a somber tone. "You know Lucille's children hired Bickerstaff to represent them?" She nodded. "Well, this is notification that they have filed a lawsuit against the trust. And me, personally, I might add." "Oh, no," said Yolanda. "How can they do that? And why would they send this to me?" "Because, according to the terms of the trust, you are the legal caretaker of the dogs. As such, you are naturally included," he told her. "There might be a letter waiting for me back at my office." He looked thoughtful. "I wonder if that was what Bernie was looking for." "What's the basis of the lawsuit?" I asked. "They are claiming that Lucille was not of sound mind when she established the trust." He sighed. "And that those who profited from it"—he glanced up at Yolanda—"somehow coerced her into setting it up for our own monetary gain." Chapter 10 Jimmy G stared at the limousine. Nothing was visible behind the smoked glass. He looked at the man at his side, noting the width of his shoulders and the size of his biceps. He knew better than to get into a limousine with a stranger. He had seen too many films in which people got taken for one-way rides. Stalling for time, he pulled a cigar out of his pocket. Smoking a cigar always helped him think. He unwrapped the stogie and fired it up with his Zippo. "You don't want to keep my boss waiting," said the man, pointing at the idling limo. "Get in." "Don't think so. Why would Jimmy G do that?" The rear window of the limo rolled down a bit, and a hand came out, waving what looked like a bunch of hundred-dollar bills. "Does that work for you?" the man asked Jimmy G. Sure did. Jimmy G approached the car, and the man at his side opened the door. In a minute, Jimmy G was sliding into the dark leather seat facing the limo's sole occupant. He was no kind of dope, though. He kept one hand near the .45 in his shoulder holster as he studied the occupant of the car. The guy was midforties, had dark brown hair, wore a well-tailored, summer-weight tan suit. His lips were large and fleshy. There were dark circles under his eyes. "If you must smoke," the stranger said, "at least smoke something good." "White Owl," said Jimmy G, holding up his cigar. "It is good." "This is better." The man reached into his coat pocket, withdrew a leather cigar case, took out a large, Churchill-style cigar, and handed it to Jimmy G. One look at it told Jimmy G it was a Cohiba. Cuban. Illegal in the US. "Little expensive for Jimmy G's blood," he told him. "We can pay you enough so you can afford these from now on." Jimmy G tossed his White Owl out the window and fired up the Cuban. It was so rich and smooth, it was almost intoxicating. "Who are you?" he asked the man. "I'm a Superior Court judge," he said, carefully lighting a cigar of his own. "My name is Julian Valentine. Let's just say I have an interest in the disposition of the late Lucille Carpenter's fortune." "A judge, huh?" "Clallam County Superior Court." "What do you want?" "We want you to finish the job you started for Bernie Bickerstaff." "You know about that?" "Yes, and we know how much he paid you and how little you delivered." "Hey, the guy was dead!" Jimmy G was quick to point out. "Exactly," said Valentine, sucking at his cigar. He paused for a moment, then released a curl of smoke from his pursed-up mouth. "So now you work for us." "Who's us?" Jimmy G asked cautiously. "Those who have an interest in seeing that the Carpenter fortune goes to the rightful heirs." "And what do you expect Jimmy G to do?" Jimmy G asked. "We need a copy of the trust document. You should be able to get one from Boswell. Here's his address." He handed him a sheet of paper. "What if he doesn't want to share it with Jimmy G?" "Use whatever means you consider necessary," said the judge. "We can't proceed until we see that document." Jimmy G folded the piece of paper and stuffed it into his pocket. "In addition," said the judge, "we need statements from witnesses who can prove that my mother was crazy when she signed that trust document. Here's a list of people who should be helpful." And he passed Jimmy G another sheet of paper. Jimmy G was confused. "Your mother? I thought we were talking about some rich old lady name of Carpenter." "Hey!" said the judge. "Show some respect. That's my mother you're talking about. She was a Valentine before she was a Carpenter." "Oh," said Jimmy G, thinking he understood. "How will Jimmy G get in contact with you?" he asked. Valentine frowned, pulled his cigar out of his mouth, and squashed it in the large crystal ashtray to his right. "You'll be staying here." He handed Jimmy G a card that advertised FLORAL FANTASY B&B, with an address in Port Townsend. "That way we'll know how to find you. You don't contact us. We contact you." Chapter 11 "That's ridiculous!" snapped Clara. "My aunt has given up her life for those dogs. She deserves every penny she gets for their upkeep." Yolanda fired off a string of rapid Spanish directed at her niece. Clara pouted but began picking up the dog's saucers. "What do we do next, Barry?" Yolanda asked. "Well, they've set a court date for a hearing, about three weeks away. We'll just have to show up with evidence that Lucille was of sane mind. I don't think that will be any problem." He picked up his teacup and took a sip. "I know what they will say," said Clara, pausing in her task. "That anyone who would leave five million dollars to dogs has to be crazy." Her voice was belligerent. It sounded like she agreed with this. "That is absurd," said Pepe. "Anyone who said such a thing would themselves have to be loco." "How do you prove that someone is sane?" I asked. "A good question," said Boswell, setting down his teacup. He turned to me. "We should expand the scope of your work. Besides investigating the attempt on the dogs, I need you to collect statements from people who can testify as to Lucille's state of mind." "Anyone who ever met her will say she was crazy," said Clara. She loaded the used saucers on the tea tray, making a lot of noise as she did. Yolanda frowned at her. "It's true," she said defiantly, "she acted like her dogs talked to her." "Did she really?" I asked. I turned to Pepe. "Do the cockers talk?" "Of course they don't talk!" said Clara, who left the room, carrying the tray of saucers. "Not all dogs talk," said Pepe, looking at the sleeping dogs. Boswell ignored our conversation. "Of course, you could testify, Yolanda, but we really need testimony from people who did not personally benefit from Lucille's trust. And I can't think of any, can you?" "No," Yolanda said with a shrug of her shoulders. "Everyone who got left out of her trust is angry at her and would be happy to testify for Mr. Bickerstaff." "About that," said Boswell, "there is something I need to tell you." "What is it?" Yolanda poured herself another cup of tea from the teapot. "Bernie's dead." "What? How?" Yolanda looked rattled. "But the letter . . ." "He must have sent it yesterday. He died sometime today. The police think he was poisoned." "Oh no!" Yolanda shrieked. "No, no, no, no, no!" Her niece came running back in. "What did you do now?" she asked Barrett, as she cradled her aunt's head in her arms. Yolanda rocked back and forth, sobbing. She seemed to have completely fallen apart. "I just told her that Bickerstaff was dead," Boswell said. He had gotten up and was hovering around Yolanda, as if he wanted to comfort her but was afraid to touch her. "Murdered, actually." "Who killed him?" asked Clara. "We don't know," Boswell said. "The police think I might have been the target." "Who's next?" Yolanda asked. "First, the dogs. Then you, Barrett. What if they come after us?" She was shaking. "I don't feel safe." "That's why I hired these two," said Boswell, waving his hand at me and Pepe. "Them?" That was Clara. Her tone was scornful or amazed. Maybe both. "Yes, they're private investigators," said Boswell. "Really?" Clara perked up. "Like on TV?" "Yes, we are as good as Shawn Spencer and Burton Guster," said Pepe, who was a big fan of the TV show Psych. "I'm not sure that's a good comparison," I said. "And besides, which one are you?" "Let me put it this way," said Pepe. "I am not the sidekick." "What do you mean?" asked Clara, clearly confused. "Yes, they need to interview you," Boswell said to Yolanda, shaking his head. "I will leave you in their capable hands. I must return to Port Townsend. I've already talked to the police once, but they want me to provide them with some papers I was not able to find. Do you mind if I take this with me?" "Please, take it away! I don't want to see it!" said Yolanda. When Boswell got up to leave, she got up, too. "Do not worry, Yolanda," he said. "I will clear this up." He took her hand and gave the back of it a kiss. "Please check in with me in the morning," he said, turning to me and Pepe. "I can give you a copy of the trust document and a list of people to interview. Until the police release the crime scene, I'll be working out of my home office." He handed me a card with an address scribbled across the back. "I was planning to head back to Seattle tonight," I said. "Surely you have some questions for Yolanda," Boswell said. "Yes, you should be our guests," said Yolanda. "We can talk after dinner. And I will feel so much safer with you on the premises." She turned to Clara. "Go tell Caroline to set two extra places for dinner." After Boswell left, Yolanda took us on a tour of the house. Mrs. Carpenter had obviously been a fan of English décor. The house was full of sturdy oak pieces, four-poster beds, heavy velvet curtains, and lots of English bric-a-brac. The tour ended in the kitchen, which was a bit more modern, and the domain of Caroline, the cook, who, as Yolanda explained, did not "live in." She drove in from town every day to prepare breakfast, lunch, and dinner, for humans and dogs, but left as soon as dinner was served. Caroline had prepared a feast of vegetarian lasagna, a salad of tossed greens (which she said came straight from the garden), and zucchini muffins, all of which were laid out on the island in the kitchen. There was a choice of fresh lemonade (I couldn't handle that, remembering Bickerstaff's contorted visage), locally pressed cider, or red wine. I chose the wine, a blend of Washington reds, which went well with the lasagna. The dogs had their own meal of fresh raw meat that had been mixed with vegetables and rice. They padded into the dining room, and the cook set out their dishes along the wall, in order, according to their age. Pepe was given a small plate at the end of the line. He gobbled down his dinner, then prowled along the line to see if any of the other dogs' dishes held leftovers. The humans sat at one end of a long oak table that had places for twelve guests. A large silver candelabra occupied the center. On one end of the room, a china closet with glass doors displayed stacks of gold-rimmed porcelain. The wallpaper was a William Morris design: a greenish background with pink and yellow flowers. Paintings of cocker spaniels hung on the walls. "How long have you known Mrs. Carpenter?" I asked Yolanda, after taking a few bites of my lasagna. She was just toying with her food. "I've been with her for thirty years." "Since my aunt first came to the United States," Clara observed. She was attacking her meal with gusto. "That's right. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Mrs. Carpenter. There was a civil war going on in my country, but I couldn't leave without a sponsor. She sponsored me. It was so generous of her." "You mean so cunning," Clara said. "She just wanted a slave." Yolanda rebuked her with a glance. "Hush, I was not a slave!" "Then why did you never leave?" Clara asked. "Mrs. Carpenter was very good to me," Yolanda said. "She was not! She was rude and demanding and disrespectful!" Clara said. "You never saw the good side of her," Yolanda remarked mildly. "Besides, the kids needed me. Especially after their father died." "The Carpenter kids?" I was confused. "Oh, no! I'm talking about the Valentine kids. They were only teenagers when their father died. I helped raise them until they went off to college. Then Lucille moved to Sequim and met Mr. Carpenter. He had his own set of kids. Lucille needed me more than ever. And the kids did, too!" Clara rolled her eyes. "You don't think much of that?" "You'd have to know the kids." "I brought Clara up to help me three years ago, when Lucille got sick," Yolanda said. "What did she die of?" "Meanness," said Clara. Yolanda glared at her. "Congestive heart failure. Her poor heart broke when all the kids refused to speak to her. First her own, then Mr. C's, whom she helped raise." "Why did they hate her so much?" "Because she killed their father," said Clara. Chapter 12 "What?" I almost dropped my wineglass. "Mrs. Carpenter killed her husband?" "Oh no!" said Yolanda, giving her niece a sharp look. "That's not true!" "Then what?" "He tripped over one of her yappy little dogs and fell down the stairs and broke his neck," said Clara. She said it with great satisfaction. Pepe jumped into my lap. "Who killed who?" he asked me. "Shhh!" I told him. "Just listen." "I was trying to," he said. "But licking all those plates clean took precedence." "Spoiled, isn't he?" said Clara, referring to Pepe. All the other dogs had stayed on the floor. "Sorry," I told Clara. "I think he's still a little hungry." "I'm sure Caroline gave him the correct portion for a dog his size. Lucille was very strict about the dogs' meals," Yolanda explained. "She didn't want them getting fat." "I do not have to worry about that," said Pepe, "since I burn off my energy through investigating." "So," I said, trying to get us back on track, "one of Mrs. Carpenter's dogs was responsible for her husband's death? She must have felt terrible about it." "Oh, she did," said Yolanda. "Lucille felt just awful." "Sure she did," said Clara, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "She felt so bad that she rushed her precious dog off to the vet while her husband's body lay at the bottom of the stairs." "Clara!" said Yolanda. "You weren't here! You don't know what happened." "Well, it's true," said Clara. "You've told me the story enough times. Mr. Carpenter fell on top of Henry, and Mrs. C was worried that the dog was hurt." She turned to us. "Turns out Henry had a sprained shoulder. Nothing compared to her husband's broken neck." "Please don't think too badly of Lucille," Yolanda told me. "She was a realist, that's all. Her husband was obviously dead, and her dog was injured. What else could she do?" "Yes, what else could she do?" asked Clara. I was wondering the same thing—what would I do if Felix tripped over Pepe and Pepe was hurt?—when Pepe said, "There is an uneaten piece of lasagna on your plate, Geri. May I have it, por favor?" "It'll give you a tummy ache," I told him. "Just because tomato sauce gave me pains in my stomach uno time, does not mean it will do so again," he said, putting one paw on the tablecloth and pulling it and the plate toward him. "Oh, all right." I took my plate and put it on the floor for him. Yolanda gave me a disapproving look. Pepe slurped it down quickly as the other dogs gathered around him. We finished our meal with a rich and fragrant lavender ice cream for dessert. Yolanda told me it came from the lavender farm next door, which was run by Colleen Carpenter. It was one of her specialties—homemade lavender-infused ice cream, always a popular item during the upcoming lavender festival. "How did Colleen end up with the farm?" I asked, as I polished off the last creamy bite of my ice cream. "She was the only one of the kids interested in going into the family business," Yolanda said. "Mr. Carpenter was a lavender farmer?" I asked. "Not until he met Lucille. Before that he ran a dairy farm, but the business was failing. It was her idea to switch over to growing lavender." "It seems like that worked out well," I commented. "Actually, Colleen told me that if she doesn't make enough during this year's lavender festival, she's going to have to declare bankruptcy," said Clara. "What are you doing over there?" said Yolanda. "I told you to stay away from them! They're not our friends." "Whatever!" Clara got up from the table and left the room. "Why do you disapprove of her going over there?" I asked. "For all I know," said Yolanda, getting up herself, "Colleen is the one who tried to poison the dogs. She never liked them, and if they died, it would solve all her financial problems." She began gathering up the plates. "I thought the money went to the local humane society if the dogs died," I said. "Oh, does it?" said Yolanda. "I've never really looked at the trust document. I let Barrett handle all the legal and financial issues." I got up to help her, and the dogs, who had been lounging around the room, all got up too. We crowded into the kitchen, where Clara was putting her dirty dishes into the dishwasher. The dogs swirled around us, barking and whining and yipping. Clara opened the back door, and the canine multitude poured out into the yard. The spaniels ran up and down the yard, bumping into and tumbling over each other. They looked like a bunch of clowns. A long chain-link fence separated the yard of Carpenter Manor from the back of the neighboring property. Bamboo that had been planted along its length screened our view of the farm outbuildings, although I could glimpse a reddish-brown barn and the roof of a farmhouse. The scent of fresh lavender was everywhere, especially as the light breeze was blowing our way across the rolling fields of lavender that stretched out for a hundred yards or so behind the backyard. That wonderful scent and the sky, which was turning a gorgeous shade of orange-red around the setting sun, made the pastoral surroundings seem almost magical. "So, tell me about the day someone tried to poison the dogs," I said when we were all back inside. Clara had gone off to study. According to her aunt, she was taking classes at the local community college. Caroline had gone home. Yolanda and I sat with the dogs in the living room. I pulled out my notebook. "It was an ordinary day," said Yolanda. "The dog walker came to take them out for their morning walk." "And who is the dog walker?" "A high school student from town." "Do the dogs get walked every day?" "Yes, she comes around seven in the morning and takes them out in groups. She's always done by eight." "She noticed them getting sick?" "No, she found the cookies scattered along the side of the driveway. She didn't think any of the dogs had managed to eat any, but she wasn't sure. And it wasn't just the chocolate she was worried about. She thought maybe the cookies were poisoned." "Why would she think that?" "We had received several threatening phone calls, someone calling to say the dogs were doomed." "Did you report them to the police?" "Yes, but they didn't seem very sympathetic. Most people in town are on the side of the kids." "What did you do?" "I called Barry, and he said to take them to the vet. I don't drive, so the dog walker took them." "And what did the vet say?" "Hugh said there wasn't enough chocolate in the cookies to harm any of the dogs. But he kept Henry overnight for observation, just because of Henry's age. Poor Henry." She dabbed at her eyes with her knuckles. "Do you know if the vet ever tested the cookies?" I asked. Yolanda shook her head. "I have heard nothing." I made a note. We would have to return to talk to Hugh the Handsome. "So who could have left the cookies there?" I asked. "Is it possible someone just dropped a bag of cookies?" Yolanda gave me a chiding look, like the one she had given Clara. "People don't just walk by out here in the country," she said. "But anyone in a car could have stopped on the road and thrown the cookies out of the window." "Again, making it seem deliberate," I said. "Of course, it was deliberate!" Yolanda declared. An hour later, Pepe and I were in bed, in the room that had once belonged to Colleen Carpenter. It was a sparsely furnished room: just a single bed and a maple chest of drawers. A warm breeze blew through the lace curtains around the window that I'd opened slightly for ventilation. The sheets were soft and warm and smelled like lavender. At home, Albert the Cat has claimed the bedroom as his territory, so Pepe rarely sleeps with me. Instead, he sleeps in the living room on the couch in front of the TV. He dozes off while watching his favorite shows, which is where he gets his ridiculous ideas about human nature and forensic science. But here there was no TV. No yellow glow from streetlights. No swish of traffic. No rumble of airplanes overhead. Just darkness and quiet. As I turned off the small lamp on the bedside table, Pepe snuggled up close to me, warm and cozy as the bed itself. I patted his soft head and reflected on the silence, so very relaxing. Until Pepe's stomach began to rumble. He denied it, of course. "Those were just frogs you heard, Geri. Listen! There they go again, a whole chorus of them just outside our window." Chapter 13 Jimmy G proceeded slowly up the flagstone walk that led to Boswell's front door. He still wasn't sure what was going on, and who he was working for, and what he was looking for. So how the hell was he supposed to question the guy? Boswell's house sat high on a hill above Port Townsend. It was three stories tall and had a turret with a conical roof like a witch's hat. The front door was one of those old-fashioned oak jobs with an oval, etched-glass window. Seemed to be original, as old as the house. And the doorbell sure was—mounted on the door itself, it was a small, square box, made of dark metal, with a twister-type gizmo that you wound up like a watch. So Jimmy G did just that. When he let it go, the thing set off a loud mechanical bell that rang half a dozen times or so. No one answered, which was fine by Jimmy G. He could report to his mysterious new boss that Boswell was not home and be done with it. He turned to go, but just then the door opened. Standing on the other side was a short, balding man with a round red face. "Mr. Boswell, I presume," said Jimmy G. Boswell frowned. "Yes, and you are?" Jimmy G had a momentary flash of brilliance. "Jimmy G of the Gerrard Agency," he said, holding out his hand. "Here to check on my operatives." Boswell shook his hand, but stared oddly at his chest for a moment. Must be the tie, Jimmy G thought. He was wearing his favorite—extrawide, a combination of bright red, green, blue, and orange swirls so loud it could be heard over the cries of the crowd when a long shot came in at the racetrack. It was always a good icebreaker. Finally meeting his gaze again, Boswell said, "Your operatives are at Carpenter Manor, talking to the caretaker and her niece." "Ah, good," said Jimmy G. "Better to talk about them when they're not here. Jimmy G is conducting an evaluation, you know, assessing their performance." Boswell was still frowning. "Mind if Jimmy G comes in?" "I guess," said Boswell. "But we must be quick. I'm rather busy." "This will only take a minute," said Jimmy G. "Well, come into my study." Boswell led Jimmy G down a hallway that was crowded with furniture and through a door at the end of the hall. "Forgive the mess," he said, waving his hand at a desk that was heaped with papers. A very large and tall violet-colored cat with a fluffy, fanlike tail sat on the corner of the desk and directed a baleful look at Jimmy G. "I've just realized there are some irregularities in the trust document." Jimmy G wondered if this was the document the judge wanted him to steal—or obtain, as the judge would have phrased it. "Perhaps Jimmy G can help," he said, reaching out his hand for the paper. The cat snarled, and Jimmy G drew back his hand quickly. Boswell frowned. "Are you a lawyer, sir?" "A private dick has to know a little about a lot of things." Boswell did not hand over the paper. Instead, he waved Jimmy G to a seat in a wing-back chair and took a seat himself in a similar chair behind the desk. Only Boswell's chair swiveled. "You wanted to ask me about your employees." "Ah, yes, what have they done so far?" Boswell's eyes narrowed. "Well, you should know, shouldn't you?" "Of course, but Jimmy G is trying to verify if they are making a full report," said Jimmy G. When he saw that Boswell still hesitated, he added, "Customer satisfaction is the most important thing at the Gerrard Agency." Boswell sighed. "We actually have not had much of a chance to talk. They were the ones who discovered the body of my colleague, Bickerstaff, in my office." He narrowed his eyes and peered at Jimmy G. "You do know about that, right?" "Of course," said Jimmy G, nodding. "I sent them off to talk to the vet who treated the dogs, while I spoke to the police." "What did they ask you?" Jimmy G wanted to know. "The police? Or your operatives?" "The police." "Routine questions. Where was I? At what times? What was my relationship to Bickerstaff like? Did I kill him?" "Did you?" "I say!" said Boswell, standing up abruptly. The cat stood up. too, with back arched and tail bristling. "That is outrageous, sir! I had nothing to do with Bickerstaff's unfortunate death. I hired your agency to find out if someone is trying to harm the dogs. And unless your questions are relevant to that purpose, I refuse to answer them." "Hey! Just making sure," said Jimmy G. "Would not want to involve the Gerrard Agency in anything unsavory." He had to get his hands on that piece of paper. How to do so? "This conversation is over," said Boswell, coming out from behind the desk. Jimmy G had a brilliant idea. It did involve some personal risk. He reached for the cat, thinking he would be able pick it up and drop it on the desk, creating a distraction. "Nice cat!" he said. The cat did not appreciate the compliment. It reared up and swiped at him, managing to leave claw marks down the back of his hand. At the same time, it lost its footing on the slippery papers and went sliding over the edge of the desk. He heard the cat hit the floor with a thud. On its feet, he presumed. After all, they say cats always land on their feet. "Oh, good heavens!" said Boswell, dropping to his knees beside the cat. "Did that awful man hurt you, Precious?" As he bent over the cat, checking the animal for injuries, Jimmy G scooped up the papers on the top of the pile and stuffed them into his jacket. "I'll see myself out," he said, strolling out the door. When he stopped at the threshold to look back, Boswell was cradling the cat in his arms. He did not seem to have noticed Jimmy G's theft. He was kissing the cat on the top of its head. And Jimmy G could hear the cat purring, from yards away. Chapter 14 I awoke to the realization that something was wrong. Very wrong. It took me a moment to figure out where I was: the guest bedroom at Carpenter Manor. The door to the hall was open. The breeze had turned chilly. The rising sun was painting the sky a pale pink in the distance. Then I realized what was wrong. Pepe was gone. Almost simultaneously, I heard a screech. Ouch! A muffled curse. Then a thud. That woke up the dogs in the locked bedroom down the hall. They started barking furiously and scratching at the door. Where was Pepe? I slipped out of bed and pulled on the bathrobe Yolanda had loaned me. I thought the sounds had come from downstairs, but I couldn't be sure. I tiptoed down the stairs, moving as fast as I dared in the darkness. I could hear doors opening upstairs. Must be Yolanda and Clara coming to see what was happening. There was no sign of Pepe in the living room or the dining room, but as I pushed into the kitchen, I saw that the back door was open wide. And I saw a dark figure outlined against the pink sky—a tall figure dressed all in black with a mask over its face and my little white dog tucked into its arm. "Let go of my dog!" I shouted, not really sure how I was going to enforce that command. The figure turned and looked at me with soulless, glittering eyes. And at the same time, Pepe wrestled his head free and chomped down on the arm that confined him. "Ow!" The intruder dropped Pepe on the ground and took off running. Pepe landed with an undignified grunt, but scrambled to his feet and took off after the intruder, who dashed through the garden and vaulted the fence that separated Carpenter Manor from the adjoining lavender farm. Within seconds there was no sign of the dark figure, which blended into the shadows created by the clutter of outbuildings and farm machinery. Pepe danced up and down at the base of the fence, furious! "Geri, pick me up and put me over there!" he said. "I don't want you getting hurt!" I said. "No problema!" he said, panting with fury. "It is that miscreant who will be feeling my wrath." At that moment, the four cocker spaniels came pouring out into the yard, followed by Yolanda, shivering in a cotton nightgown, and Clara, in a fluffy pink bathrobe. I tried to explain what had happened, with constant interruptions from Pepe. "I heard Pepe barking," I said. "That woke me up." "I heard the sound of footsteps downstairs," Pepe said. "That woke me up. Naturally I went to investigate." "Naturally I got up to see what was going on," I said. "As soon as I saw the villain, clothed all in black, I rushed at him, telling him to halt!" "What happened next?" I asked. "We heard the dogs barking," said Yolanda, thinking I was speaking to her. "He kicked me!" said Pepe indignantly. "The intruder kicked my dog!" I declared. "But I was not going to let violence stop me!" said Pepe. "I knew my duty was to protect the dogs." He looked at me. "And you, of course." "Thanks!" "So I rushed at him again, threatening him with bodily harm. That was when he snatched me up and headed for the door." "Perhaps he mistook you for one of the dogs?" I suggested. "Only a fool would mistake a Chihuahua for a cocker spaniel!" said Pepe. "Do we know what he wanted?" asked Clara. "Do we know it was a man? Do we know anything?" "Hush! I have not yet finished my tale," said Pepe, who was inclined to go on whenever anything cast him in a flattering light. The cocker spaniels had gathered around him as children do around a librarian during story hour. "I sank my fangs into his arm and he let go." He paused for effect. "Then he ran off, and Geri prevented me from pursuing him, fearing for her own safety and wishing to keep me by her side." We looked at the door but couldn't see any signs of forced entry. Pepe told us he had first seen the intruder in the hall between the office and the kitchen. Yolanda looked around but could find no sign that anything had been disturbed. I have to admit that I don't know how she would have known. The whole office looked like it had been trashed, with file cabinets so full they didn't shut and papers in drifts on the floor as well as the desk. But Yolanda claimed it always looked that way. "No one has been in here since Lucille died," she said. "She called this her headquarters. She was in here every day: making lists, making phone calls. But when she got sick, it became just a general storage room." Yolanda called the police, and Clara made a pot of coffee. Caroline arrived and fixed us breakfast (bacon and scrambled eggs) while we waited for the police. Yolanda was very distressed. She kept muttering to herself in Spanish. Pepe said she was raining down curses on anyone who would be so evil as to threaten innocent dogs. The police arrived just as the dogs were finishing their own breakfast: a medley of kale, rice, and lamb. Pepe took one look at the police and jumped up into my lap. Pepe has a thing about the police. I think he confuses them with animal control. He did his time in several shelters before I adopted him. He was shivering as only an agitated Chihuahua can shiver. "Kind of timid, isn't he?" asked the cop with sergeant's stripes on his sleeve. "Timid-shmimid!" exclaimed Pepe. "I learned all about your bribe-taking, donut-eating ways south of the border!" "I don't think they eat donuts south of the border," I said. "Maybe churros." "Donuts?" said the sergeant's partner, a young man with a freckled face and flaming red hair in a buzz cut. "No donuts," said Caroline, bringing the coffeepot over to the table. "But I do have coffee." "Thanks," said the sergeant. "I'll take a cup." While Yolanda poured him a cup, using one of the pretty flowered china teacups, he went on: "Dispatch radioed that you had an intruder in the house, Yolanda. That correct?" "Yes," she said. "Anybody hurt?" asked the young cop. "No, but someone is trying to kill the dogs," Yolanda said. "Didn't your dogs set up a ruckus?" the sergeant asked Yolanda. "Start barking when he broke in, or go after the guy when he ran out?" "They were locked up in their room," she said. When he raised his eyebrows at her, she said, "We lock them in at night. For their own protection." "I went after him!" said Pepe. "My dog was the one who chased him off!" I said. "Really?" The sergeant looked surprised. "I may be small, but I am fearless," declared Pepe. "So did you get a look at this intruder?" "Yes, he was dressed all in black and wearing a black ski mask," I said. "Any other distinguishing characteristics?" "Tell him the hombre smelled strongly of lavender," Pepe told me. "So does everything around here," I said. "That's a big help." "What's a big help?" the sergeant asked me. "The guy smelled very strongly of lavender," I told him. "Well, that's a big help," he said. "So do half the people around here this time of year." The young cop chuckled. "You getting all this down?" the sergeant asked him. "Yeah, Sarge, I think so." He read from the small notebook in his hands. "The guy was dressed all in black and smelled like lavender." The sergeant shook his head slowly side to side. "Yeah," he told his partner. "That's about what we've got to work with." "And the dog bite!" said Pepe. "Yes, and my dog bit him," I said. The sergeant sighed. "Yes, we can put out a BOLO to the local ERs to watch out for a guy who's been bitten by a Chihuahua." "Do you think that will work?" I asked, excited. It was just like a crime show on TV. The sergeant sighed. "No! Seems unlikely that a Chihuahua could inflict any serious harm." "Caramba!" said Pepe. "That is libelous." "Anyway," said the sergeant, "I think we've got what we need. Thanks for the coffee, Yolanda. If you think of anything else that might help, don't hesitate to call us." We all followed them to the front door, where the sergeant turned to me. "Crime is rare in Sequim," he said. "And this kind of crime is particularly rare. Most likely it was a neighborhood kid out on a dare." "Do they usually dress in all black and wear ski masks?" I asked, indignant. "Well, you know the idea of being a ninja and sneaking into houses—it appeals to some kids." The cop seemed blasé. "Anyway, let's keep this quiet. We wouldn't want to give anyone the wrong impression about crime in Sequim. Especially since we're expecting so many visitors to our fair town over the next few days." I watched them depart with a frown. "I think they're blowing me off," I said. "I know," said Yolanda. "No one really takes the threat to the dogs seriously. That's why I'm so glad that Boswell hired you." Speaking of Boswell, it was time for us to pick up the trust document from his office and head back to Seattle to make a report to Jimmy G. Chapter 15 Jimmy G fought his way out of a fog of bizarre dreams full of swirling patterns and attacking cats and opened his eyes, then shut them again. Surely he was still dreaming. He popped one eyelid open. Nope, not dreaming. He lay very still as the fragments of the night before settled around him. After leaving Boswell's house, he had headed for the Floral Fantasy B&B, where the judge said he had a room waiting. The owner, a slim young man who introduced himself as Lionel, ushered him upstairs and into what he called the Lavender Room. The whole place reeked of lavender. The walls were covered with wide stripes of lilac and purple. There was no TV, just a vase filled with dried lavender flowers on top of the looming chest of drawers. "We don't believe in mass entertainment," Lionel said. "Our guests come here to relax and get away from it all." Not Jimmy G. He left to hang out at the nearest bar and staggered back to the B&B after last call, waking up his disgruntled host by leaning on the bell. His key had disappeared somewhere during the evening. Jimmy G struggled out of the bed, throwing off the purple floral bedspread and gathering up his scattered belongings. Something was missing, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what. His head was still spinning, and he figured getting out of the lavender stink would help clear it. As he clattered down the narrow stairs, Lionel popped out of a doorway: "Mr. Gerrard," he said. His forehead wrinkled slightly as he took in Jimmy G's attire: the wrinkled jacket, the stained tie, the uncombed hair. "We've been holding breakfast for you." Oh, yeah, Jimmy G remembered something about breakfast being served at certain ungodly hours. Lionel held open the door, which led into a sunny, glassed-in porch, lined with green plants. One place was set at a glass table in the middle of the room. "The other guests have already breakfasted and taken off for the day," Lionel said. "Coffee or tea, Mr. Gerrard?" "Coffee," said Jimmy G, then remembered to add, "black." "Very well." Lionel disappeared, reappearing a few minutes later with a plate heaped with food. Behind him was another young man, with a freckled face and strawberry blond hair, who was carrying a silver urn and a china cup. "Here we have our special frittata made with kale and egg whites," said Lionel, setting down the plate with a flourish, "served with potatoes à la greque." "And this is our special blend, roasted just for us by our friends at PT Roasters, totally shade-free, organic coffee," said the other man, pouring coffee from the urn into the china cup. "And when you're ready, I'll be happy to sit down and answer your questions." "And you are?" "Kevin Carpenter. Didn't Julian tell you?" "Who's Julian?" "Judge Valentine!" The young man seemed amazed that Jimmy G would not recognize Julian by name. "Oh, yeah." Jimmy G tried to remember if the judge had told him anything about Kevin Carpenter. All he remembered was something about a paper. He patted around in his pockets. Not there, but maybe he had left it up in the room. He did find his flask and poured a little swig into his coffee. That helped settle his stomach, and he was able to polish off the rather peculiar breakfast. Just as he was finishing up, Kevin appeared, carrying a cup of his own. Jimmy G thought it was only polite to offer him a swig of bourbon. Kevin looked alarmed. "It would totally spoil the flavor of the Darjeeling," he said. "This is first flush." Whatever that meant. Jimmy G poked around in his pockets and found a pen and a relatively clean napkin from the Anchor Tavern. Kevin sat across from him expectantly. "So what do you need to know?' Jimmy G tried to remember what he was supposed to ask. Better to fake it. "Why don't you tell me in your own words," he suggested. "Well, obviously the whole thing is a ghastly mistake. I mean my father would have turned over in his grave, if he had known Lucille was going to leave all his hard-earned money to her dogs. He hated those dogs." "So your father is?" "Charles Carpenter." Kevin studied him. "Shouldn't you know this already?" "Best to start from the beginning," said Jimmy G. Kevin sighed. "And what were your feelings about your mother?" "My mother?" Kevin seemed puzzled. "My mother died when I was twelve." "The lady who left her money to the dogs was not your mother?" "No, Lucille was my stepmother." Kevin's voice got louder. "She married my father when I was sixteen and sent me and my sister away to boarding schools." The door opened and Lionel appeared, whisked away the empty plate, gave Kevin a disapproving look, and disappeared again. "So you probably feel the money should belong to you," Jimmy G said. Kevin shrugged. "We get by with the income from our business." "Business?" "Floral Fantasy," said Kevin. "Our bed-and-breakfast. We're usually completely booked from May through September. Then there's another busy period around the holidays." Jimmy G scribbled that down, though he wasn't sure that was relevant. "It's really my sister I worry about." "Sister?" "Colleen. She runs the farm: Lost Lakes Lavender. She's got a bit of a chip on her shoulder. My dad didn't think girls could be farmers. So she's always trying to prove herself. She would be OK if it wasn't for the constant fighting." "Fighting with her stepmother?" "No, the other lavender farmers! They're ruthless—each one trying to compete for the attention of the tourists. Poor Colleen! I don't think she's going to make it. She's just not cut out for that kind of conflict." Jimmy G wrote that down, too, though he didn't see how it was relevant. He tried to think of something else to ask. "So who do you think killed Bickerstaff?" "If I had to guess, I'd say Boswell," Kevin replied quickly. "They hated each other." "But the police questioned Boswell and let him go." Kevin raised his eyebrows. "You know how they do that. They can't make an arrest until they get enough evidence. But I'll bet they're closing in on him even as we speak." Jimmy G gulped, thinking of his late-night visit. Maybe he had been alone with a murderer. He was lucky to be alive. "Well, thanks for talking to Jimmy G," he said, crumpling the napkin and putting it back into his pocket. Then he remembered the missing document, the one he had lifted from Boswell's desk. "I left something in my room. I'll just head up to collect it." "The maid just finished cleaning your room," Kevin said. "Let me ask her if she found anything. What was it?" "Some legal papers," Jimmy G said quickly. "Relating to the case." Out in the hall, Kevin approached a dark-haired young woman who was putting towels into a closet. "Helen, did you find any papers in the Lavender Room?" Helen shook her head. "Are you sure?' Jimmy G asked. "Positive." Jimmy G swallowed hard. The judge was not going to like this at all. Chapter 16 As I opened the door to my car, Pepe turned his attention to the chain-link fence that ran along the driveway that led up to the Carpenter mansion. "Let's go!" I said. I was eager to get back to Seattle. "I would, but I have something more important to do," was his reply. He moved along the base of the fence, sniffing furiously. "Are you finding clues?" I asked, curious. I didn't see how anyone could get over that fence to get into the yard. It ran down the whole length of the driveway out to the road, a good half mile. "No, I am investigating," he said. "Something that no one else is doing." "What do you expect me to do?" I asked. "We should question Colleen Carpenter," he said. "After all, the intruder ran over here. Perhaps he lives on the property." "Hmmm," I said, "that's an excellent idea. But what would I say? 'Did you attack my dog last night?'" "I had something more clever in mind," Pepe said in a mild tone that still managed to convey his superiority. "It is a ploy we have employed many times before." "And that is?" "My dog got loose!" He squeaked a little, trying to imitate the hysterical tones of a female human. "Oh!" It's true we had used this technique successfully to gain access to yards on previous cases. "But the fence!" I pointed out. "Sí," said Pepe. "But the fence was designed to keep out cocker spaniels, not Chihuahuas. I can simply slip through it." "But what about me? I can't chase after you." "Es verdad," said Pepe, eyeing me up and down. I was afraid he was going to say something about the few pounds I had gained. Felix didn't seem to mind. In fact, he was responsible for some of them as he almost always showed up at my house with a pint of chocolate-chip cookie-dough ice cream, my favorite. "You will have to go around," Pepe said at last, gesturing down the road. "You can drive up the driveway on the other side." "OK!" I wasn't so sure this would work. "But, Pepe, I don't think you can fit through there!" "Watch me, Geri!" he said. And he dove at the bottom of the fence, scraping away with his little paws, shoveling dirt as fast as a gopher. Pretty soon he had a nice trench dug out, and he scrunched down to get through it, pushing with his hind legs, scrabbling at the dirt with his front legs, his little white torso completely filling the gap. After a few minutes I said, "Pepe, you're stuck!" "I am not!" he declared. He scrabbled some more with his front paws. "Decidedly not," he said after a brief struggle, during which he used his hind legs to wriggle forward about half an inch. "Perhaps," he admitted with a gasp. I studied him. "You remind me of Pooh Bear when he got stuck in Rabbit's hole after eating all of Rabbit's honey," I said, studying his little white butt, "though you look more like Piglet." "Did this bear manage to get unstuck?" Pepe asked. "Yes, he did," I said. "Was it because his friends pushed or pulled him through?" he asked. "No, they tried that, but it didn't work," I said. "But just to be sure, let's give it a try." I tried pulling him by his hind legs, then tried pushing on his butt. Back and forth we went, with Pepe making the most heart-breaking little squeaks. Finally I gave up. "So how did this Pooh character get free?" Pepe asked. "I don't think you're going to like it." "Just tell me, Geri. This is a most undignified position to be in." "They left him there without food for several days, and he lost enough weight so he could slip through." "Unacceptable!" said Pepe. "Here!" I said. "Maybe I can make the opening larger." I grasped the wires of the fence with both hands and pulled up a little. With a gasp, Pepe wriggled free. He trotted out into the driveway and shook himself off. "I will reconnoiter," he said, turning to face me. "You meet me!" "OK!" I climbed into my car and drove down the gravel drive. The turn was too tight at the bottom for me to make a U-turn. It was obvious the two driveways had been one long drive before they were divided by the fence. So I had to go down the road to the driveway of another farm, pull in, back up, and reapproach the entrance to the farm. This driveway was also paved with gravel. I could hear my tires crunching as I drove up toward the red barn. Off to my right, in the lavender fields, I could see hunched figures. Workers were out there with baskets, picking lavender. I was about twenty yards from the big red barn when suddenly I heard gunfire. Pow! Pow! Pow! The gravel rattled. And I saw a little white streak heading down the driveway. Pepe was heading straight for my car, running so fast he was almost a blur. I slammed on my brakes and jumped out of the car, leaving the driver's-side door open so I could duck down behind it if necessary. Pow! Another shot rattled the fence at my side. Right behind Pepe, stepping out from behind the barn, was a woman, dressed in overalls. Her strawberry-blond hair was swept back by a blue bandanna. And she carried a rifle. She stopped to pull back the lever on the gun. "Hey!" I shouted and waved my hands in the air. "Don't shoot! That's my dog!" Meanwhile, Pepe darted into the car through the open driver's-side door. I saw him heading for the tiny space under the passenger seat. "Well, keep him out of my yard!" she said, advancing on me, the gun at her side. A black-and-white spaniel-sized dog was at her side. "He was chasing my chickens. If I ever see him here again, I swear I'll kill him. I have every right to do so." "Look," I said, slamming my door shut so Pepe would be safe. But, come to think of it, he might just put the car in gear and take off down the road. I wouldn't put it past him. He had learned to operate a TV remote control, a telephone, and my laptop. I reached in through the open window and yanked the key out of the ignition. All I could see of Pepe was his little white tail sticking out from under the seat. "He got away from me and ran over here. I'm sure he didn't mean any harm." I walked up to her, keeping my eye on the rifle, and held out my hand. "I'm Geri Sullivan. You must be Colleen Carpenter?" She didn't take my hand, just stared at me with icy-blue eyes. Her skin was weathered by the sun, so the contrast was striking. "I know who you are," she said. "You're a private detective out of Seattle." "Who told you that?" I asked, thinking maybe Clara had conveyed the information across the property line. And how did she get to the farm? Was there a gate somewhere along that imposing fence? Or did she walk all the way around when she visited? "We're protecting our interests," Colleen said. "We have people working for us. We know all about what you're up to." 'Can I talk to you about Mrs. Carpenter?" I asked. "No. Now get off my property." "Are you aware that someone broke into Carpenter Manor last night and escaped by jumping the fence and running into your yard." She seemed surprised by that, although she tried to hide it. "If you don't leave," she said, "I'll call the police." "Don't bother," I said. I got back in my car and began backing up the drive. Little clouds of dust spewed out from under my wheels, obscuring my view. I just hoped I didn't run into the fence or the lavender field while Colleen stood there at the end of driveway, the rifle at her side, watching. Pepe crawled out from under the seat about ten minutes later. "Are you OK?" I asked, as he plunked himself down in the passenger seat. "Of course," he said, casually, taking the time to nibble on his hind leg. "That was quite an adventure. I have not been shot at in a long time." "Oh, really?" "Sí." "When was the last time?" "When I was hunting at the big rancho in Texas with the vice president of the United States." "What?" I was incredulous. "No way!" "Sadly, it is true, Geri," he said. "It was my job to retrieve the birds the vice president and his companions were hunting." "That's ridiculous! Chihuahuas aren't bird dogs." "Oh, I will agree that the various spaniel and retriever breeds have their merits, but these good old boys were hunting very small birds, and for that sort of job, a Chihuahua is supreme. That is why I was given the honor of being the numero uno retriever for the hunting party," he told me. "Of course," Pepe continued, "once trained to retrieve, it is hard to resist when one spots a bird. Thus when I saw the chickens, well, instinct just kicked in." "What an excuse!" I said. "You can't possibly expect me to believe you were there when Dick Cheney accidently shot his lawyer friend." "Believe what you will," said Pepe. "When his shotgun went off, some of the pellets missed me only by inches." He shuddered and grew thoughtful. "Luckily that other fellow threw himself in front of me, thus taking the bullets meant for me into his own hide." "Pepe, that's the most outlandish tale you've ever told!" I started laughing. He looked insulted. "OK," I said, "I'll play along. So what did you do after that?" "I ran, of course," he said, perking back up. "Self-preservation kicked in, and I ran and ran—and that is how I ended up in California." "I don't believe you," I told him. "That business with the vice president happened years ago. You're not old enough to have been there." "I beg to differ," he said. "I am a dog of my word. And anyway, just as you should not ask a senorita her true age, neither should you ask a Chihuahua his true age." I couldn't think of a response to that, so I changed the subject. "You told me you were going to investigate. Did you actually do that, or were you just chasing chickens?" "I only chased uno—well, maybe dos chickens," said Pepe. "But that was just to impress the most beautiful bitch in the universe." "What?" It took me a minute to realize what he meant. I always forget how dogs use that word. "I thought Siren Song was the most beautiful dog in the world." Siren Song is a fluffy golden Pomeranian whom Pepe met in Seattle during our first case. "And what about Queen Mary?" "Merely moons revolving around a dazzling planet," sighed Pepe. "A dazzling planet by the name of Phoebe." "Describe this Phoebe," I said. "Black-and-white, with beautiful, big, brown eyes," said Pepe in a dreamy voice. Hmmm! I didn't tell him that I had seen his new crush standing beside Colleen Carpenter, and I doubted she was impressed by his hasty retreat. Chapter 17 "Are you sure this is the right address?" asked Pepe, as we pulled to a stop in front of an enormous, three-story Victorian. It was bigger than any of the Victorians around it and had an incredible view of Port Townsend's harbor. The house was painted in a bright fuchsia tone, with teal-green trim. A rounded turret with tall narrow windows rose from ground level to just above the second floor. The steep roof was crowned with a widow's walk, the railing painted apple green. I double-checked the message on my cell phone. "Yes, this is the address Boswell gave me." We went up the front steps to the wide porch, which was full of rattan chairs with floral fabric seats. Pots of fuchsias hung from the rafters, creating a sense of an enclosed garden space. The door had a frosted glass window and an old-fashioned doorbell that you had to turn, like the key of a music box. It made a scratchy, tinkly sound. I could see vague shapes through the frosted glass, but I didn't see any sign of movement. "I do not hear anyone inside," said Pepe, sniffing around the edges of the door. "Perhaps Boswell has gone out." "He told us to meet him here in the morning," I said impatiently. I was eager to get home. "Wait, that is not true," said Pepe. "Do you hear that?" I put my ear close to the door and heard what Pepe was hearing. It was a terrible sound, a cross between a mournful wail and a baby on a crying jag. "What is that?" "A gato," my dog told me, his hackles rising. "A cat?" "Sí," Pepe told me, cocking his head toward the door. "A gato in mucho distress." "Really? Since when did you start speaking cat?" "Distress is a universal language," said Pepe. He sniffed around the door while I rang the doorbell. The awful sound continued. If the cat was distressed, I was even more distressed. Surely if Boswell was home, he would hear the ruckus his cat was making and do something about it. "There is something most definitely wrong," Pepe told me when we got no response. "We must get inside." I rattled the doorknob, but it was locked. "This way," said Pepe, racing down the porch stairs. I followed him as he circled around the side of the house. Lacy curtains shrouded the windows, so I couldn't see inside. A flight of stairs led up to a redwood deck, which was crowded with garden furniture: wrought-iron chairs, glass tables with umbrellas, a fancy grill and tall palm trees in ceramic pots. Pepe was scratching at the screen that covered the back door. The terrible caterwauling was even louder, so I wasted no time pulling open the screen and trying the back door. It was locked. "Can you see anything?" Pepe asked me. I peered through the small window at the top of the door and said, "It looks like the kitchen. What should we do?" "Try a credit card," Pepe told me. "This is an old door; it probably has one of those angled locks you can slip with a stiff credit card. I have seen this done many times on Paraíso Perdido." Just because he saw it on his favorite telenovela didn't mean it would work for us. But I tried it anyway. I put one of my cards between the wooden door and the doorjamb, found the lock's position, and pushed the angled bolt back. To my surprise, it worked! As the door opened inward, Pepe said, "Told you so." Just then we heard a very loud thud, immediately followed by a softer thunk. The caterwauling suddenly stopped. "This is not good," said Pepe. "Proceed with caution, Geri." He didn't have to tell me twice. I was scared out of my wits. The crashing sound had come from my right. I pushed the door open slowly, glad that it was between me and whatever had made the sound. "I will protect you!" cried Pepe, rushing past me and around the door. "Pepe!" I started to push my way inside when my dog came running back and hid behind one of the ceramic pots. "What is it, Pepe?" I said. He was shaking, and his big brown eyes were bulging out. "The horror!" he said. "The horror!" I peered around the door carefully to see what I could see, still keeping the door between me and any danger. All I saw was a huge, fluffy, almost lilac-colored cat. He was at least three times bigger than Pepe, maybe four. And he was crouched next to a huge bag of dry cat food that had split open. The cat was chowing down on the crunchy nuggets that had spilled out and onto the floor. The cat looked up from its meal, fixing me with its golden eyes, then went back to his task. "Ha!" I said. "It's just a cat!" "Just a cat!" said Pepe, from behind me. He had crept up close to my heels. "That is a brute! Monstruo!" "Don't worry. I'll protect you from the evil kitty." I said it jokingly, but it was no joke to Pepe, who had been bested in his one confrontation with my cat Albert. I tiptoed into the kitchen. I couldn't help noticing its design. It's something that comes naturally when you have been trained in interior design. Boswell (or his decorator) was obviously going for a French country look, with a wood-block island, copper pans hanging above it, and cabinets painted a creamy white. A big bouquet of sunflowers sat on the island, next to a pitcher of lemonade. Pepe followed me, staying close. To the right was a pantry area, like a walk-in closet for food, with every surface full: tins of tea, cans of soup, cereal boxes, cracker boxes, cookies galore, and lots of chocolate. On the floor, I saw two china dishes set out for the cat. Both were empty. "Aha!" said Pepe. "The gato must have been crying to be fed, and when nobody came to feed him, he pushed over his bag of food. That is what we heard." "I'm glad," I said. "Let's get out of here before someone calls the cops and charges us with breaking and entering." "I am with you," Pepe told me. "This beast will doubtless turn on us when he is through concentrating on his feast." "I do wonder why Boswell did not feed his cat," I said, as I turned to go. Pepe had tiptoed past the cat and was looking down the dim corridor. He was sniffing away, his head lifted. "I think I know why," he said, moving a few feet into the hall, still sniffing. "I smell muerte!" "What?" "Sí," he said. "The scent of death. It is strong." "Oh, no." I passed the cat and peered down the hall and saw nothing except for a lot of furniture and boxes lining the walls, leaving only a narrow path. "Are you sure?" "My nose does not lie," said Pepe. He wagged his head toward an open door on the right. "The scent comes from this room." He disappeared through the door, so I had to follow. It was obviously Boswell's home office. Multiple bookcases lined the walls; the hardwood floor was covered with a Persian rug; and a couple of leather wing-back chairs faced a vintage oak desk at the far end the room. Pepe had disappeared behind the desk, and that's where we found Boswell. He was sprawled on the floor, his face a bright red, and his features contorted like a gargoyle's. "Oh my God!" I said. "He looks just like Bickerstaff." He was still wearing the dark blue suit we had last seen him in. Apparently he had died sometime after he left the Carpenter mansion. Pepe was at work, sniffing the papers surrounding the body, apparently searching for clues. I choked back my immediate desire to flee and forced myself to examine the scene carefully: the jumble of papers on Boswell's desk, the empty glass on the carpet, and the two large file cabinets behind the desk, all their drawers open, half their files pulled out and scattered about all willy-nilly. "It looks as though somebody was searching for something," I said. "Sí, it does," Pepe responded. I examined the papers on the desk, trying to read them without touching anything. They looked like documents that had been filed in various court cases. "What did you find?" "It is very odd," said Pepe, "but the papers smell like Jimmy G." "Our boss?" "Yes. They smell like cigar smoke and bourbon. But there is one small detail that troubles me. The cigar is a Cohiba." "Jimmy G smokes cigars." "Yes, but he smokes White Owls. The Cohiba comes from Cuba. It is illegal in the United States." I stared at my dog. He always amazed me. "You mean to tell me you can distinguish one cigar from another?" "Certainly, my dear Sullivan," said Pepe. "Like my role model, Sherlock Holmes, I have made an extensive study of the variety of tobacco products." "Give me a break," I said, dismissing his ridiculous story as I dialed Jimmy G. It would be good to get his opinion on what to do next. Besides, if he did have anything to do with Boswell's death, I wanted to warn him before I called the police. "Hey, doll," he said. "What's shakin'?" "Boswell's dead." "What?" "Yes. We found him dead in his home office. I think he was poisoned just like Bickerstaff." There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "When did this happen?" he asked. "How should I know?" I asked. "The last time we saw him was yesterday late afternoon at the Carpenter mansion. He told us to drop by his house in the morning to pick up a copy of the trust document. But when we got here, we found him dead. And it looks like someone was going through his papers." "Can you tell if anything is missing?" Jimmy G asked. "How would I know that?" I asked. There was another long silence. "Yeah, how would you know that!" he said, with a harsh laugh. "Is something wrong, boss?" He was acting really strange. "Yeah, just having a few problems with the reception. Jimmy G does not like this cell phone. So did you call the police?" "I'm just about to, but, boss, there's one more thing." "Yeah?" "Pepe says the papers smell like you." "Yeah, right! The dog is talking. You must be hallucinating, doll!" I figured I might as well be direct. "Were you here?" "Ha! Jimmy G in Port Townsend. That's a laugh." "Well, where are you?" "Where hasn't Jimmy G been? Last night he was in Tacoma. Right now he's at Emerald Downs." "Emerald Downs?" "Got a lotta money riding on a long shot," he said. "OK," I said. "I guess Pepe made a mistake. He wasn't sure it was you because he said the cigar was a Cohiba, whatever that is." Jimmy G gave a weak laugh. "Crazy dog you got there," he said. "Those are imported cigars. From Cuba. Black-market stuff. Jimmy G could never afford one." Chapter 18 Jimmy G was sweating by the time he arrived at the farm. It wasn't just the temperature—which was hovering around ninety at noon—but the call from Geri telling him they had found Boswell dead in his office. An office that appeared to have been rifled. Geri even claimed her rat-dog could put Jimmy G on the scene. Of course, he quickly convinced her that was ridiculous. Where would Jimmy G get a Cohiba? And how would the rat-dog know about that? As soon as he stepped out of the car, a dog came running up and circled around Jimmy G in a menacing manner, barking and wagging its big, fluffy tail. Then a woman appeared, dressed in mud-spattered overalls and cowboy boots. She clomped down the road toward the car, calling to the dog, whose name was apparently Phoebe. "Hello, Jimmy G is looking for the owner of this farm," he said. "That's me," she said, peeling a heavy leather glove off her hand and shaking his. She had a hearty grip. "Colleen Carpenter. What can I do for you?" "Jimmy G needs to ask you a couple of questions, ma'am," Jimmy G said. "Well, where is this Jimmy G?" she asked, looking at the car to see if someone else was inside. "Uh, Jimmy G stands here before you," Jimmy G said, pointing at his tie. "OK, Jimmy G," said Colleen. "And what's this about?" "The judge hired Jimmy G to ask pertinent questions about the Carpenter trust." "Well, you can ask me questions, but I need to watch the still." "Still?" That got Jimmy G's interest. "Come on, I'll show you!" she said, turning on her heel and striding off toward the barn. Jimmy G followed her, thinking he was in luck. Been a long time since he had any moonshine. The still was located in an opening in the barn. It was made of brass and shaped like a giant onion turned on its head. A series of pipes and valves led away from the central chamber to a plastic bucket on the floor. And into the bucket was running a pale brown liquid. Jimmy G stuck his finger into the liquid, put it in his mouth, and started to swish it around. Gah! It was awful. He spit it out onto the straw-covered dirt floor. Colleen frowned at him. "That's lavender essential oil. You're not supposed to drink it!" Jimmy G nodded. "Absolutely." He winked. "Do you ever use this apparatus to make something more potable?" Colleen frowned at him. "We're a lavender farm," she said. Aha! Jimmy G noted that she had avoided his question. "So what do you want to know? Make it snappy. I've already had one interruption today. A private detective from Seattle and her little dog." "Jimmy G knows those two," said Jimmy G "A nice-looking gal, with dark curly hair, and a white rat-dog." "Yes," Colleen gave him a sharp look. "That's right." She seemed impressed. "She sent her dog to snoop around, but Phoebe ran them off. Right, Phoebe?" Phoebe, who had followed them into the barn, whined softly. "Did she get any information?" "Are you kidding? I have nothing to say to anyone on that side." "Did you know that Bickerstaff is dead?" Jimmy G asked, watching her face carefully for any sign of surprise. She wasn't surprised. "Yeah, I just heard about it. I guess Julian will have to hire a new lawyer to prove that Mrs. C was crazy." That was news to Jimmy G, but he decided to go with it. "Was she?" Colleen laughed, a short, sharp bark of a laugh. "Certainly was!" "Aha!" Now Jimmy G was getting somewhere. "Crazy like a fox," Colleen went on. "She knew exactly what she was doing, from day one. She wanted a piece of land with a nice view. She found a lonely man who was heading for bankruptcy. She swooped in and rescued him with an infusion of cash." "What did she get out of it?" Jimmy G wanted to know. "She liked to be seen as Lady Bountiful, I guess. Made her feel important." Jimmy G was confused. "That was her MO," Colleen said. "She was always trying to buy love." Jimmy G was confused. "Then why leave money to a bunch of dogs?" Colleen smiled, a rueful smile. "In the end, those dogs were the only ones who loved her." She thought for a moment. "Except for those parasites who hung around her for the money: her housekeeper and that lawyer of hers." Jimmy G flinched, remembering his late-night trip to Boswell's house. "So you think Boswell took advantage of her?" he asked. "Totally," she said. "Julian says it was unprofessional for him to serve as trustee. And I have it on good authority from my brother that he is skimming off the top." "Was skimming off the top," Jimmy G said. "What do you mean 'was'?" "Apparently he's dead." "Oh my God!" That did surprise her. All the color drained from her face. "What has he done now?" Chapter 19 Once again, Pepe and I were being questioned about the death of a lawyer, this time in an interrogation room in the police station in Port Townsend. "So how do you explain that?" The policewoman leaned over the table. She had introduced herself as Michelle Howard. She was a black woman in her midthirties with a broad face and high cheekbones. "He called my boss to hire us," I said. I didn't think I had anything to hide. "He heard about our success in many cases involving dogs," said Pepe. "That's why we're here, working for him." "Not any longer," she said. "Well, that's a good point." Did we still have a client? I wasn't sure. I would have to check with Jimmy G. "Your boss says he didn't talk to Mr. Boswell. That you did." "That's absurd," I said. "Someone is lying." "Tell them to check the phone records," Pepe suggested. He watches a lot of crime TV shows and knows how the police work. "Well, I'm sure you can check phone records," I said. "We did," she said. Her eyebrows went up. "Then you know the call was made to the Gerrard Agency," I pointed out. "I never answer the phone there." "But Mr. Gerrard said," she looked down at her notes, "that you are his secretary. Actually the term he used was girl Friday." "Well, yes, I am, or at least he thinks I am, but I didn't take the initial call. I was at my house, reading a novel and sitting in the sun when he called me and told me to come down to the office because we had a case." It seemed so long ago since that carefree morning. "And what was the case?" "Confidential, amiga!" said Pepe. "I'm not sure I can talk about that," I said. I really didn't know what the rules were about client privilege. "You don't think you can talk about that? Or you refuse to talk about that?" she asked. "If you let me call my boss, I'll check with him," I said. Jimmy G answered after five rings. "What's up, doll?" "I'm at the police station. They want information about the case. Do we still have one?" "Of course we do!" His voice sounded thin and far away. "In fact, it means we have more work." "So what do I tell them?" "Nothing. We aren't obligated to share any of our information with them. We keep it close to our vests. You know that. Very hush-hush." And he hung up. "Thanks a lot, Jimmy G," I said, looking at my phone. "You know, Geri, that the police can hear every word you are saying," Pepe said. "Just as long as they can't hear you, I'm good," I said, looking down at him. Michelle never came back. Instead a middle-aged man in a tweed coat entered the room. He introduced himself as Rick Moore, head homicide detective. He had a bushy moustache, perhaps to compensate for the shiny bald patch on the top of his head. "Would you like some coffee?" he asked. I guess he was going to be the good cop. "Yes," I said. "With cream, please." "I would like some bacon," said Pepe. "You just had breakfast," I told him. Rick looked confused. "Are you telling me or asking me?" "Actually I was talking to my dog," I said. "You do a lot of that," he said, as he left the room. "I told you they were listening to us," Pepe said. "I guess they can't hear you," I said. "Muy bien!" he said. "So listen very carefully. We give nothing away. We extract the information we need!" "Sí, amigo!" I said, just as Rick returned, bearing a paper cup that he set down on the table in front of me. The coffee was watery, and flecks of instant creamer were still swirling around on the top. The detective sat down himself and opened up a folder. "We've been wanting to talk to you, Miss . . ." He looked at the papers in the folder. "Miss Sullivan." "Here I am!" I said trying to be cheerful. "Tell us again about how you came to be in the home of Mr. Boswell." I repeated the story I had told the responding officers, the story Pepe and I had cooked up while we waited for them on the front porch. I had come for an appointment, he didn't answer the door, we went around back and noticed the door was ajar, we entered and found the body. "And you didn't notice anything unusual?" "Besides the fact that he was dead?" "About the room?" I wasn't sure what he was trying to get at. "It looked messy," I said cautiously. "As if someone were searching for something," Rick prompted. "Yes, like that." "And you didn't?" "Search for anything?" "We know better," said Pepe. "We know better," I repeated. "Interesting," said Pepe. "Perhaps the villain who invaded Carpenter Manor had first killed Mr. Boswell but did not find what he sought there." "How well did you know Mr. Boswell?" the detective asked. "Not well. We just met him yesterday." I said. "Briefly." "Look," he said, "we know from Boswell himself that you were hired to help him with the Carpenter case. We know he believes someone tried to poison the dogs." "And someone tried to attack them last night!" I said. "Maybe the same person who killed Boswell." "Oh, that's interesting," said the detective. "Tell me more about that!" "Tell him about how I marked the miscreant!" said Pepe. "My dog attacked the intruder. He will have a dog bite on his wrist." "That little guy?" said Detective Moore, with a sneer. "I am a fierce warrior!" said Pepe. "He can be pretty scary when he wants to be," I said. To prove the point, Pepe lifted his lip and delivered a tiny growl. Detective Moore laughed. "We reported the attack to the Sequim police," I said, wanting to make it clear that I was willing to cooperate. "I can give you the name of the officer." I found the card and handed it to Mr. Moore. "All this fuss over a bunch of mangy mutts," Moore said, shaking his head as he returned the card to me. "And now we're looking at two homicides." "The dogs are neither mangy nor mutts," Pepe pointed out. "My suggestion to you, Miss . . ."