For anyone claiming to write a history of a science of which reasoning forms the very essence, the question of the logic is of paramount importance. For example, a modern western account of any historical period in mathematics would, as a matter of course, show a detailed proof justifying each and every mathematical result discussed. Despite this obvious fact, general histories of Chinese mathematics rarely show concern for this issue. They insist above all on presenting only the mathematical results, the logical underpinnings of which are unclear, and rarely do they provide the reader with any semblance of a proof. While this approach to the history of mathematics is naturally a result of various causes, one which probably plays an essential role is the fact that most Chinese mathematical works themselves contain no logical justifications: according to this worldview, apparently it was enough to state authoritatively that something was true—it was completely superfluous to demonstrate why it was true.
There is one major exception to this general pattern, namely a set of Chinese argumentative discourses which has been handed down to us from the first millennium A.D. We are referring to the commentaries and sub-commentaries on the Jiuzhang Suanshu ["The Nine Chapters on the athematical Art"], the key work which inaugurated Chinese mathematics and served as a reference for it over a long period of its history. This fact, which was long unrecognized, means that we are now in a position to know a lot more about the logical construction of mathematics in China than, for example, in Egypt, Mesopotamia, or India.
For anyone claiming to write a history of a science of which reasoning forms the very essence, the question of the logic is of paramount importance. For example, a modern western account of any historical period in mathematics would, as a matter of course, show a detailed proof justifying each and every mathematical result discussed. Despite this obvious fact, general histories of Chinese mathematics rarely show concern for this issue. They insist above all on presenting only the mathematical results, the logical underpinnings of which are unclear, and rarely do they provide the reader with any semblance of a proof. While this approach to the history of mathematics is naturally a result of various causes, one which probably plays an essential role is the fact that most Chinese mathematical works themselves contain no logical justifications: according to this worldview, apparently it was enough to state authoritatively that something was true—it was completely superfluous to demonstrate why it was true.
There is one major exception to this general pattern, namely a set of Chinese argumentative discourses which has been handed down to us from the first millennium A.D. We are referring to the commentaries and sub-commentaries on the Jiuzhang Suanshu ["The Nine Chapters on the athematical Art"], the key work which inaugurated Chinese mathematics and served as a reference for it over a long period of its history. This fact, which was long unrecognized, means that we are now in a position to know a lot more about the logical construction of mathematics in China than, for example, in Egypt, Mesopotamia, or India.
For anyone claiming to write a history of a science of which reasoning forms the very essence, the question of the logic is of paramount importance. For example, a modern western account of any historical period in mathematics would, as a matter of course, show a detailed proof justifying each and every mathematical result discussed. Despite this obvious fact, general histories of Chinese mathematics rarely show concern for this issue. They insist above all on presenting only the mathematical results, the logical underpinnings of which are unclear, and rarely do they provide the reader with any semblance of a proof. While this approach to the history of mathematics is naturally a result of various causes, one which probably plays an essential role is the fact that most Chinese mathematical works themselves contain no logical justifications: according to this worldview, apparently it was enough to state authoritatively that something was true—it was completely superfluous to demonstrate why it was true.
There is one major exception to this general pattern, namely a set of Chinese argumentative discourses which has been handed down to us from the first millennium A.D. We are referring to the commentaries and sub-commentaries on the Jiuzhang Suanshu ["The Nine Chapters on the athematical Art"], the key work which inaugurated Chinese mathematics and served as a reference for it over a long period of its history. This fact, which was long unrecognized, means that we are now in a position to know a lot more about the logical construction of mathematics in China than, for example, in Egypt, Mesopotamia, or India.
The proliferation of social media tools allowing for communication within corporations has recently been the subject of two studies. Meyers and Tassleman find that such tools tend to exert a positive effect but that such effect tends to diminish the larger the organization. The two speculate that one of the reasons is that the kind of communication in social media presumes a level of comfort that is not consistent with that typically found in larger companies. Consequently, many employees are reluctant to use social media tools because they feel constrained by a workplace culture that is not consistent with the social values these tools promote. Such a result undermines the very relaxed spirit that upper level management hopes to foster by using such tools.
