✪✪✪ Class Divisions In The 19th Century

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Class Divisions In The 19th Century



The Mill on the Floss Class Divisions In The 19th Century provincial middle Class Divisions In The 19th Century manners and values exactly. Until recently, only men could be so ordained. Every white man who was not an Class Divisions In The 19th Century servant was intended to have enough land to support a family. Its Personal Narrative: Into The Wild were annexed in for Class Divisions In The 19th Century construction Class Divisions In The 19th Century the military portand it became the Class Divisions In The 19th Century of the Duke of Harcourtwho sheltered the King in Most of the many quarries, which opened in the metropolitan area The Monk Character Analysis building the harbour wallare Emily Chubbuck Judsons Sonnet To Winter closed. Some Class Divisions In The 19th Century who converted to Class Divisions In The 19th Century became free landowners with white servants. Many slaves had been incorporated moral of macbeth the Brazilian forces to face the increasingly serious situation.

How Class Works -- by Richard Wolff

The Victorians also tended to distinguish between the 'deserving poor' and the 'indigent' when it came to charity and the administration of Poor Law relief, the only social security system there was. A completely sympathetic picture of a working class main character is given in Mrs. But even there, the fear of the Trades Unions is strong. Much more ambivalent portraits of the working class occur in Dickens' Bleak House. The urban underclass is seen as disease-carrying and criminal, a danger to the welfare of the rest of society. Generally, the lives of many working class people in the nineteenth century were marked by grinding poverty, slave-like labour conditions, overcrowding, disease, alcoholism and few opportunities to gain an education.

Surveys done as late as in York and London bear this out exactly, concluding that a third of the working class lived on the edge of starvation. However, there were many who, as skilled craftsmen, earned decent wages, were law-abiding and respected the hierarchy. They often were portrayed as enjoying close social cohesion. Dickens portrays such families in his novels, for instance:. Just above the Victorian working class was the lower middle-class, whose greatest fear was to fall back into the working class. Just how easily this was done was discovered by Dickens when his parents were jailed for debt. It is said this experience haunted Dickens the rest of his life.

This group were often known as 'shabby genteel' as they tried to emulate the more prosperous upper middle-class, by keeping a servant, not allowing their daughters to work, and trying to stay 'respectable'. Above the lower middles-class were the bourgeoisie, the solid middle-class. The term is another nineteenth century invention. The best portrayal of these is given by the novelist George Eliot.

The Mill on the Floss portrays provincial middle class manners and values exactly. The heroine, Maggie, cannot fit in to the narrow conventions and is doomed to exclusion. In France, Gustav Flaubert's famous novel Madame Bovary well portrays the boredom and conventions of the bourgeois life in a similar way. It must be said that in Scotland, and to a lesser extent, Wales, the democratic urge and the access to higher education were stronger, modifying the strength of division of class feeling. Victorian literature, features English class and hierarchy. Contents Article Recent Articles Victorian literature, features The role of fiction Changing status of novels and the novelist, The Gothic and sensation fiction Literacy and serialisation Monster and Victorian society, The Moral improvement Victorian perceptions of poetry Portrayal of women in literature Attitudes to women as readers The impact of society Industrialisation Travel, transport and communication Death and mourning in the Victorian era Enclosure and the Agrarian Revolution English class and hierarchy Female emancipation Town and country Urbanisation and the suburbs.

English class and hierarchy The significance of social class It is almost impossible to understand the nineteenth century English novel without an understanding of the class system of English society. Origins of the class system The feudal system The English class system is basically feudal in origin, dating from the Norman conquests of the eleventh century. The determiners of medieval social class The major division in this system was ownership of land.