—he looked at his papers again—"Miss Sullivan, would be to return to Seattle and tell your employer"—he looked at his papers again—"this Mr. Gerrard, that the police advised you to stay out of this. It's a murder investigation, and we don't need any private eyes wandering around interfering with our investigation or tampering with witnesses." "I will certainly consider that advice," I said. "We certainly will not quit!" said Pepe indignantly. "What do you think we are? Cats?" Chapter 20 We did go back to Seattle. I had an appointment with my counselor, and I thought it might help me sort out all the different theories and thoughts that were whirling through my mind. Plus I would finally get a chance to catch up with Felix. I had called him as soon as we left the police station, and he said he would meet me at my house after his meeting with his last client. I promised him a good dinner and some other things I won't share with you. My counselor, Suzanna, leases space in a two-story building on the shores of Lake Union, almost directly across from my condo in Eastlake, if you could fly directly across the waters of the lake. Or row across. There is a dock right below the building, and I sometimes like to sit down there and watch the water lapping against the pilings when I have time. But not today. I was already five minutes late. "What are we doing here?" Pepe asked, waking up. He had been asleep ever since we got off the ferry. "I've got a counseling appointment," I said. "You know I am a therapy dog," said Pepe, jumping out of the car when I opened the door. "So you say," I replied, heading across the parking lot. "I will listen to your troubles and comfort you," Pepe said, trotting to keep up with me. "That's true," I said, giving him a sideways look. "You always make me feel better when you listen to me." The problem is he almost never listens to me. He's the opposite of Suzanna, who is a good listener. Suzanna's office is on the second floor. There's a small waiting room with a bottled water dispenser and copies of lifestyle magazines. But I didn't have to wait. The door to the room was open, and Suzanna was sitting at the desk, making notes, probably about her last client. The décor is designed to soothe: dark gray walls, dim lighting, a lit candle perfuming the air with a vanilla scent. Suzanna waved me to a seat on the corduroy sofa, while she took a seat in the armchair near the bookshelf. Suzanna has been my counselor since my divorce. And although she doesn't believe my dog talks, I still count on her to let me know if I am going too far off the deep end. "So, Geri, tell me what's going on?" she asked, looking at me with her piercing dark eyes. Her bright red hair glowed like a flame. She was wearing amethyst earrings and a light-gray tunic over velvety leggings. I told her everything, although Pepe kept interrupting me and embellishing the story as we went along. I told her about finding the body of Bickerstaff, about meeting the vet (I left out my attraction to him, though Pepe insisted I should explain I was in heat), about our visit to Carpenter Manor, about Pepe scaring off the intruder (Pepe wanted me to emphasize his heroic actions), and about finding Boswell's body in his study. I left out the part about our breaking and entering, but I did tell her about Pepe being frightened by the cat, just to tease him a little since he was being so bossy. He looked disgusted and crawled under the forest-green afghan to take a nap. He loves burrowing under blankets. "Geri, that sounds like a lot," Suzanna said. "I know," I said. I realized I was shaking. "I didn't expect it to be so dangerous." "Are you reconsidering taking this job?" Suzanna asked. She had never said anything outright, but I got the idea she thought being a private detective was not good for me. "Yes," I said. Pepe poked his head out from under the blanket. "No way, Jose," he said. "I just don't think I can put myself, or my dog, in danger anymore. I mean, what's the point? We hardly make any money." "And what about your boss?" Suzanna asked. "He's no help," said Pepe. I had to agree. "He's no help," I said. "While we're running around and doing all the work, he's at the racetrack." Suzanna shook her head. "What do you plan to do?" she asked. "I don't know. I guess I could quit." I felt a huge relief as I said that. I could go home, make dinner, have a glass of wine, and retire early with Felix. The police would investigate the murders. That was their job. No need for us to get involved. We had already provided them with everything we knew. "What about the dogs?" asked Pepe. "They need us." "But if the trustee is dead—" "Then we must find out who is the new trustee," insisted Pepe. He leaped up and ran to the door. "We don't have a copy of the trust document," I said. Suzanna looked perturbed. "Are you talking to your dog?" "Yes," I said. "He wants us to continue to investigate." "So there is a part of you that believes you should keep on investigating." Suzanna tends to think that Pepe represents my alter ego, an aspect of my character that is more daring, more confident than my usual personality. "No, it's Pepe who wants to keep on investigating," I said. "I would be happy to give up." "That is not true, Geri!" said Pepe, looking at me with dismay. "You would not leave any dogs to suffer." "Why should they suffer?" I asked. "They've got plenty of money." "Money does not necessarily make people happy," said Pepe. That was true. I thought about how lonely Boswell seemed, even though he had a fancy house full of stuff. And Yolanda, who despite her millions lived in a plain little room and took orders from a bunch of spoiled dogs. "Who?" That was Suzanna. "The dogs," I said. "They inherited a fortune. Several million dollars." "And how do you feel about that?" "You know, it does seem excessive," I said. "Four dogs can't possibly need millions of dollars to keep them happy. Dogs are happy . . ." I looked at Pepe. "Oh no, you are not!" he said. "You are not going to say that just being around people makes dogs happy!" "They've done experiments," I told him. "Dogs evolved differently from wolves because they care for us. When given a choice between food and taking care of us, wolves choose food, but dogs choose people." "Most dogs," said Pepe. "I myself prefer a nice juicy steak." "You know that's not true," I said. "OK. A crisp piece of bacon," he conceded. Suzanna smiled. "Your dog does not agree with you," she said. I brightened up. "You can hear him?" She shook her head impatiently. "Geri, you know he doesn't talk. Maybe you are exceptionally good at intuiting what he wants, but he can't talk. Dogs don't talk." I stared at her. If I couldn't convince my counselor, then who could I convince? And if I was crazy because I thought my dog talked, then maybe Mrs. Carpenter was crazy, too. "I guess we do have to go back," I said to Pepe. "Yes, so I can woo the beautiful Phoebe," said Pepe. "But first we must stop for bacon. Now that you have mentioned it, I must have some." "I didn't mention it," I said, then stopped. No point in arguing with a dog. Suzanna looked worried. "I don't like the idea of you going back into such a dangerous situation," she said. "It's not dangerous for us," I said. "No one is trying to poison us. Just the dogs." "And the lawyers," pointed out Pepe. "Can you call your boss and ask him to go with you?" Suzanna asked. "That's a good idea. I'll try that," I said. "Geri, we do not need his help!" said Pepe. I glanced at the clock. The session was almost over. "Well, thanks," I said, getting up. "I feel a lot better." Suzanna got up, too. She took my hands in hers and fixed me with concern in her eyes. "Geri, I am worried about you. I would feel much better about this if you would keep in touch with me. Can you call me once a day and just leave a message on my answering machine? I'll check it regularly. If something comes up and you need to talk, I'll try to be available, but I'm going away for the weekend with my girlfriends, so it might take me a little while to get back to you." "Oh, really, where are you going?" I asked. "To Sequim for the lavender festival," she said. "One of my girlfriends has a vacation home in Discovery Bay, so we go every year. We love it. Good food, music, and lavender ice cream!" She closed her eyes and sighed. "It's so peaceful." "Well, that's where the dogs live," I said. "Right next to a lavender farm. Maybe we'll see you there." Suzanna laughed. "Geri, thousands of people attend the lavender festival. We're not likely to run into each other. But do call if you need me." Chapter 21 Jimmy G was heading back to Seattle. Seemed the best choice by far. He could swing by Emerald Downs and catch the last race of the day. So far he wasn't making much progress with the case. Time for Jimmy G to make a fast getaway before the judge got on his case. He was snoozing in his car in the ferry line, his fedora pulled down over his eyes and nose, when he heard a rapping at his window. Startled awake, he looked out to see the face of the judge's bodyguard. It wasn't a good-looking face. The guy's nose had obviously been broken at some time. He also had tape wrapped around one of his wrists. "What's up?" he said, rolling down his window, wondering how the guy had found him. "That's what my boss wants to know," the guy said. "Uh, going fine," said Jimmy G. "Did you get the trust document?" Jimmy G pondered that for a moment. It would mean that he had been in Boswell's house, and Boswell was now (according to Geri) dead. "Have you heard about Boswell?" he asked. "He died," the guy said. He didn't seem perturbed. That disturbed Jimmy G. "What about the document?" "It's in a safe place," said Jimmy G. He figured that would get him off the hook. "The boss wants it." "Tell the boss Jimmy G will deliver it." "When?" The guy had a faint accent. Maybe Russian. That was disturbing, too. "Jimmy G just needs to get back to Seattle—" "The boss wants it now!" The guy leaned into the window. His jacket fell back, exposing the outlines of his shoulder holster and pistol. Jimmy G thought about his own pistol, wondered if he could pull it out of his shoulder holster faster than this joe could if things got dicey. "What's the hurry?' he asked. "Boss doesn't like to wait." "Might take a while. Might even miss the last boat." "Then stay at the B&B again. The judge keeps a room reserved in his name there." "OK. Will do. Jimmy G has to contact his operatives. They've got the document." "Fine," said the guy. "Just make sure you get it. And call us as soon as you have it in hand." He looked sideways down the line of cars. Jimmy G saw a flicker of fear in his pale-blue eyes. Checking his rearview mirror, Jimmy G saw a man in uniform coming down the line of cars with a German shepherd. Pretty standard policy on the ferry system. The dog would be sniffing for drugs. Or explosives. "Meanwhile, we'll be watching you," the guy said. And he disappeared. Chapter 22 "Ah, it is good to be back to our own casa," said Pepe as we got out of the car in front of my condo in the Eastlake neighborhood. Although the word condo might conjure up something sleek and modern, mine is a one-bedroom apartment in a brick courtyard built in the 1940s. It's perched on the edge of a hill with just a tiny view of Lake Union from the front porch. "It certainly is," I told him as we started up the stairs to the porch. We both saw the small package sitting on the porch at the same time. "What's this?" I picked up the package and noted that it had been sent from Amazon. "I didn't order anything from Amazon." "Perhaps a present!" said Pepe. "Sent by a secret admirer!" Albert the Cat greeted us with a great display of affection—that is, he wound around my legs, making loud meowing sounds. Pepe he ignored. That was OK with Pepe, who also ignored him. "Andale, Geri!" Pepe said, circling around the dining room table, where I had placed the package. He was so excited he hadn't even looked at his food dish. "Open it! Open it!" I gave Albert a generous portion of wet cat food, a bribe since I had left him with only dry food overnight. Then I grabbed my kitchen scissors and attacked the package. Pepe jumped onto a chair and peered over the tabletop. That was unusual. He's not usually so invested in the packages I receive. "Oh my God," I said, prying open the top of the box and gazing down at the object inside, swaddled in plastic and cellophane, "it's an iPad!" "Sí!" said Pepe. He hopped onto the table and poked his nose in the box. "There must be some mistake," I said. "I didn't order an iPad." "I did!" Pepe said, taking his nose out of the box. "You what?" "Take it out of the box!" Pepe told me. "Wait a minute. How could you have ordered this?" "Simple, Geri. I got on the Internet, selected the item at Amazon, then hit the button for one-click ordering." I stared at my dog in disbelief. "And you did this when?" "I believe it was Wednesday night," he said. "You were getting busy in the bedroom with Felix." My pooch always surprises me, but this was too much. "These things cost over five hundred dollars, Pepe." "Plus shipping," he told me. "You should have asked me," I told him. "I'm sending it back." He hung his head and looked as sad as only a sad Chihuahua can look. Which is pretty darn sad. "You do not understand," he said. "What don't I understand?" "I was only trying to help." "Ordering an expensive item without my permission is helping?" "Yes," said Pepe. "I will use it to do research for our cases. We will solve twice as many cases with both of us having access to a computer." I didn't know how to respond to that. "It has a touch screen—easy for me to manipulate with a simple swipe of a paw," he said. "Plus, it has a virtual keypad—also much simpler for me to use since I am always getting my toenails stuck in the laptop keyboard." "Pepe—" "I will also let you use it when I am not using it, partner." The way he emphasized the word partner brought me up short. Perhaps I was being a little selfish. After all, he had been instrumental in saving my life on several occasions. Of course, he had also gotten me into those sticky situations in the first place. "OK," I said, giving him a pat on his velvety head. "You can keep it." "Muy bien! I want to start using it right now!" He stood over it and began running his right forepaw over the iPad's screen. "Hey!" he said. "It is not working!" "Silly pup," I told him. "It's not charged yet. It will take a while. We have to use this white cord and plug it in to charge the battery." He shook his head sadly. "It is most cruel to get something you most dearly want and then not be able to use it." "Don't worry, Pepe," I told him. "I can plug it in to charge, and you can use it while it's charging. How does that sound?" "Better than bueno!" he said, doing another dance on the tabletop. I got it plugged in for him, and he immediately began toying with it as the screen came on. "It has a different operating system than Microsoft," I told him. "Perhaps I should—" "I will figure it out. Go make us something to eat," said Pepe. "I shall google our deceased attorney, Boswell, and see what I can learn about his background." I opened up the refrigerator and inspected the contents, trying to figure out what I could make for Felix. I had some heirloom tomatoes and fresh basil I had purchased at the farmers market. I thought if I cooked some angel-hair pasta, I could toss them together, along with some parmesan. I got the water boiling and was chopping up the tomatoes when I heard Pepe call out from the next room. "Geri, come quick!" he said. I hurried into the dining room, only to find him mooning over a photo of Phoebe, the farm dog. She was sitting next to the sign that advertised Lost Lakes Lavender Farm, with the big silly grin typical of a Labrador on her furry face. "I thought you were doing research for our case," I said. "I was!" said Pepe proudly. "I was looking up the farm. And see what I found? Is she not the most beautiful being you have ever seen?" At that moment the front doorbell rang, and I hurried to answer it. It was Felix, and he was actually the most beautiful being I have ever seen. His dark hair was combed back, and his dark eyes were shining with pleasure, and the bright white of his ironed shirt contrasted beautifully with his caramel-colored skin. Plus he was carrying a pint of my favorite chocolate-chip cookie-dough ice cream and a bouquet of sweet peas. He was accompanied by his new furry companion, the little cream-colored poodle-terrier mix we all called Fuzzy. She went charging into the dining room. Albert hissed at her and vanished into the bedroom, while Fuzzy started barking at Pepe. I took the time for a long, lingering kiss with Felix, then went to see what was happening. "What's this?" Felix asked, at the sight of Pepe perched on a chair, with his paws on the table, staring down at the screen. "You bought an iPad?" "It was Pepe," I said. Felix just smiled. "Sure, it was." "No, really it was—" I started to say. "It's so cute how you blame everything on your dog," said Felix, circling me with his arm. "And look, he has a new girlfriend!" He pointed at the photo of the black-and-white dog on the screen. "Yes, that's Phoebe. We met her while working on our latest case." "And how is that going?" Felix asked. "I'll tell you; just follow me into the kitchen. I've got to get the pasta into the water." "A little early for dinner, isn't it?" Felix asked. "I'm starving," I said. "It's been a while since breakfast." Fuzzy followed us into the kitchen, since Pepe was ignoring her. She polished off the food Pepe had left in his dish, so eager was he to use his new toy. To my surprise, the sound of the kibble crunching did not distract him. Meanwhile, I told Felix about the royal cocker spaniels who had inherited a fortune. He looked as worried as Suzanna when he heard about the two dead lawyers. "I don't want to tell you what to do," he started to say, but just then my cell phone started ringing. I had left it on the little table in the hallway. I looked at the screen and saw it was Jimmy G. "Who is it?" Pepe asked. He had come running. "Jimmy G!" I said. "Don't answer it!" said Felix. "Answer it!" said Pepe. "I have to answer it," I said to Felix. "He's my boss and we're on a case." Felix just shook his head. "It's a mistake," he said. "Where are you?" That was Jimmy G. "At home. Why?" "Jimmy G needs you here." "At the office?" "No, in the field." "But why?" "Jimmy G needs to find a copy of the trust document, and Jimmy G expects you to help." "But with our client dead, who's paying us?" I asked. "Do not worry your pretty little head about that. Jimmy G's got that under control. Just get your butt over to Whidbey Island and talk to Jillian Valentine. She runs an art gallery on Main Street in Langley. She's one of the parties in the suit against the trust and thus a suspect. Plus, maybe she has a copy of the trust document." "It's kind of late to be heading over there today," I said, giving Felix a smile. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "How about I get there first thing tomorrow morning?" "Traffic's supposed to be horrible tomorrow," Jimmy G said. "First day of the lavender festival. Besides Jimmy G has reserved a room for you at a place in Port Townsend called the Floral Fantasy B&B." "What?" That did not sound like the kind of place Jimmy would recommend. "Yes, it's run by Kevin Carpenter. Another one of the suspects in this case." "Do you think they would let me bring a friend?" I asked, with a meaningful look at Felix. "What kind of friend?" "My boyfriend, Felix," I said, then wondered if that was the right term for Felix. We had not really defined our relationship. But it seemed OK with him. He looked intrigued. Jimmy G snorted. He had met Felix only a couple of times. "Yeah, if he's the kind of guy who likes scented candles and bubble bath." "Great!" I said. I hung up and turned to Felix. "Want to go stay in a B&B in Port Townsend?" "When?" "Tonight!" Felix looked sad. "I can't. I've got three clients in the morning." "Can you cancel them?" I asked hopefully. "No more than you can say no to your boss," he said. He looked downcast. "Tell you what," I said, "Pepe and I will go over there tonight and scope it out. If it looks good, maybe you could come tomorrow? For a romantic weekend getaway? Apparently there's a big lavender festival. We can see what that's like." Felix looked mollified but still unhappy. "I just hate it that you keep canceling on me," he said. "I don't think you should be putting your job first." "You put your job first," I pointed out. Pepe had run off again, but Fuzzy was hovering around us. She hates it when we fight. She used to belong to a couple who fought a lot, and it makes her nervous. Felix shook his head. "Look, I don't really feel like talking about this anymore. Why don't you call me when you find out what's happening, and meanwhile I'll think about it. Come on, Fuzzy!" And the next thing I knew he had walked out the door. Chapter 23 Jillian Valentine lived in the small town of Langley on Whidbey Island. Taking a ferry was the only way to get to the island without driving miles to the north, crossing a narrow bridge to the north side of the island, and then driving down its length. So I told Pepe there was no choice but to take a ferry ride. We caught the boat from Mukilteo, and it was only a fifteen-minute voyage to the island. Pepe kept his mouth shut as we boarded (which was unusual for my chatterbox dog), but I knew he wasn't happy about taking another boat ride. Neither was I. I was still thinking about my unhappy encounter with Felix. And how I had to eat all the pasta by myself. The ice cream, too. All I could hope was that the B&B that Jimmy G had mentioned would be the perfect place for a romantic weekend. Although Felix had spent a couple of weekends at my place, and I had spent one weekend at his place (Pepe complained bitterly the whole time since Felix doesn't have a TV), we had never gone on a trip together. It might take us to the next level. But to get there, I would have to finish up this case. I could only hope that this Jillian would have the document Jimmy G thought we needed. Langley is a quaint little town on the water just a few miles from the Clinton ferry dock. Main Street, only six or seven blocks long, is composed of old, but brightly painted, false-fronted wooden buildings. Many of them are small shops selling items to tourists. There are some restaurants, too, including a turn-of-the-century, two-story building that housed a large pub. It wasn't hard to find the art gallery. It was a nondescript, baby-blue wooden building on the water side of the street. Only a single story fronted the street, but there were two more floors that extended down the small hillside to the water in a terrace-like fashion. The stairs at the side were somewhat rickety. "Is this it?" Pepe asked. "It does not look like much." "This is the place," I told him, looking at the newspaper-covered picture window at the front of the building. There was a sign over the door saying VALENTINE GALLERY. There was also a big sign in the window that read FOR LEASE. "We came all this way, and there is no one here," said Pepe. Just then, a woman came up the side stairs with a stack of matted art prints in her arms. She was tall and thin, with long hair pulled back off her narrow face and held with a gauzy scarf. She wore a long purple skirt and a dark-purple vest cinched tight over a loose, lilac-colored Indian blouse, along with big hoop earrings and an armful of glittering crystal bracelets. The whole effect was fairy/gypsy. She dumped the prints into an empty plastic carton on the back of a baby-blue scooter parked in front of the building. "Hi," I said. "I'm Geri Sullivan. I'm looking for JillianValentine." "That's me!" She pushed away a stray hair with her forearm and looked at me puzzled. "So?" Her tone said, "Why should I care?" I hesitated. According to Jimmy G, I was supposed to be assessing the motives of all the potential heirs. Should I tell her that? Pepe was sniffing around her ankles, and she flinched. A few of the prints slipped from her fingers and scattered on the asphalt. Luckily they were all wrapped in plastic. "Can you control your dog?" she asked. "Pepe!Aqui!" I said, snapping my fingers. Of course, this had absolutely no effect on Pepe, who simply began sniffing the prints she had dropped. I bent to help her pick them up and saw that they were landscapes. One showed a Tudor mansion at sunset with the windows just beginning to glow yellow and behind it a smear of purple that I took to be a lavender field. "Why, this looks like Carpenter Manor," I said, surprised. She jumped at that. "How do you know that?" she asked. "Well, we were just there . . ." I gestured at Pepe. She gave me a sharp look. "Whatever for?" "A good chance to find out what she knows," Pepe pointed out. "If I were conducting this interrogation I would imply we worked for her side." Easy for him to say. I hate lying. So I settled for ambiguity. "We were hired to investigate the situation with the dogs." "Oh, yeah." She seemed relieved. "Julian said he had hired someone to figure out how to break the trust!" She stuffed the prints into the plastic crate. "So what do you want to know?" "Do you have a copy of the trust document?" I asked. "Are you kidding?" she asked. "Julian would never confide in me. He keeps treating me like his idiot little sister, just like he did when we were young." "So were you and your brother annoyed when your mother left all her money to the dogs?" "Hey, who expected anything else?" she said bitterly. "She always preferred dogs?" "She was always a selfish bitch," said Jillian firmly. "Hey!" said Pepe. "I object to the use of that word in a pejorative way. A bitch is one of the loveliest creatures on the face of the earth." "Can you tell me more about your relationship with your mother?" I asked Jillian. She blinked. "Look, I'm in kind of a hurry. Got to get this stuff over to Sequim tonight." "You're going to Sequim?" "Yeah, I've got a booth at the lavender festival. I can make a big chunk of change in just a few days if I get my stuff over there. Maybe even enough to pay my back taxes. If you want to keep asking me questions, you need to give me a hand." "Sure," I said. "I can lend a paw," said Pepe. Jillian headed down the steps, and Pepe followed at her heels. I paused on the landing to admire the view: sparkling blue water, mist-cloaked islands, foggy mountain peaks layered one on top of another, suggesting infinity. Pepe came racing out of the room. "Geri, quick! You must see this!" I followed as he scampered through the door. The room was huge, just a big open space, with windows at the front looking out on the view. The old wooden floor was peppered with blotches of dried paint. I almost tripped over a big tarp on the way in. All around the room were paintings sitting on easels, paintings stacked against the wall, paintings spread out on tables. Pepe stood in the middle of the room, his eyes bugging out and his whole body shivering. And no wonder. The paintings were all of dogs. Dogs of all shapes and sizes, all breeds and colors. All the dogs were dressed in human clothing. I saw a Renaissance princess, a policeman, a Rastafarian, a Victorian gentleman. And all the dogs had the faces of human babies. Did I mention they were all painted on black velvet? It was the most disturbing thing I had ever seen. It was bad enough seeing dogs dressed like people. Pepe and I had often talked about William Wegman's photos of his Weimaraners. Pepe thought dressing them up was animal abuse. I thought Wegman was making a comment about the way we tend to treat our animals as if they are human. But the baby faces made the paintings really disturbing. Most of the dogs appeared to be crying or drooling. None of them were appealing. "Do you like them?" asked Jillian, watching me. "They're really unique," I said. "I know," she said, beaming with pride. "The weird thing is no one wants to buy one. I think I'm just ahead of my time. Instead I have to sell this tripe!" She gestured at a small card table that contained more plastic-covered prints and the machine she used to wrap them. "For now. To keep afloat. But someday I'll be recognized for my true talent." "Good luck," said Pepe. "You will need it." "Oh," was all I could think of to say. "Here! We've got to get moving!" Jillian dumped a load of plastic-wrapped prints into my arms. One slipped to the floor, and Pepe trotted over and was about to scoop it up when he stopped and stared at it, transfixed. "What is it, Pepe?" I asked. "It is the sun around which I revolve," he said. "The divine Phoebe." I snatched it up. The picture depicted an old red barn standing in the midst of lavender fields and, in the foreground, a black-and-white dog. It could have been the farm dog. It could have been any black-and-white dog. "What makes you think this is Phoebe?" I asked. "Phoebe?" Jillian asked. "I didn't say that." "You think I would not recognize my love," Pepe asked indignantly. "Would you not recognize Felix if he stood in front of that barn?" "It would depend," I started to say. "Geri, you must buy this print," said Pepe. "I cannot afford to let some other Lothario get his paws on this image." "Very well." Jillian looked at me quizzically. "You talk to your dog?" "Yes!" I said. I was tired of explaining. I was tired of hiding it. "He wants me to buy this print." "You're as crazy as my mother," said Jillian. "Anyway, that one's thirty dollars." Thirty dollars seemed steep for a color print wrapped in plastic, but I dug out the money from my bag and handed it over to her. She tucked it into her pocket and handed me the print. I handed it to Pepe, who carried it proudly to the door. "So your mother thought her dogs talked to her?" I asked. Jillian nodded impatiently. She scooped up a handful of prints and dumped them into my arms. "What did they say?" I wanted to know. "Who knows?" she asked. "Whatever it was, it was more interesting than anything I said." Jillian grabbed her own armful of prints and headed for stairs. "Mrrrmph," said Pepe. He was trying to tell me something, but his mouth was full. He nodded his head toward a big canvas half hidden by the door. I bumped the door open with my hip so I could see it more clearly and promptly dropped all my prints. It was a portrait in the tradition of a Madonna and Child. But the Madonna was a giant, golden-blond cocker spaniel wearing blue robes and the face of Lucille Carpenter. And she was looking away from the child in her paws: a tiny, fluffy, silver Yorkshire with the red face of a squalling baby. Chapter 24 Jimmy G sat in his '62 Thunderbird half a block down the street from the Valentine Gallery. He was on a stakeout, surreptitiously watching his own operative to make sure she followed through on his instructions. Stakeouts were usually boring affairs, but he didn't mind this one: Jimmy G thought this Jillian Valentine was a pretty hot number, easy on the eyes, even liked her retro-hippie style of dress. Of course, he wouldn't include that in his next report to the judge. He knew that older brothers could get kind of wacko-overprotective of their little sisters, something he'd found out the hard way when he was dating Kimberly Haney back in high school and her brother, Chad, big linebacker on the Roosevelt Roughriders football team, had taken exception and boffed him upside the head. Anyway, he could see Geri talking to Jillian on the sidewalk outside the art gallery and wanted to know what they were saying. So he took out the directional mike that had cost him plenty, took off his fedora and put on the headset, then pointed the mike at them. All he got was static—snap, crackle, and pop!—like he'd put his ear next to a bowl of Rice Krispies. Blasted thing! It was supposed to pick up sound from exactly where you pointed it, with a range of a hundred yards or more, not make him listen to his breakfast. Jimmy G tried to adjust the mike's receiver, but all he got when he tried it again was louder static. He shut the thing off and tossed it on the seat beside him. Never should have bought it used, he thought, especially from those bums at Liberty Pawn & Loan. Jimmy G lit up a stogie and puffed on it hard. He had to do something. He needed to get his mitts on a copy of the trust document. Somebody had to have another one besides the one he'd lost. Just then, Jillian came up the stairs at the side of the gallery with another bunch of what looked like art prints in her hands. She said something else to Geri, then loaded the prints into the carrier on the back of a little baby-blue motor scooter and putted off down the street. Where was she going? Jimmy G grabbed his cell phone and called Geri. When she answered, he said, "What's shakin', doll?" "Not much," Geri said. Then she asked. "Where are you calling from?" Jimmy G hesitated. Could she see his car? "At the office. Why do you ask?" "The call is so clear. You could be right across the street." Jimmy G almost dropped the phone. Was she messing with him? He refocused. "Did you get a copy of the trust document?" "No. I talked to Jillian, but she said she never saw it." "That's what they all say." "What?" "Jimmy G means that's a sure sign of guilt." "We just finished talking to her. She's heading off to Sequim." "Good. See if you can look around and find it. I bet she has a copy squirreled away." "You want me to break and enter?" "Do what you have to do. Take the initiative." He hung up before she could say another word. While Geri was looking through the building, he needed to follow Jillian, just in case she could lead him to someone else who did have a copy of the trust document. He could still hear the buzz of her little scooter (probably needed a tune-up) and caught up quickly, just as she pulled onto the only high-speed highway on the island, heading north. Jimmy G made sure to keep several cars between him and her, so she wouldn't suspect she was being tailed. She pulled off the highway at the exit for the Keystone Ferry. There was a long line of cars when he reached the ferry dock. Looked like they would have to wait for the next boat, which was an hour away. But what Jimmy G had forgotten was that motorcycles and bicycles got waved onto the ferry first. Jillian on her little blue scooter just breezed past the long line of cars and onto the ferry. All Jimmy G could do was sit there and watch, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, as the ferry sailed away. Chapter 25 "Clearly she has some issues," said Pepe, as we watched Jillian zip away on her little blue scooter. "Yes, and we didn't learn much," I said, mournfully. "At least, we know where to find her," Pepe said. "And I have the portrait of my love." The phone rang. It was Jimmy G. "What's shakin', doll?" he asked. "Not much," I said. The call was so clear, it sounded like he was across the street. "Where are you calling from?" There was a long pause. "At the office. Why do you ask?" "The call is so clear. You could be right across the street." There was a clunk. Maybe he dropped the phone. Then I heard him ask: "Did you get a copy of the trust document?" "No, I talked to Jillian, but she said she never saw it." "That's what they all say," he muttered. "What?" "Jimmy G means that's a sure sign of guilt." "We just finished talking to her. She's heading off to Sequim." "Good. See if you can look around and find it. I bet she has a copy squirreled away." "You want me to break and enter?" "Do what you have to do. Take the initiative." But it turned out we didn't have to. Jillian had left the door unlocked. I guess there are some advantages to living in a small town. Still, there wasn't much to see in the studio, except for those disturbing paintings. A narrow flight of stairs led up to the gallery, which was pretty spooky with the dim light filtering through the yellowing newspaper on the windows. It was hot as blazes up there. Pepe trotted around, sniffing in the corners. I studied the paintings she considered salable: the same disturbing mix of pastel seascapes and dogs with human faces. A small gray metal desk sat in one corner of the room. The surface was bare except for a white plastic phone. The screen read 12 missed calls. I pushed the button to see who they were from. Several from J Valentine. One from the Floral Fantasy B&B. And the last was from my boss, Jimmy Gerrard. "Odd," I said, noting the phone numbers in my notebook. "What is odd," said Pepe, "is that she has no food fit for a dog." He was sniffing around the bottom drawer, which contained a stash of M&Ms. In a top drawer was a telephone book. Both Boswell and Bickerstaff were listed under the Bs, I noted. Beneath the phone book was a recent bank statement, which showed a negative balance and a sheaf of eviction notices. Also a collection of bar napkins, with male names and phone numbers scribbled on them. "Nothing here," I said to Pepe. There was only one place left to look: the building had a lower floor. So we headed back down to the studio, past the creepy paintings of dogs, and down another set of narrow stairs to what appeared to be Jillian's living quarters. There was a gorgeous view out the windows of the dark waters of the bay and the distant islands, swathed in mist. But that was all that was picturesque. The room was covered with trash. "Has it been tossed?" I asked. The bed was just a mattress on the floor. It was covered with clothes. Drawers were open. Beer cans and a few empty vodka bottles had been flung about. An ashtray sitting on the floor was full and spilling onto the carpet. A bong sat on top of the chest of drawers. The whole room reeked of tobacco, incense, and the somewhat sweet smell of marijuana. The walls were hung with paintings of naked men. One thing I will say, Jillian seemed to have eclectic taste. There were bulked-up black men with gleaming abs. And tattooed biker types with long silver beards and big bellies. There was a large man with a hairy chest and a slim man with golden skin and a dancer's physique. But the weird thing was that they all had the heads of dogs. "The Egyptian god Anubis had the head of a jackal," said Pepe, studying the paintings. "And Saint Christopher is sometimes depicted with the head of a dog." "How do you know that?" I asked. "I watched a very interesting show on the Discovery channel about cynocephaly," Pepe said. "Do you realize that the Greeks believed there was a race of dog-headed people who lived in India?" "And did they ever find any of these people?" I asked. "Fortunately, no," said Pepe. He trotted through an adjoining door. "Geri, I think I have found something interesting." I walked into a narrow kitchen with a dusty window at one end. The counters were as cluttered and messy as the bedroom, with unwashed bowls and empty glasses and pans full of caked-on food lying about. "What is it, Pepe?" I asked. "I believe this pan was last used to cook chocolate-chip cookies," Pepe said, standing on his little feet and sniffing a baking sheet on the yellow linoleum table under the window. I came closer, but it was hard to see in the dim light. Still, I trust my dog. "Do you suppose there are any more cookies around?" I said. I didn't see any plates full of cookies or ceramic cookie containers. Perhaps in the refrigerator. I opened the door and immediately slammed it shut again. It was full of takeout containers, and it smelled like something had died in there. "I believe there is a cookie under here," said Pepe, scratching at a stack of newspaper that had been piled on the table. Sure enough, I found a cookie—rather dried up, rather crumbly—under the edge of an overhanging paper. "Yum!" said Pepe, licking his lips. "No way!" I said. "Don't you realize this is evidence? This could be one of the cookies used to poison the cocker spaniels." I looked around to see if I could find a plastic bag to slide the cookie into and finally found a box of zip-top bags in a lower drawer. I slipped the cookie into the plastic and zipped the seal. Just then we both heard it. Footsteps on the rickety stairs that led down the side of the building. They descended rapidly. Thud, thud, thud. Luckily there were three flights of stairs. "Rapido!" said Pepe. "Out onto the deck!" There was a flimsy sliding-glass door that that led onto a narrow deck, which hung out over the water. I yanked it open, and Pepe and I squeezed through the tiny crack, he a little more easily than I. Then I shoved the door shut, and we inched our way to a position at the end of the deck where we could not be seen from the inside. The deck was crowded with furniture: some flimsy canvas chairs, one of those loungers that looks like it's made out of rubber bands, and a few crates being used as tables. The footsteps reached the bottom floor, and we heard the rattle of the doorknob. I had a moment of relief when I realized that Jillian did keep the door to her personal space locked, but that quickly disappeared when we heard a loud thud and the slam of the door against the wall. Whoever it was had kicked in the door. I had another moment of relief when I thought maybe it was the police. Maybe they were raiding the place, looking for marijuana. Of course, it would be hard to explain what we were doing crouched on the deck. And they had not identified themselves, which I thought was usually part of police procedure. My hope vanished when Pepe whispered. "Geri, I recognize his smell." "What smell?" "The smell of the intruder," he said. "What about it?" I was getting impatient. "This is the same person who broke into Carpenter Manor," he said. "Oh!" That wasn't good. "Should we not see who it is?" asked Pepe. "I think not," I said. "What we should do is get off this deck somehow." I looked around for an exit. The deck hung out over the water, which was about twelve feet below us. I could imagine jumping in, but what about Pepe? He's afraid of water. Maybe I should throw him in, then dive in after him. From inside the room, we could hear the sound of a room being tossed. Thumps as drawers hit the ground. A grunt as someone heaved the mattress up. The clatter of glass breaking. A pile of rocks were ranged up along the side of the building, heaped against the foundations. They were huge and jagged. I knew I couldn't land safely on them, certainly not with Pepe. But my purse, containing the cookie evidence and my cell phone, could not go into the water. I threw it down onto the rocks. It landed, perched precariously on a boulder. Maybe it was the flash of the purse flying by the windows inside that caught the eye of the intruder. The next moment I heard the rattle of the sliding-glass door in the track. "Time to go!" I said to Pepe. I picked him up and tossed him into the water below. He made a little splash. I heard a little yelp. Then I dove in after him. Chapter 26 We got out of the water almost as fast as we got in, as soon as the footsteps that came out on the deck went back into the house. I grabbed Pepe and paddled to the rocky shore. We heard a door slam on the other side of the building and then the sound of a motorcycle taking off. I grabbed my purse from the rock, and we squelched our way up to my car. "Was that really necessary?" Pepe asked, as he stood in the passenger seat and shook himself off, spraying water all over me and the interior of the car. "Was that really necessary?" I asked him, using tissues from my purse to wipe off the dashboard and interior passenger window on his side. "Certainly it was," he said. Pepe gave himself another brisk shake. "And I repeat my question. Was that really necessary?" "What are you talking about?" I asked, though I knew very well what he meant. "Throwing me into the water?" "It was necessary to protect you." "I see," he said. "And following your same logic, it was necessary for me to dry myself off. You should not be upset about that." "Oh, come on." I hated it when my dog was sarcastic. "Sí. You humans can change your wet clothes," he told me. "We perros cannot change our fur." My dog always has an answer for everything. But in this case he was right. My dress was still wet as we pulled away from the curb, and I knew the dunking was going to coil my hair into tight ringlets. Still I thought I would dry out pretty fast as the temperature gauge on the dashboard indicated that it was eighty degrees outside. I had slipped out of my soggy sandals and was driving barefoot. "Where are we going, Geri?" Pepe asked. "To Port Townsend," I said. "I want to check in at the B&B and change clothes. So we're heading for the Keystone ferry." "Is there any way to get there without taking a ferry?" Pepe asked in a forlorn voice. I had to laugh at the contrast between his earlier ferocity and his fear of ferries. "Pepe, we're on an island," I said. "there's no way off unless we take a ferry." Technically, that wasn't true. Whidbey Island is connected to the mainland by a long, narrow, high bridge over Deception Pass. But if we went that way we would have to drive east to Mount Vernon, then south to Seattle and farther south to Tacoma, then head west to the coast, and finally drive north up the Olympic Peninsula. All to avoid the Puget Sound, which gets in the way. And it would add about six hours to our trip, maybe seven, given that rush hour was approaching, whereas my current itinerary would get us there in half an hour. As long as there wasn't a lot of traffic. We were lucky! Reservations are recommended for that particular ferry, but we managed to get on at the very back of the line. Pepe shuddered when he saw that a metal chain was the only thing that kept my little Toyota from sliding across the deck into the choppy, gray-blue waters of the sound. That and the blocks the attendants slid under my back tires. I was tempted to open up the trunk and dig out some clean clothes, but we were too exposed on the ferry dock for me to change in the car, and I didn't want to leave Pepe alone to go change in one of the restrooms. Anyway, the trip is so short. We were in Port Townsend in thirty minutes. Jimmy G called while we were waiting in the ferry line. He sounded confused. At first he called me Boris. I hoped he wasn't off on another one of his benders. He didn't sound very interested in the news about the chocolate-chip cookies, but he did suggest that when I took them to Hugh, I should ask him about the trust. So I was heading to the vet clinic as soon as I changed my clothes. The Floral Fantasy B&B was a Victorian-style mansion, similar to Boswell's house, but in the heart of downtown: surrounded by a white picket fence, painted in a soft green with pale pink trim, and decorated with window boxes full of orange nasturtiums and white daisies. I parked in the driveway, behind a silver SUV, and headed up to the front porch, where a white wicker sofa was plumped with purple and orange floral pillows. A cheerful doorbell summoned a young man with fair hair and gray eyes. He looked me over with a worried frown. I had dried off to some extent, but I knew my curls were wild and my sundress was wrinkled. "Hello, I'm Lionel," he said. "Can I help you?" he asked in a tone that made it clear he doubted that he could. "I'm Geri Sullivan," I said, extending my hand. "My boss, Jimmy G, told me he had arranged for me to stay here." Lionel looked alarmed. "Do you mean the Lavender Room?" "I guess. He didn't say which room." That sounded nice. "Well, I'll have to check with Julian," he said. "You can come on in, while I call him." He started to wave me into the hall. I could see that it was painted in a charming shade of olive green and hung with watercolor paintings of flowers. "Come on, Pepe!" I said, turning to call my dog, who was sniffing around the edge of the fence. Lionel looked horrified. "Oh, dear, you can't bring a dog in here!" he said. He clapped his hand over his nose. "We don't allow animal guests. I'm terribly allergic to dogs." Pepe came running up. "I am not an animal," he said. "I am her partner." "What is it, Lionel?" Another young man came out from an adjoining room. This young man had strawberry-blond hair and a freckled face. His eyes lit up when he saw Pepe. "Oh, what an adorable little dog," he said, falling to his knees and taking Pepe's snout into his hands. "Look at those lovely long ears!" "You must be Kevin Carpenter," I said, holding out my hand. He looked puzzled but gave me a big smile. "My boss gave me your name. He was the one who suggested I could stay here," I said. "But if it's a problem—" "Just this one time I think we could make an exception," said Kevin to Lionel. Lionel frowned. "You know I'm allergic to dogs. Just like you're allergic to cats. Would you ever be OK with letting a cat stay here?" "If I keep him in my room?" I suggested. "Yes!" Kevin turned to Lionel. "You'll never have to be near him." "Pet dander floating around through the air!" Lionel rolled his eyes. "And what about our other guests? They might have allergies!" "What about the Rose Room? It has a hardwood floor and can be easily swept. I'll personally clean the room." "Oh, fine! Just make decisions to suit yourself. You always do!" Lionel flounced off down the hall. Kevin sighed. "He's always so dramatic. I think the allergy to dogs is all in his head. May I?" He bent down and held out his knuckles so Pepe could sniff them. "He won't bite," I said. "Not unless you are a malvado," said Pepe, giving him a good sniff, starting with his shoes. Kevin scratched his head. "I've always loved dogs," he said. "Despite the fact that one killed your father?" I asked. He straightened up. "I'm doing research for Boswell," I said. He winced. "Or rather I was doing research for Boswell. Until he died." Kevin reeled back. "What?" "Yes, he was poisoned late last night." "That can't be!" said Kevin, shaking his head. He looked troubled. "Let me show you to your room. It's just this way." He ushered us down the hall and into a room at the back of the house with a view of a fantastic rose garden. "You can see why we call it the Rose Room," he said, waving his hand at the view. "Yes," I said, looking at the rest of the furnishings: a rose-red damask spread on the four-poster bed, which was also dotted with small green pillows, a chaise longue covered in a pink fabric, and pale-yellow silk curtains. A vase of roses on top of the dresser was reflected in the mirror on the wall. The flowers scented the air and dropped petals onto the polished surface of the wood. "I hope you'll be comfortable here," said Kevin. "Now you must excuse me," and he went scurrying off. "The news about Mr. Boswell frightened him," said Pepe. "I know," I said, as I went out to the car to fetch my suitcase. "Obviously either he feels he is in danger or he thinks someone else is." "I do not believe he is a murderer," said Pepe. "On the other hand, it was most peculiar, but I did not smell any other person on the body of Boswell. Just as I did not smell another person on the body of Bickerstaff." "Well, that's because they were poisoned," I pointed out. "The murderer did not have to be on the scene." "One of the advantages of poison," said Pepe. "But we must find out how it was administered." While we were talking, I changed into a linen skirt, a navy dotted-swiss blouse, and a pair of espadrilles. Not my most professional outfit, as Pepe was quick to point out (he likes to give me fashion advice), but all the other clothes I had brought were for my romantic weekend with Felix. "Partner, we must make haste," said Pepe. "Although the sun remains high in the sky until late on these summer nights, we have miles to go before we sleep." "Robert Frost again," I murmured. Pepe seems quite fond of Robert Frost. As we tiptoed past the office of the Floral Fantasy B&B, I could hear Lionel and Kevin arguing. "I told you not to steal that paper," Lionel said. "It's too late now." That was Kevin. "What are we going to do with it?" Lionel again. "I don't know. I think I should call my sister." Chapter 27 As soon as Jimmy G left the ferry, he realized he was being followed. A guy on a motorcycle pulled out right behind him and kept behind him as he drove through Port Townsend. The bad thing about a motorcycle is that you can't get a good look at the person under all that black leather and the shiny helmet and dark sunglasses. The good thing is that a motorcycle is fairly obvious. Jimmy G made a few evasive maneuvers driving through town and lost the tail easily. Pretty soon he was motoring along on the highway to Sequim, wondering what was next. He had called his operatives while waiting for the ferry, and Geri told him that they had found some chocolate-chip cookies but not the trust document. It bugged him a little that they thought their job was still to protect the dogs when he knew the real job was to prove Mrs. Carpenter was crazy. Maybe that's what he should focus on. Maybe that would get the judge off his back. And where better to do such research than in a bar: Jimmy G's natural ecosystem. The main street of Sequim was lined with restaurants, bars, and little boutique shops that sold all sorts of lavender gimcracks: pillows and wreaths, painted pots and plastic key chains. One block off the main road, he spotted a line of booths being constructed out of canvas and piping, apparently part of the lavender festival. Jimmy G found a bar that looked like his sort of place. No windows in the front. Dark inside, with the bar lit mostly by neon lights. Some booths in the back that were mostly empty. But the black-leather stools at the bar were well populated. Jimmy G found a place he could perch between an old man with a wrinkled, hang-dog face and an even older woman who had dyed black hair and bright-red lipstick smeared across her lips. He ordered his usual shot of bourbon and waited until he had fortified himself with it before he turned to the man on his left. "Jimmy G is new in town," he said to the guy. All the response he got was a grunt. "Doing some research on a woman who used to live here," he said. Again a grunt. "Name of Lucille Carpenter," he said. No response to that. "Know her?" he asked in desperation. The old woman took pity on him. "You asking about that snooty bitch who left all her money to her dogs?" she asked. Jimmy G nodded, turning away from the taciturn old man. "Folks here think she was crazy," the old woman confided. "Say, are you buying?" "Sure!" Jimmy G signaled the bartender and asked for a second shot of bourbon and another drink for his new friend. "So tell me more," he said. "That's about it," said the old woman, happily sipping at her Manhattan. "What do you mean?" "Isn't it obvious?" she said, with a cackle. "She left all her money to a pack of dogs." And that was it. The bartender kept him supplied with drinks. The silent old man on his left got up and ambled out. And the old woman babbled on about anything and everything except Lucille Carpenter. She gossiped about all the bad feeling in town between the newer growers and the older farms. She complained vociferously about the rude tourists and the terrible traffic. Jimmy G was getting nowhere fast. "No one who lives here goes into downtown during the festival," she said. "That's why I'm here tonight. Got to get my drinking in while the drinking is good. Next thing you know, all the tourists will be showing up here." As if to prove her point, the door opened and a young woman walked in. She was younger by about two decades than most of the people in the bar. To Jimmy G's surprise, it was Jillian. She bellied up to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic. "Can Jimmy G buy that for you?" Jimmy G asked. She gave him a startled look. He could see that her hands were shaking. "Who's this Jimmy G?" she asked. "Right here," he said, pointing at himself. She looked startled. "Sure," she said. Her voice was shaky. "I really need one." She took the gin and tonic when it was poured and went over to a booth in the corner. Jimmy G gave her a moment, while he ordered a second gin and tonic. Then he sauntered over and set it down in front of her, sliding into the booth at the same time. "Want to talk about what's bothering you?" he asked. Chapter 28 To my surprise, Hugh was still at work when Pepe and I arrived at the vet clinic, shortly after 7:00 PM. So was his assistant, Bonnie. And once again the waiting room was completely empty. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" asked Hugh when Bonnie ushered me and Pepe into his office. "Well, it's not such a pleasure for us," I said. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," said Hugh. "I hoped I had made a better impression on you." "It's not you," I said, blushing. "It's just that we found some evidence, or something we think might be evidence." Hugh smiled. "Before we talk about that, let's discuss something more pleasant. Since you're still in town, I'd like to repeat my offer of dinner." I felt my heart flutter a little. "Well, I'm actually staying in Port Townsend tonight," I said. "At the Floral Fantasy B&B." "Even better," he said. He looked at Bonnie. "Call and make a reservation for 10:00 PM at the chef's table at Chez Pierre in Port Townsend." When she left the room he said, "The chef is a personal friend of mine. He'll put together a fabulous feast for the two of us." "I don't know if I should . . ." I murmured. "It will be my treat," Hugh insisted. Then he asked, "So what's this about evidence?" "I think I may have found the source of the cookies," I said. I rummaged around in my purse for the plastic bag. "Did you keep any of them?" "What cookies?" "The ones that someone tried to feed to the Carpenter cocker spaniels," I said, finally getting my finger on the plastic bag. "If you did, we can test these to see if they have the same composition. So do you still have them?" "I don't know. Maybe." He pushed a button on his desk, and Bonnie came back into the room. "I made the reservation you wanted," she said in a pouty voice. "Thanks," said Hugh. "Now the question is what happened to the cookies?" "I saw some cookies in a plastic bag in one of the exam rooms," she said. "But they're not there now. Maybe they got thrown out by the cleaning crew." I was frustrated. "So you never had them tested?" "What for?" Hugh asked. "For poison. Someone is poisoning lawyers. So maybe they tried to poison the dogs as well." "It is cyanide, for sure," said Pepe. "What lawyers?" "Boswell is dead." "Really, Boswell?" Hugh looked dismayed at first. "When did this happen?" "Last night," I said. "So, who's the new trustee?" Hugh asked. He seemed brighter. "What a good question!" said Pepe. I thought it was rather odd, myself. Surely Hugh should be asking how Boswell died. But I responded to his question. "No one has a copy of the trust document. Do you, by any chance?" "I should have one right here," said Hugh, springing up and going over to a lateral file cabinet along the wall. He pulled the drawer open and pawed through the hanging files. He stopped. He gasped. "What is it?" I asked. "The trust folder is empty!" said Hugh. He plucked the gray-green folder out of the hanging file cabinet and threw it on the desk. I could read the tab, which said "Carpenter Trust." He turned to Bonnie. "That must have been what they were after!" "What are you talking about?" I asked. "Someone broke in last night and set off the alarm. By the time the police got here there was no one on the premises. They called me and I came to check." "They called me first," said Bonnie. "It's true," said Hugh. "They couldn't reach me at first. I had my cell switched off." He gave a little laugh. "Can't work all the time." He turned to Bonnie. "I'm glad you didn't respond. It might have been dangerous." Pepe's little nose began twitching. He started sniffing around the edges of the furniture. "I looked around and didn't see anything missing," Hugh continued. "I thought maybe it was someone looking for drugs who got scared off by the alarm." "I knew I smelled a familiar smell," said Pepe. "It is just so hard to concentrate when the room is full of other delightful smells, like the scent of a bitch in heat, and the pee of a Rottweiler, and the stench of a frightened cat." "Forget all that!" I said. Hugh looked hurt. "Not you," I said. "What is it you smell?" I asked Pepe. "It is the smell of the intruder, the one I bit!" "Can he identify the perpetrator?" asked Hugh with a short laugh. "Probably," I said, although I doubted that Pepe could produce evidence the police could use. "He should be sporting a Chihuahua bite," I said. Hugh and Bonnie looked at each other. "My dog thinks it's the same person who broke into Carpenter Manor last night. He bit the intruder." "What was he looking for at Carpenter Manor?" "Well, at the time we assumed someone wanted to hurt the dogs." I saw the horrified look on Hugh's face and hurried to add. "They were safe. They were all locked up in their room." "Oh, that's great!" said Hugh with a sigh of relief. "Now I wonder if they were looking for a copy of the trust document." Hugh looked thoughtful. "Yolanda should have one," he said. "All of the interested parties got copies." "I wonder if the intruder took it?" I said. "I guess we should head over to Carpenter Manor and ask. Now that Boswell is dead, we need to find out who will take over as trustee." "Great! I'll look forward to hearing what you find out over dinner," said Hugh. Chapter 29 As we headed toward Carpenter Manor, Pepe insisted we first stop at Lost Lakes Lavender Farm. "So you can flirt with Phoebe?" I teased. "What about Siren Song?" "You should not talk about ears at the donkey's house," said Pepe. "What would Felix have to say about your date with the vet?" "It's not a date," I said. "He's merely showing someone who's new in town some of the customs associated with the lavender festival." "Right, and I just want to question Phoebe about what she saw or smelled in the light of the intrusion," Pepe said. "That's a good idea!" I said, ignoring his sarcasm. "But will she talk to you?" I was thinking she wouldn't say anything that would reflect badly on Colleen, but Pepe saw things differently. "She's a highly intelligent being, one who I sense has hidden depths," Pepe said. "She is not like those ditzy cocker spaniels." "Well, I like your idea," I said, especially since it sounded like Kevin was going to call his sister for advice. We had speculated on the nature of the mysterious document on our way to the vet's. Could it be a copy of the elusive trust document? But all of our plans changed the moment we got in sight of Carpenter Manor and saw the driveway was full of police cars, their lights flashing. "Oh, no!" I said. "Are we too late?" Pepe hopped up, putting his paws on the rim of the window and peering out. "Do you think someone got to the dogs?" he asked. "If so, we have failed in our duties." Just then we saw them roll a gurney out the front door and into the back of an aide car There was a human form belted onto the gurney . "Oh, no! What if it's Yolanda! Or Clara," I said. "Poisoned, like the lawyers!" The attendants slammed the doors and hopped into the cab, and the aide car pulled out of the driveway, its red lights flashing, and raced off toward town. I pulled my car over onto the edge of the highway, narrowly avoiding tumbling into a ditch, and Pepe and I raced up the driveway. A policeman barred my further progress by holding his arm across my path as Pepe bombed on up the slate path and into the house. Luckily the policeman was one of the two who had come to the house on the previous day. "What is it?" I asked. "What happened?" "Someone got shot," he said. "Yolanda? Clara?" He shook his head. "They're fine. Just a bit shook up." "Then who? Caroline, the cook?" He shook his head. "A guy named Jay who worked over there—" He pointed at the farm property, where I saw several people gathered in groups, talking. I thought I recognized Colleen, with a blue bandanna over her hair and Phoebe at her side. There were also a lot more structures set up: a broad tent over a stage at one end of the lawn in front of the farmhouse and a line of booths along the edge of the lavender fields. "Can I go in? I asked. "You know who I am, and you know I'm here to protect the dogs." "That's who they were shooting at. Jay just got in the way." I couldn't help but feel guilty. What were we doing, rummaging around for a trust document when we were supposed to be protecting the dogs? Yolanda appeared in the doorway, talking to the sergeant. She motioned me over, and he nodded to the officer, who released me. I hurried up the path toward Yolanda. "Are you OK?" I asked, but I saw as I got near that she wasn't. She was shaking, and her face was almost gray. "It was horrible," she said. "Horrible." "Tell me what happened," I said, taking her by the elbow and steering her toward a sofa in the living room. To my surprise, Clara was in even worse shape. She was sitting on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, sobbing. "It's all my fault," she kept saying over and over again. "It's all my fault." The dogs milled around her. "Who is this Jay, and why is he usurping my role?" Pepe asked. "Who is Jay?" I asked. Yolanda looked at Clara. "He's a migrant farmworker. He works on the farm next door." Clara glared at Yolanda. "He's not a migrant farmworker. He's got a degree in agriculture. He's doing an internship to learn as much as he can before buying his own farm." Yolanda said, "He's a peasant." Clara said, "He's a WOOF." "Woof!" said Pepe. "Woof?" I repeated. "He's part of a network called Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms," said Clara. "He's learning more about how to be a farmer by working for Colleen." Yolanda rolled her eyes. "He's a loser. How is that any better than a farmworker?" "What do you want from me?" Clara cried. "You tell me I'm too good for him. Yet you want to keep me here taking care of a pack of spoiled dogs. Don't you think that's a waste of my life?" "Do you think it's a waste of mine?" Yolanda asked. Clara looked defiant. "I do! You've been taking care of other people all your life. Now you take care of dogs. You should be taking care of yourself." Yolanda shook her head. "By the terms of the trust, that is impossible. Mrs. C left me an allowance and a place to live for as long as I care for the dogs. Without that, I would have no place to live, no money to buy food." "Speaking of the trust," I said, finding a way to break into this heated conversation. "Do you have a copy of the trust document?" "I thought you were getting a copy from Barry," Yolanda said. "That's what I thought, too," I said. "But it didn't work out that way." Yolanda looked at Clara and Clara looked at Yolanda. "Haven't the police called you?" I asked. "No, I called them," Yolanda was clearly confused. Darn, what was I supposed to do? Weren't the police supposed to notify people in the case of a death? "What is going on?" Yolanda asked wildly. "Is Barry OK?" "I'm afraid not," I said. She jumped up. "Is he sick? Is he hurt? I should go to him!" "No, it's too late for that," I said. "He died! Last night." Chapter 30 Jillian drained her gin and tonic in one draft, then went to work on the second drink that Jimmy G had placed in front of her. "I just came from the scene of a shooting," she said. Jimmy G was impressed. A dame who knew where to find some action. "Who got shot?" he asked. She shook her head. "Some dogs." "Dogs? Here in Sequim?" "Yeah," she said "Well, the dogs didn't actually get shot. Whoever did it missed them, but it was pretty nerve-racking." "Always is when there's gunfire," he told her. "Especially when some innocent guy gets shot," said Jillian, wrapping her hands around her glass like it was something she desperately needed to hold onto. "Guy?" Jimmy G asked. "What guy?" "Some farmhand," she said. "Guess he was trying to protect the dogs. Lucky he wasn't killed." "Are you talking about Lucille Carpenter's dogs?" asked Jimmy G. "The ones at Carpenter Manor?" Jillian locked eyes with him. "How do you know about them?" she asked. "That's where this shooting was, huh?" he asked in return. "I'll answer your question if you answer mine," Jillian told him. "OK," he told her. "Jimmy G's a private investigator. We PIs know everything. Your turn, doll." "Fine," she said. "Yes. Somebody shot at my mother's stupid dogs." "What were you doing at Carpenter Manor?" "I wasn't there. I was at the farm next door, helping them prepare for the lavender festival. Is there some reason I shouldn't have been there?" She finished off the last of her drink, her hands still shaking. Jimmy G studied her for a moment. Aside from being more than good-looking, Jillian was obviously shook up. And who wouldn't be after seeing some joe get shot? "Sorry," he told her. "We PIs are always asking questions—it's just part of our nature. Why don't we start again?" "I'm ready to start again," she told him, holding up her empty glass. Jimmy G liked a dame who could belt them down. He signaled the bartender for another round. Jillian caught a glimpse of the .45 in Jimmy G's shoulder holster when he raised his arm to get the bartender's attention. She gave a wry smile and said, "You're packing, aren't you?" Jimmy G opened his jacket further so she could better see his pistol. "Sure," he told her. "Wouldn't be without it." "You're dangerous." She said it like she liked it. Jimmy G liked that she liked it. "Sometimes," he said. "Well, Mr. Dangerous," she said, "I've got a question for you." "Shoot," said Jimmy G in his best Sam Spade/ Philip Marlowe voice. "You're the second PI who's asked me questions today. What's up with that?" Jimmy G thought that honesty was the best policy. So he lied. "Yeah, I've heard about her. A young woman with a little white rat-dog. She's working for the other side." Jillian was impressed. Her eyes got wide. "What do you mean?" she asked as the fresh drinks arrived. "She's working on behalf of the dogs," Jimmy G said. "Boswell hired her. But Jimmy G's on your side, kiddo." He raised his glass in a toast to her. "My side?" Jillian asked. "Natch," he told her. "Jimmy G's working for your brother, the judge, to prove that your mom was nuts when she willed all that dough to the dogs instead of her own children." Jillian smiled—this time a genuinely warm smile. "That's awesome!" she said. "We need all the help we can get." "Stick with Jimmy G, kid, you'll go far." He raised his glass again, saying, "Bottoms up!" and took a healthy slug of his bourbon. Jillian followed suit. She studied him again—seemed to like what she saw. "I don't think anybody's ever called me 'kid' or 'kiddo,' let alone 'doll.' I kind of like it." "Just normal PI-speak," he told her, feeling much complimented. Jillian moved closer to him—close enough that her hip was touching his. "I like the way you dress, too," she said. "The fedora, the suspenders. You don't follow the crowd. You've got your own style." "Don't forget 'dangerous,'" he told her. "I won't," she said, moving even closer. Jimmy G liked a dame who'd come on to him. "Where are you staying tonight?" Jillian asked. "Don't know exactly. Jimmy G figured he'd get a motel room." "There won't be any rooms in town with the lavender festival starting tomorrow," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I've already got a room reserved. Why don't you stay with me?" She was undressing Jimmy G with her eyes. He tried undressing her with his eyes, but it didn't work. He figured he'd just have to see Jillian in the flesh. "You bet," Jimmy G told her. "Let's blow this joint!" Chapter 31 Yolanda looked stunned. "No!" she said. "No, that cannot be true." Her face was white. "What happened to him?" "It's too soon to tell. But the police think he might have been murdered." "Poisoned!" intoned Pepe in a solemn voice. "I don't believe you!" said Yolanda. "How do you know this?" "Pepe and I went to his home this morning to get a copy of the trust document. When we got there, we found him dead." "And they think he was murdered?" She was horrified. "Possibly poisoned, like Bickerstaff," I said. "Why would anyone poison him?" Yolanda wanted to know. "It is possible," Pepe suggested, "that Bickerstaff died accidentally when he drank the lemonade meant for Boswell. Then someone finished off the job." "Why would anyone kill Boswell?" I asked. "Would it change the terms of the trust?" "No, there should be an alternate trustee," Clara said. "I really need to see a copy of the trust document!" I said. "Didn't Mr. Boswell give you one?" Clara asked. "It seems to be missing," I said. "And I think it's connected with Boswell's murder. Also, someone broke into Hugh's veterinary clinic and stole the trust document the same night someone broke in here." "But no one broke into Boswell's house," pointed out Pepe. "But they didn't get the trust document when they were here," said Yolanda. "How would you know?" asked Clara. "The office is a mess." "Because I keep it under my mattress," said Yolanda, looking a bit embarrassed. "What?" Clara was