Peoples, Nature and Environments

Peoples, Nature and
Environments
Peoples, Nature and
Environments:
Learning to Live Together
Edited by
Ana Cristina Roque, Cristina Brito

and Cecilia Veracini
Peoples, Nature and Environments: Learning to Live Together
Edited by Ana Cristina Roque, Cristina Brito and Cecilia Veracini
This book first published 2020
Cambridge Scholars Publishing
Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Copyright © 2020 by Ana Cristina Roque, Cristina Brito, Cecilia Veracini

and contributors
All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means,
electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without
the prior permission of the copyright owner.
ISBN (10): 1-5275-4131-2

ISBN (13): 978-1-5275-4131-3
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Scientific Commission................................................................................ ix
Acknowledgements ..................................................................................... x
Introduction ................................................................................................ xi
Ana Roque, Cristina Brito and Cecilia Veracini (Eds.)
Part 1 - Learning to Live Together
Chapter One ................................................................................................. 2

Interspecies peace: learning to live together
Patrícia Vieira
Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 10

Homo sapiens: the first self-endangered species
Telmo Pievani and Andra Meneganzin
Part 2 - Climate and Environmental Changes
Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 26

The impact of the little ice age in central Portugal
Cristiana Ferreira, Pierluigi Rosina, Francesc Burjachs
and Luiz Oosterbeek
Chapter Four .............................................................................................. 43

Climate, natural threats and disasters in 18th century Spain: notes for a
historical study
Armando Alberola Romá
Chapter Five .............................................................................................. 55

Climatic extremism and crisis on the Iberian Peninsula and New Spain
(1770-1800): notes for a comparative study
Armando Alberola Romá and Luis A. Arrioja Díaz-Viruel
vi Table of Contents
Part 3 - Policies, Management and Conservation
Chapter Six ................................................................................................ 68

Aquatic animals, now and then: Appropriation of nature in Portuguese
America and early notions of overexploitation and human impacts
Nina Vieira, Cristina Brito and Ana Cristina Roque
Chapter Seven............................................................................................ 83
Pollution and marine debris in Portuguese Atlantic harbours during
the early modern age: administration and functionality problems
Ana Catarina Abrantes Garcia
Chapter Eight ............................................................................................. 97

From haphazard and illicit plant-hunting at the Dutch cape (1620-1806)
to recreating the flora of that endangered biome in Wales (2000)
Stefan Halikowski Smith
Chapter Nine............................................................................................ 114

Sociozoological scales: Human’s perceptions on non-humans through
a conservation perspective
Susana Gonçalves Costa, Catarina Casanova and Phyllis Lee
Chapter Ten ............................................................................................. 129

Primate behavioral adaptations to anthropogenic habitats – the case
of Cantanhez National Park in Guinea-Bissau
Tania Minhós and Maria Ferreira da Silva
Chapter Eleven ........................................................................................ 145

Amazonia: in search of a complex and decolonized human
engagement with the environment
Francisco J. D. Bidone
Chapter Twelve ....................................................................................... 161

Environmental conflicts and man-nature representations in the building
of the Portuguese European identity
Paulo E. Guimarães
Peoples, Nature and Environments: Learning to Live Together vii
Part 4 - Landscape and Heritage
Chapter Thirteen ...................................................................................... 176

Sado Palaeovalley configuration: implications for the Mesolithic
settlement during the Holocene sea-level rise
Ana Maria Costa, Maria da Conceição Freitas, Rogério Mota, Manel
Leira, César Andrade, Nuno Pimentel, Ana Cristina Araújo, Roberto Bao,
Mariana Diniz and Pablo Arias
Chapter Fourteen ..................................................................................... 195

The primacy of goodness: the naturalisation of species and the will to do
well in the 19th century
Cristina Joanaz de Melo
Chapter Fifteen ........................................................................................ 208

Working with nature: 19th century vineyards in the Algarve
Ana Duarte Rodrigues
Chapter Sixteen ....................................................................................... 220

Assessment to negotiate cultural ecosystem services of places
Christine Rottenbacher
Part 5 - Science and Natural History
Chapter Seventeen ................................................................................... 238

Silent passengers – on the long-distance transportation of plants across
oceans in the era of navigations
Manuel Miranda Fernandes
Chapter Eighteen ..................................................................................... 252

From fieldwork to books: the gathering of information by Portuguese
imperial agents and its circulation in early modern botanical treatises
Teresa Nobre de Carvalho
Chapter Nineteen ..................................................................................... 266

Syncretism and shared production of knowledge in 18th century
Portuguese India
Fabiano Bracht
viii Table of Contents
Chapter Twenty ....................................................................................... 277

Brazilian nature and the local production of knowledge: some issues
about natural history in the Portuguese empire in the 18th century
Gisele C. Conceição
Chapter Twenty-One ............................................................................... 291

History and nature in the colonial Amazon: animals and plants
in the conquest of the new world
Wesley Oliveira Kettle
SCIENTIFIC COMMISSION
Amélia Polónia
Carlos Assis
Carlotta Mazzoldi
Cleia Detry
Elena Canadelli
Ermelinda Pataca
Florike Egmond
Joana Gaspar Freitas
José Augusto Pádua
Margarita Rodríguez García
Rui Miguel Moutinho Sá
Ruth Brennan
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The editors would like to thank all the contributors and the scientific
commission for their commitment in making this book. We would also
like to express our thanks to the institutions and research projects that
frame these studies:
- The “Empires, Nature and Environment” Project, History and Environment

Working Group of CH-ULisboa (Centre for History of the University of
Lisbon), coordinated by Ana Cristina Roque. The project takes place
within the Building and Connecting Empires Research Group, supported
by CH-ULisboa’s Strategic Project and sponsored by FCT funds
(UID/HIS/O4311/2019);
- The ‘Environmental History and the Sea’ Line of CHAM (Centre for the
Humanities) supported by CHAM’s Strategic Project (FCSH, NOVA,
UAc) and sponsored by FCT (UID/HIS/04666/2013) and NOVA FCSH
Exploratory Funding 2018 to project ONE coordinated by Cristina Brito. It
is also supported by the H2020 MSCA–RISE 777998 “CONCHA – The
Construction of Early Modern Global Cities and Oceanic Networks in the
Atlantic: An Approach via the Ocean’s Cultural Heritage” and the
UNESCO Chair in the Ocean’s Cultural Heritage (NOVA FCSH); and
- The project named ‘The importation and knowledge of African primates

in Europe during the Renaissance: an historical and archaeozoological
review focusing on the role of Portugal”, supported by Portuguese national
funds through the FCT, (SFRH/BPD/73631/2010), and the project
‘Human-nonhuman primate interfaces in the modern period’ supported by
the FCT in the context of the celebration of the program contract foreseen
in numbers 4, 5 and 6 of article 23 of D.L. no. 57/2016 of 29 August, as
amended by Law no. 57/2017 of 19 July, both coordinated by Cecilia
Veracini and carried out at the ISCSP-CAPP (Institute of Social and
Political Sciences, Centre for Public Administration and Public Policies),
University of Lisbon. Moreover, this work was also supported by
Portuguese national funds through the FCT under project UID/CPO/00713
/2019.
INTRODUCTION
PEOPLES, NATURE AND ENVIRONMENTS
ANA CRISTINA ROQUE, CRISTINA BRITO

AND CECILIA VERACINI
The deep and intrinsic interconnection between humans and the natural
world is becoming part of the scientific and political agendas, as is the
relevant role humankind has – and has had – on the changing of this
complex array of equilibriums and relationships.
Since the dawn of humanity, survival has meant dealing with
unpredictable natural situations and thus to experience and learn, to know
and recognise the potential or diversity of resources that may be used and
to adapt and create conditions that allowed such use in a variety of
geographic spaces with different characteristics. This process determined
specific forms of cultural adaptation to different environments and,
consequently, an ensemble of anthropic impacts on natural communities.
As a result, the human-nature relationship over time has become a
privileged space in which knowledge, technique and science have
developed, evincing the primacy of anthropogenic actions on nature.
This idea of nature encompassing an "extraordinary amount of human
history" (Williams, 2005, 67) draws attention to the importance of
historical and cultural imprints, justifying the emphasis on the dialogue
between human, social and natural sciences, and the need for an
interdisciplinary cross-cultural approach (e.g. Holm et al., 2013; Kitch,
2017). All these aspects are essential to inform about the role of human
beings, in the past and today, or about the role they may play in the future
as an integral part of a broader dialogue with the nonhuman world.
The growing interest of the impact of humans on geological, biotic and
climatic planetary processes is a sign of an important shift in how humans
are coming to understand the relation with the environment. In the last
decades, a growing number of scholars from different disciplines began to
give great emphasis to the issues of historical interactions, connections and
inter-dependency between peoples and the environment (e.g. Hornborg et
xii Introduction
al., 2007; Hughes, 2001; McNeill & Steward Mauldin, 2015; Mosley, 2010;
Nance, 2015, among others). Moreover, recent approaches to human-
nonhuman animal interactions strive to re-examine traditional ethical,
political and epistemological categories in the context of a renewed
attention to and respect for animal life. In anthropology, a concern with
new attitudes to understanding cross-species intersections characterises a
recent ‘multispecies ethnography’ (Kirksey & Helmereich, 2010).
Similarly, in history and literature, we are witnessing an ‘animal turn’ (e.g.
Alves, 2011; Nance, 2015). As such, a critical reflection on the status of
our planet, on human subjectivity and actions, and on their inextricable
entanglement, is absolutely needed. In other words, we “need to re-frame
global environmental change issues fundamentally as social and human
challenges, rather than just environmental issues” (Pálsson et al., 2011, 5).
Another take can be seen in the growing interest in recovering historical
information (Roque, 2019) and in the recent animal and ocean turns as
well as in the multiple and plural efforts within the environmental
humanities (e.g. Haraway, 2008; Van Dooren, 2016; DeLoughrey, 2017;
Veracini, 2017; Brito, 2019).
This book – Peoples, Nature and Environments – reflects some of
these approaches. Bringing together contributors with different scientific
backgrounds, perspectives and expertise related to these dynamics and
interactions, it aims at exploring their joint potential for an innovative
debate on this topic, surpassing the classic human/environment dichotomy
and the separation between culture and nature (e.g. Haraway, 2008; Rose
et al., 2012; Richter, 2015; Kitch, 2017). The multiple aspects of this
complex process of interaction are here addressed in an interdisciplinary
and a long-term perspective.
Through multiple contributions informed by humanities, arts, social
and natural sciences, the book deals with the way different disciplines
approach this relationship. Interdisciplinarity or, as stated by Little (2017,
2), ‘inter-humanities’ – the interdisciplinarity within the humanities – is an
objective of this book. This publication also points out the importance of
relating diverse concepts and perspectives to enable a cross-cutting
analysis and global perception of the human/nature interface throughout
history. Moreover, it addresses the present concerns about our common
future, reflecting humans’ current commitment in a process of ‘relearning’
to live with nature.
By combining classic and innovative ways of examining the same
theme in a variety of geographic spaces, the book also brings together
contributions that merge traditional and scientific knowledge to better
understand both the way humans have historically used nature for their
Peoples, Nature and Environments: Learning to Live Together xiii
own benefit and the impacts of those same uses. Moreover, it joins authors
at different moments of their careers, of different nationalities and genders,
thereby broadening perceptions and providing different perspectives of
analysis depending on specific cultural backgrounds and social contexts,
thus contributing to stimulating a wide and innovative debate in the field
of Environmental Humanities (Rose et al., 2012; Little, 2017).
Peoples, Nature and Environments: Learning to live together is
organised in five major parts, which mirror its title, and revolves around
processes of the interactions of humans with other species; past climate
and extreme events; environments, landscapes and human uses and
impacts on nature; concepts and policies of management and conservation;
and the memory, heritage, culture as well as history of science and natural
history. In fact, the different chapters discuss transversally – across
methods, subjects, geographies and time scales – how the natural world
has been perceived, interpreted and manipulated by people, as well as the
consequences of the secular exploitation of the different natural resources
and the resulting current imbalances and major threats.
Part 1 – Learning to live together – is a reflection on how we have

conceived human-nature relationships and human impacts on the natural
world.
Patrícia Vieira brings an innovative approach to the way human beings
relate to each other and to nonhumans with a holistic perspective and
interspecies dialogue. She discuss theories of cosmopolitanism, embracing
all human and nonhuman species, to delineate the notion of interspecies
peace as an alternative to the current war of all against all – in a contest for
the ‘survival of the fittest’ both individually and at the level of the species
– that characterises most of our relationships with other living beings. This
new perspective becomes more pressing when we consider the state of our
planet and the effects of the ‘war’ which Homo sapiens is conducting
against nature, other animals and himself. Telmo Pievani and Andra
Meneganzin outline how the human species has become a dominant
evolutionary force. Through a mix of different impacting activities (i.e.
fragmentation of habitats, overpopulation, chemical pollution, invasive
species, over-exploitation of resources in hunting and fishing), humans
have produced the conditions for a serious extinction crisis. Therefore, it
depends on us to solve the various problems and not to become the first
‘self-endangered species’ on Earth.
Part 2 – Climate and Environmental Changes – analyses aspects of this

relationship from an historical perspective and from the point of view of
xiv Introduction
its close relationship with climate and environmental changes. It is

unquestionable today that human actions have brought about major
changes to the planet with a significant impact on many ecological
systems. Yet, no less significant is the present need to be prepared to deal
with climatic events with catastrophic consequences, which repeatedly
affect a multiplicity of territories considered to be ‘at risk’. In recent years
we have witnessed a continuum of ‘natural’ disasters which, all over the
world, evidence this need and make it urgent to develop and implement
strategies to combat, avoid or minimise them. In this context, reconstructing
the trend of climatic and environmental changes over time can be a
powerful instrument to understand long term changes and impacts as well
as human and nonhuman adaptations.
The contributions of this section bring us case studies from the Iberian
Peninsula and Central America during the Little Ice Age (LIA). Cristiana
Ferreira and her co-authors show how the climate was directly related to
specific human activities in the Iberian Peninsula during the 17th century.
Armando Alberola-Romá offers an historical approach to climate disasters
in early modern Spain, showing the devastating effects of these extreme
events in the past. Then, he and Luis Arrioja-Díaz Viruel, in a comparative
study between Spain and the Spanish American colonies in the 18th
century, demonstrate the unequivocal relationship between periods of
intense rains, floods and earthquakes with production crises, famines,
disease and epidemics.
Part 3 – Policies, Management and Conservation – provides an overview

of the appropriation and use of different natural resources in different times
and geographies, enhancing the importance of historical evidence to better
address present-day conservation challenges. It includes chapters dealing
with the impact of human activities on aquatic ecosystems during the
European expansion, as well as on terrestrial ecosystems, especially in the
chapters addressing the perception and conservation of animals and plants.
Ana Catarina Garcia tries to identify what types of occurrences were
considered pollution acts and in which terms the idea of ‘pollution’ was
understood through the analysis of two case studies of Portuguese Atlantic
insular harbours during the 16th and 17th centuries. Nina Vieira and her
colleagues deal with Portuguese expansion during the late 18th century and
the perception of aquatic animals – such as whales, manatees and dolphins
–, showing how these animals have always been considered valuable and
usable resources. The analysis of their exploitation provides information
about the overtime variation of their populations and the impacts of human
dominance over aquatic ecosystems. Susana Gonçalves Costa and her co-
Peoples, Nature and Environments: Learning to Live Together xv
authors examine the symbolic way humans perceive and organise other
animal species. They show that socio-zoologic models categorise species
according to their roles in each specific cultural context, with important
consequences for endangered species protection. Such a symbolic division
between good and bad can influence conservation issues in places where
nonhuman primates live. Tânia Minhós and Maria Ferreira da Silva, who
worked in the Cantanhez National Park, one of the last pockets of forest in
Guinea Bissau, also show the consequences of human impact on
nonhuman primates. They studied two primate species who have exhibited
changes in their behaviour as a result of the anthropic modification of their
habitats. Whereas some species are more plastic and able to change some
aspects of their socio-ecology (e.g. diet, dispersal, group size), others fail
to adapt to the new environment and suffer from significant population
losses or even local extinctions. The anthropic impact on complex
ecosystems and the political views associated with these actions are
highlighted in the other two chapters. Francisco Bidone attempts to build a
coherent relation between economic/developmental thinking and the
instruments chosen for policy implementation in the 1960s by the
Brazilian government regarding the Amazon forest while explaining the
maintenance of an eternal vision of the Amazon as a ‘frontier’ for
economic growth. In turn, Paulo Guimarães, based on recent contributions
and on empirical historical research, identifies different types of conflicts
resulting from the expansion of extractivism in Portugal since the second
half of the 19th century, with special emphasis on the mining industry,
agriculture and industrial fishing. He shows how environmental conflicts
provide a privileged perspective about competitive visions on the
appropriation and use of natural resources and the irreversible processes of
the transformation of the environment, while contributing to questioning
contemporary representations and nationalist identity constructions of a
country.
Part 4 – Landscape and Heritage – points to the relevance of considering

and using the operational concepts of ‘landscape heritage’ and ‘cultural
landscapes’ when analysing past and present situations related to land use
practices.
Ana Maria Costa and her colleagues reconstruct the Mesolithic
landscape of the Portuguese Sado valley, which was occupied c. 8500-
7000 cal BP by Late Mesolithic communities. Their results suggest an
extensive brackish environment since at least 8400 cal BP, with an
influence of marine water near the area occupied by the Mesolithic groups.
The transfer and naturalisation of species is another very important issue
xvi Introduction
in the comprehension of today’s landscape. It deals with contemporary

ecological issues, sustainable land use, and political problems as well as
with communities’ identity. Many of these themes are analysed by Cristina
Joanaz de Melo, who examines in particular the case of the Eucalyptus
globulus, initially imported in Europe as a substitute for quinine and was
then, as its use and plantations expanded, considered an undesirable tree in
the 20th century. She discusses the process under which the same
ecological object suffered a huge change in symbolic value depending on
its context, time and space to understand the driving civilisational
paradigms. Ana Duarte Rodrigues details the uses of vineyards in the 19th
century and the construction of wine landscapes while farmers of the
Algarve (south of Portugal) were adapting to their environmental
conditions. Christine Rottenbacher’s contribution details a public
participation process where people experienced repeated contact with
‘their’ places and discussed cultural landscape values. She presents the
results of her experience in landscape planning and contemporary dance
performance, developing an assessment method (Moved Planning Process)
based on the effects of moving together over sites to negotiate the use and
maintenance of the places that build our cultural landscapes.
Part 5 – Science and Natural History – brings together perceptions and

experiences related to the progressive ‘discovery’ of nature and how, over
time, they have been scientifically validated, thus promoting successive
reconfigurations of knowledge and stimulating epistemic interactions
among people of cultures and differentiated technologies. Consequently,
this part contributes to a better awareness of the past, present and future
role of knowledge as an essential component of a broader dialogue with
nature, reinforcing the need for a ‘learn to live together’ commitment,
while, at the same time, drawing attention to the importance of the
historical dimension of this process. Hence the chapters of this part follow
a chronological order, from the 15th century – the so-called Age of
Exploration – to the 20th century. Most of the chapters deal with the
circulation of the novelties and their consequences, both in their physical
form – naturalia – and in the form of ideas, between Europe, Africa and
the Americas. Since ancient times, many animals, particularly parrots and
primates, have been in great demand as pets, which quickly made them the
subjects of highly profitable transnational trade. However, animals were
not the only subject of this intercontinental trade. Other transoceanic but
‘silent’ passengers were living plants, namely seeds, rhizomes, tubers,
bulbs and saplings, which were transferred from continent to continent
throughout an expanding network of sailing routes during the 16th century.
Peoples, Nature and Environments: Learning to Live Together xvii
Manuel Miranda Fernandes critically reviews some prominent

examples of transoceanic plant transfer, highlighting the practical
organisation and the trial and error approach required to overcame
transportation problems. In contrast, Teresa Nobre de Carvalho discusses
the relevance of collecting historical information and the importance of
written sources (reports, treatises, letters) for the circulation of knowledge
in the Early Modern Period, highlighting both the innovative approach
shown in reporting Asian nature and the impact on the structuring of a new
botanical knowledge, or on the very construction of a model of
dissemination of knowledge that prevailed in the following centuries. As
Fabiano Bracht notes, 18th century Portuguese colonial territories can be
understood as places of intense and dynamic processes of the construction,
extension, and reconfiguration of scientific knowledge. While Bracht
focuses on India, Gisele da Conceição addresses similar issues for colonial
Brazil. Analysing the panoply of agents and works involved in the
processes of the recognition and construction of knowledge about
Brazilian nature in this period, she underlines the association between
knowledge and science on a transcontinental scale that is clearly global,
bringing to the discussion the contribution of the scientific exploration
journeys to the construction of a scientific knowledge about nature and,
consequently, its integration into the scientific, political and economic
context of the time. Wesley Kettle highlights the reports elaborated by
scientists, colonial administrators and missionaries on their travels in the
Amazon as part of the process of demarcating borders in the second half of
the 18th century, and defends the idea of nature as an element capable of
generating changes in the process of the Portuguese occupation of the
Amazon and consequently modifying the plans of the Crown.
In Peoples, Nature and Environments: Learning to live together, all

chapters converge on the idea of the long-term human-nature relationship
no matter the time, place or context. As humans settled, developed
agriculture and urban spaces, colonised islands and shorelines, explored
the hinterlands, and interacted with other humans, they impacted and
changed the natural world, making out of it a mostly humanised world.
And while doing so, they have historically (and culturally) tended to forget
their deep connection to animals and plants, to the lands and aquatic
spaces they depend on.
We hope, with the present book, to contribute to this new scholarship
as well as to the local and global understanding of how humans have
related, still relate, and are expected to relate in the future, to non-humans
and all parts of our common world.
xviii Introduction
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PART 1
LEARNING TO LIVE TOGETHER