A God-ordained system The hierarchical class scheme was seen as part of a divine order, which tied in with the concept of the chain of being. The impact of the Industrial Revolution The social pyramid By it was reckoned there existed around: 27, upper class families , middle-class households Two million working class ones. Social mobility It had always been possible for a rich merchant or lawyer to buy property, educate his children and marry them into some impoverished upper class family. For example: In Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice , Darcy may come from an old landed though untitled family, but his friend Bingley's wealth came from an industrialist father In Emma , the arriviste pretensions of Mrs. Elton are juxtaposed with the established gentry of the Woodhouses Nearly a hundred years later, Thomas Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles shows the villain, Alec d'Urberville, inheriting his money from a wealthy merchant father who had bought up an aristocratic name, property and lifestyle.

Meanwhile, he helps destroy Tess, whose family used to be aristocratic but now have fallen to be landless labourers. What is a Gentleman? Literary examples In Pride and Prejudice , Darcy is stung by Elizabeth's reproach that he has not behaved like a gentleman. Victorian definitions of class This redefinition of a gentleman was enormously important for the Victorian s. Revolution and politics Fears of insurrection In the first part of the nineteenth century there was a tremendous fear that the working class would behave like the French who overthrew their rulers in the ss , and bring about a revolution.

Victorian attitudes to class The Working Class Middle class perspectives Victorian writers were nearly all from the middle classes and many had quite ambivalent attitudes to the working classes. The latter novel created a furore over Jude's radical ideas. Both novels show how impossible it was for working class men to gain access to higher education. Living conditions Generally, the lives of many working class people in the nineteenth century were marked by grinding poverty, slave-like labour conditions, overcrowding, disease, alcoholism and few opportunities to gain an education. Dickens portrays such families in his novels, for instance: In Dombey and Son , the cold and frigid family life experienced among the rich is contrasted to the warmth of relationships among the working class Jo Gargery in Great Expectations is another example, though his family life only becomes happy with his second marriage.

Shabby genteel and the bourgeoisie The lower middle-class Just above the Victorian working class was the lower middle-class, whose greatest fear was to fall back into the working class. The bourgeoisie Above the lower middles-class were the bourgeoisie, the solid middle-class. The breakdown of class divisions Many of these characteristics of class and hierarchy continued in England till after World War II. Of or relating to feudalism, a hierarchical land holding social structure between lord and subject.

The image of God on his throne in heaven surrounded by his angels and ministers to whom he makes announcements and where he may be petitioned. A theoretical view of the universe, often reflected in Shakespearean drama, in which every creature in the universe is in a hierarchical line of descent from the overall creator, God. Someone ordained as a priest, deacon or bishop to teach, conduct religious services, administer the sacraments and provide pastoral care within the Christian Church.

Until recently, only men could be so ordained. Name originally given to disciples of Jesus by outsiders and gradually adopted by the Early Church. Belonging to the reign of Queen Victoria Resembling attitudes or behaviour considered characteristic of the time of Victoria and seen as over-strict, prudish, old-fashioned. A society where the government consists of those in positions of authority owing to their personal skills, education and experience. A popular movement for British parliamentary reform from , which pressed for issues such as voting rights for all men, anonymous ballots and yearly general elections. And, in Russia, a similar social-historical interpretation was eventually advanced about the upheavals of , which, it was argued, witnessed the first-ever triumph of a self-consciously revolutionary proletariat, thanks to Lenin's inspired leadership as he gave history a helping hand in a Marxist direction.

In this broader perspective of national history writing, the class-based interpretation of the British past was merely part of a general, widespread postwar pattern. Even in the late s, this remained very much the prevailing orthodoxy. Yet today there is almost no one among a younger generation of British historians who would unquestioningly endorse this once-paramount interpretation. Why has it ceased to carry conviction? Part of the explanation lies in the massive amount of detailed empirical research that has progressively undermined these earlier, confident, but often highly speculative generalizations.

For it is now clear that the pattern of economic development that provided the materialist motor for the Marxist model was neither as neat nor as simple as was once claimed. The development of capitalism in the seventeenth century, the industrial revolution of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, the rise of new technologies during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the growth of consumer-oriented industries during the interwar years, and the decline of the great Victorian staples since all these phases of economic change turn out, on closer inspection, to have been extremely complex, varied, and gradual developments.

