Quotulatiousness

November 26, 2023

QotD: From Industrial Revolution labour surplus to modern era academic surplus

Back in Early Modern England, enclosure led to a massive over-supply of labor. The urge to explore and colonize was driven, to an unknowable but certainly large extent, by the effort to find something for all those excess people to DO. The fact that they’d take on the brutal terms of indenture in the New World tells you all you need to know about how bad that labor over-supply made life back home. The same with “industrial innovation”. The first Industrial Revolution never lacked for workers, and indeed, Marxism appealed back in its day because the so-called “Iron Law of Wages” seemed to apply — given that there were always more workers than jobs …

The great thing about industrial work, though, is that you don’t have to be particularly bright to do it. There’s always going to be a fraction of the population that fails the IQ test, no matter how low you set the bar, but in the early Industrial Revolution that bar was pretty low indeed. So much so, in fact, that pretty soon places like America were experiencing drastic labor shortages, and there’s your history of 19th century immigration. The problem, though, isn’t the low IQ guys. It’s the high-IQ guys whose high IQs don’t line up with remunerative skills.

My academic colleagues were a great example, which is why they were all Marxists. I make fun of their stupidity all the time, but the truth is, they’re most of them bright enough, IQ-wise. Not geniuses by any means, but let’s say 120 IQ on average. Alas, as we all know, 120-with-verbal-dexterity is a very different thing from 120-and-good-with-a-slide-rule. Academics are the former, and any society that wants to remain stable HAS to find something for those people to do. Trust me on this: You do not want to be the obviously smartest guy in the room when everyone else in the room is, say, a plumber. This is no knock on plumbers, who by and large are cool guys, but it IS a knock on the high-IQ guy’s ego. Yeah, maybe I can write you a mean sonnet, or a nifty essay on the problems of labor over-supply in 16th century England, but those guys build stuff. And they get paid.

Those guys — the non-STEM smart guys — used to go into academia, and that used to be enough. Alas, soon enough we had an oversupply of them, too, which is why academia soon became the academic-industrial complex. 90% of what goes on at a modern university is just make-work. It’s either bullshit nobody needs, like “education” majors, or it’s basically just degrees in “activism”. It’s like Say’s Law for retards — supply creates its own demand, in this case subsidized by a trillion-dollar student loan industry. Better, much better, that it should all be plowed under, and the fields salted.

Any society digging itself out of the rubble of the future should always remember: No overproduction of elites!

Severian, “The Academic-Industrial Complex”, Rotten Chestnuts, 2021-05-30.

November 25, 2023

Crystal Palace Station is Needlessly Magnificent

Jago Hazzard
Published 9 Aug 2023

Crystal Palace and the station built for it. Well, one of them.
(more…)

November 19, 2023

Ted Gioia wonders if we need a “new Romanticism”

Filed under: Books, Europe, History, Media — Tags: , , , , , — Nicholas @ 05:00

He raised the question earlier this year, and it’s sticking with him to the point he’s gathering notes on the original Romantic movement and what it was reacting against:

The issues that enraged the original Luddites certainly have many modern echoes.

I realized that, the more I looked at what happened circa 1800, the more it reminded me of our current malaise.

  • Rationalist and algorithmic models were dominating every sphere of life at that midpoint in the Industrial Revolution — and people started resisting the forces of progress.
  • Companies grew more powerful, promising productivity and prosperity. But Blake called them “dark Satanic mills” and Luddites started burning down factories — a drastic and futile step, almost the equivalent of throwing away your smartphone.
  • Even as science and technology produced amazing results, dysfunctional behaviors sprang up everywhere. The pathbreaking literary works from the late 1700s reveal the dark side of the pervasive techno-optimism — Goethe’s novel about Werther’s suicide [Wiki], the Marquis de Sade’s nasty stories [Wiki], and all those gloomy Gothic novels [Wiki]. What happened to the Enlightenment?
  • As the new century dawned, the creative class (as we would call it today) increasingly attacked rationalist currents that had somehow morphed into violent, intrusive forces in their lives — an 180 degree shift in the culture. For Blake and others, the name Newton became a term of abuse.
  • Artists, especially poets and musicians, took the lead in this revolt. They celebrated human feeling and emotional attachments — embracing them as more trustworthy, more flexible, more desirable than technology, profits, and cold calculation.

That’s the world, circa 1800.

The new paradigm shocked Europe when it started to spread. Cultural elites had just assumed that science and reason would control everything in the future. But that wasn’t how it played out.