CHAPTER ONE
INTERSPECIES PEACE:
LEARNING TO LIVE TOGETHER
PATRÍCIA VIEIRA
At the dawn of Modernity, Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679) famously

wrote that humans lived in a state of nature before they entered the social
contract. This “is nothing else but a mere war of all against all,” writes
Hobbes (1642) in his De Cive (On the Citizen), only to add later, in The
Leviathan (Hobbes, 1651), that in the “natural condition of mankind …
[t]here is always war of everyone against everyone.” Such permanent
conflict “consists not in battle only, or the act of fighting,” explains Hobbes,
“but in a tract of time, wherein the will to contend by battle is sufficiently
known,” or when there is a “known disposition” to fight (Hobbes, 1651). In
other words, the state of nature, grounded upon war, entails a latent
condition of hostility that can at any moment turn into open fighting.
Hobbes considers this to be a “hateful condition” and believes that all
humans “desire […] to be freed from this misery” (Hobbes, 1642). The way
out of this predicament is to leave the state of nature and to enter a contract,
whereby humanity gives up some of its freedom in exchange for protection
from violence. Hobbes calls the state, or civitas in Latin, created by the
social contract the Leviathan, which he describes as an “artificial animal”
and also as an “artificial man; though of greater stature and strength than
the natural, for whose protection and defense it was intended […]” (Hobbes,
1651). The Leviathan guarantees its citizens’ rights under the rule of law
and peace amongst members of a civil society.
Hobbes’s thought on the function of the social contract, which I have
very briefly sketched above, warrants further scrutiny in light of the topic
of this book, especially given its influence on subsequent political
philosophy. First, we should pay closer attention to the expression “state of
nature” – status naturae, in the Latin original from De Cive (Hobbes, 1642).
Hobbes considers the “state of nature” to be one of permanent war or
hostility, which is tantamount to saying that conflict is the normal, default
Interspecies peace: learning to live together 3
condition not only of human beings but of all living entities and of the
natural world as a whole. War is hereby naturalized as the norm that only
humanity can escape from. Even though Hobbes does not mention this
explicitly, he assumes that, unlike humans who can create a civil society,
non-humans are condemned to forever remain in a warring state of nature.
This is how we can understand his famous adaptation of the Latin proverb
“homo homini lupus” (“man is a wolf to man”) in De Cive (Hobbes, 1642).
To denounce uncivilized human behavior as similar to the conduct of
wolves implies that these animals are themselves barbaric and prone to
constant fighting. While wolves can do nothing to change their savage
nature, Hobbes thinks humans should know better than to give in to their
beastly instincts.
A second point we should highlight from Hobbes’s thought is the idea
that, in the state of nature, the “life of man [is] solitary, poor, nasty, brutish
and short” (Hobbes, 1651). In the state of nature, humans live like brutes,
beasts or animals. In order to become fully human, we need to leave this
condition and use our reason to create the Leviathan – an organized state.
The departure from the natural state is regarded as an emancipation, an
inevitable separation from nature from which humans will never fully
recover. This rift between humankind and nature can easily turn into a war
against the natural world. In order to end the “war of all [humans] against
all [humans],” humanity enters a struggle against nature, perpetually
fighting the pull of bestiality that the state of nature represents. By
combating nature – animals, plants, and so on, which are the opposite of the
artificially engendered Leviathan – humans are battling their inner, brutish
instincts, from which they try to distance themselves with the social
contract.
It should also be noted that Hobbes chose the name of a monster from
the Old Testament, the Leviathan, to describe the civil society created by
humans once they abandon the state of nature. The Leviathan is an unnatural
beast – it does not exist in the natural world – and is, in this sense, a fitting
image for the commonwealth devised by humanity. What is perhaps less
congruous with Hobbes’s thought is that the Leviathan was used as an image
for a demon, or even for Satan, throughout the Middle Ages. Is Hobbes
unconsciously hinting at the fact that our leaving the state of nature is
something satanical? Is the state (civitas, where civilization comes from)
more of a demon than a blessing?
A final point to consider in Hobbesian political philosophy is that the
Leviathan only guarantees peaceful co-existence within the state. Between
different nations – different Leviathans – the state of nature reigns supreme.
This is the conundrum that Enlightenment projects for perpetual peace, from
4 Chapter One
the Abbé de Saint Pierre’s proposal for peace in Europe to Immanuel Kant’s
famous text “Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch” (1795), tried to
solve. So, the creation of the Leviathan means not only a permanent state of
war with nature but also with all other Leviathans. Another, pithier
definition of the Leviathan could be: “a monster surrounded by war on all
sides.”
We are clearly still living in the shadow of the Hobbesian paradigm of
political philosophy when it comes to our understanding of our relation to
the environment. About two hundred years after Hobbes, Darwin saw the
connections between different species and even between members of the
same species as one of constant struggle. The “survival of the fittest,” a
phrase coined by Herbert Spencer to describe society in the wake of
Darwinian biology, meant that only the victors would live on and those on
the losing side would simply wither away. In our post-Darwinian world, the
idea that life is a constant state of war of all against all, both at the biological
and at the social level, remains. Notions such as “savage capitalism” testify
to this translation of the state of nature to all spheres of human endeavor,
from politics to economics. According to this view, humanity merely
follows a generalized condition of life as a ruthless fight for survival that
justifies dominating and exploiting those who might further our goals and
slaughtering the ones who stand in the way.
This age-old struggle between humanity and nature is now often
tempered by the discourse of conservationism. Still, the protection of the
natural world is usually seen in utilitarian terms. Elements of the
environment are regarded as “resources” that we need to preserve because
their destruction endangers the very conditions for human survival. And the
protection of one species or another is even more anthropocentrically driven
– think of “save the whales,” “save the pandas” and other such campaigns
focusing on animals that conform to human standards of magnificence,
beauty, and so on. The point is not that these animals do not deserve
protection but, rather, that we need to reflect upon why we wish to protect
these and not the myriad other species (insects, reptiles) disappearing every
year. Is it because they are also mammals, or because they look cute in a
picture? I submit that anthropocentrically inspired protectionism is nothing
but a variation on the Hobbesian war against nature. We protect our enemies
because we have just realized that our lives depend on theirs. In a Hegelian-
Marxist framework, this kind of conservationism is reminiscent of the
master-slave dialectic. Humans are still the masters, but they have
understood that they depend upon their slaves and therefore have decided to
protect them.
A much-needed change in our societies’ attitudes toward the natural

world entails scrutinizing some key concepts of our political and
philosophical tradition. Since Hobbes’s thought epitomizes many of these
notions, I will dwell in some of the blind spots of his political philosophy in
my attempt to imagine another kind of relationship with the environment. I
will try to uncover alternative traditions of thinking about nature and,
following in the footsteps of Kant, put forth a proposal for “Interspecies
Perpetual Peace.”
I would like to start by delving a bit deeper into the concept of a “state
of nature.” To do so, we should evoke the root of “status” (as in status
naturae, translated into English as “state of nature”). Status is a noun related
to the Latin verb sto, to stand, and status naturae, literally the state of nature,
thus, means “to be in a natural state, or in a natural condition,” “to be in the
natural world”. The Latin word status goes back to the same Proto-Indo-
European root as the ancient Greek word stasis, which meant both a
standstill and dissension or fighting. This etymology is particularly pertinent
when we consider the idea of a “state of nature.” If we think of status in
terms of stasis, then it can be a situation of permanent hostility but also a
condition of stability, in which opposing forces cancel themselves out.
The idea that our status, our very condition as living beings, is predicated
on the ambiguity between conflict and stability harks back to pre-Socratic
Greek thought. Heraclitus famously wrote that “strife/war [polemos,
sometimes translated as “strife,” other times as “war”] is common” and, in
another fragment, that “strife/war is the father of all and king of all” (1948,
28). For Heraclitus, polemos refers to the tension inherent in all life, which
springs from the clash between opposites. It is an ontological given of
existence and, as such, part and parcel of living. The absence of polemos
would be tantamount to the quiet of the cemetery that Kant mentions as a
joke at the beginning of his text on perpetual peace. But while Heraclitus
sees friction as the foundation of life, this does not necessarily entail warfare
of all against all in the state of nature, as Hobbes imagined. Going back to
the link between status and stasis, the state of nature could signify an
ongoing polemos that creates a balance or equilibrium between different,
opposing forces, a perpetual exchange without definitive victors and
vanquished.
Given the pre-Socratic notion of polemos, the Hobbesian state of nature
appears in a new light. If polemos is the ontological condition of humans
and non-humans alike, then the stark contrast between the state of nature
and culture or civilization, which can only thrive in the Leviathan, comes
undone. Animals (or plants, for that matter) are not more brutish, barbaric
or savage than humans. They all partake in strife, in polemos, a great
6 Chapter One
equalizer that unites all beings. Such an understanding of humanity

undermines the idea that humans are divided between their bodies and their
minds, their animal or instinctual and rational or logical selves, a separation
that retraces the Cartesian division between res extensa and res cogitans.
This view of humans was what made Hobbes consider that we were at war
with our inner, irrational nature and, by extension, with external nature as a
whole. The human war against the natural world, part of our desire to
abandon the state of nature, is futile in the context of an ontological polemos
that permeates all life.
The above-mentioned expression from De Cive (Hobbes, 1642), “homo
homini lupus,” is nonsensical to the extent that wolves, or any other non-
humans, are not intrinsically more polemical than human beings. In fact,
humans are the only forms of life capable of cruelty and of willingly
inflicting suffering upon others for no other reason than their own
amusement. This is Father António Vieira’s argument in his “Sermon of
Saint Anthony to the Fish” (1654), where he decries humans for behaving
worse than animals. While fish only kill and eat each other because they
need to nourish themselves, humans do so out of envy and greed and are
therefore more deserving of condemnation than animals.
Considering that polemos is part of human (and non-human) ontology,
it will not disappear with the creation of a civil society. What if, rather than
saving us from the war of all against all, the state is itself the cause of
permanent hostility, which leads our ontological condition of polemos to
degenerate into full-fledged wars? As we have already seen, the creation of
the state as we know it not only sparked the human war against nature but
also the conflict between different nations that engulfs humanity in constant
warfare. Perhaps this is the reason why Hobbes named the state Leviathan,
a monster or a demon. He was, maybe unwittingly, recognizing the pitfalls
of seeing the state as a solution to warfare.
It is pertinent here to turn to another politico-philosophical tradition of
conceptualizing the state of nature, not as a war of all against all but, on the
contrary, as a peaceful life of plenty in a Golden Age. The myth of a Golden
Age of humanity, when we lived in tune with the natural world, was
prevalent in ancient Greece and Rome, beginning with Hesiod’s description
of the past of humankind in Works and Days, and continuing with Plato’s
mention of a Golden Age of Athens in the Timaeus, together with Ovid’s
references to this ideal state in the Metamorphoses, as well as with
Theocritus’s Idylls and Virgil’s Eclogues. This notion is also part of the
Judeo-Christian Book of Genesis, which describes the earthly Paradise
inhabited by humans before the Fall.
Later political philosophers went back to this idea of a Golden Age to

describe human life before the onset of civilization. Rousseau (2002), for
instance, wrote in his Discourse on Inequality that the “happiest and most
durable” stage in human development took place right before the full-
fledged development of civil society and, most notably, before the
emergence of private property. He believed that humanity was destined to
remain at that stage, the “real youth of the world” and that it was some
“revolution” or “fatal accident” that removed us from this condition, an
accident that “for the common good, should never have happened”
(Rousseau, 2002, 119). Rousseau does not address the issue of humankind’s
relation to the natural world during this privileged time, but we can assume
that, akin to animals, human beings lived off the fruit of the land, obviating
war both amongst themselves and against the environment, much like what
is described in the Book of Genesis. Like Rousseau, Kant also speculates
about a state of nature, during which humans lived in “peaceful indolence.”
However, the German philosopher considers that human life without
progress, pleasant as it may be, bears no meaning. Even though
development may be painful, humanity needs to follow the dictates of
reason and create a civil society.
If our leaving a peaceful existence in tune with nature is considered a
fall, can humanity ever return to this state of grace? Can we go back to
nature and reverse the current intra- and interspecies war? Will the “wolf
[ever] dwell with the lamb / and the leopard […] lie down with the young
goat,” as the Old Testament (Book of Isaiah) metaphorically put it in its
image of a future righteous Earth? Will humans ever live peacefully side by
side with non-human beings? While, for Rousseau, the answer would be
“no,” Kant’s approach is more nuanced.
Rousseau does not address our relation to non-humans, but one can
surmise from his thought that interspecies war, as much as war amongst
humans, derives from the development of civilization. Interspecies peace,
then, would entail a return to the past that would approximate the state of
nature as much as possible, knowing full well that one would never be able
to go back to that perfection.
For Kant, perpetual peace amongst humans arrives at the end of history
with cosmopolitanism, which reconstructs the Golden Age of the past
through the mediation of human rationality. Interspecies peace would be a
matter of extending cosmopolitan rights to non-humans. The foundation of
Kantian cosmopolitanism is the “communal possession of the earth’s
surface” or the “right to the earth’s surface which the human race shares in
common” (Kant, 2008, 106). Interspecies cosmopolitanism, then, would
entail recognizing that humans and non-humans have a common possession
8 Chapter One
of the Earth and a right to occupy it. The world republic (Weltrepublik) of
cosmopolitanism, which guarantees perpetual peace, would thus need to
encompass non-humans; that is to say, it would be an interspecies res
publica or, rather, a res-biotica.
The very notion of the “cosmos” would be at stake under such an
interspecies res-biotica world – an imperative to discuss the very meaning of
the world that Bruno Latour (2004) has already identified. Cosmopolitanism
would become “cosmopolitics,” in the words of Elisabeth Stengers (2010,
2011), a debate about what the cosmos, or the Earth, really is. The
Hobbesian distinction between the state of nature and the Leviathan would
turn into ongoing cosmopolitics, a polemos within the res-biotica. We could
conceive of the creation of a world parliament that would include the air,
water, earth, energy and all living beings, following in the footsteps of
Michel Serres (2009, 40, 51). This cosmo-parliament should avoid the
pitfalls of anthropocentrism that tries to impose a human logos (speech,
reason) upon all other living and non-living entities. It would have to
contend with the fact that different beings have different languages and
articulate their existence in diverse ways. Interspecies peace would be the
outcome of a lively debate amongst the members of this parliament, a debate
for which we would still need to create an appropriate language and
procedures. Such a cosmopolitical res-biotica would be a first step in the
long process of learning to live peacefully together with one another and
with the non-human beings with whom we share our planet.
REFERENCES
Heraclitus. 1948. “Fragments.” In: Ancilla to the Presocratic Philosophers.

Trans. Kathleen Freeman. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Hobbes, Thomas. 1642. De Cive. UniLibrary. Accessed 28.09.2018.
http://www.unilibrary.com/ebooks/Hobbes,%20Thomas%20-
%20De%20Cive.pdf
Hobbes, Thomas. 1651. Leviathan. Project Gutenberg. Accessed
28.09.2018.
http://www.unilibrary.com/ebooks/Hobbes,%20Thomas%20-
%20De%20Cive.pdf
Kant, Immanuel. 2008. (1795). “Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch.”
Kant Political Writings. Ed. H. S. Reis (pp. 93-130). Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Latour, Bruno. 2004. “Whose Cosmos? Which Cosmopolitics? Comments
on the Peace Terms of Ulrich Beck.” Common Knowledge, Vol. 10 (3):
250-62.
Rousseau, Jean-Jacques. 2002. (1762). The Social Contract and the First
and Second Discourses. Ed. Susan Dunn. New Haven and London: Yale
University Press.
Serres, Michel. 2009. Temps des Crises. Paris: Editions le Pommier.
Stengers, Isabelle. 2010-2011. Cosmopolitics I and II. Trans. Robert
Bononno. London and Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
Vieira, António. 1654. “Sermão de Santo António aos peixes”. Biblioteca
Virtual. Accessed 28.09.2018.
http://www.biblio.com.br/defaultz.asp?link=http://www.biblio.com.br/
conteudo/padreantoniovieira/stoantonio.htm
CHAPTER TWO
HOMO SAPIENS:
THE FIRST SELF-ENDANGERED SPECIES
TELMO PIEVANI AND ANDRA MENEGANZIN
ANTHROPOCENE DEFAUNATION: A VERY RISKY

TRANSITION
Edward O. Wilson, Niles Eldredge, Peter Ward and Norman Myers, all
distinguished evolutionists and biodiversity experts, claimed twenty years
ago that, in light of the dramatic rate of extinction of species induced by
human activities in recent centuries, the biosphere is going through a
‘mass extinction’, that is, a rapid loss of biodiversity on a global scale
(Eldredge, 1995, 1998; Myers & Knoll, 2001; Ward, 1994, 2000; Wilson,
2003). More precisely, they argued, we are confronting the Sixth Mass
Extinction, that is, nothing less than the last five catastrophes caused by
volcanic eruptions, ocean acidification, climatic fluctuations, changes in
the atmosphere’s composition, impacts of asteroids on Earth, or a
combination of these factors. The last of these was the best-known
massive event that 66-65 million years ago wiped out most of the
dinosaurs (except a small branching group that evolved into birds) and
almost two-thirds of all other organisms, and is known as the Cretaceous-
Tertiary extinction (K-T). As regards the speed of impact and the mortality
rate, Wilson and his colleagues argued (Eldredge, 1995, 1998; Ward 1994,
2000; Myers & Knoll, 2001; Wilson, 2003), the ongoing extinctions
caused by Homo sapiens today can be fairly comparable with the previous
five.
The official label “Sixth Mass Extinction” was first introduced by the
paleoanthropologist Richard Leakey and science writer Roger Lewin to
indicate the anthropic sequel of the Big Five in 1992, denouncing the
destruction of biodiversity (mainly large mammals) in Africa (Leakey &
Lewin, 1992). Two pioneering studies, separately proposed in 1995 by
Robert May and Stuart Pimm’s authoritative teams (Lawton & May, 1995;
Homo sapiens: the first self-endangered species 11
Pimm et al., 1995), gave the first confirmations. If we compare the rates
and amounts of extinction during the recorded mass extinctions with the
range of species losses over the past few centuries, we see very similar
trends. But what kind of evidence do we have that humans are now
allowing or even causing a new mass extinction?
At that time, the thesis was based on inevitably inaccurate statistics,
and described with the language of militant ecologist movements rather
than empirical science. Many received it as an exaggeration, a yielding to
‘catastrophism’. After all, it was estimated that the Earth could still be
inhabited by at least five million animal species. Several studies, however,
began to use the label “Sixth Mass Extinction”. In 2010, Hoffmann et al.
reported alarming percentages of extinction in amphibians, corals,
freshwater molluscs and sharks, in addition to mammals, reptiles and
birds.
In March 2011, an international team from Berkeley led by the
palaeontologist Anthony D. Barnosky verified the measures of “recent”
extinctions over the last few millennia by integrating palaeontological data
and current accounts in order to provide all the necessary statistical
precautions. They came to a rather worrying conclusion, which was
published in Nature (cf. Barnosky et al., 2011): the Sixth Mass Extinction
is not yet underway, but we are close, and doing nothing to stop it. The
title of Nature’s article was: “Has the Earth’s sixth mass extinction already
arrived?” The extinction rates of the past 500 years (22% in mammals, 47-
56% in gastropods and bivalves) far exceed those recorded in the fossil
record for the five major extinctions of the past 540 million years. Thus we
are on a mass extinction trajectory, with accelerating rates: “Our results
confirm that current extinction rates are higher than would be expected
from the fossil record. (…) The Earth could reach the extreme rates of the
Big Five mass extinctions within just a few centuries if current threats to
many species are not alleviated” (Barnosky et al., 2011, 51). Humans may
be more effective exterminators than asteroids and volcanic eruptions.
In July 2014, further confirmation was published in Science, and now
the statistics are becoming increasingly realistic. According to the refined
calculations produced by the ecologist Rodolfo Dirzo’s team at the
Department of Biology at Stanford, human impacts on animal biodiversity
are bringing about global environmental changes that are going to show
increasing effects on ecosystems’ functioning and on the health of our own
species (Keesing et al., 2010; Civitello et al., 2015; Ostfeld, 2017). Our
planet is no longer the same. The current analysis is not just based on
indirect extrapolations and calculations of the disappearances of whole
species, but also on the demographic and biogeographic trends of local
12 Chapter Two
populations in recent decades. The population level is crucial: for genetic

reasons, the size of a biological population is inversely related to the
vulnerability to extinction.
Every year we are losing a total amount of 11,000 to 58,000 species,
concentrated mainly in tropical regions (the level proposed by Edward O.
Wilson in 2003 was 30,000 species a year, perfectly in the midst of this
range). One species is being lost every twenty minutes. We are extinguishing
species that we have not yet even had time to describe. The frightening
technical term coined for this phenomenon by Rodolfo Dirzo in Science is
“Anthropocene defaunation” (Dirzo et al., 2014). Note that the hitherto
informal term “Anthropocene”, proposed by Paul Crutzen in 2002 in
Nature, is unofficially entering the scientific jargon (although there is no
consensus about its real utility and its starting point inside the Holocene)
(Lewis & Maslin, 2015; Monastersky, 2015). The current human impacts
are sufficiently large to be recorded in geological records. This represents
a singular evolutionary transition because, for the first time in the Earth’s
history, a single species, Homo sapiens, has become a major geological
force. Within a few centuries, our species has been successful in altering
the composition of the atmosphere and transforming the surface of the
planet at a level visible in the stratigraphic record (Crutzen, 2002). Hence
the justification for the name ‘Anthropocene’ for the new geological
epoch.
We do not pay money for ecosystem services, and therefore we are
often unaware of the true cost of maintaining them. But with the
disappearance of thousands of species every year, ecosystems are
becoming progressively less efficient in ensuring their services, such as
water purification, nutrient cycling and soil maintenance. The genetic
variability of populations and species is the fuel of evolution, free
insurance against adversities and attacks from pathogens. In the
Anthropocene, we are losing that vital genetic diversity (Novacek, 2001)
and late interventions will be much more expensive. As an example, 75%
of food crops in the world depend on pollinators. All of the above
concerns the effects of extinction, but what about the causes?1
THE FORTHCOMING MASS EXTINCTION
According to recent data, the Sixth Mass Extinction and the previous
Big Five share the same proximate geophysical causes for the loss of
1 For an extended discussion of this issue, see Pievani (2015).

biodiversity, making the comparison among them not a matter of

suggestive metaphors, but a valuable insight with regard to understanding
current environmental crises. Gerta Keller, Professor of Palaeontology and
Geology at Princeton University, proposed, along with her team (Keller,
2008), a model for the multiple convergent factors that caused the
extinction at the end of the Cretaceous. Keller argues that a theory for
mass extinctions cannot point at a single catastrophic cause to explain
macro-evolutionary patterns, since these result from a mix of different and
simultaneous conditions. For example, there is general agreement in
recognising that a single asteroid could not have been the only cause of the
mass extinction at the end of the Cretaceous, but rather a major
contributing factor. This means that the extinction’s magnitude would
have been lower in the absence of other stressors that had already triggered
the pump of extinction. This also applies for the past mass extinctions, and
may perhaps hold in the near future too.
According to such models (Arens & West, 2008; Brook et al., 2008), a
mass extinction will only occur when a synergy between unusual events
arises, like in a “perfect storm” when different critical parameters
converge. Namely, the three major processes, and the consequences of
their interactions, are as follows:
1 – accelerated climate change;

2 – alterations of atmospheric composition;
3 – ecological stresses with abnormal intensity.
4 – Along with positive feedback among the three.
The convergence of these processes has resulted in mass extinctions in

the past: “the loss of more than three-quarters of species in a geologically
short interval” (Barnosky et al., 2011, 51-52). The pump of extinction
starts its pruning with the branches of many different phylogenetic lines,
eventually reaching a peak, a culminating event like a collision or multiple
volcanic eruptions, that unleashes the final wave of global crisis (some
mass extinctions are composed of several waves of extinction). The
question now is if it is possible to apply the “Perfect Storm Model” to the
impact of human activities on biodiversity. According to Barnosky and his
colleagues (Barnosky et al., 2011), the current situation fits the description, as
follows:
1 – accelerated climate change? YES, in progress.