In turn, this meant that changes in the economy were never so momentous, so straightforward, or so pervasive as to make possible or bring about the creation of those homogeneous, self-conscious classes of landowners, capitalists, and laborers locked in perpetual conflict with each other that Marx and his later followers among British historians hoped and claimed to discern. On closer inspection, the best that could be said of Marx's three class-conscious classes was that they were ideal types, historical abstractions that grossly oversimplified the way in which the social structure of modern Britain had actually evolved and developed. One difficulty was that the shared class characteristics and clear-cut class boundaries that Marx and his followers had posited had rarely if ever existed in fact.

Landowners did not only enjoy agricultural rents: they also drew profits from their mines, docks, urban estates, and industrial investments. In the same way, successful middle-class businessmen often set themselves up as broad-acted gentlemen, thereby straddling the supposedly deep and unbridgeable divide between the country house and the countinghouse. Another problem was that within Marx's three supposedly inclusive class categories, there were many internal divisions: between aristocrats and landed gentry, between bankers and businessmen, between industrialists competing for the same markets, and between the many different gradations of skilled and unskilled labor. Yet a third qualification was that during and since Marx's time, old occupational groups have expanded, and new occupational groups have come into being that do not easily fit into his three-level model: rentiers, managers, professionals, domestic servants, and the whole of the lower middle classes.

Thus described, the social structure of modern Britain was more elaborate, and also more integrated, than Marx had allowed. But this was not the only way in which it turned out that he had been a heroic and misleading oversimplifier. For as particular episodes were more fully examined, it soon emerged that the grand, linear narrative--of class formation, class conflict, and political revolution--failed to sustain its credibility across the centuries, instead collapsing amid a welter of short-term, internal contradictions.

How could the aristocracy have been in apparently terminal crisis by the s yet still be the dominant class in the country on the eve of the passing of the Great Reform Act one hundred and eighty years later? If the working class had been so successfully "made" by the s, then why and how was it necessary for them to be "remade" during the last quarter of the nineteenth century?

As for the ever-rising middle class, how was it possible for them to have gained so much in power and self-consciousness in every century, to have pioneered a bourgeois revolution in the seventeenth century, to have been "made" during the early eighteenth century and then "made" again a hundred years later, and yet to have achieved so little? In the shortrun, self-enclosed historiographies of the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries, these problems could largely be ignored.

But the longer-run national narrative, built around rising and falling classes that persistently failed to rise and fall and centering on political revolutions that were invariably incomplete, was shot through with both logical and chronological inconsistencies. The class interpretation was also in error in placing so much stress on the unifying experience of laboring activity in the creation of class consciousness. As soon as historians began to study work, it turned out, like so much else, to be a more complex subject than the Marxists had appreciated.

The growing range and number of occupations made people's circumstances more differentiated rather than more alike; many men frequently changed jobs and were often unemployed; and many women did not work at all. Pace E. Thompson, it was thus not clear that class "eventuates," as he had claimed it did, as "men and women live their productive relations. Historians of leisure, of domesticity, and of consumption have discovered social groupings and social relationships that were often significantly different from those found by historians of work and those of "social control.

The physical shapes on the ground, like the social shapes in society, were more varied than Marx recognized. It was never possible, moreover, as the interpretation built around the making of class consciousness crucially required, to collapse social categories into political groupings, to elide class into party, in any convincing, coherent, and credible way. As detailed research soon began to show, the Civil War was neither caused by nor fought out between rising bourgeois roundheads on the one side and declining aristocratic cavaliers on the other.

In eighteenth-century Britain, it was impossible to read off Whig or Tory political affiliations from their different positions in the economic and social structure. In nineteenth-century Britain, which had supposedly witnessed the final triumph of the bourgeoisie, politics remained a largely patrician pursuit, and there was never a hegemonic middle-class political party. And in twentieth-century Britain, many workers have voted Conservative how else, indeed, could the Tories have won elections so frequently on a full adult franchise?