shocked. "Yes, I figured it was safer there than anywhere else in the house. And apparently that is so, as according to these two, I have the only existing copy of the trust document." "It sounded like maybe Kevin Carpenter had a copy of it," I said. "At least he was talking about some important document when we were at the B&B." "Why would he have a copy of the trust document?" Clara asked. "Aren't they included in it?" I asked. Yolanda shook her head. "Boswell advised me not to share my copy with any of the kids. He said since they were not parties of the trust, they were not entitled to copies, and if they ask me for a copy, I should send them to him." I don't think she realized she was still speaking about Boswell as if he were alive. Yolanda got up. "I'll get my copy and we can look at it together." All of her hysteria was gone. She seemed calm and capable. Clara looked after her in amazement. "I really thought she would fall apart," she said, "after hearing about Boswell." "They seemed very close," I observed. Clara nodded. "I think he had a little crush on my aunt, but then again, I'm not so sure about his tastes. There were rumors in Port Townsend that he liked boys." "Boys?" I asked, alarmed. "I mean young men," Clara added hastily. "Much younger than him. Like maybe thirty years younger. He hung out at the—" She stopped abruptly as her aunt entered the room. Yolanda was carrying a typed twenty-page document full of legalese. We flipped through it. One thing was clear: the beneficiaries of the trust were the dogs, and those who cared for them: Yolanda, Clara, and Hugh. Another thing was clear: Yolanda was the alternate trustee if anything should happen to Boswell. "Did you know this?" I asked her. She nodded. "Boswell told me I would never have to worry about it," she said, with tears in her eyes. "Do you mind if I take it with me so I can read it more carefully?" I asked. Yolanda reluctantly agreed. "I promise to bring it back tomorrow," I said. There was a knock on the door. It was one of the police officers. "We've finished our investigation," he said. "We're heading back to town." "Did you find and arrest the villain who shot at the dogs?" Yolanda asked in a stern voice. She was standing tall and straight. She seemed like a different person. "No, ma'am, we did not, but we did find the shotgun that was used. We're going to take it back to the station and dust it for fingerprints." "I know whose fingerprints will be on it!" said Pepe indignantly. "I think we need to question the woman who likes to shoot at dogs." Chapter 32 Clara went with us to Colleen's farm, showing us a place behind the back garden where a gate had been installed in the fence. Apparently she used this passageway frequently. Once on Colleen's property, we strolled through a kitchen garden and past several greenhouses and a metal utility shed that was locked with a rusty padlock. They hadn't cleaned up much. We saw the usual clutter of farm equipment: a propane tank, hoses and buckets, shovels and watering cans, stacks of dark-green plastic plant trays. But on the other side of the big red barn and the old wooden farmhouse, we got a completely different picture. The whole place was abuzz with activity. The long driveway was full of pickups and small vans. The lawn area in front of the house was edged with temporary booths constructed of piping and white canvas, leaving an open rectangle of grass in the center. A guy was wrestling a huge, oil-barrel-style BBQ into place in the back of one booth. In other booths, people were setting up tables and display cases. Two men on ladders were hanging a banner that read LAVENDER DISTILLATION over the open door of the barn. "Where are all the visitors going to park?" I asked. What with the lavender fields running right to the edge of the drive and all of the booths on the lawn, there wasn't room for more than eight or nine cars. "Oh, Colleen's on the bus tour," Clara said. When she saw my puzzled look, she added, "People get on the buses at the fairgrounds and then get dropped off at the six farms that are part of the official tour. When they want to leave, they just jump on a bus and go on to the next farm. The buses make a big loop and end up back at the fairgrounds." "That sounds like a great system," I said. "Yeah," Clara shrugged. "Some of the smaller farms are open to the public and you can drive to them. But in that case, you have to reserve a lot of space for cars. And being on the bus tour is more prestigious." "They are busy beavers," said Pepe, surveying the scene. "I want you to be on your best behavior," I told him. "Don't chase the chickens again—remember what happened the last time." "Geri," he said, "I will keep my instincts in check. I certainly do not want that loca woman with the shotgun after me again." "Speaking of Colleen," I said, "I wonder where she is." I looked around. There were probably forty or fifty people on the premises, including people walking in from the lavender fields carrying bunches of lavender. But I didn't see Colleen anywhere. "Let me ask in the house," said Clara, heading toward the open door of the two-story blue farmhouse. I wasn't sure I should follow her. After all, my last encounter with Colleen had involved a shotgun. As I stood there in the middle of the driveway, a young man with a clipboard approached me. He was wearing a purple T-shirt that read LOST LAKES LAVENDER FARM. "I'm Doug," he said. "Are you here for a shift?" he asked. I shook my head. "I'm just looking for Colleen," I said. "I am looking for the beautiful Phoebe," said Pepe, his nose to the ground, sniffing the area near the entrance to the barn. "She was here not long ago." He trotted into the dark recesses of the barn. "She went to the hospital to check on Jay," Doug said. "The guy who got shot," I said. "Do you know how it happened?" "Some maniac was trying to shoot at the dogs next door." "Did anyone see who did it?" "Not that I know of." Pepe said, "Ask him if he saw any suspicious hombres around the farm." "Were there any strangers—anybody suspicious here today?" I asked. The guy laughed at that. "You've got to be kidding! Everyone is new, except for Jay and the other apprentices." He showed me his list. "You've got your choice of tasks. Cutting lavender in the fields, setting up booths, baking shortbread cookies, bottling lavender oil, making lavender wands, squeezing lemons for lavender lemonade . . ." "No thanks," I said, shuddering, thinking of Bickerstaff's death by lemonade. Clara came out of the farmhouse and headed over to us. "Where was Colleen during all of this?" I asked Doug. "She was supervising. It's hard to say where she was at any particular time." "Was she in the barn at any time?" I asked. Doug looked at his list. "It was closed until after the shooting. Colleen was doing the last distillation." "So she was in the barn!" I said. "What are you implying?" Clara asked. "Well, isn't it obvious? Colleen was in the barn right before the shooting, and it was her gun that was used." "Colleen would never shoot at the dogs!" Clara declared indignantly. "Thanks for standing up for me, chica!" said Colleen. She had come up behind us as we were talking, and now gave Clara a big hug. She was wearing a blue bandanna over two tightly woven braids that brushed her shoulders, and her face was streaked with both tears and dirt. "Is Jay OK?" Clara asked, returning the hug. Colleen nodded. "He's fine. They just wanted to pick out the buckshot in a sterile environment. Nothing vital got hit." She winked at Clara. Clara blushed. Colleen turned her cold blue eyes on us. "What are you two doing here?" "We came to find out who was shooting at the dogs," I said. "The police think I did it!" she declared. "Have you ever heard anything so absurd?" She faced us all, her eyes flashing. No one said a word, except Pepe. "It is not absurd at all. It is totally logical," he said. Just then Phoebe came running over, and jumped up and put her forepaws on Colleen's denim-clad knees. The sight of his new crush seemed to stun Pepe into silence. He stood there with his pink tongue hanging out a little. "And to make things worse!" Colleen pulled a crumpled piece of colored paper out of the pocket of her jeans. She slapped it on her hand. "I picked up this brochure while I was in town. They completely left Lost Lakes off the bus tour! What are we going to do?" She burst into tears. "How could that happen?" Clara asked. "You've been on the tour for years." "It must have been Julian!" said Colleen, swiping at her tears with her fists. "He told me there would be repercussions if I didn't cooperate with him. Well, he has no idea who he's messing with!" She dropped the brochure and ground it into the dirt beneath the heel of her dusty cowboy boot. "Does that mean we should stop working?" Doug asked. "Absolutely not!" said Colleen. "If Julian thinks he can threaten me, he doesn't know who he's messing with. We're definitely going to be on the bus tour." She stormed off toward the farmhouse. Phoebe lifted her lovely neck and gave a howl, then trotted off after Colleen. "Who's she talking about?" I asked Clara. "Julian. Judge Julian. The oldest of Lucille's kids. He's the one who hired Bickerstaff to break the trust." "She says she will bite him where it hurts the most," said Pepe. It took me a moment to realize he was translating for Phoebe. Chapter 33 "You should have left me at the farm," said Pepe, "if all you were going to do was run off on a date." "It's not a date," I said for the third time, while checking in the mirror to see if my efforts at brushing had tamed my curls, which had gone wild after the dunking. "I'm going to question Hugh about the trust." I had been looking over the document once I got back to the room. It seemed pretty clear. The use of the property and a generous allowance were set aside for whoever lived in the house and cared for the dogs. Yolanda and Clara were both named as the recipients of this benefit. Hugh also received an allowance for being on call to provide medical services for the dogs, plus he was to be reimbursed for the cost of any medical procedures or services he performed. There were two witnesses to the trust: one was Bernie Bickerstaff, and the other was Lionel Talent. That seemed odd to me. Why would Bickerstaff witness a document that opposed his clients? And how did Boswell know Lionel Talent? I had tried to call Jimmy G to tell him I had a copy of the trust, but he wasn't answering his phone. "I could have protected the dogs and had a little chat with Phoebe," said Pepe, who was curled up on top of the pillows on the bed in the Rose Room. "She didn't seem interested in talking to you," I pointed out. "Playing hard to get," he said. "It is part of the dance of seduction. You might do well to remember it on your date tonight." "It's not a date," I repeated, checking my watch. It was five minutes to ten, and I was supposed to meet Hugh at ten. I hoped the restaurant was nearby. "Now be good!" "I will be investigating," said Pepe in a frosty tone, turning to his iPad, which was lying on the bed. Kevin was in the lobby. I told him I was meeting someone at Chez Pierre, and he told me it was just two blocks down the hill and two blocks toward the water. Chez Pierre occupied an old house on the waterfront in which several rooms had been redone to serve as dining areas. When I entered, a few diners lingered over coffee and dessert. They watched with curiosity as the maître d' whisked me into a secluded alcove, near the kitchen, just big enough for a small table for two in front of a window that looked out over the water. A candle flickered on the table. Out on the water, lights danced on choppy waves as they rocked boats at anchor. Hugh was already seated at the table, looking over a menu. He was no longer in his pale-blue clinical coat but in a slate-blue silk shirt that brought out the blue in his eyes. He certainly knew how to complement his fair coloring and his piercing eyes. He stood up and held out my chair for me, his eyes telling me how much he liked what I was wearing, as did the hand that he trailed down my bare arm. I had changed into one of my favorite dresses: a black-and-white printed cotton with a V-neck, which gave me the chance to show a little bit of cleavage, and a full skirt, which made my waist look slim. "You dress up very nicely," he said. I nodded my appreciation, suddenly shy. "We'll take whatever is the chef's pleasure," said Hugh, handing the menu back to the waiter, who showed up promptly to ask us if we wanted a drink. "And let's start with some oyster shooters." Ever since I was a kid and read the poem about the Walrus and the Carpenter in Through the Looking-Glass I had been squeamish about eating oysters. The waiter showed up with two shot glasses, each containing, according to Hugh, a shot of vodka, a splash of Tabasco sauce, and an oyster. "Now tip your head back and toss it down!" Hugh coached me. I tried, I really did, but the vodka burned, and the oyster seemed to get stuck in my throat. I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to bring it back up. I finally got it down, but I swear I could feel the oyster trying to swim in my stomach. Hugh insisted that I try another one and coached me by demonstrating his oyster-swallowing prowess. Luckily, he was so absorbed in savoring the flavor that I was able to spit the oyster out of my mouth and into my napkin. Maybe I could smuggle it home to Pepe, who would no doubt appreciate it more than I did. "Better?" Hugh asked, smiling at me with his twinkling blue eyes. I nodded. "Much better," I agreed, although the two shots of vodka were making my head swim. "So how was your day today?" I asked Hugh. "Uneventful until now," he said, leaning close to me. Oh, dear! I would really have to get him to back off. "Mine was anything but," I said, launching into a description, starting with my unexpected plunge into the ocean (I didn't mention that I had been breaking and entering at the time) and ending with the shooting of the dogs. It seemed he already knew about that. "Yes, Yolanda called me and wanted me to come out and inspect the dogs," he said, ordering two more oyster shooters. "Did you go check out the dogs?" I asked. "Yes, she insisted. It's one of the terms of the trust. I need to be available twenty-four seven for their medical needs, so I had no choice about it." He didn't sound happy. "Yolanda can be overly anxious." "So were the dogs all right?" "Yes, not a scratch on them." The oyster shooters arrived, and Hugh tossed back another one. "Yolanda told me you took her copy of the trust document," he said. I nodded. "I'm going to make a copy of it and then return it to her," I said. "It looks pretty straightforward. Do you really feel the heirs have any chance of overturning it?" "They'll try to say Lucille was crazy," Hugh said bitterly. "They will try to smear my name in the process." "How would they do that?" I asked. "They'll say I seduced her," he said. He looked at me, his eyes earnest. "Everyone thought we were having an affair. No one could imagine that a man and woman could spend time together without it being sexual." His voice lingered on that word. "I know," I said. "How silly! Even my dog thought this was a date." "Well, isn't it?" he asked. "I hope not," I said. "I have a boyfriend in Seattle—" He cut me off. "A boyfriend in Seattle doesn't count," he said. "He's not here, is he? And he doesn't need to know what you do. As far as he's concerned, you're just working a case." "I am just working a case," I said. "Now that I've got a copy of the trust document, I need to find people who think Mrs. Carpenter was in her right mind when she left all her money to her dogs." "Good luck," said Hugh. "I benefited from the trust, but I still thought she was crazy." "What do you mean?" I asked. "Well, she claimed her animals spoke to her," he said. "Are you sure you don't want this?" He pointed at the oyster shooter. I shook my head. "Lots of people think their animals speak to them," I said cautiously. "I mean she really believed they were speaking to her," Hugh said, raising his eyebrows. "Like she could understand what they were saying." "Well, dogs are very expressive," I started to say. "You must see that in your line of work." "Why are we talking about dogs?" he asked. "We should be talking about what we are going to be doing after dessert. All of those oysters remind me of something else wet and briny that I would love to explore." He lifted up my hand, turned it over and began licking my palm, working his tongue in between my fingers. I was so shocked, I couldn't move for a minute. And then a chill wind blew into the room. I looked up to see Felix in the doorway. He was dressed in his usual working clothes: just black jeans and a soft T-shirt, but he looked magnificent as usual, with his dark hair, just a little too long, framing his pale face, and his dark eyes glittering. "Felix!" I said getting up. But I didn't get a chance to say more than that because he turned on his heel and stalked out of the restaurant. Chapter 34 A loudly buzzing alarm went off. It was jarring and roused Jimmy G from a great dream he was having about being in bed with a knockout dame who thought he was the best thing since sliced bread. He'd had this type of dream more than once and always hated to wake up from it. Still half asleep, Jimmy G reached over to turn off the alarm and was surprised when it shut off by itself. He was even more surprised when he fully opened his eyes and saw Jillian standing beside the bed. She wasn't wearing a stitch and, in the early morning light, was even more sexy and fetching than the dames in his dreams ever were. Brother, he thought, it wasn't a dream, it was real! And she sure wasn't like those broads in the movies who sat up in bed after having sex, but for some ridiculous reason kept their chests covered demurely with a sheet while they talked to their lovers. Nope—Jillian just stood there before him naked as a jaybird, every mouthwatering curve exposed and a nice smile on her full lips. He matched her smile as he thought, boy, did Jimmy G get lucky last night! "Morning, Mr. Dangerous," Jillian told him. "I'm leaving." With that, she whirled away from him, went into the bathroom, and shut the door. Jimmy G was shocked and just lay there. He was being loved and left. It had happened before. Wasn't anything to do about it. He sure wasn't going to protest, let alone beg—it had never worked before anyway. He'd just have to take it like a man. Besides, it was better to be loved and left than never loved at all. With that thought on his mind, he must have dozed off again, because the next thing he knew, Jillian was standing over him once more, this time fully dressed. She was wearing a short skirt and a halter top that really showed off her breasts. "Hey, you," she told him. "I'll be working my booth at Lost Lakes Lavender Farm. Come and find me if you want to get together later." Lucky, lucky, lucky, after all! Jimmy G had been loved but wasn't being left! He propped himself up on an elbow and was about to reply when Jillian suddenly ripped the covers off of him, exposing his complete nakedness. "That's better," she said with greedy eyes. "I want to see all of you." She turned around and grabbed a little camera out of her open suitcase, which sat on the nearby stand. She stood over him, clicking pictures. Startled, Jimmy G quickly pulled the covers back up over his chest. "Ah, Mr. Dangerous is bashful, too," said Jillian, tossing the camera back into the suitcase. She headed for the door, turned, blew him a kiss, said, "I like that in a tough guy," then went out the door with a wicked giggle. Jimmy G wasn't bashful or shy or self-conscious about his body, he had just been . . . well . . . surprised. Guys were supposed to ogle naked dames, not the other way around. In any event, it seemed certain he and Jillian would be having a repeat love-session. He'd rise to the occasion, and she could ogle to her heart's content. The alarm clock read 6:00 AM, but he was too excited to sleep with the day holding such promise. A smoke and some coffee would put him right, so he dragged himself out of the sack, found the little motel-sized coffee maker, and put two of the understrength java pouches in it so it would have some kick. Then he took a leak, looked at himself in the mirror (he thought his physique was pretty buff for a guy in his early forties; no wonder she liked it), and poured a cup of the half-brewed java, which was extra strong, just like the java-juice he got in Iraq (so heavy-duty that he and the other troops called it knife-and-fork coffee). As he was unwrapping a stogie, Jimmy G remembered that smoking wasn't allowed in the room, so he put on his pants and sport coat, no shirt, and stepped outside. It was going to be another hot day, he thought, lighting his cigar—nice and warm already, even at this time of the morning. Gonna be a busy one, too. The motel parking lot was full. The traffic was constant: cars on the road, pedestrians on the sidewalk. A couple of buses rumbled by, bearing signs that read TOUR #1—FARMS A TO C and TOUR #3—FARMS G TO J. When he went back into the room, he noticed that Jillian had left her large suitcase open on the little folding stand by the TV set. Always one who'd stoop to snoop, Jimmy G flipped on the nearby floor lamp and had a look-see. On the right side of her suitcase were a few pairs of the same style of satin-smooth, bikini panties he'd come to appreciate last night, ditto for some silky bras, and a couple of short shorts he'd like to see her in. In one side pocket, he found the camera and a pair of binoculars. The other side pocket was full of envelopes. All of them were past-due notices for bills: electric bill, cell phone bill, two credit card bills that showed maxed-out balances, and a notice from her mortgage company threatening foreclosure if she missed another payment. She had written across that one: I will be coming into more than enough money after the lavender festival to guarantee full payment to you. Thank you for your patience, Jillian Valentine That's nice, thought Jimmy G. He understood financial troubles better than most since he'd had plenty of his own over the years. He poured himself more coffee, sat down in the small chair by the front window, and smiled as he thought about his new paramour. He was glad everything was going so well for her, because it sure was for him. Just then the motel phone rang. At first, Jimmy G wasn't going to answer it. Then he thought maybe it was the management giving him a wake-up call, not that he had scheduled it, but maybe Jillian had. And then his heart lifted a little as he thought maybe Jillian was calling him. Maybe she missed him so much already, she just had to talk to him. After all, she was the only one who knew he would be there. He picked up the phone. "Loverman, at your service." "I don't like it that you're messing with my sister," said a voice. With a sinking feeling, Jimmy G recognized the voice of Judge Julian Valentine. "And I don't like it," the judge went on, "that you promised to deliver the trust document to me and you haven't done it yet." "Jimmy G got distracted," Jimmy G said. "Don't you ever refer to my sister as a distraction," said the judge. "Jimmy G meant she's mighty fetching," Jimmy G tried to explain. "She's a wacko, is what she is," the judge said. "You have no idea who you're messing with." Jimmy G wasn't sure if that referred to the judge or Jillian. "I'm in Sequim, only about five blocks from the motel at the headquarters for the lavender festival. I'll be here for two hours. If the trust document is not delivered to me within that time, you will be very sorry." Before Jimmy G could reply, the judge hung up. Now what to do? Jimmy G couldn't afford to alienate his client. Especially since his client had such an attractive sister. He paced around and smoked another cigar and drank another cup of coffee, and then he had an idea. Maybe Geri had found the trust document. The last time he had talked to her, she was on her way to the vet's office to see if he had a copy of it. He picked up his cell phone and dialed her number. It only rang once before she picked up. "Felix!" she practically squealed. "I'm so glad you called. I'm so sorry about what happened." "No need to be sorry, kiddo," said Jimmy G. "Since this is Jimmy G, not your boy toy." "Jimmy G." Her voice went flat. There was a shuffling sound. Perhaps she had dropped the phone. Then she said, in a sharper tone: "Do you realize what time it is?" Then she told him what time it was: "It's seven o'clock in the morning." Jimmy G heard the rat-dog make some noise in the distance—sounded like he was protesting, too. "Jimmy G is looking for the trust document, doll," he said. "Tell me you found it." More rustling. "Well, to tell you the truth, I do have it," she said. She sounded kind of proud of herself. Well, she should be. "Nice work!" he said. "Jimmy G needs you to deliver it. Judge Valentine is at the headquarters for the lavender festival in Sequim." He read off the address. "He needs it delivered to him by nine this morning. Can you do that for Jimmy G?" "I guess," she said. He could tell she was starting to wake up. He heard the rat-dog barking in the background. "Why would we deliver it to the—" Jimmy G cut her off before she could ask any more questions. "Jimmy G out!" he said, and hung up. The day was starting very well. With Geri taking care of his obligation to the judge, he could find some breakfast, then head over to the Lost Lakes Lavender Farm to check out Jillian. As he was heading out the door, he thought about the camera. It really wasn't fair that she had naked photos of him. He'd have to even up the score. He picked it up and put it into the pocket of his sport coat. Chapter 35 I went to bed crying, and I was still crying in the morning while I was driving toward Sequim. Felix had refused to answer any of my calls, either last night or in the morning after Jimmy G woke me up. Pepe didn't help. He kept telling me "I told you so." But then I didn't really expect him to be very sympathetic. He's not a big fan of Felix and he definitely doesn't think too much of the vet. "He has got only two stars on Yelp, Geri," he told me. "That is pathetic. People complain about his high prices and say he recommends procedures their pets do not need, like gum surgery." "Isn't that what he's doing to Henry on Monday?" I asked. "Sí, and according to the PetVet site, it is not recommended for senior dogs. Not without a series of lab tests." "We'll have to check into that after I meet with the judge," I promised my pooch. Traffic was already heavy as we headed toward Sequim and was projected to get heavier as the weekend went along. Luckily, because Jimmy G had called so early, I had a head start, and so although I hit a few bad patches, where the traffic was stop and go, I managed to pull into a spot in front of the lavender festival office just five minutes after the time we were supposed to meet the judge. Downtown Sequim is only about five blocks long, with many little shops, all small, one-story buildings with no coherent architectural theme. But they have one thing in common: lavender. There were posters for the lavender festival in every window. Lavender paint on the doors and window frames. Lavender planted in barrels outside the front doors. Lavender flags waving in the breeze. The building that served as the festival headquarters was at the edge of town in an anonymous-looking cinder-block building that might have once been an auto repair shop. It was set back on a concrete pad that provided plenty of room for parking. The receptionist tried to turn me away at first, insisting that I wanted to be at the fairgrounds, but when I finally got across the name Julian Valentine, she changed her tune. She led us through a warren of cluttered desks to a back office where a man in a superbly tailored black suit was arguing with a woman seated at a desk. A nameplate on her desk read IVY MALONE, FESTIVAL DIRECTOR. "Sorry to disturb you," the receptionist said, "but these two say they have an appointment with Judge Valentine." The woman frowned and the man turned around. He wore a white shirt and a blue-and-red striped tie. The woman wore her gray hair in a pageboy and black-rimmed eyeglasses that made her look like a librarian. She did not seem pleased to see Pepe. "We provide a dog-care area at the fairgrounds," she said. "We don't allow dogs on the buses or at the farms." "I'll keep that in mind," I said. "As if I would ever deign to use public transportation," said Pepe. "Let's adjourn to a more private setting," said the judge, putting his hand over my elbow and steering me into a temporary cubicle, constructed of movable beige walls. It contained a large metal desk, a few chairs, and some cardboard boxes. I was glad to finally get a look at the fourth of Lucille Carpenter's children. Judge Valentine was in his midforties. He had dark brown hair, which he wore in a helmet. His lips were large and fleshy, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His eyes were a startling greenish-blue. According to Jillian, he was the one who had hired Bickerstaff to break the trust. And according to Colleen, he was trying to bribe her into helping him build a case. But I didn't know much more than that about him. "Geri Sullivan, of the Gerrard Agency," I said, holding out my hand. "Yes, I've talked to your boss," he said. "Peculiar fellow." "You have?" I was confused by that. The judge hesitated a moment, then said, "Of course, who do you think recommended you to Boswell?" "Why would you recommend any agency to Boswell?" I asked. "I thought you were trying to break the trust?" "Well, yes," Julian cleared his throat, "but, you know . . . No reason to be hostile about it." "Ask him how he learned of us," Pepe suggested. "How did you hear about us?" I asked. "Well, I believe you are the only detective who works with a dog for a partner," he said, laughing at Pepe. He pulled out a chair and waved me to a seat at a small wooden table. He sat on the edge of the desk, looming over us. "He is taking up the posture of a bad cop," said Pepe. "Take the initiative." "Colleen said you were trying to coerce her into supporting your side," I said. Although, come to think of it, why wouldn't Colleen be on his side? "I don't know what you're talking about," Julian replied. "Something about the brochures and the tour," I said. "A silly mistake with the printer, I believe," Julian said in a mild voice. "It's so like Colleen to blame it on me. I had nothing to do with it." "What is Colleen's position on the trust?" I asked. Juilian shrugged. "She would benefit if it was declared invalid. She'd have enough money to buy the farm, instead of having to lease the property and make payments to Boswell, who was just putting the money into his own pocket." "You do know that Boswell is dead." "Yes, that was very unfortunate," Julian said in a mild voice. "Ask him how he heard of it!" Pepe asked. "How did you learn of it?" I asked. Julian smiled. "I have good friends on the Port Townsend police force." "So you think Boswell was not handling the money properly?" "A motive for murder!" said Pepe. "It was one of the things we would find out if he was forced to provide a financial accounting for the trial," Julian said. "Instead, we'll have to hire a forensic accountant to go in and try to track the money." "Suddenly Mr. Boswell is the maleante in the story," said Pepe. "It certainly increases the number of suspects," I said, thinking of Yolanda, Clara, and Hugh, all of whom Boswell was defrauding, not to mention the children of Lucille Carpenter. "I have it on good authority," said Julian, "that the police are narrowing in on a suspect. Someone was in the house with Boswell that night. As soon as they find that person, they'll be able to make an arrest." "Funny, you didn't smell anyone in Boswell's home," I said to Pepe. "What do you mean?" asked the judge. "Good point," said Pepe. He went over and began sniffing at the cuffs of Julian's pants. Julian kicked out at Pepe, who ducked the blow. "Aha!" said Pepe. "I begin to think I might train you yet, Geri. I do catch a whiff of Cohiba cigars, the same scent present in Boswell's office." "Do you smoke Cohiba cigars?" I asked. Julian shook his head. "Why would I do that? It could potentially damage my reputation. Those are illegal!" He stood up and held out his hand. "Now, I understand your boss told me you have a copy of the trust document." "Yes," I said, digging it out of my purse. "It seems like everyone is looking for a copy of it. I don't understand why you want it." Julian practically yanked it out of my hands. "It should be obvious. We just want to verify that the copy is identical to the one we already have." He flipped through the pages quickly. "And is it?" I asked, as he got to the end. "No, we need to verify the validity of these witnesses," he said, examining the final pages. "Surely, if you have a copy already you know who the witnesses are—" I started to say. "Yes, we do," he said, "and, just as I suspected, the names are different. This document is clearly fraudulent. Boswell was trying to pull a fast one. Where did you get this?" "From Yolanda." "As I thought. She is part of the conspiracy!" He put his hands on the top of the pages and, with one powerful motion, ripped them in half. "Hey!" I said, getting up. "You can't do that. I need that!" "What for?" asked the judge, turning the papers sideways and ripping them again. "It's invalid." Pepe growled. "Maybe you shouldn't be the one making that decision," I said, trying to grab at the pages. "Wouldn't it be useful to prove there was a conspiracy?" The judge actually hesitated at that. Then he blinked and said, "We already have enough evidence of that." And then he turned his back to me and fed the pages into a shredder that was partially concealed behind the boxes. I heard it grind away, and as I pushed forward, I saw the last few scraps of paper waving above the metal teeth before they were pulled into the machine. "Thank you, Miss Sullivan, for your assistance," the judge said, turning around to face me. He had a big smile on his face. "It was indeed a pleasure to meet you." And then he strolled out the door. Chapter 36 Pepe and I were sitting on the floor beside the shredder trying to reassemble the pieces of the trust document when we heard a big commotion. We went out into the big room and found Colleen Carpenter arguing with Ivy. "Have you talked to the bus drivers and notified them to stop at my farm?" Colleen was asking. "But Julian said—" "I don't care what Julian said—" "He said you weren't ready this year. That it would be an embarrassment if we transported people to your farm—" "I told you already. That's an outright lie. I'm totally prepared for the festival." "Well, I don't know," said Ivy. "We can't afford to tarnish the reputation of the lavender festival." "Colleen is absolutely right," I said, stepping forward. "We were just at the farm yesterday. They've got booths, a stage, a sign . . ." Ivy frowned. "Well, I guess we can do it—" "I brought you a whole box of new brochures," Colleen was saying. "I paid for them myself. They show my farm on the bus tour." Ivy turned to the receptionist and told her to get somebody named Sam to take Colleen's new brochures to the various spots around town where the literature on the festival had been distributed. She then replaced the festival brochures in the rack by the reception desk with a bunch of Colleen's new ones. "There," Ivy told Colleen. "And I'll notify the bus drivers personally. Satisfied?" "For now," said Colleen. "In future, though, you talk to me about anything regarding my farm, not Julian. He doesn't speak for me." She headed for the door. Pepe and I followed her. "Why would your brother do that to you?" I asked Colleen as we exited the building. "Stepbrother," she said pointedly. "Julian's Mr. High and Mighty. He thinks just because he's a judge, he can be the judge of all things." "Humans argue too much," said Pepe. "In the perro world, it is simple: one dog establishes dominance, the rest are then submissive, and all is well." "Like you, huh?" I asked him. "You're always trying to be the alpha male." "Of course," he told me. "Pepe el Macho is submissive to no perro." Just as Pepe said that, we saw that Colleen had brought Phoebe with her. The lovely white-and-black dog was on a long leash, tied to a newspaper stand directly in front of the building. Pepe was overjoyed to see her and rushed up to Phoebe saying, "Mi amor!" Phoebe responded by lunging at Pepe and giving a couple of loud, deep, menacing barks. Pepe immediately rolled over on his back, showing his little white belly. "So much for not being submissive," I told him. Colleen thought I was talking to her. "Yes, you really have to be assertive if you want to succeed," she said. "It is only an act," Pepe said, still on his back, gazing up at Phoebe. "And I must say, the view is muy bueno from this angle." "Thanks for sticking up for me," Colleen said. "Can I buy you a coffee? Or breakfast? I didn't get a chance to eat this morning, I was so busy." "Sure," I said, realizing that I was in the same situation. Colleen suggested a café just a block away called Wanda's Waffles. "What about the dogs?" I asked. "I think they're fine," said Colleen. "But you should probably tie your dog up with Phoebe while we're inside. Sequim has a leash law." Poor Pepe, I thought, as I took his leash out of my purse. He hates leashes, just detests them. But as I hooked it to his collar, he didn't struggle or protest. "I do not mind being tied up with Phoebe," he told me. "When it comes to amor, there are no bonds except love itself." I had to chuckle. It was obvious that he was head over heels in love. (Or maybe I should say he was heels over head in love.) "I'll bring you some bacon," I called to him as we walked next door to the restaurant. He didn't even respond, just kept his attention on Phoebe. It was the very first time my dog had ever ignored the promise of bacon. We got seated quickly, even though Wanda's was pretty full. It wasn't terribly large, maybe twenty tables or so, all covered with blue-and-white-checked tablecloths, with assorted syrups displayed in small lazy Susans at the side of each table. The wonderful vanilla scent of waffles filled the air. The diners around us were eating everything from Belgian waffles heaped with whipped cream and strawberries, to sturdier waffles covered with berries and nuts and butter. It was hard to choose, but I finally ordered the special of the day: a lavender waffle with lavender butter. Plus a side of crisp bacon for Pepe. Colleen ordered a raspberry waffle. Savoring my cup of hot tea, I said, "I'm happy you got that business with your brochures straightened out. That could have been—" "A disaster," she said, finishing the sentence for me. "I would've been ruined." "Just from being left out of the festival brochure?" "The festival gives me over half my annual revenue. Same for most of the lavender farms around here. None of us could afford to lose that income, least of all me." "Well, I don't want to bring up a sore subject again," I said, very much wanting to bring it up, "but if that's the case, I really can't understand why Julian would try to sink you." "Julian's determined to break the trust," she said, with a sigh. "I think he would do anything to get his hands on his mother's money. He wanted me to provide him with a statement saying my stepmother was crazy. He figured I'd be the most compelling witness since I lived right next to her all those years, when neither of her real kids came to visit. But I just couldn't do it." The waitress showed up with our waffles, and Colleen paused a moment to pour some syrup over hers. But before she took a bite, she went on, "My stepmother was a lot of things. She was eccentric. She was narcissistic. She was manipulative. But she was not crazy. And I told Julian that." "So he retaliated against you? That's cold." "Cold describes Julian to a T," she said, pressing her fork into her waffle and taking a big bite. Luckily the waffles were not cold. For a while, we ate in silence. The subtle flavor of the lavender was just right with the vanilla-flavored waffle, and the lavender butter added a nice touch. Colleen finished first, mopping up the last bits of raspberry juice on her plate with the last few bites of waffle. Then I said, "I just gave Julian a copy of the trust document and he tore it up. He said it wasn't valid. Do you know anything about that?" Colleen shook her head. "But Kevin might. He thought Boswell was up to something. He tried to tell me he was skimming money from the trust, but I didn't want to listen." She leaned across. "I think Julian got to Kevin. He was going to testify on his behalf." "So Kevin has a completely different picture of your stepmother than you do?" Colleen's eyes were sad. "She wasn't nice to either of us. But it was harder for Kevin. He was younger than me when our mother died and he was a Mama's boy. The idea that anyone could take her place—it was unthinkable to him. He resented our dad for marrying Lucille, and he tried to make her life miserable. No wonder she sent us both to boarding schools." "Yikes!" I said. "That's terrible." "Yes, we were separated at a time when we really needed to be together. Kevin had it worse. He went to an all-boy's school where he was bullied, I think. I hated my boarding school, but I was there for only two years before I was out and came back to Sequim. My dad had moved in with Lucille in the new house she built, and I asked if I could stay at the farmhouse and learn to run the farm." She took a last sip of her coffee. "Speaking of that, I've got to go! So much to do there. I hope you'll drop by later!" As she stood up, I stuffed the last of my waffle into my mouth, quickly wrapped Pepe's bacon in a napkin, and said, "I'll take care of the bill." But she wouldn't let me. She insisted that I had done her a big favor by standing up for her. Outside, the dogs were still tied to the newspaper box, but Pepe was now on his feet. It seemed that he was on better terms with Phoebe. I knelt down and gave Pepe a piece of his bacon. He took the long rasher in his little mouth, then turned and gave it to Phoebe, laying it gently in front of her. Phoebe snarfed it right up. "Was it good for you?" Pepe asked her. "I know it will be good for me." Colleen untied Phoebe and took the lead in her hand. "Thanks for being on my side," said Colleen, giving me an unexpected hug, then walking off with Phoebe. "My bacon, por favor," said Pepe. "Here." I set it down in front of him. "Ah," he said, munching on it ecstatically. "Bacon and Phoebe, what else can Heaven hold?" "Did Phoebe tell you anything?" He glanced up at me, his big brown eyes sparkling. "She said she wanted to see me again. Is that not grande? Aye yi-yi!" "Anything else, Romeo? Something that might help us, maybe?" "She said that Colleen called her brother yesterday, and they had a big fight. Something to do with Boswell and the trust." "That's all?" "Is that not enough?" he said. He went back to his bacon with gusto. "You're supposed to be helping me investigate," I said. "While you were mooning over Phoebe, I was interviewing Colleen. I learned a lot, but I still don't know why the judge tore up the trust document. Maybe Jimmy G will know what's up. He's the one who told me to take it to him." Chapter 37 Jimmy G had just settled onto a stool at the bar where he had met Jillian the night before when his phone started ringing. It was Geri. "What's shakin', doll?" Jimmy G asked. "Whole lot of shakin' going on around here, that's for sure. Give your boss some good news." "I don't think it is good news," Geri said. "We gave the trust document to the judge, like you said, and he shredded it!" He heard her little rat-dog barking in the background, probably adding his two cents. Jimmy G thought about that for a while. It was not what he expected. "Why would he do a thing like that?" he asked, more to himself than Geri. But she had a quick answer: "Maybe he's trying to destroy all the copies of the trust document. What would happen then?" Jimmy G snorted. "Does Jimmy G look like a lawyer?" "No," she said, in a snappy voice, "and now all the lawyers are dead." "Then it's a good time to not be one," Jimmy G pointed out, pretty proud of himself for coming up with that quip. "It doesn't make sense," Geri said. "We're supposed to be helping the dogs, and if the trust disappears, so do their home and their income." "Don't know what to tell you, doll. Jimmy G is just doing as he's told." "But who is paying us now that Boswell is dead? And did you hear that Boswell was skimming funds? Should we investigate that?" Darn, she was insistent. How was Jimmy G going to get her off his back? "Look, doll," he said. "You did a great job so far. Take the weekend off. We'll regroup on Monday and figure out what to do next." That would give him plenty of time to hang out with Jillian at the lavender festival, then head back to Seattle. She didn't sound happy, but she hung up the phone. Satisfied he had done his job and done it superbly, Jimmy G ordered a farmer's breakfast with a Bloody Mary. The place was packed, but luckily there was room at the counter, where he was sandwiched between a couple from Seattle and an elderly woman who rattled on about all the things to do at the lavender festival: hayrides, art shows, concerts. Jimmy G could barely think, but he knew there was something bothering him. He just couldn't figure out what it was as she yapped in his ear, like Geri's little yappy dog. Was it that he had double-crossed his own operatives and thrown the evidence they had so assiduously collected into the arms of the other side? Nah, he decided that didn't really bother him. A client is a client, and a client is the one who pays you. The judge was their client now. Boswell was dead. Then what was it? It wasn't until he was out in the parking lot, lighting up a cigar, that he realized it. He reached in his pocket for his lighter and came up with the camera. That naked photo! What was Jillian going to do with it? Was she one of those dames who posted photos on the Internet? Would Jimmy G's naked bod be exposed for all to see? It made him nervous. She had no right to take a photo of Jimmy G without his permission. He pulled the camera out of his pocket and fumbled with the buttons. He finally figured out which one turned the camera on, and after some more poking around, during which he took several photos of the asphalt surface of the parking lot, he found the back button. The first photo that came up was of Jimmy G sprawled on the sheets. "Not bad!" he thought, checking himself out. No wonder Jillian wanted a photo of him. Sort of a trophy, he assumed. Let her relive those glorious moments when he wasn't around. Well, he could get into that. As long as she didn't post it on the Internet. He scrolled back through several photos of himself, admiring the artistic angles she had used, which made everything look bigger. Then he was looking at a photo of another man, a fair-haired guy, with a smooth, bare chest. The guy had a huge smile on his face. He was shown only from the waist up, but Jimmy G had a pretty good idea that he was naked from the waist down. Unable to stop himself, he clicked back, and sure enough, the camera angle widened, and he took in the whole scene. The man was tall and well-endowed. He was standing, nude, in some kind of exam room, with a stainless-steel table in the middle and glass-fronted steel cabinets in the background. A little farther back in the sequence of shots, the man was sprawled on the table. Jimmy G stopped there. He didn't want to see any more. This dame that he thought was in love with Jimmy G, or at least hot for his body, was just some kind of heartless femme fatale who used men and then discarded them. No way was he going to spend the weekend with her or visit her at Lost Lakes Lavender Farm. No way was he going to give her the camera back. Jimmy G was going to go straight to the casino, halfway between Sequim and Port Townsend, and drown his sorrows. Chapter 38 "Pepe," I said, when I got back in the car, "Jimmy G said we should take the weekend off." Pepe shook his little head, then his whole body. "We are Sullivan and Sullivan. We never give up when we are on a case." "Yes, but what case?" I asked. "Are we protecting the dogs? Collecting statements to be used in the lawsuit?" "Finding the murderer of Mr. Boswell," said Pepe. "Yes, what about that?" "I have been thinking about that," he said, "when I am not thinking about Phoebe." "Not Siren Song?" I was teasing him. He ignored me. "There was a witness to Boswell's murder." "Well, we know that," I said. "The judge said there was someone in the house with Boswell that night. But how do we figure out who that was?" "There was indeed someone in Boswell's house that night, someone who saw the whole crime go down," said Pepe in his most portentous true crime-show-narrator voice. "Someone who watched from the shadows as his beloved companion died an agonizing death. Someone who was unable to help because of the tragic fact that he was a cat." "The cat!" I said. "That's brilliant! Of course, the cat was there." But then I looked at Pepe. "But we can't talk to a cat. At least, I can't. Can you?" "Not most cats," he said, "but I have established a sort of simple pidgin language I use with your cat. Perhaps Albert could interview the cat of Boswell and then communicate what he has learned to me." "You are going to invite Albert to be on our detective team?" I asked, incredulous. Pepe and Albert were always competing, like two siblings, for a higher ranking in my affections. "Of course not," said Pepe quickly. "We would be simply requesting his services as a translator. One time only. Very minor position." "We would need to find the cat first," I said. "Yes," said Pepe. "He is no doubt in one of those horrid animal prisons." "The animal shelter," I murmured. "Probably in Port Townsend, which is good, since then we can talk to Kevin." Traffic was light leaving Sequim since everyone was going the other way. In fact, the cars were lined up bumper to bumper, starting at the Indian casino. I was glad I already had a room for the night in Port Townsend, though sad that I wouldn't be sharing it with Felix. I would have to try to call him again as soon as I got to Port Townsend. By now, I was getting angry instead of sad. How dare he assume that I would cheat on him with someone like Hugh? Of course, I was perfectly willing to let Hugh think I was interested in order to get some information for our case, but that was an entirely different matter. Or was it? I suddenly turned and looked at the sleeping Chihuahua on the passenger seat. Was he courting Phoebe just to get information? Or was he truly in love, as he claimed? For a talking Chihuahua, Pepe was not as easy to read as you would think. My first stop was at the Port Townsend animal shelter. Sure enough, Boswell's cat had been taken there by the police, and no one had come to pick him up. Pepe wasn't allowed inside the facility, but he insisted on coming along, so I concealed him in my purse. Once inside the cat room, he poked his little head out and looked around. The small room was lined with crates from floor to ceiling, and almost every one had a feline occupant. Big cats, little cats, black cats, calico cats, ginger cats, tabby cats, fluffy cats, skinny cat, fat cats. Pepe started shivering and disappeared into the depths of the purse. I finally found the huge Maine coon in the corner of the room. He had turned his back to me, and all I could see was his fluffy tail, but the card identified him by name. Apparently his name was Precious Boswell. "Precious!" I said, putting my fingers up to the bars of the cage. The magnificent animal lifted his head, turned around, looked at me with golden eyes, and then settled his head back on his paws, facing the back of the cage. I was not the person he wanted to see. His whole posture reeked of despair. "Poor thing!" I said. "He must be in mourning for Boswell." I thought I saw the cat's ears twitch at the mention of his master's name. "But, Pepe," I said, "do you really think we can talk to this cat?" Pepe mumbled something I couldn't hear, but it sounded like he thought we should try. And I agreed. Just seeing this animal, so sunk in dejection, made me realize that we had to do something. His label said he was not available for adoption. I went out to talk to the woman at the front desk. "What's the story with . . . um, Precious Boswell?" I asked. "Oh, such a sad story," she said. "His owner died, and we have to hold the cat until the heir comes to pick him up." "Oh, so they found Boswell's family?" I asked. "I don't know if the gentleman is a member of his family," she said, looking down at some papers on her desk. "The name we have on file is Lionel Talent." "That's weird," I said. "Isn't he the owner of the Floral Fantasy B&B?" "You know him?" she asked. "We must rescue this poor prisoner," insisted Pepe. "Yes, he's the owner of a bed-and-breakfast just down the road." "Well, that's good news," she said. "Let him know we are happy to turn the cat over to him if he brings proof of identity. The sooner you get the cat out of here, the better. Cats just do not do well under these conditions." "I wonder why Boswell left the cat to Lionel," Pepe asked, as we headed out to the car. "Well, we can ask him," I said. "We're headed there right now." When we arrived at the Floral Fantasy B&B, Kevin and Lionel were busy at the front desk checking in an older couple. Pepe sniffed the air, trying to identify what we might have missed since we had left too early for breakfast. "Overripe cantaloupe and salmon quiche," he declared. "You did much better at the waffle place, Geri!" "But Albert would have loved it here," I said as we headed down the hall to the Rose Room. Albert, for some weird reason, loves cantaloupe. I was beginning to worry about my own cat. Although I knew Albert had plenty to eat—I always leave his bowl full of dry food, which he rarely deigns to devour—he had been alone for almost a day now. And although he pretends not to care if I am around, I know he does like company, if only to boss me around. "Maybe I can get Felix to go over and check on him." "An excellent idea," said Pepe, as we entered the Rose Room. He began sniffing around the edges of the wall. "I wish they would not use a vacuum cleaner. It muddles up the scents." I dialed Felix's number again, and to my surprise, he answered the phone. I was so startled, I didn't know what to say. "Geri?" he asked. "Is that you, Geri?" "I'm so sorry," I said when I found my voice. "No, I'm the one who should be sorry," he said. "I made assumptions." "I was questioning a suspect," I said. There was a long pause. "Why don't you explain to me how his licking your hand was part of your investigation?" he finally said. "He thought it was a date," I said. "It certainly looked like a date," he said. "The two of you alone in the restaurant. The candles. The table overlooking the harbor." "That was part of my strategy," I said, though it was actually Hugh's strategy. "Someone was in here," Pepe said. "Of course someone was in here," I said. "Someone made the bed and brought us new towels." "Are you talking to your dog?" Felix asked. "He's talking to me," I said. There was another long pause. "Did your strategy work?" Felix asked at last. "Not really," I confessed. "And if it made you unhappy, it wasn't worth it. I was so looking forward to spending a nice relaxing weekend with you at the B&B. I have a lovely queen-size bed and a claw-foot bathtub big enough for two!" "Geri, please!" said Pepe. "A bath is bad enough. To share it with another would be twice as horrible." But what sounded so unattractive to Pepe sounded appealing to Felix. "I like the idea," he said. "But don't you still have to work?" "My boss gave me the weekend off," I said. "And you know how rare that is!" Felix hesitated for a moment. "OK," he said at last. "OK?" I could hardly believe it. "Do not forget the cat!" Pepe commanded. "But there is one favor," I added. "What is it?" "Well, we're sort of worried about Albert. Do you think you could stop by my house and check on him?" I had just given Felix a key to my house the previous week so he could take Pepe to the groomer to have his nails trimmed while I was working. "Sure. Do you need anything else from your house?" "We need the cat!" said Pepe. "Do you think you could bring Albert here?" "Bring your cat? In the car?" Felix sounded puzzled. "You can put him in his carrying case," I said. "It's on the top shelf in the hall closet." "But why do you want Albert?" Felix asked. I looked at Pepe. No way I could tell him we needed the cat to question a suspect. Even though Felix had reluctantly agreed that maybe I thought my dog talked to me, he would never believe that my dog could talk to a cat. "Pepe's lonely," I said. "He misses Albert." Chapter 39 Pepe practically fell over when he heard that line. "I had to come up with something plausible," I told him after I hung up. "That is hardly plausible," said Pepe, shaking his head. "What do we do now?" I asked. "I think we need to question Lionel," Pepe said. "Did you not say that his name was on the list for the cat?" "Yes!" I said. "And I want to talk to Kevin, too." No one was at the front desk when we approached, but we could hear them in the back office, arguing. "I can't believe you never told me!" Kevin was saying. "Believe me, I didn't know either!" Lionel was saying. "He must have drawn it up while we were still together." "But you told me that was over years ago!" "It was!" "So why would he leave you everything?" Lionel laughed, a bitter laugh. "I suppose he never changed his will. Pretty ironic! A probate lawyer who doesn't update his will." "Then we don't really need the money from the trust," Kevin said. "I can tell that bully Julian what to do with this stupid document." I could hear paper rustling. "Geri, ring the bell!" said Pepe. I slapped my hand down on the bell on the front desk. The next moment, Kevin poked his head out of the office. He did have a sheaf of papers in his hand. "I heard you talking," I said. "I'm looking for a copy of the trust document. Do you have one?" Kevin looked back over his shoulder, and the next moment Lionel appeared beside him in the doorway. "You heard everything we said?" he asked. I nodded. "Let's talk," said Lionel, waving me into the office. It was actually a charming space, the walls painted mauve and covered with gilt-framed oil paintings of seascapes. There was a delicate French provincial desk with curvy legs and a small Victorian sofa covered in olive-green velvet against the wall. Across from a coffee table covered with lifestyle magazines were two comfy armchairs, with a fringed floor lamp between them. "Very nice!" I said, looking around. "Thanks to Kevin," said Lionel. "He has a great eye." "Thank God, you can cook!" said Kevin. The two smiled at each other, in mutual admiration, a distinct change from the acrimonious conversation I had interrupted. Was it all an act? "Do you have a copy of the trust document?" I asked Kevin. He was still holding a sheaf of papers. Kevin looked at Lionel. Lionel looked back. Then he nodded. "Yeah, we found it in one of the rooms," he said. "Julian, that's—" "I know who he is," I said. "He hired a private detective, and the guy left it behind." "Can I see it?" I asked. Kevin handed it over, reluctantly. I flipped through the pages. It seemed to be the same as the document I had obtained from Yolanda, although I hadn't studied every clause. I flipped to the back to see the names of the witnesses: Bernie Bickerstaff and Lionel Talent. The same names that had been on the other copy. "I'm surprised Bickerstaff was a witness to the trust," I said. Lionel nodded. "You know, Barry grabbed whoever was nearby, and Bickerstaff was right across the hall from him." "But surely, given the subject matter . . ." "Bickerstaff probably didn't even glance at the document. He was just there to witness the signature of the old lady. Anyway, he wasn't hired to represent the other side until much later." "So is it possible," Pepe asked, "that Bickerstaff was killed because he was a witness?" "Good question!" I said. "Is it possible Bickerstaff was killed because he was a witness?" Lionel and Kevin looked at each other. "I don't see how," Lionel said. "Well, he would have known something about Mrs. Carpenter's state of mind." "If that's true, then you're in danger," Kevin said to Lionel. "Yes," I said, "and how come you were a witness?" Lionel blushed. "I was dating Barry at the time." "And how could he sign it," Pepe asked, "if he had a stake in the outcome?" "Well, he didn't have a stake in the outcome until now," I said. "Yes, that's true," said Kevin, with a sigh, sliding one arm around Lionel's waist. "No one would have known that you would benefit from Boswell's estate." "Except Boswell," Pepe pointed out. "Except Boswell," I said. Lionel cringed, then got thoughtful. "Well, if that's true, then that would make the trust invalid, wouldn't it?" My heart sank. We had just scored a point for the other side. "Yes, but now we don't need Lucille's money," Kevin pointed out. "You've got all the money from Boswell, plus his house." "And his cat," I said. "What?" "Yes, his cat is at the pound with your name on his cage. They're expecting you to come by and pick him up." Lionel groaned. "But Kevin's allergic to cats." "Maybe you can take him back to Boswell's house temporarily, until you figure out what to do with him," I suggested. "Or, better yet, why don't you put him in my room. I'm not allergic to cats. I have one at home." Albert should be arriving, along with Felix, in a few hours. "Good idea," said Kevin. "Your sister mentioned that she had a big fight with you," I said to Kevin. "Can you tell me about that?" He looked embarrassed. "It was no big deal. We just have different opinions about Lucille. She's entitled to her opinion. I have mine. She didn't want me helping Julian. And I thought that if I helped Julian overturn the trust, that would help her." He looked at Lionel. "And us, of course." "So you were willing to say Lucille Carpenter was crazy?" "Well, she was crazy," said Kevin harshly. "She left all her money to her dogs!" He looked at Pepe. "No offense, little fellow. I like dogs!" "No offense taken," said Pepe, "as long as you never call me 'little fellow' again!" "And you?" I asked Lionel. "Did you think she was crazy?" "She was a bit eccentric," he said. "She would come to visit Boswell and bring all of her dogs. Then she would spend all her time talking to the dogs instead of to Boswell. It was almost like she believed they were actually speaking to her." "Like what?" I asked. "You know, stuff like," he imitated the higher register of an old lady's voice, "Henry says he wants another bite of that delicious pâté!" "Did her dogs ever say anything more intelligent?" I asked. "That's pretty intelligent," said Pepe. "No," said Lionel. "Just mostly requests for creature comforts. The sort of things people pretend their dogs are saying." "If only they could handle the reality of our opinions," said Pepe. Chapter 40 Jimmy G woke up feeling like he could hardly move. His mouth was dry, the light was too bright, and something was making an irritating thumping sound. He tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but was met by some kind of wall that hemmed him in. Only then did he realize that he was in the backseat of his car. The "wall" was the white leather upholstery that was now smack in his face. And of course he felt cramped—his six-foot frame was wedged into a space less than five feet long. He rolled back over and tried to stretch, but his feet just ran into the armrest of the rear passenger door. "What a bunch of BS," he thought, grabbing the back of the front seat and pulling himself up to a sitting position. The blaze of light intensified as he got level with the car windows. Slowly, he recognized that his sensitivity to the light and his dry mouth and the thumping in his head were the signs of a hangover. What the devil was Jimmy G doing last night, he asked himself as he dragged himself out of the car and took his bearings. He was standing in a huge parking lot, full of cars, the metal sparkling in the sun. Far off was a large building he recognized as the casino. That's when it came back to him: he had spent the night drinking and gambling, stumbling out of the casino just as the sun was coming up, too wasted to get in his car and drive. And drive where? He remembered now he had been staying with a good-looking hippie chick in a motel the night before. But she had betrayed him. Taking naked photos of other men. He looked at his watch. It read 9:30. It was a beautiful sunny morning, but Jimmy G didn't feel sunny at all. Wasn't the first time he'd slept in his car. Neither was it the first hangover he'd had. Or the first dame who had betrayed him. But maybe she hadn't betrayed him, he thought. Maybe she just liked to take photos of naked men. After all, she was an artist. Artists did that kind of thing all the time. Jimmy G climbed into the front seat and poked around in the ashtray until he found a stogie. He fired it up and puffed on it like mad. His next move would have to involve gallons of caffeine. And perhaps a little hair of the dog. He could find both at the casino. But what was his next move with the dame? He figured he hadn't really given her a chance. Maybe she could explain those photos to Jimmy G. He pulled the camera out of the glove compartment and manipulated the buttons to look at the photos. He winced when he got to the photos of the other guy. Who was this naked, blond-haired, bronze-bodied, pearly-toothed Adonis, anyway? But this time, he kept on going back. And sure enough, the photos that preceded the male model, for that's how Jimmy G now thought of him, were innocent enough: an old red barn in a field of lavender, a black-and-white dog sitting poised by a sign that read LOST LAKES LAVENDER FARM, a plate of cookies beside a white picket fence. Nice angles, he thought. She clearly had the artistic eye. Which must be why she had fallen for Jimmy G. And he had blown it. Made off with her camera. Stood her up. He needed to make it up to her. Give her a second chance. And he knew where to find her. He would head off to Lost Lakes Lavender Farm just as soon as he was presentable. He got out of the car, tucking the camera in his pocket, and ambled off toward the casino. Chapter 41 I woke up from a wonderful dream and realized that my dream had actually come true. I was gazing at the sleeping form of my handsome boyfriend. Felix lay sprawled on his back, one arm flung over my side. Pepe was curled up against my back, and I could hear Albert purring from above my head. The sun was shining, and the room smelled like roses. Pepe can always tell when I wake up. I don't know how he knows, but he does. I wanted to prolong the moment, but as soon as he sensed I was awake, he jumped down from the bed and ran to the door and started scratching on it. Next thing I knew, Felix's dog, Fuzzy, had joined him, whining softly. Felix opened his warm, dark eyes and asked, "Is this what it would be like to have kids?" "Probably," I told him. "No!" blurted Pepe. "Niños would have already peed their diapers when you awoke, unlike yours truly, who waits to pee outside like a civilized being." Felix sat up and rubbed at his eyes. "OK, you two, calm down, I'll take you out." I smiled. Felix didn't even ask me if I'd do it. My ex would've given me a shove out the door and told me to do it. (We never had a dog, or kids, but that's beside the point.) "Be quiet as you can," I called after him. "We don't want Kevin or Lionel to know about the extra animals." We had smuggled in Felix's dog, Fuzzy, and my cat, Albert, when Felix arrived the night before. He had to wake me up, as I had fallen asleep trying to read the legalese in the trust document. Felix had thoughtfully brought a picnic: a French baguette, some grapes, a delicious cheese, and a bottle of white wine, which meant we could eat in the room with the animals. After the dinner, we took a stroll along the waterfront, with the two dogs, before returning to the room to try out the fabulously huge bathtub, which was a nice prelude to several hours of satisfying sex, with the animals locked in the bathroom so they wouldn't disturb us. "We didn't get much sleep last night," complained Pepe as they went out the door. "Well, neither did we, but we aren't complaining," I said, smiling at Felix. "What do you have planned for today?" Felix asked, when he came back into the room with the dogs. He hadn't bothered to put on a shirt, just pulled on a pair of worn jeans. He was barefoot. "What about coming back to bed?" I asked. "As you wish," Felix said, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me down onto the bed. I was still just wearing the flimsy nightie I had packed for my romantic weekend, a little black silk number that revealed more than it concealed. "Hey, Geri," said Pepe, "we have work to do!" "Ha!" I said. "You're pleased to have me under your control?" asked Felix, who I had just pinned underneath me. "Yes," I said, determined to ignore Pepe and bending down to kiss Felix. "And it is breakfast time!" said Pepe, hopping up onto the bed. Pepe never misses a meal. And he was right. It was 9:30, and breakfast was served only until 10:00 AM. "Do you think you and Fuzzy could leave us alone for just a few minutes?" I asked. "Only a few minutes?" Felix asked. "I think we can do better than that!" He pulled me down for another kiss. "Geri, you forget our mission!" Pepe said. "Boswell's cat is in the building." "The cat is in the building?" I sat up abruptly. "Is that some kind of code?" Felix asked. "Are we playing spies?" "Sort of," I said. "We've been assigned to reconnoiter the dining room." I climbed off Felix, shaking back my hair. "OK, Agent Sullivan," said Felix. It is one of the things that I love about him: he likes to play games. "Agent Navarro, at your service." I put on more suitable clothes—a pair of shorts and an embroidered cotton top—without much help from Felix, who kept trying to take them off again, and without much help from Pepe, who kept nagging me to hurry up. But finally Felix and I arrived at the dining room, leaving the dogs in the bedroom, just fifteen minutes before the end of breakfast. Lionel poured us some coffee in painted china cups, then left to get the morning's offerings: lavender-crusted roasted red potatoes and a scramble with fresh tomatoes and spinach and a dash of parmesan, the plate garnished with a sprig of lavender. Apparently all the other guests had already left, headed for the lavender festival. "So what are we reconnoitering?" Felix asked, after Lionel left the room. "Breakfast for now!" I said, filling my fork with the roasted potatoes. We talked about what we wanted to do during our weekend while we polished off the breakfast and drained the pot of coffee. Felix was fascinated by the idea of walking out to the end of Dungeness Spit, a five-and-a-half-mile-long sand spit that projects out into the bay near Sequim, while I wanted to drop by Carpenter Manor and check on the cocker spaniels. "I have a favor to ask," Lionel said, as he cleared our plates. "Yes?" I asked. "We just picked up the cat from the pound and Kevin's already wheezing. You said you could keep him in your room. Is that OK with you?" I nodded. "I'll take him in there," he offered. "Oh, no, let me do it!" I said, knowing how Lionel would feel if he saw the menagerie in our room: not just Pepe, but Felix's dog, Fuzzy, and my cat, Albert. I jumped up and followed Lionel into the cozy room behind the office. The cat was in a large crate in the center of the carpet. I staggered under the weight of the huge cat and the heavy crate, but luckily Felix had come in behind me, and he got a firm grasp on the carrier and hauled the crate and the occupant out the door. I followed him. Having four animals in a tiny bedroom is not ideal. Having four animals who don't know or like each other in a tiny bedroom is a disaster. Fuzzy and Pepe have developed a cordial relationship—after all, they helped each other take down a gangster in a previous case. But my cat Albert doesn't like Pepe, whom he considers a usurper, and Precious didn't like any of them. Poor cat. He was probably still in mourning for his person. Albert took one sniff at the crate of the big cat, eliciting a hiss and an outstretched claw from Precious, and then stalked off to one corner of the bedroom. "Why did you