2 – alterations of atmospheric composition? YES, in progress.
14 Chapter Two
3 – ecological stresses with abnormal intensity? YES, due to human

activities, since a long time ago.
4 – Positive feedback among the three? YES, in the early phase of this.
All the key conditions are met. In such a perfectly created storm, not
even catastrophic events like a large asteroid impact or a devastating
volcanic eruption are required to strike a fatal blow. According to Pereira
et al. (2010), in the absence of better and more efficient policies aimed at
mitigating the damage, global biodiversity will maintain its downward
trend over the 21st century
As can be seen, the key parameters of the ‘perfect storm’ are proximate
geophysical causes of mass extinctions, analysed from a paleontological
perspective. But what about the remote causes that placed Homo sapiens
in the condition of detonating a global geological and environmental crisis
of such proportions? It is an old story indeed. The last branch of genus
Homo flourished by out-competing at least three other human species. It is
well established that when Palaeolithic hunters colonised the Americas,
Australia, and Pacific Islands – even if some doubts remain about the role
played by concomitant climate oscillations – dozens of large mammals and
flightless birds who lived there died off within a few millennia of their
arrival. The archaeological record – today based on comprehensive
country-level data on the distribution of these large-bodied animals –
shows a series of regional mass extinctions of megafauna, as the animals
of these regions were unused to human contact and predation and had low
reproductive rates, making them particularly vulnerable. Thus the
destructive environmental impact of our species began in earnest towards
the end of the Pleistocene (Cavalli-Sforza & Pievani, 2012).
There is, however, an ongoing debate within the geologist community
on the problem of assessing the anthropogenic signatures in the geological
record and on the criteria that should be followed to formally mark the
beginning of a whole new geological epoch, the Anthropocene. The
impact of human activity should define a unique stratigraphic unit,
observable in geological and stratigraphic material (rocks, glacial ice,
marine sediments) for millions of years in the future (Lewis & Maslin,
2015).
Today, no formal agreement has yet been reached on where to set the
starting date of such a new geological epoch. Scholars are divided among
different options, based on the event or process they find most eligible to
mark the beginning of the Anthropocene. For example, the already
mentioned megafauna extinction between 50,000 and 100,000 years ago
that wiped out about half of the large-bodied animals around the world
was among the first proposed candidates. It is debated whether the uneven
losses across continents (18% in Africa, 36% in Eurasia) and the different
timings make the extinction lack the required precision for an
Anthropocene marker.
Another candidate is the origin of agriculture that first occurred around
11,000 years ago in South America, Southwest Asia and China, but that
still lacks global synchrony. More recently, the arrival of Europeans in the
Caribbean (1492), which has always been considered a major event in
world history, has been proposed as an Anthropocene marker too, due to
the rise of global trade and therefore the globalisation of human foodstuffs
and domesticated species, with well-preserved deposits of pollen marking
a stratigraphic change. Other options are the Industrial Revolution, due to
the accelerated fossil fuel use and societal changes at a global scale, and
1964, when the Great Acceleration reached a peak in anthropogenic
impact with the nuclear explosions.
It is important to note that setting an earlier date for the beginning of
Anthropocene should not mean ‘normalising’ the anthropogenically-
induced environmental change. Long-term processes must not be
politicised in terms of inevitable outcomes, thus lowering the sense of
responsibility of contemporary Homo sapiens and discouraging
environmental policies. From an evolutionary perspective, our interpretation
places the premise for today’s ecological dominance of our species in the
deep time of human history, at the end of the Pleistocene.
WE KNOW THE CAUSES
This story, therefore, does not present a single anthropic activity that is
causing the bad fate of biodiversity today. It has deep roots in human
history. Through a mix of different behaviours with variable impacts, we
have produced the conditions for a global and rapid extinction crisis. In
other words, the Anthropocene signals the fact that Homo sapiens has
become a dominant evolutionary force (Pievani, 2013). According to the
“HIPPO” causal model proposed by Edward O. Wilson (2010), updated
and revisited here (HIPPOC), the human impact on biodiversity is due to a
convergence of different and interacting factors:
H – Habitat fragmentation and alteration of species-areas relationships

(i.e. forest clearance, conversion into pasture, and intensive
cultivations, mining and quarrying activities);
I – Invasive species and diffusion of new pathogens (the inter-
continental remixing of alien species due to travel and commerce
16 Chapter Two
has been able to cause mass extinctions on scales from local to

entire regions, as well as on islands and archipelagos);
P – Population growth and urban macro-agglomerates (producing
barriers and limitations to the dispersal of animals and plants);
P – Pollution (agricultural, industrial and chemical pollution of air,
water and soils);
O – Overexploitation of biological resources by overfishing and
overhunting;
C – Climate change: initially characterised only in crude estimates,
current models include climatic warming and growing evidence for
ecological mismatches in the seasonal cycles of species (mostly in
long-distance migratory birds), polar species becoming endangered,
the restructuring of ecological communities in tropical forests, and
alarming global effects triggered by ocean acidification (mostly in
coral reefs) (Pievani, 2015).
In addition, we should consider the non-linear interactions between the

six forces (for example, the fragmentation of territory and global warming
in tropical forests; devastating synergic effects of pollution,
overexploitation and climate change on coral reefs). This unprecedented
relationship between a globally invasive species and the biosphere
generates an evolutionary gap: the rates of biological evolution (i.e.
biogeographical displacements, adaptations to different temperatures, etc.)
are on average ten times slower than the rates of human-caused changes,
so the usual processes of ecological recovery after disturbance are being
overridden.
A distinction, however, needs to be drawn between two extinction
processes in biohistory. The background extinctions of species are normal,
steady (and necessary) processes in the economy of nature that occur at
relatively low rates and which result from the ongoing evolutionary
processes in environments characterised by high competition and limited
resources. In contrast to this, the major turnover-pulses of evolution had
far more dramatic rates and consequences. Those mass extinctions were
global catastrophes under which entire classes of terrestrial and sea
biodiversity collapsed (Bambach, 2006), like at the end of the Ordovician
(445 million years ago, related to a glaciation event); at the end of the
Devonian (360 million years ago); and at the end of the Triassic (200
million years ago, the mass extinction that paved the way for the
dinosaurs). It is interesting to note that the victims of one mass extinction
may well have been the lucky survivors of a previous one.
The pattern of this periodic pruning of the tree of life is distinct from
background extinctions (which have an average rate of 2-4 taxonomic
families disappearing every million years), as if the ‘business as usual’ of
evolution were not simply accelerated but temporarily overwhelmed. Mass
extinctions unleash a disruptive power in a relatively short time on a
geological scale, and they strike across all classes and orders with low
selectivity.
THREATENING THE SURVIVAL OF OUR OWN CIVILISATION
The human-induced extinction wave we are witnessing today is likely

to bring self-harming consequences for our own species, since the ongoing
decimation of life-forms is also affecting the life-support conditions and
the ecosystem services on which our civilisation depends (Daily &
Matson, 2008; Cardinale et al., 2012; Ceballos et al., 2015). Humans’
dependence and impact on biodiversity have mostly been studied as
separate phenomena, but today’s urgency of rethinking the policies of
conservation demand an integrated perspective that must not be confined
to merely ethical and emotional appeals.
Plants, nonhuman animals and microbes define the ecological niche we
live in – a delicate equilibrium of interdependent relationships, in which
we do not only represent the major active modifiers of the environmental
states and the selective pressures at work, but in which we are also
modified by the ecological and evolutionary feedback that the niche
returns to its constructors. “Niche Construction Theory” (NCT) (Odling-
Smee et al., 2003) provides a useful theoretical framework to appreciate
the current unsustainability of the human niche and the self-endangering
feedback at stake, providing an integrative scenario in which Homo
sapiens can no longer be treated as a mere exogenous phenomenon
(Albuquerque et al., 2014).
Unlike many other species that alter the environment through their
metabolic, physiological and behavioural activities, the major alterations
we impose are driven by our socially transmitted information and culture
(Laland & O’Brien, 2012). As we have seen, the major evolutionary event
that triggered a cascade of effects in the selective pressures was the
introduction of agriculture and the domestication of species. By the time
Homo sapiens reached the capacity for ecosystem engineering, the
biosphere had undergone dramatic changes, with the reshaping of global
species’ distribution and the introduction of new ones. These resulted from
intensive and complex niche construction activities that responded to the
18 Chapter Two
needs of industrial economies, of an expanding population and of the

reinforcement of the transport network (Boivin et al., 2016).
The legacies of change in both biota and abiota, usually referred to as
“ecological inheritance” (Odling-Smee, 1988), do not require the existence
of environmental replicators but of the intergenerational persistence of the
causes of change (mainly through repeated acts of construction) (Laland &
O’Brien, 2012). This identifies a different form of inheritance than the
inheritance of genes: the transmission includes material resources that are
passed down to later generations without reproduction, but through an
external environment. Multiple organisms (not only genetic relatives) are
involved in a constant transmission process (i.e. not confined to single
reproductive events) to many other organisms throughout their whole
lifetime, within and between generations. When it comes to Homo sapiens,
as seen in previous paragraphs, the predominance of the human niche over
the biosphere has become increasingly alarming.
In environmental conservation and ecology, the impact of human
action has traditionally been investigated in two forms: acute disturbances
(drastic environmental changes) and chronic anthropogenic disturbances
(CAD; Singh, 1998). In the case of tropical forests, where the impact of
CAD is studied most, clear-cutting, logging, anthropogenic fires fall
within the first definition, whereas the chronic form is characterised by
more subtle activities that remove only a small fraction of biomass at a
time, but at a constant rate and for the long term. Such activities are, to use
the same example, the collection of firewood, fodder and secondary forest
products (seeds, leaves, tree oils, etc.). The main problem with chronic
activities is the fact that their persistence does not allow enough time for
the ecosystems to recover adequately, making CAD one of the most
widespread sources of habitat degradation in developing countries (Singh,
1998) and a cause of the decrease in taxonomic and phylogenetic
diversities (Ribeiro et al., 2015; Ribeiro et al., 2016). Human-driven
ecological disturbances, along with better-known drivers of biodiversity
loss like habitat fragmentation and defaunation, provide important
examples of human niche construction, whose effects persist for longer
than the lifetime of the constructors themselves and are passed on to the
following generations (ecological inheritance).
In NCT, organisms, including Homo sapiens, and environments are
engaged in reciprocally caused relationships that are at play both on the
ontogenetic and on the phylogenetic timescales. We have already explored
one form of this relationship in the previous sections by analysing the
history and magnitude of human impact on global biodiversity; it is crucial
now to explore the second form by focusing on the impact of biodiversity
loss on human activities and health. There is a vast array of phenomena

that can be fruitfully analysed from a niche construction perspective,
ranging from the ecological and economic impact of pollinator declines to
the global consequences of overfishing and ocean acidification. Here we
will go through a couple of examples related to our health and the ecology
of infectious diseases.
There is a burgeoning body of literature that is beginning to show that
reduced biodiversity affects the transmission of pathogens to human
beings, livestock, wildlife and plants (Keesing et al., 2010; Civitello et al.,
2015; Ostfeld, 2017). The reasons behind the inhibitory effect on
pathogens displayed by environments with high biodiversity are linked to
biotic homogenisation and the so-called ‘dilution effect’, which arises
from the following observations. The majority of infectious human
diseases have a zoonotic origin, with pathogens that are for the most part
host generalist, meaning that they are capable of infecting multiple species
of the host (that vary in their susceptibility to infection). The reservoir-
hosts – the species that are more likely to acquire and transmit diseases –
are those that are the most widespread, overrepresented and resilient to the
perturbations induced by humans. Consequently, higher interspecific
diversity (that includes species sensitive to anthropogenic perturbations)
can ‘dilute’ the effect of the reservoir species and the general risk of
infection.
A study conducted by researchers at the University of São Paulo, Brazil,
found that, in tropical forests, biodiversity can play a role in preventing
malaria outbreaks due to two different mechanisms: the dilution effect
provided by warm-blooded mammals acting as a biological ‘shield’ for
human people and the competition between vector and non-vector
mosquito species for blood feeding (Laporta et al., 2013). Malaria is
reported to have caused 429,000 deaths and 212 million new cases in 2015
(World Malaria Report, 2016), making it a concrete threat to nearly half of
the world’s population – Sub-Saharan Africa still carries the greatest
portion of the global burden.
Another important case which is worth mentioning here is the Ebola
outbreak in West Africa, which is hypothesised to have been the result of a
combination of policy-driven changes in Guinea and Liberia, brought
about by neoliberal development (Wallace et al., 2014). According to such
hypotheses, the increase in oil palm plantations (Elaeis guineensis) in
Guinea’s forested regions seems to have strongly impacted the forest
epizoology. The first case of Ebola in West Africa was documented in the
Guéckédou area, with a landscape characterised by a mosaic of villages
enclosed by dense vegetation, with crop fields of oil palm that provide an
20 Chapter Two
ideal man-bat interface. Frugivore bats (Chiroptera, Pteropodidae) are a

key Ebola reservoir (healthy carriers), and they are attracted to oil palm
trees, where they migrate in search of food and shelter, thus shifting their
foraging behaviour as the forest gradually disappears. The lethal virus can
be transmitted through direct contact with the infected animal via
contaminated body fluids.
A more recent study (Olivero et al., 2017) got to the bottom of the
coupling between the loss of closed forests and the Ebola virus disease
outbreaks by confirming an increased probability of an Ebola outbreak in
sites that suffered recent deforestation events. A possible explanation is
that deforestation is likely to push infected wild animals into areas
inhabited by humans, increasing the probability of contact between them,
by disrupting animal movements and population densities. This provides a
straightforward case of undesired feedback induced by politically- and
economically-driven niche activities that impact the population
distribution of the endemic fauna and the ecosystem ecology in general,
reminding the representatives of Homo sapiens of their role and weight in
the interconnected nature of an ecosystem. As we know, pathogens are
among the strongest selective forces that have acted on human populations
throughout our entire evolutionary track. Since pathogens diminish the
host’s reproductive potential, due to poor health or death, selection is
therefore driven on the genetic variants that affect resistance, increasing
the frequency of favoured alleles, and decreasing that of detrimental ones
(Karlsson et al., 2014). This means that through changes in biodiversity
(and therefore in our niche), we are not only affecting the evolutionary
trajectories of other species (Palumbi, 2001), but also our own evolution,
posing new challenges that can reshape, in the long-term, the distribution
of human populations on the planet.
THE COST OF HUMAN NICHE CONSTRUCTION
The fact that one species interferes with the ecological equilibria and
the evolutionary trajectories of other species by altering the pace of
evolutionary change, modifying the population distribution or altering the
ideal environmental conditions for them to prosper is still part of natural
history. As regards extinction, about 99.9% of species that ever existed are
extinct. What is unprecedented today is the role of one species in
triggering a global mass extinction event, the fastest of all time, which
clearly presents harmful recoil effects for the dominant species itself.
Homo sapiens is actively altering the conditions that ensure its own stay
on the planet. To put it differently, the Anthropocene extinction is a threat
not for biodiversity itself, but for the ecological conditions that currently
allow human survival. In a human niche construction perspective, the
beginning of Anthropocene should be established at the time when
anthropogenic-transformative niche activities became dominant over the
biosphere.
Even if the Sixth Mass Extinction cannot be considered a done deal,
the sad irony of the story is that our efforts to slow or stop the Sixth Mass
Extinction may not be enough. According to Butchart et al. (2010), one of
the outcomes of the United Nations Convention on Biological Diversity –
local conservation initiatives – are multiplying and having success. It may
not be enough to reverse the general trends of habitat destruction, but
averting the dizzying decay of biodiversity loss and the ecosystem
services’ degradation is still possible, although the window for making
concrete changes is rapidly closing. This is the grand challenge for society
and researchers that must be solved within the next few decades. The
deadline can no longer be postponed. Pollution, long-lasting consequences
of climate change, disease outbreaks (as analysed in the previous section),
overpopulation and the overconsumption of resources must become a
priority in the global policy agenda.
In order to reach effective and rapid results, particular attention should
be paid to the economic impact of biodiversity loss and the risks for global
health – i.e. the eco-evolutionary feedbacks that are already impacting
Homo sapiens. In the worst-case scenario, however, even if we are so
myopic as to endanger the conditions of our survival, scientific models tell
us that life will carry on anyway in other forms (Weisman, 2008),
probably to the advantage of the most opportunistic species, such as rats
(Zalasiewicz, 2008). Indeed, just after our departure, a cornucopia of new
experiments of life, like after every previous mass extinction, would
plausibly blossom on Earth. The end of our species would only represent
another new beginning. From a philosophical point of view, the Sixth
Mass Extinction can provide an anthropological warning about the
contingency of life and the fragility of our story as hominins.
Author contribution statements

Telmo Pievani contributed to this paper with sections 1, 2 and 3.
Andra Meneganzin contributed with sections 4 and 5.
22 Chapter Two
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PART 2
CLIMATE AND ENVIRONMENTAL CHANGES

CHAPTER THREE
THE IMPACT OF THE LITTLE ICE AGE

IN CENTRAL PORTUGAL
CRISTIANA FERREIRA, PIERLUIGI ROSINA,

FRANCESC BURJACHS AND LUIZ OOSTERBEEK
INTRODUCTION
The Little Ice Age (LIA) triggered environmental changes and important
socio-economic transformations, due to its effects on agriculture (e.g.
Pfister & Brazdil, 2006). Climate change has important edaphological
consequences which impact on agricultural land use. Changes in agricultural
possibilities and practices had a remarkable socio-economic impact on
Europe and Asia (e.g. the end of the human colonization of Greenland).
For the Iberian Peninsula, the LIA climate has been reconstructed with
multiproxy analysis by different authors (González-Trueba et al., 2008;
Araújo, 2008; Morellón et al., 2011; Martins et al., 2012; García-Ruiz et
al., 2014) and climatic oscillations are quite well known. This cold period
determined the development and growth of glaciers (González-Trueba et
al., 2008; García-Ruiz et al., 2014), and relevant modifications in the
coastline of Portugal, namely the increase of dune areas (Araújo, 2008).
During the LIA, there was an increase in flooding intensity and in the
sedimentation along the valleys of rivers, as was referred to by Benito et
al. (2003, 2008). This phenomenon was also recognized in the Lower
Tagus Valley by Vis et al. (2010) and Gomes et al. (2012).
The aim of this paper is to approach the environmental changes, the
variations in agricultural activities and other anthropic impacts on the
landscape of the Lower Tagus Valley during the LIA through pollen
analysis. For this purpose, a sedimentary core was collected at Paúl do
Boquilobo, a swamp area in alluvial soils surrounded by agricultural
fields. A sediment core was studied, constituted by sand sediment at the
bottom and silt-peat on the top, suggesting that stabilization of the swamp
The impact of the little ice age in central Portugal 27
in this core location was relatively recent. This observation was confirmed
during the Non-Pollen-Palynomorphs (NPP) analysis by the presence of
stagnant water algae. The upper part of this core corresponds almost
entirely to the LIA, taking into account the absolute dating in the bulk of
the sediment (AMS radiocarbon, Beta 278335: 430 ± 40 BP – 540-440 cal
BP – 1420-1500 cal AD, INTCAL .04).
The Paúl do Boquilobo farm belonged to the Knights Templar Order in
the Late Middle Ages, and was later transferred to the Order of Christ
(when this order inherited the rights of the former), which became a key
player in the Portuguese discoveries. In 1432, i.e. at the dawn of the LIA,
it was given to Henry the Navigator in “sesmaria”, i.e. autonomy for
agricultural food production expansion and global land management.
As discussed below, the palynological analysis does not allow us to
consider that the variation in economic activities was only due to climate
change, since it may also be attributed to changes in state policies, these
two dimensions being interlinked. The “sesmarias” law was promulgated
in Portugal in 1375 to improve the agricultural production of the young
state in a context of population growth and food shortage (perhaps already
resulting from progressively colder environmental conditions). Other
important historical marks that influenced agricultural policies were the
Iberian Union in 1580, the Restoration of Independence in 1640, and the
agrarian reforms during the Pombaline-enlightenment period (1752-1777).
Considering both historical and geographical studies in Portugal and in
the region (e.g. Brito, 1994; Conde, 1996; Oosterbeek, 2013), the period
that runs from the 15th to the 19th century can be divided into four main
stages. In the first one, after major popular and bourgeois rebellions in the
late 14th century, a relevant debate was conducted on how to cope with the
recurrent food deficit of the country, in which it was discussed which
strategy to choose: an intensification of agricultural production combined
with moderate terrestrial expansion into Northern Africa (the “sesmarias”
policy announced such a strategy, which was also at the basis of the
conquest of Ceuta in 1415); or the option of developing long-distance
exchanges based on commercial priority (this was already present in the
Ceuta expansion, but would become dominant only after 1430 with the
African Atlantic trading posts and, later, trade-based colonies). The
exodus from the higher plateaux with lower agricultural productivity,
combined with a contemporary coastal population growth, became a
relevant demographic support for the maritime expansion of the
Portuguese.
Trade would become the major economic basis of the Portuguese
expansion, reaching a climax by 1500, when they reached Brazil (having
28 Chapter Three
completed the maritime route to India two years before), thus dominating
both the Atlantic and Indian oceans. Yet, the shortage of basic food
supplies remained a reality, and the expansion itself generated cash flow
difficulties by the mid-15th century, and again after 1530 (Costa et al.,
2011).
In stage three, the quality of the soils, the low demographic density, the
emigration of a large part of the population (up to 10% according to some
authors, e.g. Arroteia, 1985) and the possibility of accessing food supplies
from the neighbouring country explain why the dynastic crisis of the late
16th century (leading to the union with Spain under a Spanish king) did not
generate a massive rejection of the merge (as had happened 200 years
before).
The final stage started with the recovery of independence in 1640,
which inaugurated a process of continuous economic decay, with brief
moments of improvement (namely the enlightened 18th-century leadership
of the Marquês de Pombal). But, on the whole, Portugal was losing its
strategic relevance in the context of an emerging capitalist global system
(Hobsbawn, 1988). Hereinafter, trade would become the key component
of the economy.
To what extent the food production shortage (a problem that is
recurrent in Portugal even today) was a result of environmental and
climatic constraints or of socio-political options (including a very early
process of coastal demographic concentration) remains to be assessed. In
our study, we intend to assess this process through an analysis of pollen
and NPP collected in a sedimentary core from this most important humid
area of central Portugal.
REGIONAL SETTING
The Paúl do Boquilobo is located in Central Portugal, in the lower

Tagus Basin (Portuguese Middle Tagus region) (Figure 1), where its
tributary, the Almonda River, flows into it. In this region, the Tagus River
valley is bordered to the north and west by a limestone massif and to the
east by an ancient metamorphic massif, the south being the sedimentary
drainage basin of the Tagus. This has been infilled since the Miocene,
while in the Quaternary a basin inversion caused the formation of a fluvial
staircase (Rosina et al., 2014). The area of Paúl do Boquilobo is
characterized by alluvial and fluvial deposits, its altitude varying between
12 m and 24 m. While in the limestone area the maximum elevation
reaches 600 m, on the left bank of the Tagus River, to the south, the
maximum elevation is close to 200 m.
Figure 1. Geographical location of Paúl do Boquilobo.

