Academic literature on the topic 'Ont Louth'

Measuring sedimentation rates may provide useful information on the habitat preferences of marine organisms. To understand the effect of flow rates and meteorological conditions on sedimentation in the absence of other confounding factors, sedimentation of organic (OM) and inorganic (IOM) matters was measured at 6 sites in Lough Hyne Marine Reserve (a semienclosed marine lake) over the course of 13 months. During winter, both OM and IOM were imported to the Lough, peaking in December at Whirlpool, the site nearest to the Lough entrance, likely as a result of extreme weather conditions causing resuspension of matter outside the Lough. Highest inorganic matter (IOM) sedimentation occurred in December (47.36 gm−2d−1at Whirlpool Cliff) and was related to November wind speeds (, ). Decreasing current speed also caused a decline in IOM sedimentation. Highest OM sedimentation occurred in December at Whirlpool (5.59 gm−2d−1), but was not related to meteorological conditions. No single environmental factor strongly influenced organic matter (OM) sedimentation. One-way ANOVAs on OM and log-transformed IOM data showed that sedimentation differed significantly amongst the six sites within the Lough. Increased plankton production in the Lough during summer led to increased OM sedimentation in areas of low current speed away from the entrance of the Lough.

Introduction The first “Aquarius Festival” came together in Canberra, at the Australian National University, in the autumn of 1971 and was reprised in 1973 in the small rural town of Nimbin, in northern New South Wales. Both events reflected the Zeitgeist in what was, in some ways, an inchoate expression of the so-called “counterculture” (Roszak). Rather than attempting to analyse the counterculture as a discrete movement with a definable history, I enlist the theory of cultural memes to read the counter culture as a Dawkinsian cluster meme, with this paper offered as “testimonio”, a form of quasi-political memoir that views shifts in the culture through the lens of personal experience (Zimmerman, Yúdice). I track an evolving personal, “internal” topography and map its points of intersection with the radical social, political and cultural changes spawned by the “consciousness revolution” that was an integral part of the counterculture emerging in the 1970s. I focus particularly on the notion of “consciousness raising”, as a Dawkinsian memetic replicator, in the context of the idealistic notions of the much-heralded “New Age” of Aquarius, and propose that this meme has been a persistent feature of the evolution of the “meme cluster” known as the counterculture. Mimesis and the Counterculture Since evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins floated the notion of cultural memes as a template to account for the evolution of ideas within political cultures, a literature of commentary and criticism has emerged that debates the strengths and weaknesses of his proposed model and its application across a number of fields. I borrow the notion to trace the influence of a set of memes that clustered around the emergence of what writer Marilyn Ferguson called The Aquarian Conspiracy, in her 1980 book of that name. Ferguson’s text, subtitled Personal and Social Transformation in Our Time, was a controversial attempt to account for what was known as the “New Age” movement, with its late millennial focus on social and personal transformation. That focus leads me to approach the counterculture (a term first floated by Theodore Roszak) less as a definable historical movement and more as a cluster of aspirational tropes expressing a range of aspects or concerns, from the overt political activism through to experimental technologies for the transformation of consciousness, and all characterised by a critical interrogation of, and resistance to, conventional social norms (Ferguson’s “personal and social transformation”). With its more overtly “spiritual” focus, I read the “New Age” meme, then, as a sub-set of this “cluster meme”, the counterculture. In my reading, “New Age” and “counterculture” overlap, sharing persistent concerns and a broad enough tent to accommodate the serious—the combative political action of Students for a Democratic Society (SDS), say, (see Elbaum)—to the light-hearted—the sport of frisbee for example (Stancil). The interrogation of conventional social and political norms inherited from previous generations was a prominent strategy across both movements. Rather than offering a sociological analysis or history of the ragbag counterculture, per se, my discussion here focuses in on the particular meme of “consciousness raising” within that broader set of cultural shifts, some of which were sustained in their own right, some dropping away, and many absorbed into the dominant mainstream culture. Dawkins use of the term “meme” was rooted in the Greek mimesis, to emphasise the replication of an idea by imitation, or copying. He likened the way ideas survive and change in human culture to the natural selection of genes in biological evolution. While the transmission of memes does not depend on a physical medium, such as the DNA of biology, they replicate with a greater or lesser degree of success by harnessing human social media in a kind of “infectivity”, it is argued, through “contagious” repetition among human populations. Dawkins proposed that just as biological organisms could be said to act as “hosts” for replicating genes, in the same way people and groups of people act as hosts for replicating memes. Even before Dawkins floated his term, French biologist Jacques Monod wrote that ideas have retained some of the properties of organisms. Like them, they tend to perpetuate their structure and to breed; they too can fuse, recombine, segregate their content; indeed they too can evolve, and in this evolution selection must surely play an important role. (165, emphasis mine) Ideas have power, in Monod’s analysis: “They interact with each other and with other mental forces in the same brain, in neighbouring brains, and thanks to global communication, in far distant, foreign brains” (Monod, cited in Gleick). Emblematic of the counterculture were various “New Age” phenomena such as psychedelic drugs, art and music, with the latter contributing the “Aquarius” meme, whose theme song came from the stage musical (and later, film) Hair, and particularly the lyric that runs: “This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius”. The Australian Aquarius Festivals of 1971 and 1973 explicitly invoked this meme in the way identified by Monod and the “Aquarius” meme resonated even in Australia. Problematising “Aquarius” As for the astrological accuracy of the “Age of Aquarius meme”, professional astrologers argue about its dating, and the qualities that supposedly characterise it. When I consulted with two prominent workers in this field for the preparation of this article, I was astonished to find their respective dating of the putative Age of Aquarius were centuries apart! What memes were being “hosted” here? According to the lyrics: When the moon is in the seventh house And Jupiter aligns with Mars Then peace will guide the planets And love will steer the stars. (Hair) My astrologer informants assert that the moon is actually in the seventh house twice every year, and that Jupiter aligns with Mars every two years. Yet we are still waiting for the outbreak of peace promised according to these astrological conditions. I am also informed that there’s no “real” astrological underpinning for the aspirations of the song’s lyrics, for an astrological “Age” is not determined by any planet but by constellations rising, they tell me. Most important, contrary to the aspirations embodied in the lyrics, peace was not guiding the planets and love was not about to “steer the stars”. For Mars is not the planet of love, apparently, but of war and conflict and, empowered with the expansiveness of Jupiter, it was the forceful aggression of a militaristic mind-set that actually prevailed as the “New Age” supposedly dawned. For the hippified summer of love had taken a nosedive with the tragic events at the Altamont speedway, near San Francisco in 1969, when biker gangs, enlisted to provide security for a concert performance by The Rolling Stones allegedly provoked violence, marring the event and contributing to a dawning disillusionment (for a useful coverage of the event and its historical context see Dalton). There was a lot of far-fetched poetic licence involved in this dreaming, then, but memes, according to Nikos Salingaros, are “greatly simplified versions of patterns”. “The simpler they are, the faster they can proliferate”, he writes, and the most successful memes “come with a great psychological appeal” (243, 260; emphasis mine). What could be retrieved from this inchoate idealism? Harmony and understanding Sympathy and trust abounding No more falsehoods or derisions Golden living dreams of visions Mystic crystal revelation And the mind’s true liberation Aquarius, Aquarius. (Hair) In what follows I want to focus on this notion: “mind’s true liberation” by tracing the evolution of this project of “liberating” the mind, reflected in my personal journey. Nimbin and Aquarius I had attended the first Aquarius Festival, which came together in Canberra, at the Australian National University, in the autumn of 1971. I travelled there from Perth, overland, in a Ford Transit van, among a raggedy band of tie-dyed hippie actors, styled as The Campus Guerilla Theatre Troupe, re-joining our long-lost sisters and brothers as visionary pioneers of the New Age of Aquarius. Our visions were fueled with a suitcase full of potent Sumatran “buddha sticks” and, contrary to Biblical prophesies, we tended to see—not “through a glass darkly” but—in psychedelic, pop-, and op-art explosions of colour. We could see energy, man! Two years later, I found myself at the next Aquarius event in Nimbin, too, but by that time I inhabited a totally different mind-zone, albeit one characterised by the familiar, intense idealism. In the interim, I had been arrested in 1971 while “tripping out” in Sydney on potent “acid”, or LSD (Lysergic acid diethylamide); had tried out political engagement at the Pram Factory Theatre in Melbourne; had camped out in protest at the flooding of Lake Pedder in the Tasmanian wilderness; met a young guru, started meditating, and joined “the ashram”—part of the movement known as the Divine Light Mission, which originated in India and was carried to the “West” (including Australia) by an enthusiastic and evangelical following of drug-toking drop-outs who had been swarming through India intent on escaping the dominant culture of the military-industrial complex and the horrors of the Vietnam War. Thus, by the time of the 1973 event in Nimbin, while other festival participants were foraging for “gold top” magic mushrooms in farmers’ fields, we devotees had put aside such chemical interventions in conscious awareness to dig latrines (our “service” project for the event) and we invited everyone to join us for “satsang” in the yellow, canvas-covered, geodesic dome, to attend to the message of peace. The liberation meme had shifted through a mutation that involved lifestyle-changing choices that were less about alternative approaches to sustainable agriculture and more about engaging directly with “mind’s true liberation”. Raising Consciousness What comes into focus here is the meme of “consciousness raising”, which became the persistent project within which I lived and worked and had my being for many years. Triggered initially by the ingestion of those psychedelic substances that led to my shocking encounter with the police, the project was carried forward into the more disciplined environs of my guru’s ashrams. However, before my encounter with sustained spiritual practice I had tried to work the shift within the parameters of an ostensibly political framework. “Consciousness raising” was a form of political activism borrowed from the political sphere. Originally generated by Mao Zedong in China during the revolutionary struggle to overthrow the vested colonial interests that were choking Chinese nationalism in the 1940s, to our “distant, foreign brains” (Monod), as Western revolutionary romantics, Chairman Mao and his Little Red Book were taken up, in a kind of international counterculture solidarity with revolutionaries everywhere. It must be admitted, this solidarity was a fairly superficial gesture. Back in China it might be construed as part of a crude totalitarian campaign to inculcate Marxist-Leninist political ideas among the peasant classes (see Compestine for a fictionalised account of traumatic times; Han Suyin’s long-form autobiography—an early example of testimonio as personal and political history—offers an unapologetic account of a struggle not usually construed as sympathetically by Western commentators). But the meme (and the processes) of consciousness raising were picked up by feminists in the United States in the late 1960s and into the 1970s (Brownmiller 21) and it was in this form I encountered it as an actor with the politically engaged theatre troupe, The Australian Performing