Resemblances with the current moment are not hard to see.

    “Imagine a growing sense that algorithmic and mechanistic thinking has become too oppressive. Imagine if people started resisting technology. Imagine a revolt against STEM’s dominance. Imagine people deciding that the good life starts with NOT learning how to code.”

These considerations led me, about nine months ago, to conduct a deep dive into the history of the Romanticist movement. I wanted to see what the historical evidence told me.

I’ve devoted hours every day to this — reading stacks of books, both primary and secondary sources, on the subject. I’ve supplemented it with a music listening program and a study of visual art from the era.

What’s my goal? I’m still not entirely sure.

November 15, 2023

“If you cannot make your own pig iron, you are just LARP’n as a real power”

Filed under: Britain, History, Technology — Tags: , , , , — Nicholas @ 04:00

CDR Salamander talks about the importance of an old industry to a modern industrial economy:

We probably need to start this out by explaining exactly what a blast furnace is and why it is important if you want to be a sovereign nation.

First of all, what it does;

    The purpose of blast furnace is to chemically reduce and physically convert iron oxide into liquid iron called “hot metal” The blast furnace is a huge, steel stack lined with refractory brick where iron ore, coke and limestone are charged into the top and preheated air is blown into the bottom. The raw materials require 6 to 8 hours to descend to the bottom of the furnace where they become the final product of liquid slag and liquid iron. These liquid products are drained from the furnace at regular intervals. The hot air that was blown into the bottom of the surface ascends to the top in 6 to 8 seconds after going through numerous chemical reactions. Once the blast furnace is started it continuously runs for four to ten years with only short stops to perform planned maintenance.

Why are blast furnaces so important? Remember the middle part of Billy Joel’s “Iron, coke, chromium steel?”

“Coke” is in essence purified coal, almost pure carbon. It is about the only thing that can at scale make “new” or raw iron, aka “pig iron”. Only coke in a blast furnace can make enough heat to turn iron ore in to iron. You can’t get that heat with an electric furnace.

Pig iron is the foundation of everything that follows that makes an industrial power. If you cannot make your own pig iron, you are just LARP’n as a real power.

It takes a semester at least to understand this, but here is all you really need to know;

    Primary differences

    While the end product from each of these is comparable, there are clearly differences between their capabilities and process. Comparing each type of furnace, the major distinctions are:

    Material source – blast furnaces can melt raw iron ore as well as recycled metal, while electric arc furnaces only melt recycled or scrap metal.

    Power supply – blast furnaces primarily use coke to supply the energy needed to heat up the metal, while EAFs use electricity to accomplish this.

    Environmental impact – because of the fuels used for each, EAFs can produce up to 85% less carbon dioxide than blast furnaces.

    Cost – EAFs cost less than blast furnaces and take up less space in a factory.

    Efficiency – EAFs also reach higher temperatures much faster and can melt and produce products more quickly, as well as having more precise control over the temperature compared to blast furnaces.

We’ll get to that environmental impact later, but the “Material source” section is your money quote.

Without a blast furnace, all you can do is recycle scrap iron.

You cannot fight wars at scale if all you have is scrap iron. You cannot be an industrial hub off of just scrap iron. If you are a nation of any size, you then become economically and security vulnerable at an existential level. I don’t care how much science fiction you get nakid and roll in; wars are won by steel, ungodly amounts of steel.

Where do you get the steel to build your warships? Your tanks? Your factories? Your buildings? Your factories?

If you can only use scrap, then you are simply a scavenger living off the hard work of previous generations. Eventually you run out. You will wind up like the cypress mills of old Florida where, once they ran out of cypress trees, they simply sold off the cypress lumber their mills were constructed of … and then went bankrupt.

July 29, 2023

The brief – but vastly profitable – heyday of Parys Mountain

Filed under: Britain, Business, History — Tags: , , , — Nicholas @ 04:00

In the latest Age of Invention newsletter, Anton Howes discusses the engine behind the meteoric rise of Britain’s “Copper King”, Thomas Williams:

Parys Mine Shaft. View down a shaft at Parys Mine.
Photo by Stephen Elwyn Roddick – CC BY-SA 2.0

At the time More visited, Thomas Williams had only just begun his rapid rise to power. He was already a major industrialist and grown stupendously wealthy. When More asked about his stables, Williams apparently could not even estimate how many he possessed to the nearest ten. But Williams not yet even master of the mountain.