30 Chapter Three
Paúl do Boquilobo is an important humid area of this region, being

seasonally flooded during the overflow of the Almonda and Tagus rivers,
while the lower areas may remain flooded all the year round.
The Paúl is situated in the Mediterranean phytogeographic region
(Rivas-Martínez, 1987), its environment consisting of a wetland with
characteristic marshes. On the river banks, and on the edges of seasonally
flooded zones, the vegetation communities are composed of riparian
species like Alnus glutinosa, Fraxinus excelsior, Fraxinus angustifolia,
Salix atrocinerea, Salix alba, Populus nigra, and Crataegus monogyna. In
the permanently flooded area, the most abundant species are hygro-
hydrophyte communities like Nymphaea alba, Sparganium erectum,
Phragmites australis and Scirpus lacustris.
In the surrounding area, the fertile alluvial soils support intensive
agricultural exploitation, mainly based on corn production. The outer
flooded areas are nowadays the target for intensive production of Olea
europaea, while the higher hills are mainly dominated by forestry
activities (mainly Eucalyptus globulus and Pinus pinaster).
MATERIALS AND METHODS
Fieldwork sampling was carried out with a geotechnical drilling

machine and the core was collected in PVC tubes. The drilling reached a
maximum depth of 9.70 m. At 8.70 m a layer of clay material was
reached, attributed to the Miocene.
In the laboratory, the core was divided into two sections: one for
further sedimentological studies, and the other for palynological studies. A
systematic sampling following a sequence of 5 cm was made, consisting
of a total of 37 samples, although only 24 samples (corresponding to 2 m
depth) are presented in the diagrams (Figure 4), because the remaining
samples did not contain a minimum of 100 pollen and NPP.
The sediment samples from the core of the Natural Reserve of Paúl do
Boquilobo were subjected to a physical-chemical treatment to isolate the
pollen residue. The sedimentary samples of the core were treated by
isolating the pollen residue as established by Burjachs et al. (2003),
following Goeury and Beaulieu (1979), with modifications after Girard
and Renault-Miskovsky (1969). The elimination of carbonates was
achieved with the addition of hydrochloric acid (HCl) and the elimination
of humic acid and clay with sodium hydroxide (NaOH). The next phase
involved the concentration and flotation in dense liquor (Thoulet Liquor)
and the destruction of the fibreglass filter and silicates with the addition of
hydrofluoric acid (HF). The pollen residue was placed in glass slides to
allow for pollen identification and counting. The statistical study for the
creation of the pollen diagrams was achieved by calculating the absolute
and relative frequencies of the identified palynomorphs with Tilia software
(Grimm, 1991-2015). The measurement of the pollen concentration
followed Loublier (1978). The pollen residue was embedded in glycerine
and sealed with histolaque to make it possible to move the sample for a
more complete observation of the pollen’s and NPP’s morphological
features, and slides were counted using an optical microscope (Olympus
CX41 transmitted-light microscope).
Pollen identification was made based on Moore et al. (1991) and Reille
(1995, 1998, 1999) and the pollen reference collection of the Archaeobotany
Laboratory of IPHES (Institut Català de Paleoecologia Humana y Evolució
Social, Tarragona, Spain). For NPP identification and interpretation, we
followed the palaeoecological literature (e.g. van Geel, 1978, van Geel et
al., 1981; van Hoeve & Hendrikse 1998; Carrión & van Geel, 1999).
RESULTS AND INTERPRETATION
The two diagrams of Paúl do Boquilobo presented in Figure 2 and

Figure 3, including pollen and NPP dynamics, demonstrate environmental
changes within a local and regional overview.
In the pollen diagram, the sequence was divided into two principal
Pollen Zones (PZones A and B), numbered from bottom to top, based on
the CONISS analysis (Grimm, 1987) of the pollen assemblage. The first
phase should precede the Little Ice Age, even if it is without absolute
dating, with a different lithology and very low pollen concentration. The
same situation happens in the NPP diagram, the first phase presenting less
variability than the second.
1. Pollen
The first zone (before the LIA, including the subzones A1a, A1b, A2a
and A2b; Figure 2) precedes the Little Ice Age. It generally presents a low
representation of trees and aquatic species and, as we can see in the
diagram, a high herbaceous representation. However, this group presents
very low variability.
32 Chapter Three
Figure 2. Pollen diagram from Paúl do Boquilobo.

The second zone was divided into four subzones (Figure 2), which
include the evolution of vegetation during the LIA, taking into account the
absolute dating. The subzone B1a2 presents a growing pollen concentration
and it is characterized by the increase in the percentage of AP (Arboreal
Pollen) as well as in taxonomic variability. We can see the increase of
Pinus spp. such as evergreen Quercus, deciduous Quercus and some
riparian species like Salix and Alnus. The NAP (Non-Arboreal Pollen) are
more representative in this phase, with an important presence of Erica spp,
but also because the herbaceous species (Asteraceae tubuliflorae type and
Asteraceae liguliflorae type), as well as the hygro-hydrophytes Cyperaceae,
occur in high percentages.
In subzone B1b, there occurs a small increase of riparian species (Salix
and Alnus), Pinus spp., and Quercus. However, it is possible to observe
that Erica spp. presents its highest percentage in the whole sequence,
while other shrubs (Cistaceae and Helianthemum type) were also
identified. This subzone also presents a greater variability of herbaceous
species such as Asphodelus, Urticaceae and Dipsacaceae, but with a
decrease in the representation. The hygro-hydrophytes Cyperaceae and
Typha-Sparganium increase their representation in this phase.
In subzone B2, there occurs an increase of AP (with the highest
percentage of Pinus spp.) and of evergreen Quercus and deciduous
Quercus, and the presence of Corylus and Alnus. In comparison with the
former subzone, the shrubs and herbaceous species present a decreasing
tendency, with the exception of Apiaceae and Chenopodiaceae that
evidence a larger representativeness. This phase also presents the highest
pollen concentration.
In global terms, this second phase presents an increasing occurrence of
Pinus spp., consistent with anthropic activities, but it also may be an
indicator of a recovery of woodland communities throughout the LIA,
since other arboreal taxa, such as deciduous Quercus and Salix sp., also
increase their representativeness. This phase also presents a greater
variability of trees species. In the areas furthest from the flood zone, with
good insulation and less moist soils, a xeric forest of evergreen Quercus,
Ericaceae and Cistaceae developed. The thermophilous taxa of deciduous
Quercus and Corylus composed the forest transition. In the areas closer to
the flood zones, riparian communities of Alnus and Salix developed. In
this phase, there still occurs a significant representation of taxa related to
an aquatic or humid environment, suggesting a phase of greater moisture.
This whole set of taxa, as well as its representation throughout this phase,
is indicative of the development of a more humid and temperate climate,
with likely growing water levels, favouring the development of riparian
34 Chapter Three
communities as well as of aquatic species. This phase also shows a greater

variability of herbaceous species, which will have growing frequencies
along the LIA. The identified genera and families include many species
related to human activities such as agriculture, grazing, or the conditioning
of spaces or paths (for example, Plantago spp., Chenopodiaceae,
Urticaceae, Poaceae).
2. Non-pollen Palynomorphs (NPP)

The next diagram (Figure 3) shows the NPP dynamics. In the first
phase (including subzones A1a, A1b, A2a and A2b), there is lower
taxonomical variability when compared to the rest of the sequence. An
increase of Pseudoschizaea is evident. These palynomorphs are associated
with moments of erosion or the fast deposition of sediment (Scott, 1992;
Pantaleón-Cano et al., 1996). In this case, such an increase could be
related to a moment of erosion, when the flooding level went down and
left the soil exposed to erosion processes, eventually accelerated by land-
use intensification practices, as referred to by some authors (e.g. López-
Sáez & López-García, 2003).
In the second phase, the NPP emphasizes its wetter nature, which is
consistent with what was previously observed with the pollen data. The
phase was divided into three subzones through cluster analyses. Subzone
B1 is characterized by the presence of Pteridophytes, like Isoetes, which
increase their representation, triletes spores and Selaginella, as well as
some microalgae, but with low variability and representativeness; it was
also possible to identify Gloeotrichia, Zygnema and Spirogyra, algae
typical of stagnant waters. The fungi and zoo-remains were the most
representative groups, influenced principally by the fungi Glomus spp. and
the zoo-remain Type 52.
Subzone B2a, from a general point of view, presents greater taxonomic
variability. However, the algae group is characterized by low values and
two new taxa, Botryococcus and Rivularia, which are indicators of open
waters and mesotrophic conditions (van Geel et al., 1989). The fungi
increase their representation (Polyporisporites, Dicellaesporites, Exesisporites)
and we recognized the presence of Puccinia and Alternaria-type. The zoo-
remains maintained the same evolution. In the undefined group, the
Pseudoschizaea present a little increase. The monolete spore Isoetes
maintained the same values until the top of this phase, when it starts
decreasing.
Figure. 3. Non-pollen Palynomorphs diagram from Paúl do Boquilobo.

36 Chapter Three
Subzone B2b presents less variability than subzone B2a, but also
presents the highest concentration of NPP. In the algae group, despite the
absence of Botryococcus and Rivularia, an increase of Gloeotrichia and
Zygnema may be seen. Some fungi decrease their representation, like
Dicellaesporites and Exesisporites, but Polyporisporites and Glomus sp.
show the same values. In this phase, one can also see the absence of
Isoetes and a decrease of all pteridophytes.
Generally, in the second phase, we can observe higher variability in the
group of algae, which proliferate in moist conditions, such as Botryococcus
and Spirogyra, characteristic of stagnant waters in a permanent or periodical
regime; Zygnema, characteristic of eutrophic environments, with slow
watercourses; and finally Gloeotrichia, characteristic of areas with
abundant aquatic vegetation. The higher variability of pteridophytes also
suggests greater water availability and humidity.
All these palynomorphs appear following a time when riparian and
aquatic species have their highest peaks. In the fungi, it was possible to
identify Puccinia for the first time. This fungus parasitizes angiosperm
leaves (van Geel et al., 1981). Alternaria was also identified; this
parasitizes leaves in organic substrates and is related to wet environments
(Jarzen & Elsik, 1986).
FINAL REMARKS
The Paúl do Boquilobo palynological analyses revealed that the area

was influenced by climatic changes during the LIA, reflected in the
variation of available water resources and related to anthropic behavioural
strategies. The swamp stabilization in the site where the core was collected
happened only along the last subzone (B2a and B2b, Figure 3), which was
particularly evidenced by the presence of algae. Apparently, swamp
location could be related not only to climate changes, but also to changes
in fluvial dynamics.
In addition to climatic and environmental changes produced by the
LIA, historical events, such as the new impetus for an agricultural
economy, have also influenced the landscape (Figure 4). The effect of this
economy option resulted in increased erosion in the period subsequent to
the Middle Ages (Vis et al., 2010). Anthropic influence was recognized by
agricultural indicators and forestry activities in the palynological record
(e.g. van der Knaap & van Leeuwen, 1995; Muñoz-Sobrino et al., 2005;
Danielsen, 2008; Morales-Molino et al., 2011; Danielsen et al. 2012).
Figure 4. Synthetic pollen diagram (with estimated chronology), its relation with
historical events and the Little Ice Age climatic event, based on Fagan (2000) and
Le Roy Ladurie (2004-9).
38 Chapter Three
The law of “sesmarias” was created to face the agricultural deficit,

rural exodus and overlaying economic crisis, which occurred in Europe in
the 14th century, and which was intended to force landowners to produce,
to force descendants from farmers to remain in the same activity instead of
moving into trade or related activities, and to regulate prices in order to
increase food production and prevent depopulation.
Although the “sesmarias” law is prior to the period under study in this
paper, its effects were evidenced in the appearance of species related to
anthropogenic activities, such as Plantago, which is related to grazing
activity.
With the Iberian Union (1580-1640), there was a little decrease of
Pinus and deciduous Quercus, which is probably related to climatic
conditions, but also to intentional deforestation to make room for agro-
pastoral activities.
After the restoration of the country’s independence, the beginning of
the recovery of woodlands and humidity indicators can be observed, which
could be associated with climatic reasons. The samples also evidenced the
intensification of anthropogenic activity that extends to the Pombal
Enlightenment period and its agrarian reforms.
A later increase of the woodlands could be related to climatic
improvement towards the end of the LIA, but also to the countryside
exodus and related agricultural decay as a result of the Napoleonic
invasion (1808). It was also by the end of the LIA that major agriculture
reforms were set under a liberal regime (1830), following a severe civil
war that, once again, contributed to major food supply difficulties.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The authors would like to thank the ICNF (Instituto de Conservação da

Natureza e das Florestas) and the Paúl do Boquilobo staff who allowed us
to take the sedimentary core. Thanks to João Belo for the cartography and
Isabel Expósito for helping in the archaeobotanical identification and
laboratory work. Thanks also to Marta Arzarello for the preliminary
English revision and to Fátima Paiva for the final English revision.
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CHAPTER FOUR
CLIMATE, NATURAL THREATS AND DISASTERS

IN 18TH CENTURY SPAIN:
NOTES FOR A HISTORICAL STUDY
ARMANDO ALBEROLA ROMÁ
INTRODUCTION
The atmosphere and nature generate extreme hydrometeorological and

geological phenomena with devastating effects. Extreme events such as
persistent droughts interrupted by exceptional rainfall and big floods, heat
waves followed by cold waves, earthquakes and tsunamis, volcanic
eruptions or hurricanes immediately make the headlines, whether on TV or
in printed and digital news. None of this is new, except for the speed at
which reports reach us and the quality of the information.
We know these events are not new because, using documentary
sources of high qualitative value, historical analysis allows us to establish
a detailed inventory of extreme geological, atmospheric or biological
events that happened centuries ago, together with the consequences and
human suffering they generated. Similarly, historical analysis
demonstrates that these calamities have persisted over the centuries in
specific geographical areas at precise moments in time and under given
circumstances. Accounts of political-administrative disaster management,
economic and human damage evaluations and technical projects tested to
prevent and avert problems can also be found, not forgetting references to
popular religious remedies proper to modern centuries that are surprisingly
This study is part of the project HAR2017-82810-P, included in the State Scheme
for the Promotion of Scientific and Technical Research of Excellence promoted by
the Ministry of Science, Innovation and Universities (Government of Spain), the
State Research Agency and the FEDER funds.
44 Chapter Four
persistent today1.
In this study we review the extreme events that took place in 18th-
century Spain and the devastation they inflicted. We highlight their
reiterations in specific areas over long periods, emphasising the
importance of historical analysis to understand many events that continue
today. These extraordinary events are perfectly represented in "historical
memory" because of the traces they left: the "ordinary" does not usually
make the news. A long-term analysis allows a true catalogue of disasters
to be drawn up and thus identify their frequency and respective political
responses.
CLIMATIC OSCILLATIONS IN THE IBERIAN PENINSULA
Climate oscillations have had powerful impacts on agricultural yields

at any time. Peasants and societies have generally always been unsettled
by hydrometeorological anomalies. Similar concerns continue today,
though we have the means to moderate negative effects. Global warming
is highly alarming, inescapable, and its end consequences almost entirely
unknown (Quereda et al., 2001; Uriarte, 2003; Martín-Vide, 2008;
Toharía, 2013). But Nature’s behaviour and the progressive deterioration
of the environment, subject to very different threats over the centuries, are
also worrying. Hence the importance of historians and their contributions
as scholars of history and of the climatic and environmental past.
Preindustrial societies ௅ dependent as they were on agriculture for their
survival and progress ௅ lacked instruments to protect them from the
calamities engendered by climatic oscillations. Nor did they dispose of –
at least until the Enlightenment – essential scientific-technical tools to
develop precise observations, for example, of temperature, rainfall,
cloudiness or winds that led to an understanding of climatic variability.
This information was crucial in the sixteenth to 18th centuries because a
mini glaciation called the Little Ice Age (LIA) took place during this
period (Grove, 1988; Lamb, 1972; Alberola-Romá, 2014).
This climatic pulsation occurred after the Medieval Climate Optimum
and lasted from the beginning of the fifteenth century until the mid-19th
1 There are many sources that provide information, among them: civil and religious
public documentation (municipal, notarial, ecclesiastical councils, resolutions of

Monarchy Councils, expert reports, etc.), private documentation (correspondence,
diaries, records of trips, notebooks of farmers, etc), dates of harvests of wine or
salt, consumption of firewood and coal, rogations, etc. See all this in Alberola-
Romá & Mas-Galvañ, 2016; Alberola-Romá, 2016; Martín-Vide & Barriendos,
1995.
Climate, natural threats and disasters in 18th century Spain 45
century. It had a global reach and was characterised by the progressive

cooling of the terrestrial climate. The LIA coincided, in its most acute
phase, with the Modern Age, and its essential features consisted of great
variability, irregularity and meteorological extremism, causing the relative
worsening of environmental conditions, a drop in average Earth
temperatures of around 1ºC-2ºC, greater frequency of winter cold in
central and northern Europe and a substantial increase in rainfall.
Abundant information from official and private sources (see Alberola-
Romá & Mas-Galvañ, 2016 for a compilation of these sources) offers a
detailed description of people’s sufferings as a result of poor harvests, the
escalation of grain prices and the appearance of famines, epidemics, social
unrest and riots. In sum, beyond the climate, the crisis was demographic,
economic and social.
COLD AND HEAT
The Iberian Peninsula suffered the consequences of two oscillations or

‘anomalies’ at the beginning and the end of the 18th century. The first
phase was the final phase of the Maunder minimum (1645-1715); the
second was the ‘Maldá Oscillation’ that prevailed over the century’s last
four decades (Barriendos & Llasat, 2003). Despite a moderation in
temperatures, ‘climate disorder’ reigned in the middle of both phases. There
were continued contrasts and variations. Very cold periods alternated with
extreme heat, while simultaneous extreme hydrometeorological events were
ever more frequent.
At the beginning of the 18th century, the cold and instability that had
prevailed since 1645 coincided with the cruel years of the War of
Succession and the severe winters of 1708-1709 and 1716 (Kamen, 1974;
Le Roy Ladurie, 1991, 2004; Font, 1988, 71-94; Alberola-Romá, 2014).
Official documentation, accounts by chroniclers, dietaristas and the
correspondence of some enlightened individuals bear witness to all of this;
moreover, 1717 and 1718 had very hot and dry summers that lasted into
the twenties, coinciding with harsh local droughts and very poor harvests
(Alberola-Romá, 2009a, 2014). Cold winters took place in the years 1726
(especially in the Mediterranean basin), 1728-1729, 1738-1739, 1739-40
(the ‘great winter’ that affected the whole Peninsula), 1744-1745, 1747,
1748 (“that were cruel and extremely icy”), 1754-1755 and 1758 during
which, according to Martínez Pingarrón, the royal librarian, "the whole of
Madrid turned into a block of ice" and the "cruel" cold caused several
deaths (see Alberola-Romá, 2009a). The following summer was terrible,
with intense drought, extraordinary heat and abundant diseases. The winter
46 Chapter Four
of 1750 turned out to be humid and very chilly in the Cantabrian

Mountains and the northwest of the peninsula. The correspondence of
different enlightened individuals reveals ample news and references to the
harsh summers of the forties and fifties. Records can be found of the
atmospheric instability under which Carlos III arrived in Madrid in early
December 1759.
During the second half of the 18th century, winters were cold and
humid while summers were of intense heat; nevertheless, the feeling of
atmospheric disorder was accentuated by repeated and extreme opposite
episodes, as is widely recounted in official and private documentation and
in instrumental observations by institutions and individuals that I had the
opportunity to study in detail (see Alberola-Romá, 2009a, 2015). With the
‘Maldá Oscillation’ (Barriendos & Llasat, 2003), the sixties inaugurated a
new cold phase marked by big freezes in December 1763 in the interior,
the terrible winter of 1765-1766 in which the Ebro river froze as it passed
through Tortosa, the cold summer of 1766 throughout the north of the
peninsula, frequent heavy snowfalls – in 1766, 1774 and 1779 –, perilous
summer storms and hailstorms, and the great wind and rain storms, such as
those that shook the Spanish Levante at the start of October 1779. These
climatic disorders became increasingly frequent in the eighties. A thermal
recovery took place in 1790 lasting until the end of the third decade of the
19th century, although there was a cold wave in January 1797 in the
northeast of the peninsula during which the Llobregat River froze. The
succession of mild winters and hot summers normalised and there is no
evidence of great cold or exceptional frosts, except in January 1806,
especially in Castilla and even in the Mediterranean (Alberola-Romá,
2014).
DROUGHT AND FLOODING
Drought is inherent to a large part of the Iberian Peninsula because of

its geographical position in the Mediterranean basin. During the 18th
century, local and short cycle droughts prevailed, though generalised and
long droughts took place in 1749 and 1753. Pro pluvia rogations,
penitential processions, sermons and other religious ceremonies provide
excellent evidence and allow an inventory of the most destructive droughts
in Hispanic lands to be established (Martín & Barriendos, 1995; Alberola-
Romá et al., 2016). Based on the correspondence of a variety of
enlightened individuals, heat and drought dominated the mid-century, and
the situation worsened after the loss of a number of crops (Alberola-Romá,
2009a). There was hunger and social unrest. Subsistence riots took place,
such as those that would bring down the Finance Minister, the Marquis de
Esquilache, in 1766, at court.
The drought severely affected the Levante and the Balearic Islands in
the years 1772-1774, 1779 and 1792. A terrible drought struck the Aragon
region of the Monegros between 1779 and 1784 as well as the northern
plateau between 1779 and 1796. Documentary sources describe an
"extreme and detrimental" drought in 1792 that affected Valencian and
Murcian lands. A 1799 drought over the whole of the southeast is
described as “tremenda” (devastating). The sources also emphasise the
1801 drought that battered these same lands and Andalusia: it lasted until
1803, ended the harvests, and caused food shortages, and the year 1803
was subsequently remembered as the "year of hunger" (Alberola-Romá,
2009b).
In stark contrast, intense rainfall also dealt a blow. Rivers overflowed,
fields and towns were inundated, but this did not solve the problems of the
droughts. Abundant official reports were sent to the Council of Castile.
They demonstrate the immediate mobilisation of political leaders in the
affected areas and the use of all available means of disaster relief.
Chroniclers, popular literature and the press also addressed these events
from different informative, scientific and religious perspectives (see
Alberola-Romá, 2015 for a compilation and analysis of sources on the
topic).
In the first half of the 18th century, Catalan rivers regularly overflowed
every four years in the autumn. They caused disasters in the Ampurdán,
the Maresme and the Tarragona regions, particularly in the case of the
river Ter – 1716, 1726, 1732 and 1737 – and the Llobregat – 1726, 1734
and 1749. Valencian rivers behaved in an identical way, especially the
Júcar, which flooded in 1709, 1714 and 1716. The Segura river flooded
more than twenty-six times. In the thirties, heavy rains caused big floods
in the northern plateau, Andalusia and the Levante. Also worthy of note
are the floods of the Turia river in Valencia in September 1731 and in the
spring of 1736, and the floods that affected Orihuela in June and
September 1731 and 1733, April 1736, October 1739 and November 1745
(Alberola-Romá, 2010, 96-115). Following the 1743 floods, the Ebro river
floods also caused significant damage to riverside towns, especially
Zaragoza and Tortosa.
During the last third of the 18th century, severe climatic anomalies
abounded. Worthy of note is the simultaneous nature with which
exceptional and extreme hydrometeorological episodes occurred in the
Mediterranean area with devastating consequences. Humid summers and
autumns combined with early and extreme winters followed by cold and
48 Chapter Four
snowy springs were lethal for agriculture. Contemporary commentators

clearly perceived the situation2. They gave accounts in their own diaries or
epistolary correspondence, making records of what they believed was a
climate mutation that was altering the normal functioning of the seasons3.
The seventies were relatively dry during the first half of the decade and
quite rainy in the second half. Worthy of note are the generalised
precipitations on the Atlantic front during the 1777-1778 biennium. There
was significant stormy activity in the Mediterranean basin during 1778
and 1779: the Turia flooded Valencia in the autumns of 1770 and 1776,
and the Segura flooded Orihuela in 1773 and 1776. Salamanca and Girona
were submerged in January and December 1777 (Alberola-Romá, 2014,
200-208).
Rainfall and climate disorder increased in the eighties, undoubtedly
affected by the volcanic eruptions of Laki (in Iceland in 1783), Asama (in
Japan in 1783) and Vesuvius (in Italy in 1787) (Alberola-Romá, 2012a).
Catalonia sustained big floods (in Mataró, August 1783) as did the
Valencian region (in Cullera, Sueca and Orihuela in 1783 and 1784) and
the town of Valencia (1784). At the end of 1783, Seville was devastated
by a great flood of the Guadalquivir. Precipitations were very heavy in the
first months of 1786 in Andalusia, Galicia and the Cantabrian cornice and,
the following year, violent storms and torrential rains lashed the
Mediterranean coast in January and in the autumn, producing floods in
Catalonia and resulting in fatalities and great destruction. At the end of
September, the Aragón River flooded Sangüesa, and at the beginning of
October the Ebro flooded Tortosa (Alberola-Romá, 2014, 217-218). The
year 1788 was very rainy and unstable: in February, Zamora, Salamanca
and Valladolid were flooded and, at the end of summer, an imposing storm
swept north-east, causing the Ebro and Segura to overflow once again.
In the latter part of the century, high-intensity spring rainfall on the
northern plateau proliferated, as evidenced by numerous rounds of pro
serenitate (1793 and 1799). In autumn, torrential rains caused numerous
Catalan rivers to overflow, flooding Girona (1790), Montblanc and
Tarragona (1792), Badalona (1795) and the Llobregat delta (1793, 1794,
1797, 1799). A major storm hit the whole Valencian region in September
1793 causing fatalities and substantial damage to roads and hydraulic
infrastructure in Castellón de la Plana, Alcoy, Valencia and the south of
Alicante (Alberola-Romá, 2014, 228-230). Before this, the Júcar had
2 For example, the ‘baron’ of Maldá (Barriendos & Llasat, 2003), Father Teixidor
or Fray José Rocafort (Alberola-Romá, 2014, 2010).
3 For a more detailed analysis of these events, see the study by Alberola-Romá and
Arrioja in this volume.