Gershin focuses on the extent to which social media tools have displaced other forms of office communication, notably email and in-person interactions. Additionally, he uses data collected from surveys, from both middle management and upper management, to assess the effect, if any, that such displacement has had. His findings are twofold: social media is in many cases deemed extraneous since it adds a layer of redundancy to communication. In other words, employees have adequately communicated something via traditional channels, but simply echo such communication on social network channels. However, Gershin found that social media tools fostered company culture because these tools provided employees a means of planning social events, something they might not have done using traditional forms of communication.
The proliferation of social media tools allowing for communication within corporations has recently been the subject of two studies. Meyers and Tassleman find that such tools tend to exert a positive effect but that such effect tends to diminish the larger the organization. The two speculate that one of the reasons is that the kind of communication in social media presumes a level of comfort that is not consistent with that typically found in larger companies. Consequently, many employees are reluctant to use social media tools because they feel constrained by a workplace culture that is not consistent with the social values these tools promote. Such a result undermines the very relaxed spirit that upper level management hopes to foster by using such tools.
Gershin focuses on the extent to which social media tools have displaced other forms of office communication, notably email and in-person interactions. Additionally, he uses data collected from surveys, from both middle management and upper management, to assess the effect, if any, that such displacement has had. His findings are twofold: social media is in many cases deemed extraneous since it adds a layer of redundancy to communication. In other words, employees have adequately communicated something via traditional channels, but simply echo such communication on social network channels. However, Gershin found that social media tools fostered company culture because these tools provided employees a means of planning social events, something they might not have done using traditional forms of communication.
The proliferation of social media tools allowing for communication within corporations has recently been the subject of two studies. Meyers and Tassleman find that such tools tend to exert a positive effect but that such effect tends to diminish the larger the organization. The two speculate that one of the reasons is that the kind of communication in social media presumes a level of comfort that is not consistent with that typically found in larger companies. Consequently, many employees are reluctant to use social media tools because they feel constrained by a workplace culture that is not consistent with the social values these tools promote. Such a result undermines the very relaxed spirit that upper level management hopes to foster by using such tools.
Gershin focuses on the extent to which social media tools have displaced other forms of office communication, notably email and in-person interactions. Additionally, he uses data collected from surveys, from both middle management and upper management, to assess the effect, if any, that such displacement has had. His findings are twofold: social media is in many cases deemed extraneous since it adds a layer of redundancy to communication. In other words, employees have adequately communicated something via traditional channels, but simply echo such communication on social network channels. However, Gershin found that social media tools fostered company culture because these tools provided employees a means of planning social events, something they might not have done using traditional forms of communication.
For much of the twentieth century, Saving and Loans (S&L) banks made mortgage loans to individual middle class families, allowing many to buy houses. In the 1970s, the combination of inflation and falling oil prices created economic conditions to place S&L banks at risk. In the early 1980s, Congress deregulated the S&L banks, allowing them to expand the kinds of investments from which they drew profits.
The deregulation was designed to open beneficial options which would allow the flagging S&L banks to save themselves. Instead, many S&L banks pursued investments in sectors they did not understand well, such as commercial real estate: they entered these sectors with large amounts of cash although they were not fully apprised of the risks. The collapse of the housing market in the mid 1980's, following an unprecedented building boom over the previous ten years, led to the failure of numerous S&L banks. As these banks were protected by federal insurance, this collapse cost the American taxpayers over $100 billion. In some of the S&L banks that failed, the bank leaders were found guilty of embezzlement and other kinds of fraud. In some cases, the burden of fraud caused otherwise viable banks to fail, and in other cases, a bank that was going to fail anyway had its life prolonged by fraud, creating additional expenses for the federal bank bailout.