Nonetheless, the mining was well underway. The closest port, Amlwch, was already connected to the mountain by a new road that had been built for the Parys Mine Company’s sole use. Having not long ago been a village of just six houses, Amlwch had turned into a bustling port.

The mine itself was a source of fascination. “This differs from any mine I had ever seen or perhaps is anywhere else to be found, for the ore here instead of being met with in veins is collected into one great mass, so that it is dug in quarries and brought out in carts without any shafts being sunk”. Instead, the miners hollowed out the mountain itself, forming vast caverns that they supported by simply leaving vast columns of the ore untouched. He noted at least four or five of these caverns with ceilings forty feet high, with columns of yellow ore: “the whole seemed like the ruins of some magnificent building whose pillars had been of massy brass.”

It’s a fascinating insight into what Parys would have very briefly looked like, because today there is so little of the mountain left. Indeed, some of the caverns More got to see were already collapsing, with the rubble then needing to be sorted. He describes how one such piece of rubble — a two-ton chunk of ore — had to be bored, the cavity rammed with gunpowder and sealed with stones, and then exploded. “They are continually blowing up parts of the mine”, he noted, and was informed that the part of the mine he was visiting alone got through 10-12 tons of gunpowder per year. The mountain was disintegrating, punctuated by the occasional boom.

And as though that were not dramatic enough, the whole place smelled like hell. When More visited there were some seventy vast kilns upon the mountain for calcining the ore, burning off its sulphur. Each kiln held some 2,000 tons of ore, and when ignited with a little dried vegetation or coal it was so sulphurous that it took four months of furious burning for the ore to be sufficiently calcined. He noted that one had to keep to the windward side of the kilns, as “the fumes arising from them are very disagreeable and destroy all vegetables for a considerable distance around them.”

May 27, 2023

The true purpose of the Great Exhibition of 1851

Filed under: Britain, History, Technology — Tags: , , , , — Nicholas @ 05:00

In the latest Age of Invention newsletter, Anton Howes considers the “why” of the 1851 Great Exhibition:

The Crystal Palace from the northeast during the Great Exhibition of 1851, image from the 1852 book Dickinsons’ comprehensive pictures of the Great Exhibition of 1851
Wikimedia Commons.

Ever since researching my book on the history of the Royal Society of Arts, I’ve been fascinated by the Great Exhibition of 1851, which they initiated. Like most people, I had once assumed that the exhibition was just a big celebration of Victorian technological superiority — a brash excuse to rub the British Industrial Revolution in the rest of the world’s faces. But my research into the origins of the event revealed that it was almost the opposite. Far from being a jingoistic expression of superiority, it was actually motivated by a worry that Britain was rapidly losing its place. It was an attempt to prevent decline by learning from other countries. It was largely about not falling behind.

Industrial exhibitions already had a long history in 1851, as a crucial weapon in other countries’ innovation policy arsenals. They were used by countries like France in particular — which held an exhibition every few years from 1798 — as a means of catching up with Britain’s technology. This sounds strange nowadays, when the closest apparent parallels are vanity projects like the Millennium Experience, the recent controversial “Festival of Brexit” that ended up just being a bunch of temporary visitor attractions all over the country, and glitzy mega-events like the World’s Fairs. But the World’s Fairs, albeit notional successors to the Great Exhibition, have strayed very far from the original vision and purpose. They’re now more about celebration, infotainment and national branding, whereas the original industrial exhibitions had concrete economic aims.

Industrial exhibitions were originally much more akin to specialist industry fairs, with producers showing off their latest products, sort of combined with academic conferences, with scientists demonstrating their latest advances. Unlike modern industry fairs and conferences, however, which tend to be highly specialised, appealing to just a few people with niche interests, industrial exhibitions showed everything, altogether, all at once. They achieved a more widespread appeal to the public by being a gigantic event that was so much more than the sum of its parts — often helped along by the impressive edifices that housed them. The closest parallel is perhaps the Consumer Electronics Show, held since 1967 in the United States. But even this only focuses on particular categories of industry, and is largely catered towards attendees already interested in “tech”. Industrial exhibitions were like the CES, but for everything.

The point of all this, rather than just being an event for its own sake, was to actually improve the things on display. This happened in a number of ways, each of them complementing the other.