flooded Alzira and Algemesí in September 1791 while the Turia had
flooded Teruel in July. At the end of the century, a new "tragic and
disastrous" Segura flood submerged Orihuela in October 1797. The
drought, however, struck these lands again in 1800 and continued until
1807, according to the countless pro pluvia rogations held (Zamora, 2002).
OTHER THREATS AND DISASTERS: DISEASES AND PLAGUES
Climate oscillations in former times constitute one variable among

others ௅ both endogenous and exogenous – that have conditioned the
development of societies. Other catastrophic manifestations of Nature,
such as earthquakes or volcanic eruptions, environmental conditioning
factors, calamities due to diseases or the effects of pests on agriculture
have had huge impacts at all times. For reasons of space, we will leave
earthquakes aside and focus on threats of biological origin, which are
closely linked to existing environmental conditions.
Tertian fevers, or malaria, took over from the much-feared plague in
the 18th century. Considered in the Mediterranean as ‘la enfermedad del
medio’, i.e. a disease linked to the environment, it appeared as soon as
summer heats fell on depressed and flooded areas as well as rice fields
(Braudel, 1976). Although mortality rates were not worrisome, its high
morbidity and invalidating effects meant the disease had notable economic
impacts since it affected peasants during the harvests, a key moment in the
agrarian cycle (Peset, 1972; Mateu, 1987; Alberola-Romá & Bernabé,
1998-1999). The combat against tertian diseases consisted of both
therapeutic measures and legal provisions to limit the expansion of rice
cultivation and foster the drying of coastal lagoons, interior lagoons, and
marshlands.
Extraordinary rainfall took place throughout the century, mainly in the
Levante region, but increased during the last quarter of the century,
causing a proliferation of flooded areas. Thus, when the great 1783
epidemic begun in Lérida, tertian fevers spread beyond their usual
territories and reached Catalonia, Aragon, La Mancha, Castilla la Nueva,
Andalusia and Extremadura, transforming an endemic disease into an
epidemic (Alberola-Romá, 1985; Alberola-Romá & Bernabé, 1998-1999).
The impact was devastating: in 1786, almost one million people were
affected, and over 100,000 died (Pérez-Moreda, 1980, 342). Doctors in La
Alcarria, Almagro, Ciudad Real or Puertollano describe how malaria
settled in 1784 and did not retreat until the beginning of the nineties. Other
physicians, such as Manuel Troncoso or Antonio Ased Latorre, published
booklets in which they linked the outbreak of tertian fevers in Córdoba
50 Chapter Four
and Aragón to intense rainfall (Alberola-Romá, 2015, 11-14). The Royal

Medical-practice Academy of Barcelona (Real Academia Médico-práctica
de Barcelona) also kept numerous reports in its archives (Memorias) on
the epidemics suffered by several Catalan cities at the end of the century
(Alberola-Romá, 2015).
Variations in environmental conditions were also linked to the
formation of locust pests. The locust of the Thunberg Dociostarus
maroccanus genus, as well as the Calliptamus italicus, was endemic in the
Iberian Peninsula in past centuries. Its reserve areas or herd foci were in
the pastures of Extremadura, Andalusia and La Mancha and the Aragon
region of Monegros. Whenever environmental and climatic conditions in
these enclaves were appropriate, this naturally solitary orthoptera turned
into a social animal and formed dreaded plagues that were instantly
associated with divine punishment for committed sins. For that reason,
technical-legal measures set up by authorities coexisted with spiritual
remedies encouraged by the Church (Alberola-Romá, 2005; 2012b, 21-
50). The former consisted of organising groups of volunteers armed with
whips or large butterfly nets to capture as many specimens as possible and
to bury them or set them on fire. Other measures included: the ploughing
of empty land to avoid hatching, releasing pig herds to devour the so-
called "canutos" and thereby prevent them from reproducing the following
spring, the constant monitoring of fields and meadows, etc. Despite their
limitations, poor effectiveness and high cost, these measures were legally
grounded in 1755 with the ‘Instruction’ (Instrucción) promulgated by the
Council of Castile4.
In the first half of the 18th century, locust attacks occurred in 1708-
1709, 1721, 1723 and 1727 (López & Aponte, 1993, Alberola-Romá,
2012b). However, the greatest plague began in the summer of 1754 in
Extremadura, spreading to Portugal, La Mancha, Andalusia, Albacete,
Murcia and Valencia. It lasted until 1758 and had a huge impact because
of the large territory involved. Its lethal effects on agricultural production
put an end to three harvests. During its course, the 1755 Instrucción
mentioned above was approved, establishing the rules to follow in the case
of locust plagues. William Bowles, an Irish naturalist at the service of the
Spanish Crown, described the effects of this plague in his Introduction to
Natural History (1775), characterising the morphology and customs of the
orthoptera in its different states and recommending certain actions to
combat it effectively (Alberola-Romá, 2005, 2012b). On 14 October 1756,
4Novísima Recopilación de las leyes de España mandada formar por el señor don
Carlos IV, Libro VII, Título XXXI, ley VII, pp. 651-659.
the impact of the plague led Fernando VI to ordain the San Gregorio
Ostiense relics to be removed from their Navarra sanctuary and be brought
across a large area of the Spanish peninsula. The truth is, despite being
considered the most powerful anti-locust talisman, the saint’s remains
ultimately bore little effect: the plague extinguished itself when
appropriate conditions appeared (Alberola-Romá, 2012b, 41-45).
There were plague alerts almost every year between 1770 and 1800,
and some of them were unfounded. In the seventies of the 18th century,
infestations affected Toledo, Talavera de la Reina, Toro, the Alcudia
Valley, the Campo de Montiel, the La Mancha areas of Alcaraz and
Almagro, the Extremadura towns of Castuera and La Serena, some
Sevillian counties and the Aragonese Monegros (Gascón, 1994; Vázquez
& Santiago, 1993; Alberola-Romá, 2012b; Alberola-Romá & Pradells,
2012). In the last two decades of the 18th century, persistent drought
coexisted with substantial increases in exceptional rainfall with disastrous
effects and great thermal alterations. Thus, hydrometeorological disasters
and tertian fever epidemics were accompanied by new locust attacks at the
usual locations in the years 1780-1783, 1786-1790, 1791-1791, 1795-1796
and 1798. At the end of the century, extreme weather conditions contributed
to the disappearance of plagues, although they would also cause a
succession of bad harvests, an increase in the price of grain, hunger, crisis
and social unrest, a prelude to the difficult years of the War of
Independence.
FINAL REFLECTIONS
During the 18th century, a range of exceptional hydro-meteorological

and biological episodes lashed the Iberian peninsula with devastating
consequences, leading to significant material and human disasters and
economic and demographic crises. The events gave rise to abundant
handwritten and printed information, which has allowed me to create a
detailed picture of how and when the episodes took place, the extent to
which people, goods and infrastructures were affected as well as the before
and after of economic and social realities in the affected territories.
Adopting a historical perspective when studying these events allows us to
identify the systematic recurrence, if not the survival, of phenomena –
especially hydrometeorological events – that continue to occur at certain
times of the year and cause considerable destruction and alterations in the
territory, as well as economic losses, thousands of victims and, sadly, a
large number of deaths.
52 Chapter Four
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Alicante del siglo XVIII: las fiebres tercianas”, Revista de Historia
Moderna. Anales de la Universidad de Alicante, Vol. 5: 127-140.
Alberola-Romá, A. 2005. “Procesiones, rogativas, conjuros y exorcismos:
el campo valenciano ante la plaga de langosta de 1756”, Revista de
Historia Moderna. Anales de la Universidad de Alicante, Vol. 21: 383-
410.
Alberola-Romá, A. 2009a. “No puedo sujetar la pluma de puro frío porque
son extremados los yelos. El clima en la España de los reinados de
Felipe V y Franando VI a través de la correspondencia de algunos
ilustrados”, Investigaciones Geográficas, Vol. 49: 65-88.
Alberola-Romá, A. 2009b. “Clima, crisis y reformismo agrario en tiempos
del conde de Floridablanca”, Mélanges de la Casa de Velázquez, Vol.
39 (2): 105-125.
Alberola-Romá, A. 2010. Quan la pluja no sap ploure. Sequeres i riudaes
al País Valencià en l’Edat Moderna. València: Publicacions de la
Universitat de València.
Alberola-Romá, A. 2012a. “Un «mal año» en la España del siglo XVIII:
clima, desastre y crisis en 1783”. In: X. Huetz de Lemps & J. Ph. Luis
(Eds.), Sortir du labyrinthe. Études d’Histoire Contemporaine de
l’Espagne en Hommage á Gérard Chastagnaret (pp. 325-346).
Madrid: Casa de Velázquez.
Alberola-Romá, A. 2012b. “Plagas de langosta y clima en la España del
siglo XVIII”, Relaciones. Estudios de Historia y Sociedad, Vol.
129/XXXIII: 21-50.
Alberola-Romá, A. 2014. Los cambios climáticos. La Pequeña Edad de
Hielo en España. Madrid: Editorial Cátedra.
Alberola-Romá, A. 2015. “Tiempo, clima y enfermedad en la prensa
española de la segunda mitad del siglo XVIII. Diarios meteorológicos
y crónicas de desastres en el Memorial Literario”, El Argonauta
Español, Vol. 12. DOI: 10.4000/argonauta.2142.
Alberola-Romá, A. 2016. “Clima, desastre y religiosidad en los dietaristas
valencianos de los siglos XVI y XVII”, Obradorio de Historia
Moderna, Vol. 25: 41-66.
Alberola-Romá, A. & Bernabé Gil, D. 1998-1999. “Tercianas y calenturas
en tierras meridionales valencianas: una aproximación a la realidad
médica y social del siglo XVIII”, Revista de Historia Moderna. Anales
de la Universidad de Alicante, Vol. 17: 95-112.
Alberola-Romá, A., Bueno-Vergara, E. & García-Torres, A. 2016. “Sequía

y rogativas en tierras meridionales valencianas durante el siglo XVIII”.
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(pp. 123-156). Zamora de Michoacán: El Colegio de Michoacán-
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de resistencia frente al desastre en la España mediterránea (siglos XVI-
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Michoacán-Universidad de Alicante.
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fiebres y plagas en tierras aragonesas y catalanas (1780-1790)”. In: D.
Bernabé Gil. & A. Alberola-Romá (Eds.), Magistro et amico. Diez
estudios en homenaje al profesor Enrique Giménez López (pp. 65-93).
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física de España. Madrid: D. Francisco Manuel de Mena (2nd ed,
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de Felipe II. Madrid: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2 Vols.
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sus causas. Madrid: Instituto Nacional de Meteorología.
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Martín-Vide, J. 2008. “La nueva realidad del calentamiento global. Un

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Mateu, E. 1987. Arroz y paludismo. Riqueza y conflictos en la sociedad
valenciana del siglo XVIII. Valencia: Institución Alfonso el
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(siglos XVI-XIX). Madrid: Siglo XXI.
Peset Reig, M. & Peset Reig J. L. 1972. “Cultivos de arroz, y paludismo
en la Valencia del siglo XVIII”, Hispania, Vol. 121: 277-375.
Quereda Sala, J. et al. 2001. Nuestro porvenir climático, ¿un escenario de
aridez? Castellón de la Plana: Publicaciones de la Universitat Jaume I.
Toharía, M. 2013. El libro del tiempo. Barcelona: Crítica.
Uriarte, A. 2003. Historia del clima de la Tierra. Vitoria-Gasteiz:
Gobierno Vasco.
Vázquez Lesmes, J. R. & Santiago Vázquez, C. 1993. Las plagas de
langosta en Córdoba. Córdoba: Cajasur.
Zamora Pastor, R. 2002. El final de la Pequeña Edad del Hielo en tierras
alicantinas. Alicante: Publicaciones de la Universidad de Alicante.
CHAPTER FIVE
CLIMATIC EXTREMISM AND CRISIS

ON THE IBERIAN PENINSULA AND NEW SPAIN
(1770-1800):
NOTES FOR A COMPARATIVE STUDY
ARMANDO ALBEROLA ROMÁ

AND LUIS A. ARRIOJA DÍAZ-VIRUEL
INTRODUCTION
From 1450 to 1880, Europe and North America were dominated by a

climatic pulsation known as the Little Ice Age (LIA), which caused
marked variability in temperatures and atmospheric conditions. This was
not a case of homogeneous climate change but, rather, of the continuous
presence of natural anomalies (Lamb, 1972; Grove, 1988; Bradley &
Jones, 1992). One singular phase of those anomalies occurred near the end
of the 18th century along the Mediterranean fringe of the Iberian Peninsula,
leaving people of that time with the sensation that they were experiencing
previously unknown climatic behaviors. Spanish historiography has called
this pulsation the Oscilación Maldà (Maldà Oscillation), for it was
distinguished by numerous extreme hydrometeors and failed harvests
(Barriendos & Llasat, 2009; Alberola-Romá, 2008, 2010, 2012).
But those anomalies also manifested themselves on the other side of
the Atlantic, in the Vice-Royalty of New Spain, where periods of extreme
drought and heavy rains were a constant in the 1770-1800 period,
devastating fields and triggering severe agricultural crises. As in the
Mediterranean, those events were documented and gave rise to reflections
on the evolution of the climate and nature (Florescano, 1969; Florescano
Project HAR2017-82810-P, Government of Spain; Project CB-222118,

CONACYT-México. Translated by Paul Kersey Johnson.
56 Chapter Five
& Swan, 1995; Garza, 2014). The coincidence of these alterations on both
sides of the Atlantic was no accident, because the root cause was found in
the pulsations of the LIA. This chapter analyzes the correlations among,
and the scope of, those climatic alterations on the Iberian Peninsula and
New Spain between 1770 and 1800.
“CLIMATIC DISORDER” AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

(1770-1779)
By the end of the Maünder Minimum cycle in the 18th century, Europe
and America were moving towards a warmer phase. Spain experienced the
thermal variations and extreme episodes of the so-called Maldá
Oscillation (Alberola-Romá, 2014; Barriendos & Llasat, 2009; Alberola-
Romá, 2014, 116-130, 199-248; Alberola-Romá, 2010, 168-219). It is
well-known that this Oscillation affected atmospheric circulation and
caused long, harsh winters, short, cool springs, and very hot summers.
Torrential rains and floods also formed part of these changes, while
droughts occurred as a colophon that impacted all of Spain. This is
confirmed by contemporary documental and periodical sources, such as
the Memorial Literario, whose pages included “meteorological diaries”
and news on catastrophic hydrometeorological events (Alberola-Romá,
2015; Alberola-Romá & Mas, 2016; Mas, 2017). Other observations were
made using scientific instruments that confirmed those climatic
oscillations (Alberola-Romá, 2008). We also know, for example, that
drought was a widespread phenomenon between 1770 and 1779 (Alberola-
Romá, 2014) that depleted harvests and caused disease and social unrest
(Alberola-Romá & Pradells, 2012). As if this did not suffice, between
1776 and 1783 Spanish agriculture also suffered from the occurrence of
plagues, epizootics and floods (Alberola & Arrioja-Díaz, 2019).
On the other side of the Atlantic, experiences in New Spain revealed
that droughts were recurrent and intense, as from 1770 to 1809 no fewer
than 11 episodes were recorded (Florescano & Swan, 1995; García-Acosta
et al., 2003). The drought of 1770-1772 deserves special attention because
it was accompanied by circumstances that increased its intensity and
generated multiple problems. That phenomenon affected the provinces of
México, Puebla, Oaxaca, Veracruz, Tabasco and Yucatán, bringing
freezing winters, intense summer heat, and plagues of locusts. Documents
from the time registered the hardships that arose1: famine, disease, death,
1Archivo General de la Nación, México (AGNM), Alcaldes mayores, vol. 1, exps.

118-122; AGNM, Tributos, vol. 52, exp. 1.
Climatic extremism and crisis on the Iberian Peninsula and New Spain 57
shortages of all kinds and scarcity of food (Arrioja-Díaz, 2016; Peniche,

2009; Quezada, 1995).
Although the climatic alterations of the period played a determinant
role in the appearance of droughts and plagues, it is also true that the
presence of other phenomena contributed to their formation. Here, we
refer to five volcanic eruptions that occurred in the Kingdom of
Guatemala: Momotombo (1764), Pacaya (1765), Cerro Quemado (1765),
Izalco (1770) and Masaya (1772). As is well-known, eruptions were
always a key element in the climatic variations of the LIA; indeed, a quick
look at the annals of history suffices to appreciate how those events played
havoc with temperatures, solar luminosity, trophic chains, and the life of
many animals (Arrioja-Díaz, 2016).
While we have already mentioned that drought was a threat on the
Iberian Peninsula, it was not alone, but accompanied by flooding, swollen
currents and rivers that overflowed their banks. This was a constant, for
example, for the Ebro, Duero, Guadalquivir, Llobregat, Ter, Francolí,
Segre, Besós, Júcar and Turia Rivers. We cannot forget smaller
Mediterranean streams that, though usually dry, could be transformed into
perilous torrents when intense rains occurred. These precipitations of high
intensity, so characteristic of the Spanish Levant, abounded in 1775-1780,
causing numerous problems, as towns were flooded, fields washed away,
infrastructure damaged, and communications cut. Clear evidence of these
contrasts were the supplications to relieve these phenomena – both pro
pluvia and pro serenitate – that were raised to the Heavens on similar
dates and in places not widely separated.
Between 1770 and 1819, Rafael Amat y de Cortada, barón de Maldá,
noted in his diaries innumerable news bulletins on the climate that referred
to Catalonia2, while the Augustinian José de Rocafort and the Dominican
José Teixidor did likewise for Castellón and Valencia, and other local
chroniclers and scholars recorded events that occurred throughout Spain
(Alberola-Romá, 2010, 2014). Meanwhile, ledgers and other public
documents provide evidence of floods and deluges that they described as
“extraordinary”, or “terrifying avenues”. In 1776, the Turia River
destroyed the Mar Bridge and caused flooding in Valencia. Around the
same time, the Segura River inundated the city of Orihuela on three
occasions (Alberola-Romá, 2005, 2010, 125-163). In Catalonia, overflows
of the Besós and Llobregat Rivers provoked similar disasters, and, barely a
year later, Girona was submerged by the waters of the Ter, Onyar,
Galligants and Güell Rivers. In 1779, the Francolí River overran its banks
2 Known as the Calaix de sastre, it fills 52 volumes written between 1769-1819.