Group, at Carlton’s Pram Factory Theatre in late 1971. The Performance Group I performed as a core member of the Group in 1971-72. Decisions as to which direction the Group should take were to be made as a collective, and the group veered towards anarchy. Most of the women were getting together outside of the confines of the Pram Factory to raise their consciousness within the Carlton Women’s Liberation Cell Group. While happy that the sexual revolution was reducing women’s sexual inhibitions, some of the men at the Factory were grumbling into their beer, disturbed that intimate details of their private lives—and their sexual performance—might be disclosed and raked over by a bunch of radical feminists. As they began to demand equal rights to orgasm in the bedroom, the women started to seek equal access within the performance group, too. They requested rehearsal time to stage the first production by the Women’s Theatre Group, newly formed under the umbrella of the wider collective. As all of the acknowledged writers in the Group so far were men—some of whom had not kept pace in consciousness raising—scripts tended to be viewed as part of a patriarchal plot, so Betty Can Jump was an improvised piece, with the performance material developed entirely by the cast in workshop-style rehearsals, under the direction of Kerry Dwyer (see Blundell, Zuber-Skerritt 21, plus various contributors at www.pramfactory.com/memoirsfolder/). I was the only male in the collective included in the cast. Several women would have been more comfortable if no mere male were involved at all. My gendered attitudes would scarcely have withstood a critical interrogation but, as my partner was active in launching the Women’s Electoral Lobby, I was given the benefit of the doubt. Director Kerry Dwyer liked my physicalised approach to performance (we were both inspired by the “poor theatre” of Jerzy Grotowski and the earlier surrealistic theories of Antonin Artaud), and I was cast to play all the male parts, whatever they would be. Memorable material came up in improvisation, much of which made it into the performances, but my personal favorite didn’t make the cut. It was a sprawling movement piece where I was “born” out of a symbolic mass of writhing female bodies. It was an arduous process and, after much heaving and huffing, I emerged from the birth canal stammering “SSSS … SSSS … SSMMMO-THER”! The radical reversioning of culturally authorised roles for women has inevitably, if more slowly, led to a re-thinking of the culturally approved and reinforced models of masculinity, too, once widely accepted as entirely biologically ordained rather than culturally constructed. But the possibility of a queer re-versioning of gender would be recognised only slowly. Liberation Meanwhile, Dennis Altman was emerging as an early spokesman for gay, or homosexual, liberation and he was invited to address the collective. Altman’s stirring book, Homosexual: Oppression and Liberation, had recently been published, but none of us had read it. Radical or not, the Group had shown little evidence of sensitivity to gender-queer issues. My own sexuality was very much “oppressed” rather than liberated and I would have been loath to use “queer” to describe myself. The term “homosexual” was fraught with pejorative, quasi-medical associations and, in a collective so divided across strict and sometimes hostile gender boundaries, deviant affiliations got short shrift. Dennis was unsure of his reception before this bunch of apparent “heteros”. Sitting at the rear of the meeting, I admired his courage. It took more self-acceptance than I could muster to confront the Group on this issue at the time. Somewhere in the back of my mind, “homosexuality” was still something I was supposed to “get over”, so I failed to respond to Altman’s implicit invitation to come out and join the party. The others saw me in relationship with a woman and whatever doubts they might have carried about the nature of my sexuality were tactfully suspended. Looking back, I am struck by the number of simultaneous poses I was trying to maintain: as an actor; as a practitioner of an Artaudian “theatre of cruelty”; as a politically committed activist; and as a “hetero”-sexual. My identity was an assemblage of entities posing as “I”; it was as if I were performing a self. Little gay boys are encouraged from an early age to hide their real impulses, not only from others—in the very closest circle, the family; at school; among one’s peers—but from themselves, too. The coercive effects of shaming usually fix the denial into place in our psyches before we have any intellectual (or political) resources to consider other options. Growing up trying to please, I hid my feelings. In my experience, it could be downright dangerous to resist the subtle and gross coercions that applied around gender normativity. The psychoanalyst D. W. Winnicott, of the British object-relations school, argues that when the environment does not support the developing personality and requires the person to sacrifice his or her own spontaneous needs to adapt to environmental demands, there is not even a resting-place for individual experience and the result is a failure in the primary narcissistic state to evolve an individual. The “individual” then develops as an extension of the shell rather than that of the core [...] What there is left of a core is hidden away and is difficult to find even in the most far-reaching analysis. The individual then exists by not being found. The true self is hidden, and what we have to deal with clinically is the complex false self whose function is to keep this true self hidden. (212) How to connect to that hidden core, then? “Mind’s true liberation...” Alienated from the performative version of selfhood, but still inspired by the promise of liberation, even in the “fuzzy” form for which my inchoate hunger yearned (sexual liberation? political liberation? mystical liberation?), I was left to seek out a more authentic basis for selfhood, one that didn’t send me spinning along the roller-coaster of psychedelic drugs, or lie to me with the nostrums of a toxic, most forms of which would deny me, as a sexual, moral and legal pariah, the comforts of those “anchorage points to the social matrix” identified by Soddy (cited in Mol 58). My spiritual inquiry was “counter” to these institutionalised models of religious culture. So, I began to read my way through a myriad of books on comparative religion. And to my surprise, rather than taking up with the religions of antique cultures, instead I encountered a very young guru, initially as presented in a simply drawn poster in the window of Melbourne’s only vegetarian restaurant (Shakahari, in Carlton). “Are you hungry and tired of reading recipe books?” asked the figure in the poster. I had little sense of where that hunger would lead me, but it seemed to promise a fulfilment in ways that the fractious politics of the APG offered little nourishment. So, while many of my peers in the cities chose to pursue direct political action, and others experimented with cooperative living in rural communes, I chose the communal lifestyle of the ashram. In these different forms, then, the conscious raising meme persisted when other challenges raised by the counterculture either faded or were absorbed in the mainstream. I finally came to realise that the intense disillusionment process I had been through (“dis-illusionment” as the stripping away of illusions) was the beginning of awakening, in effect a “spiritual initiation” into a new way of seeing myself and my “place” in the world. Buddhist teachers might encourage this very kind of stripping away of false notions as part of their teaching, so the aspiration towards the “true liberation” of the mind expressed in the Aquarian visioning might be—and in my case, actually has been and continues to be—fulfilled to a very real extent. Gurus and the entire turn towards Eastern mysticism were part of the New Age meme cluster prevailing during the early 1970s, but I was fortunate to connect with an enduring set of empirical practices that haven’t faded with the fashions of the counterculture. A good guitarist would never want to play in public without first tuning her instrument. In a similar way, it is now possible for me to tune my mind back to a deeper, more original source of being than the socially constructed sense of self, which had been so fraught with conflicts for me. I have discovered that before gender, and before sexuality, in fact, pulsing away behind the thicket of everyday associations, there is an original, unconditioned state of beingness, the awareness of which can be reclaimed through focused meditation practices, tested in a wide variety of “real world” settings. For quite a significant period of time I worked as an instructor in the method on behalf of my guru, or mentor, travelling through a dozen or so countries, and it was through this exposure that I was able to observe that the practices worked independently of culture and that “mind’s true liberation” was in many ways a de-programming of cultural indoctrinations (see Marsh, 2014, 2013, 2011 and 2007 for testimony of this process). In Japan, Zen roshi might challenge their students with the koan: “Show me your original face, before you were born!” While that might seem to be an absurd proposal, I am finding that there is a potential, if unexpected, liberation in following through such an inquiry. As “hokey” as the Aquarian meme-set might have been, it was a reflection of the idealistic hope that characterised the cluster of memes that aggregated within the counterculture, a yearning for healthier life choices than those offered by the toxicity of the military-industrial complex, the grossly exploitative effects of rampant Capitalism and a politics of cynicism and domination. The meme of the “true liberation” of the mind, then, promised by the heady lyrics of a 1970s hippie musical, has continued to bear fruit in ways that I could not have imagined. References Altman, Dennis. Homosexual Oppression and Liberation. Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1972. Blundell, Graeme. The Naked Truth: A Life in Parts. Sydney: Hachette, 2011. Brownmiller, Susan. In Our Time: Memoir of a Revolution. New York: The Dial Press, 1999. Compestine, Ying Chang. Revolution Is Not a Dinner Party. New York: Square Fish, 2009. Dalton, David. “Altamont: End of the Sixties, Or Big Mix-Up in the Middle of Nowhere?” Gadfly Nov/Dec 1999. April 2014 ‹http://www.gadflyonline.com/archive/NovDec99/archive-altamont.html›. Dawkins, Richard. The Selfish Gene. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1976. Elbaum, Max. Revolution in the Air: Sixties Radicals Turn to Lenin, Mao and Che. London and New York: Verso, 2002. Ferguson, Marilyn. The Aquarian Conspiracy. Los Angeles: Tarcher Putnam, 1980. Gleick, James. “What Defines a Meme?” Smithsonian Magazine 2011. April 2014 ‹http://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/What-Defines-a Meme.html›. Hair, The American Tribal Love Rock Musical. Prod. Michael Butler. Book by Gerome Ragni and James Rado; Lyrics by Gerome Ragni and James Rado; Music by Galt MacDermot; Musical Director: Galt MacDermot. 1968. Han, Suyin. The Crippled Tree. 1965. Reprinted. Chicago: Academy Chicago P, 1985. ---. A Mortal Flower. 1966. Reprinted. Chicago: Academy Chicago P, 1985. ---. Birdless Summer. 1968. Reprinted. Chicago: Academy Chicago P, 1985. ---. The Morning Deluge: Mao TseTung and the Chinese Revolution 1893-1954. Boston: Little Brown, 1972. ---. My House Has Two Doors. New York: Putnam, 1980. Marsh, Victor. The Boy in the Yellow Dress. Melbourne: Clouds of Magellan Press, 2014. ---. “A Touch of Silk: A (Post)modern Faerie Tale.” Griffith Review 42: Once Upon a Time in Oz (Oct. 2013): 159-69. ---. “Bent Kid, Straight World: Life Writing and the Reconfiguration of ‘Queer’.” TEXT: Journal of Writing and Writing Courses 15.1 (April 2011). ‹http://www.textjournal.com.au/april11/marsh.htm›. ---. “The Boy in the Yellow Dress: Re-framing Subjectivity in Narrativisations of the Queer Self.“ Life Writing 4.2 (Oct. 2007): 263-286. Mol, Hans. Identity and the Sacred: A Sketch for a New Social-Scientific Theory of Religion. Oxford: Blackwell, 1976. Monod, Jacques. Chance and Necessity: An Essay on the Natural Philosophy of Modern Biology. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1970. Roszak, Theodore. The Making of a Counter Culture: Reflections on the Technocratic Society and Its Youthful Opposition. New York: Doubleday, 1968. Salingaros, Nikos. Theory of Architecture. Solingen: Umbau-Verlag, 2006. Stancil, E.D., and M.D. Johnson. Frisbee: A Practitioner’s Manual and Definitive Treatise. New York: Workman, 1975 Winnicott, D.W. Through Paediatrics to Psycho-Analysis: Collected Papers. 1958. London: Hogarth Press, 1975. Yúdice, George. “Testimonio and Postmodernism.” Latin American Perspectives 18.3 (1991): 15-31. Zimmerman, Marc. “Testimonio.” The Sage Encyclopedia of Social Science Research Methods. Eds. Michael S. Lewis-Beck, Alan Bryman and Tim Futing Liao. London: Sage Publications, 2003. Zuber-Skerritt, Ortrun, ed. Australian Playwrights: David Williamson. Amsterdam: Rodolpi, 1988.