Concentration generated serendipity. By having such a vast variety of industries and discoveries presented at the same event, exhibitions greatly raised the chances of serendipitous discovery. A manufacturer exhibiting textiles might come across a new material from an unfamiliar region, prompting them to import it for the first time. An inventor working on a niche problem might see the scientific demonstration of a concept that had not occurred to them, providing a solution.

Comparison bred emulation. Producers, by seeing their competitors’ products physically alongside their own, would see how things could be done better. They could learn from their competitors, with the laggards being embarrassed into improving their products for next time. And this could take place at a much broader, country-wide level, revealing the places that were outperforming others and giving would-be reformers the evidence they needed to discover and adopt policies from elsewhere.

Exposure shattered complacency. The visiting public, as users and buyers of the things on display, would be exposed to superior products. This was especially effective for international exhibitions of industry, of which the Great Exhibition was the first, and simulated an effect that had only ever really been achieved through expensive foreign travel — by being exposed to things they hadn’t realised could already be so much better than what they were accustomed to, consumers raised their standards. They forced the usual suppliers of their products to either raise their game or lose out to foreign ones.

May 20, 2023

QotD: Alienation

One of Marx’s most famous concepts, “alienation” initially meant “the systemic separation of a worker from the product of his labor”. The result of a craftsman’s labor is directly visible beneath his hands, growing by the day; when he’s done, the shirt (or whatever) sits there before him, fully finished. The factory worker, by contrast, is little more than a machine-tender; he pulls the lever, and the finished article is squirted out somewhere far down the line, automatically, by machine. His “labor” consists of lever-pulling and jam-clearing.

It was a real enough insight into the psychology of factory work, and Marx deserves all the credit he got for it, but “alienation” was even more useful in a broad social context — the separation of man from the cultural products of his society. After all, if capitalism is the mode of production around which society organizes itself, and the products of capitalism are by definition alienated from their producers, then by extension capitalist society must be alienated from itself. Indeed, what could “society” even mean, in a world of lever-pullers and bearing-lubers and jam-clearers?

Again, a profound and important insight into the social conditions of the Industrial Age. Ours is a mechanical, transactional world, one not well-suited to the kind of organism we are. That’s why Marxism and its spacey little brother Nazism are both what Jeffrey Herf calls “reactionary modernism.” The Communists thought they were the endpoint of the Enlightenment; the Nazis rejected it entirely; but both of them were curdled Romantics, in love with Enlightenment science while terrified of that science’s society. Lenin said that Communism was “Soviet power plus electrification”. Goebbels wasn’t that pithy, but “the feudal system plus autobahns” is pretty much what he meant by Nazism, and both boil down to “medieval peasant villages with air conditioning”.

That the one excludes the other — necessarily, comrade, necessarily, in the full Hegelian sense of the word — never occurred to either of them shouldn’t really be held against them, since both of them were determined to freeze the world exactly as it was. Both were so terrified of individuality that they were determined to stamp it out, not realizing that individuality was the only thing that made their fantasy worlds possible. Medieval peasants who were happy being medieval peasants never would’ve invented air conditioning in the first place, nicht wahr?

Severian, “Alienation”, Rotten Chestnuts, 2020-10-29.

April 4, 2023

When the steam engine itself was an “intangible”

Filed under: Britain, History, Technology — Tags: , , , , — Nicholas @ 05:00

In the latest Age of Invention newsletter, Anton Howes explains why the steam engine patent of James Watt didn’t immediately lead to Watt and his partner Matthew Boulton building a factory to create physical engines:

Diagram of a Watt steam engine from Practical physics for secondary schools (1913).
Wikimedia Commons.

… one of the most famous business partnerships of the British Industrial Revolution — that between Matthew Boulton and James Watt from 1775 — was originally almost entirely based on intangibles.

That probably sounds surprising. James Watt — a Scottish scientific instrument-maker, chemist and civil engineer — became most famous for his improvements to the steam engine, an almost archetypal example of physical capital. In the late 1760s he radically improved the fuel efficiency of the older Newcomen engine, and then developed ways to regulate the motions of its piston — traditionally applied only to pumping water — so that it could be suitable for directly driving machinery (I’ll write more on the invention itself soon). His partnership with Matthew Boulton, a Birmingham manufacturer of buttons, candlesticks, metal buckles and the like — then called “toys” — was also based from a large, physical site full of specialised machinery: the Soho Manufactory. On the face of it, these machines and factories all sound very traditionally tangible.