Former bank regulator William Black has argued that the US government has not adequately learned important lessons from the S&L crisis. While stronger regulations for all banks are in place now, little has been done to strengthen the fraud procedures. Black has pointed out that bank fraud has the opportunity to thrive whenever regulation or oversight is loosened, and systemic occurrences of bank fraud pose a major risk to the well-being of the economy. While individuals may resist fraud because of their own ethics, this is not sufficient to protect the economy as a whole. Congressmen, responding to Black's charges, argue that the SEC has in place strict guidelines for what constitutes bank fraud, and that both SEC investigators and congressmen themselves are well-poised to detect even individual instances of fraud, to say nothing of widespread fraud. Black points out that SEC investigators do not have criminologist training: while they understand the rules well, they are not familiar with all the methods used to subvert or violate them. Furthermore, congressmen, under certain conditions, can turn a blind eye to bank fraud. For example, in the 1980s, the so-called "Keating five" senators accepted cash contributions from Charles Keating, the head of a S&L bank, and in return gave Mr. Keating undue protection which allowed him to continue his fraud.
For much of the twentieth century, Saving and Loans (S&L) banks made mortgage loans to individual middle class families, allowing many to buy houses. In the 1970s, the combination of inflation and falling oil prices created economic conditions to place S&L banks at risk. In the early 1980s, Congress deregulated the S&L banks, allowing them to expand the kinds of investments from which they drew profits.
The deregulation was designed to open beneficial options which would allow the flagging S&L banks to save themselves. Instead, many S&L banks pursued investments in sectors they did not understand well, such as commercial real estate: they entered these sectors with large amounts of cash although they were not fully apprised of the risks. The collapse of the housing market in the mid 1980's, following an unprecedented building boom over the previous ten years, led to the failure of numerous S&L banks. As these banks were protected by federal insurance, this collapse cost the American taxpayers over $100 billion. In some of the S&L banks that failed, the bank leaders were found guilty of embezzlement and other kinds of fraud. In some cases, the burden of fraud caused otherwise viable banks to fail, and in other cases, a bank that was going to fail anyway had its life prolonged by fraud, creating additional expenses for the federal bank bailout.
Former bank regulator William Black has argued that the US government has not adequately learned important lessons from the S&L crisis. While stronger regulations for all banks are in place now, little has been done to strengthen the fraud procedures. Black has pointed out that bank fraud has the opportunity to thrive whenever regulation or oversight is loosened, and systemic occurrences of bank fraud pose a major risk to the well-being of the economy. While individuals may resist fraud because of their own ethics, this is not sufficient to protect the economy as a whole. Congressmen, responding to Black's charges, argue that the SEC has in place strict guidelines for what constitutes bank fraud, and that both SEC investigators and congressmen themselves are well-poised to detect even individual instances of fraud, to say nothing of widespread fraud. Black points out that SEC investigators do not have criminologist training: while they understand the rules well, they are not familiar with all the methods used to subvert or violate them. Furthermore, congressmen, under certain conditions, can turn a blind eye to bank fraud. For example, in the 1980s, the so-called "Keating five" senators accepted cash contributions from Charles Keating, the head of a S&L bank, and in return gave Mr. Keating undue protection which allowed him to continue his fraud.
For much of the twentieth century, Saving and Loans (S&L) banks made mortgage loans to individual middle class families, allowing many to buy houses. In the 1970s, the combination of inflation and falling oil prices created economic conditions to place S&L banks at risk. In the early 1980s, Congress deregulated the S&L banks, allowing them to expand the kinds of investments from which they drew profits.