58 Chapter Five
and ravaged bridges in Valls, while the Júcar, Serpis, Montesa, Albaida
and Sellent Rivers all swelled to such a degree that they caused extensive
damage in Xàtiva, Alzira and Gandía (Alberola-Romá, 2010). In stark
contrast, that decade ended with droughts in the Levant and frequent
torrential rains in the province of Valencia.
For New Spain, we do not have abundant studies on floods and deluges
in the 18th century, but recent work by Adrián García-Torres and Mario
Cuéllar allows us to at least approach this reality (García-Torres, 2018;
Cuéllar, 2017). Thus, we can suggest that between 1770 and 1779 there
was a concordance between the extreme phenomena that precipitated over
the Iberian Peninsula and New Spain – a concordance that acquires
nuances as a function of the physical particularities of each territory, the
predominant atmospheric conditions on both sides of the Atlantic and,
above all, the actions that human groups performed – or failed to perform
– to contain those climatic pulsations.
THE COMPLEX DECADE OF THE EIGHTIES
The recurrent presence of climatic anomalies in 18th century Spain was

one expression of atmospheric disorder on a global scale that brought on
numerous, and no less exceptional, events of an exogenous character,
including the eruption of the Laki volcano in 1783 that set off an
environmental and human catastrophe in Iceland, altered the atmosphere
of both Europe and North America, and perturbed temperatures and
agricultural yields worldwide (Alberola-Romá, 2012; Barriendos &
Gómez, 1997). Indeed, we know that this eruption aggravated climatic
conditions in Spain, as shown by the deluges that occurred in Aragón,
Catalonia and Valencia between 1783 and 17843 (Alberola-Romá, 2010,
2012, 2014). Special mention must be made of the 1783 season, which
impacted regions throughout Valencia, damaging fields and destroying
communications with Catalonia. This was another period that witnessed
the emission of abundant implorations pro serenitate in many places in
Catalonia. In Andalusia, meanwhile, the Guadalquivir River overflowed
its banks in December 1783, causing enormous problems in Seville, as
Cándido María Trigueros described in his epic poem, La Riada.
These hydrometeorological excesses did not go unnoticed by
contemporaries. Around 1785, the atmospheric variations became so
disconcerting that some men, like Maldá, penned in their diaries that the
3 There are abundant reports of significant cases where rivers swelled or overran
their banks, including the Gállego, Cinca, Llobregat, Besós, Francolí, Montlleó,
Millars, Palancia, Júcar, Turia and Segura (Alberola-Romá, 2010).
situation was “extraordinary” and that the climate was changing. Reports
on affected populations mention alterations in temperature, humidity and
agricultural cycles, while some physicians commented on the effects that
these “excessively humid” seasons were having on human health. Between
1785 and 1789, excessive rains fell constantly. In 1785, the Júcar River
flooded the city of Alzira, and between 1786 and 1787, rain dominated life
in Andalucía, Galicia and Cantabria. In those years, as well, spring storms
caused flooding in Catalonia, overflowed the Ebro River, wreaked
destruction in Tortosa, and triggered severe problems in the Ebro delta.
The year 1788 was especially cold and wet, with widespread flooding
in Castile and Navarra. In September of that year, an atmospheric
perturbation swept across Tarragona to the frontier with France, causing
the Ebro River to once again fill the streets of Tortosa with water, while
the cities of Barbastro and Fraga succumbed to the enraged currents of the
Vero and Cinca Rivers. Barcelona and its surrounding area remained
under water for several weeks, and the city of Orihuela was flooded by
currents from the Segura River. At the end of that year, temperatures
descended to the point that the Ebro River was frozen for two weeks. The
consequence of these events included severe affectations of agricultural
activities and shortages of seed and bread that triggered crises, starvation
and popular unrest4.
By 1789, shortages of all kinds coupled with price increases set off
riots in Barcelona and other localities in Catalonia. Of course, it was in
July of that year that the French Revolution broke out, preceded by intense
cold in January and February, late snowfalls in March, and droughts that
once again threatened agricultural production. That decade turned out to
be a dreadful one for the Spanish Mediterranean, because the agricultural
crisis was worsened by outbreaks of malaria caused by the excessive
humidity. Little by little, this disease advanced into the peninsula until it
reached epidemic proportions.
In New Spain, climatic conditions during the 1780-1789 period were
also marked by sudden changes. It is clear that the cycles of precipitation
from 1780-1784 were considered “beneficial”, but this was not the case for
the two-year period 1785-1786, which was called the “biennium of
hunger”. In fact, some authors consider this the period that experienced the
most severe climatic and agricultural crises reported for New Spain
(Florescano, 1969; Pastor, 1980). Those two years witnessed the
convergence of a whole series of natural threats that collapsed agricultural
production. Droughts were a decisive phenomenon in that crisis, for they
4 Archivo Histórico Nacional (AHN), Consejos, legs. 37168, 37185 and 37195.
60 Chapter Five
struck precisely the zones where corn production predominated, known as

“Mexico’s breadbasket”; that is, the central region, the so-called Bajío and
the western provinces. It is likely that the only areas that did not suffer
those ravages were the south and southwest, but as the drought conditions
in the center of the Vice-Royalty intensified, all outlying areas were forced
to transport their seeds to the affected zones. The situation became so
complex that many towns in Oaxaca, Puebla and Veracruz were deprived
of food. (Pastor, 1980, 30-31; Arrioja-Díaz, 2011, 95-100)
Drought also interfered with trophic chains, allowing the proliferation
of predatory animals and, as a result, the deaths of species that acted as
barriers to biological threats. In addition, many crops were invaded by
plagues of fungus (chahuistle), weevils, locusts, worms and rodents. The
water level in some aquifers fell and some fish species experienced severe
reductions. Something similar occurred with flocks of small livestock, as
they were attacked by ticks (Riphicephalus microplus) and contagions of
babesiosis (also a form of tick infection). The absence of rain also reduced
the multiplication of plants, roots and tubers that complemented human
diets. The problems generated by those events were manifested in multiple
ways: starvation, scarcity, shortages, privations, implorations pro pluvia,
and outbreaks of unrest (Florescano, 1969, 149; Pastor, 1980, 35-36).
Drought was followed by frosts and, with them, disease. These climatic
alterations were instrumental in allowing a series of microorganisms to
proliferate in spaces where they never existed in olden times. These
disorders were followed by outbreaks of disease that ravaged the poorly-
nourished populations (Behringer, 2010, 96-97). The consequence of all
this was that approximately 500,000 people died throughout the Vice-
Royalty. While mortality rates certainly provide stark evidence of climatic
and agricultural crises, they are not the only signs, for we know that the
after-effects of these climatic pulsations caused many marriages to be
postponed, lowered birth rates, carried away many mothers and fathers,
and erased thousands of children from the nation’s population pyramids
(Robinson, 2005). Indeed, some historians have suggested that the climatic
pulsations of the 18th century should be understood as a key factor that
triggered emancipation movements in New Spain (Florescano, 1969, 22-
30; Davies, 1972, 481-524), movements that, we should note, proceeded
under torrential rains, atypical hailstorms, suffocating summers, and
monumental floods.
THE FINAL DECADE: ATMOSPHERIC CONTRASTS,

DESTRUCTION AND CRISIS
Beginning in 1790, Spain experienced a thermal recovery that

extended until 1840, but the period was still marked by persistent harsh
winters, short wet springs, and hot summers. In Mediterranean lands, the
co-occurrence of drought with sudden copious rainstorms continued to
predominate. Once again, evidence for the seriousness of these climatic
alterations comes from the abundant prayer meetings pro serenitate and
pro pluvia that took place.
This is not the place to catalogue the many ravages wreaked by the
floods of 1790-1800; rather we will simply note that these phenomena
occurred throughout the Peninsula: Ter and Onyar (1790), Llobregat
(1792), Francolí and Besós (1792, 1795), Ebro (1793, 1794, 1797, 1799),
Júcar (1791, 1794, 1795), Serpis, Montnegre and Vinalopó (1793) and
Segura (1796, 1797) (Llasat et al., 1999; Alberola-Romá, 2010). However,
it is important to emphasize, specifically, the atmospheric perturbation that
occurred in Valencia in 1793. Documents indicate that those seasons
discharged copious amounts of water that, literally, formed avenues which
destroyed mills, roads, harvests and towns from Castellón to Murcia. In
subsequent years, summer storms and hail abounded in the provinces of
the interior, especially in 1793, 1794, 1795, 1796 and 1799 (Alberola-
Romá, 2005, 2010). In the year 1794 alone, almost 400 households in
Burgos lost their harvests after a severe September hailstorm. Just two
years later, hailstorms in June once again devastated the province of
Burgos (Sanz, 2013, 117-140).
While the 1796 drought in the Levant was dreadful, Aragón and
Seville suffered “terrible inundations”, while the city of Orihuela was
deluged by the “tragic flood” of San Nicasio in 1797. In the ensuing years,
atmospheric instability worsened and water scarcity continued into the
early 19th century with, obviously, prejudicial effects on agricultural
production and cattle-raising (Anes, 1970, 147-154).
The re-incidence of these extreme expressions of nature concerned the
government to the extent that the Count of Floridablanca dictated –
between 1777 and 1792 – providences to the councilors of Castile and
provincial intendentes to help them confront these disasters. The
complaints and memorials of the time offer lamentable and conflicting
images of the lived reality, as in the case of the orders that Floridablanca
sent to the Count of Campomanes to quickly attend to the needs of the
towns devastated by floods, frosts, droughts or plagues.
62 Chapter Five
In contrast to those wet conditions, scarce precipitation was a recurring

condition in the Indian territories. For New Spain, we know that drought
occurred in 1796-1797, causing the widespread destruction of crops. Then,
in 1809-1810, this phenomenon returned with similar intensity, generating
a widespread agricultural crisis (Florescano, 1969, 146; Florescano & San
Vicente, 1985). The 1796-1797 drought primarily affected the provinces
of Oaxaca, Veracruz, Tabasco and Yucatán, which were predominantly
populated by Indigenous peoples who practiced subsistence agriculture. In
addition to its ravages on agriculture, this drought served as a prelude to
the activation of the endocrine systems of millions of insects that soon
came to form a particularly damaging plague. Thus, the chain of droughts,
locust plagues and climatic disorders together created a situation so
adverse that in some towns those events transcended in time and were
expressed in the local memory in writings that speak of fear and desolation
(Arrioja-Díaz, 2012).
Many of these alterations had direct repercussions for the geography of
New Spain. In some places, people simply ceased to plant seeds, some
fruit crops were extinguished, and never-before-seen plagues destroyed
plants and animals. In others, new species were introduced due to the
migrations of certain animals and vegetable species seeking to adapt to the
new environmental conditions.
CONCLUSIONS
Any approach to the history of climate in the Iberian Peninsula and

Mexico during the 1770-1800 period necessarily entails examining the
terminal phase of the so-called Little Ice Age (LIA) and – above all –
linking this to a series of extreme natural phenomena that profoundly
impacted those territories. Without doubt, this was a time in which
conditions both atmospheric and natural experienced alterations, contrasts
and threats. Centering scholarly attention on these events further entails
reflecting on the scope of extreme climate conditions in the agrarian
world; a world that, as is well-known, housed the vast majority of the
people of Spain and Mexico. Hence, it is not strange to learn that the
inhabitants of the countryside viewed the climate as a crucial element of
their reality. “Normal” climatic conditions meant access to harvests and
food at low prices and the availability of resources. However, when those
conditions underwent changes, the reality of rural areas became plagued
with problems. In Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie’s view, the extreme climate
that prevailed in Europe and North America through the second half of the
18th century brought with it adverse storms and biological threats, the
proliferation of failed harvests accompanied by high prices, the

propagation of epidemics and cycles of high mortality, while also
triggering migrations and social unrest (Le Roy Ladurie, 2017, 36-37).
In effect, the history of the Iberian Peninsula and New Spain between
1770 and 1800 was linked to climatic anomalies and extreme nature. The
constant presence of natural phenomena manifested the atmospheric
changes that were occurring worldwide and configured a whole array of
agricultural, economic and social problems. During those years, the
extreme climate showed itself in varied ways, including droughts, floods
and tempests; worse yet, it propitiated the formation of biological plagues,
and epidemic and epizootic outbreaks. The degree of vulnerability reached
its peak when the effects of volcanic activity combined with thermal
variability in the oceans. But the question is: what factors allowed these
anomalies to precipitate simultaneously on two continents, and affect their
environmental conditions so violently? One of the most convincing
arguments attributes this to volcanic activity, the accumulation of particles
in all levels of the atmosphere, and the dynamism of sunspots. It is
certainly no coincidence that the 18th century witnessed an intense cycle of
volcanic eruptions on three continents: America, Asia and Europe; a cycle
that not only reduced solar luminosity, but also contaminated agricultural
fields, extinguished plant and animal species, and induced the
concentration of warm air in certain territories. Taken together, these
conditions generated a new atmospheric configuration on the planet. As
we suggest in this chapter, these oscillations must be analyzed in light of
the environmental and physical specificities of each space, and understood
by one of the premises of the LIA – namely, the sudden change in
temperatures.
Given the foregoing, the history of Spain and New Spain during the
1770-1800 period reveals that there was no decade in which agriculture
and society did not suffer the ravages of the climate, especially the
presence of three phenomena: droughts, intense rains and plagues of
insects. Indeed, the recurrence of these phenomena was so evident that it
was recorded in numerous news reports, letters, dispositions, implorations
and processions issued or organized by civil and religious authorities. This
recurrence can serve us well as we seek to document one of the most
extreme pulsations of the LIA on two continents.
64 Chapter Five
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Grove, J. 1988. The Little Ice Age, London. Routledge.
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(1520-1700)”, Revista Biomed, Vol. 6: 238-242.
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colonial”, Revista Técnica Administrativa, Vol. 4.
Sanz de la Higuera, F. J. 2013. “Crisis climática en Burgos a fines del
Setecientos: el apedreo y continuas lluvias de 1794 y 1796”. In A.
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Publicacions de la Universitat de València.
PART 3
POLICIES, MANAGEMENT
AND CONSERVATION
CHAPTER SIX
AQUATIC ANIMALS, NOW AND THEN:

APPROPRIATION OF NATURE IN PORTUGUESE
AMERICA AND EARLY NOTIONS
OF OVEREXPLOITATION AND HUMAN IMPACTS
NINA VIEIRA, CRISTINA BRITO

AND ANA CRISTINA ROQUE
INTRODUCTION
Aquatic animals have always been an inseparable part of human histo-
ry. Inhabitants of the ocean and freshwater systems, they were considered
major resources, supporting human subsistence and trading activities.
They played a key role in the building of societies, as well as in the struc-
turing of great empires. Aquatic beings have always been key triggers of
new geographic discoveries and peoples’ displacements across territories,
and the sea was a driving force in the search for creative solutions (Zuppa,
2001, 65). Historical sources have provided valuable insights into the
multiple strategies adopted by different animal species to adapt to changes
in their natural habitats, with specific references to freshwater and marine
animals in a wide variety of contexts. This enables us to rewrite the histo-
ries of coastal and oceanic spaces in which people are inevitably also in-
volved (Bolster, 2006). Oysters, shells, pearls (e.g. Warsh, 2018), small,
large and flying fish, sharks, turtles, manatees, whales, seals and hippos, as
well as the use or consumption of their by-products – such as meat, skin,
teeth, fur, oil and ambergris (e.g. Brito et al., 2015) – are a consistent pres-
ence in the history of the intercultural relations of the modern Atlantic
world.
Whales inhabit all oceans. By the end of the Middle Ages, many Euro-
peans living by the sea would probably have been familiar with them.
Aquatic animals, now and then 69
Together with some types of fishing, whaling was the most extensive form
of exploitation of a living resource (Reeves & Smith, 2003) and it was
probably the main biomass removal from the ocean at that time, as far as
marine mammals are concerned.
Whale exploitation started with the first human settlements in coastal
areas, as early as pre-historical times, across different regions and ecosys-
tems of the globe (Reeves & Smith, 2006, 82), and its economic signifi-
cance in history is well documented, mainly the American whaling type.
Throughout history, whaling practices have been represented in several
writing, visual and artistic formats (Brito, 2016). In the Northeast Atlantic,
most coastal species were gathered and/or hunted off the Iberian coast
since at least the 11th century, as testified by both written sources and ar-
chaeological remains along the Portuguese coast. This is evidenced by the
use of whales’ bones, meat and blubber during the period of the Islamic
occupation of the Iberian territory (Pereira, 2015, 1106) and the medieval
and early modern ages (Brito, 2011; Teixeira et al., 2014).
The whale, a ‘royal fish’ in medieval Europe, was, in fact, an important
source of protein and oil for lighting (Szabo, 2008). In the context of the
Portuguese overseas expansion, whales escorted the sea fleets; maritime
travel reports described them mostly as monsters and symbols of bad
omens at sea. However, on land, regardless of the territory, the Portuguese
considered whales a very useful resource (Brito et al., 2016).
From 1614 to 1801, whaling became a monopoly of the crown, giving
high profits to the Portuguese Crown and its entrepreneurs, in good hunt-
ing years. And, in Brazil, this was an important activity, which significant-
ly contributed to the settlement of the Portuguese in South America (Ellis,
1969; Vieira, 2018).
Unlike whales, manatees do not inhabit European waters. The three
different species found on the coasts of West Africa and Central and South
America were unknown to the Portuguese and Spanish travellers and ex-
plorers until the early modern period. Thus, they easily became part of a
group of tropical creatures which populated the European imaginary about
a New World and an all-new set of fauna possibilities (Brito, 2016).
Pre-Columbian indigenous communities across the Americas used
manatees for food and the production of everyday objects and war arte-
facts (e.g. O’Donnell, 1981) and manatee meat was offered by locals to
Europeans upon their first contacts. Foreigners appropriated this local
novelty – and its multiple uses – as a result of the observation of local
practices and assessment of indigenous knowledge, following a progres-
sive epistemic interaction with the indigenous communities. It soon be-
came clear to Europeans that this large, herbivorous and slow-moving
70 Chapter Six
aquatic mammal was easy to capture and a potentially interesting commer-

cial resource. Even though their exploitation was dependent on local ex-
pertise, manatees quickly turned into a common and valuable food and
trading item, exploited by seamen and explorers (Vieira & Brito, 2017),
pirates and settlers (e.g. Little, 2007, 132-133; Wheat, 2016, 201).
Whales and manatees became one of the main subjects of management
issues, which started emerging at the end of the 18th century. This followed
two centuries of continuous exploration, where indigenous experience,
combined with imperial authority and technical capacity for the extraction
of living resources, led to the extirpation of some populations. The appro-
priation of these animals as exploitable resources was a common business.
Yet, on the advent of their disappearance, concerns eventually rose.
In this chapter we aim to address the relationships between humans and
non-humans, tracing a history of the appropriation, use and commercialisa-
tion of whales (Order Cetacea) and manatees (Order Sirenia) in Portuguese
America in the late 18th century. The stories about these particular aquatic
animals are not often included in historiography, and this environmental
history perspective may contribute to the reconstruction of a new historici-
ty of the ocean. For this purpose, we will use some of the documents in-
cluded in Memorias Economicas, a 5-volume collection of essays pub-
lished in the 18th century by the Royal Academy of Sciences of Lisbon, as
well as some of the Portuguese works resulting from the Viagem Filosofi-
ca to Brazil in 1783-1792. In this way, we intend both to identify the con-
nection between the process of the overexploitation of nature and Portu-
guese political and economic strategies, and to disclose historical infor-
mation on the impacts of human activities and dominance over non-human
animal populations and ecosystems.
DOMINGOS VANDELLI AND THE ECONOMIC EXPLOITATION

OF AMERICAN AQUATIC ANIMALS
Consistent with the 18th century European Enlightenment movement,
the creation of the Academy of Sciences (later the Royal Academy of
Sciences) in Lisbon in 1779 contributed to the development of a scholarly
and scientific elite in Portugal. The Academy proposed an intellectual
movement for the promotion of the State and its economy, which, in addi-
tion to educating the people, would allow Portugal to put an end to a long
philosophical, pedagogical and scientific isolation from Europe (Munteal
Filho, 1993, in Marques, 2005). Alongside the reform of the University of
Coimbra, the foundation of the Academy aimed at demonstrating the will
and commitment of Portuguese rulers to adopt and invest in new policies

in the European framework.
This was the context at the time Domenico Vandelli arrived in Portugal
in 1764. Vandelli was a prominent figure in the field of scientific and
educational reforms (Vaz, 2002). He had been invited by the Portuguese
King, in 1768, to plan and develop the Royal Botanical Garden of Ajuda,
in Lisbon, of which he became director in 1791 after being a professor at
the University of Coimbra between 1772 and 1791 (Cabral, 2018, 5).
In his works on natural history, he drew attention to the importance of
natural products and the benefits of their economic exploitation. In this
context, he referred specifically to the under-exploitation of aquatic ani-
mals in the Portuguese territories of Africa and South America. According
to him, at a time when other nations benefited from the abundance of
whales in the South Atlantic, Portugal needed to invest in new factories to
ensure the exploitation of this natural resource for its own benefit (Van-
delli, 1798a, 191).
Given the decrease of the North Atlantic whales’ populations, the in-
habitants of New England had begun to explore whaling on the coast of
Africa and West Atlantic Islands since the early 1760s. By replacing oar-
propelled whaleboats with ocean-going sloops and small brigs, they were
able to process whale oil on board, producing an oil with better quality
than the whale fat stored in barrels (Alden, 1964). Therefore, knowing
about sperm whales’ (Physeter macrocephalus) occurrence off the coast of
Brazil in 1773 (Alden, 1964; Hart & Edmundson, 2017), the number of
foreign vessels increased considerably on that coast, most probably consti-
tuting one of the main reasons for both the ruin of whaling in Brazil and
the reduction of local populations of whales (Correa, 1820, in Araujo,
1822, 295).
Considering this situation as well as the wide range of aquatic animals
with potential economic benefits (whales, manatees, turtles and even hip-
popotamuses), Vandelli defended the position that Portugal needed to
invest in the modernisation of existing factories and in the construction of
new ones to guarantee the exploitation and commercialisation of these
resources, which should be used as profitable assets (Vandelli, 1789b, 235-
236).
WHALING PRACTICES IN THE MEMORIAS ECONOMICAS
In line with Vandelli's proposals, Manoel Ferreira da Camara, a Brazil-

ian engineer and politician, wrote the first “Ensaio de Descripção Fizica, e
Economica da Comarca dos Ilheos na America” in 1789 (Camara, 1789),
72 Chapter Six
later included in the Memorias Economicas, in which he defended the

urgency of investing not only in agricultural products, but also in fishery
products, namely whale and turtle hunting. With respect to whales, Cama-
ra lists several mistakes related to the killing of the animals and oil pro-
cessing methods. He points out that “whale fishery in Brazil is subject to
infinite errors” and identifies what he believes could contribute to a delay
in the development of whaling activities and cause a “greater future ruin”
of the sector. Among these, he lists the process of the removal of fat with a
significant amount of waste; the melting of fat at high temperatures, result-
ing in a low quality oil; and finally, the indiscriminate hunting of females
and calves, which diminished the number of females and also resulted in a
low quality oil, as the oil of the calves was worst (Camara, 1789, 344-
346). It is evident to this author that these methods somehow unbalanced
the whales’ population and the female-male ratio, consequently not guar-
anteeing the sustainable and continued exploitation of the resource in the
long run.
The emotionally bonded relationship between the cetaceans’ mother
and calf had been already noticed in Classical Antiquity (e.g. Aelian,
1958) and was also reported by the first Portuguese naturalists. Frei Vicen-
te do Salvador (1627, 171), for example, refers to this surprising relation-
ship, emphasising that even after being harpooned, the mother “does not
separate from her son”. At the time, he probably did not know that har-
pooning the mother first was a deliberate act, a whaling technique from the
Basque whaling culture that persisted in Brazil over time. Yet, unlike Frei
Vicente do Salvador, Camara was aware of the whaling methods and their
negative consequences and was in a position to provide some suggestions
to avoid them:
1. Try to kill a larger number of males, and find a way to kill the females,
without reducing and eradicating the offspring; 2. Dissect the whale, if
possible, in the water, making it strand, extracting every unctuous part,
which is easy to do; and when it is not possible to do this with all whales
already caught, I believe it is a better solution to salt everything that cannot
be melted, than to loose it; (…) 3. the biggest disadvantage in the burning
of the oil is its waste together with the greaves, leaving out the oil boiled in
the water (…) making the oil more clear, clean and without a suffocative
smell. (Camara, 1789, 346)
Camara synthesised and made public issues that were already known to
the colonial authorities. The Governor of the Captaincy of São Paulo, Luís
António de Sousa Botelho Mourão, had referred to the number of whales
killed, the ways of extracting fat and the oil extraction process. In 1766, he
requested the construction of a whale-processing station closer to where

the animals were killed, so that they would not deteriorate on the way to
the existing whaling station (Mourão, 1766, 77-79). The whales were cut
into pieces and transported in very slow canoes and boats, and this drew
his attention to the uselessness of killing many whales, which were to be
wasted, as they could not be used in good time. Accordingly, it would
have been far more convenient “to kill two a day and use them, than to kill
four and lose everything for lack of time” (Mourão, 1766, 80-81). We are
not sure if this is evidence of the growing notion of sustainable use. But it
is certainly a perception of the discarding and waste of resources, which is
not necessary and should be avoided. It was probably following this re-
quest that the Armação da Barra Grande was built. One of the first repre-
sentations of this Armação (Figure 1) shows whales – probably Southern
Right Whales (Eubalaena australis) – of different sizes, suggesting the
possible presence of mothers and calves.
Figure 1. Plan of Barra Grande in Cartas topograficas do Continente do Sul e

parte Meridional da America Portugueza: com as batalhas que o Illmo. e Exmo.
Conde de Bobadella ganhou aos indios das missoens do Paraguay, 1775. This is
one of the few representations of the whaling industry and whales in Brazil. Na-
tional Library of Brazil. Available at
http://objdigital.bn.br/acervo_digital/div_cartografia/cart1033420/cart1033420.pdf
(last accessed 30 July 2015).
74 Chapter Six
The publication of the Memorias Economicas must have had a great

impact, with a second volume released in 1790. Therein stands out a
memoir written by José Bonifácio de Andrade e Silva, a very important
Brazilian naturalist and politician (cf. Pádua, 2000). The 25-page text
entitled “Memória sobre a Pesca das Baleas, e Extracção do seu Azeite;
com algumas reflexões a respeito das nossas Pescarias” (Silva, 1790) is
one of the few documents on modern whaling in Brazil, and includes de-
tailed information on the methods of hunting animals and processing oil.
Interestingly, a draft of this memoir, with a slightly different title, was
first given to the whaling contractor in Brazil (Ellis, 1969). This may, to
some extent, be understood as a way of understanding the existence of an
articulation between scientific and empirical knowledge, natural history
and economics.
Silva wrote this memoir as a young scholar, already committed to the
study of nature and the discovery of natural laws on behalf of a better life
for people and to indicating practical ways for economic progress (Amza-
lak, 1941, 6; Caldeira, 2002, 21).
Like other authors, he highlighted the major consequences of killing
whales’ calves because it would result in a decrease in the “future genera-
tion” of whales. He reported whales only give birth to a calf every two
years and questioned the benefits of using small calves and nursing moth-
ers, as the amounts of oil obtained were smaller than those obtained from
adults. Moreover, this would cause “irreparable damage” to the whale
populations, resulting in an unbalanced female/male ratio.
As with Camara, the “pernicious practice” of killing breast-feeding
whales was a central issue in Silva’s essay, and it was mentioned as one of
the main reasons for the decline of the business and “the total ruin of such
important fishery” (Silva, 1790, 399).
DOLPHINS AND MANATEES IN THE VIAGEM FILOSOFICA
The Viagem Filosofica, led by Alexandre Rodrigues Ferreira in Brazil