IntroductionFirmly located within the discourse of visible culture as the lofty preserve of art exhibitions and museum artefacts, the noun “curate” has gradually transformed into the verb “to curate”. Williams writes that “curate” has become a fashionable code word among the aesthetically minded to describe a creative activity. Designers no longer simply sell clothes; they “curate” merchandise. Chefs no longer only make food; they also “curate” meals. Chosen for their keen eye for a particular style or a precise shade, it is their knowledge of their craft, their reputation, and their sheer ability to choose among countless objects which make the creative process a creative activity in itself. Writing from within the framework of “curate” as a creative process, this article discusses how the state banquet for Queen Elizabeth II, hosted by Irish President Mary McAleese at Dublin Castle in May 2011, was carefully curated to represent Ireland’s diplomatic, cultural, and culinary identity. The paper will focus in particular on how the menu for the banquet was created and how the banquet’s brief, “Ireland on a Plate”, was fulfilled.History and BackgroundFood has been used by nations for centuries to display wealth, cement alliances, and impress foreign visitors. Since the feasts of the Numidian kings (circa 340 BC), culinary staging and presentation has belonged to “a long, multifaceted and multicultural history of diplomatic practices” (IEHCA 5). According to the works of Baughman, Young, and Albala, food has defined the social, cultural, and political position of a nation’s leaders throughout history.In early 2011, Ross Lewis, Chef Patron of Chapter One Restaurant in Dublin, was asked by the Irish Food Board, Bord Bía, if he would be available to create a menu for a high-profile banquet (Mahon 112). The name of the guest of honour was divulged several weeks later after vetting by the protocol and security divisions of the Department of the Taoiseach (Prime Minister) and the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade. Lewis was informed that the menu was for the state banquet to be hosted by President Mary McAleese at Dublin Castle in honour of Queen Elizabeth II’s visit to Ireland the following May.Hosting a formal banquet for a visiting head of state is a key feature in the statecraft of international and diplomatic relations. Food is the societal common denominator that links all human beings, regardless of culture (Pliner and Rozin 19). When world leaders publicly share a meal, that meal is laden with symbolism, illuminating each diner’s position “in social networks and social systems” (Sobal, Bove, and Rauschenbach 378). The public nature of the meal signifies status and symbolic kinship and that “guest and host are on par in terms of their personal or official attributes” (Morgan 149). While the field of academic scholarship on diplomatic dining might be young, there is little doubt of the value ascribed to the semiotics of diplomatic gastronomy in modern power structures (Morgan 150; De Vooght and Scholliers 12; Chapple-Sokol 162), for, as Firth explains, symbols are malleable and perfectly suited to exploitation by all parties (427).Political DiplomacyWhen Ireland gained independence in December 1921, it marked the end of eight centuries of British rule. The outbreak of “The Troubles” in 1969 in Northern Ireland upset the gradually improving environment of British–Irish relations, and it would be some time before a state visit became a possibility. Beginning with the peace process in the 1990s, the IRA ceasefire of 1994, and the Good Friday Agreement in 1998, a state visit was firmly set in motion by the visit of Irish President Mary Robinson to Buckingham Palace in 1993, followed by the unofficial visit of the Prince of Wales to Ireland in 1995, and the visit of Irish President Mary McAleese to Buckingham Palace in 1999. An official invitation to Queen Elizabeth from President Mary McAleese in March 2011 was accepted, and the visit was scheduled for mid-May of the same year.The visit was a highly performative occasion, orchestrated and ordained in great detail, displaying all the necessary protocol associated with the state visit of one head of state to another: inspection of the military, a courtesy visit to the nation’s head of state on arrival, the laying of a wreath at the nation’s war memorial, and a state banquet.These aspects of protocol between Britain and Ireland were particularly symbolic. By inspecting the military on arrival, the existence of which is a key indicator of independence, Queen Elizabeth effectively demonstrated her recognition of Ireland’s national sovereignty. On making the customary courtesy call to the head of state, the Queen was received by President McAleese at her official residence Áras an Uachtaráin (The President’s House), which had formerly been the residence of the British monarch’s representative in Ireland (Robbins 66). The state banquet was held in Dublin Castle, once the headquarters of British rule where the Viceroy, the representative of Britain’s Court of St James, had maintained court (McDowell 1).Cultural DiplomacyThe state banquet provided an exceptional showcase of Irish culture and design and generated a level of preparation previously unseen among Dublin Castle staff, who described it as “the most stage managed state event” they had ever witnessed (Mahon 129).The castle was cleaned from top to bottom, and inventories were taken of the furniture and fittings. The Waterford Crystal chandeliers were painstakingly taken down, cleaned, and reassembled; the Killybegs carpets and rugs of Irish lamb’s wool were cleaned and repaired. A special edition Newbridge Silverware pen was commissioned for Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip to sign the newly ordered Irish leather-bound visitors’ book. A new set of state tableware was ordered for the President’s table. Irish manufacturers of household goods necessary for the guest rooms, such as towels and soaps, hand creams and body lotions, candle holders and scent diffusers, were sought. Members of Her Majesty’s staff conducted a “walk-through” several weeks in advance of the visit to ensure that the Queen’s wardrobe would not clash with the surroundings (Mahon 129–32).The promotion of Irish manufacture is a constant thread throughout history. Irish linen, writes Kane, enjoyed a reputation as far afield as the Netherlands and Italy in the 15th century, and archival documents from the Vaucluse attest to the purchase of Irish cloth in Avignon in 1432 (249–50). Support for Irish-made goods was raised in 1720 by Jonathan Swift, and by the 18th century, writes Foster, Dublin had become an important centre for luxury goods (44–51).It has been Irish government policy since the late 1940s to use Irish-manufactured goods for state entertaining, so the material culture of the banquet was distinctly Irish: Arklow Pottery plates, Newbridge Silverware cutlery, Waterford Crystal glassware, and Irish linen tablecloths. In order to decide upon the table setting for the banquet, four tables were laid in the King’s Bedroom in Dublin Castle. The Executive Chef responsible for the banquet menu, and certain key personnel, helped determine which setting would facilitate serving the food within the time schedule allowed (Mahon 128–29). The style of service would be service à la russe, so widespread in restaurants today as to seem unremarkable. Each plate is prepared in the kitchen by the chef and then served to each individual guest at table. In the mid-19th century, this style of service replaced service à la française, in which guests typically entered the dining room after the first course had been laid on the table and selected food from the choice of dishes displayed around them (Kaufman 126).The guest list was compiled by government and embassy officials on both sides and was a roll call of Irish and British life. At the President’s table, 10 guests would be served by a team of 10 staff in Dorchester livery. The remaining tables would each seat 12 guests, served by 12 liveried staff. The staff practiced for several days prior to the banquet to make sure that service would proceed smoothly within the time frame allowed. The team of waiters, each carrying a plate, would emerge from the kitchen in single file. They would then take up positions around the table, each waiter standing to the left of the guest they would serve. On receipt of a discreet signal, each plate would be laid in front of each guest at precisely the same moment, after which the waiters would then about foot and return to the kitchen in single file (Mahon 130).Post-prandial entertainment featured distinctive styles of performance and instruments associated with Irish traditional music. These included reels, hornpipes, and slipjigs, voice and harp, sean-nόs (old style) singing, and performances by established Irish artists on the fiddle, bouzouki, flute, and uilleann pipes (Office of Public Works).Culinary Diplomacy: Ireland on a PlateLewis was given the following brief: the menu had to be Irish, the main course must be beef, and the meal should represent the very best of Irish ingredients. There were no restrictions on menu design. There were no dietary requirements or specific requests from the Queen’s representatives, although Lewis was informed that shellfish is excluded de facto from Irish state banquets as a precautionary measure. The meal was to be four courses long and had to be served to 170 diners within exactly 1 hour and 10 minutes (Mahon 112). A small army of 16 chefs and 4 kitchen porters would prepare the food in the kitchen of Dublin Castle under tight security. The dishes would be served on state tableware by 40 waiters, 6 restaurant managers, a banqueting manager and a sommélier. Lewis would be at the helm of the operation as Executive Chef (Mahon 112–13).Lewis started by drawing up “a patchwork quilt” of the products he most wanted to use and built the menu around it. The choice of suppliers was based on experience but also on a supplier’s ability to deliver perfectly ripe goods in mid-May, a typically black spot in the Irish fruit and vegetable