The deregulation was designed to open beneficial options which would allow the flagging S&L banks to save themselves. Instead, many S&L banks pursued investments in sectors they did not understand well, such as commercial real estate: they entered these sectors with large amounts of cash although they were not fully apprised of the risks. The collapse of the housing market in the mid 1980's, following an unprecedented building boom over the previous ten years, led to the failure of numerous S&L banks. As these banks were protected by federal insurance, this collapse cost the American taxpayers over $100 billion. In some of the S&L banks that failed, the bank leaders were found guilty of embezzlement and other kinds of fraud. In some cases, the burden of fraud caused otherwise viable banks to fail, and in other cases, a bank that was going to fail anyway had its life prolonged by fraud, creating additional expenses for the federal bank bailout.
Former bank regulator William Black has argued that the US government has not adequately learned important lessons from the S&L crisis. While stronger regulations for all banks are in place now, little has been done to strengthen the fraud procedures. Black has pointed out that bank fraud has the opportunity to thrive whenever regulation or oversight is loosened, and systemic occurrences of bank fraud pose a major risk to the well-being of the economy. While individuals may resist fraud because of their own ethics, this is not sufficient to protect the economy as a whole. Congressmen, responding to Black's charges, argue that the SEC has in place strict guidelines for what constitutes bank fraud, and that both SEC investigators and congressmen themselves are well-poised to detect even individual instances of fraud, to say nothing of widespread fraud. Black points out that SEC investigators do not have criminologist training: while they understand the rules well, they are not familiar with all the methods used to subvert or violate them. Furthermore, congressmen, under certain conditions, can turn a blind eye to bank fraud. For example, in the 1980s, the so-called "Keating five" senators accepted cash contributions from Charles Keating, the head of a S&L bank, and in return gave Mr. Keating undue protection which allowed him to continue his fraud.
People associate global warming with temperature, but the phrase is misleading—it fails to mention the relevance of water. Nearly every significant indicator of hydrological activity—rainfall, snowmelt, glacial melt—is changing at an accelerating pace (one can arbitrarily pick any point of the hydrological cycle and notice a disruption). One analysis pegged the increase in precipitation at 2 percent over the century. In water terms this sounds auspicious, promising increased supply, but the changing timing and composition of the precipitation more than neutralizes the advantage. For one thing, it is likely that more of the precipitation will fall in intense episodes, with flooding a reasonable prospect. In addition, while rainfall will increase, snowfall will decrease. Such an outcome means that in watersheds that depend on snowmelt, like the Indus, Ganges, Colorado river basins, less water will be stored as snow, and more of it will flow in the winter, when it plays no agricultural role; conversely, less of it will flow in the summer, when it is most needed. One computer model showed that on the Animas River an increase in temperature of 3.6 degrees Fahrenheit would cause runoff to rise by 85 percent from January to March, but drop by 40 percent from July to September. The rise in temperature increases the probability and intensity of spring floods and threatens dam safety, which is predicated on lower runoff projections. Dams in arid areas also may face increased sedimentation, since a 10 percent annual increase in precipitation can double the volume of sediment washed into rivers.
The consequences multiply. Soil moisture will intensify at the highest northern latitudes, where precipitation will grow far more than evaporation and plant transpiration but where agriculture is nonexistent. At the same time, precipitation will drop over northern mid-latitude continents in summer months, when ample soil moisture is an agricultural necessity. Meanwhile the sea level will continue to rise as temperatures warm, accelerating saline contamination of freshwater aquifers and river deltas. The temperature will cause increased evaporation, which in turn will lead to a greater incidence of drought.
Perhaps most disturbing of all, the hydrologic cycle is becoming increasingly unpredictable. This means that the last century's hydrological cycle—the set of assumptions about water on which modern irrigation is based—has become unreliable. Build a dam too large, and it may not generate its designed power; build it too small, and it may collapse or flood. Release too little dam runoff in the spring and risk flood, as the snowmelt cascades downstream with unexpected volume; release too much and the water will not be available for farmers when they need it. At a time when water scarcity calls out for intensified planning, planning itself may be stymied.