But the Soho Manufactory was largely devoted to Boulton’s other, older, and ongoing businesses, and it was only much later — over twenty years after Boulton and Watt formally became partners — that they established the Soho Foundry to manufacture the improved engines themselves. The establishment of the Soho Foundry heralded James Watt’s effective retirement, with the management of this more tangible concern largely passing to his and Boulton’s sons. And when Watt retired formally, in 1800, this coincided with the full depreciation of the intangible asset upon which he and Boulton had built their business: his patent.

Watt had first patented his improvements to the steam engine in 1769, giving him a 14-year window in which to exploit them without any legal competition. But his financial backer, John Roebuck, who had a two-thirds share in the patent, was bankrupted by his other business interests and struggled to support the engine’s development. Watt thus spent the first few years of his patent monopoly as a consultant on various civil engineering projects — canals, docks, harbours, and town water supplies — in order to make ends meet. The situation gave him little time, capital, or opportunity to exploit his steam engine patent until Roebuck was eventually persuaded to sell his two-thirds share to Matthew Boulton. With just eight years left on the patent, and having already wasted six, Boulton and Watt lobbied Parliament to grant them an extension that would allow them to bring their improvements into full use. In 1775 Watt’s patent was extended by Parliament for a further twenty-five years, to last until 1800. It was upon this unusually extended patent that they then built their unusually and explicitly intangible business.

How was it intangible? As Boulton and Watt put it themselves, “we only sell the licence for erecting our engines, and the purchaser of such licence erects his engine at his own expence”. This was their standard response to potential customers asking how much they would charge for an engine with a piston cylinder of particular dimensions. The answer was, essentially, that they didn’t actually sell physical steam engines at all, so there was no way of estimating a comparable figure. Instead, they sold licences to the improvements on a case-by-case basis — “we make an agreement for each engine distinctly” — by first working out how much fuel a standard, old-style Newcomen engine would require when put to use in that place and context, and then charging only a third of the saving in fuel that Watt’s improvements would provide. “The sum therefore to be paid during the working of any engine is not to be determined by the diameter of the cylinder, but by the quantity of coals saved and by the price of coals at the place where the engine is erected.” They fitted the licensed engines with meters to see how many times they had been used, sending agents to read the meters and collect their royalties every month or year, depending on the location.

This method of charging worked well for refitting existing Newcomen engines with Watt’s improvements — in those cases the savings would be obvious. It also meant that Boulton and Watt incentivised themselves to expand the total market for steam engines. The older Newcomen engines were mainly used for pumping water out of coal mines, where the coal to run them was at its cheapest. It was one of the few places where Newcomen engines were cost-effective. But for Watt and Boulton it was at the places where coals were most expensive, and where their improvements could thus make the largest fuel savings, that they could charge the highest royalties. As Boulton wrote to Watt in 1776, the licensing of an engine for the coal mine of one Sir Archibald Hope “will not be worth your attention as his coals are so very cheap”. It was instead at the copper and tin mines of Cornwall, where coal was often expensive, having to be transported from Wales, that the royalties would be the most profitable. As Watt put it to an old mentor of his in 1778, “our affairs in other parts of England go on very well but no part can or will pay us so well as Cornwall”.

June 15, 2022

QotD: The gobsmacking magnitude of “The Great Enrichment”

Filed under: Economics, History, Quotations — Tags: , , — Nicholas @ 01:00

Serious growth happened only after 1800, at first in northwestern Europe, 2% per capita in PPP [purchasing power parity] conventionally adjusted for inflation, as in the USA 1800–present, and now the world. Its magnitude is enormous, the Great Enrichment. It was a rise from $2 or $3 a day to over $100, a factor of 30. (I recently had to explain to a justly famous anthropologist that [(30–1) / 1] x 100 is 2,900%, or about 3,000%. He said that he could believe a factor of 30 … but not 3,000%.)

The exactitude, of course, is inessential. In Japan and Finland it was roughly the factor of 30. But it could be the worldwide factor since 1800 of 10 only, about $2 or $3 to $30 a day (to $10,000 a year, the level of Brazil now, to fix ideas), and still be utterly novel. As a Brit might say, the Great Enrichment was gobsmacking.

The enrichment was actually much greater than the factor of 30, because price indices, especially recently, do not adequately reflect improvements in quality, as was determined in the early 1990s by the Boskin Commission … Consider your cell phone, your auto tires, your medical treatment — all greatly better, recently. Even economic facts and analyses are better. (Well, sometimes.) The downward bias from inadequately deflating money prices for improved quality is not far from 2% per year, which would double recent growth rates in the rich countries.

