Economic Growth With Energy

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Description

• fiche de synthèse - matière potentielle : the key contributions
• cours - matière potentielle : about the economy
• expression écrite

Economic Growth With Energy November 2006 This paper works out some of the basic properties of an economy with energy as a factor of production. The economy now consists of streams of energy con- versions that direct energy to the production of goods and services. The focus on energy generates a variety of insights. It yields a new taxonomy of econo- mies and economic activities; allows a better grasp of the tasks performed by labor and capital; raises the prospect of examining growth as the speeding up of machines; and identifies greater use of energy as an important source of growth.

• economy before the twentieth century
• iron ore into iron
• production of goods
• nineteenth century
• economy
• capital
• labor
• energy
• land

Sujets

• McCulloch
• Rashid
• Shahid
• Frédéric Bastiat
• Northeastern University
• Morrison

Informations

• Publié par: orzi
• Nombre de lectures: 12
• Langue: English

Extrait

DON’T SHOOT THE WHITE SWANS
By
Boris Vassilyev

Translated by
Linda Noble

Published by
Raduga Publishers, Moscow
1990
In
Don’t shoot the white swans and other stories

Prepared for the Internet by K. Suresh

[From the Blurb:
The title novel is the heart-rending tale of a country bumpkin who is the laughing stock of his
community. The hero is an unassuming, hard-working man whose natural desire to live according to his
conscience brings nothing but misfortune and hardship upon himself and his family. Through his eyes
the author gives a true-to-life picture of the less-than-idyllic life in a small present-day provincial Russian
town.]
1
Some quotes from the text:
"What do you think holds work together?"
"Your head!"
"That too. Your head and your hands and a knack, but most important, your heart. A man can move
mountains with his heart. But if work's just for, well, just for puttin' food on the table, it'll slip right
through your fingers. Just won't come, son. And then your hands, they're all thumbs, and your head's
just like an empty pot.
*
What's a man need? He needs peace. Every animal, every insect, every, you know, fir and birch tree -
they're all just dying for their own peace.
*
Man suffers. Suffers a lot, my dear, kind friends. Why? Because we're all orphans, we are. Out of sorts
with mother earth, in a row with father forest, in bitter separation from sister river. And there's nothing
to stand on, nothing to lean against, and nothing to refresh ourselves with.
*
"People have been thinking about the nature of evil and why it exists for a long time, Kolka. For as long
as they've been on earth they've been racking their brains over it. Then one day they created a devil
with a tail and horns in order to explain it all away. They thought up the devil and gave him all the re-
sponsibility for the evil in the world. So it wasn't people who were to blame, but the devil. The devil led
them astray. But that devil, he didn't help people, Kolka. He didn't explain the reasons, nor did he
shelter or deliver people from evil. And why do you suppose?"
"Because they looked for everything on the outside! And evil - it's in a person, it's inside."
*
And then there were Pa's rules. Simple ones: never impose any rules on anyone. And he didn't. He had
always lived a quiet and subdued life: always looked around to make sure he wasn't bothering anyone,
wasn't standing in the sunlight, wasn't getting in anyone's way. For this he deserved heartfelt thanks,
but no one thanked him. No one.
*
Every tree, son, has some use: Mother Nature doesn't like good-for-nothings. One tree grows for man -
for his needs - while another grows for the forest for all kinds of critters or for mushrooms, say. And
that's why, before you go swinging your axe, ya gotta look around to make sure you're not harming
anyone: an elk or a hare, a mushroom or a squirrel or a hedgehog. If you hurt them, you'll be hurtin'
yourself; they'll leave that chopped down forest, and you won't be able to coax 'em back for nothin'.
*
Nature's got its own levels too. The wagtail, now, it hangs around on the ground, while the hawk soars in
the heavens. Everyone's been allotted his own level, and that's why there's no fuss, no crowding.
Everyone's got his own business and his own dining-room. Mother Nature doesn't shortchange anyone
son, and everyone's equal in her eyes.
*
On the one hand we're taught that nature is our home. But on the other hand, what do we have? We
have the subjugation of Mother Nature. But Mother Nature, she just puts right up with it. She dies
silently, slowly. And no man is her king. It's harmful to go calling himself king. He's just her son, her
eldest son. So be sensible - don't send mama to her grave.
*