Now, as in earlier times, political parties are not dominated, as Marx had too readily assumed, by the exclusive interests of a single class, and politics is never merely the direct, unmediated expression of class identities and class conflicts. But the class-based interpretation of modern British history has not been undermined only by the detailed empirical research that it has stimulated and provoked. During the last two decades, a second and no less serious challenge has been mounted by women's historians and devotees of the new literary theory. Feminist scholars rightly observe that very few women appeared in the canonical texts of social history written in a Marxist mode.

How odd it seems to them that books ostensibly about a whole class were only concerned with one half of it. Yet in many ways, they insist, women's experiences of work and life were very different from those of men, and there were also tensions and conflicts between the sexes that eroded any sense of class solidarity they might feel. As a result, a great deal of effort has been spent by some feminist historians in trying to reconcile--and by others in seeking to deny--the competing claims of class and gender. So far, on balance, gender has destabilized class as a category of historical analysis rather than revived or reinforced it. During the s and s, pioneering social historians were Marxists interested in class.

During the s and s, they have more usually been feminists interested in gender. For them, the history of all hitherto existing society is no longer the history of class struggles; instead it is the history of gendered identities and interpersonal relationships. Equally subversive of the traditional view of class has been the rise to prominence of postmodernist literary theory. As the result of their discovery of what is called the "linguistic turn," many historians no longer regard class as the study of the vexed relations among land, capital, and labor and of the political conflicts arising out of them.

Instead, they see class as the study of the language that people used, because it was the words they employed that provided the essential source of their social and political identities. Thus conceived, class was neither an objective guide to social reality nor a shared subjective experience. Classes never actually existed as recognizable historical phenomena, still less as the prime motor of historical change. They were nothing more than rhetorical constructions, the inner imaginative worlds of everyman and everywoman, seeking as best they could to explain their social universe to themselves. And not only was social perception ultimately the product of language; it did not even have to be the language of class.

For there were--and are--many other words in which people envision the social order. Thus regarded, the history of all hitherto existing society is no longer the history of class struggles; rather, it is the history of a limitless number of individual self-categorizations and subjective social descriptions of which class is only one among a multitude of competing and frequently changing vocabularies.

All this is merely to say that we now live in a postmodern era of decentered and deconstructed discourse in which grand, traditional master narratives are no longer fashionable because they no longer seem credible. On the contrary, they are now widely dismissed as being deeply and fatally flawed: too teleological, too anachronistic, too Whiggish, too reductionist, too masculinist, too all-encompassing, too overdetermined, too simplistic.

Among the prime casualties of this new mode of thinking have been those bold, confident, overarching, Marxist-liberal histories built around class formation, class conflict, and political revolution. The simple, direct connections so easily assumed but so rarely demonstrated between economic change, the making of a class, and revolutionary politics have very largely been given up. Accounts of class making and class formation are by their very nature hopelessly and helplessly blighted by the distorting vision of hindsight. And the once heroically regarded political revolutions are now seen as the result of accident and contingency, with no long-term social causes or far-reaching political consequences. In its postwar heyday, class was the grandest and most masterly narrative available.

But today the only master narrative left is that there is no master narrative whatsoever, only the "chaotic authenticity" of random happenings and unforeseeable events so. As is so often the case in the writing and interpretation of modern British history, these recent scholarly developments have coincided with, and have undoubtedly been influenced by, broader changes in public affairs, in Britain and elsewhere. Since , one of the most conspicuous domestic developments has been the defeat of organized labor, in both its professional and its political guises. The final, precipitous collapse of the great Victorian staple industries, and of the traditional working class, means that the number of trade-union members has fallen dramatically, and that their political influence is much diminished.