growing calendar as it sits between the end of one season and the beginning of another. Lewis consulted the Queen’s itinerary and the menus to be served so as to avoid repetitions. He had to discard his initial plan to feature lobster in the starter and rhubarb in the dessert—the former for the precautionary reasons mentioned above, and the latter because it featured on the Queen’s lunch menu on the day of the banquet (Mahon 112–13).Once the ingredients had been selected, the menu design focused on creating tastes, flavours and textures. Several draft menus were drawn up and myriad dishes were tasted and discussed in the kitchen of Lewis’s own restaurant. Various wines were paired and tasted with the different courses, the final choice being a Château Lynch-Bages 1998 red and a Château de Fieuzal 2005 white, both from French Bordeaux estates with an Irish connection (Kellaghan 3). Two months and two menu sittings later, the final menu was confirmed and signed off by state and embassy officials (Mahon 112–16).The StarterThe banquet’s starter featured organic Clare Island salmon cured in a sweet brine, laid on top of a salmon cream combining wild smoked salmon from the Burren and Cork’s Glenilen Farm crème fraîche, set over a lemon balm jelly from the Tannery Cookery School Gardens, Waterford. Garnished with horseradish cream, wild watercress, and chive flowers from Wicklow, the dish was finished with rapeseed oil from Kilkenny and a little sea salt from West Cork (Mahon 114). Main CourseA main course of Irish beef featured as the pièce de résistance of the menu. A rib of beef from Wexford’s Slaney Valley was provided by Kettyle Irish Foods in Fermanagh and served with ox cheek and tongue from Rathcoole, County Dublin. From along the eastern coastline came the ingredients for the traditional Irish dish of smoked champ: cabbage from Wicklow combined with potatoes and spring onions grown in Dublin. The new season’s broad beans and carrots were served with wild garlic leaf, which adorned the dish (Mahon 113). Cheese CourseThe cheese course was made up of Knockdrinna, a Tomme style goat’s milk cheese from Kilkenny; Milleens, a Munster style cow’s milk cheese produced in Cork; Cashel Blue, a cow’s milk blue cheese from Tipperary; and Glebe Brethan, a Comté style cheese from raw cow’s milk from Louth. Ditty’s Oatmeal Biscuits from Belfast accompanied the course.DessertLewis chose to feature Irish strawberries in the dessert. Pat Clarke guaranteed delivery of ripe strawberries on the day of the banquet. They married perfectly with cream and yoghurt from Glenilen Farm in Cork. The cream was set with Irish Carrageen moss, overlaid with strawberry jelly and sauce, and garnished with meringues made with Irish apple balsamic vinegar from Lusk in North Dublin, yoghurt mousse, and Irish soda bread tuiles made with wholemeal flour from the Mosse family mill in Kilkenny (Mahon 113).The following day, President McAleese telephoned Lewis, saying of the banquet “Ní hé go raibh sé go maith, ach go raibh sé míle uair níos fearr ná sin” (“It’s not that it was good but that it was a thousand times better”). The President observed that the menu was not only delicious but that it was “amazingly articulate in terms of the story that it told about Ireland and Irish food.” The Queen had particularly enjoyed the stuffed cabbage leaf of tongue, cheek and smoked colcannon (a traditional Irish dish of mashed potatoes with curly kale or green cabbage) and had noted the diverse selection of Irish ingredients from Irish artisans (Mahon 116). Irish CuisineWhen the topic of food is explored in Irish historiography, the focus tends to be on the consequences of the Great Famine (1845–49) which left the country “socially and emotionally scarred for well over a century” (Mac Con Iomaire and Gallagher 161). Some commentators consider the term “Irish cuisine” oxymoronic, according to Mac Con Iomaire and Maher (3). As Goldstein observes, Ireland has suffered twice—once from its food deprivation and second because these deprivations present an obstacle for the exploration of Irish foodways (xii). Writing about Italian, Irish, and Jewish migration to America, Diner states that the Irish did not have a food culture to speak of and that Irish writers “rarely included the details of food in describing daily life” (85). Mac Con Iomaire and Maher note that Diner’s methodology overlooks a centuries-long tradition of hospitality in Ireland such as that described by Simms (68) and shows an unfamiliarity with the wealth of food related sources in the Irish language, as highlighted by Mac Con Iomaire (“Exploring” 1–23).Recent scholarship on Ireland’s culinary past is unearthing a fascinating story of a much more nuanced culinary heritage than has been previously understood. This is clearly demonstrated in the research of Cullen, Cashman, Deleuze, Kellaghan, Kelly, Kennedy, Legg, Mac Con Iomaire, Mahon, O’Sullivan, Richman Kenneally, Sexton, and Stanley, Danaher, and Eogan.In 1996 Ireland was described by McKenna as having the most dynamic cuisine in any European country, a place where in the last decade “a vibrant almost unlikely style of cooking has emerged” (qtd. in Mac Con Iomaire “Jammet’s” 136). By 2014, there were nine restaurants in Dublin which had been awarded Michelin stars or Red Ms (Mac Con Iomaire “Jammet’s” 137). Ross Lewis, Chef Patron of Chapter One Restaurant, who would be chosen to create the menu for the state banquet for Queen Elizabeth II, has maintained a Michelin star since 2008 (Mac Con Iomaire, “Jammet’s” 138). Most recently the current strength of Irish gastronomy is globally apparent in Mark Moriarty’s award as San Pellegrino Young Chef 2015 (McQuillan). As Deleuze succinctly states: “Ireland has gone mad about food” (143).This article is part of a research project into Irish diplomatic dining, and the author is part of a research cluster into Ireland’s culinary heritage within the Dublin Institute of Technology. The aim of the research is to add to the growing body of scholarship on Irish gastronomic history and, ultimately, to contribute to the discourse on the existence of a national cuisine. If, as Zubaida says, “a nation’s cuisine is its court’s cuisine,” then it is time for Ireland to “research the feasts as well as the famines” (Mac Con Iomaire and Cashman 97).ConclusionThe Irish state banquet for Queen Elizabeth II in May 2011 was a highly orchestrated and formalised process. From the menu, material culture, entertainment, and level of consultation in the creative content, it is evident that the banquet was carefully curated to represent Ireland’s diplomatic, cultural, and culinary identity.The effects of the visit appear to have been felt in the years which have followed. Hennessy wrote in the Irish Times newspaper that Queen Elizabeth is privately said to regard her visit to Ireland as the most significant of the trips she has made during her 60-year reign. British Prime Minister David Cameron is noted to mention the visit before every Irish audience he encounters, and British Foreign Secretary William Hague has spoken in particular of the impact the state banquet in Dublin Castle made upon him. Hennessy points out that one of the most significant indicators of the peaceful relationship which exists between the two countries nowadays was the subsequent state visit by Irish President Michael D. Higgins to Britain in 2013. This was the first state visit to the United Kingdom by a President of Ireland and would have been unimaginable 25 years ago. The fact that the President and his wife stayed at Windsor Castle and that the attendant state banquet was held there instead of Buckingham Palace were both deemed to be marks of special favour and directly attributed to the success of Her Majesty’s 2011 visit to Ireland.As the research demonstrates, eating together unites rather than separates, gathers rather than divides, diffuses political tensions, and confirms alliances. It might be said then that the 2011 state banquet hosted by President Mary McAleese in honour of Queen Elizabeth II, curated by Ross Lewis, gives particular meaning to the axiom “to eat together is to eat in peace” (Taliano des Garets 160).AcknowledgementsSupervisors: Dr Máirtín Mac Con Iomaire (Dublin Institute of Technology) and Dr Michael Kennedy (Royal Irish Academy)Fáilte IrelandPhotos of the banquet dishes supplied and permission to reproduce them for this article kindly granted by Ross Lewis, Chef Patron, Chapter One Restaurant ‹http://www.chapteronerestaurant.com/›.Illustration ‘Ireland on a Plate’ © Jesse Campbell BrownRemerciementsThe author would like to thank the anonymous reviewers for their feedback and suggestions on an earlier draft of this article.ReferencesAlbala, Ken. The Banquet: Dining in the Great Courts of Late Renaissance Europe. 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The PhD. dissertation Written Voice examines how Walt Whitman and Henry Miller through books, confined textual products of modernity, strive to awaken the reader to a more perceptive and courageous life, provided that the reader is willing to suspend hermeneutics of suspicion and approach Leaves of Grass and Tropic of Cancer with hermeneutics of hunger. This is examined from linguistic, anthropological and theological vantage point of oral theory (M. Jousse, M. Parry, A. Lord, W. Ong, E. Havelock, J. Assmann, D. Abram, C. Geertz, T. Pettitt, J. Nohrnberg, D. Sölle, etc.). This work thus compares Leaves (1855) and Tropic of Cancer examining their paratextual, stylistic features, their genesis, the phenomenology of their I's, their ethos and story across the compositions. By "voluntary" usage of means of oral mnemonics such as parallelism/bilateralism (Jousse) - along with present tense, imitatio Christi and pedagogical usage of obscenity - both authors in their compositions attack the textual modern discourse, the posteriority, nostalgia and confinement of literature, restore the body, and aim for futurality of biblical kinetics. It is the reader's task, then, to hermeneutically resurrect the dead printed words of the compositions into their own "flesh" and action. The third part of the thesis...