ask me to bring the cat?" Felix asked. "I'm trying an experiment," I said. "Really, what?" "Interspecies communication." "I don't understand." "You know how Pepe speaks to me." "And you speak to him!" "Yes, and Pepe claims he can speak to Albert." I saw the worry in Felix's brown eyes. "OK." "And if Albert can speak to the cat who was in the house when Boswell was killed, then we can find out who killed Boswell." Felix pondered this for a moment. "So you are working still," he pointed out. "It's just a good opportunity to try this out," I said. "Since the cat is in our possession." Felix crossed his arms and looked glum. "It could be a huge step for mankind," I said. "Or catkind," said Pepe. "They are not known for their services to humanity. Unlike dogs." "Even if you could get this cat to tell you what it saw . . ." I knew it! Felix was coming around! "How could you possibly use that evidence in a court of law?" Felix asked. "We do not need a court of law," said Pepe. "We are judge, jury, and fury." "Pepe and I will think of something," I said. "We always do." "Well, it's worth trying," said Felix. "What do you want me to do?" "Maybe you can take notes," I said. There was a pad of pink paper on the desk, embossed with the Floral Fantasy emblem. I handed it to Felix, along with a pen bearing the same logo. "Pepe!" I said. "Tell Albert what we need." Pepe approached Albert in the corner. Albert gave a few yowls. Pepe muttered. To my surprise, after a few minutes, Albert reluctantly sidled up to the crate containing the Maine coon. He sat and looked through the bars. The cat inside the crate hissed at him again. "He is reassuring him that we mean him no harm," said Pepe. "It doesn't sound that way," I said. "Am I supposed to write that down?" Felix asked. "Not yet!" There was more yowling and hissing at the cat cage. Then Pepe, who was seated to the side of Albert but out of view of the cat in the crate, turned to me. "Precious is willing to help us if it means we find the person who killed his servant." "Someone killed a servant?" I asked, confused. "The person who fed him. I assume he means Boswell." "Oh, of course!" "What's going on?" asked Felix, his pen poised. "The cat's going to help us!" I said. "Tell Precious that is our goal." More muttering between Pepe and Albert, more yowling between Precious and Albert. "What are they saying?" I asked Pepe. Pepe shivered. "The cat is describing what he will do to the person when he is caught. It involves rending and tearing at the throat with sharp teeth. You do not want to hear it, Geri." "OK," I said. "What now?" asked Felix. "Cat threats," I said. "Tell Albert to ask for a description." Pepe muttered in Albert's ear, and another round of yowling and hissing ensued. "What are they saying?" I asked. "I don't understand cat," said Pepe. "I just caught a few words. Stranger. Hat." He conferred with Albert, then turned to me. "Apparently there was a stranger in the house that night. A man who treated the cat roughly. A man who stole some papers from Boswell's desk." "Oh, that's great!" I said. I turned to Felix: "Stranger in the house on the night of the murder. Treated the cat badly. No skip that. We don't need that. The man stole papers from Boswell's desk." Felix looked confused. "Just write it down," I said. "It's not going to stand up in a court of law," Felix said. "You're just pretending to talk to a dog, and then telling me to write it down." "I'm actually translating from cat to pidgin to English," said Pepe. "And that is more than you can do!" "It's just for our use," I said. "Go on!" I told my dog. "Ask him to describe the man." There was more hissing and muttering. Then Pepe said to me: "The cat describes a man who wore a funny hat on his head and had brown eyes that bulged like an English bulldog's." "That sounds almost like our boss," I said. "That's what I thought," said Pepe. "I told you Jimmy G was there that night." "What would Jimmy G be doing in Port Townsend?" I asked. "And did he murder Boswell?" "What?" That was Felix. "What does this have to do with Jimmy G?" "Just thinking out loud," I said. Pepe turned back to Albert, who resumed his hissing and spitting dialogue. Pepe seemed to be able to get every other word. "Papers," he muttered. "Rough man leaves. Boswell goes to kitchen. Returns. Sits at desk. Drinks yellow water. Falls over on floor. Hacking like he had a fur ball." I repeated those words to Felix, who wrote them down. "The stranger leaves. Boswell goes to the kitchen. Returns to his desk. Sits down, drinks his lemonade and then falls to the floor, hacking and coughing like he had a fur ball." "Poisoned!" said Pepe. "Yes, we already knew that," I said. "You already knew how Boswell died?" Felix asked. "Well, he looked just like Bickerstaff, and the one thing they have in common is they both drank lemonade before they died," I said. "The question is, did the man in the hat put the poison in the lemonade?" I didn't want to use Jimmy G's name. I still didn't really believe our boss would murder someone. Pepe had another consultation with the cat. "The man never went into the kitchen," he said. "In fact, the man was with Boswell the whole time he was in the house. The cat said he smelled like wet, rotting leaves." "A cigar!" I said. That's exactly what Jimmy G's nasty cigars smelled like. "You want me to write down cigar?" Felix asked. I nodded. "The cat thinks the man put a spell on his servant that took effect after he left." Pepe turned to me. "Apparently cats believe in witchcraft." "The cat thinks Boswell was killed by a witch," I said to Felix. "A witch who wears a hat and smokes cigars," said Felix, looking at his notes. He held my gaze for a long time. I could practically guess what was going on behind those big, soulful eyes. He was thinking, "My girlfriend is as crazy as a loon." Chapter 42 A knock on the door broke the trance. "Geri, it's Lionel!" said the voice on the other side. "I've got to get the cat up to Boswell's house before we leave for the lavender festival." "Oh, don't come in!" I shouted out quickly. "I'm just getting dressed." "Geri, we should offer to take the cat," Pepe said. "We could examine the crime scene." "Great idea!" I told him. "Do you want us to take the cat for you?" I called out. "Oh, that would be fabulous!" said Lionel. "We're in a hurry to get to Lost Lakes. Kevin promised to help his sister in the gift shop, and I've got to deliver the lavender cheesecakes I made." "Just leave the keys on the front desk," I said. "We'll deliver the cat, and then return the keys to you. We're going to Lost Lakes, too!" And that's how it turned out that less than half an hour later, we were tiptoeing up the steps of Boswell's gorgeous Victorian mansion. Precious seemed to get more upset the closer we got. Albert doesn't like car rides either, but Precious wailed constantly from the moment the car started—maybe it was because we took Felix's old beater of a car, as it was set up for carrying animals, but surely smelled like a lot of dogs. I thought Precious would stop wailing when the car stopped, but he howled even louder, heart-breaking cries that reminded me of how he sounded on the morning we found Boswell dead. Felix carried the heavy cat crate up the front steps as I struggled to turn the key in the lock. Finally I applied the right pressure and the ponderous door swung open slowly. The air in the house was warm and stale. We set the crate down in the hallway, with its welter of Victorian objects, and lifted the latch on the door. Precious sprang out and ran up and down the hall, galloping, like a wild thing, like a cat on a rampage. "What's that about?" I asked Pepe. "I have never understood that behavior," said Pepe. "In a dog, it would mean he was full of glee, but in a cat?" He shook his head. "Probably he's just releasing pent-up energy," said Felix. "He has been cooped up in a crate." Then Precious stopped in midgallop and dashed into a door at the end of the hall. "That's the study," I said to Felix, "that's where Boswell died." I was reluctant to reenter the crime scene, but Pepe was not. "Let us investigate," he said. "We will, no doubt, turn up something the police did not." And he ran down the hall and disappeared into the room as well. I tiptoed down the dim hall with Felix close on my heels. "Why is there so much stuff in here?" Felix asked, as he sidled sideways past an unopened box and ducked under a carved wooden hanging lantern. "I don't know," I said. "I think Boswell was a bit of a pack rat." I almost knocked over a Japanese screen. "I heard a rumor that Boswell was skimming money from the trust. The judge was threatening to hire a forensic accountant." "The judge?" "One of the heirs," I said, as we reached the doorway. The window blinds were rolled up, and the room was flooded with sunlight. I felt I could smell the death in the room. I knew that Pepe could. Precious had jumped up on the desk and was looking around, puzzled. So was I. The top of the desk, a nice dark mahogany, was completely bare. The police must have taken away all the papers to sort through them for clues. Precious jumped down from the desk with a thump and headed for the kitchen. It looked quite different as well, with black fingerprint dust all over the granite counters and the back door. The pitcher of lemonade was gone, which made sense as that was probably the way the poison was administered. With one mighty bound, the cat jumped up onto the granite counter, paced back and forth along its surface, then clawed at the closest cupboard. Thinking that Precious was hungry and was asking for treats, I opened the cupboard to find Boswell's liquor cabinet. It contained a few dusty bottles of useless liqueurs like crème de menthe and obscure syrups like grenadine, probably secured for some recipe once and never used again, and a big plastic gallon bottle of vodka in the front. "Well, that's weird," I said. "Why would the cat want something from the liquor cabinet?" But before I could answer that question, Precious jumped down, ran over to his water bowl, lapped at the water, then fell over, writhing and hacking and coughing. "Oh my God!" I said, "The cat is dying, too!" But Pepe stopped me. "Bravo! Senor Precious," he said. "Bravo! That was the sort of performance that could land you a starring role on Paraíso Perdido!" Precious, as if understanding Pepe, got up, did a long feline stretch, and then began meowing plaintively. It was the cry of a hungry cat. "He's hungry!" said Pepe. "Yes, I know," I said, a little grumpy. "I can speak a little cat, too." I followed Precious into the pantry area and poured some kibble into his bowl. Of course, he refused to eat it in front of us—that is, Pepe, Fuzzy, Felix, and me. "What am I missing?" I said. "Precious was acting out the murder scene. He was trying to tell us something." I looked at the counter, where the lemonade pitcher had been. "But we knew all that before: the poison was in the lemonade. Boswell drank it when he sat down at his desk and died." "But how did it get in the lemonade?" asked Felix. "Yes, that's puzzling, because presumably Boswell came home and either bought the lemonade at the store or made it from frozen." I opened up the refrigerator. More wails from Precious. I could see why: there was a can of wet cat food on the top shelf. I got it down, pried the lid off, and spooned it onto a plate, which I set on the floor in the pantry. Precious turned his fluffy butt to us and began chowing down. I returned to the refrigerator. "There's no lemonade in here," I said, looking at the contents. Some pâté. Ajar of caviar. A deli container of mushrooms. "Probably the police would have taken it to test," Felix observed. I opened up the side door of the freezer and noticed several cans of frozen lemonade. "Or he made a fresh batch from frozen when he got home from work." I looked at the brand: one of the big manufacturers. "It doesn't seem like Boswell. He seemed to have had gourmet tastes." "Probably doesn't matter what kind of lemonade you drink, if what you're really doing is trying to cover up the flavor of cheap vodka," said Felix, wryly. "Could it be that the vodka was poisoned?" I asked. "Rather than the lemonade?" "That is what the cat was trying to tell us!" Pepe said. "Good work, Geri!" said Felix, looking at me with admiration. "You should share that theory with the police." So I did. Neither of the homicide detectives was in, but I was able to leave a voice message. Then we were finally on our way to the lavender festival. Unfortunately, we weren't moving very fast. Traffic was stop-and-go all along the main highway. "What about Jimmy G?" Felix asked. He was driving because we decided his dog-mobile would be better for the dogs. They were both confined in crates in the back, because Felix is very strict about letting dogs ride loose in the car. Pepe, to his indignation, was in Albert's cat carrier "It stinks like a cat!" he declared. "What about him?" I wasn't sure I wanted to talk about my boss. "Didn't you mention his name as having something to do with all this?" "If the man with the hat was Jimmy G, and the man with the hat stole papers from Boswell's office, then Jimmy G stole papers from Boswell," Pepe said. "That is logic!" "Why would he steal papers from Boswell?" I asked. "It seems like Jimmy G is capable of anything," said Felix grimly. He did not have a great deal of respect for my boss. Neither did Pepe, actually. "Do you recall that Lionel said the judge had hired a private detective who left behind the trust document you have in your purse?" Pepe asked. "Yes, and he said the judge hired the private detective," I pointed out. "But we were hired by Boswell." "This is a mystery," said Pepe. "And one we can solve only by confronting Jimmy G." "Good idea!" I said, looking at the bumper of the car in front of us. "And I have plenty of time to talk to him." I dug my cell phone out of my purse and dialed Jimmy G's number. It rang a few times, and then Jimmy G picked up. His voice sounded shaky. I could hear the sound of slot machines in the background and some soft jazz. "Where are you?" I asked. "Casino," he said. "What's up, doll?" "I've got a question to ask you, and it's important!" "Fire away!" he said. "Jimmy G's had two cups of joe and is starting to get back in the swing of things." "Then good, you'll be able to tell me what you were doing at Boswell's house on the night he died!" I said. There was a long silence. I heard chinging sounds and the canned music. "Are you there?" I asked. "Sure! Jimmy G is just impressed by your detecting abilities." He gave a little laugh. "How did you figure that out?" "I'm good at what I do!" I said. "And do not forget who really broke the case open!" insisted Pepe. "Well, to tell you the truth, Jimmy G did call upon Boswell." He paused. "Do the police know this?" "Not yet," I said. "I wanted to confirm it with you first.' "Jimmy G can explain everything, doll," he said quickly. "Well, explain away. I'm listening." "Look, Jimmy G is about to wrap up this case. That's why you got the weekend off. Jimmy G has everything under control." "I want to know what you were doing at Boswell's house," I repeated. "Otherwise, I am calling the police." "Jimmy G didn't want to tell you this," he said. "But Boswell called up Jimmy G. Was concerned about how the case was going. Thought he needed a more experienced operative. Wanted Jimmy G to take over. Jimmy G couldn't say no. Important client and all that." "Boswell was unhappy working with me and Pepe?" I was indignant. "Let's just say he was not overly fond of dogs," said Jimmy G. "But he represented them . . ." I realized I was getting sidetracked. That happens all the time when talking with Jimmy G. "Never mind. So what were you doing there?" "Boswell gave Jimmy G a copy of the trust document." "But you wanted me to find it." "Um, unfortunately, Jimmy G lost that copy." "At the Floral Fantasy B&B!" I said. "You were there! But Lionel said the private detective who stayed with them was hired by Julian, the judge." Another long pause. I thought I heard a gulp. "Now you see how Jimmy G works," he said, finally. "All a ruse to get the situation squared away. Jimmy G plays one side against the other. The double double cross. A Jimmy G specialty." "I don't know what side you're on now," I said, frustrated by his double talk. "Jimmy G is always looking out for Jimmy G," he said. "So if you stick with Jimmy G, you'll be fine." And then he hung up. I relayed the results of my unsatisfying conversation to Pepe and Felix. And I suppose Fuzzy was listening, too, although we had never had any indication that Fuzzy was capable of communicating the way Pepe could. She was extremely loyal, though. A trait I really admire. And a quality that seemed to be missing in Jimmy G. Chapter 43 The phone call from Geri sobered Jimmy G. His darn girl Friday was starting to show some aptitude for the private detecting business. Too much, as far as Jimmy G was concerned. He wanted someone to type, answer phones, look at him adoringly, and say things like "Wow, I could never do what you do! It's so dangerous." Not some dame who was going to call him up, all accusing, "What were you doing and with whom?" None of her business. She worked for him, not the other way around. And really, when he thought about it, and he had a lot of time to think, as the traffic was terrible, he had managed to deliver what the judge wanted, so the job was done. No harm, no foul. Jimmy G just needed to collect some moola from the judge and let the police catch the killers and hook up again with Jillian. By the time he arrived at Lost Lakes Lavender Farm and found a place to park, miles back along the edge of the road, behind some buses, the festival was in full swing. As he trudged down the highway, another bus passed him and disgorged a load of passengers. He followed them up the long driveway, past the lavender fields. The place was swarming with people. In the barn, he saw a crowd gathered around the still. Colleen, in overalls and cowboy boots, was demonstrating how it was used. On the stage at one end of the yard, a guitarist and an accordionist were playing a polka. Some toddlers were turning in circles on the lawn in front of the musicians while their mothers applauded. Under a tent alongside the house, women in yellow aprons were serving cookies and slices of cheesecake and glasses of lavender lemonade. One of the young men who worked at the Floral Fantasy B&B came out the side door of the house, wearing a frilly purple apron and carrying a cake, decorated with purple frosting. Jimmy G surveyed the booths that lined the lawn. Smoke rose from a grill in a booth on the end, which advertised Lavender Rubbed Ribs. The smell was tantalizing. Other booths offered jewelry, T-shirts, lavender wreaths, lavender jelly, and pastel art prints of lavender fields. With a start, Jimmy G recognized Jillian talking with an older couple who were pawing through a box of the prints on the table at the front of her booth. She looked delectable in a cropped lilac halter top and a pair of tight pink shorts. She also looked tired. He wondered if she had spent the night worrying about where he was. A sudden feeling of guilt swept over him. This lovely broad was probably pining over him, and he had carelessly toyed with her affections. He bounded up to her, suddenly eager to make amends, certain she would welcome him with open arms. "That will be forty-four ninety-five," she was saying to the old man, who handed over some crumpled bills. Jillian turned to a metal box on the table, rooted through it, and pulled out a few ones, which she pressed into his hand. "Thank you so much, dear," said the old woman, clutching a plastic-wrapped print to her bosom. "You are truly an artist." As the couple wandered off, Jillian turned her attention to Jimmy G. To his dismay, her eyes went cold. "What are you doing here?" she said. "You invited me," he replied, suddenly unsure of his status. He pretended to look down at the prints on the table. Most were landscapes of lavender fields and farmhouses and old barns. In the back of the booth, he saw that she was at work on something new. An easel was set up, and a cloth was draped across the canvas. "That was yesterday, Mr. Dangerous," she said. Her voice was flat. "Jimmy G got a little bent out of shape when he saw the photos you took," he said, pulling the camera out of his pocket and holding it out to her. "So that's where my camera went," said Jillian. "I had to paint your picture from memory. I did pretty well, too." She whisked the cover off the easel in the back, and Jimmy G was shocked to see a nude portrait of himself, sprawled on the bed at the motel. She had done a fairly good job of capturing the right proportions. "Hey! Cover that up!" he said, glancing around. "Wouldn't want to give any other dames the idea Jimmy G is available." Jillian complied with a pretty smile. "So where did you spend the night last night?" she asked. Jimmy G had an idea. "Jimmy G got called away on a case," he said. "Really? Did you have to use your weapon?" Her eyes got bright. "Natch," he said. "Jimmy G! Big gun for hire. What is your desire?" "Well, to be frank," Jillian looked around, to one side and then the other, as if she were afraid someone was listening, "there is something you could do for me." Chapter 44 When we finally arrived at Carpenter Manor, the entrance to the driveway was blocked with a chain. Someone had painted NO PARKING in bright red letters on a piece of wood and propped it up against the chain. I got out of the car to release the chain and move the board so Felix could drive through and up the driveway to the house. I followed him more slowly, looking over at all the merriment happening next door. It seemed Colleen had been able to attract a good crowd to her farm. I counted four buses parked below the lavender fields, so she must have been able to get back on the bus tour. Felix was releasing Pepe and Fuzzy from their confinement when I reached the car, which was parked in back of a little scooter and an old Chevy. Pepe ran over to the door, his tail wagging furiously. "Happy to see the cocker spaniels?" I asked him. "No, it is Phoebe! My love is here!" he declared, turning around in circles of joy. "That doesn't make any sense," I said, but, sure enough, when Yolanda welcomed us into the living room, I saw the sleek and slender Phoebe towering above the churning pack of cocker spaniels. She was the only one who did not seem excited to see us, although she did let Pepe go up and sniff her. Perhaps the gift of the bacon had helped him win a little favor. Fuzzy dove right in and started nipping at the cockers playfully. Felix had to call her off, which was difficult as I was trying to introduce him to Yolanda. "I brought back the trust document," I said, digging it out of my purse. I hoped it looked enough like the one Yolanda had loaned us that she wouldn't realize I had lost that one. She took it in her hands and began examining the pages. Clara came in, dressed in a purple T-shirt that read LOST LAKES LAVENDER FARM. She greeted us and explained she had just come over to borrow some masking tape. "How are you two doing?" I asked, expecting to hear a tale of woe. "Actually, great!" said Clara. "Yes, I've already hired a new lawyer," said Yolanda. "She comes highly recommended, and she lives in Sequim, so it's more convenient than working with Barry." A cloud passed over her face. "Have the police figured out who killed him?" "No, but we have figured out how it happened!" Pepe said. I shook my head. "I don't think so. But we have a new theory. We think someone might have poisoned Boswell's vodka." Yolanda and Clara looked at each other. "He did like his drinks. What did he call that?" Yolanda asked Clara. "A lemon drop?" she suggested. "He even kept a bottle of vodka here," she said. Pepe and I looked at each other. "Do you suppose someone has tampered with that, too?" I asked. "I'll fetch it," said Clara. "No! Don't do that," I said. "It might have fingerprints on it. Let my dog sniff it." Yolanda and Clara looked at each other again. Then they looked at Felix. He just smiled and shrugged his shoulders. I carried Pepe into the kitchen, where Caroline was whisking some cream in a stainless-steel bowl. Little slices of pound cake were set out in china bowls and covered with fresh strawberries. The vodka was up in a cupboard on top of the refrigerator. Caroline said she hadn't touched it since it was put up there. I set Pepe on top of the refrigerator, and he sniffed the bottle from a cautious distance. "I smell nothing but Mr. Boswell," he said, "and also the yummy grease from a steak that was cooked in this kitchen last night." "Did you have steak last night?" I asked Yolanda. She nodded. "How did you know that?" "Detecting skill!" I said. "My detecting skill!" said Pepe. Pepe sat down on top of refrigerator and nodded his head with a regal air. "I can see why cats like being up so high," he said. "You feel superior!" "I don't think this bottle is contaminated, but I don't know," I said. "Don't touch it until we find out from the police if the poison is in the other bottle." "But I am too far from Phoebe," said Pepe. "Take me down, Geri, por favor." I lifted him down and carried him into the living room. Phoebe had stayed behind and was standing, gazing out the window at the scene next door. "Why is Phoebe here?" I asked. "Colleen asked if we could keep her during the weekend," Yolanda said. "She thought it would be too chaotic to have a dog running around the farm. The festival organizers really frown on that. Some people are afraid of dogs." "But Phoebe is worried. She senses an evil force at work," said Pepe. "She cannot relax while she is over here. She needs to be protecting her property and her person." "Poor dog!" I said, rubbing the top of her velvety head. She turned and gazed at me with soulful dark eyes. Believe me, I could almost hear her saying, "Take me back home where I belong." "I wish I could take you over there," I said. "She'll be fine here," said Yolanda firmly. "Oh, I have one other thing I need to tell you," I said. "I don't think you should take Henry to the vet on Monday. I think Hugh is doing unnecessary surgeries on the dogs." "Why would he do that?" asked Clara. "Well, he gets paid, doesn't he, for any services he performs? And that kind of surgery can be dangerous, especially in an older dog." "Sure, I'll cancel it," said Yolanda. "I never really liked him. I thought he was a bit sleazy, to tell you the truth." "Yes, sleazy is the word," said Felix. I ignored him. "Thanks for bringing me the trust document," said Yolanda. "Now I can give it to Sheila and she can get started." She flipped through the pages. "Oh, this is interesting," she said, stopping at a page near the front. Her eyes narrowed as she read the sentences over again and again. "Look at this, Clara!" She passed the papers to her niece. Clara studied the line Yolanda was pointing out. "It looks all right to me." "But it says that the trust applies to all the dogs living on the property at the time of Lucille's death and their issue." "Yes." "That would include the farm." "How do you figure that?" Clara asked. "Well, the farm is owned by Mrs. Carpenter's estate. Colleen is just leasing it." "A good point!" Clara said. "You'll have to ask Sheila her opinion, but I don't see how it makes much difference." "Phoebe," said Yolanda, looking over at the graceful black-and-white dog. Phoebe looked up briefly, then returned to her vigilant posture. "Was Phoebe living on the property when Mrs. C died?" Clara asked. "I think so," said Yolanda. "We'd have to ask Colleen." "Surely if that was true, Colleen would have noticed it sooner," Clara said. "Well, I don't think she's ever seen a copy of the trust document," I said. "I don't think any of the heirs have." Except for the judge, and he had torn it up. And Kevin, and he had stolen it from Jimmy G. "Does this mean what I think it means?" asked Pepe, his voice full of wonder. "What do you think it means?" I asked. "I think it means Colleen doesn't have any more money troubles," said Clara, reading a little farther down the page. "Because anyone who is caring for one of the dogs or one of their issue receives an allowance, plus expenses." "I think it means Phoebe is exactly my favorite type of bitch!" said Pepe. "Beautiful and rich!" Chapter 45 "So you're heading over to the farm for the lavender festival?" Clara asked. "You can come with me the back way, if you want." "That would be great," I said. "But you can't bring the dogs," she said. I looked at Fuzzy and Pepe. Fuzzy was wrestling with one of the younger cockers. I think it was Victoria, the chocolate-colored one. Pepe was gazing dreamily at Phoebe, who was still glued to the window. "Could we leave them here?" I asked Yolanda. "Absolutely," she said. "It's good for the dogs to have some company." As Felix and I followed Clara out the door, I commented on the change in her aunt. "She seems like a different person," I said. "So take charge. So confident." "I know," said Clara. "It's amazing. She's always had other people bossing her around—Boswell, most recently. But having the full responsibility for the dogs, and defending the trust—that's really energized her. She's already cleaned up the office and turned it into her command center. And she's organizing a memorial service for Boswell. It turns out she just needed something more fulfilling to do than take care of a pack of yapping dogs." We followed Clara through the gate in the chain-link fence and approached Colleen's farm from the back. The chickens squawked at us as we passed their pen. We picked our way over some hoses that were lying in the garden rows. "Have you heard anything more about who shot at the dogs?" I asked. "No, not a word. I think the police department is just swamped making arrangements for the festival." "And how's Jay?" "Oh, no problems there," said Clara. "He'll be fine." "It was very brave of him to run straight at the shooter," I said. "He is very brave," she said, with a blush. "So have you been over here today?" "Oh, yeah, I've been here since six this morning." Clara led us in the back door of the farmhouse. It was hot and humid inside. The ovens were going full blast, I guess, and the house was full of people: women in yellow aprons, volunteers in purple T-shirts, vendors wearing lilac-colored baseball caps. Clara handed off the masking tape to Jay, who was sitting at a table in the living room, ticking off the names of volunteers who were coming in to sign up for various tasks. I looked around—I studied interior design, and I'm always curious about how people decorate their homes. It seemed like Colleen might have inherited the furniture from her father: a nubbly beige sofa, a dark brown Barcalounger, a boxy old TV on a wooden table, a rag rug on the scuffed hardwood floor. The wallpaper was a faded yellow-brown with vertical maroon stripes. She could really use her new fortune, I thought. Maybe she would hire me to redecorate the place. Just then, Colleen breezed in the door, smelling intensely of lavender, and rushed past us. "We have the best news for you, Colleen," Clara sung out. But Colleen said, "Just a minute," and hurried down the hall. "Should we really tell her?" I asked Clara. "Tell her what?" Jay asked. "We haven't had a lawyer look at it," I pointed out. "What are you guys talking about?" Jay wanted to know. "Colleen might inherit a whole bunch of money, just because of Phoebe," Clara said. "What?" That was Kevin, coming out of the kitchen. "Oh, hi, Kevin," Clara said. "Yes, the trust document says that whoever is taking care of a dog that lives on Mrs. C's property gets an allowance and the use of the property for as long as the dog—and its issue—lives." "I didn't see that clause in the trust document," Kevin said. "When did you have a copy of the trust document?" Colleen asked him, coming out of the hallway and giving him a hug. She still smelled like lavender, but it wasn't as strong. Kevin looked a bit embarrassed. "A guest left a copy behind," he said. "Actually, a private detective that Julian hired." "What did this private detective look like?" I asked. Kevin narrowed his eyes. "He dressed like a forties cartoon of a detective," he said. "Fedora, suspenders, narrow moustache, bulging eyes," I said. "Yes! How did you know?" Kevin asked. "In fact, he's here. I saw him just a minute ago at Jillian's booth." "Jillian is here?" "Yes, I told her she could have a booth here," Colleen said. "I felt sorry for her. She didn't have enough money to pay the deposit for a booth at the fairgrounds or in town." "I need to talk to that guy," I said. "How do you know him?" Colleen asked. "He's my boss," I said. "But he's working for Julian," Kevin said. "I thought you were working for Boswell and the dogs." "That's what I need to figure out," I said. I went storming out the front door and plunged right into the crowd, with Felix close behind me. The front yard was awash with people. They were forming lines outside the booth that sold the specialty cocktail of the day; they were standing and swaying in front of the stage, where a guitar player and accordionist played rancheras and polkas; they were thronging the aisles of the gift shop; they were gathering around the still as the brownish liquid gushed out of the copper tubing and squirted into a plastic bucket; they were sitting at picnic tables with plates of food purchased from the kitchen booth, where Lionel was dishing up skewers of lavender-marinated chicken and green salad dressed with lavender-honey dressing; they were wandering through the fields of fragrant bushes that stretched out in long purple rows and scented with air with their sweet perfume. It took a while, but I finally found Jillian's booth, at the end of the line of booths. But it was empty. She had boxes full of the plastic-covered prints we had seen at her gallery lined up on a table in front. A few larger pictures were propped on stands on a side table, and there was a large easel in the back that was covered with a cloth. "Where's the artist?" I asked the young woman who was selling lavender wands and lavender wreaths at the next booth over. "Oh, she went on an errand. She asked me to watch it for her," she said. "Do you want to buy something?" "No, I'm just looking," I said, shuffling through the prints right in front of me. "This looks like Phoebe!" said Felix, pulling out a copy of the print that Pepe had wanted, showing the farm dog sitting by the Lost Lakes sign. "I think it is Phoebe," I said. "Don't let Pepe know there are copies of it. He thinks he has the original." Something about the print bugged me, and then I realized what it was. For Jillian to have captured the scene so well, she must have been on the property earlier. And that meant she had been near the cocker spaniels. That, combined with the suspicious chocolate-chip cookie and her disturbing paintings, made me wonder if she was the one who was trying to harm the dogs. "Is it OK if I look at these others more closely?" I asked the neighboring vendor, inching my way behind the table. "Sure," she said. "I don't think Jillian would mind." I slipped between the poles of the booth and studied the pastels propped on the table. There was no way to tell exactly when they had been painted, but there was a little camera sitting next to them. I picked it up and found the buttons that would allow me to view the photos. To my horror, the first photo that came up was one of my boss, completely nude and lying on a rumpled bed, with a silly grin on his face. The date stamp said it had been taken only the previous day. I rapidly paged back past that, only to be even more horrified by the sight of Hugh the Handsome, sprawled out nude on one of the steel exam tables in his vet clinic. And the date stamp on that one was the previous night, in fact, the evening of the day when I had first visited Hugh, the evening when his clinic was supposedly burglarized. Clicking back, I finally came to the photos that confirmed my suspicions: one of Phoebe outside the sign for Lost Lakes on the day when the chocolate-chip cookies were left for the dogs, and then, even more damning, a photo of a plate of chocolate-chip cookies, lying by the driveway of Carpenter Manor. "It was Jillian!" I said, turning to Felix and waving the camera around. "She's the one who's trying to kill the dogs!" But in my enthusiasm I knocked against the picture on the easel, and it went flying. I set the camera down as I bent to pick the painting up. "Ack!" I was really sorry I did. I was staring at a large oil painting of my boss. The painter had established a point of view near his feet and painted him as he lay in a rumpled bed, every detail of his anatomy displayed in great detail. Except for the fedora on his head, he was completely nude. "Oh my God!" I said, turning my head away and groping for the cloth on the ground to cover it up. I wanted to erase the image from my brain, but I feared it would stay with me forever. "Is that who I think it is?" Felix asked. "Please just let me forget I ever saw this," I mumbled. In my haste to cover up the painting, I knocked it off the stand. It landed facedown in the dirt. When I picked it up, some dirt and grass clung to the wet paint. I tried to brush it off and got flesh-colored paint all over my hands and my polka-dotted navy sundress. And just as I was holding it, paint side out, to avoid further contamination to the painting, I looked up and saw Jimmy G looking at me from the other side of the booth, a look of horror on his face. Chapter 46 Jimmy G had been flattered when Jillian took him by the hand and led him away from the booth, after asking the vendor next door to keep an eye on her merchandise. He was keeping his eye on her as she threaded her way through the crowds, through the barn, and through the garden behind it, looking back over her shoulder frequently as if she was afraid they were being followed. He assumed she was interested in a roll in the hay, but he didn't see how they were going to manage that with all the people around. Even behind the barn, a few tourists had gotten separated from the hordes in front and were wandering around, like lost ants off the trail, poking their noses into the greenhouse and peering into the henhouse. "Where are we going, doll?" Jimmy G asked. "Shhh! It's a secret," said Jillian, putting one finger to her lips. Well, fine. Jimmy G didn't have anything to do except be led around by a gorgeous dame. He saw they were heading toward the back of the property along the fence line, which was planted on the other side with bamboo. But then they reached a little gate, which swung open and permitted them entry into the yard next door. He could see the back of a big house, designed to look like an English cottage, only on a grand scale, and a formal garden bordered by trimmed hedges. "I just discovered the gate today," Jillian said, "while watching Clara." That didn't mean anything to Jimmy G, but he could see the logic: why not sneak into the next-door neighbor's yard for a romantic rendezvous. This was one bold chick, but Jimmy G liked that! He probably wouldn't admit it, if anyone asked, but Jimmy G liked dames who took charge. Jillian ducked down behind a hedge and motioned for Jimmy G to join her. "Here goes!" thought Jimmy G, sliding in beside her and tumbling her down into the soft grass. He tried to kiss her but, to his surprise, she hauled off and punched him in the nose "What?" he sat up, holding his schnoz, which was bleeding. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked, rearranging her top. Jimmy G's enthusiastic embrace had caused a wardrobe malfunction. "I thought that's what you wanted," he said, wiping at his nose with his handkerchief. "No, stupid. I just want your weapon!" And Jillian made a lunge for the gun in his shoulder holster. Jimmy G pushed her back. "No one touches Jimmy G's weapon!" he said. "Fine!" she said, with a pretty pout. "Then you will have to shoot the dogs!" "What are you talking about?" "Those stupid dogs. They'll be coming out the door any minute now. Yolanda has them trained like clockwork. They go out right after lunch. And I want you to shoot them!" Jimmy G worked that out in his mind. "So you're the one who's been trying to attack the dogs," he said. "Yes, and it hasn't worked. I tried putting poison in some cookies, and the stupid dog walker noticed the cookies and wouldn't let the dogs eat them. How was I supposed to know that chocolate is dangerous for dogs?" "Jimmy G wouldn't have known that either," he said, trying to be sympathetic. "And then I tried shooting them with a rifle, but I missed." She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not very good with guns." Jimmy G remembered the conversation in the bar the night he met Jillian. "That was you? You told me someone got shot." "Yes, some stupid farmworker got in the way while I was trying to shoot the dogs." Jillian tossed her hair back. "So you can see why I need you, Mr. Dangerous." She looked at him coquettishly. "When I get the fortune, I'll pay you. I'll pay you a lot." She ran her hand along his arm. Jimmy G hesitated, trying to buy time. "Why are you so angry at the dogs?" "First, they got all my mother's love. Then they got all her money. It's not fair!" Jimmy G tried to think. He was aware of the clock ticking down. The dogs would be coming out any minute, and Jillian expected him to do something. Jimmy G was willing to do a lot of things, but shooting dogs was not one of them. He came up with an idea. "Well, Jimmy G can handle this assignment," he said. "But you shouldn't be anywhere around. So how about you go back to your booth to establish an alibi, and Jimmy G will meet you there." Jillian sulked but finally agreed when Jimmy G pointed out that the fortune would not do her much good if she ended up in jail. He was shaking by the time she wandered off. What now? He couldn't shoot dogs. He had to get out of there. He waited for three minutes, five minutes, ten minutes. Then he figured enough time had passed. He would make up a story, tell Jillian that he had taken care of the dogs, and then figure out what to do next. He tiptoed out of the yard—the dogs still had not made their postprandial appearance—and made his way back to Jillian's booth. And to his shock, Jillian wasn't there. Instead he saw his girl Friday holding a huge nude portrait of him. He had to admit, just for a second, that he looked pretty darn hot. Then he ordered her to put it down and cover it up! "What are you doing here?" he asked. "Where's Jillian?" "We haven't seen her," said Geri, nodding at Felix, who nodded at Jimmy G. It was weird to see his operative without her little dog. "Where's the rat-dog?" he said. "Over at the house next door, with the other dogs," she said. Jimmy G got a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Jillian is trying to kill the dogs," he said. "She wanted me to shoot them." "I know!" said Geri. "I just figured that out. We've got to call the police." "What we have to do is find her!" said Felix. "Before something happens to the dogs!" Chapter 47 Felix and I looked at each other. We both realized at the same moment that our dogs were with the cocker spaniels Jillian was trying to kill. "Where was she the last time you saw her?" I asked Jimmy G. "By the gate," he said, pointing toward the back of the property. "We've got to find her!" I told him. And Felix and I took off running. But we were a bit late. Before we had even pushed our way through the crowds on the lawn, we started hearing screaming and barking, and we caught glimpses of cocker spaniels running by, their ears flapping, their tails wagging. They seemed to be having a marvelous time. The confusion they caused was mammoth. People were dropping plates of food, and cocker spaniels were stopping to chow down. Mothers were snatching up children, who were being licked in the face by the rogue dogs. "Geri! Geri! Geri!" Pepe came running up to me, doing jumping jacks against my shins. "The dogs are loose!" "I know!" I said. "How did it happen?" "Well, Yolanda let the dogs out after lunch," Pepe said. "And I took Phoebe aside for a little romantic interlude. Suddenly we heard all this barking, and when we untangled ourselves, we saw that Jillian had opened the gate and was luring the cocker spaniels through it with strips of chicken. We went running at them, telling them to stay put, but they didn't listen." "Where is Phoebe now?" I asked. "She is trying to round them up. And so must we!" he yelled. "They are going off like popcorn in all directions! They might get hurt—there is no time to lose!" It was hard to get a good idea of what was going on because of all the people in the way. You could get a glimpse of the havoc only by the way it rippled through the crowd, in a wave of yelling or people scattering. When I ran out onto the driveway, I finally had a better understanding of what was going on. The cocker spaniels were now loose in the lavender fields, being chased by various people and various dogs. I saw the golden cocker, Queen Mary, cornered by Phoebe in the U-Pick section of the lavender fields, but only momentarily, because Queen Mary suddenly changed direction and almost tripped a woman and her kid who were in the way. The kid, no more than three, dropped his ice cream cone and started crying. But he cried even louder when his mom's ice cream cone also went airborne and landed splat on top of his head. Making matters worse, every one of the dogs suddenly came tearing up out of the fields and went pell-mell through the line of booths, zigzagging as they darted in and out of them. One booth, constructed like an open tent, came crashing down, causing a few choice epithets from its occupant, a guy selling different colored bottles of lavender oil that went caroming around like so many loose marbles. Even worse, Jay chased one of the dogs—it looked like James, the black cocker spaniel—toward the chicken coop, only James ducked under it at the last minute. This caused the coop's door to fly open, and a dozen or more chickens got loose and joined the wild scene, all clucking and squawking and flapping as they dodged people and dogs. That's when we noticed Fuzzy; she was almost nose to beak with a big rooster and had an "I'm hungry for KFC" look in her eyes. "Fuzzy!" screamed Felix, striding toward her. "Leave that chicken alone! Come!" The rooster changed Fuzzy's mind by giving her a couple quick pecks to the snout. She yelped and made a beeline to Felix. Meanwhile, Pepe and Phoebe had managed to get all the dogs headed in the same direction. The problem was that said direction was straight out toward the road. To make matters worse, Jillian had joined Pepe and Phoebe as they went after the cockers. She was red in the face and screaming as she waved her arms at them. "Stupid dogs!" she hollered. "I'm going to get you!" "Do something!" Pepe told me as he and Phoebe went running past me. "She is making them head for the highway." "Jillian!" I yelled, almost catching up with her. "Stop! They'll go into traffic and get hurt!" "Yes, stop!" It was Felix. He and Fuzzy were just behind me now. Over to my right, I saw Clara and Jay chasing after the dogs. Lionel and Kevin were not far behind them. "That's my plan!" shrieked Jillian as the cockers neared the road and began to spread out, no longer in a tight pack. Everything was utterly frenzied. Barking, yipping, and screaming—the long fur of the cockers flying as they ran—not to mention my leaping heart, since it looked like the dogs would surely run into the cars that were speeding by the long line of buses. Speaking of the buses, all four of them were starting their engines and had both their front and back doors still open. "Get the dogs on the buses!" I yelled at Pepe. They would be safer there than running in the street. He must have conveyed the message to Phoebe and Fuzzy because suddenly each of them singled out one of the dogs and herded it toward a bus. James jumped on the first bus and Queen Mary got into the second bus. That left just two dogs on their own. Jillian made a beeline for one of them, trying to scare it into the street. The first two buses closed their doors and pulled out onto the highway. "Can you stop her?" I asked Jimmy G as he went galloping by. "Jimmy G will try!" he said. In my haste, I tripped and almost fell down, but Felix caught me. As I looked up, Jillian followed Henry onto the second-to-last bus. The driver closed the doors and drove off. "Oh, no," I said as the last of the cocker spaniels, Victoria, jumped through the rear door of the one bus still there. "We've got to get her off the bus!" I told Felix and Jimmy G. "No problema," Pepe told me. He hopped aboard the bus. I could hear the bus driver yelling something. He got up, and I could see him heading toward the back of the bus. He must have been trying to shoo the dogs off the bus. And he was successful. Pepe and Victoria ran off the bus through its back door, the driver right behind them. But Victoria ran straightaway to the bus's front door and reboarded it, Pepe following her right back aboard, yelling, "No! Perro estupido!" As the driver stood scratching his head at the rear of the bus, I said, "We've got to catch up with those buses!" "Follow Jimmy G!" said my boss. "He drove bigger than this in Iraq." Moving faster than I thought he could, Jimmy G jumped in and took a seat behind the steering wheel. "Come on!" he told me. There was no time to think, and Pepe and I got in with him. But Jimmy G closed the doors just as Felix tried to join us. "Hey!" said Felix, looking in at us and pounding on the closed door. "Hey!" yelled the bus driver, also looking in and pounding on the door. "That's my bus!" Jimmy G was waiting for no one. As he pulled out, Felix yelled, "We'll take my car and be right behind you!" He and Fuzzy ran off as we merged into traffic. Jimmy G gunned it, and we picked up speed. "Follow that bus!" Pepe yelled at our boss, the bus that left before us barely visible far ahead. Then my dog turned to me. "I have always wanted to say that, Geri," he said. "I know the phrase is really 'Follow that car,' but it is close enough." Chapter 48 I sat in the jump seat across from Jimmy G, holding Pepe up so he could see the road ahead. Victoria sat in the seat behind us, looking out the window as the scenery went by, her ears flapping in the breeze. "Love this automatic transmission," said the boss. "Wish Jimmy G had had one during the war." "Vamonos! Vamonos!" Pepe told him. "He wants you to go faster," I said. "Who? The rat-dog? Tell him this tub's going fast as it can." "There are three buses that left ahead of us," I said. "I wonder where they're all going." "And those crazy dogs are on all of them," said the boss. "Well, all we can do is follow our noses. Right now, Jimmy G's nose is glued to the one ahead." The road we were on was a little curvy and had a few up and downs. At one of the rises, we saw two buses ahead of us, and the one in the lead turned off when it came to a Y in the road. "Which one to follow?" asked Pepe. "We've got to follow the one with Jillian on it. She's dangerous to dogs!" "She called Jimmy G Mr. Dangerous," said Jimmy G. He sounded wistful. "What were you doing with her anyway?" I asked. "Some investigation," said Jimmy G. "Just trying to get the lay of the land." "Everyone tells me you're working for the judge," I said. "That's what Jimmy G wanted them to think," he said. Another lavender farm came into view. A crowd of people stood at the edge of the road, waiting to be picked up to continue their tour. The bus we were following just passed them by. When we also passed them by, I looked behind us and saw a few people shaking their fists at us. We came to another Y in the road, and the bus we were after turned off to the left, just as the other bus had done. We took the turn with too much speed—I could feel the bus hunker down on the driver's side tires and was afraid we were going to roll over. Thank goodness we righted ourselves just in time. "Ah," said Pepe. "That was muy exciting! I had a chase like this when I worked with the federales going after the drug cartel." I took a deep breath and looked out the rear window. I'd almost forgotten that Felix said he'd follow us in his car, and I hoped I'd see him. When I spotted his car a couple hundred yards back, I felt much better. "We are heading back toward town," said Pepe. "How do you know?" I asked, looking around at the rolling, straw-colored fields. "We perros have a keen sense of direction," my dog told me. "How else do you think my wolfy ancestors tracked bison across the Great Plains?" I had no answer for that but was soon relieved to see that Pepe was right. Hot on the tail of the bus in front of us, we took another hard turn, then looped around through a stand of trees, and the fairgrounds came into sight. There were banners everywhere and crowds of people walking toward the center of activity. The bus we followed pulled up onto the grassy field in front of the fairgrounds and came to a stop. The other three buses were already there. We rolled to a stop beside them. As we all got out, we could hear the various bus drivers cajoling their canine stowaways to get off their buses. "We must round those cockers up, pronto," Pepe told me. People started disembarking from the buses. I saw that Kevin had managed to get on one of the buses, and was clutching James, the black cocker spaniel. Queen Mary, the golden cocker spaniel, went running off another bus, pursued by a little girl who was crying, "Mommy, I want that doggie." Felix drove up just then and got out with Fuzzy. "What a wild ride," he told me. "What now?" asked Jimmy G, poking a cigar in his mouth. Jillian got off one of the buses, dragging Henry by the scruff of his neck. "Hey!" said Pepe. "Unhand that dog!" Chapter 49 Jimmy G figured he should be the one to handle Jillian. After all, he had the best rapport with her. He swaggered over toward her. "Hey, babe!" he said. "Back off!" she said. "You let me down, Mr. Dangerous!" "You didn't give Jimmy G a chance," he said, strolling nearer, his hands extended. "Mr. Dangerous?" said Felix. Jillian held the struggling cocker by the scruff of the neck. "If you come any closer, I'm going to hurt this dog." She shook it a little. "Since you're not man enough to do it." "We got the evidence on you!" his girl Friday shouted out, waving the little camera. "We know what you've been doing. We've got the photos on your camera that show the chocolate chip cookies where you left them." "Hey, you've got no right to do that!" Jillian said. "That's my property." She grabbed for the camera and, in doing so, dropped the dog. Henry hit the ground with a yelp and went running off into the crowd. Jillian whirled around and took off running after the dog, and Jimmy G followed her. But he didn't get too far. Just a few yards into the crowd, he ran into a tall, fair-haired man with blue eyes. Jimmy G recognized him immediately. The mook. From the camera. "Hey, you!" Jimmy G yelled. "You've been messing with Jimmy G's lady." "Who's Jimmy G?" asked Hugh. "Right here," said Jimmy G, pointing at himself. "And Jimmy G is going to whip your butt." "I don't think so," Hugh said. "I was a wrestling champion in college." "And Jimmy G's got a black belt in pissed off!" "Stop acting like an idiot, boss!" yelled Geri. Too late. Jimmy G hit Hugh like a freight train and landed a right hook to his noggin. This shook Hugh, but he stayed on his feet and knocked Jimmy G off balance with a hard shove to his shoulder. Next thing Jimmy G knew, the guy had grappled with him and put him in a vise-like headlock. He was trying to take him down to the ground! But being the bigger man, Jimmy G held on for all he was worth. He gave Hugh a shot to the ribs with his left elbow, which caused him to grunt in pain, but the guy still managed to tighten up on the headlock, and Jimmy G started seeing stars. "Gimme a hand!" he called to Felix. "This guy's tougher than he looks!" "Gladly!" said Felix, jumping into the fray. Chapter 50 I couldn't believe Jimmy G and Felix were fighting with Hugh. Felix had stepped in and smacked Hugh in the nose, which was now bleeding. Even so, Hugh still had my boss in a headlock and they were all on the ground, rolling around and grunting like pigs as Felix struggled to loosen Hugh's grip on Jimmy G. "It is a real battle royal!" said Pepe. "It is like the lucha libre, but without masks, and much more realistic." "It is real," I told my dog. "Can't we stop them?" "You may wade in if you like," he said. "But for myself, I have no wish to be made into a tortilla." Fuzzy joined in, barking like crazy, evidently not happy to see her master involved in a fight. I couldn't believe the childishness of the men in my life. Felix and Jimmy G were so proud of themselves for taking down Hugh when all the poor guy had done was hit on me and maybe get a little frisky with Jillian. "Geri?" It was the voice of my counselor. I turned around and saw Suzanna behind me. She was with two other women who looked at me and then looked at each other. "Suzanna!" I said, trying to sound happy to see her. "What's going on?" she asked, looking at the men who were rolling over each other on the grass, punching and grunting. "That's my boss," I said, trying to point out Jimmy G. He had lost his fedora. His nose was starting to bleed again. "And over there, that one is my boyfriend, Felix." Felix was trying to pry Hugh's arm off Jimmy G's throat. "And the other guy?" Suzanna asked. "Uh, that's a veterinarian who forced me to eat oysters," I said. "And subjects dogs to unnecessary surgeries," said Pepe indignantly. Suzanna looked worried. Just then, two of the escaped cockers raced by, one pursued by Kevin and the other by Lionel. The other two must be out there somewhere, and Jillian was after them. I could track their progress by watching the crowds, some tripping, some swearing, parting like the Red Sea as the dogs went running through. Felix finally managed to break Hugh's grip on Jimmy G, and the three of them got to their feet. A security guard came running up. "Break it up, folks!" he said. "This is a family venue." "We're trying to rescue some dogs!" I said to the guard. "They got loose at one of the farms. There's a woman: red hair, very thin, wearing pink shorts and a purple top. She's trying to kill them!" "Well, the dogs can't be running around loose," he said. He stared at Pepe and Fuzzy. "Dogs aren't allowed on the festival grounds. You're going to have to take them to the dog-sitting area. It's located on the other side of the amphitheater." "I have not needed a dog-sitter since I was a pup," said Pepe. "What'll we do?" Felix asked me. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do," said Hugh, staring bullets at Jimmy G. "I'm going to talk to my attorney." "Go for it," Jimmy G told him. As Hugh stalked off, still dabbing at his nose, I said, "We need to find the cockers ourselves. We can't risk them getting hurt." "Good plan," Felix told me, then added, "Boy, that felt good." "What?" "Smacking that smarmy Hugh," he said. "Yeah," Jimmy G told him. "Thanks for the help." "De nada," said Pepe, who had wisely only watched. "Say, Geri," he asked me. "You are not going to put Fuzzy and me in that stupido dog-sitting area, are you?" "No time," I told him. "Come on, everybody, we need to find the dogs." "Let me know what I can do to help," Suzanna said. We all split up and went in separate directions through the fairgrounds. You'd think it would have been easy to locate a bunch of dogs, but there were so many tourists packed in and around all the different booths that all we heard from time to time was some distant barking and yelling. Every time we thought we had a bead on a cocker, we hit a dead end: just crowds of happy festival-goers enjoying the scents and flavors of lavender. I was getting pretty worried. It was clear that Jillian was willing to do almost anything to punish the dogs she perceived were her enemies. After about fifteen minutes of fruitless searching, Pepe said, "This is reminding me muy much of a snipe hunt." Good grief, I thought, maybe the cockers had left the fairgrounds, or maybe someone had found them and taken them to the dog area. "Let's see if they're in the dog area," I said to Pepe. We bumped into Felix and Fuzzy on our way over there. "Anything?" Felix asked me. "Nada," said Pepe. "Nothing," I told Felix. "We're going to see if anyone turned them in." As we headed toward the dog-sitting area, we had to pass the amphitheater. When we first arrived, a band had been playing some cowboy ballads. But now a podium was set up in the center of the stage, and a man bent over the microphone prepared to make an announcement. "And now it is my great honor to introduce Judge Julian Valentine," said the voice. "As we all know, he has been instrumental in organizing our lavender festival for years, and he is currently running for reelection as Clallam County's Judge of the Superior Court. Let's give him a big hand!" The people sitting in plastic chairs and sprawled on picnic blankets on the grass in front of the stage responded with a light spattering of applause. Judge Valentine was wearing a white linen suit and a red, white, and blue striped tie. He nodded, acknowledging the applause with a faint smile on his lips. He looked like a movie star. And that impression was enhanced by the inclusion of a bodyguard, a heavyset man in a gray T-shirt and mirror sunglasses, who stood with his arms crossed in back of the stage, scanning the crowd. I noticed he had a bandage wrapped around one wrist. "I'm happy to say," the judge announced, "that this is the most successful festival in the history of Sequim. This festival, which was conceived as a way to celebrate our reputation as one of the premier lavender-growing regions in the country, has become another source of pride and income for our community—" "Blah! Blah! Blah!" said Pepe. "A typical political speech. More dog bones for everyone!" I had to agree, but as the judge droned on about jobs created and plans for future expansion, things got more interesting. The golden cocker, Queen Mary, appeared to the right and ran through the crowds on the grass, zigzagging back and forth, with Jillian in hot pursuit. And in her hand, she carried a butcher knife. She looked completely crazy. People began screaming and scrambling to their feet, moving off to the side. Queen Mary scurried toward the stage, perhaps hoping it would be safe, but Jillian was close behind, swinging at her with the wicked-looking knife. The golden dog scrambled up the stairs to the stage, and Julian bent down and scooped her up, holding her close against his chest. Jillian followed. "Stop!" he said, holding out his hand. It was a dramatic picture, as Jillian—her red hair flying, her mouth mumbling threats, and her arm upraised with the sun glinting off the edge of the knife—confronted her brother. "I will not allow you to harm this innocent animal!" said Julian. Everybody stood frozen in horror—everyone except Pepe and Fuzzy. They took one look at each other and headed for the stage. They leaped onto the platform just as Jillian took a swipe at the dog in her brother's arms. The judge took a defensive step back, and she missed and raised the knife for another try. Too late: Pepe and Fuzzy chomped onto the back of her ankles, one on each side. She gave a shriek and staggered forward. At the same time, the bodyguard grabbed her arm and wrestled the knife free. It fell to the stage with a thud. The crowd erupted in applause. Felix and I rushed onto the platform and picked up our dogs. We gazed out at the applauding crowd and saw Jimmy G standing in the back of the crowd, holding the black cocker spaniel. Kevin was there, too, holding the silvery-colored Henry, with Lionel beside him. And Clara was next to him, with Jay by her side, cradling Victoria. They couldn't applaud, with their arms full of dogs, but their happy smiles said it all. Chapter 51 A month later we were all back in Port Townsend for the memorial for Barrett Boswell. Felix and I drove up with Pepe and Fuzzy. I still wasn't talking to Jimmy G and didn't even know if he was going. As far as I was concerned, we could have solved the case and protected the dogs much sooner if he hadn't gotten in the way. I didn't know if I could ever trust him again. I also didn't know what I would do for a job if I stopped working for him. Lionel and Kevin had opened up Boswell's house for the occasion. Kevin was already working his magic with the decorations. The heavy Victorian furniture was still in place, but all the clutter was gone. The beautiful wood pieces gleamed, and the sun shone through the lace-covered windows, illuminating the gorgeous Aubusson carpet on the floor of the living room. Kevin saw me admiring it. "It's the real thing!" he said. "Nice!" I replied, knowing that carpets like that were worth a small fortune. "And the best news is that we get to keep it! Julian has dropped the suit now that he's decided to adopt a dog and collect his share of the fortune that way." "Julian adopted a dog?" "Yes, the one that Jillian was going to kill," Kevin said. "I think her name is Queen Mary. It seems he fell in love with her after saving her life." He leaned in and whispered in my ear. "I think it really helps his image. You should see the old ladies in Sequim cooing over him whenever he takes her out with him. He's a shoo-in to win the election." Lionel came into the room, bearing a silver plate of stuffed mushrooms. "Bacon!" said Pepe. "Is that bacon?" I asked, staring at the fragrant morsels. "Of course," said Lionel. I picked one up and held it out to Pepe. He gathered it up in his little teeth and took it over to a corner to eat. Despite his greedy nature, he is a fastidious eater and likes to take his time with his food. "I thought you ate light! Egg whites and vegetables and all that." "We're still eating light at the Floral Fantasy," Lionel said, "but we decided on an entirely different feel for Boswell Abbey. We're going for an elegant, decadent period feel. Cream sauces. Beef roasts. Yorkshire pudding. Crumpets with butter." He beamed. "It's such a pleasure to get to create an entirely new cuisine." The big Maine coon cat strolled into the room and went walking up to Pepe. Pepe stood his ground but began to shiver. "I see that Precious seems to be adapting to life without Boswell," I said. Kevin sneezed. "I forgot to take my allergy pills," he said, giving Lionel a wry look. He turned to me. "I spend most of my time at the Floral Fantasy with James." "James?" Kevin smiled. "We adopted one of the cocker spaniels, too." "But the pet policy?" "We changed it. Floral Fantasy now accepts dogs as guests, and Boswell Abbey will welcome guests with cats." "Guess we'll be staying at the Floral Fantasy," said Felix, drawing me close. I smiled, thinking about how much I had enjoyed the rest of my romantic weekend with Felix after we had rescued the dogs and returned them to Carpenter Manor. The doorbell rang, and Kevin rushed to answer it. Yolanda and Colleen came in together. They seemed to be best friends now, instead of enemies. Yolanda was wearing a flowery dress, and she looked lovely with her dark hair pinned back in a French braid. This was the first time I had ever seen Colleen out of her overalls, and she dressed up nicely in a jade-green silk blouse, a pair of gray linen slacks, and strappy black sandals. When Yolanda sent the invitations to the memorial, she indicated that, as this was a celebration of Boswell's life, we should wear colors, not black. I had chosen to wear one of my favorite vintage dresses, which had little pink flowers on a dusty-green background. Yolanda hugged me. "It's so good to see you, Geri. We really owe so much to you. You saved the dogs, and you reunited a broken family." "Thank you!" I glowed. It was nice to know someone appreciated my efforts. Jimmy G had not called me since that dreadful day at the fairgrounds when I had discovered that he had double-crossed me. And I refused to call him, I was not going anywhere near him unless he apologized for his behavior. "Where is Phoebe?" Pepe asked, running in circles around Colleen and sniffing her ankles. Colleen looked at him with amusement. "Turns out that Phoebe is pregnant!" "What?" I said. "What?" said Pepe. "Yes, I noticed she was acting differently and I took her to the vet. Not Hugh, of course—the rumor is he's closing up shop—but our old vet. Anyway, he said she's pregnant. Probably four weeks along." She wagged her finger at Pepe. "Wonder how that happened?" "I'm going to be a father?" Pepe said, turning around in circles. "How did that happen?" I asked. I thought Pepe was fixed. "I suppose the usual way," Colleen said. "When are the puppies due?" I asked. "Another five weeks," Colleen said. "You'll have to come up and visit. Maybe you'll take one? They come with a little fortune of their own." "That's right," I said. "The trust applies to the issue of the dogs." "Sure," she said, "so the farm is safe for a long time." "This is amazing!" I said. "¡Es una noticia asombrosa!" Pepe said. Pepe wanted to hang around in hopes of hearing more about his lady love, so I followed Yolanda and Lionel into the kitchen. Every surface was covered with platters, all beautifully arranged. There were little puff pastries, decorated with orange nasturtium flowers. A platter of Camembert cheese and grapes. A beautiful yellow-and-blue pottery bowl full of sliced tomatoes, mozzarella, and basil leaves. I noticed two large pitchers of lemonade sitting on the sideboard with stalks of lavender floating in them. I shuddered. "Really? Lavender lemonade?" Lionel looked surprised. "Oh, I never thought about it that way. Just that it was Boswell's favorite drink." "As long as it had vodka in it," Yolanda observed wryly. She turned to me. "The police finally let us know that was how the poison was administered. It was in the vodka." "But we still don't know how it got in there?" I asked. "Actually," said Yolanda, "they think it was Bickerstaff. They found a bottle of potassium cyanide in his home." "But that doesn't make any sense," said Lionel. "Who poisoned Bickerstaff?" "They think that Bickerstaff put the poison in Boswell's vodka bottle. But he didn't know that Boswell spiked his lemonade. So when he was in Boswell's office, looking for a copy of the trust document, he took a sip of the lemonade." "And died of his own poison! A sad story!" said Lionel. "Then Boswell took the vodka home—the bottle was probably in his briefcase, so the police wouldn't have found it during their investigation—and poured himself his usual nightcap." "What a relief!" I said, because I still had been wondering about Jimmy G and his late-night visit to Boswell. Yolanda gave me a funny look. "Knowing the true story," I said. As we headed back to the living room, we passed the office. I saw that it was full of flowers. A large photo of Boswell sat on the desk, along with a glass of lemonade. "I thought he would appreciate it," said Yolanda, a little smile on her lips. There was a fancy cat tree beside the desk, made of plush maroon velvet and trimmed with gold fringe. Precious, despite his size, leaped into its higher branches, as light as a bird, and sat there glaring at me with his golden eyes. I don't think the cat would ever like me, despite the fact that we had helped him figure out how his servant had died. "Nice cat tree!" I said. "Yes, Lionel bought it for the cat," Yolanda said. "He's crazy about the animal. I'm glad because I couldn't have a cat with Victoria." "So you only have one dog left?" I asked. "Yes," she said, "and I'm so grateful. My life is so much more flexible now that I don't have to coordinate all those different caretakers for the dog. I'm thinking of going back home to visit my family." The scratchy front doorbell sounded, and we went down the hall to find Clara and Jay entering. They were bringing flowers as well. Yolanda went off to arrange them in a vase. "So how are things at Carpenter Manor?" I asked. "So peaceful without all those crazy dogs," said Clara. "We're going to take care of Victoria while Yolanda travels," Jay said. "Jay moved in," said Clara, giving him a big squeeze. Her face turned pink as she looked up at him, but he just gazed down at her with adoration. "He's still working for Colleen, but we're talking about using some of the Carpenter Manor property to grow cut flowers to sell to florists. We've got to think about the future, when the dogs won't be here anymore. Of course, we hope to adopt one of Phoebe's puppies." "So how did it all work out with the dogs?" I asked. "Julian got us all together in a room and negotiated an agreement," Clara