Its magnitude, novelty, recency, and location are all crucial to explaining the Great Enrichment, because together they strongly suggest that there was something deeply peculiar about Britain in the 18th century, and that afterwards the peculiarity spread to the rest of the world. Such facts make “run-up” theories such as in Stephen Broadberry et alii look implausible, because they depend on a metaphor of an airplane taking off, with little else by way of explanation for why the Industrial Revolution (a factor of 2) happened or, especially, its follow-on the Great Enrichment (a factor of 20 or 30). Likewise, it is dubious to attach the Great Enrichment to remote causes within Europe, such as the Black Death — which originated in China, with similar terrors, and yet yielded no Great Enrichment there. Also dubious is the Eurocentric belief, prominent in conservative circles, of some ancient superiority of melanin-challenged Volk back in the Black Forest. (Did you know, for example, that all European countries had common law in the Middle Ages, that is, judge-found-and-made, not legislated or codified?)

The Great Enrichment is the second most important secular event in human history, second only to the domestication of plants and animals making for cities and literacy.

Dierdre McCloskey, “How Growth Happens: Liberalism, Innovism, and the Great Enrichment (Preliminary version)” [PDF], 2018-11-29.

May 1, 2022

The Victorian-era “guarantee fund” model for risky enterprises

In the latest Age of Inventions newsletter, Anton Howes wonders why we don’t have a modern equivalent to the funding mechanism that helped create the Great Exhibition of 1851 and other events that provided benefits to the public without government backing:

The Crystal Palace from the northeast during the Great Exhibition of 1851.
Image from the 1852 book Dickinsons’ comprehensive pictures of the Great Exhibition of 1851 via Wikimedia Commons.

As I’ve mentioned before, exhibitions of industry were not just celebrations of technological progress, but could become engines for progress as well. For the inventors, artists, and engineers who exhibited, the events were a direct inducement to improvement. And for the public who visited, the events exposed them to what was possible, encouraging them to raise their demands as both consumers and citizens, ideally inspiring them to become future innovators too.

But how was it all paid for? Unlike its national-level precursors in France, the Great Exhibition was not a state-run event. Even more remarkably, its organisers also failed to raise anywhere near enough private subscriptions to cover their costs. Instead, they used something that called a “guarantee fund”.

Instead of asking for donations from supporters up-front, the organisers asked them to commit to covering the exhibitions potential losses up to certain amounts — to be paid only if the money was required. Based on the security provided by this crowdsourced guarantee fund, the organisers then raised an ordinary bank loan in order to get the cash they needed to actually hold the event. Crucially, the guarantors didn’t actually have to spend anything unless the event made a loss, and if the event broke even or even made a surplus thanks to ticket fees, then they would never spend a penny at all. (Luckily for them, that’s exactly what happened in 1851, and for many later exhibitions too.)

What’s interesting to me about the guarantee fund is that I can’t quite think of anything quite like it today. There are perhaps more individualised versions of it, like when a neighbour or friend acts as a guarantor for a mortgage. And governments sometimes provide guarantees for certain sectors or industries too. There have also been a few profit-making versions of it in certain industries, where the guarantors potentially get some share of the upside too (“Names” at the Lloyds of London insurance and reinsurance market sounds similar, though even these are disappearing). But I’ve not seen anything like what the Victorians did, essentially using a guarantee fund to leverage philanthropy.

This is surprising to me. It seems like it has a lot of major advantages, especially for those who might want to replicate the exhibitions of industry today, or indeed for any kind of capital-intensive philanthropic endeavour that could eventually be expected in some measure to pay for itself. (I can’t help but think it would be useful in efforts to speed up the de-carbonisation of the economy, for example — a potential application that I’ve been exploring in my conversations with the people at Carbon Upcycling.)

Consider that with a guarantee fund anyone able to afford the risk could considerably increase the philanthropic value of their assets. Say that you could afford to donate £100 right away, but could donate three times that amount at a pinch (e.g. by having to liquidate some funds in shares). You could thus guarantee £100 each to three different causes, potentially without ever actually having to donate it, and knowing that in the worst case scenario you would never have to spend more than the £300 you can afford.

After all, those signing up to the guarantee fund essentially chose what their maximum liability would be if the event were to make a loss. If they were confident in the event’s success, then they probably believed that they would not have to pay anything at all. And if not, they had at least named the maximum donation they might eventually be asked to give.