This chapter puts the theological use of father and son language in the traditional doctrine of the Trinity into perspective by showing that this language has a limited theological point and no exclusive privilege. These terms cannot stand on their own, moreover, without threatening to bring with them serious misunderstandings. As with every set of terms used to discuss the relationship between the first and second persons of the Trinity, the connotations of this one need to be severely modified in ways the simple use of the terms themselves cannot convey. While Anglicanism itself may be loath to change its liturgy, its favourite theological literature gives the whole church reason to reconsider that reluctance. By discussion of patristics, the role of Mary, the mother of Jesus, it seeks to show how gender can be reconceived.

The years of 2019 and 2020 offered the opportunity to commemorate four anniversaries: On 4 November 2020, it was 70 years ago that the ECHR, was signed. Ten years later, the ECtHR began its work. The Council of Europe had its 70th anniversary on 5 May 2019. Finally, the European Commission for Democracy through Law (Venice Commission) established in 1990, could celebrate its 30th birthday. These jubilees offer a good reason to take a look at how these institutions have contributed to making human rights and the rule of law a matter of common interest in Europe, and what their present condition is. This volume contains the contributions on this topic held at the Walter-Hallstein Symposium on 5 and 6 March 2020. With contributions by Veronika Bílková, Thomas Giegerich, Rainer Hofmann, Stefan Kadelbach, Wilfried Loth, Angelika Nußberger, Paulo Pinto de Albuquerque and Stefanie Schmahl.