said. "Everyone who takes care of one of the dogs gets an allowance from the trust. It's being split up rather than all going to one person, but that's fine with Yolanda. She didn't want the responsibility for all the dogs, plus she gets to live rent free as long as she stays at Carpenter Manor. Same for Colleen with Lost Lakes Lavender Farm." "So if Kevin has James and Yolanda has Victoria and the judge has Queen Mary, then who has Henry?" I asked. "We're taking care of him right now," Clara said. "The judge insists that Jillian should get a chance to adopt one of the dogs if she wants, but no one trusts her." "She would be better off with a cat!" said Pepe, who had coming running up to join us. "What happened to her?" I asked. "Well, Julian arranged for her to go away to a private clinic for a complete mental evaluation. There wasn't really any crime she could be charged with—" "Except for shooting me," said Jay, "and that was an accident! So I didn't want to press charges." The doorbell rang again, and the judge strolled in, carrying the beautiful golden cocker spaniel under his arm. He certainly seemed happier and more relaxed than I had seen him in the past. He wasn't even wearing a suit: just a Hawaiian shirt in shades of peach, coral, and gold that matched the fur of his canine companion. His bodyguard was at his side, carrying a pillow for the dog and a gold water bowl. Pepe glared at the man. The bodyguard glared back. It had become very obvious, when we saw the bandage wrapped around his wrist, that it was Judge Julian's bodyguard whom Pepe had bitten. He had broken into the veterinary clinic and Carpenter Manor and Jillian's home looking for copies of the trust document, under orders from the judge. Pepe wanted to file charges, but I told him that he was not going to be allowed to sign the paperwork. The house started to fill up with other citizens of Port Townsend. We saw Flynn, the bartender from the Windjammer, who told us that he just had to come to honor the memory of his best customer. We also met many of Boswell's friends from the various charitable and artistic enterprises he sponsored. It was a congenial group, and it was a lovely way to honor Boswell's memory as people exchanged their favorite stories about him. Just as the judge had gathered us in the living room to raise our glasses in a toast to "our dear departed friend, Barrett Boswell," the scratchy front doorbell sounded again. Whoever it was, was about one hour late. Since I was closest to the door, I went to answer it. To my shock, Jimmy G stood on the doorstep, dressed in his usual sport coat and fedora, with a big bunch of Gerbera daisies in his hand. "Sorry to be late," he mumbled holding them out. "I just wanted to pay my respects." "We have no respect for you!" said Pepe, who had come to the door with me. "Without your so-called help, we would have solved this case on the first day." I just turned away without saying anything. "Oh, come on, Geri," said my boss, following me into the hallway. I was a bit shocked. I don't think I ever heard him use my first name before. "I'm sorry. I've learned my lesson. I'll never hold out on you again." "That's because you won't have the chance," said Pepe. "We are going into business for ourselves. Sullivan and Sullivan!" "I can't trust you," I said. "And if I can't trust you, I can't work with you. From now on, I'm working with the only partner I can count on." "And that partner is me!" said Pepe. Recipes FLORAL FANTASY LAVENDER VODKA TONICS Make lavender-infused simple syrup by combining 1 cup of sugar and 1 cup of water in a pan. Stir over low heat until the sugar is completely dissolved. Sprinkle in 2 to 4 heaping tablespoons of lavender buds (depending on how much you like the flavor of lavender) and stir. Turn off the heat and let the lavender infuse into the simple syrup for 5 to 15 minutes. Strain and store in glass in the refrigerator until ready to use. Lionel loves lavender, so he usually leaves the lavender buds in the simple syrup and doesn't strain them out until he's making the drinks. Combine 1 tablespoon of lavender-infused simple syrup with 2 ounces of vodka and 6 ounces of tonic water. Serve over ice. Adjust proportions of ingredients to your taste. Lionel's preference: 1 shot of lavender-infused simple syrup, 2 shots of vodka, and a splash of tonic. LOST LAKES LAVENDER SHORTBREAD ¼ cup lavender buds ½ cup sugar 2 sticks unsalted butter 2 cups flour In a food processor, process ¼ cup of sugar with the lavender buds. Add another ¼ cup of sugar and 2 sticks of unsalted butter. Cream together. Add the flour. Press the crumbly dough firmly into a round pie pan. Pierce the dough with a fork in a decorative design and flute the edges. Bake at 350 for 30 to 35 minutes. Acknowledgments Seattle is a great place to live if you are a writer. We're thankful for all the folks around us who like to talk about and celebrate the writing life. Several members of our local writing community deserve a special thank-you: Kevin O'Brien, our fellow Kensington writer, for career advice. Tracy Weber, author of the Downward Dog mysteries, for shepherding us through conferences. Judith Gille, author of The View from Casa Chepitos, for reviewing Pepe's Spanish (any mistakes that remain are ours). Shayla Simuel and Monte Hakola, Pepe wranglers, for prepping the real Pepe for his personal appearances. And our friends, the booksellers at our local independent bookstores who welcome us: Karen, Casey, Justus, and Brandi at Elliot Bay Book Company, Wendy at Third Place Books, Olivia at University Bookstore, and Fran, Adel, and J.B. at the Seattle Mystery Book Shop. We also thank the members of our writing group—Linda Anderson, Rachel Bukey, and Janis Wildy—who listen when we read and chuckle in the right places. In addition, we thank the Shipping Group members, who help us with our social media strategy and website design, as well as the members of the local chapter of Sisters in Crime, who provide camaraderie, education, and a great holiday party. Special thanks and affection to Faizel Kahn, the owner of the coffee shop where we meet every Tuesday afternoon. Faizel keeps us well supplied with food and coffee while we argue over whom and how to kill. If you ever want to see the best Yelp reviews in the world, look up Café Argento in Seattle. Better yet, go visit. We add a special thank-you to our agent, Stephany Evans, whose initials SE also stand for Super Editor. She always makes our first sentence (and many subsequent ones) better. Our editor at Kensington, Michaela Hamilton tempers her gentle reminders of our deadlines with encouragement and enthusiasm. Finally, we are most grateful to our families: Curt's wife, Stephanie, and Waverly's daughter, Shaw, who make our writing lives possible. Don't miss the next delightful entry in the Barking Detective mystery series— THE SILENCE OF THE CHIHUAHUAS Coming from Kensington in 2015! Keep reading to enjoy a sample excerpt . . . Chapter 1 The veterinarian was a short man shaped like an egg, with a rounded torso that narrowed at either end to a bald head on top and tiny feet at the bottom. He wore rimless glasses and a white lab coat. "Hello, I'm Norman Dodd," he said, holding out his hand. It was small and clammy. Nonetheless, I clung to it as he pumped mine up and down. I had never consulted a vet before about my new Chihuahua, Pepe, but now I was really worried. Pepe was one of a group of Chihuahuas who had been flown up to Seattle from L.A., where they were being abandoned in record numbers. I had adopted him six months earlier, and he had become my best friend and partner in my work as a private detective. "Why are you here today?" Dr. Dodd asked, consulting the clipboard the receptionist had placed on the counter in the exam room at the Lake Union Animal Clinic. Pepe sat on the metal table, his long ears perked forward, his dark eyes fixed on me. I wished I could tell what he was thinking. That was the problem. "My dog stopped talking to me," I said. "About four days ago." The vet had been running his pudgy fingers along the sides of Pepe's white flanks. "What do you mean?" he asked. "He used to bark a lot, and now he's stopped?" He chuckled. "Some Chihuahua owners would celebrate!" "No, it's not that," I said. "Then what do you mean?" "I mean he used to talk to me, and then four days ago he mysteriously stopped talking." The vet's eyes narrowed. "Define talking!" "He spoke," I said. "Words strung together into complete sentences. He has a great vocabulary. A bit of Spanish. Mostly English." Pepe sat on the table, smiling up at me with those big dark eyes. "What's wrong with you?" I asked, addressing him as I had many times during the last four days. "Why don't you speak?" Dr. Dodd shook his head. "I think you've come to the wrong place, miss," he said. "You don't need a vet. You need a shrink." I didn't tell him I had already consulted with my counselor. Suzanna already knows about my talking dog, and when I told her he had stopped talking, she congratulated me. "So what do you think caused you to own your thoughts and feelings instead of projecting them onto your dog?" she asked with a happy smile. "You don't understand," I said. "He was really helping me. I don't think I could have solved any of those cases without him." Pepe and I had been responsible for catching several murderers, kidnappers, and bad dogs, while working for the private investigation agency run by Jimmy Gerrard. "Geri, it has always puzzled me that you want to give credit to your dog. Why not acknowledge and celebrate your own accomplishments?" "But that's wrong!" I said. Meanwhile, Pepe just sat there, on top of one of the many pillows in Suzanna's office, seeming quite pleased with himself without saying a word. "What's wrong with you?" I asked him. "You always want to take credit for everything we do." My dog is a bit of an attention hound. "Geri," said Suzanna, "if I didn't think this was just a metaphor, I'd be very concerned about your mental state. If you persist in this delusion, I think you should consider in-patient treatment." I saw Pepe flinch at that. Thank God, he was still registering his reactions, if not actually expressing his opinion. And like many dog owners, I could read my dog fairly accurately. "You don't want that," I said to him. "You don't want me to go away. They won't let you come with me." "Do you want me to check into some possibilities for you?" said Suzanna. "Or perhaps I should refer you to a psychiatrist?" Suzanna had been licensed as a counselor in the state of Washington after she earned her MA, but she can't prescribe medication. It takes someone with an MD to diagnose and write prescriptions. "I don't need a psychiatrist," I said. "My dog does!" I glared at Pepe. He looked a little worried. One ear quirked forward. "Do you have referrals to dog shrinks?" I asked a little loudly and defiantly, directing the words at Pepe, not at Suzanna. "I actually know several," said Suzanna. "Dr. Mallard was very helpful when my cat started hiding under the furniture. He gave her some antianxiety medication, and that cleared up her symptoms." She got up, went over to her desk, and flipped through her Rolodex. She picked out a card and handed it to me. "Thanks," I said, getting up, "I think I will look into that." I could tell by Pepe's expression that he was upset. Good! I was upset, too. Maybe it would upset him enough that he would start talking. I couldn't understand why he had stopped. The irony is that I had spent the past six months trying to convince people, including my boss, Jimmy Gerrard, and my boyfriend, Felix Navarro, that my dog talked. They were just starting to entertain that possibility when he stopped. Now what? They would think I was crazy. Apparently everyone did. The vet was talking again. "I'll check his vocal cords. See if there's anything causing problems in his throat. Perhaps he ate something . . ." He pried open Pepe's jaws and peered inside, waving around a little flashlight. "Nope. That all looks normal." He patted Pepe on the head. "I can't see anything that would cause him to stop barking. Of course, if you want, we can take some blood and do some tests . . ." I saw the fright in Pepe's eyes, but I nodded. "Yes, I think that's a good idea!" If he wasn't going to tell me what was going on, I would do everything in my power to figure it out on my own. But, really, mostly I was terribly hurt. I don't know if this has ever happened to you: your best friend suddenly stops speaking to you, won't return your calls, won't answer your questions about what's going on. It had happened to me just a few months earlier, and it was still painful. I had been working with Brad for over five years, ever since we both graduated from interior design school. He opened a small shop where he refinished furniture he picked up at auction sales and then sold it to his clients. He let me use the back of the shop for my own thrift-store finds and loaned me pieces I needed for my short-lived career as a stager. Then suddenly I couldn't get in contact with him. When I went by the shop, it was closed. When I called him, my calls went straight to voice mail. I was desperately worried about him and also confused. Had I done something wrong? I kept going back over the last conversation I had with him. We had been in the back of the shop, surrounded by pieces of furniture in various stages of refurbishing. A stuffed owl looked over the scene from a perch on a grandfather clock. The skeletal remains of a Victorian sofa occupied one corner. A cracked blue-and-white Chinese vase sat on top of a mahogany drop-leaf table. Brad was at his sewing machine, stitching pink piping around an olive-drab velvet pillow. It seemed like an ordinary conversation. We talked about his volatile relationship with his partner, Jay. We discussed whether or not he should agree to the color scheme his client Mrs. Fairchild demanded for her kitchen. "Lemon yellow is such a harsh color to live with," I had said. And that was the last thing I remembered from that day. Surely my opinion about paint colors had not been so outrageous as to cause the rift in our friendship. I came back to the present. Dr. Dodd was staring at me, waiting for my answer. "Yes, let's go ahead and do some blood work!" I said. Pepe just stared at me with his big eyes. He wasn't talking, but his message was clear: "Please don't do this to me!" But I was desperate. I needed to know what was going on. If anything was going to get him to talk, it would be getting poked with a needle. He hates it. He began to tremble, but still he didn't speak. When the vet sunk the needle into his little flank, he merely squeaked. "We'll call you if anything unusual shows up in the results," the vet said. We left the vet's office and went out into a typical September day in Seattle. Sunny but with a hint of coolness in the air. I had one more place to go. Since Pepe wasn't talking to me, I thought I would go visit Brad and see if I could get him to talk to me. The clinic was on Eastlake Boulevard, just a few blocks from my condo. And Brad's shop was also on Eastlake, in the other direction, down near the University Bridge, a drawbridge that spans the man-made canal connecting Lake Washington to the east with Lake Union, Seattle's most urban lake, surrounded, as it is, by houseboats and restaurants. Pepe trotted ahead of me, wearing his little turquoise harness, his white tail wagging from side to side, held high and curving over his back like a comma. He seemed like just a happy little normal Chihuahua, if a Chihuahua can ever be normal. Maybe I would have to get used to the fact that my dog was no longer extraordinary. Maybe that was what was truly bothering me. Either that or the distinct possibility that I was crazy. We were still a block from the shop when I began to realize something was definitely wrong. The little sign that hung above the door was missing. And as we got closer, I could see that the big front window was dark. Usually Brad has a striking tableau in the window, designed to catch the eye of motorists driving by: maybe a tiger-striped chair next to a red ceramic vase full of pampas grass on top of a black lacquered table edged with gold. Or a Victorian sofa upholstered in buttercup yellow underneath a chandelier made of orange pill bottles. Now, as we approached the front door, I saw that the interior was completely empty. I cupped my hands and peered through the window. The concrete floor was cleared, except for a pile of trash in the corner, and the walls were bare. I dug my key out of my purse and tried it in the lock, but it didn't work. I tried to turn the doorknob, but it didn't move. "What happened to my stuff?" I asked Pepe, but he didn't answer me, just lifted his leg and peed on the corner of the building. I walked around the corner and through the tiny parking lot. The windows on the side were up too high for me to see inside the back room, which is where I kept my current projects and my tools. But when I got to the back door and peered through its window, the room looked empty as well, although it was hard to tell as the cavernous space was full of shadows. The telephone was ringing as we walked in through the front door of my condo. For a moment, I thought it might be Brad, calling to tell me what was going on. But that would be crazy, right? I looked at the caller ID, and it wasn't a number I recognized. The cryptic ID ended with the word Hospital. I grabbed it up and said, "Hello?" "Is that you, Geri?" said the female voice on the other end of the line. She sounded familiar. "Who is this?" I asked. "You've got to help me!" said the woman on the other end. Her voice was rising in pitch and intensity. "They're holding me captive." And then there was a brief scuffle on the other end, and I heard the dial tone. "That's weird," I said to Pepe, as he poked his head out from the kitchen door, clearly curious about what I was doing. "I think that was my sister." KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018 Copyright © 2014 by Waverly Curtis All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book." Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat & TM Off. ISBN: 978-1-6177-3062-7 First Kensington Mass Market Edition: December 2014 eISBN-13 : 978-1-61773-063-4 eISBN-10: 1-61773-063-7 First Kensington Electronic Edition: December 2014	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaBook" }	9,617
Bringing Britain Together: 1998: Tony Blair...." We all know the problems of our poorest neighbourhoods - decaying housing, unemployment, street crime and drugs. People who can move out, nightmare neighbours move in, shops, banks and other vital services close. Over the last two decades the gap between these "worst estates" and the rest of the country has grown. It has left us with a situation that no civilised society should tolerate. It is simply not acceptable that so many children go to school hungry, or not at all, that so many teenagers grow up with no real prospect of a job and that so many pensioners are afraid to go out of their homes. It shames us as a nation, it wastes lives and we all have to pay the costs of dependency and social division. " Editor's comments - [ This report from the Social Exclusion Unit, is about why things have gone wrong and about how we begin to put things right." This paper is full of useful facts and figures, listing the worst deprived areas and lends a close insight into key social policy initiatives. Reference : SEU (1998) Bringing Britain Together: A National strategy for neighbourhood renewal. cmd paper 4045. London: HMSO.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4" }	3,508
Home > Digital > Content / e-books Wattpad Grew to 18 Million Users in 2013 Wattpad, the online writing and reading community, continued its long arch of membership growth and increased social connectivity last year, finishing 2013 with more than 18 million registered users, according to data released by the company Monday. Other figures show that more than 64,000 stories are uploaded to Wattpad or expanded everyday, 53% of Wattpad users have written a story on their phones and 85% of the time spent on Wattpad is via mobile phone or tablet. The site also noted that Wattpad member Beth Reekles' story "The Kissing Booth" generated more than 19 million reads on the site. Reekles' novel The Beach House, a novella based on "The Kissing Booth," has generated more than 2.2 million reads on Wattpad. Wattpad users spent an average of 30 minutes per session on the site in 2013. During the year, there were more than 20 million new stories uploaded to Wattpad and the site has uploaded a total of more than 32.2 million stories since it began. Social connectivity—the ability to connect to like-minded users with social media or messaging—continues to grow and Wattpad reports more than 53 million connections (comments and votes) in 2013 that generated more than 300 million messages. Wattpad provides users a place to upload their writing and receive feedback and support from a community of readers. All content is free to read and Wattpad offers stories in more than 30 different languages. Allen Lau, Wattpad cofounder and CEO, says, "We've redefined what it means to be a reader by empowering a new generation to read, create and shape the stories that matter to them, all from their mobile devices. We've seen major growth in 2013 thanks to the incredibly active Wattpad community. We expect an even bigger year ahead, and ultimately, a future where millions of original stories are created every day."	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl" }	6,481
\section{Introduction} The commutation relations of local operators are a canonical avatar of causality. At time-like separation one operator can have a causal affect on another, leading to non-vanishing commutators. However, such commutators are not necessarily large: the death of a single butterfly is unlikely to affect the outcome of a presidential election. It is only in some theories that chaos is generic and large commutators of local operators are the rule rather than the exception\cite{georges2001quantum,d2015quantum,bradbury1952sound,kitaev2014hidden,Shenker:2013pqa, Hosur:2015ylk, Gur-Ari:2015rcq, Berenstein:2015yxu, Stanford:2015owe}. Recently, it has been conjectured that theories dual to gravity are in a sense as chaotic as possible \cite{Maldacena:2015waa,Shenker:2014cwa} and the rate of growth of commutators of local operators saturate a general upper bound on all theories. Virasoro conformal blocks are a useful tool for studying this conjecture in greater depth, since they encapsulate the effect of multi-graviton exchanges in AdS$_3$. The fact that all graviton excitations are related to the vacuum by Virasoro symmetry renders their effect computable in principle, and a number of methods allow them to be computed in practice in various expansions. Most relevantly for gravity, their large $c$ expansion is dual to a large $m_{\rm pl}$ limit \cite{Fitzpatrick:2014vua, Fitzpatrick:2015zha, Fitzpatrick:2015foa, Asplund:2014coa, Hijano:2015rla, Alkalaev:2015wia, Hijano:2015qja,Fitzpatrick:2015dlt, Hongbin,HartmanLargeC,Brown:1986nw}. In fact, as we will review, it is only in such a large $c$ limit that the bound of MSS \cite{Maldacena:2015waa} takes a sharp form, \begin{eqnarray} \| \dot{F}(t)\| \le \frac{2 \pi}{\beta} \left( 1 - F(t) + \epsilon \right), \label{eq:MSSBound} \end{eqnarray} where $F$ is a certain out of time ordered correlator of local operators, $\beta^{-1}$ is the temperature, and $\epsilon$ is a small correction containing non-universal terms that vanishes at $c\rightarrow \infty$.\footnote{The correction $\epsilon$ is in a sense time-dependent, but it is convenient to define it to be time-independent by taking it to be the supremum of the correction over the time region of interest.} The bound holds for times $t > t_d$ where $t_d \sim \beta$ is a dissipation time scale. We will be interested in times $t < t_$, where $t_ \propto \log(c) \gg t_d$ is the scrambling time defined by $\| 1- F(t_)\| \sim 1$. At leading order in $1/c$, the out of time order correlator can be computed in gravity duals \cite{Shenker:2014cwa}, and has been found to saturate the bound in a specific regime. In any regime $t \in (t_d, t_f)$ where $1-F(t)$ grows exponentially we may write \begin{eqnarray} 1-F(t) = A e^{\lambda_L t}, \qquad (t_1 \le t \le t_2), \label{eq:CexpForm} \end{eqnarray} the bound (\ref{eq:MSSBound}) is conveniently stated as a bound on the exponent $\lambda_L$, \begin{eqnarray} \lambda_L \le \frac{2\pi}{\beta} \left( 1 + \frac{\epsilon}{A} e^{- \lambda t_2} \right). \label{eq:MSSBound2} \end{eqnarray} The size of $\epsilon$ depends on the regime of interest; we will see in section \ref{sec:ReviewBound} that for $t\gtrsim \beta$, one has $\epsilon \sim c^{-1}$, whereas for $t \gtrsim \frac{\beta}{2\pi} \log c$ one has $\epsilon \sim c^{-3}$. In the main regime of interest, $\lambda_L$ is called the Lyapunov exponent. All of $A , \epsilon $, and $t_2 \sim \frac{\beta}{2\pi} \log c$ depend on $c$, but at $c\rightarrow \infty$ their combination vanishes, and the leading large $c$ value $\lambda_L = \frac{2\pi}{\beta}$ in gravity theories saturates the resulting bound. The main goal of this paper is to explore the purely gravitational quantum correction to the growth of $1-F(t)$, which we will study by analyzing the Virasoro vacuum block at higher orders in $1/c$. Using recent results \cite{Fitzpatrick:2014vua, Fitzpatrick:2015zha, Fitzpatrick:2015foa, Asplund:2014coa, Hijano:2015rla, Hijano:2015qja,Fitzpatrick:2015dlt, Hongbin,Headrick}, we directly compute $F(t)$ and find in the regime $\beta \lesssim t \sim \frac{\beta}{2\pi} \log c$ that there are corrections of the form \begin{eqnarray} 1- F(t) = A e^{\frac{2 \pi}{\beta} t} \left( 1 + \frac{2 \pi}{\beta} \frac{\delta}{c} t + \dots \right), \label{eq:corrections} \end{eqnarray} where $\delta$ is a pure number independent of the conformal weights of the operators, say $W$ and $V$, in the correlator $F(t)$. At leading order in $1/c$, we find \begin{eqnarray} \delta = 12 + {\cal O} \left( \frac{1}{c} \right). \label{eq:anomdimdelta} \end{eqnarray} The form of the correction looks like a perturbative correction to the exponent \begin{eqnarray} \lambda_L \approx \frac{2 \pi}{\beta} \left(1 + \frac{12}{c} \right). \end{eqnarray} In forthcoming work \cite{Hongbin}, we will explore higher order corrections in $1/c$ in more detail, and prove that higher order corrections in $1/c$ exponentiate. Since the real part of $\delta$ is positive, this naively looks like a violation of (\ref{eq:MSSBound2}). However, one has to be more precise both about the extra terms $\dots$ in (\ref{eq:corrections}) and about the small non-universal correction factor $\epsilon$. In our review of the proof in \cite{Maldacena:2015waa}, we will emphasize that it is consistent with $\delta$ having either positive or negative sign at early $t \gtrsim t_d$, the dissipation time. In fact, the positive anomalous dimension (\ref{eq:anomdimdelta}) will be allowed for different reasons in different regimes: for $t \sim \beta$, we will see that the factor $\epsilon$ is sufficiently large to allow for the anomalous dimension (\ref{eq:anomdimdelta}), whereas for $t\sim \frac{2 \pi}{\beta} \log c$, the correction terms $\dots$ contain additional contributions to the growth of $1-F$ that are not of the form of an anomalous dimension and are parametrically larger, bringing the rate of growth below the bound. \begin{figure}[t!] \begin{center} \includegraphics[width=0.7\textwidth]{ChaoticBehaviorLyapunov} \caption{ This figure depicts the various regimes of the out of time order correlator $F_\beta$ of equation (\ref{eq:OutOfOrderCorr}). At early times $t \sim \beta$ we expect $1-F_\beta \lesssim \frac{1}{c}$; this quantity subsequently grows exponentially with Lyapunov exponent $\lambda_L$ until a scrambling time of order $t_ \approx \frac{\beta}{2 \pi} \log c$. } \label{fig:ChaoticBehaviorLyapunov} \end{center} \end{figure} The outline of the paper is as follows. In section \ref{sec:ReviewBound}, we review the recent proof in \cite{Maldacena:2015waa}, framing it in language closer to that of the conformal bootstrap, and focusing on the potential for $1/c$ corrections in CFT$_2$. In section \ref{sec:QuantumCorrections}, we present our computation of the $1/c$ correction from gravity. In section \ref{sec:AdS}, we discuss the regime in which the Virasoro vacuum block is expected to dominate the answer, and the relation to various regimes of bulk physics in the gravity dual. In particular, we explore connections between bounds on chaos and bounds from causality and unitarity in both flat space scattering and AdS/CFT. Finally, in section \ref{sec:discussion}, we discuss possible implications and future directions. \section{Lyapunov Exponents and Bounds} \label{sec:ReviewBound} We will be studying thermal correlators with various time orderings in order to define the Lyapunov exponent $\lambda_L$, a measure of the onset of chaos. Throughout the paper $V$ and $W$ will be local primary operators in a CFT$_2$. Much of the discussion will be a review of the setup \cite{Roberts:2014ifa, Maldacena:2015waa} and various analytic continuations and coordinate choices \cite{Hartman:2015lfa, Maldacena:2015iua}. But we will streamline the derivation of the bound \cite{Maldacena:2015waa} by specializing to the case of CFTs, and we will be very precise about potential $1/c$ corrections, which we will compute in subsequent sections. \subsection{Review of the Kinematics} We would like to study a finite temperature correlator probing chaos in CFTs. Perhaps the most natural observable would be a squared commutator, but to connect more closely with \cite{Maldacena:2015waa} we will study a related out of time order correlator of two local operators $V$ and $W$ in a thermal background: \begin{eqnarray} F_\beta(x_i) &=& \< V(x_1) W(x_3) V(x_2) W(x_4)\>_\beta. \label{eq:OutOfOrderCorr} \end{eqnarray} In the Euclidean regime, all local operators commute, but in the Lorentzian regime the operator ordering of equation \ref{eq:OutOfOrderCorr} is important. Any Lorentzian operator ordering can be obtained from the Euclidean correlator by analytically continuing through a sequence of branch cuts. \begin{figure} \begin{center} \includegraphics[width=0.85\textwidth]{RobertsStanfordCoords} \end{center} \caption{ The figure on the left shows a choice of locations for $V$ and $W$ \cite{Roberts:2014ifa} in the Euclidean plane at Lorentzian $t=0$. The distance between the two $V$ and the two $W$ is small, regulated by $\epsilon_i - \epsilon_j$. On the right we have a cartoon of the configuration at finite $x, t$ from the perspective of AdS$_3$/CFT$_2$. This configuration has the physically intuitive advantage that all operators are on the same side of a single black brane in the Poincar\'e patch.} \label{fig:RobertsStanfordCoords} \end{figure} We will mainly be interested in 2d CFTs, where we have two advantages: we can connect correlators in the plane to finite temperature correlators via a conformal transformation, and we can use the Virasoro algebra to uniquely determine certain universal contributions to any correlator. Note that the finite temperature $T = 1/\beta$ breaks both conformal and Lorentz invariance. The temperature is the unique dimensionful quantity in our setup, so its numerical value is irrelevant as long as $T \neq 0$. From the AdS perspective, chaos arises from scattering near the horizon of a black hole. It is possible to make a choice of coordinates \cite{Roberts:2014ifa} for $F_\beta(x_i)$ that emphasizes this aspect of the physics, as suggested by Figure \ref{fig:RobertsStanfordCoords}. However, this choice introduces additional parameters to define the distance between the $VV$ and $WW$ operator pairs, and so we will instead use a technically more convenient choice\footnote{For another recent discussion see \cite{Maldacena:2015iua}.} of coordinates \cite{Maldacena:2015waa,Shenker:2014cwa} where the $VV$ and $WW$ separations are proportional to $\beta$, as displayed in the Euclidean plane in Figure \ref{fig:OpLocation}. Note that unlike in conventional radial quantization, the Euclidean time $t_E$ plays the role of an angular coordinate with thermal period $\beta$. This choice has a natural correspondence with the $\rho$ coordinates \cite{Pappadopulo:2012jk}, which provide the largest possible radius of convergence for the conformal block decomposition in a general spacetime dimension. The $\rho$ coordinates map the $z$ coordinates on the plane\footnote{where the operators are located at $\< {\cal O}(\infty) {\cal O}(1) {\cal O}(z) {\cal O}(0) \>$} to the unit disk: \begin{eqnarray} \rho(z) &=& \frac{z}{(1+\sqrt{1-z})^2}. \label{eq:rhodefinition} \end{eqnarray} In other words, the operators are located at $\pm 1$ and $\pm \rho$, as shown in figure \ref{fig:OpLocation}. The region of convergence of the $VV$ OPE is $\|\rho\|<1$, corresponding to the entire cut $z$-plane. Thus we will follow the authors of \cite{Maldacena:2015waa,Shenker:2014cwa}, who considered the four-point function $F_\beta(x_i)$ with the operators spread out around the thermal cycle, at Euclidean times $\tau_1 = \beta/4, \tau_2 = 3\beta/4$ and $\tau_3 = 0, \tau_4=\beta/2$. At finite Lorentzian time $t$ and spatial separation $x$, we take the coordinates on the plane to be $x_1, \bar{x}_1 = \pm i e^{2 \pi \beta^{-1} (\pm t-x)},~ x_2, \bar{x}_2 =\mp i e^{ 2\pi \beta^{-1}(\pm t-x)},~x_3, \bar{x}_3 = 1,~ x_4, \bar{x}_4 = -1$. As is evident from Figure \ref{fig:OpLocation}, the $VV$ and $WW$ OPEs only converge for $x > 0$; the regime of large $x$ is an OPE limit, and at large Lorentzian $t$ it is a lightcone OPE limit \cite{Fitzpatrick:2012yx, KomargodskiZhiboedov}. The conformal transformation from the plane to the thermal cylinder also requires us to multiply the correlator in the plane by a simple overall factor \cite{Roberts:2014ifa}. We can view the correlator $F_\beta(x_i)$ as the overlap between the states $V(x_2) W(x_4)\| 0\>$ and $W^\dagger(x_3) V^\dagger(x_1)\|0\>$, with the physical intuition that at large times chaotic dynamics should make these states very different. We will not be focused on the asymptotically large $t$ behavior of equation (\ref{eq:OutOfOrderCorr}), but in its behavior at intermediate times $\beta \ll t \ll t_$, where $t_$ is referred to as the scrambling time. In other words, we are interested in the initial development of chaos, and the analysis can only apply to theories with $t_* \gg \beta$. For our purposes $t_* = \frac{\beta}{2 \pi} \log c$ where $c$ is the central charge of a CFT. \begin{figure} \begin{center} \includegraphics[width=0.95\textwidth]{RhoCoordinatesThermal} \end{center} \caption{This figure shows the locations of the operators in the correlator $F_\beta(x_i)$. We work at finite temperature, so the Euclidean time $t_E$ is an angular variable with period $\beta$. On the left we have a general Euclidean configuration in the $\rho$ coordinates of equation \ref{eq:rhodefinition}, while the on the right is the Lorentzian $t= 0$ slice of the configuration relevant to the study of chaos, with operators spaced out over $\beta/4$ intervals in Euclidean time.} \label{fig:OpLocation} \end{figure} Normalizing to the disconnected correlator, we therefore expect that in the regime $\beta \ll t \ll t_$ with $t > x$ we have \begin{eqnarray} \frac{F_\beta(x_i)}{\<V(x_1) V(x_2)\>\<W(x_3)W(x_4)\>} & \approx & 1 - \frac{\kappa}{c} e^{\lambda_L(x) t} + \cdots \label{eq:Fapprox} \end{eqnarray} where $\kappa$ is a $c$-independent constant that depends on the kinematics and the properties of $V$ and $W$. The exponential behavior, which is expected if the divergence of nearby trajectories is proportional to their separation in phase space, defines the Lyapunov exponent $\lambda_L(x)$. We have emphasized that the exponent may depend on the spatial separation $x$ between the pairs of operators $VV$ and $WW$. Stringy corrections \cite{Shenker:2014cwa} provide an explicit and physically interesting example where the Lyapunov exponent depends on $x$. We will see in section \ref{sec:QuantumCorrections} that at the higher order in $1/c$, there are corrections to equation (\ref{eq:Fapprox}) that can be naturally interpreted as a $\frac{1}{c}$ shift in $\lambda_L$. However, there are also other corrections, such as a term $\frac{1}{c^2} e^{\lambda' t}$, which are of equal or greater numerical importance in the regime $\beta \ll t \ll t_$. \subsection{A Bound on the Lyapunov Exponent and $\frac{1}{c}$ Corrections} \label{sec:Bound} Now we will discuss the correlator (\ref{eq:OutOfOrderCorr}) and review the bound on its growth. As pictured in Figure \ref{fig:OpLocation}, we use coordinates \begin{eqnarray} \rho = i e^{ \frac{2 \pi (t-x)}{\beta}}, \qquad \bar{\rho} = -i e^{\frac{2\pi(-t-x)}{\beta}}. \end{eqnarray} At $t=0$ and $x$ large, the two insertions of $V$ come very close to each other in the Euclidean regime, and so the correlator is controlled by the Euclidean OPE limit; in this regime, $z \approx 4 i e^{-\frac{2 \pi x}{\beta}}$. We will mainly consider the regime of large $x$ and positive $t$, so that $\bar{\rho}$ stays very small and well within the radius of convergence of the sum over blocks. This is a lightcone OPE limit \cite{Fitzpatrick:2012yx, KomargodskiZhiboedov}. What this means in practice is that contributions from the lowest-twist operator in the sum over blocks will dominate the correlator.\footnote{Conformal blocks began at order $\bar{\rho}^{~\tau/2}$ in a small $\bar{\rho}$ expansion, where $\tau = \Delta-\ell = 2\bar{h}$ is the twist of the primary operator.} \begin{figure}[t!] \begin{center} \includegraphics[width=0.45\textwidth]{DiagramAnalyticContinuationChaos} \caption{ CFT 4-point correlators can have branch cuts between their OPE singularities at $0, 1,$ and $\infty$. This figure shows the analytic continuation in the $z$ plane necessary to obtain the out of time order correlator of equation (\ref{eq:OutOfOrderCorr}). While $z$ pases through the branch cut extending from $1$ to $\infty$, the $\bar z$ variable remains on the original sheet. } \label{fig:AnalyticContinuationChaos} \end{center} \end{figure} As we increase $t$ to values larger than $x$, the $\rho$ variable passes outside the radius of convergence of the global blocks, and so one potentially becomes sensitive to all operators in the conformal block expansion. If we track $z$ in terms of $t$, \begin{eqnarray} z &=& 1-\left( \frac{1-i e^{\frac{2 \pi (t-x)}{\beta}}}{1+ i e^{\frac{2 \pi (t-x)}{\beta}}} \right)^2, \end{eqnarray} we see that $z$ starts out near $0$ at small $t$, passes around the insertion of $W$ at $1$, and returns to $z \sim 0$, as depicted in Figure \ref{fig:AnalyticContinuationChaos}. Due to the insertion of $W$, there is a branch cut extending from 1 to $\infty$ in the $z$ plane, and we have to make a choice about whether to pass through it onto the second sheet of the correlator, or to deform the path in order to avoid the cut. Passing through the cut corresponds to exchanging the order of operators from the radial OPE ordering $\< W(\infty) W(1) V(z) V(0)\>$, and so in order to obtain the correlator with operators ordered \cite{Hartman:2015lfa} as in (\ref{eq:OutOfOrderCorr}) at large $t$, $z$ approaches 0 on the second sheet of the correlator. Next, a crucial part of the proof is that for ${\rm Re}(t)$ sufficiently large, the correlator is analytic for $\|{\rm Im}(t)\| \le \frac{\beta}{4}$ and bounded for ${\rm Im}(t) = \pm \frac{\beta}{4}$. We will review the proof in the language of the recently derived CFT causality constraints \cite{Hartman:2015lfa}. At large $t$, one has $(z, \bar{z}) \approx (\frac{4}{\rho}, 4 \bar{\rho})$, which approaches the origin with $z$ on the second sheet and $\bar{z}$ on the first sheet. In the notation of \cite{Hartman:2015lfa}, this is \begin{eqnarray} z = \sigma, \qquad \bar{z} = \eta \sigma, \end{eqnarray} with \begin{eqnarray} \label{eq:Sigmaoft} \eta \approx \rho \bar{\rho} = e^{ -\frac{4 \pi x}{\beta}} , \qquad \sigma \approx \frac{4}{\rho} = -4i e^{\frac{2\pi (x-t)}{\beta}}. \end{eqnarray} The commutator $[ V(x_1), V(x_2)]$ vanishes outside the lightcone in the background state $\|W\> = W(0) \| 0 \>$ created by the operator $W$ if and only if $F_\beta$ is an analytic function of $\sigma$ for ${\rm Im}(\sigma) \le 0$ in a neighborhood of $\sigma \sim 0$ \cite{Hartman:2015lfa}. This is the same criterion as $\| {\rm Im}(t) \| \le \frac{\beta}{4}$. (As we will discuss shortly in detail, a similar analytic continuation is used to study 2-to-2 scattering in AdS/CFT \cite{GGP}). Furthermore, while the $V(z)V(0)$ OPE does not converge on the second sheet at $z \sim 0$, the $V(z) W(1)$ OPE does converge in this region on both the first and the second sheet. It is a sum over positive terms on the first sheet, and analytically continuing to the second sheet $(1-z)\rightarrow e^{2 \pi i}(1-z)$ introduces phases that can only {\it decrease} the magnitude of the correlator. Thus, at $z \sim 0$ on the second sheet, the correlator is still bounded by its value on the first sheet, where the $VV$ OPE does converge. This is sufficient to prove that a bound of the form (\ref{eq:MSSBound}) mentioned in the introduction exists for some $\epsilon$. Consider the correlator $F_\beta$ normalized by the disconnected piece. It is bounded by its behavior on the first (Euclidean) sheet, where we can analyze it using the $VV$ OPE channel \begin{eqnarray} \left\|\frac{F_\beta(x_i)}{ \< V(x_1) V(x_2)\> \< W(x_3) W(x_4)\>}\right\| \le \sum_{(h_\alpha,\bar{h}_\alpha)} c_{VV \alpha} c_{WW \alpha} g_{h_\alpha, \bar{h}_\alpha}(z,\bar{z}), \label{eq:FBlockDecomp} \end{eqnarray} where $g_{h,\bar{h}}(z,\bar{z})$ are the global conformal blocks \begin{eqnarray} g_{h,\bar{h}}(z,\bar{z}) &=& g_h(z) g_{\bar{h}}(\bar{z}), \nonumber\\ g_h(z) &=& z^h {}_2F_1(h,h,2h,z). \end{eqnarray} In CFT$_2$ we can use either the $SO(1,3)$ global conformal blocks or the full Virasoro conformal blocks; however the latter are only known in closed form in a certain special limits, so we have used global blocks for concreteness. The $c_{VV \alpha}, c_{W W \alpha}$ are OPE coefficients proportional to $\< VV {\cal O}_{\alpha}\>$ and $\<WW{\cal O}_{\alpha}\>$. Now, by taking $x$ large, we can make $\eta$ and $\bar{z}$ small, and therefore we can suppress terms with $\bar{h}_\alpha>0$. This means that the zero-twist states, i.e. $\bar{h}=0$, dominate in this regime. In a completely general 2d conformal theory, the zero-twist sector can include higher-spin current and be very complicated. However, in theories whose gravity duals are purely GR at low energies, or GR plus massive fields, the only twist-zero sector states are multi-stress tensor products, which make up the Virasoro vacuum conformal block. Therefore, their contribution is in principle known and can be easily estimated. By taking $t-x$ large as well, we can also make $\sigma$ small. However, we cannot take this to be arbitrarily small, since we will mainly be interested in the regime where we are starting to approach the scrambling time $t_* \approx \frac{\beta}{2 \pi} \log(c) +x$ but are still much earlier than it, so that $\frac{1}{c} e^{\frac{2 \pi (t-x)}{\beta}} \ll 1$. To be precise, we want to take the limit where $\|\sigma\| c$ is held constant and large as $c\rightarrow \infty$. The upshot is that $\frac{F_\beta}{\< V V\>\<W W\>}$ is parametrically bounded by the leading contributions from the vacuum Virasoro block and contributions with minimal twist $\tau_m$ on the first sheet. The former of these scale like $\frac{h_L h_H}{c} \sigma^2$, and the latter scale like $ \sigma^{\Delta_m} \eta^{\tau_m}$, where $\Delta_m, \tau_m$ are the dimension and twist of the minimal twist operator (after the vacuum Virasoro block): \begin{eqnarray} \left\| \frac{F_\beta(x_i)}{ \< V(x_1) V(x_2)\> \< W(x_3)W(x_4)\>} \right\| &\lesssim& 1+ 2\frac{h_W h_V}{c} \|\sigma\|^2 + A_m \|\sigma\|^{\Delta_m} \eta^{\tau_m} \nonumber\\ &=& 1+ 2 \frac{h_W h_V}{c^3} \|\sigma c\|^2 + e^{- \frac{4 \pi \tau_m x}{\beta}} \frac{A_m}{c^{\Delta_m}}\|\sigma c\|^{\Delta_m} , \label{eq:boundsummary} \end{eqnarray} where $A_m$ is an unknown theory-dependent prefactor. In $d>2$, the first term would be absent, since in a unitary theory, operators with twist below $\frac{d-2}{2}$ are forbidden and thus all contributions, even conserved currents, are suppressed by a $e^{- \frac{4 \pi \tau_m x}{\beta}}$ factor. Thus, $\frac{F_\beta}{\< V V\>\<W W\>}$ is bounded and analytic in the region ${\rm Im}(\sigma)<0$. Taking $f(t)= \frac{F_\beta}{\< V V\>\<W W\>}$ and letting $f_m$ be the maximum value of the RHS of (\ref{eq:boundsummary}) for times later than some optimally chosen time $t_0$ (i.e., for $\sigma$ less than some value), an elementary complex analysis argument \cite{Maldacena:2015waa} then implies that \begin{eqnarray} \left\| \frac{df}{dt} \right\| \le \frac{2 \pi}{\beta} \left( f_m -\|f\|\right) \frac{\left(1 + \frac{\|f\|}{f_m}\right) }{2} \left( 1 + \sinh^{-2} \left( \frac{2 \pi t}{\beta} \right) \right) . \end{eqnarray} A crucial point in the above inequality is that the irreducible non-universal term $\epsilon$ in (\ref{eq:MSSBound}) arises from the terms on the RHS of (\ref{eq:boundsummary}). Recalling $\sigma \approx -4i e^{\frac{2\pi (x-t)}{\beta}}$, this means that at times $t \propto t_$ the error $\epsilon \sim {\cal O}\left( \frac{h_W h_V}{c^3} \right)$, but at times $t \gtrsim \beta$ we have $\epsilon \sim {\cal O}\left( \frac{h_W h_V}{c} \right)$. In other words, if we wish to constrain $f(t)$ for all times $t > t_0$ with $t_0 \sim \beta$ then we can only bound $\| f'(t) \|$ up to corrections of order $1/c$. But if we are specifically interested in the more restricted regime where $t_0$ scales with $t_ = \frac{\beta}{2 \pi} \log c$, then we can obtain a parametrically stronger bound on chaos. \begin{center} \begin{tabular}{c}\hline\phantom{ssssssssss}\end{tabular} \end{center} Finally, let us review the qualitative behavior of the conformal block decomposition in the $V V$ OPE channel on the second sheet, and in particular its behavior in different regimes of the spatial separation $x$. Passing to the second sheet via term-by-term analytic continuation of the conformal blocks in (\ref{eq:FBlockDecomp}), one obtains \cite{Roberts:2014ifa} \begin{equation}\label{eq:FfromGlobalBlocks} \frac{F_\beta(x_i)}{ \< V(x_1) V(x_2)\> \< W(x_3)W(x_4)\>} \approx \sum_{(h_\alpha,\bar{h}_\alpha)} \tilde{c}_{V V \alpha} \tilde{c}_{W W \alpha} e^{(h_\alpha-\bar h_\alpha - 1)t - (h_\alpha + \bar h_\alpha -1)x} \left( 1 + O \! \left(e^{-x}, e^{-t} \right) \right), \end{equation} where we note that $h, \bar h \geq 0$ in unitary theories, and we identify the spin $\ell = h- \bar h$ and the total dimension $\Delta = h + \bar h$. The $\tilde{c}_{V V \alpha} \tilde{c}_{W W \alpha} $ have been rescaled to absorb some $h$-dependent coefficients. The conformal block decomposition of equation (\ref{eq:FfromGlobalBlocks}) will not in general converge. In the presence of an unbounded sum over spins $\ell$, it appears that the Lyapunov exponent cannot be extracted until after performing the sum. We will discuss the infinite sum over ubiquitous `double-trace' operators \cite{Fitzpatrick:2012yx, KomargodskiZhiboedov,Polchinski:2002jw,JP} in section \ref{sec:DoubleTraceContributions}. We see from the structure of equation (\ref{eq:FfromGlobalBlocks}) that the contributions of large dimension operators will be suppressed at large $x$, leading to an $x$-dependent Lyapunov exponent. The limit of large $x$ and $t$ is a lightcone OPE limit \cite{Fitzpatrick:2012yx, KomargodskiZhiboedov} for the CFT correlator; this limit suppresses contributions from large twist. For example, AdS string states are massive, and therefore correspond to large twist operators in the CFT, which do not affect the $\lambda_L(x)$ at large $x$ \cite{Shenker:2014cwa}. In circumstances where only a single conformal block dominates at large $c$, or when we can sum all relevant contributions, we can make predictions about $\lambda_L(x)$. Our main focus in this paper will be classical and quantum gravitational effects in AdS$_3$, computed using recent work on Virasoro conformal blocks \cite{Fitzpatrick:2015dlt}. \section{Quantum Corrections to Chaos from the Virasoro Identity Block} \label{sec:QuantumCorrections} We are interested in studying gravitational interactions in AdS and their impact on chaos. We will begin by reviewing known results and then discuss corrections in $1/c$, where $c$ is the central charge of the CFT$_2$. Graviton states in AdS$_3$ are created by the CFT$_2$ stress tensor, which has a holomorphic mode expansion $T(z) = \sum_n z^{-2-n} L_n$ in terms of the Virasoro generators $L_n$. Thus all multi-graviton states in AdS$_3$ lie within a single irreducible representation of the Virasoro algebra. The holomorphic Virasoro vacuum block $\mathcal{V}(z)$ represents of the exchange of all of these states between $WW$ and $VV$ in the correlator $F$ of equation (\ref{eq:OutOfOrderCorr}). The full vacuum block contribution is a product $\mathcal{V}(z) \mathcal{V}(\bar z)$ of holomorphic and anti-holmorphic blocks, which depend independently on the holomorphic and anti-holomorphic dimensions $h_W, h_V$ and $\bar h_W, \bar h_V$, and on $c$. The Virasoro vacuum block can only be computed in closed form in certain limits. At leading order in the large central charge $c \to \infty$ limit with fixed holomorphic conformal dimensions $h_W$ and $h_V$, the Virasoro vacuum block reduces to the vacuum contribution plus a 1-graviton global conformal block \begin{eqnarray} \mathcal{V}(z) & = & 1 + \frac{2 h_W h_V}{c} z^2 {}_2 F_1(2,2,4,z) + O \left( \frac{1}{c^2} \right) \nonumber \\ &=& 1 + \frac{2 h_W h_V}{c} \left( \frac{6 (z-2) \log (1-z)}{z}-12 \right) + O \left( \frac{1}{c^2} \right) \end{eqnarray} This one-graviton contribution is sufficient to extract the Lyapunov exponent $\lambda_L$ at leading order in a $1/c$ expansion. We see explicitly that the analytic continuation of Figure \ref{fig:AnalyticContinuationChaos} shifts $\log(1-z) \to \log(1-z) - 2 \pi i$.\footnote{One can pass to the second sheet by taking $(1-z) \rightarrow e^{2\pi i} (1-z)$ or $(1-z)\rightarrow e^{-2\pi i}(1-z)$. In this subsection, we choose the latter in order to be consistent with the conventions in \cite{Roberts:2014ifa}.} Expanding the result at large $t$, or small $z = -4i e^{\frac{2\pi (x-t)}{\beta}}$, we have \begin{eqnarray} \label{eq:1GravitonResult} \mathcal{V}(z) \approx 1 + \frac{48 \pi i h_W h_V}{c z} = 1 - \frac{12 \pi h_W h_V}{c} e^{\frac{2 \pi}{\beta} (t-x)} \end{eqnarray} This takes the form anticipated in equation (\ref{eq:Fapprox}), with $\lambda_L = \frac{2 \pi}{\beta}$. Note that $\bar z \approx e^{-\frac{2 \pi}{\beta} (x+t)} \to 0$ in the relevant limit, and $\bar z$ has not been analytically continued off of the first sheet, so the anti-holomorphic $\mathcal{V}(\bar z) \approx 1$. We are interested in the regime $\beta \ll t \ll t_$, as depicted in Figure \ref{fig:ChaoticBehaviorLyapunov}. Thus we can employ a slightly more systematic parameterization and fix $y = cz$ in the limit of large $c$.\footnote{In fact one could fix $c^r z$ with $0 < r < 1$, which would correspond to $t \propto r t_$. Fixing $z$ corresponds to taking $t$ completely independent of $c$ as $c \to \infty$, which in practice would mean $t \gtrsim t_d$.} This does not alter equation (\ref{eq:1GravitonResult}), but it is useful in some more complicated examples. The Virasoro vacuum block can also be computed in the limit of large $c$ while fixing $h_W/c$ and $h_V$ to any value. In this limit the $W$ operator corresponds to an object in AdS$_3$ with mass proportional to the Planck scale, while $V$ is a light probe with mass much less than the Planck scale. In this heavy-light limit, the leading in $c$ \cite{Fitzpatrick:2015zha} contributions have been computed and matched to AdS$_3$ calculations, and more recently the sub-leading $1/c$ corrections have been computed \cite{Fitzpatrick:2015dlt}. After analytically continuing and expanding to leading order in $1/c$ with $y=cz$ fixed, one finds \cite{Roberts:2014ifa} \begin{eqnarray} \label{eq:HeavyLightLeadingOrder} F_\beta(t,x) \approx \left( \frac{1}{1 - \frac{24 \pi i h_W}{y} } \right)^{2 h_V} \end{eqnarray} where $y \approx -4i e^{\frac{2\pi (x+t_-t)}{\beta}}$ as follows from equation (\ref{eq:Sigmaoft}). If we expand this result to first order in $1/c$ with fixed $z$ we match equation (\ref{eq:1GravitonResult}). Thus the complete heavy-light Virasoro block does not provide any new information about the Lyapunov exponent as compared to 1-graviton exchange. However, it does provide a nice case study for $F_\beta(t)$ \cite{Roberts:2014ifa}, as it displays the expected behavior for all times, pictured in Figure \ref{fig:ChaoticBehaviorLyapunov}. In particular, in a $1/c$ expansion there are an infinite number of $1/(c z)^n = 1/y^n$ terms that individually have singular behavior at $y\sim 0$, and (\ref{eq:HeavyLightLeadingOrder}) is an explicit example of these resumming into something regular that actually vanishes at $y\rightarrow 0$. \begin{figure}[t!] \begin{center} \includegraphics[width=0.8\textwidth]{OneOverCCorrectionsAdS} \caption{ This figure shows diagrams in AdS$_3$ corresponding to various contributions \cite{Fitzpatrick:2015dlt} to the Virasoro vacuum block. The diagram at left is 1-graviton exchange, and is proportional to $h_W h_V/c$. The central diagram, proportional to $h_W h_V^2/c^2$ is a semi-classical correction incorporating gravitational back-reaction. The diagram at right is a true quantum correction proportional to $h_W h_V/c^2$ which is responsible for $1/c$ corrections to the Lyapunov exponent.} \label{fig:OneOverCCorrectionsAdS} \end{center} \end{figure} Now let us consider $1/c$ corrections to these results, some of which correspond to quantum effects in AdS$_3$, as pictured in Figure \ref{fig:OneOverCCorrectionsAdS}. These have been computed for the full heavy-light Virasoro vacuum block \cite{Fitzpatrick:2015dlt}, although we will only be interested in the low-order expansion in $h_W$ and $h_V$. In the Euclidean region, we find an expression of the form \begin{eqnarray} \label{eq:PerturbativeVirasoroBlock} \mathcal{V}(z) &=& 1 + \left( \frac{2 h_W h_V}{c} z^2 {}_2 F_1(2,2,4,z) \right) + \frac{1}{2} \left( \frac{2 h_W h_V}{c} z^2 {}_2 F_1(2,2,4,z) \right)^2 + \cdots \nonumber \\ && + \frac{h_W h_V^2 + h_W^2 h_V}{c^2} f_{\mathrm{LO,SC}}(z) + h_V \frac{h_V}{c} \frac{ h_W^2}{c^2} f_{\mathrm{NLO,SC}}(z) + h_V \frac{1}{c} \frac{ h_W}{c} f_{\mathrm{Q}}(z) + \cdots \end{eqnarray} On the first line are the pure 1-graviton and 2-graviton contributions, neglecting the self-interactions of the gravitons. The first term on the second line `$f_{\mathrm{LO,SC}}$' is so-labeled because it comes entirely from the leading order semi-classical heavy-light large $c$ limit. In other words, it only involves information incorporated into equation (\ref{eq:HeavyLightLeadingOrder}).\footnote{The ``semi-classical limit'' is defined as the terms that survive in $\lim_{c\rightarrow \infty} \frac{1}{c} \log({\cal V})$ when the ratios $\eta_i \equiv h_i/c$ of the external operators to the central charge are all held fixed. The `heavy-light' expansion of this semi-classical limit is an expansion in small $h_V/c$, with $h_W/c$ arbitrary.} In contrast, the term $f_{\mathrm{NLO,SC}}$ in equation (\ref{eq:PerturbativeVirasoroBlock}) is a next-to-leading-order correction to the semi-classical heavy-light block incorporating gravitational backreaction from the light probe $V$. The third term $f_{\mathrm{Q}}$ corresponds to a true quantum correction in AdS$_3$, which will be responsible for a $1/c$ correction to the Lyapunov exponent. Note that its coefficient translates into the AdS$_3$ expression \begin{eqnarray} \frac{h_V h_W}{c^2} \propto \left( \frac{G_N}{R_{AdS}} \right) G_N m_V m_W \end{eqnarray} where we have restored units, including the AdS curvature scale $R_{AdS}$.\footnote{Dimensional analysis is facilitated by studying $(G_N R_{AdS}) \log \mathcal{V}$, a dimensionless function.} Thus the quantum correction should be viewed as an effect that disappears in the flat space limit where $R_{AdS} \to \infty$ with other parameters held fixed. We recently computed $f_{\mathrm{SC}}$ and $f_{\mathrm{Q}}$ explicitly \cite{Fitzpatrick:2015dlt}. For the latter we find \begin{equation} \begin{aligned} f_{\mathrm{Q}} &= -\frac{12}{z^2} \left(-6 (z-2) z \left(\text{Li}_2\left(\frac{1}{1-z}\right)+\text{Li}_2(z)\right)+\left(\pi ^2 (z-2)-16 z\right) z\right. \\ & \left. -3 (3 (z-2) z+2) \log ^2(1-z)+(z-2) z (6 \log (z)+6 i \pi -1) \log (1-z)\right) \end{aligned} \label{eq:CorrectionsToV} \end{equation} Performing the analytic continuation of Figure \ref{fig:AnalyticContinuationChaos} and expanding in $1/c$ with $y = cz$ fixed, we find \begin{eqnarray} \label{eq:ContinuedQuantumV} \mathcal{V}(z) \approx 1 + 48 \pi i h_W h_V \left( \frac{1}{y} - \frac{12 \log \left(y / c\right)}{cy} + \frac{12 i \pi +7}{c y} - \frac{3 i\log(y) }{\pi c^2} + \frac{6 i \pi}{y^2} \right) \end{eqnarray} Now we will discuss each of the terms in parentheses. The first term corresponds to the one-graviton exchange that we studied in equation (\ref{eq:1GravitonResult}), while the others are quantum corrections. The third term is a complex $1/c$ correction to the overall coefficient of $e^{\lambda_L t}$. The fourth term represents highly suppressed linear growth in $t$ not of Lyapunov form. We would like to focus on the first two terms in parentheses in equation (\ref{eq:ContinuedQuantumV}). It is natural to interpret these as arising from an expansion \begin{eqnarray} \frac{1}{c \, z^{1 + \frac{12}{c}}} \approx \frac{1}{y} \left( 1 - \frac{12 \log \left(y /c \right)}{c} + \frac{1}{2} \left( \frac{12 \log \left(y /c \right)}{c} \right)^2 + \cdots \right) \end{eqnarray} which we would expect for the correlators of a CFT. Recalling that $z = -4i e^{\frac{2\pi (x-t)}{\beta}}$, the logarthmic correction we have found can be interpreted as a positive quantum contribution to the Lyapunov exponent. We have checked the resummation of these logarithms using a forthcoming \cite{Hongbin} computation of the $1/c^3$ corrections to the Virasoro vacuum block, verifying the coefficient of the $\log^2(y) / c^2$ term above. Furthermore, we have also found a general proof of leading logarithmic resummation \cite{Hongbin} to all orders in $\log(z)/c$. Thus at next-to-leading order in $1/c$, by one reasonable definition the Lyapunov exponent is \begin{eqnarray} \lambda_L = \frac{2 \pi }{\beta} \left( 1 + \frac{12}{c} \right) \end{eqnarray} Naively interpreted, this violates the bound on chaos \cite{Maldacena:2015waa}, but as we explained in section \ref{sec:ReviewBound}, the detailed analysis \cite{Maldacena:2015waa} permits $1/c$ corrections of either sign. This effect might also be interpreted as a quantum shift in the graviton Regge intercept in AdS$_3$ \cite{JoaoRegge}, which would vanish in the flat spacetime limit. However, before we conclude we must return to discuss the last term in parentheses in equation (\ref{eq:ContinuedQuantumV}). Note that it has a relative phase of $i$ compared to the leading one-graviton term. Thus it is tempting to interpret it as a quantum two-graviton correction akin to the last term on the first line of equation (\ref{eq:PerturbativeVirasoroBlock}), differentiating it from the Lyapunov exponent. Nevertheless, this last term contributes significantly to $F_\beta(t)$ in the relevant regime $\beta \ll t \ll t_$, leading to \begin{eqnarray} \label{eq:TheQuantumCorrection} F_\beta(t) \approx 1 - \frac{12 \pi h_W h_V}{c} e^{\frac{2 \pi }{\beta} \left( 1 + \frac{12}{c} \right) t} + \frac{18 \pi h_W h_V}{c^2} e^{\frac{4 \pi }{\beta} t} + \cdots \end{eqnarray} where we have neglected the third and fourth terms in parentheses in equation (\ref{eq:ContinuedQuantumV}). If we view $\lambda_L$ as the first exponent, then it has received a $1/c$ correction, but this effect does not dominate over the other contributions to $F_\beta(t)$ in the physical regime. We could also define $\lambda_L$ via $\log(1-F_\beta)$, but this would produce a $t$-dependent Lyapunov exponent. Clearly $\mathcal{V}(z)$ and $F_\beta(t)$ are unambiguous functions, but depending on the definition we may interpret our result as either a constant $1/c$ correction to $\lambda_L$, a time-dependent $\lambda_L$, or simply as the failure of $\lambda_L$ to precisely capture the physics of scrambling at finite $c$. \section{Local AdS Correlators, Scattering, and Causality} \label{sec:AdS} In this section we discuss several issues related to AdS correlators, bulk locality, and the connection between scrambling and scattering. In section \ref{sec:DoubleTraceContributions} we study a full AdS$_3$ correlator, which includes both the vacuum Virasoro block and certain double-trace operator contributions. In section \ref{sec:BulkPoint} we compare chaos and bulk scattering, noting how a certain `bulk point singularity' might be used to diagnose bulk locality near black hole horizons. In section \ref{sec:CausalityAnalyticity} we connect our results on chaos to causality and analyticity in both AdS/CFT and flat spacetime scattering. \subsection{Bulk Correlators and Double-Trace Operators} \label{sec:DoubleTraceContributions} In the previous section we used the Virasoro vacuum conformal block, which includes the exchange of all graviton states, to compute a quantum correction to the Lyapunov exponent in AdS$_3$/CFT$_2$. However, even in case of pure gravity in AdS$_3$, the $\<WWVV\>$ correlator receives other contributions. One way of understanding this is that even a ``pure'' gravity theory (whose only low-energy degrees of freedom are gravitons) is not really pure once we introduce the probe operators $V,W$. At a minimum, at large $c$, the theory contains multi-trace operators, corresponding to multi-particle states made from the probes $V$ and $W$. From the point of view of the conformal block decomposition or the OPE, double-trace operators always make an important contribution to any perturbative process in AdS \cite{Liu}. As we discussed in section \ref{sec:ReviewBound}, the crucial limit that suppresses these other contributions is $x \gg 1$ (i.e. $\bar{z} \ll 1$) where the zero-twist sector dominates. In this section, we will consider an example where we can explicitly explore the size of double-trace contributions using a bulk computation \cite{KeskiVakkuri:1998nw}. Let us first consider the relatively simple case where the probe operators interact through the backreaction of $W$ on the bulk geometry. Since the resulting geometry is a quotient of pure AdS$_3$, the correlator for the CFT on a Lorentzian cylinder can be written as a sum over images \cite{KeskiVakkuri:1998nw} \begin{equation} \< V W V W\> =\|1-z\|^{-2h_V} \sum_{n=-\infty}^\infty \left( \frac{ \alpha^2}{4\sinh(\frac{\alpha}{2}( \log(1-z)+i (n+2) \pi)) \sinh(\frac{\alpha}{2} (\log(1-\bar{z})-i n \pi))} \right)^{2h_V}, \label{eq:bulkcorr} \end{equation} where $\alpha^2 \equiv 1 - \frac{24 h_W}{c}$ and the $n+2$ arises because of the analytic continuation of $z$ to the Lorentzian sheet as depicted in Figure \ref{fig:AnalyticContinuationChaos}. In the limit $\bar{z}\rightarrow 0$ and generic $\alpha$, the dominant contribution comes from the $n=0$ term, since this is the only one with an OPE singularity $\propto \bar{z}^{-2h_L}$. Since this term is exactly the contribution from the large $c$ vacuum Virasoro block \cite{Fitzpatrick:2014vua, Fitzpatrick:2015zha, Fitzpatrick:2015foa, Asplund:2014coa, Hijano:2015rla, Hijano:2015qja}, we immediately see that contributions from multi-trace operators made from the probes $V$ and $W$ are irrelevant in this limit. It will be useful nevertheless to warm up by being even more explicit here. The $n=0$ term decays at very small $z$ relative to the disconnected correlator: \begin{eqnarray} \frac{\< V W V W\>}{\< VV\> \<WW\> } &\sim& \left( \frac{\alpha z}{2 \sin(\pi \alpha)} \right)^{2h_V}. \end{eqnarray} As usual, we are interested in the initial onset of this decay at large $c$. Taking $\alpha \approx 1- \frac{12 h_W}{c}$, one obtains \begin{eqnarray} \frac{\< V W V W\>}{\<VV\> \<WW\>} &\approx& 1 - \frac{48 i \pi h_V h_W}{z c} + \dots . \end{eqnarray} The first term at large $c$ is shown above, and agrees with equation (\ref{eq:1GravitonResult}). To quantify the corrections, we take the limit $c\gg 1$ with $y=z c$ fixed; in this limit, the first few contributions are \begin{eqnarray} \frac{\< V W V W\>}{\<VV\> \<WW\>} &\approx& \left( 1 - \frac{48 i \pi h_V h_W}{y} + {\cal O}(y^{-2}))\right) + \frac{1}{c} \left( 24i \pi h_V h_W + {\cal O}(y^{-1}) \right) + \dots . \end{eqnarray} In fact, all terms that we have written out explicitly above come from just the single stress tensor contribution $\propto \frac{h_V h_W}{c}z^2 {}_2F_1(2,2,4,z)$. Now let us look at the bulk result in a more general regime, where $c$ is large with $y= z c$ and $\bar{y} = \bar{z} c$ fixed. In this limit, after dividing by the disconnected correlators, equation (\ref{eq:bulkcorr}) becomes \begin{eqnarray} \frac{\< V W V W\> }{\< VV\>\<WW\>} &\approx& \sum_{n=-\infty \atop n ~ \textrm{even}}^\infty \left( \frac{1}{\left( 1 + \frac{12 i \pi h_W (n+2)}{y}\right)\left( 1 + \frac{12 i \pi h_W n}{\bar{y}} \right) } \right)^{2h_V} \end{eqnarray} Taking $h_V =1 $, the sum can be computed in closed form to give \begin{eqnarray} \frac{\< V W V W\> }{\< VV\>\<WW\>} &\approx& \frac{y^2 \bar y^2 \left(\text{csch}^2\left(\frac{y}{12 h_W}\right)+\text{csch}^2\left(\frac{\bar y} {12 h_W}\right)\right)}{144 h_W^2 \left(24 \pi i h_W+ (y-\bar y)\right)^2} \nonumber \\ && + \frac{ y^2 \bar y^2 \left( \coth \left(\frac{y}{12 h_W}\right)- \coth \left(\frac{\bar y}{12 h_W}\right)\right)}{6 h_W \left(24 \pi i h_W+ (y-\bar y)\right)^3} \label{eq:BulkCorrelator} \end{eqnarray} The correlator will depend on both $x$ and the time $t$ discussed in section \ref{sec:ReviewBound} due to the contributions of double trace $V \partial^k V$ and $W \partial^k W$ type operators. To see this explicitly, one can expand equation (\ref{eq:BulkCorrelator}) in $\bar y$, giving the vacuum Virasoro block as the leading term and a correction proportional to $\bar y^2$ which is associated to $V \partial^k V$ double trace operators in the conformal block expansion. \begin{figure}[t!] \begin{center} \includegraphics[width=0.75\textwidth]{ContinuationsChaosvsScattering} \caption{ We compare the analytic continuation relevant for chaos (left) \cite{Roberts:2014ifa}, which requires crossing a single light cone branch cut, with the analytic continuation for the study of bulk scattering (right) \cite{GGP}, which requires crossing two branch cuts from the Euclidean region. } \label{fig:ContinuationsChaosvsScattering} \end{center} \end{figure} \subsection{Bulk Point Singularities and Scattering Near Horizons} \label{sec:BulkPoint} To address the black hole information paradox, it would be useful to be able to use CFT data to define AdS observables behind the horizon of a black hole. However, not only is this problem difficult, but because we do not expect bulk observables to have a precise existence, it may not even be well-defined. Fortunately, CFT correlators have some features with a precise bulk interpretation. A particularly sharp example is the bulk point singularity \cite{GGP, JP, Okuda:2010ym, JoaoMellin, Maldacena:2015iua} of four-point correlators at $z = \bar z$, which is associated with AdS scattering amplitudes. The singularity arises when a set of null rays emanating into the bulk from CFT operator insertions all meet at a bulk point. This occurs when $\det x_{ij}^2 = 16 (\rho - \bar \rho)^2(1-\rho \bar \rho)^2 \propto (z-\bar z)^2$ vanishes \cite{GGP}, where the $\rho$ coordinates are pictured in figure \ref{fig:OpLocation}. Thus the singularity is a signature of the existence of a local bulk. CFT correlators computed from AdS perturbation theory (Witten diagrams) generically have such bulk point singularities. In CFT$_2$ these bulk point singularities are resolved at finite $c$ \cite{Maldacena:2015iua}, although the correlators may still grow a very large `bump' in the vicinity of $z=\bar z$. The Lorentzian correlator of equation (\ref{eq:BulkCorrelator}) has such a bump at large $c$ with fixed $z, \bar z$, although it has an exponentially sensitive coefficient. Bulk point singularities can never correspond with points behind the horizon of an AdS black hole. This follows from the definition of a horizon -- null rays extending from behind the horizon will never reach the boundary of AdS. But it is natural to ask if there exist bulk point singularities associated with bulk points very close to the horizon of a black hole. In other words, do bulk point singularities `fuzz out' in a continuous way as we try to use them to probe local physics closer and closer to the horizon of a black hole? These considerations suggest a setup closely related to chaos and scrambling. In AdS/CFT, scrambling arises from interactions near the horizon of a black hole \cite{Shenker:2013pqa, JoeRuelle}. A crucial role is played by the universal blue-shift experienced by all infalling objects. For example, consider a particle falling towards the horizon of a BTZ black hole with temperature $T$. If the particle is released at a time $-t$, it will blueshift by a factor of $\sim \frac{1}{T} e^{t T}$ once it crosses the $t=0$ time slice \cite{Shenker:2013pqa}. This relative blue-shift will also be important for scattering processes that occur in `the zone' near the horizon. This means that in AdS$_3$/CFT$_2$ we can study scattering in a black hole background via a conformal transformation from the plane to the thermal cylinder. The conformal transformation cannot create or eliminate bulk point singularities, but it does alter the kinematical interpretation of the region $z \sim \bar z$. In specific theories with a bulk point `bump' \cite{Maldacena:2015iua} it may be possible to precisely characterize the limitations of bulk locality near horizons. Correlators with more than four operators could be used to study bulk points in the background of perturbations that shift the location of the horizon \cite{Leichenauer:2014nxa, Roberts:2014isa, Shenker:2013yza}. As we briefly review in appendix \ref{app:AnalyticContinuations} (see also \cite{Maldacena:2015iua}), the kinematics of bulk point singularities differs subtly from that of the correlators we have used to diagnose chaos. However, the regimes overlap near $\bar z \sim 0$, the lightcone OPE limit. This means that we can relate scattering and Lyapunov exponents more generally. Let us consider introducing additional interactions in the bulk in a low-energy effective theory. For scalar fields $\phi_V, \phi_W$ in the bulk dual to $V,W$ on the boundary, a local quartic interaction with $2k$ derivatives, i.e. of the form \begin{eqnarray} (\partial_{\mu_1} \dots \partial_{\mu_s} \phi_V) (\partial^{\mu_1} \dots \partial^{\mu_s}\phi_V) (\partial_{\mu_{s+1}} \dots \partial_{\mu_k} \phi_W)(\partial^{\mu_{s+1}} \dots \partial^{\mu_k} \phi_W) \end{eqnarray} creates a leading bulk singularity (after the analytic continuation of Figure \ref{fig:ContinuationsChaosvsScattering}) at $z \sim \bar{z}$ of the form \begin{eqnarray} \frac{F_\beta}{\< VV\>\<WW\>} &\sim& \frac{1}{(z-\bar{z})^{\gamma}} z^{2\Delta_V+2\Delta_W+k-2} (1-z)^{\Delta_V + \Delta_W + k-2}\frac{T\left(-\frac{t}{s}= z\right)}{s^k}, \nonumber\\ \gamma &=& 2\Delta_V+2\Delta_W+2k-3, \label{eq:bulksingform} \end{eqnarray} where $s^{-k}T\left(-\frac{t}{s}\right) \equiv T(\sin^2\frac{\theta}{2})$ is the angular dependence of the leading power of Mandelstam $s$ in the flat-space scattering amplitude. This singularity overlaps with the region of large $x$ and large $t$ relevant for our study of chaos, where both $z$ and $\bar{z}$ approach zero. Note that this is given by the forward limit $T(0)$ of the scattering amplitude; we will comment below in more detail on the connection with analyticity constraints on the forward scattering limit in flat-space \cite{Adams:2006sv}. At small $z$, this bulk singularity grows like\footnote{The order of limits here is not quite the same as the one that is relevant for the MSS bound, since we are taking $z\sim \bar{z}$ first and then taking $z\rightarrow 0$. Thus the residue in (\ref{eq:bulksingform}) does not keep track of the difference between $z$ and $\bar{z}$ when these both approach zero but at different rates. In particular, in the limit where both approach zero with a large ratio $\eta = \bar{z}/z$, the final result can contain powers of $\eta$, and we are not keeping track of these on the RHS of (\ref{eq:bulksingMSS}). } \begin{eqnarray} \frac{F_\beta}{\< VV\>\<WW\>} &\sim& \frac{ T(0)}{z^{k-1}}. \label{eq:bulksingMSS} \end{eqnarray} Therefore this violates the MSS bound \cite{Maldacena:2015waa} on the rate of growth for $k>2$, and for $k=2$ it is marginal. In particular, when $k=2$, any real $T(0)$ must have the correct sign so that this contribution to the disconnected piece {\it decreases} its magnitude, since an increase would violate (\ref{eq:boundsummary}). This observation was one of the central results of a recent study of causality in CFT \cite{Hartman:2015lfa}. The fact that $k>2$ violates the bound implies that such bulk interactions are much like higher-spin contributions to CFT correlators in the context of the MSS bound. That is, each one individually violates the bound, and the only way for them to be present in a consistent unitary theory is via an infinite number of higher derivative interactions with correlated coefficients that resum and soften the singularity.\footnote{We thank Tom Hartman for emphasizing this to us.} \subsection{Causality and Analyticity in Flat Space vs AdS/CFT} \label{sec:CausalityAnalyticity} The above constraints bear a striking resemblance to certain bounds on effective field theories derived from the analyticity of flat-space scattering amplitudes \cite{Adams:2006sv}. In fact, with a little extra work using results \cite{GGP} connecting the bulk point singularity to the flat space S-Matrix, one can see that the integration contour on the forward limit of the flat space scattering amplitude \cite{Adams:2006sv} is in fact the same as the integration contour used \cite{Hartman:2015lfa} to study causality in CFT. Let us use the form (\ref{eq:bulksingform}) for the bulk singularity near $\bar{z} \sim 0$ and $z= -t/s \ll 1 $ to write \begin{eqnarray} T(s,t \ll s) &\sim& s^k \left( -\frac{t}{s} \right)^{k-1} \left( -\frac{u}{s} \right)^{2+k-\Delta_V-\Delta_W} \left( \frac{z-\bar{z}}{z} \right)^{\gamma} G\left(- \frac{t}{s}\right) \nonumber\\ &\sim& s t^{k-1} G\left( -\frac{t}{s}\right), \label{eq:TtoG} \end{eqnarray} where $G(z) \equiv \lim_{\bar{z} \rightarrow 0} \frac{F_\beta}{\< VV\>\<WW\>}$. Now, consider the case of a bulk interaction $(\partial \phi)^4$ with $V=W, \phi_V = \phi_W$, which corresponds to $k=2$ above, and was one of the main cases of interest in \cite{Hartman:2015lfa} and \cite{Adams:2006sv}. To derive analyticity contraints on the forward limit of scattering amplitudes one studies a contour integral (see figure 8 of \cite{Adams:2006sv}) \begin{eqnarray} \lim_{t\rightarrow 0} \oint ds \frac{T(s,t)}{s^3} \label{eq:NimaContour} \end{eqnarray} By isolating the contributions of the interaction $(\partial \phi)^4$ and using unitarity, one can prove \cite{Adams:2006sv} that this operator must have a positive coefficient in effective field theory. If we perform a change of variables to $\sigma = -\frac{t}{s}$, this contour integral becomes \begin{eqnarray} \lim_{t\rightarrow 0} \oint ds \frac{T(s,t)}{s^3} \sim \oint d\sigma \, G(\sigma), \end{eqnarray} where we used equation (\ref{eq:TtoG}). Note that the semi-circular $\sigma$ contour must be taken at small radius because $t/s$ is small.\footnote{See section 6.4 of \cite{Hartman:2015lfa} with $\ell_m=2$. } This is the contour integral that was recently used (see figure 6 of \cite{Hartman:2015lfa}) to study causality constraints in CFT, and to prove e.g. that AdS effective theories must have positive coefficients for $(\partial \phi)^4$ interactions, though in the limit $\bar{z}/z \ll1$ first rather than $z-\bar{z}\ll 1$ first. So there is a direct connection between causality constraints on flat space and AdS effective field theories. \section{Discussion} \label{sec:discussion} We have argued that one-loop gravitational effects in AdS$_3$, which correspond to universal $1/c$ corrections to the vacuum Virasoro conformal block of any large $c$ CFT$_2$, produce a quantum correction to chaos encapsulated by equation (\ref{eq:TheQuantumCorrection}). The result might be viewed as a correction to the Lyapunov exponent \begin{eqnarray} \lambda_L = \frac{2 \pi}{\beta} \left( 1 + \frac{12}{c} \right) \end{eqnarray} but the interpretation is somewhat ambiguous, since other $1/c$ effects are of similar or greater importance between the dissipation and scrambling times. If interpreted as the $\lambda_L$ above, the result violates a recently proposed bound on chaos \cite{Maldacena:2015iua}, but it does not contradict the arguments that led to that bound, or its spirit \cite{Sekino:2008he} that black holes may be the fastest scramblers. Viewed as a correction to gravitational scattering in AdS$_3$, the effect we have identified is proportional to $\frac{G_N}{R_{AdS}}$, so it is a long-distance effect that would vanish in the flat spacetime limit. In section \ref{sec:Bound} we specialized the arguments for the bound \cite{Maldacena:2015iua} to CFT$_2$ in order to examine the potential for $1/c$ corrections. We found that for $t \gtrsim t_d$ near the dissipation time corrections to the bound can be of order $1/c$, but that for times $t \sim t_$ near the scrambling time, any positive corrections to the bound must be parametrically suppressed by $\propto 1/c^3$ in CFT$_2$. In accord with these results, the corrections to $\lambda_L$ are only positive at very early times. For more general systems the role of $1/c$ will be played by $1/N^2$, or the inverse of the parameter controlling the number of degrees of freedom. Thus our analysis raises the question of whether other effects violating the bound may be identified in other systems. Optimistically, we may hope that pure gravity always produces the largest possible value of $\lambda_L$ once all $1/c$ corrections are taken into account. Then we must ask whether this idea could be well-defined in higher dimensions. In AdS$_{> 3}$ we expect similar quantum corrections to $\lambda_L$ in the perturbative $G_N$ expansion, but if they come from AdS-scale effects, ie if they are parametrically of order $\frac{G_N}{R_{AdS}^{d-1}}$, then perhaps they will be relatively universal. Thus the bound on $\lambda_L$ may remain more precise \cite{Roberts:2014isa} than the KSS bound \cite{Kovtun:2004de} on the viscosity/entropy ratio, which can be violated \cite{Kats:2007mq, Brigante:2007nu} by higher dimension local operators in the gravitational action. A more pessimistic interpretation would be that the bound on $\lambda_L$ cannot be made completely sharp at finite but large values of $N$, and only emerges in the strict $N \to \infty$ limit. Even in this case, the bound should still apply to effects (e.g. stringy corrections) that depend on a parameter (e.g. the 't Hooft coupling) that can be adjusted independently in the large $N$ limit. We have also discussed the relationship between chaos, scattering, AdS locality, and causality constraints on CFT correlators and flat space scattering amplitudes, emphasizing that many recent constraints are closely related \cite{Adams:2006sv, Camanho:2014apa, Maldacena:2015iua, Hartman:2015lfa} and can be more directly connected. We explained that the bulk point singularity, a signature of local bulk scattering \cite{GGP, JP, JoaoMellin, Maldacena:2015iua}, may be used to examine bulk locality near horizons via a kinematical setup \cite{Shenker:2013pqa} closely related to scrambling. \section{Acknowledgments} We would like to thank Brian Swingle for discussions and collaboration at early stages of this work, and Ethan Dyer and Dan Roberts for comments on the draft. We would also like to thank Hongbin Chen, Ethan Dyer, Tom Hartman, Ami Katz, Daliang Li, Eric Perlmutter, Dan Roberts, Steve Shenker, Matt Walters, Junpu Wang, and Sasha Zhiboedov for valuable discussions. JK is supported in part by NSF grants PHY-1316665 and PHY-1454083, and by a Sloan Foundation fellowship. \begin{appendices} \section{Details of Analytic Continuations} \label{app:AnalyticContinuations} Let us first discuss the analytic continuation that takes the correlator from the Euclidean sheet to the second sheet relevant to chaos and to the Regge limit. Under the analytic continuation of Figure \ref{fig:AnalyticContinuationChaos} the various logarithms and polylogarithms have monodromies \begin{eqnarray} \log(1-z) &\to& \log(1-z) - 2 \pi i, \nonumber \\ \mathrm{Li}_n(z) &\to & \mathrm{Li}_n(z) + \frac{2 \pi i }{(n-1)!} \log^{n-1}(z), \nonumber\\ \mathrm{Li}_n(1-z) & \to & \mathrm{Li}_n(1-z) , \end{eqnarray} which can be easily derived from $\mathrm{Li}_n(z) = \int_0^z \frac{\mathrm{Li}_{n-1}(t)}{t} dt$ and $\mathrm{Li}_1(z) = -\log(1-z)$. The analytic continuation above differs from that required for an analysis of scattering amplitudes (in the flat spacetime limit) and the bulk point singularity \cite{GGP, JP, Maldacena:2015iua}. The latter require continuation through a second branch cut and onto a further sheet, as depicted in Figure \ref{fig:ContinuationsChaosvsScattering}. As a very explicit example illustrating the distinction, perturbative $\lambda \phi^4$ contact interactions in AdS produce correlators proportional to `$D$-functions'. The $D_{1111}$ function has the closed form expression \cite{GGP} \begin{eqnarray} D_{1111}^{\mathrm{Euc}} = \frac{z \bar z}{z - \bar z} \left(2 \mathrm{Li}_2(z) - 2\mathrm{Li}_2 (\bar z) + \log( z\bar z) \log \left( \frac{1-z}{1 - \bar z} \right) \right) \end{eqnarray} on the Euclidean sheet. Following Figure \ref{fig:ContinuationsChaosvsScattering}, on the sheet relevant for chaos the function continues to \begin{eqnarray} D_{1111}^{\mathrm{Chaos}} = \frac{z \bar z}{z - \bar z} \left( 2\mathrm{Li}_2(z) - 2 \mathrm{Li}_2 (\bar z) + 4 \pi i \log(z) + \log(z \bar z) \left( \log \left( \frac{1-z}{1 - \bar z} \right) - 2 \pi i \right) \right) \end{eqnarray} whereas after the analytic continuation to the sheet relevant for scattering \cite{GGP, JP, Maldacena:2015iua} we have \begin{eqnarray} D_{1111}^{\mathrm{Scatter}} = \frac{z \bar z}{z - \bar z} \left( 2\mathrm{Li}_2(z) - 2 \mathrm{Li}_2 (\bar z) + 4 \pi i \log(z) + (\log(z \bar z)+ 2 \pi i)\left( \log \left( \frac{1-z}{1 - \bar z} \right) - 2 \pi i \right) \right) \nonumber \end{eqnarray} The continuation relevant for scattering has a bulk point singularity at $z=\bar z$ \cite{GGP, JP, Maldacena:2015iua}, whereas $D_{1111}^{\mathrm{Euc}}$ and $D_{1111}^{\mathrm{Chaos}}$ are regular at these points. This can be seen explicitly by expanding the functions above in the small parameter $z - \bar z$. A bulk point singularity can only arise from a sum over an infinite number of conformal blocks, which makes the distinction between the two analytic continuations in figure \ref{fig:ContinuationsChaosvsScattering} somewhat subtle in the context of the conformal block decomposition. For a more detailed discussion see section 6 of \cite{Maldacena:2015iua}. \end{appendices} \newpage \bibliographystyle{utphys}	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv" }	9,598