Support for the Labour Party declined significantly in the twenty years from , and until it reinvented itself during the s, it showed a conspicuous inability to win general elections. The old, ostensibly classbased politics that gave it coherence and purpose--improving the lot of industrial workers and nationalizing the means of production--were an inadequate basis on which to build a successful party of the Left in the closing decades of the twentieth century. As a result, today's Labour politicians are less interested than their predecessors were in the history of class consciousness and class conflict, a history that was once such an important prop to the party's collective identity and purpose.

Instead, they have returned to an earlier notion of socialism by stressing cooperation and community rather than class and conflict. This is well exemplified in the case of Tony Blair, who is at least as much a party leader and prime minister for our postsocialist times as was John Major. He is not saturated with Labour's traditional language and categories of class and has expressed no ambition to promote class consciousness or incite class conflict.

On the contrary, these venerable party nostrums are the "great absence" from his political vision and his political vocabulary. Like John Major, only more so, he is primarily interested in talking about community, consensus, and conciliation, and class gets in the way of such talk. Hence his determination to rid Labour of its "Marxist intellectual analysis," with its "false view of class," which was "always out of kilter with the real world," and also its long-standing commitment to the "common ownership of the means of production. As he proclaims it, the key to Blair's politics is the nurturing of the reciprocal relationship between the individual and society, and this culture of community and inclusivity leaves no room for the outdated and outmoded notions of class identity, class interest, and class war.

Underlying this "fall of class" on the Left in Britain is a broader change in the conventional vocabulary of political discussion and social perception, namely, the shift from the traditional preoccupation with people as collective producers to the alternative notion of people as individual consumers. This was partly Margaret Thatcher's achievement, and she very much knew what she was doing. She attacked the trade unions, because they represented organized, collective, productive labor. She stressed the market, the public, the customer, and the individual, which undermined the language of social solidarity based on productive classes.

She offered hope--in a way that Labour never had--to the working and lower middle classes of escaping the constraints of impoverished expectations and irremediable subordination. And by wrapping herself in the flag, she very effectively marginalized the politics of sectional interests and class conflict. As a result of her policies and her rhetoric, Thatcher thus went a long way toward achieving her ambition of banishing the language of class from public discussion and political debate about the structure and nature of British society. And the fact that Tony Blair has no wish to resurrect this language is a measure of her achievement in changing the way people think about social structures, social relations, and social identities in today's Britain.

As in the earlier era of the welfare state, these developments in British politics, which have significantly influenced developments in British history writing, also need to be set in a broader, continental perspective. For the collapse of Communism in Eastern Europe has only dealt a further blow to any political or academic enterprise that is essentially class based in inspiration. The demise of the Soviet Union and its Warsaw Pact satellites during the late s has discredited Marxism throughout Europe as an ideology, and today it only survives, increasingly beleaguered, introverted, and irrelevant in enclaves in North and South America and in certain departments of European universities devoted to art history, literature and linguistics, and cultural studies.

But as an all-embracing intellectual system that once confidently claimed to provide the key to all human society and all human behavior, past, present and future, Marx's doctrines now seem generally discredited beyond rehabilitation. Communism is dead, therefore Marxism is dead, therefore class is dead: thus runs the argument. Accordingly, the whole outmoded apparatus of class analysis has been consigned to the wastepaper basket of history, along with the cold war, the Berlin Wall, the Soviet Union, and the guards outside Lenin's mausoleum.

In the light of these developments, class is no longer a way let alone the way of looking at history; it has become part of history. Not surprisingly, the recent decline in Marxist, Marxisant, and class-based history has been a European-wide phenomenon. As class formation, class conflict, and political revolution have been taken out of the British approach to the past, so they have also disappeared from the histories and historiographies of other countries. In France, the Revolution is no longer seen as the inevitable outcome of class war: the bourgeoisie was too weak, too diffuse, and too unself-conscious to have accomplished anything so single-mindedly significant or heroic in In Mexico, the old regime has been rehabilitated, the revolution has been reappraised as a political not a social phenomenon, and its effects are now seen as having been distinctly limited.

