Rajasthan is a large, unusually diverse state in western India. It has a long frontier with Pakistan, and from north to south touches the adjacent states of Punjab, Haryana, Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, and Gujarat. Rajasthan adds to its own internal, social, economic, and political complexity some of the features of each of these disparate neighbors. The dominant geological feature in Rajasthan is the Aravalli range, which runs south to north through the heart of the state. This barrier almost completely arrests the already faltering summer monsoon, creating a semiarid and desert zone to the west and a more watered region in the east.

The Sarnyukta Gauḍa Sārasvata Brāhmaṇa [GSB] Parisad was founded in 1910 A by members of several historically related subcastes in western India. The association represented an attempt by men experiencing the insecurities of urban middle class life to obtain the presumed benefits of caste for themselves and their families through reintegration within a single structurally unified caste. They experimented also with the idea of caste as a means to mobilize rural kin and caste fellows in the quest for modernity. Although efforts to structurally amalgamate the subcastes through intermarriage and related ritual acts proved fruitless, the members of the Parisad did stimulate development of educational and economic institutions which supported their middle class aspirations. The problems of recruitment and the content of Parisad proceedings reveal considerable social and economic disparities among the GSB. This illustrates the inaccuracies of characterizing castes by reference only to those members who hold elite positions in public affairs. The Parisad ultimately atrophied after 1917 although its related institutions have survived. Though the structural unity of caste was not obtained, a sense of GSB corporate identity did develop which ascribed to all members the achievement-oriented virtues of adaptivity and excellence.

As one long preoccupied with American foreign policy and its impact on Asia, particularly Southeast Asia, I should like to talk to you about a problem that has been with us for a rather long time but whose dimensions have in recent years become considerably more extensive. I refer to the great disparity in access to information pertinent to the formulation of foreign policy as between the executive branch of our government on the one hand and Congress along with the news media and the general public on the other. I am not here, of course, to speak in behalf of the AAS or its officers, but rather in accordance with my own personal convictions. But I shall be discussing a matter that I believe should especially command the concern of those of us who specialize in the study of modern and contemporary Asia, and I hope that my remarks will not be alien to the interests of the rest of you.

In its most general sense, social change involves change in the normative order of a society. Some would say that this necessarily involves a change in the patterns by which wealth is distributed. Others look for basic ideological shifts. Still others seek basic changes in the organizational modes by which functions are fulfilled. In each of these approaches, change involves mobility for some portion of the population. The means by which upward mobility is achieved often indicate the outlines of emerging social structures. Pursuit of mobility in a changing social order has entrepreneurial aspects because entrepreneurship involves the creative manipulation of existing relationships in unprecedented (non-normative) ventures. As such, it always proceeds in a normative limbo, relying on conventional expectations to support the unexpected. This study reports on a type of entrepreneurial career crafted in part from two seemingly divergent normative orders. It partakes of resources in the caste and the legal systems in India to produce an, as yet, nonroutinized pattern of personal mobility which, since its occurrence is widespread in urban centers, may be the basis for the formattion of a new class with considerable political and economic significance in the emerging Indian social structure.

Many scholarly articles and some of a polemical nature have been written on the 1971 insurgency in Sri Lanka. Recent studies of this movement (Fernando 1972, Egan 1972, Kearney 1973, Arasaratnam 1972, Warnapala 1972) have helped us to understand some of the underlying political, social and economic causes of the uprising. These articles have dispelled early speculations regarding the social backgrounds of the insurgents, particularly by government apologists and theoreticians from the traditional left parties of Sri Lanka.

In some areas of the Philippines, three important and interrelated changes in the traditional pattern of local leadership recruitment and faction organization had been taking place for several decades. Notables from old leading families were being replaced in positions of leadership by upwardly mobile “new men” from more humble backgrounds. Professional politicians were emerging in the local arena. Local factions were being transformed from traditional family-centered organizations into specialized machines. These changes were most likely to occur in areas of comparatively high social mobilization and low concentration of landownership. Changes are explained primarily by the impact of increasingly intense national political competition in rural communities and growing mass participation. These changes represent a decline in the autonomy of local elites, as they were accompanied by the latters' growing reliance on central resources to maintain their machines. These changes and the forces behind them are well illustrated by the pattern of political change in the town of Taal, Batangas during this century, which is reported in great detail.