<?php namespace Mautic\WebhookBundle\Event; use Mautic\CoreBundle\Event\CommonEvent; use Mautic\WebhookBundle\Entity\Webhook; use Mautic\WebhookBundle\Entity\WebhookQueue; /** * Class WebhookQueueEvent * * @package Mautic\LeadBundle\Event / class WebhookQueueEvent extends CommonEvent { /* * @param WebhookQueue $webhookQueue * @param Webhook $webhook * @param bool $isNew / public function __construct(WebhookQueue &$webhookQueue, Webhook $webhook, $isNew = false) { $this->entity =& $webhookQueue; $this->webhook =& $webhook; $this->isNew = $isNew; } /* * Returns the WebhookQueue entity * * @return WebhookQueue / public function getWebhookQueue() { return $this->getWebhookQueue(); } /* * Sets the WebhookQueue entity * * @param WebhookQueue $webhookQueue / public function setWebhookQueue(WebhookQueue $webhookQueue) { $this->entity = $webhookQueue; } /* * Returns the Webhook entity * * @return Webhook / public function getWebhook() { return $this->getWebhook(); } /* * Sets the Webhook entity * * @param Webhook $webhook */ public function setWebhook(Webhook $webhook) { $this->webhook = $webhook; } }	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub" }	9,596
\section{Introduction} Multi-component polymer materials including nanocomposites, fiber-reinforced plastics, and polymer blends typically have inhomogeneous internal structures on a mesoscopic level. The properties of such mixture materials are strongly dependent on the distribution of their internal structures, namely, the mixture quality \cite{Robeson2007Polymer,Schaefer2007How,Vaia2007Polymer,Paul2008Polymer,Gibson2010Review}. Therefore, there is a common need to develop a quantification measure to describe the mixture quality of multi-component polymer materials. Such a technique would also be required to evaluate mixing processes in various mixing devices in the field of chemical engineering \cite{tadmor06:_princ_of_polym_proces,cullen09:_food_mixin,muthukumarappan09:_mixin_fundam,Ottino1983Laminar,Bigio1990Measures,Stone2005Imaging,Funakoshi2008Chaotic,Bothe2006Fluid,Bothe2008Computation}. Though various methods for the analysis of mixture quality have been proposed, these approaches are sometimes system-specific and fail to directly assess hierarchical internal structures. To compare different mixture systems (different filler loading, different mixing conditions, etc.), a simple quantification method based on non-system-specific criteria is required. In general, internal structures in a complex mixture have their own characteristic scales. Therefore, the simultaneous quantification of size and distribution is necessary. However, deviation from uniformity, which is a commonly used method, often misses characteristic scales of internal inhomogeneity because uniform distribution itself is intrinsically defined without any scale. From this observation, the identification of characteristic scales is a fundamental problem when discussing the mixture quality of complex mixtures. Many prior works regarding the quantification of mixture quality primarily focused on the non-uniformity of distribution, regardless of the sizes or structures of the dispersed phase. Typically for a dispersion of spherical particles, the center points of the particles are first identified, then the distribution of the center points is analyzed \cite{Zhu2010Statistical,Li2012Automatic,Sul2011Quantitative}. One direct approach to measure the distribution inhomogeneity is to evaluate the deviation from the uniform distribution based on fluctuation of the point density \cite{yang94:_flow_field_analy_of_banbur_mixer,yang09:_flow_field_analy_of_banbur_mixer,connelly07:_examin_of_mixin_abilit_of,alemaskin05:_color_mixin_in_meter_zone,camesasca09:_danck_revis_use_of_entrop,Zhu2010Statistical,Li2012Automatic}. Another approach is to evaluate a certain cost function of the inter-point distance, which is the minimum when the points are uniformly distributed~\cite{Sul2011Quantitative}. These techniques are useful for systems where the ideal distribution is homogeneous but not for systems with internal structures. The length scales of internal structures cannot assessed by these approaches. Instead of measuring deviation from uniformity, a degree of clustering was used to characterize the inhomogeneity of the distribution. The spatial correlation function of density of the dispersed phase is the simplest way to define correlation length, which is an average size of the cluster \cite{danckwerts52:_defin_and_measur_of_some,muthukumarappan09:_mixin_fundam}. Alternative methods to define size were developed based on either a concentration gradient~\cite{Bothe2006Fluid}, or the inter-point distance~\cite{Stone2005Imaging}. The size of the matrix phase not containing the dispersed phase can also be used to characterize the clustering tendency, which is closely related to the mechanical reinforcement of nanocomposites~\cite{Khare2010Quantitative}. Another method is based on the mathematical morphology, which considers the volume fraction of isotropic virtual dilation of the dispersed phase. The dependence of the volume fraction on dilation differs depending on the degree of clustering~\cite{Pegel2009Spatial}. These approaches focus on one representative length scale but not on the multiple characteristic scales associated with hierarchical internal structures. Internal structures within a complex mixture are often hierarchical in nature. Thus, different scales associated with hierarchical structures should be involved in characterizing the mixture quality of a complex mixture. The only other known study that has assessed inhomogeneity at different scales involves the Mix-Norm method~\cite{Mathew2005Multiscale}. However, the Mix-Norm method has focuses on the defining non-uniformity of a system in which the ideal mixture state is uniform for all scales and thus does not apply to the identification of hierarchical characteristic scales. In this paper, we propose a scale-dependent measure for inhomogeneity of complex mixtures that is capable of identifying multiple characteristic scales of inhomogeneity. The degrees of inhomogeneity are defined at different scales through the coarse-graining of the concentration field of a dispersed phase. Multiple characteristic scales are identified with the scale dependence of inhomogeneity. We demonstrate how the scale-dependent measure works by applying the technique to synthetic dispersions with different distributions. This technique can aid in comparing different complex mixtures and can provide a fundamental understanding of the mixture quality of systems with different internal structures. \section{Method of scale-dependent moment for mixture quality} We start with a concentration field, $c(\vec{x})$, of a component in a mixture. The inhomogeneity of the mixture can be characterized based on the fluctuation in the concentration field, which contains information on a microscopic level. The resolution of $c(\vec{x})$ is determined by the resolution of the data obtained. Because the definition of inhomogeneity should not depend on the total content of the component, we consider the normalized concentration field, namely a probability density, as \begin{align} \mu(\vec{x})&=\frac{c(\vec{x})}{\int_{\Omega}\upd\vec{y}c(\vec{y})}, \end{align} where $\Omega$ denotes the whole domain of the mixture. The induced probability density $\mu(\vec{x})$ satisfies $ \int_{\Omega}\upd\vec{x}\mu(\vec{x})=1 $ irrespective of the total content of the dispersed substance $\int_{\Omega}\upd\vec{x}c(\vec{x})$. To quantify the fluctuation of a specific scale, the coarse-grained field is defined as \begin{align} \mu_{r}(\vec{x})&=\int_{B_{r}(\vec{x})} \!\!\!\!\!\! \!\!\! \upd\vec{y}\mu(\vec{x}+\vec{y}), \label{eq:coarse-grained_measure} \end{align} where $B_{r}(\vec{x})$ denotes the domain of a linear size $r$ around a location $\vec{x}$. Coarse-graining is a familiar concept in statistical physics and has been especially useful in characterizing fractal structure in fluid turbulence \cite{kolmogorov62:_refin_of_previous_hypot_concer,oboukhov62:_some_specif_featur_of_atmos_tubul,mandelbrot82:_fract_geomet_of_natur,fujisaka03:_inter_and_expon_field_dynam}. Coarse-graining has also been applied to characterize time-series with long-range correlation\cite{fujisaka87:_inter_caused_by_chaot_modul}. In these applications, fractal structures were characterized by power-law scaling, and the exponents of this analysis were a primary concern. Here, we are interested in applying the coarse-graining concept to quantification of mixture quality. The fluctuation at a resolution scale $r$ is characterized by the statistical moment, \begin{align} \langle \mu_{r}^{q}\rangle &\equiv \int\upd\vec{x}\mu_{r}^{q}(\vec{x}), ~q\in(-\infty, \infty), \label{eq:q_moment} \end{align} where the parameter $q$ represents the magnitude of fluctuation: a large positive $q$ indicates a large fluctuation and a negative $q$ indicates a small fluctuation. If a mixture is homogeneous at a scale $r$, \begin{align} \langle \mu_{r}^{q}\rangle^{p} &= \langle \mu_{r}^{p}\rangle^{q}~~\text{for}~~q\neq p, \label{eq:mu_qp} \end{align} holds. For instance, in the limit of macroscopic scale, $r\to L$, where $L$ denotes the system size, and the coarse-grained concentration becomes $\mu_{L}=\int_{B_{L}}\upd\vec{x}\mu(\vec{x})\approx \int_{\Omega}\upd\vec{x}\mu(\vec{x})$ by definition; therefore, the normalized moment is always close to unity at the system size, $\langle\mu_{L}^{q}\rangle/\langle \mu_L\rangle^{q}\approx 1$. This property simply represents the macroscopic homogeneity in the general situation. Furthermore, if there is no coherent structure of scale $r$, the relationship \begin{align} \langle \mu_{r}^{q}\rangle &\sim A r^{Dq},\label{eq:scaling1} \end{align} holds with a coefficient $A$, where $D$ is the spatial dimension. Based on the properties (\ref{eq:mu_qp}) and (\ref{eq:scaling1}), to characterize the inhomogeneity of a mixture, we define the {\itshape inhomogeneity function at scale $r$} by a normalized moment, \begin{align} F_{q}(r) &= \left[ \frac{ \langle \mu_{r}^{q}\rangle }{ \langle \mu_{r}\rangle^{q} } \right]^{1/(q-1)}. \end{align} To understand the physical implication of $F_{q}(r)$, we consider a mixture with a correlation length $l$. In this case, the inhomogeneity function behaves as \begin{align} F_{q}(r) & \begin{cases} \to \text{cst.}(>1)& r\ll l, \\ > 1 & r \sim l, \\ \to 1 & r\gg l, \end{cases} \label{eq:fqr_scale_l} \end{align} The fluctuation in a smaller scale than $r$ is accounted for in $F_{r}(q)$. Three ranges of characteristic scales are observed. In the large-scale regime of $r\gg l$, the mixture appears to be homogeneous. This leads that Eq.(\ref{eq:mu_qp}) holds, and then $F_{q}(r)=1$ is obtained irrespective of $q$. At the small-scale regime of $r\ll l$, the mixture has a certain level of inhomogeneity. In this scale, Eq.(\ref{eq:scaling1}) holds and $F_{q}(r)\sim \left(A/A^{q}\right)^{1/(q-1)}=A^{-1}=\text{cst.}$ is obtained asymptotically irrespective of $q$. Thus, $F_{q}(r)$ approaches a certain level depending on non-uniformity at the smallest scale. At the correlation scale of $r\sim l$, the rapid variation of $F_{q}(r)$ characterizes the correlation scale in the mixture. From the inhomogeneity function, we can identify both the macroscopic homogeneity and microscopic inhomogeneity of a mixture. To characterize macroscopic homogeneity, we define the scale of homogeneity, $l_H$, which is a lower bound, as $F_{q}(r)\approx 1$ holds for $l_{H}<r$. In general, $F_{q}(r)$ is a monotonously decreasing function of the scale $r$, which corresponds to the decreasing inhomogeneity as the observation scale enlarges. To identify a characteristic scale in a mixture clearly, it is convenient to see the first derivative of $F_{q}(r)$. We define the {\itshape scale susceptibility} of the concentration fluctuation as \begin{align} G_{q}(r)&\equiv -\frac{\upd F_{q}(r)}{\upd \ln r}, \end{align} which takes a finite positive value when $F_{q}(r)$ decreases sharply based on the characteristic scale of the fluctuation. Because we are foucusing on hierarchical structures with a wide range of scales, the scale susceptibility is defined as the derivative with respect to $\ln r$. For the cases described in Eq.(\ref{eq:fqr_scale_l}), the scale susceptibility becomes \begin{align} G_{q}(r)&\to \begin{cases} 0 & r\ll l, \\ \text{finite} & r\sim l, \\ 0 & r\gg l, \end{cases} \end{align} from which the characteristic scale $l$ is identified. In practical situations, the scale susceptibility $G_{q}(r)$ is more convenient than $F_{q}(r)$ to identify the characteristic scale $l$. We demonstrate how $F_{q}(r)$ and $G_{q}(r)$ work by applying them to synthetic images with a definite characteristic scale and different levels of concentration fluctuation. We consider the model systems in Fig.~\ref{fig:dichotomous_tonedown_pattern}. Each system in Fig.~\ref{fig:dichotomous_tonedown_pattern} consists of 168$\times$168 pixels, which define the range of $r$ in the unit of pixel is from 1 to 168. and the concentration of a component is represented in gray-scale where the value of concentration, $c(\vec{x})$, is within [0,255]. The single characteristic scale $l$ of each system is naturally defined as the linear sizes of the darker areas, which are 84, 28, 7 and 2 pixels from the left to the right columns. The systems in the first row model the strongly segregated mixtures where the dichotomous values of concentration are 255 and 0. By moving down the matrix, the concentration fluctuation becomes weaker as the contrast between ``black'' and ``white'' reduces. The inhomogeneity functions of $q=2$ for the systems in Fig.~\ref{fig:dichotomous_tonedown_pattern} are drawn in Fig.~\ref{fig:moment_dichotomous_tonedown_pattern}. Because the concentration value is dichotomous in these systems, a single value of $q$ is sufficient. Different values of $q$ did not change the qualitative aspect of $F_{q}(r)$. The $F_{q}(r)$ for all the systems shows the sharp variation in each characteristic scale. The differences in the concentration fluctuation are explained by the magnitude of $F_{q}(r)$ at $r\ll l$; the stronger the concentration fluctuation, the larger the inhomogeneity function. For this dichotomous-valued field, an $F_{q}(r\to 1)$ is at the finest resolution and is expressed as $ F_{q}(1) = 2\left[ \left\{ 1- \left( \frac{w}{255} \right) \right\}^{q}+ \left( \frac{w}{255} \right) ^{q} \right]^{1/(q-1)}, $ where $w$ denotes the intensity of ``white'' region. This result shows that the intensity of segregation is characterized by the value of $F_{q}(r)>1$. The characteristic scale and intensity of segregation are independent characteristics of a mixture and are simultaneously accounted for by $F_{q}(r)$. To isolate the characteristic scales, the scale susceptibility $G_{2}(r)$ for patterns in Fig.~\ref{fig:dichotomous_tonedown_pattern} is shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:dmoment_dichotomous_tonedown_pattern}. The $G_{2}(r)$ for the same scale of segregation is almost identical, except for the ordinate scale, and clearly indicates $l$. The usefulness of $G_{2}(r)$ is for systems with small fluctuations but a definite geometric structure, such as the systems of (``white'',``black'')=(127:128) in Fig.~\ref{fig:dichotomous_tonedown_pattern}. The inhomogeneity functions in Fig.~\ref{fig:moment_dichotomous_tonedown_pattern}(e) for these (127:128)-systems are close to unity at all scales, and the characteristic scales are almost indiscernible without magnification. However, the peaks in $G_{2}(r)$ in Fig.~\ref{fig:dmoment_dichotomous_tonedown_pattern}(e) clearly show the $l$ even for this weakly segregated system. We add some comments on the relationship between mixture quantification without accounting for a scale and the method of the scale-dependent moment. In the limit of $r\to 0$, the moment function of a coarse-grained concentration becomes $\langle \mu_{r\to 0}^{q}\rangle \to \int_{\Omega}\upd\vec{x}\mu^{q}(\vec{x})$, which is proportional to the usual moment of the concentration field. The variance-based measures, such as the intensity of segregation, are basically related to this limit of $q=2$. Such quantifications describe some average deviation from the uniform distribution in the smallest resolution and therefore are insensitive to the scale of any internal structure. \begin{figure}[htbp] \begin{tabular}{\|p{3.5em}\|\|c\|c\|c\|c\|} \hline & \multicolumn{4}{c}{scale of segregation} \\\cline{2-5} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{\hsize} intensity ratio \vspace{1ex} \end{minipage} & $l=$8 & $l=$2 & $l=$ & $l=$ \\ \hline \cline{2-5} \cline{2-5} 0:255 & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.11.eps} \end{minipage} & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.12.eps} \end{minipage} & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.13.eps} \end{minipage} & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.14.eps} \end{minipage} \\ \hline 31:224 & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.21.eps} \end{minipage} & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.22.eps} \end{minipage} & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.23.eps} \end{minipage} & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.24.eps} \end{minipage} \\ \hline 63:192 & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.31.eps} \end{minipage} & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.32.eps} \end{minipage} & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.33.eps} \end{minipage} & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.34.eps} \end{minipage} \\ \hline 95:160 & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.41.eps} \end{minipage} & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.42.eps} \end{minipage} & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.43.eps} \end{minipage} & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.44.eps} \end{minipage} \\ \hline 127:128 & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.51.eps} \end{minipage} & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.52.eps} \end{minipage} & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.53.eps} \end{minipage} & \begin{minipage}{.18\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.\hsize]{fig1.54.eps} \end{minipage} \\ \hline \end{tabular} \caption{Model systems of partially miscible blends of 168$\times$168 pixels: checkerboard patterns with varying shades of gray and varying characteristic scales of 84$\times$84, 28$\times$28, 12$\times$12, 7$\times$7, and 2$\times$2 pixels. The intensities of black and white regions are the same in each row and are indicated in the first column. } \label{fig:dichotomous_tonedown_pattern} \end{figure} \begin{figure}[htbp] \begin{minipage}[cbt]{\hsize} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.49\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.4\hsize]{fig2a.eps} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.49\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.4\hsize]{fig2b.eps} \end{minipage} \\ \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.49\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.4\hsize]{fig2c.eps} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.49\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.4\hsize]{fig2d.eps} \end{minipage} \\ \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.49\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.4\hsize]{fig2e.eps} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.49\hsize} ~ \end{minipage} \end{minipage} \caption{Inhomogeneity functions for the patterns in Fig.~\ref{fig:dichotomous_tonedown_pattern} as a function of the resolution scale. The ``black'' and ``white'' intensities are (a) 0:255, (b) 31:224, (c) 63:192, (d) 95:160 and (e) 127:128.} \label{fig:moment_dichotomous_tonedown_pattern} \end{figure} \begin{figure}[htbp] \begin{minipage}[cbt]{\hsize} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.42\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.0\hsize]{fig3a.eps} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.42\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.0\hsize]{fig3b.eps} \end{minipage} \\ \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.42\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.0\hsize]{fig3c.eps} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.42\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.0\hsize]{fig3d.eps} \end{minipage} \\ \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.42\hsize} \includegraphics[width=1.0\hsize]{fig3e.eps} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.42\hsize} ~ \end{minipage} \end{minipage} \caption{Scale susceptibility to the resolution scale, $G_{2}(r)$, for the systems in Fig.~\ref{fig:dichotomous_tonedown_pattern} as a function of the resolution scale. The ``black'' and ``white'' intensities are (a) 0:255, (b) 31:224, (c) 63:192, (d) 95:160 and (e) 127:128.} \label{fig:dmoment_dichotomous_tonedown_pattern} \end{figure} \section{Results and discussion} \subsection{Application to particle dispersions} A particle dispersion and a composite material are typical examples of a multi-component system, which consists of small particles and a matrix medium. The physical properties of a dispersion are not solely determined by those of the particles and the matrix medium but also depend on the distribution of the particles. The structure of the particle distribution is controlled by the non-equilibrium processing history, as well as by the thermodynamic stability of the structure. The mixture state of a dispersion should not be characterized solely by the primary particle size but also by multiple scales associated with particle distributions. We apply the moment function method for characterization of different states of synthetic particle dispersions. Consider monodisperse dispersions with a diameter of the particles $d=10$~pixels that is a natural characteristic scale of the systems. For the sake of simplicity, two-dimensional systems are analyzed, but application to three-dimensional systems is straightforward. Three different dispersions with an area fraction of the particles of 0.1 are depicted in Fig.~\ref{fig:dispersion_pattern}(a)-(c). The particles are randomly distributed in Fig.~\ref{fig:dispersion_pattern}(a), the particles are locally ordered in Fig.~\ref{fig:dispersion_pattern}(b) and several particles aggregate in Fig.~\ref{fig:dispersion_pattern}(c). \begin{figure}[htbp] \center \begin{minipage}{\hsize} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.32\hsize} (a) \\ \includegraphics[width=\hsize]{fig4a.eps} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.32\hsize} (b) \\ \includegraphics[width=\hsize]{fig4b.eps} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.32\hsize} (c) \\ \includegraphics[width=\hsize]{fig4c.eps} \end{minipage} \end{minipage} \\ \vspace{2ex} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{\hsize} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.49\hsize} (d) \\ \includegraphics[width=\hsize]{fig4d.eps} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.49\hsize} (e) \\ \includegraphics[width=\hsize]{fig4e.eps} \end{minipage} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{\hsize} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.32\hsize} (f) \\ \includegraphics[width=\hsize]{fig4f.eps} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.32\hsize} (g) \\ \includegraphics[width=\hsize]{fig4g.eps} \end{minipage} \begin{minipage}[cbt]{.32\hsize} (h) \\ \includegraphics[width=\hsize]{fig4h.eps} \end{minipage} \end{minipage} \caption{Particle dispersion and their multiple-scale inhomogeneity. Three different particle dispersions of 512$\times$512 pixels: (a) particles are randomly distributed, (b) particles are locally ordered, and (c) particles are aggregated. The area fraction of the systems is 0.1 and the diameter of the particles is $d=10$ pixels. (d)~The inhomogeneity functions, $F_{4}(r)$, and the scale susceptibilities, $G_{4}(r)$, for the systems~(a)-(c). Coarse-grained fields, $\mu_{22}(\vec{x})$, for (f) random dispersion, (g) ordered dispersion and (h) aggregated dispersion. } \label{fig:dispersion_pattern} \vspace*{1ex} \end{figure} The inhomogeneity function, $F_{4}(r)$, and the scale susceptibility, $G_{4}(r)$, for the three systems in Figs.~\ref{fig:dispersion_pattern}(a)-(c) are shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:dispersion_pattern}(d) and Fig.~\ref{fig:dispersion_pattern}(e), respectively. In this case, the concentration field of the particles was analyzed, which was unity in the particle domain and zero in the matrix domain. Because the analysis was applied to binarized systems, a single value of $q$ is sufficient. For clarity of presentation, the results of $q=4$ are shown. For the random dispersion in Fig.~\ref{fig:dispersion_pattern}(a), there are no coherence scales other than $d$ because the particles are randomly distributed by construction. The $F_{4}(r)$ and $G_{4}(r)$ for the random dispersion indicate the particle size by the large fluctuation at $r=d$ and the scale of homogeneity for $l_{H}^{\text{random}}\approx 10d$. The ratio $l_{H}^{\text{random}}/d=10$ is relatively large, which explains the inhomogeneity of the particle distribution. In the system of Fig.~\ref{fig:dispersion_pattern}(b), inter-particle distances between nearest pairs are almost the same, and the particles are locally ordered; therefore we call the system an ordered dispersion for convenience. The average inter-particle distance is $r_{1}\approx 2.7d$, which was measured by the first peak in the correlation function or the pair correlation function. The $r_{1}$ and $d$ are the natural characteristic scales in the ordered dispersion. The large fluctuation at $r=d$ in $F_{4}(r)$ and $G_{4}(r)$ for the ordered dispersion indicates the particle size. At $r>r_{1}$ in $F_{4}(r)$, the fluctuation almost vanishes because the structural fluctuation does not exists at large scale. A close examination of $G_{4}(r)$ reveals a small peak at around $r\approx 4d$, which can be ascribed to the fluctuation in a middle-range scale. The scale of homogeneity is about $l_{H}^{\text{ordered}}\approx 6d$. If the ordered configuration developed globally, $l_{H}^{\text{ordered}}\approx r_{1}$ would be expected because the fluctuation $r>r_{1}$ did not exist. The ordered configuration makes the scale of homogeneity smaller than that of the random dispersion. In the system of Fig.~\ref{fig:dispersion_pattern}(c), several particles aggregate, and these aggregates are distributed randomly in an aggregated dispersion. One aggregate is composed of 2-20 particles, thus the aggregated dispersion should be characterized by the multiple sizes of the aggregates and the nearest-neighbor distance $r_{1}=1.2d$ in an aggregate besides the particle size $d$. In addition to the large fluctuation at $r=d$ by the particle size, another broad band at $r_{1}<r<10d$ in $G_{4}(r)$ are observed, which corresponds to the multiple sizes of the aggregates. The scale of homogeneity is about $l_{H}^{\text{aggregate}}\approx 10d$, which is similar to that in the random dispersion and much greater than that in the ordered dispersion because of the random distribution of the aggregates. Difference of mixture quality among three dispersions is obvious in the scale susceptibility function, $G_{4}(r)$, in Fig.~\ref{fig:dispersion_pattern}(e). Identification of multiple characteristic scales based on inhomogeneity is essential to quantify mixture quality. Figures~\ref{fig:dispersion_pattern}(f)-(h) show the coarse-grained fields of the particle dispersions in Figs.~\ref{fig:dispersion_pattern}(a)-(c) with the resolution scale of $r=2.2d$. At this resolution scale, a single particle is hardly discernible. In Fig.~\ref{fig:dispersion_pattern}(b), the $\mu_{22}(\vec{x})$ for the ordered dispersion, which has the smallest $l_{H}$, shows the smallest contrast indicating the smallest fluctuation. For the random dispersion, $\mu_{22}(\vec{x})$ shows a random structure in the fluctuation~(Fig.~\ref{fig:dispersion_pattern}(a)). For the aggregated dispersion, $\mu_{22}(\vec{x})$ shows a streak structure and the largest fluctuation among the three systems~(Fig.~\ref{fig:dispersion_pattern}(c)). Coarse-graining is a key concept in simultaneous characterization of various characteristic scales associated with a hierarchical structure and inhomogeneity of distribution. The demonstration with the different dispersions above showed how the scale-dependent moment method works to assess different characteristic scales including the particle size, aggregate sizes, and inter-particle spacing. \section{Concluding remarks} We proposed a method for characterization of hierarchical mixture quality of complex mixtures , which we call the scale-dependent moment function method. In this method, the inhomogeneity of a mixture is defined at different scales. From this scale-dependent inhomogeneity, multiple characteristic scales in mixture quality are identified. In other words, the sizes and distributions of internal structures are simultaneously accounted for in the scale-dependent moment function. Application of this method to dispersions with different structures showed that differences in mixture quality are characterized by multiple length scales and associated inhomogeneity. The scale-dependent moment method is applicable to two- or three- dimensional concentration fields. The mixture quality characterization based on the scales and inhomogeneity should be effective not only for multi-component complex mixtures with hierarchical internal structures but also for the evolution of the mixing process of both miscible and immiscible mixtures. It is expected that this proposed multiple-scale characterization can provide an insight on the relationship between the distribution of internal structures and the physical properties of mixture materials, but this issue is left for future work.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv" }	8,773
Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9.pdf Last update : 3 days ago "Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9..." is owned and hosted by michaelcarliner.com, this file has been downloaded 235 times, the last time was in 2023-01-24. Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9... Wendt_56_Role_of_Fed_Govt_in_Housing.pdf - 2.11 MB michaelcarliner.com If "Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9" does not meet your expectations, we invite you to take a look at the similar files below : Related files to Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9 Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9 a43a0p03.pdf BanTinHoaHiep-2003-09.pdf KJ00004255459.pdf gemstone.pdf Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9 70 ISR_264.pdf	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl" }	9,259
Andhra Pradesh Chief Minister Chandrababu Naidu Participates in the first Smart Pulse Survey in his residence and started the program of Smart Survey. Chief Minister has participated in the survey and answered to all the questions of the enumerator. Also the Finger Prints and Iris Access are also taken from Chief Minister. Below is the video.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4" }	6,009
Q: How to remove hardware breakpoints properly I am trying to create a small debugger with hardware breakpointing capabilities. I use Vectored Exception Handling to catch the exceptions and I have encountered a problem when trying to remove breakpoints: When the handler is resetting the Dr6 register there is a possibility that the breakpoint gets removed at the same time. The handler is suspended and has it's context switched with the modified Dr7 register but when it exits the context is switched again with the Dr7 register in it's original state. Unfortunately there is no way to synchronize the context switches since it occurs outside of the handler. Is there a way to only change specific registers using CONTEXT::ContextFlags? Or perhaps some better approach to remove breakpoints in general? HANDLER: inline bool handle(_EXCEPTION_POINTERS* t_ExceptionInfo) { if (m_index == 0xFF \|\| t_ExceptionInfo->ExceptionRecord->ExceptionCode != STATUS_SINGLE_STEP \|\| !(t_ExceptionInfo->ContextRecord->Dr6 & 1ui64 << m_index)) { return false; } t_ExceptionInfo->ContextRecord->ContextFlags \|= CONTEXT_DEBUG_REGISTERS; t_ExceptionInfo->ContextRecord->Dr6 = 0; return true; } REMOVE: if (SuspendThread(hThread) != -1) { CONTEXT ctx{ 0 }; ctx.ContextFlags = CONTEXT_DEBUG_REGISTERS; if (GetThreadContext(hThread, &ctx)) { ctx.Dr7 &= ~(1ui64 << m_index * 2); SetThreadContext(hThread, &ctx); } ResumeThread(hThread); }	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange" }	7,515
package com.google.cloud.video.livestream.v1.samples; // [START livestream_v1_generated_LivestreamService_Create_SetCredentialsProvider_sync] import com.google.api.gax.core.FixedCredentialsProvider; import com.google.cloud.video.livestream.v1.LivestreamServiceClient; import com.google.cloud.video.livestream.v1.LivestreamServiceSettings; import com.google.cloud.video.livestream.v1.myCredentials; public class SyncCreateSetCredentialsProvider { public static void main(String[] args) throws Exception { syncCreateSetCredentialsProvider(); } public static void syncCreateSetCredentialsProvider() throws Exception { // This snippet has been automatically generated and should be regarded as a code template only. // It will require modifications to work: // - It may require correct/in-range values for request initialization. // - It may require specifying regional endpoints when creating the service client as shown in // https://cloud.google.com/java/docs/setup#configure_endpoints_for_the_client_library LivestreamServiceSettings livestreamServiceSettings = LivestreamServiceSettings.newBuilder() .setCredentialsProvider(FixedCredentialsProvider.create(myCredentials)) .build(); LivestreamServiceClient livestreamServiceClient = LivestreamServiceClient.create(livestreamServiceSettings); } } // [END livestream_v1_generated_LivestreamService_Create_SetCredentialsProvider_sync]	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub" }	1,851
Q: Why am I getting 2 slid shows on web page? I recently added a slide show as a background on my webpage. I took the code from a tutorial and added my information. After I did the css and took a look at the page I had 2 slideshows. One that covered the entire page (what I wanted) and another behind my sites header. I thought it might be because I had everything in a background container but when I took that away the second slide show just appeared over my header. I can't figure out how to get rid of the second slide show. Her is my code for the slide show: <div id="background-container"> <ul class="cb-slideshow"> <li> <span>Image 01</span> <div> <img class="sh_pic" src="pictures/gallary/image_10.jpg" style="width:100%"> <h3>Class</h3> </div> </li> <li> <span>Image 02</span> <div> <img class="sh_pic" src="pictures/gallary/image_1.jpg" style="width:100%"> <h3>Rosary</h3> </div> </li> <li> <span>Image 03</span> <div> <img class="sh_pic" src="pictures/gallary/image_2.jpg" style="width:100%"> <h3>Sets</h3> </div> </li> <li> <span>Image 04</span> <div> <img class="sh_pic" src="pictures/gallary/image_3.jpg" style="width:100%"> <h3>Bracelets</h3> </div> </li> <li> <span>Image 05</span> <div> <img class="sh_pic" src="pictures/gallary/PB0002.jpg" style="width:100%"> <h3>Sophistication</h3> </div> </li> <li> <span>Image 06</span> <div> <img class="sh_pic" src="pictures/gallary/necklace-1.jpg" style="width:100%"> <h3>Necklace</h3> </div> </li> </ul> </div> And here is the css: #background-container { position: fixed; z-index: -1000; width: 100%; height: 100%; top: 0; left: 0; } } .cb-slideshow, .cb-slideshow:after { position: fixed; width: 100%; height: 100%; top: 0px; left: 0px; z-index: 0; } .cb-slideshow:after { content: ''; background: transparent url(pictures/gallary/pattern.png) repeat top left; } .cb-slideshow li span { width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; top: 0px; left: 0px; color: transparent; background-size: cover; background-position: 50% 50%; background-repeat: none; opacity: 0; z-index: 0; -webkit-backface-visibility: hidden; -webkit-animation: imageAnimation 36s linear infinite 0s; -moz-animation: imageAnimation 36s linear infinite 0s; -o-animation: imageAnimation 36s linear infinite 0s; -ms-animation: imageAnimation 36s linear infinite 0s; animation: imageAnimation 36s linear infinite 0s; } .cb-slideshow li div { z-index: 1000; position: absolute; bottom: 10px; left: 0px; width: 100%; text-align: right; opacity: 0; -webkit-animation: titleAnimation 36s linear infinite 0s; -moz-animation: titleAnimation 36s linear infinite 0s; -o-animation: titleAnimation 36s linear infinite 0s; -ms-animation: titleAnimation 36s linear infinite 0s; animation: titleAnimation 36s linear infinite 0s; } .cb-slideshow li div h3 { font-family: brock; font-size: 160px; padding: 0 30px; line-height: 120px; color: black; } .cb-slideshow li:nth-child(1) span { background-image: url(pictures/gallary/necklace-1.jpg) } .cb-slideshow li:nth-child(2) span { background-image: url(pictures/gallary/PB0002.jpg); -webkit-animation-delay: 6s; -moz-animation-delay: 6s; -o-animation-delay: 6s; -ms-animation-delay: 6s; animation-delay: 6s; } .cb-slideshow li:nth-child(3) span { background-image: url(pictures/gallary/image_3.jpg); -webkit-animation-delay: 12s; -moz-animation-delay: 12s; -o-animation-delay: 12s; -ms-animation-delay: 12s; animation-delay: 12s; } .cb-slideshow li:nth-child(4) span { background-image: url(pictures/gallary/image_2.jpg); -webkit-animation-delay: 18s; -moz-animation-delay: 18s; -o-animation-delay: 18s; -ms-animation-delay: 18s; animation-delay: 18s; } .cb-slideshow li:nth-child(5) span { background-image: url(pictures/gallary/image_1.jpg); -webkit-animation-delay: 24s; -moz-animation-delay: 24s; -o-animation-delay: 24s; -ms-animation-delay: 24s; animation-delay: 24s; } .cb-slideshow li:nth-child(6) span { background-image: url(pictures/gallary/image_10.jpg); -webkit-animation-delay: 30s; -moz-animation-delay: 30s; -o-animation-delay: 30s; -ms-animation-delay: 30s; animation-delay: 30s; } .cb-slideshow li:nth-child(2) div { -webkit-animation-delay: 6s; -moz-animation-delay: 6s; -o-animation-delay: 6s; -ms-animation-delay: 6s; animation-delay: 6s; } .cb-slideshow li:nth-child(3) div { -webkit-animation-delay: 12s; -moz-animation-delay: 12s; -o-animation-delay: 12s; -ms-animation-delay: 12s; animation-delay: 12s; } .cb-slideshow li:nth-child(4) div { -webkit-animation-delay: 18s; -moz-animation-delay: 18s; -o-animation-delay: 18s; -ms-animation-delay: 18s; animation-delay: 18s; } .cb-slideshow li:nth-child(5) div { -webkit-animation-delay: 24s; -moz-animation-delay: 24s; -o-animation-delay: 24s; -ms-animation-delay: 24s; animation-delay: 24s; } .cb-slideshow li:nth-child(6) div { -webkit-animation-delay: 30s; -moz-animation-delay: 30s; -o-animation-delay: 30s; -ms-animation-delay: 30s; animation-delay: 30s; } @-webkit-keyframes imageAnimation { 0% { opacity: 0; -webkit-animation-timing-function: ease-in; } 8% { opacity: 1; -webkit-transform: scale(1.05); -webkit-animation-timing-function: ease-out; } 17% { opacity: 1; -webkit-transform: scale(1.1) rotate(3deg); } 25% { opacity: 0; -webkit-transform: scale(1.1) rotate(3deg); } 100% { opacity: 0 } } @-moz-keyframes imageAnimation { 0% { opacity: 0; -moz-animation-timing-function: ease-in; } 8% { opacity: 1; -moz-transform: scale(1.05); -moz-animation-timing-function: ease-out; } 17% { opacity: 1; -moz-transform: scale(1.1) rotate(3deg); } 25% { opacity: 0; -moz-transform: scale(1.1) rotate(3deg); } 100% { opacity: 0 } } @-o-keyframes imageAnimation { 0% { opacity: 0; -o-animation-timing-function: ease-in; } 8% { opacity: 1; -o-transform: scale(1.05); -o-animation-timing-function: ease-out; } 17% { opacity: 1; -o-transform: scale(1.1) rotate(3deg); } 25% { opacity: 0; -o-transform: scale(1.1) rotate(3deg); } 100% { opacity: 0 } } @-ms-keyframes imageAnimation { 0% { opacity: 0; -ms-animation-timing-function: ease-in; } 8% { opacity: 1; -ms-transform: scale(1.05); -ms-animation-timing-function: ease-out; } 17% { opacity: 1; -ms-transform: scale(1.1) rotate(3deg); } 25% { opacity: 0; -ms-transform: scale(1.1) rotate(3deg); } 100% { opacity: 0 } } @keyframes imageAnimation { 0% { opacity: 0; animation-timing-function: ease-in; } 8% { opacity: 1; transform: scale(1.05); animation-timing-function: ease-out; } 17% { opacity: 1; transform: scale(1.1) rotate(3deg); } 25% { opacity: 0; transform: scale(1.1) rotate(3deg); } 100% { opacity: 0 } } @-webkit-keyframes titleAnimation { 0% { opacity: 0; -webkit-transform: translateX(200px); } 8% { opacity: 1; -webkit-transform: translateX(0px); } 17% { opacity: 1; -webkit-transform: translateX(0px); } 19% { opacity: 0; -webkit-transform: translateX(-400px); } 25% { opacity: 0 } 100% { opacity: 0 } } @-moz-keyframes titleAnimation { 0% { opacity: 0; -moz-transform: translateX(200px); } 8% { opacity: 1; -moz-transform: translateX(0px); } 17% { opacity: 1; -moz-transform: translateX(0px); } 19% { opacity: 0; -moz-transform: translateX(-400px); } 25% { opacity: 0 } 100% { opacity: 0 } } @-o-keyframes titleAnimation { 0% { opacity: 0; -o-transform: translateX(200px); } 8% { opacity: 1; -o-transform: translateX(0px); } 17% { opacity: 1; -o-transform: translateX(0px); } 19% { opacity: 0; -o-transform: translateX(-400px); } 25% { opacity: 0 } 100% { opacity: 0 } } @-ms-keyframes titleAnimation { 0% { opacity: 0; -ms-transform: translateX(200px); } 8% { opacity: 1; -ms-transform: translateX(0px); } 17% { opacity: 1; -ms-transform: translateX(0px); } 19% { opacity: 0; -ms-transform: translateX(-400px); } 25% { opacity: 0 } 100% { opacity: 0 } } @keyframes titleAnimation { 0% { opacity: 0; transform: translateX(200px); } 8% { opacity: 1; transform: translateX(0px); } 17% { opacity: 1; transform: translateX(0px); } 19% { opacity: 0; transform: translateX(-400px); } 25% { opacity: 0 } 100% { opacity: 0 } } /* Show at least something when animations not supported */ .no-cssanimations .cb-slideshow li span{ opacity: 1; } @media screen and (max-width: 1140px) { .cb-slideshow li div h3 { font-size: 100px } } @media screen and (max-width: 600px) { .cb-slideshow li div h3 { font-size: 50px } Maybe there is to much code and I just don't see it. Any ideas how to get rid of the second one?	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange" }	6,559
<!DOCTYPE HTML> <html> <head> <title>LjsLocationManager Class Reference</title> <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="application/xhtml+xml;charset=utf-8" /> <meta id="xcode-display" name="xcode-display" content="render"/> <meta name="viewport" content="width=550" /> <link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../css/styles.css" /> <meta name="generator" content="appledoc 2.0.5 (build 789)" /> </head> <body> <header id="top_header"> <div id="title" role="banner"> <h1 class="hideInXcode">LjsLocationManager Class Reference</h1> </div> <ul id="headerButtons" role="toolbar"> <li id="toc_button"> <button aria-label="Show Table of Contents" role="checkbox" class="open" id="table_of_contents"><span class="disclosure"></span>Table of Contents</button> </li> <li id="jumpto_button" role="navigation"> <select id="jumpTo"> <option value="top">Jump To</option> <option value="overview">Overview</option> <option value="tasks">Tasks</option> <option value="properties">Properties</option> <option value="//api/name/coreHeading">    coreHeading</option> <option value="//api/name/coreLocation">    coreLocation</option> <option value="//api/name/coreLocationManager">    coreLocationManager</option> <option value="//api/name/debugDevices">    debugDevices</option> <option value="//api/name/debugLastHeading">    debugLastHeading</option> <option value="class_methods">Class Methods</option> <option value="//api/name/isValidHeading:">    + isValidHeading:</option> <option value="//api/name/isValidLatitude:">    + isValidLatitude:</option> <option value="//api/name/isValidLongitude:">    + isValidLongitude:</option> <option value="instance_methods">Instance Methods</option> <option value="//api/name/headingIsAvailable">    - headingIsAvailable</option> <option value="//api/name/latitude">    - latitude</option> <option value="//api/name/locationIsAvailable">    - locationIsAvailable</option> <option value="//api/name/locationManager:didFailWithError:">    - locationManager:didFailWithError:</option> <option value="//api/name/locationManager:didUpdateHeading:">    - locationManager:didUpdateHeading:</option> <option value="//api/name/locationManager:didUpdateToLocation:fromLocation:">    - locationManager:didUpdateToLocation:fromLocation:</option> <option value="//api/name/locationManagerShouldDisplayHeadingCalibration:">    - locationManagerShouldDisplayHeadingCalibration:</option> <option value="//api/name/longitude">    - longitude</option> <option value="//api/name/trueHeading">    - trueHeading</option> </select> </li> </ul> </header> <nav id="tocContainer" class="isShowingTOC"> <ul id="toc" role="tree"> <li role="treeitem"><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#overview">Overview</a></span></li> <li role="treeitem" id="task_treeitem"><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#tasks">Tasks</a></span><ul> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#task_Properties">Properties</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#task_Testing For Location and Heading Availability and Validity">Testing For Location and Heading Availability and Validity</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#task_Finding Longitude, Latitude, and Heading">Finding Longitude, Latitude, and Heading</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#task_CLLocationManagerDelegate implementation">CLLocationManagerDelegate implementation</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#task_Extension Methods">Extension Methods</a></span></li> </ul></li> <li role="treeitem" class="children"><span class="disclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#properties">Properties</a></span><ul> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#//api/name/coreHeading">coreHeading</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#//api/name/coreLocation">coreLocation</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#//api/name/coreLocationManager">coreLocationManager</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#//api/name/debugDevices">debugDevices</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#//api/name/debugLastHeading">debugLastHeading</a></span></li> </ul></li> <li role="treeitem" class="children"><span class="disclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#class_methods">Class Methods</a></span><ul> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#//api/name/isValidHeading:">isValidHeading:</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#//api/name/isValidLatitude:">isValidLatitude:</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#//api/name/isValidLongitude:">isValidLongitude:</a></span></li> </ul></li> <li role="treeitem" class="children"><span class="disclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#instance_methods">Instance Methods</a></span><ul> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#//api/name/headingIsAvailable">headingIsAvailable</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#//api/name/latitude">latitude</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#//api/name/locationIsAvailable">locationIsAvailable</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#//api/name/locationManager:didFailWithError:">locationManager:didFailWithError:</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#//api/name/locationManager:didUpdateHeading:">locationManager:didUpdateHeading:</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#//api/name/locationManager:didUpdateToLocation:fromLocation:">locationManager:didUpdateToLocation:fromLocation:</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#//api/name/locationManagerShouldDisplayHeadingCalibration:">locationManagerShouldDisplayHeadingCalibration:</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#//api/name/longitude">longitude</a></span></li> <li><span class="nodisclosure"></span><span class="sectionName"><a href="#//api/name/trueHeading">trueHeading</a></span></li> </ul></li> </ul> </nav> <article> <div id="contents" class="isShowingTOC" role="main"> <a title="LjsLocationManager Class Reference" name="top"></a> <div class="main-navigation navigation-top"> <ul> <li><a href="../index.html">Index</a></li> <li><a href="../hierarchy.html">Hierarchy</a></li> </ul> </div> <div id="header"> <div class="section-header"> <h1 class="title title-header">LjsLocationManager Class Reference</h1> </div> </div> <div id="container"> <div class="section section-specification"><table cellspacing="0"><tbody> <tr> <td class="specification-title">Inherits from</td> <td class="specification-value">NSObject</td> </tr><tr> <td class="specification-title">Conforms to</td> <td class="specification-value">CLLocationManagerDelegate</td> </tr><tr> <td class="specification-title">Declared in</td> <td class="specification-value">LjsLocationManager.h<br />LjsLocationManager.m</td> </tr> </tbody></table></div> <div class="section section-overview"> <a title="Overview" name="overview"></a> <h2 class="subtitle subtitle-overview">Overview</h2> <p>A singleton class wrapper around the Location Services.</p> <p>The accuracy is hard-wired to kCLLocationAccuracyNearestTenMeters and the <a href="#//api/name/latitude">latitude</a>, <a href="#//api/name/longitude">longitude</a>, and heading are returned with with 5 decimal places.</p> <p>For testing and development, the class provides special handling if LJS_LOCATION_SERVICES_DEBUG Preprocessor Macro is defined or if the target is the iphone simulator:</p> <ol> <li>class will return YES for <a href="#//api/name/locationIsAvailable"><code>locationIsAvailable</code></a></li> <li>class will return Zurich, CH <a href="#//api/name/longitude">longitude</a> for <a href="#//api/name/longitude"><code>longitude</code></a> if long cannont be found</li> <li>class will return Zurich, CH <a href="#//api/name/latitude">latitude</a> for <a href="#//api/name/latitude"><code>latitude</code></a> if lat cannot be found</li> <li>class will return a random heading on (0.0, 360.0) for the initial call and for every subsequent call, the heading will vary between 5 and 10 degrees to simulate the a change in heading.</li> <li>class will return YES for <a href="#//api/name/headingIsAvailable"><code>headingIsAvailable</code></a></li> </ol> <div class="warning"><p><strong>Warning:</strong> Have not tested/used this class on MacOS.</p></div><div class="bug"><p><strong>Bug:</strong> This class follows the singleton pattern, but does not rigorously implement the pattern. Do not subclass and do not call the init methods directly.</p></div> </div> <div class="section section-tasks"> <a title="Tasks" name="tasks"></a> <h2 class="subtitle subtitle-tasks">Tasks</h2> <a title="Properties" name="task_Properties"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle task-title">Properties</h3> <ul class="task-list"> <li> <span class="tooltip"> <code><a href="#//api/name/debugDevices">  debugDevices</a></code> <span class="tooltip"><p>available iff LJS_LOCATION_SERVICES_DEBUG Preprocessor Macro is defined</p></span> </span> <span class="task-item-suffix">property</span> </li><li> <span class="tooltip"> <code><a href="#//api/name/debugLastHeading">  debugLastHeading</a></code> <span class="tooltip"><p>used simulate the heading changing in environments where there is no heading available</p></span> </span> <span class="task-item-suffix">property</span> </li> </ul> <a title="Testing For Location and Heading Availability and Validity" name="task_Testing For Location and Heading Availability and Validity"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle task-title">Testing For Location and Heading Availability and Validity</h3> <ul class="task-list"> <li> <span class="tooltip"> <code><a href="#//api/name/locationIsAvailable">– locationIsAvailable</a></code> <span class="tooltip"><p>if LJS_LOCATION_SERVICES_DEBUG Preprocess Macro is defined, this method will always return YES</p></span> </span> </li><li> <span class="tooltip"> <code><a href="#//api/name/isValidHeading:">+ isValidHeading:</a></code> <span class="tooltip"><p>true iff aHeading is on (0.0, 360.0)</p></span> </span> </li><li> <span class="tooltip"> <code><a href="#//api/name/isValidLatitude:">+ isValidLatitude:</a></code> <span class="tooltip"><p>true if aLatitude is on (-90.0, 90.0)</p></span> </span> </li><li> <span class="tooltip"> <code><a href="#//api/name/isValidLongitude:">+ isValidLongitude:</a></code> <span class="tooltip"><p>true if aLongitude is on (-180.0, 180.0)</p></span> </span> </li><li> <span class="tooltip"> <code><a href="#//api/name/headingIsAvailable">– headingIsAvailable</a></code> <span class="tooltip"><p>true iff heading is available</p></span> </span> </li> </ul> <a title="Finding Longitude, Latitude, and Heading" name="task_Finding Longitude, Latitude, and Heading"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle task-title">Finding Longitude, Latitude, and Heading</h3> <ul class="task-list"> <li> <span class="tooltip"> <code><a href="#//api/name/longitude">– longitude</a></code> <span class="tooltip"><p>if LJS_LOCATION_SERVICES_DEBUG Preprocess Macro is defined and no valid <a href="#//api/name/location">location</a> can be found then this method will return the longitude for Zurich, CH</p></span> </span> </li><li> <span class="tooltip"> <code><a href="#//api/name/latitude">– latitude</a></code> <span class="tooltip"><p>if LJS_LOCATION_SERVICES_DEBUG Preprocess Macro is defined and no valid <a href="#//api/name/location">location</a> can be found then this method will return the latitude for Zurich, CH</p></span> </span> </li><li> <span class="tooltip"> <code><a href="#//api/name/trueHeading">– trueHeading</a></code> <span class="tooltip"><p>if LJS_LOCATION_SERVICES_DEBUG Preprocess Macro is defined and no valid heading can be found then this method will return</p></span> </span> </li> </ul> <a title="CLLocationManagerDelegate implementation" name="task_CLLocationManagerDelegate implementation"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle task-title">CLLocationManagerDelegate implementation</h3> <ul class="task-list"> <li> <span class="tooltip"> <code><a href="#//api/name/locationManager:didUpdateToLocation:fromLocation:">– locationManager:didUpdateToLocation:fromLocation:</a></code> <span class="tooltip"><p>Sets the <code>self.</code>coreLocation<code></code> ivar to the new location.</p></span> </span> </li><li> <span class="tooltip"> <code><a href="#//api/name/locationManager:didFailWithError:">– locationManager:didFailWithError:</a></code> <span class="tooltip"><p>handles location manager update errors</p></span> </span> </li><li> <span class="tooltip"> <code><a href="#//api/name/locationManagerShouldDisplayHeadingCalibration:">– locationManagerShouldDisplayHeadingCalibration:</a></code> <span class="tooltip"><p>Asks the delegate whether the heading calibration alert should be displayed.</p></span> </span> </li><li> <span class="tooltip"> <code><a href="#//api/name/locationManager:didUpdateHeading:">– locationManager:didUpdateHeading:</a></code> <span class="tooltip"><p>Sets the self.<a href="#//api/name/coreHeading">coreHeading</a> ivar.</p></span> </span> </li> </ul> <a title="Extension Methods" name="task_Extension Methods"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle task-title">Extension Methods</h3> <ul class="task-list"> <li> <span class="tooltip"> <code><a href="#//api/name/coreLocationManager">  coreLocationManager</a></code> <span class="tooltip"><p>the core location manager</p></span> </span> <span class="task-item-suffix">property</span> </li><li> <span class="tooltip"> <code><a href="#//api/name/coreLocation">  coreLocation</a></code> <span class="tooltip"><p>the current location</p></span> </span> <span class="task-item-suffix">property</span> </li><li> <span class="tooltip"> <code><a href="#//api/name/coreHeading">  coreHeading</a></code> <span class="tooltip"><p>the current heading</p></span> </span> <span class="task-item-suffix">property</span> </li> </ul> </div> <div class="section section-methods"> <a title="Properties" name="properties"></a> <h2 class="subtitle subtitle-methods">Properties</h2> <div class="section-method"> <a name="//api/name/coreHeading" title="coreHeading"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle method-title">coreHeading</h3> <div class="method-subsection brief-description"> <p>the current heading</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection method-declaration"><code>@property (nonatomic, strong) CLHeading coreHeading</code></div> <div class="method-subsection discussion-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Discussion</h4> <p>the current heading</p><div class="warning"><p><strong>Warning:</strong> do not access directly use headingAvailable and heading methods methods</p></div> </div> <div class="method-subsection declared-in-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Declared In</h4> <code class="declared-in-ref">LjsLocationManager.m</code><br /> </div> </div> <div class="section-method"> <a name="//api/name/coreLocation" title="coreLocation"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle method-title">coreLocation</h3> <div class="method-subsection brief-description"> <p>the current location</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection method-declaration"><code>@property (nonatomic, strong) CLLocation coreLocation</code></div> <div class="method-subsection discussion-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Discussion</h4> <p>the current location</p><div class="warning"><p><strong>Warning:</strong> do not access directly use locationAvailable, <a href="#//api/name/longitude">longitude</a>, and <a href="#//api/name/latitude">latitude</a> methods</p></div> </div> <div class="method-subsection declared-in-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Declared In</h4> <code class="declared-in-ref">LjsLocationManager.m</code><br /> </div> </div> <div class="section-method"> <a name="//api/name/coreLocationManager" title="coreLocationManager"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle method-title">coreLocationManager</h3> <div class="method-subsection brief-description"> <p>the core location manager</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection method-declaration"><code>@property (nonatomic, strong) CLLocationManager coreLocationManager</code></div> <div class="method-subsection discussion-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Discussion</h4> <p>the core location manager</p><div class="warning"><p><strong>Warning:</strong> do not access directly use locationAvailable, <a href="#//api/name/longitude">longitude</a>, and <a href="#//api/name/latitude">latitude</a> methods</p></div> </div> <div class="method-subsection declared-in-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Declared In</h4> <code class="declared-in-ref">LjsLocationManager.m</code><br /> </div> </div> <div class="section-method"> <a name="//api/name/debugDevices" title="debugDevices"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle method-title">debugDevices</h3> <div class="method-subsection brief-description"> <p>available iff LJS_LOCATION_SERVICES_DEBUG Preprocessor Macro is defined</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection method-declaration"><code>@property (nonatomic, strong) NSArray debugDevices</code></div> <div class="method-subsection discussion-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Discussion</h4> <p>available iff LJS_LOCATION_SERVICES_DEBUG Preprocessor Macro is defined</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection declared-in-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Declared In</h4> <code class="declared-in-ref">LjsLocationManager.h</code><br /> </div> </div> <div class="section-method"> <a name="//api/name/debugLastHeading" title="debugLastHeading"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle method-title">debugLastHeading</h3> <div class="method-subsection brief-description"> <p>used simulate the heading changing in environments where there is no heading available</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection method-declaration"><code>@property (nonatomic, assign) CGFloat debugLastHeading</code></div> <div class="method-subsection discussion-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Discussion</h4> <p>used simulate the heading changing in environments where there is no heading available</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection declared-in-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Declared In</h4> <code class="declared-in-ref">LjsLocationManager.h</code><br /> </div> </div> </div> <div class="section section-methods"> <a title="Class Methods" name="class_methods"></a> <h2 class="subtitle subtitle-methods">Class Methods</h2> <div class="section-method"> <a name="//api/name/isValidHeading:" title="isValidHeading:"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle method-title">isValidHeading:</h3> <div class="method-subsection brief-description"> <p>true iff aHeading is on (0.0, 360.0)</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection method-declaration"><code>+ (BOOL)isValidHeading:(NSDecimalNumber )<em>aHeading</em></code></div> <div class="method-subsection arguments-section parameters"> <h4 class="method-subtitle parameter-title">Parameters</h4> <dl class="argument-def parameter-def"> <dt><em>aHeading</em></dt> <dd><p>the heading to check</p></dd> </dl> </div> <div class="method-subsection return"> <h4 class="method-subtitle parameter-title">Return Value</h4> <p>true iff aHeading is on (0.0, 360.0)</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection declared-in-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Declared In</h4> <code class="declared-in-ref">LjsLocationManager.h</code><br /> </div> </div> <div class="section-method"> <a name="//api/name/isValidLatitude:" title="isValidLatitude:"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle method-title">isValidLatitude:</h3> <div class="method-subsection brief-description"> <p>true if aLatitude is on (-90.0, 90.0)</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection method-declaration"><code>+ (BOOL)isValidLatitude:(NSDecimalNumber )<em>aLatitude</em></code></div> <div class="method-subsection arguments-section parameters"> <h4 class="method-subtitle parameter-title">Parameters</h4> <dl class="argument-def parameter-def"> <dt><em>aLatitude</em></dt> <dd><p>the <a href="#//api/name/latitude">latitude</a> to check</p></dd> </dl> </div> <div class="method-subsection return"> <h4 class="method-subtitle parameter-title">Return Value</h4> <p>true if aLatitude is on (-90.0, 90.0)</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection declared-in-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Declared In</h4> <code class="declared-in-ref">LjsLocationManager.h</code><br /> </div> </div> <div class="section-method"> <a name="//api/name/isValidLongitude:" title="isValidLongitude:"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle method-title">isValidLongitude:</h3> <div class="method-subsection brief-description"> <p>true if aLongitude is on (-180.0, 180.0)</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection method-declaration"><code>+ (BOOL)isValidLongitude:(NSDecimalNumber )<em>aLongitude</em></code></div> <div class="method-subsection arguments-section parameters"> <h4 class="method-subtitle parameter-title">Parameters</h4> <dl class="argument-def parameter-def"> <dt><em>aLongitude</em></dt> <dd><p>the <a href="#//api/name/longitude">longitude</a> to check</p></dd> </dl> </div> <div class="method-subsection return"> <h4 class="method-subtitle parameter-title">Return Value</h4> <p>true if aLongitude is on (-180.0, 180.0)</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection declared-in-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Declared In</h4> <code class="declared-in-ref">LjsLocationManager.h</code><br /> </div> </div> </div> <div class="section section-methods"> <a title="Instance Methods" name="instance_methods"></a> <h2 class="subtitle subtitle-methods">Instance Methods</h2> <div class="section-method"> <a name="//api/name/headingIsAvailable" title="headingIsAvailable"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle method-title">headingIsAvailable</h3> <div class="method-subsection brief-description"> <p>true iff heading is available</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection method-declaration"><code>- (BOOL)headingIsAvailable</code></div> <div class="method-subsection return"> <h4 class="method-subtitle parameter-title">Return Value</h4> <p>true iff heading is available</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection declared-in-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Declared In</h4> <code class="declared-in-ref">LjsLocationManager.h</code><br /> </div> </div> <div class="section-method"> <a name="//api/name/latitude" title="latitude"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle method-title">latitude</h3> <div class="method-subsection brief-description"> <p>if LJS_LOCATION_SERVICES_DEBUG Preprocess Macro is defined and no valid <a href="#//api/name/location">location</a> can be found then this method will return the latitude for Zurich, CH</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection method-declaration"><code>- (NSDecimalNumber )latitude</code></div> <div class="method-subsection return"> <h4 class="method-subtitle parameter-title">Return Value</h4> <p>the current latitude as a rounded NSDecimalNumber</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection discussion-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Discussion</h4> <div class="warning"><p><strong>Warning:</strong> if LJS_LOCATION_SERVICES_DEBUG Preprocess Macro is defined and no valid <a href="#//api/name/location">location</a> can be found then this method will return the latitude for Zurich, CH</p></div> </div> <div class="method-subsection declared-in-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Declared In</h4> <code class="declared-in-ref">LjsLocationManager.h</code><br /> </div> </div> <div class="section-method"> <a name="//api/name/locationIsAvailable" title="locationIsAvailable"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle method-title">locationIsAvailable</h3> <div class="method-subsection brief-description"> <p>if LJS_LOCATION_SERVICES_DEBUG Preprocess Macro is defined, this method will always return YES</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection method-declaration"><code>- (BOOL)locationIsAvailable</code></div> <div class="method-subsection return"> <h4 class="method-subtitle parameter-title">Return Value</h4> <p>true iff <a href="#//api/name/location">location</a> is available</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection discussion-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Discussion</h4> <div class="warning"><p><strong>Warning:</strong> if LJS_LOCATION_SERVICES_DEBUG Preprocess Macro is defined, this method will always return YES</p></div> </div> <div class="method-subsection declared-in-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Declared In</h4> <code class="declared-in-ref">LjsLocationManager.h</code><br /> </div> </div> <div class="section-method"> <a name="//api/name/locationManager:didFailWithError:" title="locationManager:didFailWithError:"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle method-title">locationManager:didFailWithError:</h3> <div class="method-subsection brief-description"> <p>handles location manager update errors</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection method-declaration"><code>- (void)locationManager:(CLLocationManager )<em>manager</em> didFailWithError:(NSError )<em>error</em></code></div> <div class="method-subsection arguments-section parameters"> <h4 class="method-subtitle parameter-title">Parameters</h4> <dl class="argument-def parameter-def"> <dt><em>manager</em></dt> <dd><p>The location manager object that was unable to retrieve the location.