each other, the way they were governed and fought wars, engaged in the arts and
sciences, in their religion and morals, and the class ideologies through which
they saw their neighbours and the world.
It was, I believed, the second great revolution in human history, succeeding
the Neolithic revolution in settled agriculture that provided a regular surplus of
food to support specialist rulers, priests, warriors, craftsmen and traders, and so
the growth of towns and the instruments of civilisation. This provided the basis
for a system that lasted at least 4,000 years, from the days of Troy and Jericho to
the great Eurasian empires of the nineteenth century, dominated by landlords,
warriors and priests who controlled the scarce resource of land. The second
revolution raised the plane of existence still further, producing an increase in
productivity in both manufacture and agriculture that freed a majority of a larger
population for work in the towns, which outgrew the rural dwellers and created a
plutocratic elite and a proletarian populace, with a growing layer of business men
and professional specialists in between. It improved the quality of life but at the
cost of severe social problems of poverty, public health, crime, and class
conflict. It took longer than the French Revolution that was its role model,
however. Taking place over two or three generations, it was recognised by
contemporaries like Friedrich Engels and the elder Arnold Toynbee as
sufficiently striking to deserve its name.
Since the book was published, the very concept has undergone a buffeting, as
Peter Mathias has remarked in the new introduction (2001) to his seminal The
First Industrial Nation: The Economic History of Britain, 1700–1914. First the
cliometricians of the ‘New Economic History’, Nobelist Robert Fogel, Jonathan
Hughes, Nick Crafts and others, reduced it to numerical analysis and found it to
be lacking in swiftness and the acceleration of economic growth, so that it was
more an evolution dating back to Tudor or medieval times rather than a
revolution. Number-crunching failed to live up to its promises, however, and did
not convince those who followed Tawney’s advice to put on their boots and look
around them on the ground. They found that great towns and cities, canals,
railways and steamships, large joint-stock companies and government
departments, heavily armed forces and great warships, and the clash of warring
classes did not wait upon statistical tables but changed people’s lives and
transformed irreversibly the scale of existence. ‘Il faut compter’, as the Annales
school’s Robert Mousnier remarked, but it is also necessary to know what you
are counting. Some of the cliometricians were counting ‘counter-factuals’—
events that did not happen, like the economic effects of the non-building of
railroads in the United States—which is rather like counting imaginary sheep.
You cannot wish away an elephant by ignoring it, and the Industrial Revolution
would not go away.
It was brought back to life by the new ‘institutional economics’ of Douglas
North and co., who pointed out that economic growth depended on other factors
besides investment and productivity, that qualitative inputs by government,
property law and social mores enabled the factors of production to operate more
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