This book challenges the prevailing common wisdom that Russians cannot rely on their law and that Russian courts are hopelessly politicized and corrupt. While acknowledging the persistence of verdicts dictated by the Kremlin in politically charged cases, the text explores how ordinary Russian citizens experience law. Relying on extensive observational research in Russia's new justice-of-the-peace courts as well as analysis of a series of focus groups, the book documents Russians' complicated attitudes regarding law. It shows that Russian judges pay close attention to the law in mundane disputes, which account for the vast majority of the cases brought to the Russian courts. Any reluctance on the part of ordinary Russian citizens to use the courts is driven primarily by their fear of the time and cost—measured in both financial and emotional terms—of the judicial process. Like their American counterparts, Russians grow more willing to pursue disputes as the social distance between them and their opponents increases; Russians are loath to sue friends and neighbors, but are less reluctant when it comes to strangers or acquaintances. The book concludes that the “rule of law” rubric is ill suited to Russia and other authoritarian polities where law matters most—but not all—of the time.

The book reveals the extent to which writers we call “romantic” venerate and use the classics to serve their own ends in transforming poetry, epic, the novel, mythology, politics, and issues of race, as well as in practicing translation and reshaping models for a literary career and personal life. On both sides of the Atlantic the classics—including the surprising influence of Hebrew, regarded then as a classical language—play a major role in what becomes labeled Romanticism only much later in the nineteenth century. The relation between classic and romantic is not one of opposition but of a subtle and deep interpenetration. Classical texts retain an enduring, but newly transformational presence. While romantic writers regard what they are doing as new, this attitude does not prompt them to abjure lessons of genre, expression, and judgment flowing from classical authors they love. Their view is Janus-faced. Aside from one essay on Coleridge, the volume does not address major canonical British poets. Considerable work on their relation to the classics exists. Writers treated in detail include William Gilpin, Phillis Wheatley, Robert Lowth, Walter Savage Landor, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Henry David Thoreau, Margaret Fuller, James McCune Smith, Herman Melville, S. T. Coleridge, and Edward Gibbon. Four chapters each treat multiple authors from both sides of the Atlantic. Topics include the picturesque, political rhetoric, epic invocation, mythology, imitation, ekphrasis, slavery, feminism, history and historiography, and the innovative influence of ancient Hebrew, especially its poetry.

For 60 years, the Institute for European Politics (IEP) has studied Europe—containing contributions on all the eras of its history and fields of work by 23 authors involved in shaping this unique think tank, this book reflects the history of the IEP’s rich experience of research into politics and civil society. Rooted in the post-WWII Euro-federalist movements, the IEP has gained a reputation in Germany as a forward-thinking, advisory and agenda-setting think tank through interdisciplinary research and multiple publications, conferences and training courses, and Master’s and PhD programmes. The authors of this volume offer insights into historical evolutions and fields of research extending from the options for Europe at the time of the Rome Treaties to the EU’s Central Asia Strategy today, from the efforts to bind Central Europe into the European integration process after 1989 to challenges like further democratisation and increasing the efficiency of the EU’s system. With contributions by Dr. Katrin Böttger, Dr. Gianni Bonvicini, Dr. Wolf-Ruthart Born, Elmar Brok, Dr. Vladimír Handl, Dr. Gunilla Herolf, Dr. Werner Hoyer, Prof. Dr. Rudolf Hrbek, Prof. Dr. Mathias Jopp, Prof. Dr. Dr. h.c. mult. Beate Kohler, Prof. Dr. Michael Kreile, Dr. Barbara Lippert, Prof. Dr. Dr. h.c. Wilfried Loth, Prof. Dr. Hartmut Marhold, Prof. Dr. Jürgen Mittag, Prof. Dr. Dr. iur. habil. Dr. h.c. mult. Peter-Christian Müller-Graff, Ph.D. h.c., MAE, Dr. Elfriede Regelsberger, Axel Schäfer, Dr. Otto Schmuck, Dr. Franz Schoser, Dr. Funda Tekin, Dr. Jürgen Trumpf, Prof. Dr. Wolfgang Wessels

Baptists in nineteenth-century North America were known as eager proselytizers. They were evangelistic, committed to the idea of a believers’ church in which believers’ baptism was the norm for church membership and for the most part fervent revivalists. Baptist numbers soared in the early nineteenth-century United States though at the cost of generating much internal dissent, while in Canada New Light preachers such as Henry Alline were influential, but often had to make headway against an Anglican establishment. The Baptist commitment to freedom of conscience and gathered congregations had been hardened over the centuries by the experience of persecution and that meant that they were loath to qualify the freedom of individual congregations. The chapter concentrates on exposing the numerous divisions in the Baptist family, the most basic of which was the disagreement over the nature of the atonement, which separated General (Arminian) from Particular (Calvinist) Baptists. Revivals induced further divisions between Regular Baptists who were reserved about them and Separate Baptists who saw dramatic conversions and fervent outbursts as external signs of inward grace. Calvinistic Baptists took a dim view of efforts to induce conversions as laying too much trust in human agency. Though enthusiasm for missions gripped American and Canadian Baptists alike, there were those who feared that missionary societies would erode congregational autonomy. Dissent over slavery and abolition constituted the biggest single division in North American Baptist life. Southern Baptists developed biblical defences of slavery and were annoyed at attempts to keep slaveholders out of missionary work. As a result they formed a separate denomination, the Southern Baptist Convention, in 1845. Baptists had been successful in converting black slaves and black Baptists such as the northerner Nathaniel Paul were outspoken abolitionists. In the South after the Civil War, though, blacks marched out of white denominations to form associations of their own, often with white encouragement. Finally, not the least cause of internal dissent were disputes over ecclesiology, with J.M. Graves and J.R. Pendleton, the founders of Old Landmarkism, insisting with renewed radicalism on denominational autonomy. The chapter suggests that by the end of the century, Baptists embodied the tensions in Dissenting traditions. Their dissent in the public square intensified the possibility of internal disagreement, even schism, their tradition of Christian democracy proving salvifically liberating but ecclesiastically messy. While they stood for liberty and religious equality, they were active in anti-Catholic politics and in seeking to extend state activism in society through the Social Gospel movement.

It is not easy to accurately describe one's cultural identity. There are many factors to consider – from diversity narratives constructed over a single lifetime to those that have been accrued by greater populations. One way to engage this discussion is to provide an overview of diversity key terms that are most closely associated with culture. Important historical events should also be emphasized, as they provide context to many of the challenges faced in modern times. Such topics often cause friction among European Americans – many of whom are loath to judge the actions of those who share their skin color. To start this conversation, the chapter introduces the author, Kimberly, and the five interviewees, Lina, Darnell, Alice, Sheila, and Talia, who discuss their understanding of cultural identity as it applies to their lives.