</p></dd> </dl> <dl class="argument-def parameter-def"> <dt><em>error</em></dt> <dd><p>The error object containing the reason the location or heading could not be retrieved.</p></dd> </dl> </div> <div class="method-subsection discussion-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Discussion</h4> <p>handles location manager update errors</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection declared-in-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Declared In</h4> <code class="declared-in-ref">LjsLocationManager.m</code><br /> </div> </div> <div class="section-method"> <a name="//api/name/locationManager:didUpdateHeading:" title="locationManager:didUpdateHeading:"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle method-title">locationManager:didUpdateHeading:</h3> <div class="method-subsection brief-description"> <p>Sets the self.<a href="#//api/name/coreHeading">coreHeading</a> ivar.</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection method-declaration"><code>- (void)locationManager:(CLLocationManager )<em>manager</em> didUpdateHeading:(CLHeading )<em>newHeading</em></code></div> <div class="method-subsection arguments-section parameters"> <h4 class="method-subtitle parameter-title">Parameters</h4> <dl class="argument-def parameter-def"> <dt><em>manager</em></dt> <dd><p>The location manager object that generated the update event.</p></dd> </dl> <dl class="argument-def parameter-def"> <dt><em>newHeading</em></dt> <dd><p>The new heading data.</p></dd> </dl> </div> <div class="method-subsection discussion-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Discussion</h4> <p>Sets the self.<a href="#//api/name/coreHeading">coreHeading</a> ivar.</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection declared-in-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Declared In</h4> <code class="declared-in-ref">LjsLocationManager.m</code><br /> </div> </div> <div class="section-method"> <a name="//api/name/locationManager:didUpdateToLocation:fromLocation:" title="locationManager:didUpdateToLocation:fromLocation:"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle method-title">locationManager:didUpdateToLocation:fromLocation:</h3> <div class="method-subsection brief-description"> <p>Sets the <code>self.</code>coreLocation<code></code> ivar to the new location.</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection method-declaration"><code>- (void)locationManager:(CLLocationManager )<em>manager</em> didUpdateToLocation:(CLLocation )<em>newLocation</em> fromLocation:(CLLocation )<em>oldLocation</em></code></div> <div class="method-subsection arguments-section parameters"> <h4 class="method-subtitle parameter-title">Parameters</h4> <dl class="argument-def parameter-def"> <dt><em>manager</em></dt> <dd><p>The location manager object that generated the update event.</p></dd> </dl> <dl class="argument-def parameter-def"> <dt><em>newLocation</em></dt> <dd><p>The new location data.</p></dd> </dl> <dl class="argument-def parameter-def"> <dt><em>oldLocation</em></dt> <dd><p>The location data from the previous update. If this is the first update event delivered by this location manager, this parameter is nil.</p></dd> </dl> </div> <div class="method-subsection discussion-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Discussion</h4> <p>Sets the <code>self.</code>coreLocation<code></code> ivar to the new location.</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection declared-in-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Declared In</h4> <code class="declared-in-ref">LjsLocationManager.m</code><br /> </div> </div> <div class="section-method"> <a name="//api/name/locationManagerShouldDisplayHeadingCalibration:" title="locationManagerShouldDisplayHeadingCalibration:"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle method-title">locationManagerShouldDisplayHeadingCalibration:</h3> <div class="method-subsection brief-description"> <p>Asks the delegate whether the heading calibration alert should be displayed.</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection method-declaration"><code>- (BOOL)locationManagerShouldDisplayHeadingCalibration:(CLLocationManager )<em>manager</em></code></div> <div class="method-subsection arguments-section parameters"> <h4 class="method-subtitle parameter-title">Parameters</h4> <dl class="argument-def parameter-def"> <dt><em>manager</em></dt> <dd><p>the CLLocation manager</p></dd> </dl> </div> <div class="method-subsection return"> <h4 class="method-subtitle parameter-title">Return Value</h4> <p>Almost always we want to return NO.</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection discussion-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Discussion</h4> <p>Asks the delegate whether the heading calibration alert should be displayed.</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection declared-in-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Declared In</h4> <code class="declared-in-ref">LjsLocationManager.m</code><br /> </div> </div> <div class="section-method"> <a name="//api/name/longitude" title="longitude"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle method-title">longitude</h3> <div class="method-subsection brief-description"> <p>if LJS_LOCATION_SERVICES_DEBUG Preprocess Macro is defined and no valid <a href="#//api/name/location">location</a> can be found then this method will return the longitude for Zurich, CH</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection method-declaration"><code>- (NSDecimalNumber )longitude</code></div> <div class="method-subsection return"> <h4 class="method-subtitle parameter-title">Return Value</h4> <p>the current longitude as a rounded NSDecimalNumber</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection discussion-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Discussion</h4> <div class="warning"><p><strong>Warning:</strong> if LJS_LOCATION_SERVICES_DEBUG Preprocess Macro is defined and no valid <a href="#//api/name/location">location</a> can be found then this method will return the longitude for Zurich, CH</p></div> </div> <div class="method-subsection declared-in-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Declared In</h4> <code class="declared-in-ref">LjsLocationManager.h</code><br /> </div> </div> <div class="section-method"> <a name="//api/name/trueHeading" title="trueHeading"></a> <h3 class="subsubtitle method-title">trueHeading</h3> <div class="method-subsection brief-description"> <p>if LJS_LOCATION_SERVICES_DEBUG Preprocess Macro is defined and no valid heading can be found then this method will return</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection method-declaration"><code>- (NSDecimalNumber )trueHeading</code></div> <div class="method-subsection return"> <h4 class="method-subtitle parameter-title">Return Value</h4> <p>the current <a href="#//api/name/latitude">latitude</a> as a rounded NSDecimalNumber</p> </div> <div class="method-subsection discussion-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Discussion</h4> <div class="warning"><p><strong>Warning:</strong> if LJS_LOCATION_SERVICES_DEBUG Preprocess Macro is defined and no valid heading can be found then this method will return</p></div> </div> <div class="method-subsection declared-in-section"> <h4 class="method-subtitle">Declared In</h4> <code class="declared-in-ref">LjsLocationManager.h</code><br /> </div> </div> </div> </div> <div class="main-navigation navigation-bottom"> <ul> <li><a href="../index.html">Index</a></li> <li><a href="../hierarchy.html">Hierarchy</a></li> </ul> </div> <div id="footer"> <hr /> <div class="footer-copyright"> <p><span class="copyright">© 2012 Little Joy Software. All rights reserved. (Last updated: 2012-06-20)</span><br /> <span class="generator">Generated by <a href="http://appledoc.gentlebytes.com">appledoc 2.0.5 (build 789)</a>.</span></p> </div> </div> </div> </article> <script type="text/javascript"> function jumpToChange() { window.location.hash = this.options[this.selectedIndex].value; } function toggleTOC() { var contents = document.getElementById('contents'); var tocContainer = document.getElementById('tocContainer'); if (this.getAttribute('class') == 'open') { this.setAttribute('class', ''); contents.setAttribute('class', ''); tocContainer.setAttribute('class', ''); window.name = "hideTOC"; } else { this.setAttribute('class', 'open'); contents.setAttribute('class', 'isShowingTOC'); tocContainer.setAttribute('class', 'isShowingTOC'); window.name = ""; } return false; } function toggleTOCEntryChildren(e) { e.stopPropagation(); var currentClass = this.getAttribute('class'); if (currentClass == 'children') { this.setAttribute('class', 'children open'); } else if (currentClass == 'children open') { this.setAttribute('class', 'children'); } return false; } function tocEntryClick(e) { e.stopPropagation(); return true; } function init() { var selectElement = document.getElementById('jumpTo'); selectElement.addEventListener('change', jumpToChange, false); var tocButton = document.getElementById('table_of_contents'); tocButton.addEventListener('click', toggleTOC, false); var taskTreeItem = document.getElementById('task_treeitem'); if (taskTreeItem.getElementsByTagName('li').length > 0) { taskTreeItem.setAttribute('class', 'children'); taskTreeItem.firstChild.setAttribute('class', 'disclosure'); } var tocList = document.getElementById('toc'); var tocEntries = tocList.getElementsByTagName('li'); for (var i = 0; i < tocEntries.length; i++) { tocEntries[i].addEventListener('click', toggleTOCEntryChildren, false); } var tocLinks = tocList.getElementsByTagName('a'); for (var i = 0; i < tocLinks.length; i++) { tocLinks[i].addEventListener('click', tocEntryClick, false); } if (window.name == "hideTOC") { toggleTOC.call(tocButton); } } window.onload = init; </script> </body> </html>	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub" }	4,528
Orbit (в переводе с англ. «орбита») может означать: Марку жевательной резинки фирмы Wrigley. Orbit Downloader — программу для закачки файлов из Интернет. Orbit@home — проект распределённых вычислений. Orbit Books — международный издатель, специализирующийся на жанре научной фантастики и фэнтези. См. также Орбита (значения) — многозначный термин	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia" }	6,883
Q: Uncaught TypeError: $(...).flexslider is not a function using gulp and bower I am currently having an issue configuring flexslider on my site. I am using elixir laravel and bower. I have all my scss, less and js files compiled but when I add anything code relating to the slider on my homepage I get this error: Uncaught TypeError: $(...).flexslider is not a function using nothing seems to be showing up on my page at all I added the javascript in the layout.blade file just to test <!DOCTYPE html> <html lang="en"> <head> <meta charset="utf-8"> <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1, shrink-to-fit=no"> <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> <title>Creative Forces Enrichment</title> <link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Roboto+Condensed:400,700' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <link rel="stylesheet" href="{{ elixir('css/app.css') }}"> <link rel="stylesheet" href="{{ elixir('css/style.css') }}"> </head> <body id="app-layout"> <div class="line"></div> <header id="header" role="banner"> <div class="container"> <!-- <button class="hamburger hamburger--collapse" type="button"> <span class="hamburger-box"> <span class="hamburger-inner"></span> </span> </button> --> <div class="container text-xs-center"> <nav class="nav nav-inline"> <a class="nav-link" href='{{ url("/") }}'>Home</a> <a class="nav-link" href='{{ url("/team") }}'>Our Team</a> <a class="nav-link" href='{{ url("/media") }}'>Media</a> <a href='{{ url("/") }}' class="nav-link"><img src="./images/zipzap.png" alt=""></a> <a class="nav-link" href='{{ url("/about") }}'>About Us</a> <a class="nav-link" href='{{ url("/contact") }}'>Contact Us</a> <a class="nav-link" href='{{ url("/donate") }}' id="donate">Support Us</a> </nav> </div> </div> </header> @yield('content') <div class="container"> <div class="row"> <div class="text-xs-center spacing"> <hr> <div class="text-center copy">© Zip Zap Zop Enrichment <?php echo date("Y") ?></div> </div> </div> </div> <!-- JavaScripts --> <script src="{{ elixir('js/app.js') }}" type="text/javascript"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> var metaslider_158 = function($) { $('#metaslider_158').addClass('flexslider'); // theme/plugin conflict avoidance $('#metaslider_158').flexslider({ slideshowSpeed:3000, animation:"fade", controlNav:false, directionNav:false, pauseOnHover:true, direction:"horizontal", reverse:false, animationSpeed:600, prevText:"<", nextText:">", slideshow:false }); }; var timer_metaslider_158 = function() { var slider = !window.jQuery ? window.setTimeout(timer_metaslider_158, 100) : !jQuery.isReady ? window.setTimeout(timer_metaslider_158, 1) : metaslider_158(window.jQuery); }; timer_metaslider_158(); </script> </body> </html> here is the page I want my slider to show up on: @extends('layout') @section('content') <!-- Place somewhere in the <body> of your page --> <!-- Place somewhere in the <body> of your page --> <div class="flexslider"> <ul class="slides"> <li> <iframe id="player_1" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/39683393?api=1&player_id=player_1" width="500" height="281" frameborder="0" webkitAllowFullScreen mozallowfullscreen allowFullScreen></iframe> </li> <li> <img src="./images/maja.jpg" /> </li> <li> <img src="./images/maja.jpg" /> </li> <li> <img src="./images/maja.jpg" /> </li> </ul> </div> <div class="container"> <div class="content-wrapper"> <div class="color-wrapper"> <div class="main-container"> <div class="gdlr-item gdlr-post-slider-item style-post-right post-slider"></div> </div> </div> </div> </div> @endsection and here is my gulp.js file var elixir = require('laravel-elixir'); /* \|-------------------------------------------------------------------------- \| Elixir Asset Management \|-------------------------------------------------------------------------- \| \| Elixir provides a clean, fluent API for defining some basic Gulp tasks \| for your Laravel application. By default, we are compiling the Sass \| file for our application, as well as publishing vendor resources. \| / elixir(function(mix) { // Copy Styles mix.copy('bower_components/bootstrap/scss/', 'resources/assets/sass/libraries/bootstrap/') .copy('bower_components/css-hamburgers/_sass/hamburgers', 'resources/assets/sass/libraries/hamburgers/') .copy('bower_components/flexslider/css', 'resources/assets/less/libraries/flexslider/') // Copy Scripts .copy('bower_components/jquery/dist/jquery.js', 'resources/assets/js/libraries/jquery.js') .copy('bower_components/bootstrap/dist/js/bootstrap.js', 'resources/assets/js/libraries/bootstrap.js') .copy('bower_components/flexslider/jquery.flexslider.js', 'resources/assets/js/libraries/flexslider.js') // Compile App Assets .sass('app.scss','public/css/app.css') .less('app.less','public/css/style.css') .scripts([ 'libraries/jquery.js', 'libraries/bootstrap.js', 'libraries/flexslider.js', 'app//.js' ], 'public/js/app.js', 'resources/assets/js') // Create version .version(['css/app.css', 'css/style.css', 'js/app.js']); }); any help would be appreciated! A: For compatibility reasons, you should wrap your jQuery code like this: (function($){ // jQuery code is in here })(jQuery); A: You need to make sure the document is loaded completely before executing or your JavaScript in app.js may actually take longer than anticipated to include your library, which will result in this error. Instead, we can both alias $ to jQuery and we can bind to the .ready() handler like this: jQuery(function($){ //your code }); This alleviates the need to alias jQuery to $ in a closure and then execute a ready function within.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange" }	7,203
\section{Introduction} \label{intro} The study of QCD at finite temperature and baryon density has increasing phenomenological interest related to the physics of heavy ion experiments and compact astrophysical objects. The main open questions regard the location and nature of phase transitions in the QCD phase diagram, as well as the properties of strongly interacting matter around the transitions. A reliable answer to these questions requires at treatment of QCD at a non-perturbative level: unfortunately lattice QCD simulations, which are the only available tool for a non-perturbative study of the theory based on first principles, are not possible at finite baryon chemical potential, because of the well known {\em sign problem}: the QCD fermion determinant becomes complex and the probability interpretation of the QCD Euclidean action, necessary for standard importance sampling Monte-Carlo, is lost. A number of strategies have been developed to partially circumvent that problem, like reweighting techniques~\cite{glasgow,fodor,density}, the use of an imaginary chemical potential either for analytic continuation~\cite{muim,immu_dl,azcoiti,chen,giudice,cea,sqgp,conradi,cea2} or for reconstructing the canonical partition function~\cite{rw,cano1,cano2}, Taylor expansion techniques~\cite{taylor1,taylor2,gagu1,gagu2,gagu3} and non-relativistic expansions~\cite{hmass1,hmass2,hmass3}. The aim of the present work is that of exploiting the method of analytic continuation from an imaginary chemical potential to study the properties of hadronic matter around the deconfinement transition in QCD with two light flavors ($N_f = 2$). As an improvement with respect to previous studies based on analytic continuation, we introduce to independent chemical potentials, $\mu_1$ and $\mu_2$, coupled to the two different quark flavors. That is equivalent to the introduction of two independent chemical potentials, $\mu_B$ and $\mu_I$, coupled respectively to the baryon and to the isospin charges $B$ and $I_3$. Our strategy will be to determine the dependence of the free energy on the two chemical potentials, apart from constant terms, by measuring its first derivatives with respect to $\mu_1$ and $\mu_2$ (quark number densities) for imaginary values of the two variables, and by then fitting them by suitable functions, to be continued within proper analyticity domains. One of our aims is the study of generalized susceptibilities with respect to different conserved charges of the model (baryonic, isospin). These quantities are of significant phenomenological interest and have been determined till now mostly by the Taylor expansion method. We shall compare our results with those obtained by previous studies and comment on the efficiency and systematic effects of analytic continuation. In the confined region, i.e. below the critical temperature $T_c$, we shall be able to perform a high precision test of the Hadron Resonance Gas (HRG) model, leading to the uncover of violations close to $T_c$. Finally, the knowledge of the dependence of the free energy on the two independent chemical potentials will allow us a study of the average phase factor, which gives a direct measurement of the severeness of the sign problem. Our study is made for QCD with two flavors of unimproved staggered quarks and is based on a standard RHMC algorithm. The choice of parameters is taken from Ref.~\cite{gagu2}. The paper is organized as follows: In Section II we describe the model that we have investigated as well as the relevant physical observables; we also discuss the symmetries of the model, which are important for the choice of the free energy interpolating functions to be used for analytic continuation. In Section III we report the technical details of our numerical simulations. In Section IV we present results obtained below $T_c$ and compare them to the predictions of the HRG model. In Section V we report results obtained above $T_c$. In Section VI and VII we discuss results obtained respectively for generalized susceptibilities and for the analytic continuation of the average phase factor. Finally, in Section VII, we draw our conclusions. \section{$N_f = 2$ QCD with two independent chemical potentials and analytic continuation.} \label{gensusc} QCD with two continuum degenerate flavors is described, in the (rooted) staggered fermion discretization of the theory, by the following partition function \begin{eqnarray} Z(T) \equiv \int \mathcal{D}U e^{-S_{G}[U]} (\det M[U])^{1/2} \end{eqnarray} where $S_G$ is the discretized pure gauge action (standard Wilson plaquette action in our case) and $M$ is the staggered fermion matrix describing 4 continuum flavors. Periodic (antiperiodic) boundary conditions are assumed for gauge (fermion) fields along the Euclidean time direction. The introduction of two independent chemical potentials, $\mu_1$ and $\mu_2$, coupled to the number operators of each quark family leads to the following expression for the grand canonical partition function: \begin{eqnarray} Z(T,\mu_1,\mu_2) \equiv \int \mathcal{D}U e^{-S_{G}} \det M^{1\over 4} [\mu_1] \det M^{1\over 4} [\mu_2] \label{partfun1} \end{eqnarray} where the fermion matrix in the standard staggered formulation at finite chemical potential reads: \begin{eqnarray} M[\mu]_{i,j} &=& a m \delta_{i,j} + {1 \over 2} \sum_{\nu=1}^{3}\eta_{i,\nu}\left(U_{i,\nu}\delta_{i,j-\hat\nu}- U^{\dag}_{i-\hat\nu,\nu}\delta_{i,j+\hat\nu}\right) \nonumber \\ &+& \eta_{i,4} \left(e^{ a \mu}U_{i,4}\delta_{i,j-\hat4}- e^{- a \mu}U^{\dag}_{i-\hat4,4}\delta_{i,j+\hat4}\right) \label{fmatrix} \end{eqnarray} Here $i$ and $j$ refer to lattice sites, $\hat\nu$ is a unit vector on the lattice, $\eta_{i,\nu}$ are staggered phases; $a \mu$ and $a m$ are respectively the chemical potential and the quark mass in lattice units. The two chemical potentials can be rewritten in terms of a quark number chemical potential $\mu_q = (\mu_1 + \mu_2)/2$ (or equivalently a baryon chemical potential $\mu_B = 3 \mu_q$) and of an isospin chemical potential $\mu_I = (\mu_1 - \mu_2)/2$. While the original theory is invariant under both charge conjugation and isospin rotations, the theory in presence of finite chemical potentials obviously is not. However the original invariance is reflected in the fact that the free energy $F = - T \ln Z $ must be an even function of $\mu_q$ and $\mu_I$ separately, or equivalently it must be invariant under the two following transformations $(\mu_1,\mu_2) \to (\mu_2,\mu_1)$ and $(\mu_1,\mu_2) \to (-\mu_2,-\mu_1)$, which are easily verified to be symmetries of the partition function in Eq.~(\ref{partfun1}). That places strong constraints on its possible functional dependence. In presence of a finite chemical potential $\det M$ becomes complex and $\det M[-\mu] = (\det M[\mu])^$. Therefore, apart from the case $\mu_2 = - \mu_1$ ($\mu_q = 0$), the integrand in Eq.~(\ref{partfun1}) is complex and cannot be interpreted as a probability distribution over gauge fields, so that standard importance sampling techniques cannot be applied (sign problem). Positivity is recovered if the chemical potentials $\mu_1$ and $\mu_2$ are taken as purely imaginary: in this case numerical simulations are feasible and results can be used to fit the functional dependence of relevant observables. Due to the above mentioned symmetries of the free energy, analytic continuation is actually a continuation from negative to positive values of $\mu_q^2$ and $\mu_I^2$. Of course it is expected to be applicable as long as no phase transitions are met along the continuation path. It is convenient for the following discussion to introduce the variables $$\theta_q = {\rm Im}(\mu_q)/T = N_t a {\rm Im}(\mu_q) $$ $$\theta_I = {\rm Im}(\mu_I)/T = N_t a {\rm Im}(\mu_I) $$ and $$\theta_1 = {\rm Im}(\mu_1)/T = \theta_q + \theta_I$$ $$\theta_2 = {\rm Im}(\mu_2)/T = \theta_q - \theta_I$$ where $N_t$ is the number of lattice sites in the temporal direction. It can be easily shown that the introduction of an imaginary chemical potential is equivalent to a twist in the temporal boundary conditions for fermions by an angle ${\rm Im} (\mu)/T$. Hence both determinants appearing in Eq.~(\ref{partfun1}) are periodic functions, respectively of $\theta_1$ and $\theta_2$, with period $2 \pi$, so that the free energy itself is a periodic function of these variables. In terms of $\theta_q$ and $\theta_I$ that means again periodicity with period $2 \pi$ in both variables, plus invariance under $(\theta_q,\theta_I) \to (\theta_q + \pi,\theta_I + \pi)$. However, following the argument given by Roberge and Weiss in Ref.~\cite{rw}, it is possible to prove that a transformation $\theta_q \to \theta_q + 2 \pi k/N_c$, where $N_c$ is the number of colors and $k$ is an integer, can be cancelled by a change of variables in the functional integration in which all temporal links at a given time slice get multiplied by a center element $\exp(-i 2 k \pi/N_c)$ (center transformation). Hence the free energy is expected to be a periodic function of $\theta_q$ with period $2 \pi/N_c$ instead of $2 \pi$ ($N_c = 3$ in our case). An analogous change of variables does not work for translations in $\theta_I$, which rotate the link variables appearing in each determinant in a different way, therefore the period in $\theta_I$ is really $2 \pi$. For temperatures below the zero density critical temperature, $T_c$, no phase transitions are expected, as in the $\mu_I = 0$ case, in the whole $\theta_q,\theta_I$ plane. Therefore, due to the discussed periodicity and required symmetries, the most natural parametrization of the free energy is in terms of a trigonometric series as follows: \begin{eqnarray} \frac{F(\theta_q,\theta_I)}{T} = \sum_{h,l} w_{h,l} \cos (3 h \theta_q) \cos(l \theta_I) \label{freelowT} \end{eqnarray} with $h$ and $l$ both integers; moreover $h$ and $l$ must have the same parity because of the invariance under $(\theta_q,\theta_I) \to (\theta_q + \pi,\theta_I + \pi)$. Further constraints on the number of terms appearing in Eq.~(\ref{freelowT}) may be predicted by particular effective models of strong interactions below $T_c$, like for instance the HRG model to be discussed in Section~\ref{resultsHRG}. In such regime, information valid for analytic continuation can be gathered in the whole $\theta_q,\theta_I$ plane. For $T > T_c$ we expect instead phase transitions in the $\theta_q,\theta_I$ plane, corresponding either to the continuation of the physical deconfinement transition or to the generalization of Roberge-Weiss (RW) transitions. Therefore a limited region around $\theta_q = \theta_I = 0$ is available for the purpose of analytic continuation to real chemical potentials, and we shall write an expression for the free energy valid in that region which respects the predicted symmetries under $\theta_q \to - \theta_q$ and $\theta_I \to - \theta_I$ separately. In particular the free energy will be expressed as a polynomial like \begin{eqnarray} \frac{F(\theta_q,\theta_I)}{T} = \sum_{i,j} c_{i,j} \frac{\theta_q^{2 i}}{(2i)!}\frac{\theta_I^{2 j}}{(2j)!} \label{freehighT1} \end{eqnarray} with $i,j$ non negative integers, or as a ratio of polynomials of the same kind \begin{eqnarray} \frac{F(\theta_q,\theta_I)}{T} = \frac {\left.\sum_{i,j} n_{i,j} \frac{\theta_q^{2 i}}{(2i)!} \frac{\theta_I^{2 j}}{(2j)!} \right\|_{n_{00}=0}} {\left.\sum_{k,l} d_{k,l} \frac{\theta_q^{2 k}}{(2k)!} \frac{\theta_I^{2 l}}{(2l)!} \right\|_{d_{00}=1}} \,. \label{freehighT2} \end{eqnarray} The latter is an example of Chisholm approximant, i.e. the generalization to the case of two independent variables of usual Pad\`e approximants, which have revealed to be better suited for analytic continuation in some cases~\cite{mpl05,cea,shinno}. Some of the quantities we are interested in are generalized susceptibilities with respect to the different chemical potentials, which for $N_f = 2$ are defined as follows \begin{eqnarray} \chi_{i,j} \equiv \frac{\partial^{i+j}}{\partial \mu_1^i \partial \mu_2^j} \left( -\frac{F}{V} \right) = \frac{\partial^{i+j}}{\partial \mu_1^i \partial \mu_2^j} P \label{gensusc1} \end{eqnarray} where $P$ is the pressure. Analogous susceptibilities are defined in terms of $\mu_q$ and $\mu_I$ \begin{eqnarray} \chi_{i,j}^{q,I} \equiv \frac{\partial^{i+j}}{\partial \mu_q^i \partial \mu_I^j} P \label{gensusc2} \, . \end{eqnarray} The free energy symmetries discussed above imply precise constraints on the susceptibilities computed at zero chemical potentials. In particular we have $\chi_{i,j}^{q,I} \neq 0$ only if $i$ and $j$ are both even, while $\chi_{i,j} \neq 0$ if $i + j$ is even and $\chi_{i,j} = \chi_{j,i}$. Such quantities encode all relevant information about fluctuations of conserved charges, which are generally considered to be sensitive probes for the properties of the thermal medium produced in heavy ion collisions. They have been computed mostly in the Taylor expansion approach~\cite{taylor1,taylor2,gagu1,gagu2,gagu3}, where they are expressed as average values at $\mu = 0$ of operators which are more and more complex and computationally demanding as the order grows, since they require more and more matrix inversions. It is therefore sensible to explore the consistency and the efficiency of different strategies. In the analytic continuation approach we determine numerically the functional dependence, for imaginary values of the chemical potentials, of the first derivatives of the free energy. In terms of adimensional quantities, which are most conveniently determined on the lattice, they are given by \begin{eqnarray} \hat{n}_q &\equiv& \frac{\langle N_q \rangle}{V T^3} = \frac{\partial}{\partial \mu_q} (P/T^3) = \hat{n}_1 + \hat{n}_2 \nonumber \\ \hat{n}_{I} &\equiv& \frac{\langle N_{I} \rangle}{V T^3} = \frac{\partial}{\partial \mu_I} (P/T^3) = \hat{n}_1 - \hat{n}_2 \label{numbers1} \end{eqnarray} where $N_q$ and $N_{I}$ are respectively the quark number and isospin charge operators, with \begin{eqnarray} \hat{n}_i &\equiv& \frac{\langle N_i \rangle}{VT^3} = \frac{1}{VT^2} \frac{\partial \ln Z}{\partial \mu_i} = - \frac{1}{VT^3} \frac{\partial F }{\partial \mu_i} \nonumber \\ &=& \frac{N_t^2}{4 N_s^3} \left\langle {\rm Tr} \left( M^{-1}[U,\mu_i] \frac{\partial}{\partial a \mu_i} M[U,\mu_i] \right) \right\rangle \label{numbers2} \end{eqnarray} for $i = 1,2$. In terms of the susceptibilities defined in Eq.~(\ref{gensusc1}) $\hat{n}_1 = \chi_{1,0}/T^3 $ and $\hat{n}_2 = \chi_{0,1}/T^3 $. Such first derivatives, which are purely imaginary for imaginary chemical potentials, can be measured quite efficiently (only one matrix inversion is needed for the noisy estimation of the trace) and, apart from constant terms, encode all information about the dependence of the free energy on $\mu_q,\mu_I$. Information gathered at imaginary values of $\mu_{q/I}$ can then be analytically continued to real values of $\mu_{q/I}$, in particular higher order derivatives at $\mu_q = \mu_I = 0$ can be extracted. In comparison to the Taylor expansion approach, the great advantage related to the much simpler observables can be compensated by the need for multiple simulations at different values of the chemical potentials. Moreover, this procedure involves some systematic dependence on the function chosen to interpolate data at imaginary $\mu$'s, which should be eventually checked by comparing results obtained with different functions. We shall compare trigometric expansions with polynomials below $T_c$, polynomials with ratio of polynomials above $T_c$. \section{Parameter details and numerical setup} \label{setup} Since we want to compare our results for the generalized susceptibilities with those obtained by the Taylor expansion approach, we have chosen for this study a subset of the parameters used in Ref.~\cite{gagu2}, which is reported in Table~\ref{tabPARsim}. That corresponds to five different temperatures with a standard staggered lattice discretization on $N_t = 4$ lattices and a fixed value (on the corresponding $T = 0$ lattices) for the pion mass, $m_\pi \simeq 280$ MeV (actually $m_\pi/m_\rho = 0.31(1)$ and $m_\rho/T_c = 0.54(2)$). The critical temperature reported in Ref.~\cite{gagu2} is $T_c \simeq 170$ MeV. \begin{table} \begin{center} \begin{tabular}{\|c\|\|c\|c\|\|c\|c\|c\|} \hline $T/T_c$ & $m_q$ & $\beta$ & $n_{pairs}$ & $n_{traj}$ & $N_{D}$\\ \hline \hline 0.9 & 0.02778 & 5.26 & 95 & 2300 & $12.6 \cdot 10^{9}$ \\ \hline 0.951 & 0.02631 & 5.275 & 95 & 2460 & $14.0 \cdot 10^{9}$ \\ \hline 1 & 0.025 & 5.2875 & 95 & 3500 & $20.7 \cdot 10^{9}$ \\ \hline 1.048 & 0.0238 & 5.30 & 24 & 3120 & $4.7 \cdot 10^{9}$ \\ \hline 1.25 & 0.02 & 5.35 & 77 & 2270 & $8.7 \cdot 10^{9}$ \\ \hline \end{tabular} \end{center} \caption{List of simulated temperatures and corresponding $\beta,m_q$ values (taken from Ref.~\cite{gagu2}), number of $(\mu_q,\mu_I)$ pairs explored at each temperaure ($n_{pairs}$) and average number of trajectories (of 1 MD time length each) generated at each temperature and for each $(\mu_q,\mu_I)$ pair ($n_{traj}$). $N_{D}$ instead indicates the total number of Dirac matrix multiplications performed at each $T$, which is reported as an estimate of the overall computing effort performed: that is more or less equally distributed between Monte-Carlo and measurements. \label{tabPARsim}} \end{table} In particular, we have made simulations on a $16^3 \times 4$ lattice using a RHMC algorithm. Our spatial size $L_s = 16$ corresponds to about 6.6 inverse pion masses, hence finite size effects are not expected to be important. For $T \leq T_c$ we have made simulations on a grid of about 100 different pairs $(\theta_q,\theta_I)$, in the range $[0,\pi] \times [0,\pi]$: because of the above described periodicity, this surely contains all possible information available at imaginary chemical potentials (actually in a redundant way, which however is a benefit for checking the reliability of our statistical analysis). Since susceptibilities are calculated at null values of $\mu_q$ and $\mu_I$, more points were taken in a restricted region around the origin, in order to perform fits of low-degrees polynomials in $n_q$ and $n_I$ around the origin easily. Morover, we have decided to perform a more accurate study of HRG model along the axis $\theta_I = 0$, therefore we have chosen further points there. For $T > T_c$ we have performed a preliminary study aimed at finding the position of transition lines, with the purpose of delimiting the region at imaginary chemical potentials available for analytic continuation. Further information about this region are given in Section~\ref{formaREGIONEbuona}. For each $(T,\theta_q,\theta_I)$ we have produced about 2-3K thermalized trajectories of 1 Molecular Dynamics time length each. More details about the amount of $(\mu_q,\mu_I)$ pairs explored and average numbers of generated configurations are given in Table~\ref{tabPARsim}. Quark densities have been measured by using noisy estimators. It is possible to minimize the total error of these observables (sum of statistical and noise fluctuations) at fixed simulation time by choosing an appropriate number of random vectors used for each noisy estimation. Assuming that noise and statistical fluctuations are independent of each other, the optimal number of random vectors $n_{vec}$ to be used for each configurations is given by \begin{eqnarray} n_{vec}=\frac{\sigma_{noise}}{\sigma_{meas}} \sqrt{\frac{\tau_{conf}}{\tau_{estim}}} \label{optimalnvec} \end{eqnarray} where $\sigma_{meas}$ is the variance of the observable (quark density) over different configurations, $\sigma_{noise}$ is the variance of the different estimates of the observable over a fixed configuration, $\tau_{conf}$ is the time needed to generate a new configuration and $\tau_{estim}$ is the time needed to perform one noisy estimate of the observable. We have measured those quantities in preliminary runs and we have found that, with our numerical setup, this number is around 30 for all explored parameter sets. Notice that Eq.~(\ref{optimalnvec}) does not take into account the autocorrelation among configurations and thus overestimates $n_{vec}$; we have however directly checked, by comparing different choices of $n_{vec}$, that the efficiency is almost stable for $n_{vec} \sim 10-50$. We have always chosen $n_{vec} = 30$ in our production runs. Simulations have been done on two PC farms in Genoa and in Bari. The complete collection of our data is not reported here, but is at disposal for interested readers. \section{Results at $T \leq T_c$: precision test on the Hadron Resonance Gas model} \label{resultsHRG} The thermal medium below the critical temperature is generally believed to be well described as a gas of free hadron resonances (HRG model). This model provides a good description of thermal conditions at freeze-out~\cite{redlich,redlich2,andronic} and has received theoretical support from lattice QCD simulations~\cite{kareta}. Deviations from the model have been recently detected close to $T_c$ in a lattice study based on the Taylor expansion method~\cite{taylor2}. In the HRG model the free energy is expressed as the sum of free particle energies. In particular, the free energy for species $i$ of spin $s_i$, mass $m_i$, baryon number $B_i$ and isospin $I_{3i}$, is given by \begin{eqnarray} - T \ln Z_i &=& \pm \frac{g_i V T}{2 \pi^2} \int_0^\infty \ln \left( 1 \mp z_i e^{\frac{\sqrt{m_i^2 + k^2}}{T}} \right) k^2 dk \nonumber \\ &=& \frac{g_i VT^2 m_i^2}{2 \pi^2} \sum_{l = 1}^{\infty} \left[ \frac{(\pm 1)^{l + 1}}{l^2}z_i^l K_2 \left(\frac{m_i l}{T} \right) \right] \label{freeparticle} \end{eqnarray} where $g_i = 2 s_i + 1$, the upper (lower) sign applies to mesons (baryons) and \begin{eqnarray} z_i = e^{\mu_i/T} = \exp\left( \frac{3 B_i \mu_q + 2 I_{3i} \mu_I}{T} \right) \, . \end{eqnarray} The expression in Eq.~(\ref{freeparticle}) is an approximation in the case of unstable particles, for which an integration over a Breit-Wigner distribution in the particle mass would be more appropriate. The Bessel function $K_2$ is exponentially suppressed for large values of the argument, $K_2(x) \simeq \sqrt{\pi / (2 x)} e^{-x}$, hence for $m_i \gg T$ we can keep just the first term $l = 1$ in the $l$ expansion, corresponding to the Boltzmann approximation in which quantum statistics effects are neglected. Summing up over all known particles and resonances and grouping together all charge conjugation and isospin partners we get \begin{eqnarray} \ln Z = V T^3 && \sum_{B,I,m} W(m,g,T) \bar\delta(B) \cosh \left( 3 B \frac{\mu_q}{T} \right) \nonumber \\ && \left( \sum_{I_3 \geq 0} \bar\delta(I_3)\cosh \left( 2 I_3 \frac{\mu_I}{T} \right) \right) \end{eqnarray} where $\bar\delta (n) = 1 - {1}/{2} \delta_{n,0}\,\,$ and $$W(m,g,T) = 2g \left( m\over {\pi T} \right)^2 K_2 \left( m\over T \right) \, .$$ Such prediction is easily continued to imaginary chemical potentials, where hyperbolic functions get transformed into trigonometric functions, in particular we have \begin{eqnarray} \ln Z = V T^3 &&\sum_{B,I} W_{B,I}(T) \bar\delta(B) \cos ( 3 B \theta_q) \nonumber \\ && \left( \sum_{I_3 \geq 0} \bar\delta(I_3)\cos ( 2 I_3 \theta_I ) \right) \label{imF} \end{eqnarray} \begin{eqnarray} {\rm Im} (\hat{n}_{q}) = &&\sum_{B,I} 3 B W_{B,I}(T) \sin ( 3 B \theta_q) \nonumber \\ && \left( \sum_{I_3 \geq 0} \bar\delta(I_3)\cos ( 2 I_3 \theta_I ) \right) \label{imNq} \end{eqnarray} \begin{eqnarray} {\rm Im}( \hat{n}_{I}) = &&\sum_{B,I} W_{B,I}(T) \bar\delta(B) \cos ( 3 B \theta_q) \nonumber \\ && \left( \sum_{I_3 \geq 0} 2 I_3 \sin ( 2 I_3 \theta_I ) \right) \label{imNi} \end{eqnarray} where $W_{B,I}(T) = \sum_{m\|_{B,I}} W(m,g,T)$. The average quark densities are always purely imaginary for imaginary chemical potentials, for that reason we shall simply write $\hat{n}_{q}$ and $\hat{n}_{I}$ in the following, meaning implicitely that their imaginary part is taken. Predictions from the HRG model to be tested in lattice QCD simulations can be classified as follows: 1) The free energy has a particularly simple form since, on the basis of known hadron resonances, only $W_{0,0}$, $W_{0,1}$, $W_{1,1/2}$, $W_{1,3/2}$ are different from zero in previous equations. That means a further strong restriction on the expected form of the free energy at low temperatures: a necessary condition for the HRG model to be valid is that only the few lowest terms of the Fourier expansion in Eq.~(\ref{freelowT}) give contribution; 2) Also the numerical values of the coefficients can be predicted from the known experimental resonance mass spectrum. Latter prediction is easily affected by lattice artifacts and by the unphysical quark masses used in simulations, which change the actual hadron spectrum on the lattice. The former, instead, is expected to be more robust and less sensitive to discretization details. The method of analytic continuation is particularly well suited for lattice QCD tests of the HRG model, since it gathers information, below $T_c$, from the whole range of possible imaginary chemical potentials, so that the number of terms actually contributing to the Fourier expansion in Eq.~(\ref{freelowT}) can be checked with great precision: this idea has been followed in earlier studies limited to the $\theta_I = 0$ axis~\cite{immu_dl,cano1}, in which the presence, within errors, of a single Fourier contribution, corresponding to $B = 1$, has been verified. In this respect the aim of our work is to extend such studies by increasing precision and by exploring also the $\theta_I \neq 0$ region. \begin{figure}[!ht] \includegraphics[width=1.0\columnwidth]{fit_1sin_tot_0.9_asse.eps} \vspace{-0.cm} \caption{Normalized quark density at $T = 0.9\, T_c$ and $\theta_I = 0$. The solid line corresponds to the single sine fit reported in Table~\ref{tabSINfit}.} \label{figSINfitASSEb0.9} \vspace{-0.cm} \end{figure} \subsection{$T = 0.9\, T_c$} \label{T0.9} We start by discussing results obtained at $T = 0.9\, T_c$. Let us first look at the $\theta_I = 0$ axis: $\hat{n}_I$ is zero in this case, while in general $\hat{n}_q$ can be Fourier expanded as: \begin{eqnarray} \hat{n}_q =\sum_{l=1} c_l \sin\left(3 l \theta_q\right) \label{sinfit} \end{eqnarray} and the HRG model predicts contribution only from the lowest harmonic, $l = 1$. Indeed a simple sine term, corresponding to $B = 1$, is perfectly compatible with our data, as showed in Fig.~\ref{figSINfitASSEb0.9} and reported in Table~\ref{tabSINfit}. A second term with $l = 2$ is therefore not necessary, at least within the precision of our data, even if a two sine fit leads to a smaller $\chi^2/d.o.f.$ with a $c_2 \neq 0$ within three standard deviations (see again Table~\ref{tabSINfit}). As shown in Table~\ref{tabSINfourier}, completely equivalent results are obtained if, instead of fitting our data, we compute the coefficients $c_l$ by explicit Fourier transform, \begin{eqnarray} c_l = \frac{3}{\pi} \int_0^{2 \pi /3} \sin (3 l \theta_q) \hat{n}_q (\theta_q) d\theta_q \end{eqnarray} where the integration is performed numerically by linear interpolation of consecutive data points. Next we consider data for $\hat{n}_q$ and $\hat{n}_I$ obtained in the whole range of $\theta_q$ and $\theta_I$ explored, which are shown in Figs.~\ref{figHRGfitTOT0.9} and \ref{figHRGfitDIF0.9}, and try to fit them according to the expressions in Eqs.~(\ref{imNq}) and (\ref{imNi}), considering more and more parameters $W_{B,I}$ till an acceptable value for the $\tilde{\chi}^2$ test is obtained. Fit results are reported in Table~\ref{tabHRGfit}: a reasonable value of $\tilde{\chi}^2$ is obtained if a term with quantum numbers $B = 0$ and $I = 2$ is allowed for, besides those corresponding to usual meson ($B = 0, I = 1$) and baryons ($B = 1, I = 1/2$ or $3/2$). Such term does not correspond to any known or even possible exotic hadron~\cite{jaffe}, but it is easily recognized as the first term, $l = 2$, neglected in Eq.~(\ref{freeparticle}) in the Boltzmann approximation in the case of pions: this is actually the first correction taking into account quantum statistics effects for pions, i.e. the fact that they are bosons, and corresponds to a two-pion exchange. With a pion mass as that used in our simulations, $m_\pi \sim 280$ MeV, such term would mimic a coefficient $W_{0,2} \sim 0.0045$, in very good agreement with the value obtained in our fit. Notice that terms with $l >2$ are negligible in our discretization setup, but would not be so, already at this temperature, in the case of physical pion masses. As for the data at $\theta_I = 0$, allowing for a term with $B = 2$ leads to a lower value of $\tilde{\chi}^2$, but is not strictly necessary, at least within the precision of our data. Our conclusion is therefore that at $T = 0.9 \, T_c$ numerical data do not contradict, within errors, the prediction coming from the HRG model and regarding the number of terms actually contributing to the free energy, apart from marginal evidence for a $B = 2$ term which however is not strictly needed to fit data. Other deviations can be ascribed to the crudeness of the Boltzmann approximation for pions and are indeed well accounted for by the first neglected term. Of course if one looks at the numerical value of the coefficients, checking the agreement with experimental data is less trivial: taking into account all non-strange (since we are considering $N_f = 2$) hadron resonances reported in the Particle Data Book~\cite{PDG}, we would expect, for instance, $W_{0,1} = 0.457$\footnote{More precisely we considered all mesons of widely accepted existence, marked with a dot in the meson summary table.}, which is roughly twice the value we have obtained ($W_{0,1} = 0.216(2)$). A more careful comparison is made using the unphysical pion and $\rho$ masses realized in our lattice simulations ($m_\pi \sim 280$ MeV and $m_\rho \sim 918$ MeV~\cite{gagu2}): the coefficient becomes $W_{0,1} \sim 0.30(2)$ including all resonances, $W_{0,1} \sim 0.26(2)$ taking into account just pions and $\rho$ particles, and $W_{0,1} \sim 0.225(15)$ including just pions (the errors here take roughly into account the uncertainties given for the lattice estimate of the masses in Ref.~\cite{gagu2}), i.e. much closer to our numerical result or even perfectly compatible in the last case. We notice that, since already $\rho$ masses are beyond the UV scale of our lattice ($a^{-1} \sim 700$ MeV), it is perfectly reasonable that the contribution from higher resonances is not properly take into account. That also clearly shows that a comparison of the numerical values of the fitted coefficients with the HRG model prediction is unavoidably affected by the systematics of the lattice discretization. \begin{figure}[t!] \includegraphics[width=1.0\columnwidth]{fit_hrg_tot_0.9.eps} \vspace{-0.cm} \caption{Fit of normalized quark densities at $T = 0.9 \, T_c $, obtained from all imaginary chemical potentials explored (cross points), with the prediction from the HRG model (grid surface)} \label{figHRGfitTOT0.9} \vspace{-0.cm} \end{figure} \begin{figure}[t!] \includegraphics[width=1.0\columnwidth]{fit_hrg_dif_0.9.eps} \vspace{-0.cm} \caption{Fit of normalized isospin densities at $T = 0.9 \, T_c $, obtained from all imaginary chemical potentials explored (cross points), with the prediction from the HRG model (grid surface)} \label{figHRGfitDIF0.9} \vspace{-0.cm} \end{figure} \subsection{$T = 0.951\, T_c$} Once again we first look at results obtained for $\hat{n}_q$ at $\theta_I = 0$, which are shown in Fig.~\ref{figSINfitASSEb0.951}. In this case two Fourier terms, corresponding to $B= 1$ and $B = 2$, are necessary to fit our data. The second term is small, giving a contribution of the order of $5\%$ the total signal, but our data are precise enough to detect it; indeed a $\tilde\chi^2$ of order 2 is obtained if a single sine fit is tried (see Table~\ref{tabSINfit}). In this case the presence of the $B = 2$ term cannot be simply ascribed to a violation of the Boltzmann approximation: assuming a mass of order 1 GeV for the lightest baryon, the first neglected term should lead to a signal a factor $10^2$ smaller than what we get; moreover it should be negative, as appropriate for a two-fermion exchange term. The presence in the thermal medium of baryon-baryon bound states, like deuterons, is a viable hypothesis: however assuming a mass difference $\Delta M \sim 1$ GeV between those states and the lowest baryon states, one would expect a suppression factor of the order $\exp (- \Delta M/T) \sim 10^{-3}$ at this temperature, i.e. much smaller than what we have obtained~\footnote{Notice however that also for this states lattice artifacts due to the low UV cutoff, $a^{-1} \sim 700$ MeV, could be important.}. A simpler explanation is that at this temperature corrections to the HRG model, induced by non-trivial interactions close to the phase transition, start to be important. \begin{figure}[!ht] \includegraphics[width=1.0\columnwidth]{fit_2sin_tot_0.951_asse.eps} \vspace{-0.cm} \caption{Normalized quark density at $T = 0.951\, T_c$ and $\theta_I=0$. The solid line corresponds to the two-sine fit reported in Table~\ref{tabSINfit}.} \label{figSINfitASSEb0.951} \vspace{-0.cm} \end{figure} That is confirmed by analyzing the complete set of data for $\hat{n}_q$ and $\hat{n}_I$ as a function of $\theta_q$ and $\theta_I$: fit results are reported in Table~\ref{tabHRGfit}. Also in this case a term with $(B,I) = (0,2)$ is needed, but its value comes out to be about twice than expected from the first term neglected in the Boltzmann approximation for pions. In order to get a reasonable value for $\tilde \chi^2$ it is necessary to introduce also terms corresponding to $B = 2$ (in agreement with results at $\theta_I = 0$) and terms with $B = 1$ and isospin up to $I = 7/2$. We interpret this again as a violation of the HRG model. Regarding the numerical values obtained for the fitted coefficients, we obtain for instance $W_{0,1} \sim 0.256(2)$, to be compared with $W_{0,1} \sim 0.24$ if only pions are taken into account, $W_{0,1} \sim 0.28$ including pions and $\rho$ mesons, $W_{0,1} \sim 0.35$ including all meson resonances. The same considerations made for $T = 0.9\ T_c$ and regarding this comparison also apply here. \subsection{$T = T_c$} Finally let us briefly discuss results obtained at $T = T_c$. Since at this temperature we stay in the confined phase as we switch an imaginary chemical potential, however small, it is still sensible to test predictions from the HRG model. However it is sufficient to look at results obtained for $\hat{n}_q$ at $\theta_I = 0$ (Fig.~\ref{figSINfitASSEb1}) to realize that violations to the model are important: in this case inclusion of the first three harmonics ($B = 1,2,3$) is necessary to obtain a reasonable value for $\tilde\chi^2$ (see Table~\ref{tabSINfit}). This fact is confirmed by fits to the complete set of data for $\hat{n}_q$ and $\hat{n}_I$ which are reported in Table~\ref{tabHRGfit}: the $\tilde\chi^2$ value decreases as more and more terms in the expansion in Eq.~(\ref{freelowT}) are added. \begin{figure}[!ht] \includegraphics[width=1.0\columnwidth]{fit_3sin_tot_1_asse.eps} \vspace{-0.cm} \caption{Normalized quark density at $T = T_c$ and $\theta_I = 0$. The solid line corresponds to the three-sine fit reported in Table~\ref{tabSINfit}.} \label{figSINfitASSEb1} \vspace{-0.cm} \end{figure} In conclusion, within the current precision of our data, corrections to the HRG model are clearly detectable starting from $T \sim 0.951\, T_c$. Our best fits reported in Tab.~\ref{tabHRGfit}, which are marked in the $\tilde\chi^2$ field by a , provide us with a valid parametrization of the free energy (apart from a constant term). We shall make use of these parametrizations in the following Sections to derive generalized susceptibilities at $\mu_I = \mu_q = 0$ and to study the analytic continuation of the average phase of the fermionic determinant. Systematic effects are expected at $T = T_c$, where the $\tilde\chi^2$ of our best fit is somewhat bigger than 1. In order to check for systematic effects related to the choice of the interpolating function we have also performed polynomial fits in a limited range of chemical potentials: our results are reported in Table~\ref{tabPOLfit}. Fits chosen for analytic continuation are again marked by a in the $\tilde\chi^2$ field. \section{Results at $T > T_c$ \label{formaREGIONEbuona}} The range of imaginary chemical potentials available for analytic continuation is limited, above $T_c$, either by the presence of unphysical phase transitions related to center group dynamics (RW transitions) or by transitions corresponding to the analytic continuation of the deconfinement surface present at real chemical potentials. A full account of the high temperature phase structure in presence of two different imaginary chemical potentials will be given elsewhere~\cite{delmansan}; in the present context we are just interested in the location of such transitions for the two temperatures explored, i.e. $T = 1.048\, T_c$ and $T = 1.25\, T_c$. To that aim we have performed preliminary simulations on a small $8^3 \times 4$ lattice to get a rough idea of the phase structure at these temperatures and thus delimit a safe region for analytic continuation, where to perform simulations on the larger $16^3 \times 4$ lattice. \begin{figure}[!ht] \includegraphics[width=1.0\columnwidth]{studio_transizione_1.048.eps} \vspace{-0.cm} \caption{Polyakov loop modulus and chiral condensate at $T=1.048\, T_c$ along $\theta_I = 0$ and $\theta_q = 0$ axes. The chiral condensate has been divided by a factor 4 to better fit in the figure.} \label{figTRANS1.048} \vspace{-0.cm} \end{figure} As for $T = 1.048\, T_c$, in Fig.~\ref{figTRANS1.048} we show the behaviour of the modulus of the Polyakov loop and of the chiral condensate as a function of $\theta_q$ at $\theta_I = 0$ and as a function of $\theta_I$ at $\theta_q = 0$. It is clear that along both axes a transition is met where the system gets back into a phase with confinement and chiral symmetry breaking: at those points the system is crossing the analytic continuation of the pseudo-critical surface, present also at real chemical potentials. On the same symmetry grounds as for the deduction of general properties of the free energy in Section~\ref{gensusc}, one expects that for small chemical potentials such pseudo-critical surface must be of the form $$T_c (\theta_q,\theta_I) \simeq T_c (0,0) + A \theta_q^2 + B \theta_I^2 \, .$$ As clear from Fig.~\ref{figTRANS1.048} the transition happens at approximately equal points along both axes ($\theta_q \sim \theta_I \sim 0.2\ \pi$), i.e. $A \sim B$. Also the observables (Polyakov loop and chiral condensate) seem to be, within a good approximation, universal functions of $\| \vec \theta \|$, where $\vec \theta \equiv (\theta_q,\theta_I)$, at least not too far from the origin $\theta_q = \theta_I = 0$. Only imaginary chemical potentials strictly within the deconfined region can be considered for analytic continuation: Fig.~\ref{figTRANS1.048} suggests us to take $\|\vec \theta\| < \|\vec \theta\|_{max}$, with $\|\vec\theta\|_{max} \sim 0.12\ \pi$. \begin{figure}[!t] \includegraphics[width=1.0\columnwidth]{obs_1.25.eps} \vspace{-0.cm} \caption{Polyakov loop modulus and chiral condensate at $T=1.25\, T_c$ as a function of $\|\vec\theta\|$ and at different constant values of $\theta_I$ or $\theta_q$. The chiral condensate has been divided by a factor 2 to better fit in the figure.} \label{figobs1.25} \vspace{-0.cm} \end{figure} \begin{figure}[!t] \includegraphics[width=1.0\columnwidth]{phase_1.25.eps} \vspace{-0.cm} \caption{Average phase of the Polyakov loop given in units of $2 \pi /3$ at $T = 1.25\, T_c$.} \label{figphase1.25} \vspace{-0.cm} \end{figure} The phase structure is less trivial at $T = 1.25\, T_c$. In Fig.~\ref{figobs1.25} we plot the behaviour of the modulus of the Polyakov loop and of the chiral condensate as a function of $\|\vec\theta\|$ in three cases: fixed $\theta_q = 0$, fixed $\theta_I = 0$ and fixed $\theta_I = 0.25 \pi$. We observe again an approximate universal dependence on $\|\vec\theta\|$ for relatively small values of this variable. Along the $\theta_q = 0$ axis a transition is met, at $\theta_I \sim 0.42\ \pi$, which clearly belongs to the pseudocritical confinement/deconfinement surface. Along the $\theta_I = 0$ axis instead the system always stays in the deconfined phase and the Roberge-Weiss transition is met at $\theta_q = \pi/3$ where the system enters a different $Z_3$ sector, as also apparent from the behaviour of the Polyakov loop phase shown in Fig.~\ref{figphase1.25}. What happens along the $\theta_I = 0.25 \pi$ axis is less clear: presumably there one meets a pseudo-critical point close to the junction between the Roberge-Weiss transition and the pseudo-critical deconfinement surface. In this context we are only interested in delimiting a region safe for analytic continuation: from Fig.~\ref{figobs1.25} it is clear that points with $\|\vec \theta\| < \|\vec \theta\|_{max} \sim 0.3\ \pi$ are surely contained in that region and this has been our conservative choice. In this temperature regime we have tried to fit our results for $\hat{n}_q$ and $\hat{n}_I$ as a function of $\theta_q,\theta_I$ according to polynomials derived from the general expansion for the free energy given in Eq.~(\ref{freehighT1}) and truncated to a given order, or according to expressions derived from a parametrization of the free energy given in terms of ratios of polynomials as in Eq.~(\ref{freehighT2}). At $T=1.048\, T_c$ a fourth order polynomial provides a good fit, while coefficients are largely indetermined if a sixth order polynomial is used: not enough information can be extracted from the limited region available for analytic continuation. A marginally good fit is obtained with the ratio of two second order polynomials, but a fourth order polynomial at the numerator seems preferable. At $T=1.25\,T_c$ a sixth order polynomial or the ratio between fourth and second order polynomial are instead the best interpolating functions. A complete collection of our fit results is given in Table~\ref{tabPOLfit} and in Table~\ref{tabRATfit}. Best fits chosen for analytic continuation are marked again by a . Data obtained for $T = 1.25\, T_c$ are shown in Figs.~\ref{figPOLfitTOT1.25} and \ref{figPOLfitDIF1.25}.\\ \begin{figure}[!ht] \includegraphics[width=1.0\columnwidth]{fit_pol_tot_1.25.eps} \vspace{-0.cm} \caption{Fit of normalized quark densities at $T = 1.25\, T_c $, obtained from all imaginary chemical potentials in the region $\|\vec{\theta}\|\leq 0.30\pi$ (cross points), with a sixth order polynomial function (grid surface)} \label{figPOLfitTOT1.25} \vspace{-0.cm} \end{figure} \begin{figure}[!ht] \includegraphics[width=1.0\columnwidth]{fit_pol_dif_1.25.eps} \vspace{-0.cm} \caption{Fit of normalized isospin densities at $T = 1.25\, T_c $, obtained from all imaginary chemical potentials in the region $\|\vec{\theta}\|\leq 0.30\pi$ (cross points), with a sixth order polynomial function (grid surface)} \label{figPOLfitDIF1.25} \vspace{-0.cm} \end{figure} \section{Generalized susceptibilities} Best fits to our data provide us with a parametrization for the dependence of the free energy on the chemical potentials, from which generalized susceptibilities can be extracted. Results can be considered reliable as long as different interpolations provide consistent results. In Table~\ref{tabSUSCall} we report results obtained for $\chi_{2,0}$, $\chi_{1,1}$, $\chi_{4,0}$ and $\chi_{6,0}$ (definined in Eq.~(\ref{gensusc2})) from free energy best fits marked by a * in the tables. Results obtained for $\chi_{2,0}$, $\chi_{1,1}$ and $\chi_{4,0}$ are reported also in Figs.~\ref{figSUSC20}, \ref{figSUSC11} and \ref{figSUSC40} respectively, where they are compared with analogous results obtained using the Taylor expansion method in Ref.~\cite{gagu2}. The following general features can be observed. Different extrapolations provide always consistent results for $\chi_{2,0}$ and $\chi_{1,1}$. A good agreement with Taylor expansion results can be observed as well, apart from the $T = T_c$ case. For $\chi_{4,0}$ we observe a discrepancy between different interpolations only for $T = T_c$ and $T = 1.048\ T_c$; the agreement with Taylor expansion is less good around $T_c$. For $\chi_{6,0}$ different extrapolations disagree or are at most marginally compatible in the whole range of temperatures: with the current precision of our data, we cannot get reliable results for sixth or higher order susceptibilities. In general, the comparison among different interpolation methods and with Taylor expansion results is good, apart from the region around $T_c$. This in not unexpected: right above $T_c$ the region of imaginary chemical potentials usable for analytic continuation is small and restricted by the continuation of the pseudo-critical line, so that poor information is available. Moreover, right at $T = T_c$ we could not get best fits to the free energy dependence with a $\chi^2/{\rm d.o.f}$ less than 1.5, therefore we do not have a completely satisfactory parametrization of the free energy for this temperature and systematic effects related to analytic continuation may be more important. We have reported in Table~\ref{tabPARsim} the total number of Dirac matrix multiplications needed in our numerical simulations at each temperature. We infer, from a rough estimate, that the effort for measurement purposes in our case (which is more or less half of the total) is approximately two orders of magnitude larger than what needed (again for measurement purposes) in Ref.~\cite{gagu2}. The increased effort leads to corresponding smaller errors (about one order of magnitude) only for the lowest susceptibilities ($\chi_{20}$ and $\chi_{11}$), while for higher order susceptibilities the Taylor expansion method seems to be more efficient. One has to consider, however, that our numerical simulations were not designed to be optimized for the computation of susceptibilities, and that in our case we obtain a complete parametrization of the free energy dependence in terms of $\mu_1$ and $\mu_2$, which is usable for different purposes. In Table~\ref{tabSUSCallQI} we report also results obtained for the susceptibilities with respect to quark and isospin chemical potentials and defined in Eq.(\ref{gensusc2}). In Fig.~\ref{chiqI} we show in particular the values of $\chi_{2,0}^{q,I}$ and $\chi_{0,2}^{q,I}$ for all temperatures, as obtained from polynomial fits: notice that $\chi_{0,2}^{q,I}$ is always larger than $\chi_{2,0}^{q,I}$ below $T_c$, meaning that isospin charge fluctuations can be excited more easily (mainly in the form of pions) than baryon charge fluctuations below $T_c$, while in the deconfined region the two susceptibilities become almost equal, as appropriate for a system made up mostly of quark-like degrees of freedom. \begin{table} \begin{center} \begin{tabular}{\|c\|\|c\|\|c\|c\|c\|c\|} \hline $T/T_c$ & $Fit$ & $\chi_{2,0}$ & $\chi_{1,1}$ & $\chi_{4,0}$ & $\chi_{6,0}$\\ \hline \hline 0.9 & $HRG$ & 0.2925(20) & -0.0535(17) & 1.287(24) & 9.5(3) \\ \hline & $POL$ & 0.289(3) & -0.0588(24) & 1.17(7) & 5.6 $\pm$ 1.2 \\ \hline & \cite{gagu2} & 0.311(19) & -0.057(15) & 1.495(75) & 11.2 $\pm$ 7.0 \\ \hline \hline 0.951 & $HRG$ & 0.439(4) & -0.058(3) & 2.32(8) & 22(2) \\ \hline & $POL$ & 0.434(4) & -0.062(3) & 2.16(8) & 14(2) \\ \hline & \cite{gagu2} & 0.423(21) & -0.080(17) & 3.16(26) & -29 $\pm$ 11 \\ \hline \hline 1 & $HRG$ & 0.759(7) & -0.039(5) & 5.09(13) & 61(3)\\ \hline & $POL$ & 0.734(7) & -0.060(5) & 4.27(13) & 31(2)\\ \hline & \cite{gagu2} & 0.946(20) & -0.0331(72) & 6.51(20) & -5.3 $\pm$ 10.7 \\ \hline \hline 1.048 & $POL$ & 1.557(6) & -0.032(5) & 3.4(3) & - \\ \hline & $RAT$ & 1.557(7) & -0.033(6) & 3.3(4) & 1 $\pm$ 24 \\ \hline & \cite{gagu2} & 1.55(16) & -0.0385(98) & 4.33(23) & -69 $\pm$ 16 \\ \hline \hline 1.25 & $POL$ & 1.8470(12) & -0.0130(9) & 1.960(20) & 0.64(23) \\ \hline & $RAT$ & 1.8473(11) & -0.0121(7) & 1.968(16) & 2.78(25) \\ \hline & \cite{gagu2} & 1.84(12) & -0.0138(85) & 2.181(31) & 5.5 $\pm$ 1.7 \\ \hline \end{tabular} \caption{Table of different susceptibilities obtained from various fits. We present the values obtained from ``best fits'' of each kind of free energy form, together with values obtained by the authors of Ref.~\cite{gagu2} using the Taylor expansion method. \label{tabSUSCall} } \end{center} \end{table} \begin{table} \begin{center} \begin{tabular}{\|c\|\|c\|\|c\|c\|c\|c\|c\|} \hline $T/T_c$ & $Fit$ & $\chi_{2,0}^{q,I}$ & $\chi_{0,2}^{q,I}$ & $\chi_{4,0}^{q,I}$ & $\chi_{0,4}^{q,I} $ & $\chi_{2,2}^{q,I} $\\ \hline \hline 0.9 & $HRG$ & 0.478(6) & 0.692(4) & 4.92(25) & 4.05(7) & 1.94(3) \\ \hline & $POL$ & 0.461(6) & 0.696(9) & 4.15(17) & 4.1(4) & 1.76(14) \\ \hline \hline 0.951 & $HRG$ & 0.762(9) & 0.993(10) & 8.2(3) & 8.3(5) & 3.45(11) \\ \hline & $POL$ & 0.744(8) & 0.992(10) & 6.95(23) & 7.5(4) & 3.36(15)\\ \hline \hline 1 & $HRG$ & 1.440(14) & 1.597(16) & 19.8(5) & 16.8(8) & 7.47(21) \\ \hline & $POL$ & 1.348(13) & 1.589(18) & 13.9(3) & 15.6(8) & 6.46(23) \\ \hline \hline 1.048 & $POL$ & 3.052(17) & 3.178(15) & 7.5 $\pm1.9$ & 12.8$\pm 1.9$ & 5.5(4) \\ \hline & $RAT$ & 3.045(21) & 3.176(15) & 2(5) & 11(4) & 6.6(9) \\ \hline \hline 1.25 & $POL$ & 3.668(3) & 3.720(3) & 4.59(13) & 4.75(12) & 3.67(3) \\ \hline & $RAT$ & 3.671(3) & 3.7188(24) & 4.72(11) & 4.68(9) & 3.681(17) \\ \hline \end{tabular} \caption{Table of different susceptibilities calculated with respect to the quark and isospin chemical potentials from the same best fits as for Tab.~\ref{tabSUSCall} \label{tabSUSCallQI}} \end{center} \end{table} \begin{figure}[ht] \includegraphics[width=1.0\columnwidth]{susc20.eps} \vspace{-0.cm} \caption{Values obtained for $\chi_{20}/T^2$ from various fits and compared with results from Ref.~\cite{gagu2}.} \label{figSUSC20} \vspace{-0.cm} \end{figure} \begin{figure}[ht] \includegraphics[width=1.0\columnwidth]{susc11.eps} \vspace{-0.cm} \caption{Values obtained for $\chi_{11}/T^2$ from various fits and compared with results from Ref.~\cite{gagu2}.} \label{figSUSC11} \vspace{-0.cm} \end{figure} \begin{figure}[ht] \includegraphics[width=1.0\columnwidth]{susc40.eps} \vspace{-0.cm} \caption{Values obtained for $\chi_{40}$ from various fits and compared with results from Ref.~\cite{gagu2}.