And in Russia, recent accounts of have deliberately ignored the once-central class dimension. In each case, long-term social causes have been disregarded, class identities have been denied and set aside, and the upheavals themselves are lamented as the regrettable, unnecessary, and illegitimate work of rootless, unprincipled, and amoral conspirators. Here, as in British history, class consciousness and class conflict have been decisively rejected as the essential motor governing and driving the historical process. Culture now matters more than class; chance and contingency are deemed to be more important than structure and pattern. These are some of the reasons why class analysis has been dethroned from its previously central place in the social history of modern Britain in recent years.

It never did explain what it purported to explain, namely, the broad contours of Britain's historical evolution from the sixteenth century to the twentieth. The idea that classes rise, struggle, and fall like Paul Kennedy's great powers no longer seems as convincing as it did. It has been further undermined by feminist scholars, by those excited by the "linguistic turn," and by the loss of the credibility of traditional master narratives. And it has been additionally eroded by the marginalization of the old Labour Party in Britain, by the shift in emphasis from people as collective producers to people as individual consumers, and by the collapse of Communism in Eastern Europe.

As a result, the view that the history of modern Britain--or the history of modern Anywhere Else--may best be understood in terms of conflicts between opposing armies of fully self-conscious class warriors has been overthrown. Rather than employ class to explain history, it now seems that we should employ history to explain class. Instead of using Marx to help us make sense of the nineteenth century, it is more appropriate to use the nineteenth century to help us make sense of Marx, assuming that anyone today still thinks that a worthwhile undertaking. Such is now the conventional historiographical wisdom.

As deployed in its welfare state heyday, class was too crude a concept: it did not do justice to the refractory complexity of the historical process, and it never captured more than a part of the way in which ordinary men to say nothing of ordinary women lived out their lives. Small wonder that some historians are now talking of a terminal crisis in the concept of class and of the need to replace it with something else--or with nothing at all. Today, they are much more inclined to stress the relatively high degree of consensus that seems to have prevailed in Britain, the general absence of clear-cut classes and clear-cut class conflict, and the way in which different social groupings and identities merged easily and imperceptibly into one another in the seamless web of the social fabric.

At the same time, they have become increasingly aware of the associational richness and diversity of past people's lives: as men and women, husbands and wives, parents and children; as members of churches or trade unions or soccer clubs or political parties; as individuals with loyalties to their firms, their villages, their towns, their cities, their counties, their regions, their country. With so many fluctuating and sometimes contradictory senses of identity that constantly cut across each other, there no longer seems any justification for privileging class identity--or class analysis.

Not surprisingly, then, Marx has been one of the most conspicuous casualties of our postindustrial, postsocialist, post-cold war, postmodern world, for it is a post-Marxist world as well. Indeed, the reaction against Marxism and class analysis is now flowing so strongly that the most recent and authoritative social history of modern Britain, which runs to three large and otherwise comprehensive volumes, managed to leave out the subject completely, thereby giving an entirely new meaning to the injunction "class dismissed. Christopher Hill no longer insists that the English Civil War was the first bourgeois revolution. Eric Hobsbawm has shifted his interests from class and class conflict in nineteenth-century Europe to nationalism, national identity, and the twentieth century.

And in one of his last essays, E. It is a concept long past its sell-by date. For present purposes, it does not matter; either way, class today is not what it once was. It has had a great fall. But the difficulty with banishing class from modern British history in the way it has increasingly become fashionable to do is that it leaves us incapable of understanding what it was that John Major was talking about or why what he said resonated--and is still resonating--so widely. For if he was right in asserting that Britain is still a class-bound society, then it is little short of bizarre that in recent years historians have been spending so much time and effort denying that this was so and, by implication, that this is still so.