This chapter looks at how greater inclusiveness and formal equality were accompanied by growing distrust of government and the rise of market values in the post-1970s world. Over more than three decades, the result was a more diverse public culture in the realm of employment, entertainment, and politics, on the one hand, and a more economically differentiated society, on the other. Class differences widened, as measured by the distribution of income and wealth. But Americans had long been loath to talk about class divisions, something associated for the past century with Marxist analysis. Rather than addressing growing economic inequality, Americans tended instead to celebrate racial and ethnic diversity. Here, cultural liberalism and economic conservatism had come to form a de facto alliance. It had become the contemporary American condition, the ground on which the vaunted American middle class continued to shrink.

The politics surrounding freedom of information changed with the 1960 election of President Kennedy. Partisan power shifted to unified Democratic government, and the power tensions between the White House and Congress over executive privilege faced new challenges. Congressional Democrats were loath to attack their new president in the same manner that Moss went after Eisenhower, so leadership directed the Moss Subcommittee to back off. While partisan politics dictated that congressional Democrats go easy on Kennedy, congressional Republicans increased attacks on the administration over issues of executive privilege and freedom of information, following the same playbook Moss had used on Eisenhower. Within the CLDC, Moss learned to take another approach to handling the politics of unified Democratic government and in dealing with Kennedy, who was acting on the precedent set by Eisenhower to continue similar policies in denying information. The result would be a deal worked out between Kennedy and Moss to ensure that, going forward, executive privilege would only be invoked with the full authority of the president and by no one else.

This chapter begins in the period that historians of Europe and the Atlantic world call “early modernity” (seventeenth and eighteenth centuries). It could have begun in the Middle Ages, with the hunting reserves and protected forests established by European rulers in Venice and elsewhere. It could start with an analysis of indigenous societies, from Easter Island to the Maya, that failed to live sustainably and eventually collapsed. It could even begin in antiquity, with Pliny the Elder and his encyclopedic Natural History that tells us so much about Roman conceptions of the natural world. But we begin in the early modern period because of the clear linkages between the modern sustainability movement of the twenty-first century and the consciousness and practices that developed in early modernity. After all, the concept of “sustainability” was given a name in the early eighteenth century by a Saxon bureaucrat who coined the term “Nachhaltigkeit” to describe the practice of harvesting timber continuously from the same forest. Indeed, sustained yield forestry took shape at this time not only in Western Europe but also in Japan, around other parts of Asia, and on colonial islands in both the West and East Indies. The practice of exploiting forests sustainably was but one indication of an incipient awareness about the value of living within biophysical limits and the need to counteract resource overconsumption. Many documents that survive from this period demonstrate that it was possible to have at least a rudimentary idea about the complex relationship between social well-being, the economy, and the natural world. That is, the “systems thinking” of sustainability—the method of studying complex, interrelated systems—clearly has roots that stretch back to this largely pre-industrialized world. In 1700, the global population of homo sapiens was somewhere between 600 million and 650 million. Beijing might have approached a population of 1 million, which would have constituted a megacity at the time, but most “cities” had fewer than 50,000 inhabitants.

This chapter examines psychotherapists personalizing religion approaches to Buddhist teachings and practices. Here clinicians can be dramatically influenced by Buddhist teachings, but, intent on maintaining a clear differentiation between Buddhist and psychotherapeutic practice, are loath to “mix” the two. Deep believing Buddhist clinicians betray no sign of Buddhist influence in actual therapy sessions eschewing embodied practices or explicit discussion of Buddhist concepts. They instead hold their Buddhist identities silently internal within “the person of the therapist,” thus “personalized.” The work of one of the most famous therapists to investigate Buddhist traditions, Erich Fromm, is detailed. Fromm’s innovative reconstructions of the terms “religion” and “secular” remain highly influential today. The chapter then describes contemporary therapists who keep their therapy offices clear of visible signs of Buddhist practice during their work day while, in the evenings, publicly speak on “Zen psychoanalysis” or even lead Buddhist communities. These therapists view their work to be fundamentally Buddhist in nature and their patients will sometimes seek them out precisely for their Buddhist association. Personalizing religion approaches thus blur boundaries between the religious and not-religious based on distinctions between the private and the public, the personal and the professional.

This chapter highlights the two communities, Kilkenny and Belfast, that had each been shaped by a great aristocratic dynasty. It narrates the power of both families and how it drastically diminished in the early eighteenth century. Kilkenny retained its status as an inland regional capital with an old urban fabric, a Catholic business community and a weak Protestant presence. Belfast, on the other hand, was much more of a colonial town (in every sense) than Kilkenny, an international trading hub dominated by a wholesale merchant community that was overwhelmingly Presbyterian. The chapter focuses more on eighteenth-century Belfast, its general merchants trading overseas and its physical transformation. Despite the ease of navigation in Belfast Lough, the town lay too far north to attract British or European vessels destined for southern Europe, nor was it optimally placed as a transatlantic stopover. The chapter also elaborates on the transatlantic partnership of Thomas Gregg and Waddell Cunningham, which principally involved the export of Irish linen and the importation of flaxseed, grain and flour. Finally, the chapter discusses the merchant community that benefited most from the growth of the passenger trade: Derry. It also explores how Drogheda became the largest grain market in Ireland, then follows the growth of Dublin's international trade.

Hebrew, once regarded as a “classical language,” exerts enormous shaping power on British and American poetry, politics, and culture from the sixteenth through the nineteenth centuries. It prompts the greatest innovations in post-Renaissance English verse, developments in aesthetics, including the sublime, fruitful arguments in politics, and vital strands of British and American thought that cannot be accounted for otherwise. This shaping power—related to but not the same as the influence of biblical translations regarded as literature—has received only sporadic attention. Hebrew as the other classic has not obtained its rightful place in studies of literature in English, nor in Anglo-American literate culture. This essay explores the other classic in: British and American colleges and universities; Puritan Hebraists; concepts of the sublime; the seminal criticism of Robert Lowth; the work of Dennis, Watts, Smart, Macpherson, Merrick, Blake, Wordsworth, Whitman, Longfellow, and Lazarus; in myths of national origin and identification; in Coleridge, De Quincey, Thoreau, Melville, Arnold, and J. L. Lowes; as well as in an appreciation of the stylistic and moral strengths of Hebrew Scripture. It explores why study of Hebrew declined. The essay challenges the exclusion of Hebrew, upon which all discussion of “classical languages” and their reception by the romantics has been based. The presence of Hebrew as the other classic enlarges and redefines the nature of classical influences on the romantic era.

In june of 1858 abraham lincoln began his address at Springfield, Illinois by saying, “If we could first know where we are, and whither we are tending, we could then better judge what to do, and how to do it.” He spoke on the issue of slavery that day with a degree of honesty that other politicians were loath to practice. At Springfield he asserted that “A house divided against itself cannot stand . . . this government cannot endure, permanently half slave and half free.” His immediate targets were the evasions and complications of the Kansas-Nebraska Act of 1854 and the Supreme Court ruling handed down in the Dred Scott case, but particularly those whom he accused of conspiring to spread slavery to states where it did not already exist. In his speech Lincoln accused Senator Stephen Douglas, President Franklin Pierce, Supreme Court Justice Roger Taney, and President James Buchanan of a conspiracy to spread slavery. This accusation was supported by circumstantial evidence such that it was “impossible to not believe that Stephen and Franklin and Roger and James all understood one another from the beginning, and all worked upon a common plan or draft drawn up before the first lick was struck.” His opponent in the upcoming Senatorial election, Stephen Douglas, he described as a “caged and toothless” lion. Lincoln had begun the process of “framing” the issue of slavery without equivocation, but in a way that would still build electoral support based on logic, evidence, and eloquence. On February 27, 1860, Lincoln’s address at the Cooper Institute in New York extended and deepened the argument. He began with words from Stephen Douglas: “Our fathers, when they framed the Government under which we live, understood this question just as well, and even better, than we do now.” He proceeded to analyze the historical record to infer what the “fathers” actually believed. Lincoln in a masterful and lawyerly way identified 39 of the founders who had “acted on the question” of slavery in decisions voted on in 1784, 1787, 1789, 1798, 1803, and 1820.