(1783-1792), resulted in a huge collection of natural objects that ended up
dispersed in several countries. Vandelli was the mentor of the expedition,
and thus the first to receive the materials sent from Brazil, and he enjoyed
the privileged position of exchanging specimens from Ferreira’s campaign
with other naturalists and invited foreign academics to visit Portugal and
examine the collections.
Among the several species sent to Portugal by Ferreira, Vandelli re-
ceived two specimens of dolphins from Mato Grosso and the Amazon
(Simon, 1983). One was the Amazon River Dolphin Inia geoffrensis,
known as boto; the other was Sotallia pallida, currently known as Sotalia
fluviatilis or tucuxi, which is probably represented by Ferreira in his expe-
dition watercolours (Figure 2).
Figure 2. Drawing of a dolphin with the legend “Toninha”, presumably from the
Viagem Filosofica of Alexandre Rodrigues Ferreira to Brazil (21A,1,004 nº029-
Manuscritos). National Library of Brazil. Available at
http://objdigital.bn.br/acervo_digital/div_manuscritos/mss1255460/mss1255460_2
9.jpg, (last accessed 31 July 2015).
Most of the specimens collected were identified according to the Lin-

naeus classification system and are described in Observações gerais e
particulares sobre a classe dos mamiferos no território dos Rios Amazo-
nas, Negro e Madeira (Ferreira, 1972a). Therein, Ferreira provided infor-
mation on the physical characteristics of the different species, their habitat
and reproduction particularities, as well as how local populations harvest-
ed these animals for economic, medicinal and food purposes. The text is a
very detailed report on mammals with information on 65 species observed
during the expedition, including the boto dolphin locally known as pirá-
iaguara and erroneously classified by Ferreira as Delphinus delphis. De-
scribing the boto, Ferreira felt the need to explain the following: “it looks
like fish, but in fact it is not, according to the very distant characteristics of
this class” and that there were “two distinct varieties: large and small,
which they call tucuxi”, whose liver and fat could be used to produce a
large amount of oil for lighting (Ferreira, 1972a, 201-2).
Although manatees were also introduced in his “General observations”
(Ferreira, 1972a) with a brief description and illustration (Fig. 3), they
would be the subject of another manuscript entitled Memória sobre o
peixe-boi e o uso que lhe dão no Estado do Grão-Pará (Ferreira, 1972b).
Ferreira is very likely to have shipped at least seven manatees (Trichechus
manatus) from Brazil to Lisbon (Ferreira, 1794, fl. 3v). In this manuscript,
76 Chapter Six
he describes this animal, methods for its capture and its uses. Ferreira
stresses that all animals were harpooned, with no distinctions made for
size or age.
They harpoon them in all sizes, without distinction of age. So, it should not
cause surprise that it is rare in some lakes where we cannot find them for
several years. (Ferreira, 1972b, 62)
Pregnant females were captured and females in oestrus were harpooned

first to attract males (1972b, 59). Moreover, calves were harvested to ease
the capture of their mothers, leading the author to notice that the inexist-
ence of a policy concerning these practices would cause the number of
these animals to diminish.
Figure 3 – Illustration of a manatee, known in Brazil as peixe-boi or, in Tupi,

iuarauá, from the Viagem Filosofica of Alexandre Rodrigues Ferreira to Brazil
(21A,1,004 nº011–Manuscritos). National Library of Brazil. Available at
http://objdigital.bn.br/acervo_digital/div_manuscritos/mss1255460/mss1255460_1
1.jpg, (last accessed 30 July 2015).
WHALES AND MANATEES: DIALOGUES FOR

THE CONSERVATION OF MARINE MAMMALS
As Tim Ingold (2000, 61) puts it, “just as humans have a history of
their relationships with animals, animals also have a history of their rela-
tions with humans”. Aquatic animals have a shared history with people;
they played their part as agents in the construction of practices regarding
the use, exploitation, knowledge, management and conservation of nature.
In this respect, it is clear that aquatic animals and their exploitation played
an important role in Portuguese Colonial America and in Portugal’s scien-
tific, economic and political agenda for those territories.
All the above-mentioned species are currently facing the risk of extinc-
tion due to centuries of intensive overexploitation (e.g. Ellis, 2003) and are
under national and international protection and conservation acts. But at
some moment in the past, the exploitation of aquatic animals was per-
ceived as an action that needed management, ensuring its continuity as a
profitable economic resource.
Despite their focus on the economic value of animals, the mentioned
works provide us with interesting insights to rebuild the trajectory of
changes in attitudes towards and uses of marine mammals (Pádua, 2002;
Vieira, 2018).
Silva's work is marked by a worldview based on the economy of na-
ture. Yet, when writing about these animals, he abandons his objective
analysis, adopting a literary tone, describing whales as having feelings and
motivations like human beings (Pádua, 2000). A sense of the author's
emphatic feelings towards the animals emanates from his text. Neverthe-
less, he focuses on rudimentary forms of exploitation, which would, in the
long run, jeopardise the future of those species as a resource. The text
reflects both the idea of progress, enhanced by the application of scientific
knowledge and new technologies, and the criticism of destructive exploita-
tion practices. This is in line with the questioning of animal rights and the
intrinsic value of nature of the 18th and 19th centuries (Pádua, 2000; 2004).
With respect to Ferreira, his attention focuses mainly on the highly
predatory fishing methods used in the Amazon freshwater ecosystem, a
region currently under great economic pressure. Arguing that local econ-
omies and natural populations will be threatened by these methods, Fer-
reira briefly presents his political awareness of nature conservation (Pádua,
2004; Vieira & Brito, 2017).
In fact, by the late 18th century, these authors were already using a
terminology we now relate to the protection of species, such as the expres-
sion “future generations”, which was one of the flags of 20th-century con-
servation and environmental sustainability activism. The ideas of an over-
exploitation of animals and the negative results of humans’ impact on the
environment very likely emerged for the first time in Brazil in this period.
Today, the fact that “whalers, fishermen, [hunters], and sealers have sys-
tematically destroyed the fisheries that sustained them (…) [and] could not
pass on their legacy to those who followed” is widely acknowledged (El-
lis, 2003, 7). We do not know the impact of these authors’ concerns. But
we do know that, over time, dissimilar visions and life experiences have
contributed to changing the dialogue between human communities and
nature (Zuppa, 2001, 87).
78 Chapter Six
Hunting may be observed from different angles and concepts, it may be

conducted by different peoples, and ultimately it may set the tone of the
human relationship with the environment (The Animal Studies Group,
2006; Miller, 2007). The dominance of humans over nature has indeed
been a process marked by overexploitation, the killing of animals being a
structural feature of all human-animal relations that led to the extinction of
species (The Animal Studies Group, 2006). If we take a glimpse at the
current conservation status of some whales and manatees, we will find
them variously classified from the ‘Least Concern’ category to ‘Critically
Endangered’. And, thus, we can read the consequence of the long-term
exploitation of aquatic mammals. The impacts of this interaction affected
the activities that relied on wildlife populations, and simultaneously left a
footprint on natural populations and ecosystems. By addressing specific
case studies, we realise that somehow, somewhere, the worlds of economy
and aquatic animals overlapped, constructing the beginning of a new dia-
logue about nature, between people and non-human beings.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This study was supported by the EU Framework Programme H2020

(H2020-MSCA-RISE-2017 Project “CONCHA” n. 777998), the CHAM
Strategic Project (FCSH/NOVA-UAc) sponsored by FCT (UID/HIS/
04666/2013) and the UNESCO Chair “Oceans’ Cultural heritage”. It was
also supported by the Research Group Building and Connecting Empires,
supported by CH-ULisboa’s Strategic Project and sponsored by the FCT
funds (UID/HIS/O4311/2019). NV was supported by a PhD scholarship
by FCT (SFRH/BD/104932/2014). CB was also supported by the NOVA
FCSH Exploratory Funding 2018 to project ONE
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CHAPTER SEVEN
POLLUTION AND MARINE DEBRIS

IN PORTUGUESE ATLANTIC HARBOURS
DURING THE EARLY MODERN AGE:
ADMINISTRATION AND FUNCTIONALITY
PROBLEMS
ANA CATARINA ABRANTES GARCIA
INTRODUCTION
Pollution as we understand it today is commonly recognised as a con-

temporary process associated with anthropogenic actions, much due to the
process of industrialisation and the use and consequent intensive disposal
of all kinds of toxic substances harmful to the environment (Ryan, 2015,
1-25). This topic is on current environmental concerns’ agendas, with a
special focus on maritime issues related to ocean pollution and global
warming (Rochman, 2015, 117-140). Considering the environmental histo-
ry approach, this research aims to understand, from a historical and ar-
chaeological perspective, how maritime pollution has been seen through
the centuries, focusing on the Early Modern Age.
After the 15 th century, there was a significant increase in nautical activ-
ity that completely changed the prior medieval navigation pattern. A large
number of ships, people and goods in movement resulted in an increase of
ports and port cities, thus creating pressure on the environment of shore-
lines and harbours. This growth demanded the attention of local authorities
who managed port cities be given to epidemic and public health problems.
Current historiography studies, focused on pollution during the Early
Modern Age, are more linked to public health problems such as plagues
and diseases caused by dirtiness. However, not many studies focus on
maritime and aquatic dirtiness as a consequence of the increased move-
84 Chapter Seven
ment of people, which could affect public health, navigation-related secu-

rity and disease spreading.
Some studies on the Middle Ages focused on towns, particularly on
bad smells, consequences of throwing trash into the streets, as well as the
failure of local authorities (such as the municipality) to control this prob-
lem (Thorndikem, 1928, 192-203). For the Early Modern Age, we can
quote sparse studies related to pollution in general, mostly centred on
urban aspects.
The goal of this research is to investigate marine environments with
human influence such as seaports. Our case studies are the small harbours
of Angra (in the Azores) and Funchal (in Madeira), usually dismissed in
Atlantic historiography. Written sources such as local archives, documen-
tation related to local authorities and harbour management (including offi-
cial processes), public rules or normal procedures in case of disobedience
can reveal important information regarding concerns about dirtiness, re-
sulting in prophylactic measures to avoid critical situations. Our aim is to
understand what kind of perception and consciousness public authorities
had on the causes and effects of aquatic space soiling and the possible
consequences on daily life. In the selected data, we also included ship-
wrecks processes, town hall norms for public spaces, harbour functioning
rules and disobedience processes.
With this approach, we intend to understand if increased harbour activ-
ity due to Atlantic maritime expansion led to specific governance concerns
regarding shorelines’ and aquatic spaces’ cleanness. We expect to identify
the types of situations considered dangerous and what the preventive
measures were, if any, to avoid them locally. We will also try to address
society’s and the authorities’ perception of dirtiness or “pollution” as
something harmful to harbour functioning and local communities.
POLLUTIONS IN AN HISTORICAL CONTEXT
Frid and Caswell, in their chapter “Introduction to marine pollution”,

recognise that: “Humankind has been putting waste into the sea for as long
as people have lived at the coast” (Frid & Caswell, 2017, 2-13). Joachim
Beuckelaer’s 1563 painting shown in Figure 1 illustrates some of this
reality. This transversal idea and routine can be verified since pre-historic
times, with its discarded artefacts, middens or shell mound sites, up to
nowadays, with the current and serious problem of debris accumulation all
over the oceans (Hardy-Smith & Edwards, 2004, 253-289; Shillito et al.,
2011, 1024-1038; Aldeias & Bicho, 2016, 530-549; Daggers et al., 2018,
279-292).
Pollution and marine debris in Portuguese Atlantic harbours 85
Figure 1. Joachim Beuckelaer. The Miraculous Draught of Fishes. 1563. Public

domain.
Focusing on urban aspects, the book The Smoke of London: Energy

and Environment in the Early Modern City addresses the city of London’s
air pollution during the Early Modern Age (Cavert, 2017). This is a good
example of how environmental history can help understand the evolution
of pollution perception. Using an interdisciplinary approach to understand
how smoke intersected with aesthetics, medicine, naval power, literature,
urban space and sensory experiences, the author cross-examined percep-
tions about smoke and how people related with that on the cultural, social,
economic and political levels (Robson, 2017).
Melosi, in his text The Place of the City in Environmental History, tries
to understand the urban space as a strong nature transforming agent, con-
centrating on a major number of transformations of the physical environ-
ment (Melosi, 1993, 1-23). This author considered several interesting
aspects, such as the urban adjustment of water courses as one of the im-
portant agents for flooding problems and diseases transmitted by bacteria
or other agents found in still waters. Another mentioned aspect was the
production and accumulation of huge volumes of waste (Melosi, 1993, 1-
23). In this regard, it is interesting to analyse how societies reacted to these
accumulations, if they considered them a problem and how they resolved
it. All these important perspectives will be taken into account in our study.
86 Chapter Seven
ANGRA AND FUNCHAL, TWO ATLANTIC HARBOURS
In this analysis we focus on two case studies – the port cities of Angra
and Funchal. Located in the Portuguese archipelagos of Azores and Ma-
deira, respectively, they are positioned in the midst of the North Atlantic
Ocean, as shown in Figure 2. Their geographic position was strategic as
they were important nodes in the Atlantic navigational support system and
were specifically relevant to Portuguese maritime expansion.
Figure 2. Map with the location of the Azores and Madeira archipelagos. Author:
Ana Catarina Garcia.
Positioned on the route of trade winds and currents that led ships paral-
lel to the Azores archipelago, Angra mainly offered support as a port of
call. Stressed vessels driven from long voyages from the south to the North
Atlantic stopped here for assistance on their returning voyage to Europe.
The Angra harbour call was vital for ships and crews after long voyages
such as the Indian route (Meneses, 2009, 205-218). The port city of Angra
was considered, during the beginning of the Early Modern Age, the best
port of call of the entire archipelago, offering the best conditions for ship
protection and repair, assistance, water, or health assistance, among many

others (Garcia, 2016a, 59-78). The Madeira archipelago was used more as
a natural layover for outbound trips to the Indian Ocean, Africa or the
Americas, as its southerly position was more favourable to these routes
(Garcia, 2016a, 1-21).
Throughout the 16th and 17th centuries, the number of ships circulating
in the Atlantic Ocean intensified and increased. At the beginning, only
official Portuguese and Spanish fleets crossed the archipelago. During the
17th and 18th centuries, there was a quick increase in ships coming from all
over Europe to trade, establishing all kinds of relationships with different
Atlantic harbours.
In the case of Funchal, although it provided water for ships, as Angra
did, the port evolved mainly due to the trading of products, such as sugar
and wine. The sugar trade gained importance in the Atlantic, up until Car-
ibbean productions gained this market, which only happened in the second
half of the 17th century. After that, Madeira (and mainly Funchal) intensi-
fied its wine production and this product attracted a strong trade movement
to Funchal, leading to the increase of ships and merchants in this port
(Silbert, 1997; Vieira, 2004, 21-34; Hancock, 2009).
In this context, the two natural ports of Angra and Funchal developed
infrastructures and created local government institutions capable of man-
aging all these port cities’ demands. The city hall was in charge of harbour
structures’ maintenance, regulation and the functioning of the port. Mili-
tary power, centred in the principal forts, was responsible for the defence
of harbours and coastlines. The Customs House supervised the entry and
exit of ships and goods, ensuring the payment of taxes (Favro, 1999, 365).
In Angra there was also a specific office named the Provedoria das Arma-
das e Naus da Índia em todas as ilhas dos Açores (Purveyor to the Armada
of the Islands of the Azores) that was responsible for harbour defence and
the security of the official fleets passing through the Azores (Enes, 1984,
147-205).
The management of the Angra and Funchal harbours demanded pre-
ventive measures from local authorities related to the increase of ships
and, consequently, of people that could spread diseases. Also, the dirtiness
inside the harbours was a concern and, to minimise the risks, some preven-
tive measures and rules were established and implemented. This infor-
mation can be found in the Posturas, the town ordinances defined by the
Town Hall, the office in charge of their fulfilment. However, normal har-
bour management demanded from all authorities’ permanent appreciations
and decision-making related to maritime spaces’ order maintenance.
88 Chapter Seven
HARBOUR MANAGEMENT. DEALING WITH THE DEBRIS

THREAT
Fishing activity
It is recognised in official documents that both Angra and Funchal
Town Halls dealt with the increase in the flow of vessels and the conse-
quent dirtiness and dangers that certain types of debris or bad practices
caused. These could affect public health and navigation, as well as ships’
security and peoples’ well-being.
Analysing these municipal norms specifically, we can identify different
types of concerns regarding dirtiness and the misuse of harbour spaces.
Both in Angra and Funchal, fishing was identified as a common activity
practised along the coasts of the islands and was one of the concerns to be
addressed.
In the case of Angra, the town ordinances of 1655 determined that fish
should only be sold on the main quay of the city, where it should be dis-
charged. The Ordinances determined the sale of fish had to be done on the
left quay of the harbour, so, in these terms, it was expressly forbidden to
take fish to a port other than Angra (Livro, 1565-1707, 83-88v). It was
also stated that “no fisherman shall take the fish that he captured to anoth-
er port but to this quay”, reinforcing the previous rules (Livro, 1565-1707,
83-88v).
These rules denounce concerns related to debris production that could
cause coastline dirtiness. Reinforcing the previous rules, they stated that:
“no fisherman will scatter fish on the quay, and if he does scale it or break
it, he must clean the quay without leaving it behind” (Ribeiro, 1954, 121-
182). The dirtiness caused by the fish viscera left outdoors may attract
worms and lead to diseases and bad smells, disturbing the spaces’ clean-
ness. Furthermore, this was the main quay and the main sea entrance to the
city, and thus should not be left dirty as people and goods crossed through
there.
In the case of Funchal, it is possible to identify equivalent rules related
to fish cleaning. Rule number four of the 1625-1630 Ordinances, specifi-
cally related to fishmongers, ordered that dirty water associated with fish
scales should not be left behind, indicating that this water could be a
source of contamination and dirtiness (Posturas, 1625-1631, 15-16). Norm
number five stated that “no one can buy fresh fish and then sell it again,
this behaviour being punished by jail” (Posturas, 1625-1631, 16). Follow-
ing norm five, norm seven stated that “fresh fish may not be sold on the
next day after its capture” (Posturas, 1625-1631, 16). Also, number 72 of
the Angra 1655 Ordinances mentioned the same rule, prohibiting the sale
of fresh fish on the day following its capture, punishable by a 200 reis fine
(Ribeiro, 1954, 133). These norms could indicate a consciousness that this
circumstance could bring about public health issues related to spoiled fish.
In conclusion, the analyses of Town Hall norms related to fishing ac-
tivity in the Funchal and Angra harbours allows the identification of three
threatening situations: the accumulation of fish viscera, dirty water from
cleaning fish and fish sale control to avoid the consumption of spoiled fish.
Domestic debris
Another unsuitable activity related to the maintenance and cleaning of
harbours was domestic debris dumping. Dumping garbage into the streets
was a common practice at that time and could lead to serious public health
problems. Reinforcing this idea, the Angra Ordinances mention the prohi-
bition of throwing debris in the Old School, Colégio Velho, which was
located at the top of one of the highest cliffs of the city, directly facing
Praínha, the main harbour’s cove and beach. The norm stated that “no
person of any kind shall throw debris into the Praínha in front of the
Colégio Velho, and whomever disobeys shall pay 800 reis” (Livro, 1565-
1707, 83-88v). Reinforcing the rule, it was said again that: “No person of
any kind shall throw away garbage from the tufa stone of the Praínha in
front of the Colégio Velho, and whomever disobeys shall pay 4000 reis”
(Livro, 1565-1707, 83-88v). Besides the main quay, the second main en-
trance of the city from the sea was the Praínha, and this zone was also
referred to as a small shipyard, being an area of great harbour activity,
justifying the concerns set out in the norms.
However, in the case of Angra, the testimony of the chronicler Padre
Cordeiro in Historia Insulana reveals that this city was exceptionally clean
and that there was no custom of throwing out water on the streets:
(…) the streets are always very clean until at night, without needing other
cleaners, because they do not throw anything from the windows to the
street, and thus you never hear Agua vay, because there is no house that on
the back side does not have his yard and some of them very big and great
and some with fountains inside, and never in the streets you do see any
human debris, which is so strange in other lands. (Cordeiro, 1981, 274)
This historical source needs to be critically analysed because these de-

scriptions could also mean to emphasise the city of Angra, and it contra-
dicts Ordinances that pointed out concerns about the practice of dumping
debris on the streets indicating, in some way, that this did occur. Compar-
ing the data with official documents of the Town Hall, the Tombo da
Câmara de Angra of 1699 says for instance about the harbour space:
90 Chapter Seven
(…) considering what the officers of the Town Hall of Angra, Terceira Is-
land will represent to me about it being very convenient to my service to
clean the port of that city concerning the ships of the Armies, and naus of
India, and more vessels of this crown, as also the privacy and security of
the royal rights and comforts of the Vassals because of the low cleaning of
this port, due to the many shipwrecks that occurred, leaving there their car-
goes, some of them loaded with goods (…). (Livro, 1656-1707, 189v-190)
Regarding Funchal, there were also references to the prohibition of

dirtiness on pebble beaches, which were precisely the places where small
vessels loaded and unloaded cargos to and from merchant ships anchored
around Funchal bay. In the 1625-1630 Ordinances, it was stated that: “no
person should put anything on the pebble beach on the east side of the
harbour, nor make any pigsty either privately on their balcony or on the
pebble beach or in the small rivers under penalty of 500 reis” (Posturas,
1625-1631, 9).
The concern about the cleanness of the central cove of Funchal, where
all the trade activity occurred, indicates this area’s relevance to harbour
activity and the necessity to control its hygiene and orderliness. However,
we do not have any other sources to compare data with that would indicate
that this area was dirty. Nonetheless, the rule reflects concern and prophy-
laxis behaviour to avoid unwanted situations.
Regarding the insular situation, where water supply could be a prob-
lem, the contamination of water lines which flowed directly into the bays
of Angra and Funchal was one of the main concerns. This vital source for
locals and for the refreshment of ships was identified in some norms de-
nouncing how important riverside and fountain cleanness were. Washing
barrels in Angra was one of the denounced situations to avoid water con-
taminations. The Ordinance of 1655 refers specifically to the harbour,
main quays and fountains, saying in norm number 111 that: “no person can
wash barrels on the main quay of this city or in any fountain of this city
and whomever disobeys must pay a fine of 400 reis” (Ribeiro, 1954, 136).
Regarding the rivers that flow directly into the port, norm 76 of the 1655
Ordinances also mentions that: “no person can dribble dung of horses or
tanneries’ debris into the riverside of the city” (Ribeiro, 1954, 133), refer-
ring here specifically to the mills’ riverside, Ribeira dos Moinhos, that
crosses the city of Angra and flows into the harbour. This water line was
very important for the city’s functioning throughout the Early Modern
Age, and was a driving force for several water mills, tanneries and slaugh-
terhouses positioned along it (Leite, 2014, 58).
Air pollution
Regarding air pollution by smoke or bad smells in Angra, the following
reference to tanning prohibition in the harbour area was stated in norm 76
of the 1655 Ordinance: “no one should dry leathers on public streets or in
the docks, even if they are dry, and whomever disobeys should pay a fine
of 800 reis” (Ribeiro, 1954, 133). In this case, the bad smell was consid-
ered harmful and a distress factor for population welfare.
Looking at cartography data, we can see in the Praínha shipyard area in
Angra, represented in Figure 3, cauldrons boiling pine pitch for ships’
‘calefaction’. This could also produce foul smells in the harbour area, but
no reference was found regarding this activity in the Angra Ordinances.
Figure 3. Detail of the main quay of Angra. Montanus, 1671. De Nieuwe en