Historical materialism entered Chinese thought as part of the new wave of socialism during the New Culture movement. By the late 1920's, during the ebb of communism as a political movement, it had gained a foothold in the consciousness of many Chinese intellectuals. Its application to the analysis of Chinese history reached its peak in the “social history controversy” of the late twenties and early thirties.1 After the mid-thirties interest in the Marxist discussion of history dwindled, not reaching a comparable degree of intensity until its revival after 1949.

Historicalscholarship in postwar Japan has exhibited a renewed interest in the origins of dynastic rule in Yamato, and the process leading to the establishment of the Yamato rulers as sovereigns of an imperial polity in the seventh century. New theories of dynastic origins have led to new controversies, and many of the most basic assuptions of prewar historians are now being abandoned. Among these, the previously sacrosanct idea of unbroken dynastic continuity, usually expressed by the slogan bansei ikkei, has been effectively challenged. This idea, an important element of state ritual from the seventh century onward, does not antedate that century. It follows that during the previous three hundred years, which witnessed the successive establishment of at least three different dynastic regimes in Yamato, the prevailing political structures and ideologies differed radically from those represented in the traditional histories, which were not completed until the early eighth century. The bases of royal legitimacy and the nature of the kingship itself very probably changed drastically in the process of development.

In the fall of 1922 a School Reform Decree was promulgated by the Chinese Ministry of Education establishing a new school system. The contents of this decree defined the administrative structure and aims of Chinese education in conformity with the democratic principles of a reform movement which had been active during the four preceding years. The new statute appeared to consummate an effort to give the Republic of 1912 a truly democratic educational system. In reality however, this apparent victory of the reformers disguised a dilemma which was paralyzing their reform movement from within. Consumed with their vision of a true republic in which democratic education produced a democratic politics, the reformers had assumed this goal could be made a strategy of reform. As a strategy, it had no way to be effective in a society which was intensely undemocratic to begin with, and success in formulating goals proved quite different from reform in practice.

Political developments in Ceylon during the 1950's drew attention to the forward thrust of a social formation in the Sinhala districts which has been described variously as “the rural middle classes,” “the lower middle-class traditionalists,” a “new village leadership” and so on. The political antecedents of this “group” were not traced beyond the 1930's, though several writers recognized that it was part of a social category which existed in British times. In recent articles it has been argued that the political activities of individuals drawn from this social category date back to the late nineteenth century. Be that as it may, it is obviously of value to clarify the lines of differentiation between this middle-level social category and the indigenous elite placed hierarchically above them. The former can be described as a “sub-elite,” a “subordinate elite,” an “intermediate elite,” or a “local elite.” The latter can be described as a “macro-elite,” a “central elite” or a “national elite.” Though convenience dictates the choice of one of these combinations, a reference to the alternatives is necessary because each captures a facet which the other labels do not convey.

The early debate over the economic impact of European imperialism on the Afro-Asian world centered largely upon the roles played by the European rulers. Both pro- and anti-imperialist writers focused on the introduction and effects of European economic policies and institutions, on the alleged benefits or exploitation that resulted from official and private European economic enterprise, and on the implications of European colonial control for the future economic development of subject areas. In recent years historians and other social scientists, drawing on hitherto neglected sources and applying new techniques of analysis, have undertaken a thoroughgoing reappraisal of the economic effects of European imperialism. One product of this effort has been the increased attention given by scholars to the important roles played by non-Europeans in the economic transformation of colonized areas.

Historians frequently describe the Russo-Japanese War as a time when Japan achieved great power status, won world acclaim, and fulfilled the Meiji dream. It was a landmark in modern world history: everywhere leaders of sujected peoples were inspired to believe that they too could import Western science and industry, rid themselves of white control, preserve their national character, and themselves oversee the process of industrialization. Jawaharlal Nehru, for example, records in his autobiography that the Japanese victories were a memorable event in his early life, describing them as “a great pick-me-up for Asia” which kindled his nationalism and his determination to “fight for India.” Eager to learn more of the Japanese experience, “I invested in a large number of books on Japan and tried to read some of them.” But he confesses ruefully (perhaps recalling an account of Bakumatsu politics?) “I felt rather lost in Japanese history.”!