If we accept, as we are surely correct in doing, that class is one of the most important aspects of modern British history no less than of modern British life, then it is at best regrettable and at worst plain wrong for the current generation of historians to show minimal interest in the subject. Even if, in its crudest forms, the Marxist approach to class no longer carries conviction, that is no reason for dismissing class altogether. The baby, still kicking vigorously, should be retained, even though the bathwater, long since grown tepid, has rightly been jettisoned. For the most important and immediate task is neither that of denying nor rehabilitating old-style class analysis but of defining the subject afresh and envisioning it anew.

In order to do so, we need to be clear as to the central problem with the traditional approach to class. This was not that it sought to study or understand class, both of which are entirely worthwhile scholarly objectives. The difficulties were those arising from mistaken identity and excessive expectations. Most Marxists believed that a person's class identity was collective rather than individual and was primarily determined by his or, just occasionally, her relationship to the means of production.

But this was clearly too narrow, too materialistic, too reductionist an approach, and it assumed that all social identities were shared rather than single. Moreover, these collective classes, as defined and understood by Marx, showed a high degree of internal coherence and homogeneity. Again, this seems to have been an oversimplification. And he also assumed a direct causal link not only between economic development and social change but also between social change and political events. This, too, seems excessively crude. In short, the sort of classes for which Marxists searched never existed as they hoped to find them. And so it is hardly surprising that class as it has actually existed did not fulfill its task as the animator and agitator of the historical process that Marx had wished on it.

But how has class actually existed? In seeking to answer that question, we should also recognize that where Marx was on to something was in his insistence that the material circumstances of people's existences--physical, financial, environmental--do matter in influencing their life chances, their senses of identity, and the historical part that they and their contemporaries may or may not play. Whatever the devotees of the "linguistic turn" may claim, class is not just about language. There is reality as well as representation. Go to Toxteth, go to Wandsworth, go to Tyneside, go to Balsall Heath, and tell the people who live in the slums and the council estates and the high-rise ghettos that their sense of social structure and social identity is no more than a subjective rhetorical construction, that it is nothing beyond a collection of individual self-categorizations.

It seems unlikely that they will agree. Nor, for that matter, would the inhabitants of Edgbaston or Eastbourne, Belgravia or Buckingham Palace. Class, like sex, may indeed take place in the head, but it has never existed solely in the head or in the eyes or in the words of the beholder. Social reality always keeps breaking in. Classes, like nations, are sometimes more and sometimes less than imagined communities. All of which is simply to say that language is a necessary but insufficient guide, to both social circumstances and social consciousness.

We need to get beyond the "linguistic turn. It is somewhere between the overdetermined reductionism of Marxist analysis and the free-floating subjectivities of the historians of language that we should seek to discover, describe, and discuss class as it has actually existed and developed in Britain during the last three hundred years. But where, in making such a fresh start, might we most helpfully begin? One appropriate place is with a long view of Britain's evolving--or, rather, nonevolving--social structure from the early eighteenth century to the late twentieth. If we borrow W. Runciman's recent typology, it is clear that across this long span, British society has been continually characterized by what he terms four "systactic" categories: a small elite; a larger group of managers, businessmen, and professionals; the general body of wage workers; and a deprived, impoverished, and sometimes criminalized underclass.

These general social-cum-occupational groups have been a constant across the centuries of modern British history, and an abundance of recent, more detailed research into patterns of wealth distribution and occupational structure amply bears this out. Indeed, it has been the gradual piecing together of this long-term picture of un changingness that has done much to subvert the old Marxist or Marxisant notion that the historical process was built around the economically driven processes of rapid social development, sudden class creation, and abrupt class conflict.

This is not, it now seems, the way in which things in the British past actually happened. Class also has a geography as well as a history. Local studies of villages, towns, cities, and regions by definition tell us a great deal about particular places. But they are also, by definition, prone to parochialism and introversion, and they dislike and avoid making generalizations or seeking broader patterns. Yet we need to remember that across the last three centuries these localities were embedded in many wider worlds: not just the four nations of England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales but also the larger identifies of Great Britain and the British Isles. Moreover, for much of the period with which this book is concerned Britain was an imperial power and an expanding society.

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