The Seventh Symphony (1812) was, at the time, Beethoven's last and vibrant word on the big style he had cultivated in the previous decade. In the Eighth Symphony (1814) he does something new by seeming to return to something old. He writes, that is, a symphony shorter than any since his First. It is almost as though he wanted to call his entire development throughout that decade into question. Indeed, over the remaining years of his life he would confidently explore in opposite directions, writing bigger pieces than before and ones more compressed, his most rhetorical music and his most inward, his most public and his most esoteric, compositions that plumb the inexhaustible possibilities of the sonata style and those that propose utterly new ways of organizing material, music reaching extremes of the centered and the bizarre.
If, however, we think of the Eighth as a nostalgic return to the good old days, we misunderstand it. To say it is 1795 revisited from the vantage point of 1812 is not right either. What interests Beethoven is not so much brevity for its own sake—and certainly not something called “classicism”—as concentration. It is as though he were picking up where he had left off in the densely saturated first movement of the Fifth Symphony to produce another tour de force of tight packing. He had already done something like this two years earlier in one of his most uncompromising works, the F-minor String Quartet, Op. 95. But a symphony is not a “private” connoisseur's music like a string quartet; by comparison, the Eighth Symphony is Opus 95's friendly, open-featured cousin, even though its first and last movements bring us some of the most violent moments in Beethoven.
The Seventh Symphony (1812) was, at the time, Beethoven's last and vibrant word on the big style he had cultivated in the previous decade. In the Eighth Symphony (1814) he does something new by seeming to return to something old. He writes, that is, a symphony shorter than any since his First. It is almost as though he wanted to call his entire development throughout that decade into question. Indeed, over the remaining years of his life he would confidently explore in opposite directions, writing bigger pieces than before and ones more compressed, his most rhetorical music and his most inward, his most public and his most esoteric, compositions that plumb the inexhaustible possibilities of the sonata style and those that propose utterly new ways of organizing material, music reaching extremes of the centered and the bizarre.
If, however, we think of the Eighth as a nostalgic return to the good old days, we misunderstand it. To say it is 1795 revisited from the vantage point of 1812 is not right either. What interests Beethoven is not so much brevity for its own sake—and certainly not something called “classicism”—as concentration. It is as though he were picking up where he had left off in the densely saturated first movement of the Fifth Symphony to produce another tour de force of tight packing. He had already done something like this two years earlier in one of his most uncompromising works, the F-minor String Quartet, Op. 95. But a symphony is not a “private” connoisseur's music like a string quartet; by comparison, the Eighth Symphony is Opus 95's friendly, open-featured cousin, even though its first and last movements bring us some of the most violent moments in Beethoven.
The Seventh Symphony (1812) was, at the time, Beethoven's last and vibrant word on the big style he had cultivated in the previous decade. In the Eighth Symphony (1814) he does something new by seeming to return to something old. He writes, that is, a symphony shorter than any since his First. It is almost as though he wanted to call his entire development throughout that decade into question. Indeed, over the remaining years of his life he would confidently explore in opposite directions, writing bigger pieces than before and ones more compressed, his most rhetorical music and his most inward, his most public and his most esoteric, compositions that plumb the inexhaustible possibilities of the sonata style and those that propose utterly new ways of organizing material, music reaching extremes of the centered and the bizarre.
If, however, we think of the Eighth as a nostalgic return to the good old days, we misunderstand it. To say it is 1795 revisited from the vantage point of 1812 is not right either. What interests Beethoven is not so much brevity for its own sake—and certainly not something called “classicism”—as concentration. It is as though he were picking up where he had left off in the densely saturated first movement of the Fifth Symphony to produce another tour de force of tight packing. He had already done something like this two years earlier in one of his most uncompromising works, the F-minor String Quartet, Op. 95. But a symphony is not a “private” connoisseur's music like a string quartet; by comparison, the Eighth Symphony is Opus 95's friendly, open-featured cousin, even though its first and last movements bring us some of the most violent moments in Beethoven.
I submit that impact of solid bodies is the most fundamental of all interstellar processes that have taken place on the terrestrial planets: without impact, Earth, Mars, Venus, and Mercury would not exist.