Shinran (1173–1262), the founder of the Shinshu sect of Pure Land, was the first major Buddhist leader in Japan who openly married and produced a family. Unlike the many monks who secretly married, for Shinran marriage was a landmark on what Alfred Bloom has called “the journey to self-acceptance,” and an experience that ultimately became a central feature of the doctrine of universal salvation he preached. Although he sought above all to bridge the gulf between priest and layman and specifically disclaimed any ambition to found a new sect, let alone a religious dynasty, Shinran had nevertheless created the possibility of religious succession based on the hereditary principle.

The problem of Buddhist councils has haunted western Buddhological research through almost all of its last one hundred years. At once, we see that a twopronged approach is necessary if we are to ever have any hope of arriving at a resolution. The first of these involves a consideration of the relationship between the Vinaya council accounts and the Mahāparinirvāṇa Sūtra, this latter text preserved in the Sūtra Piṭakas of the various schools and providing a detailed account of [1] the Buddha's travels immediately prior to his death, [2] the actual passing into parinirvāṇa, and [3] the funeral arrangements. Here the Mahāparinirvāṇa Sūtra account concludes, but the details which are associated with the next allegedly historical events, namely, the council narratives, are found in the Skandhakas of the various Vinayas. Scholars began to question why the council proceedings, logically following the Buddha's death and funeral, are preserved in a separate text.

There is a significant correlation between the level of industrial development in any country and the percentage of its population attending institutions of higher education. The reasons for this would appear to be obvious: among other things, more people with greater skills are demanded to meet labor needs in a complicated, highly industrialized society than would be necessary in a primarily agricultural society. In addition, as the economic levels of a society increase, both the collective societal resources to support a massive higher educational establishment, and the individual resources to take advantage of such an establishment, increase in tandum. Thus it should be no surprise that all major industrial countries have undergone rather significant increases in higher educational enrollment.

The death of Ellen McDonald Gumperz in the midst of her period of mature scholarship and professional recognition was a loss not only to John Gumperz, her family, children and friends, but to those working in the many areas her studies probed. Her last research touched two of her basic interests: the area of Maharashtra in India and the structure of nineteenth century modernization. A planned study of communications systems was frustrated by her illness and by the paucity of local records. However, she left a number of studies which reveal a fine analytical mind and a lucid writing style and which break new ground in examining structures and in using modern quantitative methods in Indian history.

Among their fellow Bengalis, the Bauls, who constitute a religious sect, are esteemed because their iconoclasm, disregard of caste, and merger of Hindu and Islamic traditions gives them an enviable freedom to confront life as individuals outside the prevailing social and religious confines. They are loved, too, because they do not preach but rather woo with charming poems set to irresistible tunes that may compel them to dance.

With these stirring lines Takekoshi Yosaburō opened the preface to the 1893 edition of his Shin Nihonshi {History of New Japan). It is difficult to imagine a more enthusiastic celebration of the Meiji Restoration than one likening it to the epochal founding of the Chou dynasty. Yet those who read beyond the confident affirmation of the preface soon encountered a rising note of anxiety, concern, even alarm in the pages that followed. For it was clear that however highly Takekoshi regarded the ideals of the “great revolution of the Restoration,” he also saw them in jeopardy. “Today,” he wrote, “slightly more than twenty years since the Restoration, the general public has begun to tread the path of unrighteousness. Ministers in power err in their policies, and those in opposition err in their views, and together both make pronouncements that give comfort only to themselves. That is why the author has taken up his brush in indignation to narrate a general outline of the changing times since the Restoration.” The revolution, in short, was a revolution betrayed, or at least unfulfilled.

Historians of India often write as if India, at the end of the nineteenth century, had only four cities: Bombay, Calcutta, Madras, and Poona. Several elements contribute to this perspective: Indian historians' own predominant interest in the development of nationalist politics in late nineteenth century India naturally leads them to concentrate on these four urban centers, the birthplaces of such politics1. But the structure of late nineteenth century politics in India itself mirrored more fundamental aspects of the administrative organization and social structure of the country. Administratively, the country was organized in a hierarchy of authorities of descending prestige and geographical scope, with authorities of greatest power centered in the three port cities, and authorities of least power, at the taluka and village levels in the hinterlands. This structure decisively established the political predominance of the port cities and assured a flow of potential recruits for government service and the white collar professions out of the countryside and into the Presidency headquarters towns. At the same time, India's status as a raw-materials exporting colony of an industrial mother country, and the increasing penetration of the world market economy, required that business and industry be increasingly concentrated in and about the port cities.