2
DON’T SHOOT THE WHITE SWANS
Author’s Note
When I enter the forest I hear Yegor's life. Amidst the bustling whisper of aspen groves, the sighs of
pinewoods, the heavy waves of fir trees' paws. I look for Yegor.
I find him in the June pine forest- indefatigable and ever optimistic. I meet him in the autumn damp -
serious and dishevelled. I await him in the frosty silence - pensive and bright. I see him in the springtime
florescence-patient and impatient at once. And I am always amazed at how varied he was- varied for
people and varied for himself.
And varied was his life - a life for himself and a life for people.
But perhaps all lives are varied? Varied for oneself and varied for people? Only is there always a sum
total in these variances? Appearing or being varied, are we always one in ourselves?
Yegor was one because he was always himself. He could not and did not try to appear otherwise - neither
better nor worse. And he acted not according to logic, not with a goal, not for approval from above, but
however his conscience dictated.

1
Yegor Polushkin was known throughout the settlement as the loser. No one remembered now when he
had received this epithet, and even his own wife, having been driven quite mad by chronic bad luck,
would cry in a frenzied voice as annoying as the hum of mosquitoes: "Lord have mercy on you loser and
good-for-nothing curse of my life bane of my existence ... "
She would wail it on one note, for as long as her breath held out, and she used no punctuation marks.
Yegor would sigh sadly, while ten-year-old Kolka, hurt on his father's behalf, would go off behind the
small shed and weep. And he wept too, because he understood even then that his mother was right.
The shouts and curses would always make Yegor feel guilty. Guilty not according to logic, but according
to conscience. For this reason he never argued, but merely blamed himself and suffered.
"Folks got real bread-winners for men and their homes are rich and their wives like doveys!.."
Haritina Polushkin came from Zaonezhye, and from cursing she would easily slip into lamentations. She
considered herself slighted from the day of her birth, a drunk priest having christened her with an
utterly impossible name, which affectionate neighbor gals shortened to two syllables.
"That Harya's at it again - picking on her bread-winner."
To add insult to injury, her own sister (and Lord, what a tub she was!), her own sister Marya strutted
through the settlement like a proud peahen, pursing her lips and rolling her eyes.
"Tina just didn't get lucky with her man. That she didn't tsk, tsk! .. "
That was in her presence - Tina and a pout. Behind her back it was Harya and an ear-to-ear grin. And all
in spite of the fact that she herself had lured them to the settlement. Made them sell the house, move
here, put up with people's ridicule.
"They got culture here, Tina. They show movies."
They did show movies, but Haritina never went. The household was in a sorry state, her husband was a
laughing stock, and she had virtually nothing to wear. Parading around in front of people in the same old
dress every day - you start to look a bit familiar. But Maritsa (yes, they called her Harya for short while
her sister went by Maritsa!), Maritsa had woolen dresses - five in all - two broadcloth suits and three
jersey suits. She had something to take a look at culture in, something to show herself off in, something
to put away in her chest.
3
And there was but one cause for Haritina's misfortune: Yegor, her beloved husband. Her lawful spouse,
even though they hadn't been married in a church. The father of her only son. Her bread-winner,
confound him.
By the way, he was the friend of a decent man, Fyodor Ipatovich Buryanov, Marya's husband. Two
streets down, his own house with five windows. Made of branded logs it was, put together perfectly,
without a hitch. The roof was made of zinc: shone like a brand-new pail. Out in the yard - two hogs, six
whole sheep, and a cow named Zorka to boot. A good milker, too - with her it was just like Shrovetide
year round. And then there was a cock on the roof ridge, just like real. They showed it off to all the men
who came on business.
"The wonder of a local folk master. With just an axe, mind you. Made with an axe alone, just like in the
olden days!"
True, this wonder had nothing to do with Fyodor Ipatovich: it just happened to be on his roof. It was
Yegor Polushkin who had made the cock. He had plenty of time for amusement, but for anything
worthwhile, now ...
Haritina sighed. Oh, her poor deceased mama hadn't seen her through; oh, her pa hadn't taught her well
enough with the leather strap! Otherwise she might well have gotten hitched to Fyodor, not Yegor. And
she would have lived like a queen.
Fyodor Buryanov had come here looking for fortune back when the woods were still thriving for as far as
the eye could see. Back then there was a demand, and they felled that forest with gusto, with a crash,
with bonuses.
They built a settlement, brought in electricity and a water supply. And as soon as they laid a railroad line