Simply put, the collision of smaller objects is the process by which the terrestrial planets were born. On the surface, that the geological record of the earliest history of impacts on the terrestrial planets has been lost, is troubling. As the process is self-erasing, to a certain extent, the earliest record would have been lost even if processes of melting and internal evolution of the planets had not occurred. But much of the record of the last stages of accretion of the planets is preserved, especially on the moon, Mercury, and Mars. In fact, the last stage of accretion is still going on, albeit at a very slow rate.
This is fortunate, because we can study many aspects of the processes of planetary birth by investigation of the nature of small bodies that still exist, the dynamics of their orbital evolution, and the effects that they produce when they ultimately collide with a planet. If impact and accretion were not still occurring, it would be hard to come to grips with a number of difficult problems of planetary origin and early evolution.
I submit that impact of solid bodies is the most fundamental of all interstellar processes that have taken place on the terrestrial planets: without impact, Earth, Mars, Venus, and Mercury would not exist.
Simply put, the collision of smaller objects is the process by which the terrestrial planets were born. On the surface, that the geological record of the earliest history of impacts on the terrestrial planets has been lost, is troubling. As the process is self-erasing, to a certain extent, the earliest record would have been lost even if processes of melting and internal evolution of the planets had not occurred. But much of the record of the last stages of accretion of the planets is preserved, especially on the moon, Mercury, and Mars. In fact, the last stage of accretion is still going on, albeit at a very slow rate.
This is fortunate, because we can study many aspects of the processes of planetary birth by investigation of the nature of small bodies that still exist, the dynamics of their orbital evolution, and the effects that they produce when they ultimately collide with a planet. If impact and accretion were not still occurring, it would be hard to come to grips with a number of difficult problems of planetary origin and early evolution.
I submit that impact of solid bodies is the most fundamental of all interstellar processes that have taken place on the terrestrial planets: without impact, Earth, Mars, Venus, and Mercury would not exist.
Simply put, the collision of smaller objects is the process by which the terrestrial planets were born. On the surface, that the geological record of the earliest history of impacts on the terrestrial planets has been lost, is troubling. As the process is self-erasing, to a certain extent, the earliest record would have been lost even if processes of melting and internal evolution of the planets had not occurred. But much of the record of the last stages of accretion of the planets is preserved, especially on the moon, Mercury, and Mars. In fact, the last stage of accretion is still going on, albeit at a very slow rate.
This is fortunate, because we can study many aspects of the processes of planetary birth by investigation of the nature of small bodies that still exist, the dynamics of their orbital evolution, and the effects that they produce when they ultimately collide with a planet. If impact and accretion were not still occurring, it would be hard to come to grips with a number of difficult problems of planetary origin and early evolution.
The historical basis for the King Arthur legend has long been debated by scholars. One school of thought, citing entries in the History of the Britons and Welsh Annals, sees Arthur as a genuine historical figure, a Romano-British leader who fought against the invading Anglo-Saxons sometime in the late 5th to early 6th century. The other text that seems to support the case for Arthur's historical existence is the 10th-century Annales Cambriae. The latest research shows that the Annales Cambriae was based on a chronicle begun in the late 8th century in Wales. Additionally, the complex textual history of the Annales Cambriae precludes any certainty that the Arthurian annals were added to it even that early. They were more likely added at some point in the 10th century and may never have existed in any earlier set of annals.