December 10, 2021

History Summarized: Britain and the Empire

Overly Sarcastic Productions
Published 20 Aug 2021

How is it that the history of some islands off the northern coast of Europe balloons into a worldwide history? Empire is how! Let’s dig into the history of Britain since Union of the Crowns of England and Scotland in 1603, and follow that narrative through the monumental rise and precipitous fall of the British Empire.

Special thanks to the community members on Discord who assisted me with my script: Corvin the Crow, Johnny, Jdedredhed, Joud, Jéuname, Klieg, RileyTheProcrastinator, The Missing Link, and thesleepingmeerkat

SOURCES & Further Reading: The Great Courses Lecture series Foundations of Western Civilization II: A History of the Modern Western World by Robert Buchols lectures 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 30, The History Of England volumes 3 Rebellion, 4 Revolution & 5 Dominion by Peter Ackroyd, Scotland: A Concise History by Fitzroy MacLean, The Great Cities in History by John Julius Norwich, A Concise History of Wales by Geraint H. Jenkins, Sea Power: The History and Geopolitics of the World’s Oceans by James Stavridis.

Our content is intended for teenage audiences and up.

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October 19, 2021

Places – Lost in Time: The Crystal Palace

Ruairidh MacVeigh
Published 1 Jun 2020

This is a reupload of my original Crystal Palace video, which I had to take down and do some amendments to in order to fix some technical issues.

Hello! 😀

Not to change the format so early in it’s conception, but here I present an idea I’ve had for several years now, but am proud to finally bring to fruition.

For as long as I can remember I have been fascinated by places that have either been abandoned or destroyed, not so much out of interest for how they were lost, but more the microcosm of society that revolved around them — how people interacted with them and made them more human. Specifically, places which existed in living memory or photographic record are the ones that have captured my imagination the most, as you can see how people did interact with these wondrous locations and almost put yourself in their shoes.

Therefore, without further ado, I present Episode 1 of Places — Lost in Time, with my first feature being the lavish and opulent Crystal Palace in London. This video follows the history of the two structures to share this iconic name, and how both were created through Victorian engineering feats, how they became icons of British culture, and how they eventually met their end.

All video content and images in this production have been provided with permission wherever possible. While I endeavour to ensure that all accreditations properly name the original creator, some of my sources do not list them as they are usually provided by other, unrelated YouTubers. Therefore, if I have mistakenly put the accreditation of “Unknown”, and you are aware of the original creator, please send me a personal message at my Gmail (this is more effective than comments as I am often unable to read all of them): rorymacveigh@gmail.com

The views and opinions expressed in this video are my personal appraisal and are not the views and opinions of any of these individuals or bodies who have kindly supplied me with footage and images.

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References:
– British Library (and their respective references)
– Victoria and Albert Museum (and their respective references)
– Wikipedia (and its respective references)

Music – YouTube Audio Library

August 31, 2021

Isambard Kingdom Brunel: The Genius of the Industrial Revolution

Biographics
Published 23 Mar 2020

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Oxford National Dictionary of Biography: https://www.oxforddnb.com/view/10.109…
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Britannica: https://www.britannica.com/biography/…
History Today: https://www.historytoday.com/archive/…
The Thames Tunnel: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/histor…
The atmospheric railway: https://www.theguardian.com/science/t…
SS Great Britain accident: https://www.ssgreatbritain.org/about-…

August 2, 2021

The World of the Franco-Prussian War – The 19th Century up to 1870 I GLORY & DEFEAT

realtimehistory
Published 30 Jun 2021

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Welcome to the first primer episode for Glory & Defeat. In this first primer episode we will take a broad look at the industrial revolution and the emerging new ideologies of the 19th century: Communism and Nationalism.

» OUR PODCAST
https://realtimehistory.net/podcast – interviews with historians and background info for the show.