<strong><em>Abstract. </em><strong>Fishers have often complained that standard United Kingdom groundfish survey data do not adequately reflect the grounds targeted by commercial fishers, and hence, scientists tend to make overcautious estimates of fish abundance. Such criticisms are of particular importance if we are to make a creditable attempt to classify potential essential fish habitat (EFH) using existing data from groundfish surveys. Nevertheless, these data sets provide a powerful tool to examine temporal abundance of fish on a large spatial scale. Here, we report a questionnaire-type survey of fishers (2001–2002) that invited them to plot the location of grounds of key importance in the Irish Sea and to comment on key habitat features that might constitute EFH for Atlantic cod <em>Gadus morhua</em>, haddock <em>Melanogrammus aeglefinus</em>, and European whiting <em>Merlangius merlangus</em>. Plotted grounds were cross-checked using records of vessel sightings by fishery protection aircraft (1985–1999). A comparison of the areas of seabed highlighted by fishers and the observations made on groundfish surveys were broadly compatible for all three species of gadoids examined. Both methods indicated important grounds for cod and European whiting off northern Wales, the Ribble estuary, Solway Firth, north of Dublin, and Belfast Lough. The majority of vessel sightings by aircraft did not match the areas plotted by fishers. However, fishing restrictions, adverse weather conditions, and seasonal variation of fish stocks may have forced fishers to operate outside their favored areas on the (few) occasions that they had been recorded by aircraft. Fishers provided biological observations that were consistent among several independent sources (e.g., the occurrence of haddock over brittle star [ophiuroid] beds). We conclude that fishers’ knowledge is a useful supplement to existing data sets that can better focus more detailed EFH studies.

SeaGen is an in-stream 1.2MW tidal energy converter (TEC) located in Strangford Lough, Northern Ireland that has been in almost continuous service since May 2009. This technical paper first outlines the characteristic features of the TEC itself and its power take-off system, followed by the electrical and marine environments of its location, and finally it presents the results of its power quality performance assessment. The PQ assessment was carried out using the existing European Norm EN50160 for assessing permissible voltage parameter variations on public electricity networks and the conclusions drawn are from data collected over a number of months of operation of the device.

Traditional uses of circulation control have been studied since the early 1960’s and have been developed primarily using trailing edge slots over a rounded trailing edge in order to take advantage of the Coanda˘ effect. The leading edge activated slots allow jets of air to enter the freestream flowing around the airfoil thus enhancing the energy of the lift force. The main purpose of circulation control for fixed wing aircraft is to increase the lifting force when large lifting forces and/or slow speeds are required, such as at take-off and landing. While there is a significant increase in the lifting forces achievable through the use of circulation control, there is also an inherent increase in the drag force on the airfoil (Abramson, 2004, Loth, 1976, 1984). Current effects of circulation control on stall angles of airfoils are not well documented and thus needs to be studied. Stall occurs when a sudden reduction in lift occurs caused by a flow separation between the incoming air flow and the lifting surface. The angle at which this happens is commonly called the critical angle of attack, and is typically between eight and twenty degrees depending on the wing profile, aspect ratio, camber, and planform area. For this study, a 10:1 aspect ratio elliptical airfoil with a chord length of 11.8 inches and a span of 31.5 inches was inserted into the West Virginia University Closed Loop Wind Tunnel and was tested at varying wind speeds (80, 100, and 120 feet per second), angle of attack (zero to sixteen degrees), and blowing coefficients, ranging from 0.0006 to 0.0127 depending on internal plenum pressure. By comparing the non-circulation controlled wing with the active leading edge slot circulation control data, a trend was found as to the influence of the circulation control exit jet on the stall characteristics of the wing. For this specific case, when the circulation control is in use on the 10:1 elliptical airfoil, the stall angle decreases, from eight degrees to six degrees, while providing up to a 46% increase in lift coefficient.

Abstract The accuracy of the continuous random walk (CRW) stochastic model for prediction of dispersion and deposition of suspended particles in inhomogeneous turbulent channel flows was explored. The Reynolds-averaged Navier-Stokes (RANS) equations in conjunction with the Reynolds Stress Transport model was used to evaluate the mean flow and RMS velocity fluctuation characteristics of a fully developed turbulent channel flow at shear Reynolds number of 219. Then, spherical particles with diameters ranging from 10 nm to 30 μm and dimensionless relaxation times of 10−4 to 50 (in wall units) were uniformly introduced into the channel and their trajectories were evaluated by using the equation of particle motion including the Stokes drag and Brownian excitation. The particle laden flow was assumed to be sufficiently dilute so that the particle-particle collisions and the effects of particles on the flow could be ignored. To incorporate the effects of turbulence velocity fluctuations on particle motions, first, the Conventional-CRW stochastic model, which was originally proposed for homogenous turbulent flows, was used. The particles were tracked for the duration of 10,000 wall units of time and the deposition of particles on the walls was evaluated. By conducting ensemble averaging, the steady-state concentration profiles and deposition velocity of the particles were calculated. Comparison of the predicted results with the direct numerical simulation (DNS) and experimental data suggests that the deposition velocity was overestimated. In addition, unrealistic accumulation of fluid-point particles in the near-wall regions, and overestimation of the turbophoresis effects on finite-size particles were also observed. The poor agreement of the concentration profiles and deposition velocities resulting from the conventional (homogenous flow) CRW model with the experimental and the DNS data pointed to the lack of accuracy of the Conventional-CRW model in generating instantaneous fluid velocity fluctuations seen by ultrafine and finite-size particles in inhomogeneous turbulent flows. Then, the normalized Langevin equation with a drift correction term that was suggested by Bocksell and Loth [1] was used as an improved CRW model for applications to inhomogeneous flows. The simulations for the same range of particle sizes were repeated and the corresponding concentration profiles and the deposition velocity were evaluated. It was shown that the improved CRW model led to a reasonable uniform concentration profile for the ultrafine particles and the predicted concentration profiles of finite-size particles quantitatively matched with the DNS data. In addition, the evaluated deposition velocities from the improved CRW model were also in a good agreement with the experimental data and empirical model predictions.

Recent circulation control testing at West Virginia University, in a closed loop wind tunnel, has been conducted on models where the trailing edge radius was selected to be smaller than that used in literature, such as Loth and Boasson [1], 1.5 inches and Englar [2], 0.4375 inches. The reduced size was chosen in an attempt to minimize the drag experienced during periods of non-activation of the circulation control, and the smaller size was more compatible to the wind tunnel test section size. However, while the drag is lessened by a smaller trailing edge, the performance of circulation control also appears to be dependent upon a multitude of variables including, but not limited to, the trailing edge radius and jet velocity. Through a modeled experiment, the two attributes that influence the circulation control performance were concurrently manipulated by varying the radius of curvature and the velocity of the blown jet. The combination of these characteristics were experimentally explored to determine the location where the jet leaves the surface of the cylinder, also known as the separation point. The optimum separation point is defined as the farthest angular displacement from the plane of the blown jet exit slot, which corresponds to the greatest increase in the circulation around the cylinder, representing the trailing edge of a circulation control airfoil. From the known radius and jet velocity, an expression that relates the separation point and the mass flow rate velocity quantity are compared. Understanding the blowing coefficient and its impact on the separation point, results in a predictive relationship between these two attributes of circulation control. The results of this two-dimensional cylinder study found that an increase in trailing edge radius decreased the location of the separation point. In addition, an increase in the jet velocity resulted in an increase in the separation point location. The combination of these two quantities produced a relationship similar to each individually, illustrated by the mass flow rate velocity value, which is the blowing coefficient excluding free stream conditions, versus the angle of separation. Data is therein compared to the theory by Newman [3], which predicts a maximum separation point location at 245 degrees beyond the jet exit plane and an increase in the separation point as the radius of curvature increases. The results of this study found a separation point maximized at 231 degrees, and, contrary to Newman [3], a decrease in the separation point was found as the radius of the cylinders increased.