This lack of convincing early evidence is the reason many recent historians exclude Arthur from their accounts of post-Roman Britain. In the view of historian Thomas Charles-Edwards there may well have been an historical Arthur, but that a historian can as yet say nothing of value about him. These modern admissions of ignorance are a relatively recent trend; earlier generations of historians were less skeptical. Historian John Morris made the putative reign of Arthur the organizing principle of his history of post-Roman Britain and Ireland. Even so, he found little to say about a historical Arthur. Partly in reaction to such theories, another school of thought emerged which argued that Arthur had no historical existence at all. Morris's Age of Arthur prompted archaeologist Nowell Myres to observe that no figure on the borderline of history and mythology has wasted more of the historian's time. Arthur is not mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle or named in any surviving manuscript written between 400 and 820. He is absent from Bede's early-8th-century Ecclesiastical History of the English People, another major early source for post-Roman history.br/] Some scholars argue that Arthur was originally a fictional hero of folklore—or even a half-forgotten Celtic deity—who became credited with real deeds in the distant past. They cite parallels with figures such as the Kentish totemic horse-gods Hengest and Horsa, who later became historicized. Bede ascribed to these legendary figures a historical role in the 5th-century Anglo-Saxon conquest of eastern Britain.
Historical documents for the post-Roman period are scarce. Of the many post-Roman archeological sites and places, only a handful have been identified as "Arthurian," and these date from the 12th century or later. Archaeology can confidently reveal names only through inscriptions found in reliably dated sites. In the absence of new compelling information about post-Roman England, a definitive answer to the question of Arthur's historical existence is unlikely.
The historical basis for the King Arthur legend has long been debated by scholars. One school of thought, citing entries in the History of the Britons and Welsh Annals, sees Arthur as a genuine historical figure, a Romano-British leader who fought against the invading Anglo-Saxons sometime in the late 5th to early 6th century. The other text that seems to support the case for Arthur's historical existence is the 10th-century Annales Cambriae. The latest research shows that the Annales Cambriae was based on a chronicle begun in the late 8th century in Wales. Additionally, the complex textual history of the Annales Cambriae precludes any certainty that the Arthurian annals were added to it even that early. They were more likely added at some point in the 10th century and may never have existed in any earlier set of annals.
This lack of convincing early evidence is the reason many recent historians exclude Arthur from their accounts of post-Roman Britain. In the view of historian Thomas Charles-Edwards there may well have been an historical Arthur, but that a historian can as yet say nothing of value about him. These modern admissions of ignorance are a relatively recent trend; earlier generations of historians were less skeptical. Historian John Morris made the putative reign of Arthur the organizing principle of his history of post-Roman Britain and Ireland. Even so, he found little to say about a historical Arthur. Partly in reaction to such theories, another school of thought emerged which argued that Arthur had no historical existence at all. Morris's Age of Arthur prompted archaeologist Nowell Myres to observe that no figure on the borderline of history and mythology has wasted more of the historian's time. Arthur is not mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle or named in any surviving manuscript written between 400 and 820. He is absent from Bede's early-8th-century Ecclesiastical History of the English People, another major early source for post-Roman history.br/] Some scholars argue that Arthur was originally a fictional hero of folklore—or even a half-forgotten Celtic deity—who became credited with real deeds in the distant past. They cite parallels with figures such as the Kentish totemic horse-gods Hengest and Horsa, who later became historicized. Bede ascribed to these legendary figures a historical role in the 5th-century Anglo-Saxon conquest of eastern Britain.
Historical documents for the post-Roman period are scarce. Of the many post-Roman archeological sites and places, only a handful have been identified as "Arthurian," and these date from the 12th century or later. Archaeology can confidently reveal names only through inscriptions found in reliably dated sites. In the absence of new compelling information about post-Roman England, a definitive answer to the question of Arthur's historical existence is unlikely.
The historical basis for the King Arthur legend has long been debated by scholars. One school of thought, citing entries in the History of the Britons and Welsh Annals, sees Arthur as a genuine historical figure, a Romano-British leader who fought against the invading Anglo-Saxons sometime in the late 5th to early 6th century. The other text that seems to support the case for Arthur's historical existence is the 10th-century Annales Cambriae. The latest research shows that the Annales Cambriae was based on a chronicle begun in the late 8th century in Wales. Additionally, the complex textual history of the Annales Cambriae precludes any certainty that the Arthurian annals were added to it even that early. They were more likely added at some point in the 10th century and may never have existed in any earlier set of annals.