» LITERATURE
Hobsbawm, Eric: The long nineteenth century. 3 Bände. London 1962-1987

Kugler, Martin: “Fehleinschätzungen der Menschheit”, in: Die Presse v. 28.2.2010. o.S

Osterhammel, Jürgen: Die Verwandlung der Welt. Eine Geschichte des 19. Jahrhunderts. München 2009

Bruckmüller, Ernst et. al. (ed.): Putzger. Historischer Weltatlas. Berlin 2001

Staas, Christian: “Im Schatten der Schlote”, in: Geo Epoche Nr. 30. Die industrielle Revolution. 2008. S. 72-85

Bischoff, Jürgen: “Vorwärts durch Raum und Zeit”, in: Geo Epoche Nr. 30. Die industrielle Revolution. 2008. S. 56-71

» SOURCES
Engels, Friedrich: Die Lage der arbeitenden Klasse in England. Leipzig 1845

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Website: https://realtimehistory.net

»CREDITS
Presented by: Jesse Alexander
Written by: Cathérine Pfauth, Prof. Dr. Tobias Arand, Jesse Alexander
Director: Toni Steller & Florian Wittig
Director of Photography: Toni Steller
Sound: Above Zero
Editing: Toni Steller
Motion Design: Philipp Appelt
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Maps: Battlefield Design https://www.battlefield-design.co.uk/
Research by: Cathérine Pfauth, Prof. Dr. Tobias Arand
Fact checking: Cathérine Pfauth, Prof. Dr. Tobias Arand

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All rights reserved – Real Time History GmbH 2021

July 2, 2021

Britain’s “agricultural revolution”

Filed under: Britain, Economics, History, Technology — Tags: , , , — Nicholas @ 03:00

In the latest Age of Invention newsletter, Anton Howes wonders about the almost-forgotten revolution that pre-dated the much better known Industrial Revolution:

Illustration of a seed drill from Horse-hoeing husbandry, 4th edition by Jethro Tull, 1762 (original work 1731).
Wikimedia Commons.

Whatever happened to “the Agricultural Revolution” of seventeenth and eighteenth-century Britain? In recent years I’ve hardly seen the term used at all, and the last major book on the subject was seemingly published twenty-five years ago. It has become almost totally eclipsed by its more famous sibling “the Industrial Revolution”, with its vivid associations of cotton, coal, and exponential hockey-stick graphs.

Yet for all that popularity, nearly every book investigating the causes of modern economic growth complains about the use of The Industrial Revolution. Even one of the pioneers of economic history, T. S. Ashton, who actually wrote the book The Industrial Revolution, complained on the very second page about the term’s inaccuracy. Much like “Holy Roman Empire”, there’s an error in every word. It involved too many series of changes to really be a The, was about so much more than just industry, and was too gradual a process to properly call a revolution. Yet Ashton had to concede that the term had “become so firmly embedded in common speech that it would be pedantic to offer a substitute.” And this was in 1948. In the intervening three quarters of a century, the term has become all the more difficult to dislodge.

I am, like everyone else, guilty of perpetuating the term Industrial Revolution. It’s a useful shorthand for people to at least get a rough idea of what I’m talking about, for me to then refine. Best to start with what people know, or at least what they think they know, and go from there. You may think of the Industrial Revolution as being about cotton, coal, and steam, but the period also saw major developments in every other industry, from agriculture to watch-making, and everything in-between. And so on. My preferred terms, like “acceleration of innovation”, always require at least a paragraph or two of explanation first.

With the term Agricultural Revolution, however, there’s just no need to reference it. Nobody really talks about it, or has anything more than a very vague conception of what it may mean. At best, people recall a few things from decades-old textbooks: names like “Turnip” Townshend or Jethro Tull, and perhaps a smattering of jargon like selective breeding, crop rotation, or enclosures. Even these are widely misunderstood. See last week’s post, for patrons, on how we get almost everything about the enclosure movement wrong. As for the Agricultural Revolution’s timing, who knows? When, over the course of the sixteenth, seventeenth, eighteenth, and maybe even nineteenth centuries is it supposed to have occurred? With the Industrial Revolution, there’s at least a “classic” period of 1760-1830, with a few decades of leeway. That is of course up for debate, and I’m especially keen on pushing it back much earlier, but it’s at least a half-decent starting point. With the Agricultural Revolution, there’s just no baseline at all. The experts themselves can’t agree.

For all that the term Agricultural Revolution has lost its salience, however, early modern changes to the productivity of agriculture were perhaps the most important of all. The ability to support a much larger population is itself a major economic achievement. For all that we obsess over historical measures of GDP per person, we often forget the much earlier and extraordinary increase in just the sheer number of people. In the early seventeenth century England’s population not only recovered to its pre-Black Death peak of about 5 million, but then from 1700 onwards it began to exceed it. By 1800, after just another century, the population of Britain had doubled to 10 million. And this in a period throughout which the country was a net exporter of grain.

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