} \label{figSUSC40} \vspace{-0.cm} \end{figure} \begin{figure}[ht] \includegraphics[width=1.0\columnwidth]{suscqI.eps} \vspace{-0.cm} \caption{Values obtained for $\chi_{2,0}^{q,I}/T^2$ and $\chi_{0,2}^{q,I}/T^2$ from polynomial fits. } \label{chiqI} \vspace{-0.cm} \end{figure} \section{Phase of the fermionic determinant} \label{phase} As we have recalled in Section II, the complex phase of the fermion determinant, $\det M[U,\mu] = \|\det M[U,\mu]\| e^{i \phi}$, hinders numerical simulations in presence of a real baryon chemical potential $\mu_B$. The problem is however milder in case the fluctuations of the phase $\phi$ around zero, over the gauge configurations which are typical of the statistical ensemble, are small: in that case efficient numerical methods, like reweighting, can be used. A typical measure of the severeness of the sign problem is therefore given by the average of the phase factor (or some power of it), computed for convenience over the ensemble at finite isospin density. In particular in our case we can define: \begin{eqnarray} \langle e^{i \phi/2} \rangle_\mu &\equiv& \left\langle {\det M^{1 \over 4} (\mu) \over \det M^{1\over 4} (-\mu)} \right\rangle_{(\mu,-\mu)} = {Z(\mu,\mu) \over Z(\mu,-\mu)} \nonumber \\ &=& {Z(\mu_q = \mu,\mu_I = 0) \over Z(\mu_q = 0,\mu_I = \mu)} \, . \label{phase1} \end{eqnarray} As clear from Eq.~(\ref{phase1}), a way to determine $\langle e^{i \phi/2} \rangle_\mu$ is to take the average of the ratio of two determinants over the ensemble at real isospin chemical potential: that is feasible but computationally demanding, especially at large volumes. Studying the analytic continuation of $\langle e^{i \phi/2} \rangle_\mu$ at imaginary values of $\mu$, \begin{eqnarray} \langle e^{i \phi/2} \rangle_{i \mu} &\equiv& {Z(i \mu,i \mu) \over Z(i \mu,- i \mu)}\, , \label{phase2} \end{eqnarray} is an alternative: it has been shown~\cite{splitt1,splitt2} that, in the full QCD case, the average phase factor is analytic around $\mu^2 =0$, and an efficient numerical method for the evaluation of the ratio of partition functions appearing in Eq.~(\ref{phase2}) has been proposed in Ref.~\cite{conradi}. In the present context we adopt a much faster and cheaper approach: having measured and fitted first derivatives with respect to both chemical potentials, we have a complete knowledge, apart from constant terms, of the dependence of the free energy on $\mu_1$ and $\mu_2$, so that computing the ratio in Eq.~(\ref{phase2}) is straightforward. Let us consider for instance the low temperature case, where we have used the HRG parametrization in Eq.~(\ref{imF}) that we rewrite: \begin{eqnarray} F = - V T^4 &&\sum_{B,I} W_{B,I}(T) \bar\delta(B) \cos ( 3 B \theta_q) \nonumber \\ && \left( \sum_{I_3 \geq 0} \bar\delta(I_3)\cos ( 2 I_3 \theta_I ) \right) \label{imF2} \end{eqnarray} then \begin{eqnarray} \frac{Z(\theta_q = \theta,\theta_I = 0)}{Z(\theta_q = 0,\theta_I = \theta)} = e^{-\frac{1}{T} \left( F(\theta_q = \theta,\theta_I = 0) - F(\theta_q = 0,\theta_I = \theta) \right)} \end{eqnarray} Non-zero coefficients $W_{B,I}$, apart from the constant $W_{0,0}$ which does not enter in the computation of the average phase factor, have been obtained by fitting our numerical data. The expression can then be easily continued to real chemical potentials obtaining: \begin{eqnarray} \langle e^{i \phi/2} \rangle_{\mu} &=& \exp \left( \frac{N_s^3}{N_t^3} \sum_{B,I} W_{B,I}(T) \bar\delta(B) \left( \cos ( 3 B \theta_q) - \right.\right. \nonumber \\ && \left. \sum_{I_3 \geq 0} \bar\delta(I_3)\cos ( 2 I_3 \theta_I ) ) \right) \, . \label{HRGphase} \end{eqnarray} The same procedure applies to other functional forms used in our fits: the comparison of different extrapolations to real chemical potentials based on different fitting functions, when available, gives a measure of the systematic effects involved in analytic continuation. Notice that in the case of the HRG parametrization we can distinguish the different contributions to the average phase factor, hence to the sign problem, coming from different particle species: this feature will be useful in our analysis. In Figs.~\ref{figfase0.9} and \ref{figfase0.95} we report, as a function of $2 \mu/ m_\pi$, results obtained respectively at $T = 0.9\ T_c$ and $T = 0.951\ T_c$ using HRG inspired and polynomial interpolations. Where visible, the two lines reported for each extrapolation delimit the 90\% confidence level region and give an estimate of our uncertainties: a good agreement between HRG inspired and polynomial extrapolations can be appreciated. It is interesting to make a direct comparison of our results with predictions coming from chiral perturbation theory ($\chi$PT). The average phase factor has been computed to one loop order of $\chi$PT in Ref.~\cite{splitt3}. According to the results reported in Section VI of Ref.~\cite{splitt3}, our spatial lattice size is big enough ($L_s m_\pi \sim 6.6$) to justify taking the thermodynamical limit at fixed T of the one loop $\chi$PT result, which coincides with the prediction of a HRG model including only pions: \begin{eqnarray} \langle e^{i \phi/2} \rangle_{\mu} = e^{-\Delta G_0} \label{CPTHRG1} \end{eqnarray} with \begin{eqnarray} \Delta G_0 = V T^3 \left( \frac{m_{\pi}}{T\pi} \right)^2\sum_{n=1}^{+\infty}\frac{K_2 \left( \frac{n m_{\pi}}{T} \right)}{n^2} \left( \cosh(2 \mu n) -1 \right) \label{CPTHRG2} \end{eqnarray} This prediction (assuming in our case $m_\pi \simeq 280$ MeV and $T_c \simeq 170$ MeV) is reported in Figs.~\ref{figfase0.9} and \ref{figfase0.95} as a solid line. It is apparent that the agreement of $\chi$PT with the analytic continuation of our data is not satisfactory. In particular analytic continuation provides a higher value for $\langle e^{i \phi/2} \rangle_{\mu}$, meaning a milder sign problem. To better understand the origin of this discrepancy, we have tried to compute the average phase factor from our HRG model best fit, but neglecting all contributions to the free energy with $B \neq 0$, which cannot be taken into account by $\chi$PT, i.e. taking only contributions from $W_{0,1}$ and $W_{0,2}$ in Eq.~(\ref{HRGphase}). Results are shown in Figs.~\ref{figfase0.9} and \ref{figfase0.95}: in this case the agreement with $\chi$PT is almost perfect for $T = 0.9\ T_c$, and acceptable for $T = 0.951\ T_c$. This is expected since, as we have discussed in Section~\ref{T0.9}, the coefficients $W_{0,1}$ and $W_{0,2}$ obtained by our fits are compatible within errors, at $T = 0.9\ T_c$, with those predicted if only pions are taken into account: of course that may be an accident and the contribution of higher meson resonances should be better understood. Anyway, an outcome of our analysis, which is in agreement with HRG model expectations, is that contributions to the average phase factor coming from physical states with $B \neq 0$ are significant and tend in general to make the sign problem less severe. In Fig.~\ref{figfasetot} we report the analytic continuation of the average phase factor obtained at all temperatures from a polynomial fit: of course results reported in the figure must be intended to be valid for chemical potentials bounded, below $T_c$, by the deconfinement critical line present at real chemical potentials. As expected, at fixed chemical potential the sign problem is much milder for $T > T_c$. This can be put again in connection with the fact that states with $B \neq 0$, which are more easily created above $T_c$, tend to mitigate the sign problem. \begin{figure}[ht] \includegraphics[width=1.0\columnwidth]{fase0.9.eps} \vspace{-0.cm} \caption{The average phase factor continued from different interpolations and compared to 1-loop $\chi$PT results for $T = 0.9\ T_c$. In particular we show the 90\% confidence level band extrapolated from our best fits to the free energy dependence.} \label{figfase0.9} \vspace{-0.cm} \end{figure} \begin{figure}[t] \includegraphics[width=1.0\columnwidth]{fase0.95.eps} \vspace{-0.cm} \caption{Same as in Fig.~\ref{figfase0.9} for $T = 0.951\ T_c$.} \label{figfase0.95} \vspace{-0.cm} \end{figure} \section{Conclusions} \label{conclusions} In this paper we have studied $N_f = 2$ QCD thermodynamics, exploiting analytic continuation from two imaginary chemical potentials coupled to baryon and isospin charges. Simulations have been performed at five temperatures around the critical value $T_c \simeq 170$ MeV, using a $16^3 \times 4$ lattice with a standard staggered action and a fixed pion mass $m_\pi \simeq 280$ MeV. \begin{figure}[t] \includegraphics[width=1.0\columnwidth]{fasetot.eps} \vspace{-0.cm} \caption{The average phase factor continued from polynomial interpolations at all explored temperatures. For each temperature we show the 90\% confidence level band corresponding to our best fits.} \label{figfasetot} \vspace{-0.cm} \end{figure} We have computed free energy first derivatives with respect to the chemical potentials (quark number densities) and interpolated them by suitable functions, in order to perform analytic continuation. In particular we have tested HRG predictions below $T_c$, reconstructed generalized susceptibilities at zero chemical potentials and determined the analytic continuation of the average phase factor. We have checked that HRG model predictions are in very good agreement with our numerical results for $T = 0.9\ T_c$. Small but clearly detectable deviations start to be visible at $T = 0.95\ T_c$, in agreement with similar results reported in Ref.~\cite{taylor2}. They appear, in a HRG inspired parametrization of the free energy, as contributions from unphysical states with higher values of baryon or isospin charges, which are of the order of a few percent at $T = 0.95\ T_c$ and above 10 \% at $T \simeq T_c$. Regarding the computation of generalized susceptibilities, analytic continuation gives consistent results which are in agreement with those obtained by the Taylor expansion method, apart from temperatures in correspondence or right above $T_c$, where the range of imaginary chemical potentials available for analytic continuation is small and larger systematic effects are expected. Poor information has been obtained for susceptibilities beyond sixth order. We have obtained consistent determinations, by analytic continuation with different interpolating functions, of the average phase factor. In particular below $T_c$, in the case of HRG inspired interpolations, we have been able to distinguish the contribution to the average phase factor coming from the different hadron states: results from analytic continuation are consistent with $\chi$PT results, below $T_c$, if one takes into account only meson contributions. Baryons give contributions to the average phase factor which in general tend to make the sign problem less severe. The sign problem is much milder for $T > T_c$, and this can be put again in connection with the fact that states with $B \neq 0$, which are more easily created above $T_c$, tend to mitigate the sign problem. Our results should be refined and could be improved in several respects. Simulation closer to the continuum limit and possibly closer to the physical quark mass spectrum would clarify the comparison with HRG predicitions, as well as that with $\chi$PT for the average phase factor. An improvement in the determination of generalized susceptibilities could be obtained by combining analytic continuation with other techniques: for instance fixing lowest order terms in a polynomial expansion by the Taylor expansion method or by reweighting could lead to enhanced predictivity for analytic continuation. We shall continue our investigation along those lines in the future. \section{Acknowledgments} We thank F.~Becattini, F.~Karsch and K.~Splittorf for very useful discussions, as well as R.~Gavai and S.~Gupta for very interesting discussions and for providing us with their numerical results for generalized non-linear susceptibilities. Numerical simulations have been performed on two PC farms in Genoa and in Bari provided by INFN. \begin{table} \begin{center} \begin{tabular}{\|c\|c\|c\|\|c\|} \hline $c_1$ & $c_2$ & $c_3$ & $\chi^2/d.o.f$\\ \hline \hline \multicolumn{4}{\|c\|}{$T=0.9~T_c$}\\ \hline 0.1536(14) & - & - & 28/21 \\ \hline 0.1514(15) & 0.0046(14) & - & 17/20 \\ \hline \hline \multicolumn{4}{\|c\|}{$T=0.951~T_c$}\\ \hline 0.2413(25) & - & - & 42/21 \\ \hline 0.2383(26) & 0.0102(22) & - & 21/20 \\ \hline \hline \multicolumn{4}{\|c\|}{$T=T_c$}\\ \hline 0.3865(4) & - & - & 248/21 \\ \hline 0.395(4) & 0.048(3) & - & 50/20 \\ \hline 0.389(4) & 0.048(3) & 0.018(4) & 23/19 \\ \hline \end{tabular} \caption{Coefficients of sinusoidal fits for $\hat{n}_q$ along $\theta_i=0$ axis at various temperatures (see Eq.~(\ref{sinfit})). Blank columns stand for terms not included in the fits. \label{tabSINfit}} \end{center} \end{table} \begin{table} \begin{center} \begin{tabular}{\|c\|\|c\|c\|c\|} \hline $T/T_c$ & $c_1$ & $c_2$ & $c_3$ \\ \hline \hline 0.9 & 0.1521(11) & 0.0052(11) & - \\ \hline 0.951 & 0.2387(19) & 0.0101(17) & - \\ \hline 1 & 0.392(3) & 0.0503(27) & 0.018(3) \\ \hline \end{tabular} \caption{Weight of differents harmonics at various temperatures for $\hat{n}_q$ at $\theta_i=0$ (see Eq.~(\ref{sinfit})) obtained by Fourier transform. Blank columns correspond to terms not included in the previous fits. \label{tabSINfourier}} \end{center} \end{table} \begin{table} \begin{centering} \begin{tabular}{\|c\|c\|\|c\|c\|c\|c\|\|c\|c\|\|c\|} \hline $W_{0,1}$ & $W_{0,2}$ & $W_{1,\frac{1}{2}}$ & $W_{1,\frac{3}{2}}$ & $W_{1,\frac{5}{2}}$ & $W_{1,\frac{7}{2}}$ & $W_{2,1}$ & $W_{2,2}$ & ${\chi}^{2}/{\rm d.o.f.}$\\ \hline \hline \multicolumn{9}{\|c\|}{$T=0.9~T_c$}\\ \hline 0.2284(11) & - & 0.0110(6) & 0.0202(3) & - & - & - & - & 284/187 \\ \hline 0.2157(18) & 0.0050(6) & 0.0115(6) & 0.0198(3) & - & - & - & - & 206/186 \\ \hline 0.2156(18) & 0.0051(6) & 0.0111(6) & 0.0197(3) & - & - & 0.00043(13) & - & 196/185 \\ \hline \hline \multicolumn{9}{\|c\|}{$T=0.951~T_c$}\\ \hline 0.2862(13) & - & 0.0199(7) & 0.0305(4) & - & - & - & - & 640/187 \\ \hline 0.258(2) & 0.0114(6) & 0.0212(7) & 0.0292(4) & - & - & - & - & 281/186 \\ \hline 0.257(2) & 0.0117(6) & 0.0203(8) & 0.0290(4) & - & - & 0.00084(18) & - & 259/185 \\ \hline 0.256(2) & 0.0114(6) & 0.0210(8) & 0.0264(6) & 0.0017(3) & - & 0.00088(18) & - & 230/184 \\ \hline 0.257(2) & 0.0106(7) & 0.0212(8) & 0.0265(6) & 0.0009(4) & 0.0006(2) & 0.00090(18) & - & 222/183 \\ \hline \hline \multicolumn{9}{\|c\|}{$T=T_c$}\\ \hline 0.3775(15) & - & 0.0412(7) & 0.0456(4) & - & - & - & - & 1798/187 \\ \hline 0.3322(21) & 0.0219(7) & 0.0391(7) & 0.0465(4) & - & - & - & - & 808/186 \\ \hline 0.3269(21) & 0.0225(7) & 0.0363(7) & 0.0464(4) & - & - & 0.00372(24) & - & 562/185 \\ \hline 0.3184(22) & 0.0246(7) & 0.0349(7) & 0.0396(6) & 0.0053(3) & - & 0.00436(24) & - & 330/184 \\ \hline 0.3208(22) & 0.0218(8) & 0.0342(7) & 0.0391(6) & 0.0038(4) & 0.0019(3) & 0.00445(24) & - & 288/183 \\ \hline 0.3214(22) & 0.0220(8) & 0.0344(8) & 0.0393(6) & 0.0042(4) & 0.0015(3) & 0.0031(6) & 0.010(4) & 281/182 \\\hline \end{tabular} \par\end{centering} \caption{Coefficients of HRG model fits at various temperatures. \label{tabHRGfit}} \end{table} \begin{table} \begin{center} \begin{tabular}{\|c\|\|c\|c\|\|c\|c\|c\|\|c\|c\|c\|c\|\|c\|} \hline $\|\vec{\theta}\|_{max}/\pi$ & $c_{20}$ & $c_{11}$ & $c_{40}$ & $c_{22}$ & $c_{04}$ & $c_{60}$ & $c_{42}$ & $c_{24}$ & $c_{06}$ & $\chi^{2}/d.o.f$\\ \hline \hline \multicolumn{11}{\|c\|}{$T=0.9~T_c$}\\ \hline 0.34 & 0.479(3) & 0.1892(22) & - & - & - & - & - & - & - & 6014/108 \\ \hline 0.34 & 0.659(5) & 0.412(4) & -2.66(7) & -1.22(4) & -2.40(4) & - & - & - & - & 237/105 \\ \hline 0.34 & 0.696(9) & 0.461(6) & -4.1(4) & -1.76(14) & -4.15(17) & 23(6) & 8(3) & 12(3) & 30(3) & 113/101 \\ \hline \hline \multicolumn{11}{\|c\|}{$T=0.951~T_c$}\\ \hline 0.34 & 0.636(3) & 0.301(3) & - & - & - & - & - & - & - & 8483/108 \\ \hline 0.34 & 0.897(5) & 0.651(5) & -3.69(6) & -2.00(5) & -3.76(5) & - & - & - & - & 388/105 \\ \hline 0.34 & 0.992(10) & 0.744(8) & -7.5(4) & -3.36(15) & -6.95(23) & 62(7) & 28(4) & 26(4) & 54(4) & 125/101 \\ \hline \hline \multicolumn{11}{\|c\|}{$T=T_c$}\\ \hline 0.34 & 0.838(5) & 0.394(4) & - & - & - & - & - & - & - & 12955/108 \\ \hline 0.34 & 1.340(9) & 1.099(9) & -5.75(8) & -3.33(8) & -6.67(7) & - & - & - & - & 972/105 \\ \hline 0.34 & 1.589(18) & 1.348(13) & -15.6(8) & -6.46(23) & -13.9(3) & 157(13) & 65(6) & 47(5) & 121(5) & 239/101 \\ \hline \hline \multicolumn{11}{\|c\|}{$T=1.048~T_c$}\\ \hline 0.12 & 3.029(8) & -2.941(9) & - & - & - & - & - & - & - & 228/36 \\ \hline 0.12 & 3.178(15) & 3.052(16) & -12.8 $\pm$ 1.9 & -5.5(4) & -7.5 $\pm$ 1.9 & - & - & - & - & 39/33 \\ \hline 0.12 & 3.178(24) & 3.05(3) & -10(6) & -7.6 $\pm$ 1.5 & -4(6) & 639(1005) & 125(148) & 224(135) & -991(1037) & 34/29 \\ \hline \hline \multicolumn{11}{\|c\|}{$T=1.25~T_c$}\\ \hline 0.3 & 3.2810(11) & 3.2438(12) & - & - & - & - & -& -& - & 170616/111 \\ \hline 0.3 & 3.7156(18) & 3.6677(2) & -4.67(4) & -3.555(9) & -4.74(4) & - & -& -& - & 142/111 \\ \hline 0.3 & 3.720(3) & 3.668(3) & -4.75(12) & -3.67(3) & -4.59(13) & 0(3) & 1.7(5) & 1.5(5) & 6(3) & 123/107 \\ \hline \end{tabular} \end{center} \caption{Coefficients of polynomial fits at various temperatures. Each line contains results of fit performed on all points in the circumference of radius $\|\vec{\theta}\|_{max}$ \label{tabPOLfit} } \end{table} \begin{table} \begin{center} \begin{tabular}{\|c\|\|c\|c\|c\|c\|c\|\|c\|c\|c\|c\|c\|\|c\|} \hline $\|\vec{\theta}\|_{max}/\pi$ & $n_{20}$ & $n_{02}$ & $n_{40}$ & $n_{22}$ & $n_{04}$ & $d_{20}$ & $d_{02}$ & $d_{40}$ & $d_{22}$ & $d_{04}$ & $\chi^2/d.o.f$\\ \hline \hline \multicolumn{12}{\|c\|}{$T=1.048~T_c$}\\ \hline 0.12 & 3.176(15) & 3.062(16) & - & - & - & 0.81(8) & 0.60(8) & - & - & - & 55/34 \\ \hline & 3.185(23) & 3.07(3) & - & - & - & 0.9(3) & 0.7(3) & -14(17) & 3(4) & -18(18) & 45/31 \\ \hline & 3.178(15) & 3.048(22) & 3(27) & -6(6) & -19(24) & -0.8$\pm$1.2 & -0.7$\pm$1.6 & - & - & - & 39/31 \\ \hline & 3.22(3) & 3.07(3) & -60(10) & -24(4) & -41(10) & -1.7(4) & -1.7(4) & -127(85) & -83(35) & -34(53) & 32/28 \\ \hline \hline \multicolumn{12}{\|c\|}{$T=1.25~T_c$}\\ \hline 0.3 & 3.7123(17) & 3.6928(19) & - & - & - & 0.3236(12) & 0.3217(11) & - & - & - & 25705/114 \\ \hline & 3.723(3) & 3.694(3) & - & - & - & 0.329(4) & 0.353(4) & -1.58(4) & 0.589(11) & -1.66(4) & 3941/111 \\ \hline & 3.7188(24) & 3.671(3) & -0.5(5) & -2.29(15) & -0.5(6) & 0.185(20) & 0.192(22) & - & - & - & 124/111 \\ \hline & 3.721(3) & 3.666(3) & -7.2(3) & -4.03(7) & -4.57(11) & -0.101(11) & -0.004(6) & -0.45(21) & -0.139(20) & 0.20(7) & 138/108 \\ \hline \end{tabular} \end{center} \caption{Coefficients of rational fits at various temperatures. \label{tabRATfit} } \end{table}	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv" }	7,888
Faulhaber Takes Highest Honor at AVSC Awards By Andrew Gauthier May, 1 2020 Hanna Faulhaber at the Land Rover U.S. Grand Prix Freeski Halfpipe Finals at Mammoth Mountain, Calif. (U.S. Ski & Snowboard - Sarah Brunson) Hanna Faulhaber understands the role the Aspen Valley Ski and Snowboard Club has played in making her into one of the country's best young halfpipe skiers. That's why it meant so much when the club recognized her accomplishments like it did earlier this week. "It's pretty big. My whole life I've been skiing with AVSC," Hanna said. "They've helped me out so much, especially the past few years. I've been progressing so much and my coaches have been helping me along the way. It's been meaningful." Faulhaber, 15, was presented with the Andy Mill Award on Tuesday by AVSC, the highest individual honor the club awards annually. This year was a bit different, however, as the awards banquet went virtual amid the coronavirus pandemic. Instead of the usual in-person affair, AVSC posted a roughly 36-minute video online to announce the 2019-20 season award winners. Read Full Aspen Times Story Here Watch AVSC 2020 Awards Banquet Here Hanna Faulhaber Hanna started competing in the NorAm Cup series in 2019, quickly earning a first-place win in 2020 at her home mountain of Aspen, CO. She then earned bronze at the 2020 Youth Olympic Winter Games, since then her skiing has skyrocketed. Cassidy Jarrell Cassidy is a member of the 2020-21 U.S. Freeski Pro Halfpipe Team, hailing from Aspen, Colorado.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl" }	7,375
Eriococcus asteliae är en insektsart som beskrevs av James Mather Hoy 1962. Eriococcus asteliae ingår i släktet Eriococcus och familjen filtsköldlöss. Inga underarter finns listade i Catalogue of Life. Källor Filtsköldlöss asteliae	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia" }	794
package orwell.proxy.config.source; import org.slf4j.Logger; import org.slf4j.LoggerFactory; import orwell.proxy.Cli; import orwell.proxy.config.ConfigModel; import orwell.proxy.config.Configuration; import javax.xml.bind.JAXBException; import java.io.InputStream; /** * Created by Michaël Ludmann on 6/9/15. */ public class ConfigurationResource extends Configuration { private final static Logger logback = LoggerFactory.getLogger(ConfigurationResource.class); private final static String DEFAULT_CONFIG_FILEPATH_INSIDE_JAR = "/config.defaults.xml"; private final String filePath; public ConfigurationResource(final String filePath) { this.filePath = filePath; populate(); } @Override protected ConfigModel populateFromSource() throws JAXBException { InputStream xml = getClass().getResourceAsStream(filePath); if (null == xml) { logback.info("Configuration " + filePath + " not found in Jar." + " Tip: You can create your own custom file in " + "src/main/resources" + Cli.CUSTOM_CONFIG_FILEPATH_INSIDE_JAR); xml = getClass().getResourceAsStream(DEFAULT_CONFIG_FILEPATH_INSIDE_JAR); if (null == xml) { logback.error("Failed to find default configuration file: " + DEFAULT_CONFIG_FILEPATH_INSIDE_JAR); setIsPopulated(false); return null; } else { logback.info("Configuration found in default resource file: " + DEFAULT_CONFIG_FILEPATH_INSIDE_JAR); } } final ConfigModel configModel = (ConfigModel) unmarshaller.unmarshal(xml); setIsPopulated(true); logback.info("Configuration loaded"); return configModel; } }	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub" }	8,640
Phobias and nervous disorders can be really hard to deal with – both for pets and from their owners' perspectives. Widely used as a treatment for noise phobias and fears associated with fireworks, thunder and gunfire, as well as for general excitability and hyperactivity, this herbal medicine is one of our best sellers. It calms and relaxes dogs or cats without causing drowsiness or sedation, enabling them to have improved concentration, making it ideal for use in showing, agility, or sporting activities. Top tip – buy your supply of Scullcap and Valerian Tablets well in advance of fireworks night – there's often huge demand around this time. Active ingredients Valerian root extract 5:1 50 mg; mistletoe extract 3:1 50 mg; scullcap 30 mg; gentian extract 2:1 24 mg. 1-2 tablets per 5 kgs bodyweight daily, ideally given as two split doses, depending on the severity of the condition.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4" }	563
Q: Restore the previous session, when browser back button is clicked, Wicket Let's say there is a int x = 10 in the session, when I click a link, I change it's value to x++ in the link click event. Is there a way, in which, if I hit the browser back button, the session will be restored back to the previous version. Meaning, in this case, x's value will be 10, which is the initial value. A: You are talking about history, not different sessions. History is usually implemented with history tokens. Check out this guide for GWT: http://www.gwtproject.org/doc/latest/DevGuideCodingBasicsHistory.html A: Put such kind of data in Wicket component, like the Page, instead of in the http/Wicket session.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange" }	592
\section{Introduction} Learning temporal correspondence --- a problem of learning ``what went where''--- is closely related to many fundamental vision tasks, such as video object tracking~\cite{wang2019unsupervised, liu2010sift, vondrick2018tracking}, video object segmentation~\cite{wang2019fast, caelles2017one, voigtlaender2017online, maninis2018video, oh2019video}, and flow estimation~\cite{dosovitskiy2015flownet, ilg2017flownet}. In essence, it corresponds to a query-target matching problem, which relies on an affinity to match a physical point (or patch) in the query frame $t$ to that in the target frame $t+k$. One practical issue is collecting dense annotations from large-scale videos, which costs large human efforts. It motivates numerous self-supervised methods ~\cite{vondrick2018tracking, wang2019learning, li2019joint, lai2019self, lai2020mast, Wang_2021_Contrastive, jabri2020walk} to learn dynamic objects from unlabeled videos by leveraging the cycle-consistency in time as a free supervisory signal. \begin{figure} \centering \includegraphics[width=85mm]{fig/intro.png} \caption{How to find the correspondence of a small object such as the dog tail in a video? We argue that the query-target matching desires both \textit{longer views} (temporal dynamics) and \textit{broader views} (neighbor relations) to distinguish similar instances. We capture these two cues in a graph to learn correspondence.} \label{fig:intro} \vspace{-3mm} \end{figure} Recent approaches learn strong representations by constructing long-range views mainly from two perspectives: (i) learning pixel-level correspondences by a \textit{single-step} association~\cite{li2019joint, Wang_2021_Contrastive}, or (ii) learning patch-level correspondences by a \textit{multi-step} association~\cite{jabri2020walk}. The single-step association can be viewed as a pixel-level affinity between two patches at timesteps $t$ and $t+k$, aiming to transform the pixel colors. Such transformation requires a deterministic correspondence to locate the target patch at $t+k$, which is achieved by training an extra unsupervised patch tracker~\cite{wang2019learning}. However, the underlying assumption that corresponding pixels have the same color may be violated, \eg, inevitable lighting changes and deformation in future frames, thereby hindering the model from using longer temporal cues. Recently, Jabri \etal~\cite{jabri2020walk} formulate a multi-step association that connects corresponding patches at every timestep between $t$ and $t+k$ in a form of Markov chain. At each step, the patch-level affinity links all patches of two adjacent frames, preserving all possible correspondences in the video. The learning process thus benefits from a longer-range clip with all intermediate views available. Unfortunately, finding an ``optimal'' correspondence is not easy due to the struggling matching between similar instances where image patches only capture a very \textit{narrow} view of them. Hence, we identify another key ingredient for better query-target matching --- \textit{seeing broader} --- which is ignored in existing methods. Let us take a closer look of an example shown in Figure~\ref{fig:intro}. How do human track the right dog tail across frames, and avoid being confused by the left dog tail from the similar instance? (i) \textit{Seeing longer}: how the shape of the tail changes over time is indeed a crucial cue, and it can be utilized in the multi-step association~\cite{jabri2020walk}. (ii) \textit{Seeing broader}: it is easier to discriminate the dog tails from a broader view by considering neighboring information around them, such as the dog body features, as well as the dog-person interaction. However, it cannot be achieved by straightforwardly enlarging the patch size, as the detailed structures or features will be missed. In this paper, we propose to learn correspondence by \textit{seeing both broader and longer} via a graph-based framework. We represent the video as a joint space-time graph where nodes are grid patches and edges are two type of relations, \ie, neighbor relations and similarity relations. The big graph can thus be decomposed into two sub-graphs. (i) \textbf{Neighbor Relation Graph}: we start by constructing a small graph for each node, which is linked to intra-frame nodes that are located in a sliding neighborhood. Initialized with the topological prior, the edges learn to guide the aggregation of neighboring node representations to the central node. The updated node representation thus captures a broader view of the neighborhood. (ii) \textbf{Similarity Graph}: we then connect inter-frame nodes with the pairwise similarity, under the updated node representations. All these edges form a multi-step association for a long-range clip. Given the joint graph, the prediction of the long-range correspondence can be computed as a path (a combination of similarity-based edges) along the graph. To induce supervision, we adopt palindrome sequences~\cite{jabri2020walk} for training, which provide the walker with a target, \ie, returning to the start point. In contrast to the prior work~\cite{jabri2020walk}, our path-level constraint provides contrastive learning signals from both the temporal views and neighboring views, leading to more reliable matching among similar instances. Moreover, we perform a random but attentive walk on the large graph by wisely dropping the ``common-fate''~\cite{wertheimer1938laws} nodes according to the pixel discrepancy of each node, encouraging the model to focus on more informative node pairs. Below, we summarize the major contributions of this work. \begin{itemize} \item First, we design a joint video graph that models neighbor relations in space and similarity relations in time for visual correspondence learning. \item Second, we formulate the contrastive learning as a random but attentive walk on the graph to learn discriminative representations from seeing both temporal and neighboring views of instances. \item Third, our method outperforms state-of-the-art self-supervised approaches on a variety of visual tasks, \eg, object, part propagation, and pose tracking. It also surpasses some task-specific fully supervised algorithms. \end{itemize} \section{Related Works} \paragraph{Self-supervised Representation Learning.} Learning visual representations from unlabeled images or videos has been widely explored in many \textit{pretext} tasks, including future prediction~\cite{srivastava2015unsupervised, lotter2016deep}, frame sorting~\cite{lee2017unsupervised, misra2016shuffle}, motion estimation~\cite{agrawal2015learning, tung2017self}, and audio analysis~\cite{owens2018audio, korbar2018cooperative}. These methods learn good feature representations that can generalize well to multiple tasks by further fine-tuning on a small set of labeled samples. The key idea in them is to utilize the inherent information inside images or videos as the supervisory signals. For example, corresponding pairs can be constructed by augmentation of the same instance~\cite{wu2018unsupervised, bojanowski2017unsupervised}. However, manually augmenting still images may not always be in correct correspondence. Recent works in \textit{contrastive learning}~\cite{oord2018representation, chen2020simple, he2020momentum, gordon2020watching} explore the supervisory signals for similarity learning by choosing pairs that are close in space~\cite{he2020momentum, chen2020simple, bachman2019learning} or time~\cite{gordon2020watching, oord2018representation, sermanet2018time}. In contrast, we implicitly determine which pairs to be closer by their neighbor relations in space and similarity relations in time. \begin{figure} \centering \includegraphics[width=0.9\textwidth]{fig/method.png} \caption{Schematic illustration of our joint space-time graph for correspondence learning. Specifically, we have two sub-graphs that associate grid patches (nodes) with different relations. (i) Neighbor Relation Graph $\{\hat{\mathbf{q}}, E\}$: it connects a central node to its neighbors $\hat{\mathbf{q}}$ with edge $E$ initialized with topological prior, by which the neighboring embeddings can be aggregated to the center in a learnable manner. (ii) Similarity Graph $\{\mathbf{q}, A\}$: it links inter-frame nodes $\mathbf{q}$ with pair-wise similarity affinities $A$ (in updated representation space) to form a multi-step association on a long-range sequence. Furthermore, we employ the node dropout technique and transfer sequence as palindrome to upgrade graph to $\{\bar{\mathbf{q}}, B\}$, in which we perform a random but attentive walk to find the correspondence based on contrastive learning.} \label{fig:method} \end{figure} \vspace{-2mm} \paragraph{Self-supervised Correspondence Learning.} Recent approaches focus on learning correspondence from unlabeled videos in a self-supervised manner. The key idea of TimeCycle~\cite{wang2019learning} is to train a deterministic patch tracker to find the correspondence of a query patch by tracking forward and backward in the video. Likewise, UVC~\cite{li2019joint} and ContrastCorr~\cite{Wang_2021_Contrastive} adopt the patch tracker to obtain object-level correspondences. But they also explore fine-grained correspondences by learning a pixel-wise affinity with colorization. The difference is that Wang \etal~\cite{Wang_2021_Contrastive} combines the intra-video transformation~\cite{li2019joint} with inter-video transformation to form contrastive pairs. Besides, CorrFlow~\cite{lai2019self} and MAST~\cite{lai2020mast} use feature maps with higher resolution ($2\times$) than others and yield impressive results. Recently, Jabri \etal~\cite{jabri2020walk} formulate the correspondence as a contrastive random walk, allowing associations between patches that may have significant differences in appearance. Despite the success of these methods, many of them still struggle with the overwhelming noisy or negative samples when performing query-target matching. Our approach tackles this issue by introducing neighboring views to the matching pairs for contrastive learning, which allows us to lean implicit associations between central representation and its neighbor. \vspace{-1mm} \paragraph{Video Graphs.} Representing video as graphs can usually capture the spatial-temporal relationships in videos~\cite{tsai2019video, wang2018videos, qian2019video, jabri2020walk}. The key of video graph is to form the image patches as nodes and link them with edges. One popular direction is to model the object-object interactions by connecting objects which overlap in space or close in time. They have been widely applied to video classification~\cite{wang2018videos}, detection~\cite{qian2019video}, or visual relationship reasoning~\cite{tsai2019video}, by combining with Conditional Random Fields (CRF)~\cite{lafferty2001conditional} or Graph Convolutional Networks (GCN)~\cite{kipf2016semi}. Recently, some works start to model how the states of the same object change in time by connecting inter-frame nodes that have similar appearance or semantically related~\cite{jabri2020walk, wang2018videos}. Leveraging the similarity relations, the task of representation learning can be induced by propagating the node identity in a graph. To better learn instance discrimination with cross-attention between nodes, we go one step further by modelling the neighbor relations of intra-frame nodes, which allow us to learn latent associations between central node and its neighbors across space and time. \section{Methods} We propose to represent the video as a joint space-time graph for learning temporal correspondence. As shown in Figure~\ref{fig:method}, nodes are frame patches sampled in a grid, and edges contain two type of connections: neighbor relations between intra-frame nodes, and visual similarity between inter-frame nodes. Based on these two relations, the big graph can be decomposed into two sub-graphs, including neighbor relation graph and similarity graph, aiming at capturing the \textit{broader} and \textit{longer} views, respectively. Next, we perform reasoning on the graph to find latent correspondences for contrastive learning. Our learning process can be interpreted as a random but attentive walk on the graph by automatically dropping out some ``common-fate'' nodes. The construction details of two sub-graphs and learning procedures are successively described in this section. \subsection{Neighbor Relation Graph} Given a video sequence $\mathbf{I}$, we denote a set of nodes $\mathbf{q}_t$ that correspond to $N$ overlapped patches sampled in a grid from frame $\mathbf{I}_t$. In general, each node in $\mathbf{q}_t$ will be mapped to a $l_2$-normalized $d$-dimensional embedding using an encoder $\phi$, where $d$ is the channel number. The embedding captures a very local view of an object sometimes, although necessary for learning tiny structures, it easily induces ambiguity into the query-target matching. Intuitively, the neighboring nodes provide the central node with a broader view of an object or interactions with other objects, which are beneficial to find its temporal correspondence. Motivated by this, we build a neighbor relation graph that reinforces node embeddings by relating the information from the neighbors guided by the general topology. The edge $E$ is solely established between node $i$ and its neighbors rather than all other nodes~\cite{ma2020copulagnn}. The sum of all edge values connected to node $i$ is normalized to be 1 by a softmax function. If node $i$ and $j$ are spatially closer or more correlated in semantics, then $E_{ij}$ should be higher. We denote the neighbor relation graph as $G_r = \{\hat{\mathbf{q}}, E\}$ where $\hat{\mathbf{q}}$ is the set of $n$ neighbors. \begin{figure} \centering \includegraphics[width=85mm]{fig/edge_init.png} \caption{\textbf{Encoding topological information} in the neighbor relation graph by edge initialization. Three structures (\ie, horizontal, vertical, square) associate the central node to broader representations variously. We adopt the normalized attention matrix as the initial value of edges to encode the topological prior. } \label{fig:init} \end{figure} \noindent \textbf{Sliding neighborhood.} We construct $G_r$ by considering a friendly neighborhood~\cite{hu2019local, kim2021find} as a small grid (\eg, a $3 \times 3$ grid yielding 9 neighbors), and model the neighbor relations for the central node. A larger neighborhood is not necessary because farther nodes are more likely to induce noise (see performance degradation in Figure~\ref{fig:ev} (a)). For different nodes in $\mathbf{q}_t$, we consider them as the center and determine corresponding neighborhoods in a sliding window manner. This lead to a shared edge $E \in \mathbb{R}^{N\times n}$ across $N$ nodes in $\mathbf{q}_t$, \ie, $E_{1j} = E_{2j} = ... = E_{Nj}$, where $j\in \{1,2,...,n\}$. \noindent \textbf{Encoding topological prior.} To model the neighbor relation, we first initialize $E$ by explicitly encoding the topological information. In a neighborhood (see Figure~\ref{fig:init}), we generally have three types of topology with regard to the central node based on the spatial proximity, including vertical, horizontal, and square structures. Each of them may composite central element into a higher-level entity in the feature space with neighboring views. For example, a ``body center'' can be extended with semantics of ``arm'', ``legs'', or ``person'' using horizontal, vertical, or square topology. We do have other cases that object-object interactions are captured by the neighbors, which also provide an crucial cue in modelling neighbor relations. To this regard, we generate a normalized attention matrix based on the number of node occurrences in different topology, and employ the matrix to initialize edge $E$. The topological prior can therefore be encoded to guide the following learning of $E$. \noindent \textbf{Graph attention.} Advanced by the topological information, the graph captures the \textit{relational importance} of neighboring nodes, in other words, the degree of importance of each of the neighbors contributing to the central node. We then explore a graph attention mechanism to augment the representations of the central node $i$ by aggregating messages from its neighboring nodes: \begin{equation} f(\mathbf{q}_t^i) = \sum_{j=0}^{n} \texttt{softmax}(E_{ij})\cdot\phi(\mathbf{q}_t^{j}), \label{eq:0} \end{equation} where $\mathbf{q}_t^j$ is the $j$-th node in $\mathbf{q}_t$ and $f(\mathbf{q}_t^i)$ is the updated embedding of node $\mathbf{q}_t^i$, which provides weighted neighboring semantics, while preserving the original feature patterns. Different from the channel-level feature aggregation with GCN~\cite{wang2018videos, kipf2016semi}, our graph attention performs a node-level feature simulation that treats each node embedding as a whole. We show this mechanism benefits the contrastive learning in Section~\ref{sec:learning}. More importantly, $E$ is learnable via back propagation, by which a more general neighbor relation can be modeled during training. \subsection{Similarity Graph} After considering the intra-frame node relations, we link the visually corresponding nodes in the adjacent frames by a similarity-based affinity. One general option for the pairwise similarity function is a dot-production between two feature embeddings: $F (\phi(q_1), \phi(q_2)) = \phi(q_1)^{\top} \phi(q_2) $. Following recent similarity learning methods~\cite{ jabri2020walk, li2019joint, Wang_2021_Contrastive}, we employ a row-wise softmax function to the similarity function with temperature $\tau$ to obtain a non-negative affinity matrix between inter-frame node embeddings updated by $G_r$: \begin{equation} A_t^{t+1}(i,u)= \frac{\text{exp}(F(f(\mathbf{q}_t^i),~f(\mathbf{q}_{t+1}^u))/\tau)}{\sum_{l=1}^N\text{exp}(F(f(\mathbf{q}_t^i),~f(\mathbf{q}_{t+1}^l))/\tau)}. \label{eq:1} \end{equation} The affinity in Equation~\eqref{eq:1} places weights on all possible edges between nodes at $t$ and $t+1$, with higher possibility indicating that the paired patches are more similar. Given such connections, we can already construct a simple similarity graph between two adjacent frames in the video. However, the short temporal dynamics within two frames provides very limited views of objects. We therefore link all the inter-frame nodes across a video with a length of $T$, and formulate the graph path as a Markov chain of edges, following the idea in~\cite{jabri2020walk}: \begin{equation} A_t^{t+T} = \prod_{i=0}^{\mathrm{T}-1} A_{t+i}^{t+i+1}. \label{eq:Gs} \end{equation} Here, we can denote the similarity graph as $G_s = \{ \mathbf{q}, A\}$ where $\mathbf{q}$ represents all inter-frame nodes in a video and $A$ is a chain of edges described in Equation~\eqref{eq:Gs}. \subsection{Attentive Walk on Joint Space-Time Graph} \label{sec:learning} Our goal is to learn temporal correspondence in the joint space-time graph without human annotations. Akin to prior arts that explore cycle-consistency in time~\cite{wang2019learning, jabri2020walk}, we adopt the \textit{palindrome} sequence in the form of \{$I_t,...,I_{t+T},...,I_t$\} for training, where the target of the query node should be its original position. Following the idea of~\cite{jabri2020walk}, we build our cycle-consistent loss as: \begin{equation} \mathcal{L}_{cyc}(G \| G = \{ \mathbf{q}, B\}) =\mathcal{L}_{CE} (B, I), \end{equation} where $G$ is a joint palindrome graph with edges $B = A_t^{t+T}A_{t+T}^t$, and $I$ is the target position generated according to the location of the first frame node, \eg, the ground truth of the $i$-th node is $i$. \noindent \textbf{Node dropout.} Compared with \textit{things} --- countable objects such as people and animals, one problem of learning correspondence in graphs is matching \textit{stuff} --- large regions of similar textures or materials, such as sky and land (Figure~\ref{fig:drop}). The ``common-fate''~\cite{wertheimer1938laws} nodes in the stuff have strong affinity to all other nodes in the related segment of neighboring frames, making it hard and somewhat impossible to walk back to the original position during training. To address this issue, we propose a node dropout strategy based on the pixel discrepancy of a node, given that the ``common-fate'' nodes always contain very similar context. Specifically, we start by retrieving the pixel embeddings $p \in \mathbb{R}^{d\times hw}$ for each node using the encoder $\phi$, where $hw$ is the downsampled spatial size. Next, we calculate the self-similarity among pixel embeddings via a dot-production: $S =p^{\top}p$. We define the pixel discrepancy of a node as: \begin{equation} \delta = 1- \frac{1}{(hw)(hw)}\sum_{i=0}^{hw}\sum_{j=0}^{hw}S_{ij}, \end{equation} where we convert the self-similarity to the reverse side, so that the higher value of $\delta$ denotes higher discrepancy among pixels. We then set a threshold of $\delta$ to drop those uninformative nodes whose pixel discrepancy is lower than it. The proposed strategy is superior to the random dropout technique in~\cite{jabri2020walk} by exclusively tackling ``common-fate'' nodes. Our final training objective is: \begin{equation} \mathcal{L}_{cyc}(\bar{G} \| \bar{G} = \{ \bar{\mathbf{q}}, B^k\}) = \sum_{k=1}^\mathrm{T}\mathcal{L}_{CE} (B^k, I), \label{eq:3} \end{equation} where $\bar{\mathbf{q}}$ is the remained nodes after node dropout, and $B^k = A_t^{t+k}A_{t+k}^t$. We optimize all sub-cycles in the graph with the clip length $k$ varying from 1 to T. In this regard, we are allowed to perform a random but attentive walk on the graph, forcing the model to discriminate informative node pairs by the hedging of ambiguous matching. \begin{figure} \centering \includegraphics[width=85mm]{fig/dropout.png} \caption{\textbf{Node dropout} to avoid ``common-fate'' nodes that puzzle the correspondence learning. We introduce a thresholding measurement based on the pixel discrepancy $\delta$. } \label{fig:drop} \end{figure} \noindent \textbf{Contrastive learning with \textit{extra} positive pairs.} We can consider our model as a chain of contrastive learning problem, which is guided by a ``one-hop'' cycle-consistency constraint. Basically, a strong edge creates a one-to-one alignment, \ie, one positive pair. However, after aggregating neighboring information via Equation~\eqref{eq:0}, we can interpret one edge as a \textit{latent} many-to-many alignment in the feature space, involving \textit{extra} positive pairs for contrastive learning apart from center-center pairs. For example, center-neighbor pairs --- a node at timestep $t$ and one of its corresponding neighbors at timestep $t+1$, or even neighbor-neighbor pairs. Taking the hand-arm pair as an example, since they are physically connected as neighbors in most cases, when learning the correspondence of ``hand'', our model may push its embedding closer to that of ``arm'' as well. Recall that we learn $E$ in Equation~\eqref{eq:0} via the objective~\eqref{eq:3}. The learned $E$ encourages the model to find more reliable center-center or center-neighbor pairs for contrastive learning, which generate better node representations in return for $E$ to model the general neighbor relations. We believe this is the main reason that our model learns more discriminative representations of instances. \section{Experiments} We extensively evaluate our learned representations on various visual correspondence tasks: video object propagation, human part propagation, and pose keypoint tracking. We first conduct the comparison with the state-of-the-art self-supervised algorithms for visual correspondence learning, including TimeCycle~\cite{wang2019learning},CorrFlow~\cite{lai2019self}, MAST~\cite{lai2020mast}, UVC~\cite{li2019joint}, ContrastCorr~\cite{Wang_2021_Contrastive}, and VideoWalk~\cite{jabri2020walk}. We then compare our model with pre-trained features from representation learning methods, including MoCo~\cite{he2020momentum}, a self-supervised contrastive learning method based on images; VINCE~\cite{gordon2020watching}, an extension of MoCo to videos; ImageNet~\cite{he2016deep}, a strong supervised method where the model is pre-trained on ImageNet. All above methods use ResNet-18~\cite{he2016deep} as the backbone. Besides, we also compare with some fully supervised algorithms designed for the specific tasks. At last, we provide in-depth ablation studies. \subsection{Implementation} \begin{figure} \centering \includegraphics[width=170mm]{fig/compare.png} \caption{Qualitative comparisons with other self-supervised methods on DAVIS 2017 dataset. (a) Target frame. (b) Ground-truth of target frame. (c) Results of UVC~\cite{li2019joint}. (d) Results of ContrastCorr~\cite{Wang_2021_Contrastive}. (e) Results of VideoWalk~\cite{jabri2020walk}. (f) Our results.} \label{fig:compare} \end{figure} \begin{table}[!t] \caption{\textbf{Video object propagation} results on DAVIS 2017 dataset. We show results of state-of-the-art self-supervised methods and some supervised approaches in comparison of our method. \textit{Train Data} indicates dataset(s) used for pre-training, including: I = ImageNet~\cite{he2016deep}, K = Kinetics400~\cite{carreira2017quo}, C = CoCo~\cite{lin2014microsoft}, D = DAVIS 2017~\cite{pont20172017}, P = PASCAL-VOC~\cite{everingham2015pascal}, Y = YouTube-VOS~\cite{xu2018youtube}, O = OxUvA~\cite{valmadre2018long}, V = VLOG~\cite{fouhey2018lifestyle}, T = TrackingNet~\cite{muller2018trackingnet}. \textit{Resolution} indicates whether feature map for correspondence matching is of a higher ($2\times$) resolution.} \label{tab:result} \centering \resizebox{150mm}{!}{ \begin{tabular}{lccccccccc} \hline Method & Supervised & Backbone & Train Data & Resolution & $\mathcal{J}$\&$\mathcal{F}_m$ &$\mathcal{J}_m$ & $\mathcal{J}_r$ & $\mathcal{F}_m$ & $\mathcal{F}_r$ \\ \hline MoCo~\cite{he2020momentum} & & \multirow{2}{}{ResNet-18} & I & \multirow{2}{}{1$\times$ } & 60.8 & 58.6 & 68.7 & 63.1 & 72.7 \\ VINCE~\cite{gordon2020watching} & & & K & & 60.4 & 57.9 & 66.2 & 62.8 & 71.5 \\ \hdashline CorrFlow~\cite{lai2019self} & &\multirow{3}{}{ResNet-18} & O & \multirow{3}{}{2$\times$ } & 50.3 & 48.4 & 53.2 & 52.2 & 56.0 \\ MAST~\cite{lai2020mast} & & & O & & 63.7 & 61.2 & 73.2 & 66.3 & 78.3 \\ MAST~\cite{lai2020mast} & & & Y & & 65.5 & 63.3 & 73.2 & 67.6 & 77.7 \\ \hdashline TimeCycle~\cite{wang2019learning} & &\multirow{4}{}{ResNet-18} & V & \multirow{4}{}{1$\times$ } & 48.7 & 46.4 & 50.0 & 50.0 & 48.0 \\ UVC~\cite{li2019joint} & & & K & & 60.9 & 59.3 & 68.8 & 62.7 & 70.9 \\ ContrastCorr~\cite{Wang_2021_Contrastive}& & & T & & 63.0 & 60.5 & 70.6 & 65.5 & 73.0 \\ VideoWalk~\cite{jabri2020walk} & & & K & & 67.6 & 64.8 & 76.1 & 70.2 & 82.1 \\ \hdashline Ours & & ResNet-18 & K & 1$\times$ &\textbf{68.7} & \textbf{65.8} & \textbf{77.7} &\textbf{71.6} & \textbf{84.3} \\ \hline ImageNet~\cite{he2016deep} &$\checkmark$ &ResNet-18 & I & 1$\times$ & 62.9 & 60.6 & 69.9 & 65.2 & 73.8 \\ SiamMask~\cite{wang2019fast} &$\checkmark$& ResNet-50 & I/C/Y & \multirow{5}{}{ } & 56.4 & 54.3 & 62.8 & 58.5 & 67.5 \\ OSVOS~\cite{caelles2017one}&$\checkmark$ & VGG-16 & I/D & & 60.3 & 56.6 & 63.8 & 63.9 & 73.8 \\ OnAVOS~\cite{voigtlaender2017online}&$\checkmark$ & ResNet-38 & I/C/P/D & & 65.4 & 61.6 & 67.4 & 69.1 & 75.4 \\ OSVOS-S~\cite{maninis2018video} &$\checkmark$& VGG-16 & I/P/D & & 68.0 & 64.7 & 74.2 & 71.3 & 80.7 \\\hline \end{tabular} } \vspace{-1mm} \end{table} \noindent \textbf{Encoder.} For fair comparisons, we also adopt ResNet-18~\cite{he2016deep} as the encoder $\phi$ by reducing the stride of last two residual blocks (\texttt{res3} and \texttt{res4}) to 1. We add a linear projection after average pooling to generate a 128-dimensional node embedding. Pixel-wise embeddings of each node are created by the same projection without average pooling for node dropout. \noindent \textbf{Training.} We train $\phi$ using the unlabeled videos from Kinetics400~\cite{carreira2017quo} dataset with the Adam optimizer. We set the temperature $\tau$ as 0.05 in Equation~\ref{eq:1}. Akin to~\cite{jabri2020walk}, for each $256\times 256$ frame, we sample $64\times 64$ patches in a $7\times 7$ grid, resulting in 49 nodes per frame. Without extra specification, our sliding neighborhood is a $3\times3$ grid, involving 9 neighboring nodes, and the length of training sequences is 10. To see sufficient samples, we first train the model without node dropout for 5 epochs using a learning rate of $1\times 10^{-4}$. Next, we set $\delta=0.2$ for node dropout and train the model for another 15 epochs with a learning rate of $1\times 10^{-5}$. All experiments are conducted on 4 NVIDIA Titan Xp GPUs. \noindent \textbf{Inference.} All evaluation tasks can be considered as video label propagation, which is to predict the labels of each pixels in the target frame given only the labels in the first frame (\ie, the source). For fair comparisons, we use the same label propagation strategy and testing protocols as~\cite{jabri2020walk} for all tasks. In brief, labels $L_t$ are propagated as $L_t = K_t^s L_s$, where $L_s$ is the source labels and $K_t^s$ is the top-$k$ transitions between source and target frames ($k$ is 10 for all tasks). To provide temporal context, the last $m$ frames are also used for propagation ($m$ is 20, 4, and 7 for DAVIS, VIP and JHMDB tasks respectively). To avoid noise from pixels that are far away in space, the query pixels are restricted by a \textit{local} attention mask with a radius $r$ ($r$ is 5 for JHMDB, and 12 for all other tasks). We use the output of \texttt{res3} as feature representations to calculate affinities for label propagation, and $\tau$ is set as 0.05 for consistency with the training. \subsection{Video Object Propagation on DAVIS 2017} We evaluate our model on a popular benchmark of semi-supervised video object segmentation, \ie, DAVIS 2017~\cite{pont20172017}, which provides the semantic mask of multiple objects in the first frame. For fair comparisons with prior works~\cite{jabri2020walk, Wang_2021_Contrastive, li2019joint, wang2019learning}, we test the model on images with the resolution of 480p. We report the mean (m) and recall (r) of Jaccard index $\mathcal{J}$ (IoU) and contour alignment $\mathcal{F}$, detailed in Table~\ref{tab:result}. Figure~\ref{fig:compare} and Figure~\ref{fig:results} (a) show the propagated object masks. Specifically, our approach attains improvements over MoCo~\cite{he2020momentum} and VINCE~\cite{gordon2020watching}, indicating that it is better to choose temporal views for contrastive learning in videos rather than data augmentation of a single frame. Our method also performs favourably against the self-supervised methods from unlabeled video, and even without relying on a higher-resolution feature map used in CorrFlow and MAST~\cite{lai2019self,lai2020mast} or other modules such as the patch localizer designed in UVC and ContrastCorr~\cite{li2019joint, Wang_2021_Contrastive}. Our method achieves consistent improvements over the state-of-the-art method VideoWalk~\cite{jabri2020walk} across all the evaluation metrics. Surprisingly, our method can outperform many supervised methods~\cite{wang2019fast, caelles2017one, voigtlaender2017online, maninis2018video} with specific architectures for video object segmentation. Furthermore, we show that by modelling neighbor relations during training, our model exhibits superior discrimination capability for instance-level separation. As seen in Figure~\ref{fig:compare}, both UVC~\cite{li2019joint} and ContrastCorr~\cite{Wang_2021_Contrastive} fail to discriminate similar instances by learning pixel-level correspondence. Despite seeing more hard negative samples during training, the walker in~\cite{jabri2020walk} still gets confused to instances that are similar in color. In contrast, our model can tell the difference of small parts between similar instances, \eg, the dog tails or the car windows, by inducing neighboring views for contrastive learning. \begin{table}[!t] \caption{\textbf{Part segmentation and Pose tracking} results on VIP and JHMDB datasets, respectively. We compare our model with self-supervised and strong supervised methods. \textit{Sup} indicates it is a supervised method or not. } \label{tab:result1} \centering \resizebox{85mm}{!}{ \begin{tabular}{lcccc} \hline \multirow{2}{}{Method} & \multirow{2}{}{Sup} & \multicolumn{2}{c}{Pose} & \multicolumn{1}{c}{Part} \\ \cmidrule(r){3-5} & & PCK@0.1 & PCK@0.2 & mIoU \\\hline TimeCycle~\cite{wang2019learning} & & 57.3 & 78.1 & 28.9 \\ UVC~\cite{li2019joint} & & 58.6 & 79.6 & 34.1 \\ ContrastCorr~\cite{Wang_2021_Contrastive} & & 61.1 & 80.8 & 37.4 \\ VideoWalk~\cite{jabri2020walk} & & 59.3 & 84.9 & 38.6 \\ Ours & & \textbf{61.4} & \textbf{85.3} & \textbf{40.2} \\\hline ImageNet~\cite{he2016deep} &$\checkmark$ & 53.8 & 74.6 & 31.9 \\ ATEN~\cite{zhou2018adaptive} & $\checkmark$ & - & - & 37.9 \\ Thin-Slicing Net~\cite{song2017thin} & $\checkmark$ & 68.7 & 92.1 & - \\ \hline \end{tabular} } \vspace{-1mm} \end{table} \subsection{Human Part Propagation on VIP} We evaluate our method on part segmentation task on the Video Instance Parsing (VIP) benchmark~\cite{zhou2018adaptive}, which involves propagating 20 parts of human (\eg, arms and leg), requiring more precise matching than DAVIS. We use the same settings as Jabri \etal~\cite{jabri2020walk}, and resize the video frames to $560\times 560$. For the semantic part propagation task, we evaluate performance via the mean IoU metric. As seen in Table~\ref{tab:result1}, our model outperforms existing self-supervised methods, \eg, by 1.6\% and 2.8\% mIoU, compared to VideoWalk~\cite{jabri2020walk} and ContrastiveCorr~\cite{Wang_2021_Contrastive}, respectively. We also surpass the fully supervised method ATEN~\cite{zhou2018adaptive} that is specifically designed for this dataset using training labels. Figure~\ref{fig:results} (b) shows samples of semantic part propagation results. Interestingly, our model correctly propagates each part mask onto similar instances (dancers in the first example) no matter when they are close or far from the camera. \begin{figure} \centering \includegraphics[width=85mm]{fig/abl.pdf} \caption{Ablation studies of our method on DAVIS 2017 benchmark. (a) Effect of neighborhood size and edge value. (b) Effect of node dropout. (c) Effect of training path length.} \label{fig:ev} \vspace{-2mm} \end{figure} \subsection{Pose Keypoint Tracking on JHMDB} We consider the pose tracking task on JHMDB benchmark~\cite{jhuang2013towards}, which involves 15 keypoints. Follow the evaluation protocol of~\cite{li2019joint,jabri2020walk}, we test the model on $320\times 320$px images. We adopt the possibility of correct keypoints~\cite{song2017thin} (PCK) as the evaluation metric, which measures the percentage of keypoints close to ground-truth under different thresholds. We show quantitative evaluations against others in Table~\ref{tab:result1}, and qualitative results in Figure~\ref{fig:results} (c). Our model achieves consistent improvements over existing self-supervised approaches on this challenging task that requires precise fine-grained matching. Notably, our model achieves even 10.7\% better in PCK@0.2 than the ImageNet~\cite{he2016deep} baseline trained with classification labels. \begin{figure} \centering \includegraphics[width=0.99\textwidth]{fig/result2.png} \caption{Propagation results of our model. (a) Video object propagation on DAVIS 2017~\cite{pont20172017} dataset. (b) Human part propagation on VIP~\cite{zhou2018adaptive} dataset. (c) Pose keypoint tracking on JHMDB~\cite{jhuang2013towards} dataset. The first frame is highlighted with a yellow outline with its label being provided. Without fine-tuning, our model achieves promising long-range label propagation on three visual tasks. } \label{fig:results} \end{figure} \subsection{Analytical Ablation Studies on DAVIS 2017} \noindent \textbf{Neighborhood size.} We investigate how necessary to relate more neighboring nodes for a broader view, by constructing neighbor relation graph with dimension of $3\times1$, $1\times3$, $3\times3$, $5\times5$ --- resulting in $n=$ 3, 3, 9, 25 nodes, respectively. In Figure~\ref{fig:ev} (a), we find that 9 neighboring nodes can peak the performance on DAVIS. Further increasing the neighborhood size ($n=25$) is likely to induce noisy cues from farther nodes, resulting in even worse results than the baseline that does not consider neighbor relations. Interestingly, the interactions with horizontally-connected nodes are more beneficial to learn discriminative representations than the vertical ones (see 3 (h) \vs 3 (v)). \noindent \textbf{Variants of edge $E$.} We also explore three variants of edge $E$ in the neighbor relation graph in Figure~\ref{fig:ev} (a): (i) \textit{Fixed}: fixed edge with topological information; (ii) \textit{Random}: learnable edge with random initialization; (iii) \textit{Topology}: learnable edge with topological initialization. In conclusion, encoding topology is essential for modelling neighbor relation of nodes. Further learning edge $E$ at training time yields better results. We attribute this success by more general neighbor relations gained in learning procedures. \noindent \textbf{Node dropout.} We evaluate the effect of node dropout by training our model with ranging values of $\delta \in$ [0, 0.4] at a step of 0.1. Higher $\delta$ means more nodes will be dropped based on their pixel discrepancy. In Figure~\ref{fig:ev} (b), we find that moderate node dropout (\ie, $0.1\sim 0.3$) boost the performance on DAVIS, with $\delta=0.2$ peaking the result. It demonstrates that the technique can tackle ``common-fate'' nodes, helping the model focus on informative contents. \noindent \textbf{Path length.} In Figure~\ref{fig:ev} (c), we explore the effect of path length during training. Using clips of length 2, 4, 6, 10, we obtain paths of length 4, 8, 12, 20 for training. We see that longer sequences can improve results on DAVIS. This observation is similar to previous work~\cite{jabri2020walk}, as model can see longer views of instances for contrastive learning. \begin{table}[!t] \caption{\textbf{Component analysis} of our model on DAVIS benchmark. } \label{tab:abl} \centering \resizebox{55mm}{!}{ \begin{tabular}{cccc} \hline \multicolumn{1}{c}{$G_s$} & $G_r$ & Node Dropout & $\mathcal{J}$\&$\mathcal{F}_m$ \\ \hline $\checkmark$ & & & 65.6 \\ $\checkmark$ & $\checkmark$ & & 67.8 (+2.2\%) \\ $\checkmark$ & $\checkmark$ & $\checkmark$ & 68.7 (+3.1\%)\\ \hline \end{tabular} } \end{table} \noindent \textbf{Component analysis.} We analyze the key components of our model in Table~\ref{tab:abl}. The similarity graph $G_s$ alone yields unsatisfactory results due to the puzzling negative samples. By modelling neighbor relations in $G_r$, the performance is greatly improved by 2.2\% in $\mathcal{J}$\&$\mathcal{F}_m$. Further using node dropout on the joint graph peaks the performance. \section{Conclusion} In this work, we present a novel self-supervised approach for learning correspondence from unlabeled videos. Our key idea is to explore the structures and dynamics of objects from both neighboring and temporal views. To achieve this, we learn to walk on a joint space-time graph that connects nodes with neighbor relations and similarity relations. The superiority of our learned representation is demonstrated on three video propagation tasks. Without fine-tuning, our method outperforms the state-of-the-art self-supervised methods, as well as some strong fully supervised models that are designed for specific tasks. In the future, we plan to handle those ``extremely similar instances'' --- whose correspondences are hard to find based on visual similarity --- by leveraging the motion patterns~\cite{tokmakov2017learning} or depth information~\cite{zhou2017unsupervised} from large-scale unlabeled videos. \section{Acknowledgement} This work was supported by Hong Kong Research Grants Council with Project No. CUHK 14201620. {\small \bibliographystyle{ieee_fullname}	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv" }	9,308
module Rails module Patch module JsonEncoderRefactorBackport VERSION = "0.0.1" end end end	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub" }	1,247
Chicago Hauntings ghost tours Every U.S. state and city has history and with history, there are stories of restless souls. The Chicago Hauntings tour was one of 2 tours I wanted to check out, the other being the Chicago Gangster tour. Luckily, the 2 are affiliated, tell roughly the same stories, and stop at some of the same sites, the difference being that the Hauntings tour focuses on spiritual activity and the Gangster tour focuses on previous mob and gangster activity. The Hauntings tour was led by a knowledgeable tour guide that was a total crackup. He kept the suspense going, provided (objective) facts, joked around, and let us experience a few of the areas. He reminded us to be respectful and explained that in the past, there has been speculation of spirits following disrespectful visitors home. The tour described occurrences dating back to the 1800's including the great Chicago fire that decimated the city, Al Capone and the Chicago Outfit, the St. Valentine's Day Massacre, and more. We visited a mausoleum of one of the first wealthy families to settle in Chicago, the Couch family. While the mausoleum has not been opened, it has been suggested that the remains of Ira Couch and few family members are within the tomb. Within the area, there was said to be approximately 30,000 bodies buried as a result of the Great Chicago Fire and while efforts were later made to relocate the bodies due to health issues within the city, there are many bodies that are still there. We visited a barren plot of land said to be the site of the Valentine's murders and to this day, passerby's smell gunpowder, hear crying, and experience other chilling occurrences. We visited a theater that succumbed to a fire, causing over 600 deaths. Our guide described how the theater was not built to code, the owner bribed city officials, and on opening night, the fire trapped all who sat within. People climbed to the tops of balconies and attempted to jump out of windows to the alley below. Our next stop was the Jane Adam's Hull House, said to be the current home of the spirit of Jane Adams Our last stop was along the banks of the Chicago river where Eastland Disaster occurred. As the story goes, 2,700+ individuals, most of who were employees from Western Electric Company's Hawthorne Works boarded the top-heavy boat for a leisure holiday cruise. The passengers rushed to one side of the boat as a canoe race passed by and as a result, the boat capsized, killing 844 people. Labels: Chicago Hauntings ghost tours	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl" }	8,640
Q: Password to Join FaceTime Call I am conferencing a few friends over FaceTime video in the near future and would like to add a fun feature to the call. I want that as I call my friends and they accept the call, they are greeted with a prompt and must enter a password before joining the call. Does anyone know if such a thing exists? If not, is there a way to implement it myself? Thanks, Charles A: No, that feature does not exist for FaceTime calls and you could not add a password to a FaceTime call yourself.	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange" }	483
Q: MySQL: Error while creating foreign key, error 150 when it seems right I'have to create a database and this is MySQL code: drop database if EXISTS BibliotecaLello; create database BibliotecaLello; use BibliotecaLello; create table Lettore ( CodiceFiscale varchar(17) PRIMARY KEY not null ); create TABLE Tessera ( CodiceLettore varchar(17), CodiceTessera integer PRIMARY KEY not null AUTO_INCREMENT, Nome varchar(10) not null, Cognome varchar(10) not null, unique(Nome, Cognome) ); create table Autori ( IDAutore integer PRIMARY KEY NOT null AUTO_INCREMENT, Nome varchar(20) not null, Cognome varchar(20) not null ); create table Libro ( CodiceLibro integer AUTO_INCREMENT PRIMARY KEY not null, IDAutore integer not null, Titolo varchar(20) not null ); create table Copia ( CodiceLibro integer not null, CodiceCopia integer not null, unique(CodiceLibro, CodiceCopia) ); create table Noleggio ( CodiceLettore varchar(17) not null, DataInizio date not null, DataFine date not null, CodiceLibro integer not null, CodiceCopia integer not null, unique(CodiceLettore, DataInizio, DataFine, CodiceLibro, CodiceCopia) ); alter table Noleggio add CONSTRAINT fkNolleggioLettore FOREIGN key (CodiceLettore) REFERENCES `Lettore`(`CodiceFiscale`) on DELETE CASCADE on UPDATE CASCADE; alter table Tessera add CONSTRAINT fkTesseraLettori FOREIGN KEY (`CodiceLettore`) REFERENCES `Lettore`(`CodiceFiscale`) on DELETE CASCADE on UPDATE cascade; alter table Libro add CONSTRAINT fkLibroAutori FOREIGN KEY (IDAutore) REFERENCES `Autori`(`IDAutore`) on DELETE CASCADE on UPDATE cascade; alter table `Copia` add CONSTRAINT fkCopieLibro FOREIGN KEY (CodiceLibro) REFERENCES Libro(CodiceLibro) on DELETE CASCADE on UPDATE cascade; alter table Noleggio add CONSTRAINT fkNoleggioCopiaCopia FOREIGN KEY (CodiceCopia) REFERENCES `Copia`(`CodiceCopia`) on DELETE CASCADE on UPDATE cascade; alter table Noleggio add CONSTRAINT fkNoleggioCopiaLibro FOREIGN KEY (CodiceLibro) REFERENCES `Copia`(`CodiceLibro`) on DELETE CASCADE on UPDATE cascade; but when I execute alter table Noleggio add CONSTRAINT fkNoleggioCopiaCopia FOREIGN KEY (CodiceCopia) REFERENCES `Copia`(`CodiceCopia`) on DELETE CASCADE on UPDATE cascade; I get ERROR 1005 (HY000): Can't create table `BibliotecaLello`.`#sql-2f7_2c2` (errno: 150 "Foreign key constraint is incorrectly formed") I've tried look into SHOW ENGINE INNODB STATUS and this is the result of the LATEST FOREIGN KEY ERROR 2019-12-02 14:37:25 75ea2340 Error in foreign key constraint of table `BibliotecaLello`.`Noleggio`: FOREIGN KEY (CodiceCopia) REFERENCES `Copia`(`CodiceCopia`) on DELETE CASCADE on UPDATE cascade: Cannot find an index in the referenced table where the referenced columns appear as the first columns, or column types in the table and the referenced table do not match for constraint. My teacher said me that it means that I'm altering the wrong table, but trying with both tables it still doesn't work. Can you please help me solving this problem? A: When I run this code: alter table Noleggio add CONSTRAINT fkNoleggioCopiaCopia FOREIGN KEY (CodiceCopia) REFERENCES `Copia`(`CodiceCopia`) on DELETE CASCADE on UPDATE cascade; It gives me error: Failed to add the foreign key constraint. Missing index for constraint 'fkNoleggioCopiaCopia' in the referenced table 'Copia' The problem is that, in the referenced table, column CodiceCopia is defined as the second column in the UNIQUE key: create table Copia ( CodiceLibro integer not null, CodiceCopia integer not null, unique(CodiceLibro, CodiceCopia) ); This is a documented behavior: Foreign key constraints are subject to the following conditions and restrictions: MySQL requires indexes on foreign keys and referenced keys so that foreign key checks can be fast and not require a table scan. In the referencing table, there must be an index where the foreign key columns are listed as the first columns in the same order. A simple solution is to make it the first column in the constraint, as follows: create table Copia ( CodiceLibro integer not null, CodiceCopia integer not null, unique(CodiceCopia, CodiceLibro) ); Side note: it would be good to a proper primary key on that table. Demo on DB Fiddle	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange" }	8,001
<?php /** * * Describe map of River Basins for Australia * */ class ContextLayerAustralianRiverBasins extends Action implements iAction { public function __construct() { parent::__construct(); $this->ActionName(__CLASS__); $this->FinderName("ContextLayerFinder"); } public function __destruct() { parent::__destruct(); } public function Execute() { $d = new SpatialDescription(); $d->DataName("ContextLayerAustralianRiverBasins"); $d->Filename(configuration::ContextSpatialLayersFolder()."Australia/RiverBasins1997/rbasin_polygon.shp"); $d->SpatialDatatype(spatial_util::$SPATIAL_TYPE_LINE); $d->Attribute('BNAME'); $d->Description("Australian River Basins"); $this->Result($d); return $d; } } ?>	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub" }	3,172
package org.pentaho.di.trans.steps.xmljoin; import org.pentaho.di.core.row.RowMetaInterface; import org.pentaho.di.core.RowSet; import org.pentaho.di.trans.step.BaseStepData; import org.pentaho.di.trans.step.StepDataInterface; import org.w3c.dom.Document; import org.w3c.dom.Node; import org.w3c.dom.NodeList; /** * @author Ingo Klose * @since 30-apr-2008 / public class XMLJoinData extends BaseStepData implements StepDataInterface { public RowMetaInterface outputRowMeta; public RowSet TargetRowSet; public RowSet SourceRowSet; public Object[] outputRowData; public Document targetDOM; public Node targetNode; public NodeList targetNodes; public String XPathStatement; public int iSourceXMLField = -1; public int iCompareFieldID = -1; /* * */ public XMLJoinData() { super(); } }	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub" }	2,133
Lophocebus aterrimus opdenboschi est une sous-espèce de primates de la famille des cercopithécidés qui vit en Afrique. Notes et références Liens externes Cercopithecidae	{ "redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia" }	6,264

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