This lack of convincing early evidence is the reason many recent historians exclude Arthur from their accounts of post-Roman Britain. In the view of historian Thomas Charles-Edwards there may well have been an historical Arthur, but that a historian can as yet say nothing of value about him. These modern admissions of ignorance are a relatively recent trend; earlier generations of historians were less skeptical. Historian John Morris made the putative reign of Arthur the organizing principle of his history of post-Roman Britain and Ireland. Even so, he found little to say about a historical Arthur. Partly in reaction to such theories, another school of thought emerged which argued that Arthur had no historical existence at all. Morris's Age of Arthur prompted archaeologist Nowell Myres to observe that no figure on the borderline of history and mythology has wasted more of the historian's time. Arthur is not mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle or named in any surviving manuscript written between 400 and 820. He is absent from Bede's early-8th-century Ecclesiastical History of the English People, another major early source for post-Roman history.br/] Some scholars argue that Arthur was originally a fictional hero of folklore—or even a half-forgotten Celtic deity—who became credited with real deeds in the distant past. They cite parallels with figures such as the Kentish totemic horse-gods Hengest and Horsa, who later became historicized. Bede ascribed to these legendary figures a historical role in the 5th-century Anglo-Saxon conquest of eastern Britain.
Historical documents for the post-Roman period are scarce. Of the many post-Roman archeological sites and places, only a handful have been identified as "Arthurian," and these date from the 12th century or later. Archaeology can confidently reveal names only through inscriptions found in reliably dated sites. In the absence of new compelling information about post-Roman England, a definitive answer to the question of Arthur's historical existence is unlikely.
The historical basis for the King Arthur legend has long been debated by scholars. One school of thought, citing entries in the History of the Britons and Welsh Annals, sees Arthur as a genuine historical figure, a Romano-British leader who fought against the invading Anglo-Saxons sometime in the late 5th to early 6th century. The other text that seems to support the case for Arthur's historical existence is the 10th-century Annales Cambriae. The latest research shows that the Annales Cambriae was based on a chronicle begun in the late 8th century in Wales. Additionally, the complex textual history of the Annales Cambriae precludes any certainty that the Arthurian annals were added to it even that early. They were more likely added at some point in the 10th century and may never have existed in any earlier set of annals.
This lack of convincing early evidence is the reason many recent historians exclude Arthur from their accounts of post-Roman Britain. In the view of historian Thomas Charles-Edwards there may well have been an historical Arthur, but that a historian can as yet say nothing of value about him. These modern admissions of ignorance are a relatively recent trend; earlier generations of historians were less skeptical. Historian John Morris made the putative reign of Arthur the organizing principle of his history of post-Roman Britain and Ireland. Even so, he found little to say about a historical Arthur. Partly in reaction to such theories, another school of thought emerged which argued that Arthur had no historical existence at all. Morris's Age of Arthur prompted archaeologist Nowell Myres to observe that no figure on the borderline of history and mythology has wasted more of the historian's time. Arthur is not mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle or named in any surviving manuscript written between 400 and 820. He is absent from Bede's early-8th-century Ecclesiastical History of the English People, another major early source for post-Roman history.br/] Some scholars argue that Arthur was originally a fictional hero of folklore—or even a half-forgotten Celtic deity—who became credited with real deeds in the distant past. They cite parallels with figures such as the Kentish totemic horse-gods Hengest and Horsa, who later became historicized. Bede ascribed to these legendary figures a historical role in the 5th-century Anglo-Saxon conquest of eastern Britain.
Historical documents for the post-Roman period are scarce. Of the many post-Roman archeological sites and places, only a handful have been identified as "Arthurian," and these date from the 12th century or later. Archaeology can confidently reveal names only through inscriptions found in reliably dated sites. In the absence of new compelling information about post-Roman England, a definitive answer to the question of Arthur's historical existence is unlikely.