Ondekende Weireld. Detail of the Angrae Urbis Tercerae que insularum quas
Azores vocant máxima / et copioso glasti proventu ditisaccurata cum arce delinea-
tio Galerie Agreable du Monde, oû l’on voit en un grand nombre de Cartes très-
Exactes Es de Belles Tailles – Douces, Les Principaux Empires, Roiaumes, Repu-
bliques, Provinces, Villes Bouros et Forteresses. Executé a Leiden. B.P.A.P.D.
Fundo Ernesto do Canto, IV, 96. Public domain
92 Chapter Seven
Maritime pollution
Port space was often used by a multitude of ships for throwing out
trash and obsolete dressings, debris that could float on the surface, cover
the bottom of the sea, or, eventually, end up on the shoreline. The harbour
could shelter small boats for fishing near the coast and connect big ships to
land, facilitated the permanent movement of caravels, urcas or pataches
carrying out the local small trade between the islands, and even all official
ships assisting the port, such as the permanent foreign trade ships or the
landings of the Portuguese official fleets.
The local administration identified some situations that contributed to
the filth and disorganization, becoming obstacles to the good functioning
of the port. In this context, City Halls also had the responsibility of clean-
ing the harbour’s aquatic space, and any consequent expenses should be
paid by their own revenues.
Shipwrecks were, in fact, one of the main reasons for the aquatic
space’s dirtiness. These accidents contributed not only to the deposition of
broken hulls, artillery and all kinds of loads at the bottom of the harbour,
but also to floating objects such as wood, moorings or sails, which repre-
sented hazards for ships’ manoeuvres.
The harbours’ intense use also contributed to the accumulation of a
large number of lost or abandoned objects, both on the surface and on the
bottom, which could also endanger navigation. To address this problem,
the City Hall needed to regularly clean the bottom of the harbour. In a
1699 process attempting to resolve this problem, the Town Hall of Angra
hired divers to clean the port. A public act on October 26 referenced the
hiring of two men to dive, who received all they recovered or could get
from the bottom of the sea as payment. This way, the local authority did
not have to spend any money on this act:
To grant power and faculty to the same officers of the municipality of the
City of Angra, Terceira Island with the intervention of the Treasure Om-
budsman of this island, they will contract two persons with the capability,
at their expense and without expense to the Royal Treasury, to clean the
port of this City and to make good profit for them, whatever they find and
discover in it. (Livro, 1656-1706, 189v-190)
The permanent anchorage manoeuvres led to the abandonment of an-

chors. The Provedoria das Armadas mentioned, related to this issue:
“Clearly we all see that is spent with moorings and how they are, and those
that carry the galleons and how they leave and how they get lost, the only
thing to do is to get them from bottom of the sea (…)” (Tombo, 1650, 33-
34). This could happen in different situations: in an emergency like a sud-
den storm, when it was necessary to cut the moorings or, in cases of
breakages due to the violence of the sea, their being abandoned because
they were not in very good shape, or due to shipwreck. All these facts
were confirmed by archaeological artefacts identified in the Angra bay.
More than 42 anchors were found in the old main anchorage. These arte-
facts revealed many situations such as broken or twisted anchors, different
typologies (meaning different origins and different time periods) or even
ships’ tonnages (Chouzenoux, 2012, 645-654). Moreover, to balance ships
during loading and unloading manoeuvres, ballasts were frequently thrown
overboard, resulting in ballast sinking to the bottom, leading to dangerous
situations for ships in low-lying areas.
In both Angra and Funchal, types of waste were a concern to local au-
thorities. The Angra Ordinances of 1660 stated that: “no ship shall leave
ballast in the bay” and “no person shall leave anchors placed along the sea
in the port of this city” (Ribeiro, 1954, 401). In turn, the Funchal Ordi-
nances from 1572 already mentioned this situation, referring to the need to
control ballast and anchor abandonment, saying:
No ship, natural or foreigner, shall put any ballast in the bay where it is an-
chored, neither the ballast that it brings nor in another way, for how harm-
ful the said ballast is to the said anchorage, and whomever disobeys should
pay 2000 reis and go to jail. And if anyone wants to dump the ballast of
their ships they must put it out of border on the high sea, in front of the for-
tress of the city of Funchal. (Posturas, 1572, 57)
This clutter situation was considered a threat that could have conse-
quences for navigation and for people’s and vessels’ safety.
With this work, we intend to open new research paths that may contribute
to an understanding of marine pollution throughout history, and how it was
addressed by past societies in different contexts. The two case studies of
Angra and Funchal, in the context of the early modern Portuguese mari-
time empire, have revealed some awareness of dynamics and prophylaxis
regarding these issues.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This study was supported by the EU Framework Programme H2020

(H2020-MSCA-RISE-2017 Project “CONCHA” n. 777998), the CHAM
Strategic Project (FCSH/NOVA-UAc) sponsored by FCT (UID/HIS/
04666/2013) and the UNESCO Chair “Oceans’ Cultural heritage”.
94 Chapter Seven
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CHAPTER EIGHT
FROM HAPHAZARD AND ILLICIT PLANT-

HUNTING AT THE DUTCH CAPE (1620-1806)
TO RECREATING THE FLORA
OF THAT ENDANGERED
BIOME IN WALES (2000)
STEFAN HALIKOWSKI SMITH
INTRODUCTION: THE THREAT TO ‘MEDITERRANEAN’

PLANT DIVERSITY AT THE CAPE
South Africa’s Western Cape, the size of Greece, is extremely

abundant in biodiversity; to be precise, there are more than 9000 flowering
species, of which 65% are endemic, i.e. naturally occur nowhere else in
the world (Fraser & Fraser, 2011). This is worth comparing to Britain’s
1500 species, of which only twenty are endemic. In fact, South Africa is
the third most biodiverse country on earth, with all its implications for
cultural diversity (Pievani, 2017), and Afrikaans provides the names for
thirteen different plant habitats (Adamson, 1938). The province is
generally considered to have a Mediterranean climate (Köppen-Geiger
climate classification Csa, Csb) with cool, wet winters and warm, dry
summers, although certain areas are classified with a maritime climate and
the inland Karoo with an arid or semi-arid climate. Although areas of
Mediterranean climate globally make up a very small part of the world’s
total landmass, as many as 20% of the world’s plants are to be found there,
while 80% of all European plant endemics are found in the Mediterranean
(European Commission, 2008, 23).
The International Union for the Conservation of Nature in its 2009
report singled out ‘freshwater systems’ as under particularly severe
pressure, with 56% of endemic fish species under threat of extinction, but
what the future holds for plant life also seems to be in question (Cuttelod,
98 Chapter Eight
2008, 89-105). As in California, much of the Overberg on the southern

Cape, once covered with renosterveld, or Mediterranean woodland scrub,
has likewise been largely converted to agriculture, mainly wheat.
Renosterveld’s high floral diversity is famed and includes such plant types
as Restionaceae (rush-like flowering plants), Ericas (a heathland
sclerophyllous fynbos plant) and Proteas (South Africa’s national symbol)
(Cowling, Richardson & Pierce, 2003). Besides agriculture, the rapid
urbanisation of coastal areas, partly for tourism but also as a product of
internal population displacements, the growing risk of desertification,
water scarcity and forest fires are other problems. Williams, Crouch and
Victor (2013) highlight the harvesting of medicinal plant species to
extinction, especially for informal Zulu muthi markets, citing the examples
of Encephalartos nubimontanus and Encephalartos woodii, although
herbivory’s eradication of Euphorbia clavicola in the shape of mountain
reedbuck is equally at fault (Pfab, 1997). Environmental historians’
agenda to “understand (..) the social history of the communities that lived
in [the landscapes we see]” (Maddox, 2005, 721) seems altogether to be
missing the point. More practical intervention is needed, including lists of
threatened medicinal plants informing policy development at all levels,
law enforcement and a proactive, alternative supply of market-demanded
materials through cultivation (Crouch, 2001; Crouch & Edwards, 2004). A
prolonged drought currently affecting the area is forcing farmers away
from the area (Muller, 2017; Economist, 2018), reallocating their land for
the needs of the burgeoning South African population, currently growing
considerably above the world average of 1.2% p.a. (UN, 2017). Micro-
initiatives such as the Protea Atlas Project for Conservation, which sets
out to catalogue and geo-tag every South African Protea growing in the
wild (www.proteaatlas.org.za) also operate in the right direction.
PLANT HUNTERS AT THE CAPE, 1620-1806
In the 17th century, the Cape rapidly became an inescapable port of call
on the Indies run. Its location as the ‘tavern of the two seas' (Boxer, 1965;
Ward, 2007) was paramount, though 'Indies sea shelter’ might be a more
accurate translation of the sailors’ commonplace ‘De Indische Zeeherberg’.
Taken into “quiet and peaceful possession” by Andrew Shillinge and
Humphrey Fitzherbert on 3 July 1620 in the name of “the High and
Mighty Prince James”, they named the surrounding peaks and planned the
establishment of a ‘plantation’ like that founded several years earlier at
Jamestown (Worden, van Heyningen & Bickford-Smith, 2004). It took
another 32 years before the initial Dutch settler expedition by van
From haphazard and illicit plant-hunting at the Dutch cape to recreating 99
the flora of the endangered mediterranean biome in Wales
Riebeeck, but in these early days Cape plants, particularly geophytes, were
already finding their way back to Europe. While Klaas van Berkel (1998)
has noted that the Vereeinigde Oost-Indische Compagnie (VOC) functioned
as a “reluctant patron” of natural knowledge and its interest was primarily
that of developing a “farming frontier” (Fleischer, 2011), plant-hunting
found its inspiration in a generalised 17th century culture of collecting and
curiosity, an attitude of mind involving the fascination and admiration for
the rare, novel, surprising and outstanding in all spheres of life (Whitaker,
1996: Lyte, 1983). Thus, Ten Rhyne, working for the Danzig-based
botanist Jakob Breyne in the 1670s, mentioned how bulbs had “long ago”
been sent back to Holland and probably on to Poland (Szwarc, 1986;
PĊkacka-Falkowska, 2018). He mentions, for example, the Haemanthus
rotundifolius Ker., though inconveniently described as a 'narcissus' by
Matthias de l'Obel in 1605, as being cultivated in Holland (De l’Obel,
1605, vol. 2, 503). It was the same for Nerine sarniensis (L.), another
classic South African plant, registered as flourishing by Jean Morin in
Paris on 7 October 1634 (Cornut, 1635, tab. 57, 153).
Historians have enumerated the gardens where some of these plants
were grown: the Hortus de Flines on the Sparenhout estate, Vijverhof at
Loenen, the Akademiese Kruidhof in Leiden, the Hortus Beaumontianus
near the Hague and the Hortus Botanicus at Amsterdam. The 1630s of
course had been the decade of ‘tulipomania’, when tulip bulbs like
‘Semper Augustus’ had attained crazy heights of value. The chronicler
Nicolaes van Wassenaer had suggested that, in 1623, 12,000 guilders (the
annual earnings of a carpenter in the 1630s were 250 guilders) were not
enough to procure ten bulbs (Dash, 1999). Satisfactory, comprehensive
lists of European plant hunters at the Cape from this period have now been
established (Glen & Germishuizen, 2010).
Revictualling facilities were rapidly developed, as we can ascertain
from Riebeeck's dagboek (Leibbrandt, 1897; Worden, van Heyningen &
Bickford-Smith, 2004). By 1673 the VOC, which then ran the territory,
had developed a rich vegetable garden, described by Willem Ten Rhyne as
“a lovely site with its plantations of lemons, citrus and oranges, its close
hedges of rosemary and its laurels” (Schediasma, 1686 in Schapera, 1933,
97). Next to the citrus trees, other early visitors listed the “herbs and
vegetables” grown there, French species like “pretty fine reinette apple-
trees” and “bonchrétien pear-trees” (Rennefort, 1688 in Raven-Hart, 1971,
97). We have plans from the head gardener Oldenland before his death in
1699 and another from Peter Kolb in 1719 (Kolb, 1727, 242), although the
fascination amongst the colonial elites for exotic flora at the expense of the
region’s indigenous flora dates to this time (van Sittert, 2003). To be sure,
100 Chapter Eight
reports emphasised how this man-made “very essence of greenness”

contrasted starkly with the surroundings “set in the midst of thorns and
barren thickets” (Schediasma, 1686 in Shapera, 1933, 97).
We also have vivid illustrations of Cape plants, often in China ink and
watercolours (Arnold, 2001; Taylor, 1995, passim). The finest of these
artists (now catalogued in Arnold, 2001) include Heinrich Claudius from
Breslau (c. 1655-1697), Hendrik Oldenland (1663-1697, fl. at Cape from
1689), Jan Hartog (1663-1722) and the aforementioned Ten Rhyne (1647-
1700), although others like Anthonie van Breda, author of an early
‘Herbarium Capense’, were drawing from Dutch gardens (Edwards, 1964),
or, like Jan and Casper Commelin, from manuscripts sent back to Holland
after the Namaqualand expedition of 1685 (Wijnands, 1983). Increasing
numbers of Cape plants were made familiar to a European audience this way:
34 Cape plants made it into Paul Hermann’s Horti academici Lugduno-
Batavi catalogus (Leiden, 1687), while Breyne’s Flora Capensis, collected in
the 1670s and 80s, contained 90 figures (Gunn & Du Plessis, 1978).
A third type of collecting was the assemblage of collections of dried
specimens, the herbarium or the Hortus siccus. Paul Hermann (1646-1695)
made the first important collection of Cape plants on his outward journey
to Ceylon in 1672 (Britten, 1920-2, 31). James Petiver (1663-1718), a
member of the Apothecary Company towards the end of the 17th century,
bought it at auction in 1711, and its 66 folio pages now form vol. 75 of the
Sloane Herbarium in the Natural History Museum, London. The Danish
opziener or overseer of the VOC gardens at Cape Town, Hendrik
Oldenland, tried to enliven his substantial collection of 24 volumes by
casting it as a Herbarius Vivus; it was catalogued by François Valentijn
(Winquist, 1978). It was taken to Europe in 1722 and thereafter dispersed
widely, including to the Sherard Herbarium in Oxford and HS 32, 156,
256 and 329 of the Sloane collection (Jarvis, Spencer, & Huxley, 2012).
We can trace in the commodification of these collections a generalised
trend of prescient Dutch knowledge being brought to British shores
(Jorink, 2012).
Petiver proved a conscientious collector of plants, not just from “that
fertile promontory” (Glen & Germishuizen, 2010) but from all corners of
the world, and used an enormous network of correspondents. He improved
the Society of Apothecaries Physic Garden at Chelsea and made a dried
herbarium which he later left to the British Museum. His many works
were so esteemed that they were collected and (re)published as a three-
volume Opera Omnia fifty years after his death. His Centuria (1695-
1703), a ten-volume catalogue of items from his collection including notes
on their origin and intermediary, as well as his 1713 report to the Royal
Society from “several curious gardens about London ”, refer to plants of

the Cape that he acquired from correspondents such as the Dutch resident
John Starrenburgh (letter of 20 January 1701, Sloane MS 4063, fol. 61),
Dr. Fredrik Ruysch of Amsterdam or Hen(d)rik Oldenland, although the
nomenclature he adopted has not been easy to ascertain even today (see
Figure 1).
Figure 1. Petiver’s Rhodium Capense (Cape Rose), which appears in Ray’s

Historia Plantarum in 1686 but is absent by the time of Linnaeus’s Flora capensis
of 1759. Courtesy of the Natural History Museum, London. Note the plant’s waxy
leaves, sclerophyllous stem and pastel-coloured flowers. Forensic botanists insist
DNA sampling is necessary for identification, although Chrysanthemoides
monilifera looks like a strong contender.
102 Chapter Eight
Petiver’s work influenced later naturalists like John Ray (1627-1705)

and Hans Sloane (1660-1753), the former including a full catalogue of the
Hortus siccus Peteverianus in his Historia plantarum species hactenus
editas aliasque insuper multas noviter (London: Henry Faithorne, 1704, t.
III Supplementum, fols. 241-49) (Stearn, 1953; Jarvis, Spencer, & Huxley,
2012; Sprinks, 2017).
Besides his herbarium, Petiver also compiled botanical illustrations in
his Gazophylacii Naturae & Artis (Treasures of Nature), which recorded
one hundred Cape plants presented to the Bishop of London in Amsterdam
in 1691, and another fifty “Painted from Growing Plants. Lately Purchased
from the CAPE ” (Petiver, 1702-6, vol. 2, 9-10). In his first “paper
museum of specimens”, which he published in 1695 (no. 414, 39), Petiver
reported specimens of Gladiolo affinis now referred to as Babiana plicata
Ker. growing from bulbs in “Mr John Tarrant’s garden at Hoxton [in
London’s East End]” and which had already been painted for Breyne
sometime earlier (see Figure 2 below). Petiver is a great source for
understanding London’s horticultural scene at that time and the plants
grown there, namely by the Duchess of Beaufort, the Bishop of London,
‘Dr. Uredal’, Mr. du Bois, and, more generally, in the gardens in Chelsea,
Fulham, Enfield, and Queen Anne’s ‘Stows’ at Hampton Court in the care
of Mr. Wife (Petiver, 1713).
The subsequent years between 1725 and 1760 were largely “a blank
for British natural history” (Allen, 1976, 15-16), hinging upon the
composition of the Sloane Herbarium from the 1730s. Rose (2018) draws
attention to both its extent and careful polynomial classificatory system
imposed by Sloane, though scholars have added to this the careful
resurrection of the seventeen unnamed individuals who inputted plants and
information into Sloane’s collection (Dandy, 1958). Thereafter we must
wait until Joseph Banks, who was overseeing the day-to-day running of
Kew Gardens from about 1773 in conjunction with the official
superintendent, William Aiton, and on the advice of George III (ODNB).
He urged professional collectors to bring back live specimens to
supplement dried herbarium specimens, but there were problems, namely
survival and transportation.
John Ellis, a fellow of the Royal Society, speculated in 1770 that less
than one in fifty plants and other natural specimens survived long-distance
transportation (Parsons, 2012, 504). South Africa was the right location for
the first venture to which he sent the first official ‘collector’ or plant
hunter Francis Masson (1741-1805) with Cook on the HMS Resolution,
landing in October 1772. Masson stayed until 1775, during which time he
sent back to England over 500 species of plants, many from inland, from
Figure 2. Babiana sp. in Iradaceae fam. From the late 17th century Breyne
Florilegium, known as ‘Flora Capensis’, fol. 44. Courtesy of the Brenthurst
Library, Johannesburg. Babiana stricta today grows in the National Botanical
Garden of Wales.
Namaqualand, which had a rather more arid climate. Masson fell in first
with Franz Pehr Oldenburg, a Scandinavian mercenary with the VOC,
who could show him the country. Together they visited the Swartberg
mountain in December 1772. Then, in a longer trek over four months, he
went into the Little Karoo (Canaan’s Land) with Peter Thunberg, a pupil
of Linnaeus and a good scientist from Uppsala, which yielded many
famous plants including red-hot pokers (Kniphofia uvaria) and gladioli
(Galidiolus), rose-scented pelargonium (Pelargonium capitatum), ixia
(Ixia vividiflora), with its extraordinary blue-green flowers, Carob tree
(Erythrina carallodendron), and star-of-Bethlehem (Ornithogalum
104 Chapter Eight
thyrsoides). Masson was a conduit for plants like Monsonia, a colourful

genus of undershrub bearing the name of Lady Anne Monson (c. 1727-
1776) who prospected with Thunberg at the Cape on her way to joining
her husband posted in Calcutta. It was introduced as a hothouse plant by
Lee’s Nursery of Hammersmith in 1788 (ODNB). Another active London
nurseryman was William Rollison Sr., who raised many Cape heath
hybrids in Tooting (Hatch, 2011; Desmond, 1994).
Masson’s trip was rather overshadowed by the rivalry of natural
scientists like Johann Reinhold Forster and his son Georg, who replaced
Banks on Cooks’ second voyage after it was felt the ship was not
adequately furnished to accommodate Banks and his team (Forster, 1772-5
[1982]; Forster, 1778 [1996], xvii). The Forsters sent crates of natural
history news back to Thomas Pennant and the Royal Society in London as
well as Linnaeus, including several new plants and an entirely new genus
of mammal (a ‘great Mole’), and put together a year-long expedition into
the interior under Immelman (Forster, 1778, lxvii). Forster asked Linnean
collectors present in the colony to prepare “great collections for me”,
hoping to “carry every Spoil from the Cape” (Forster, 1772-5, [1982], vol.
1, 100). The party spent another five weeks in Table Bay when their ship’s
rigging was refitted in March 1775. The Swedish naturalist Anders
Sparrman, following in the footsteps of Linnaeus, was another rival who
arrived in January 1772 (van der Cruysse, 2010, 205-9).
It was a golden age of botanical exploration at the Cape, aided by the
governor Ryk Tulbagh, who saw to the systematic development of the
Company Garden after 1747 from its humble beginnings (Spilhaus, 1971-
2; Hill, 1769). Over his twenty-year tenure, Tulbagh corresponded with
several botanists including Carl Linnaeus and sent him more than 200
specimens of local plants. Linnaeus named the plant Tulbaghia in his
honour (Gledhill, 1996, 189). Tulbagh sent multiple and sizeable
expeditions to the furthermost corners of the colony to bring back plants,
such as one in 1761 to Namaqualand (Spilhaus, 1972, 4-11; 1973).
Amongst the expeditionaries was Jan Andries Auge, a German disciple of
Herman Boerhaave, a famous Dutch doctor whose engraving of a
sugarbush we have reproduced in Figure 3 (Winquist, 1976, 96-119).
Masson's second voyage to the Cape in October 1785 was not so
successful: a British expeditionary force had tried to annex the Cape in
1781, and foreigners were restricted to Cape Town and the immediate
vicinity. But earlier plant hunters, like George Bell (fl. 1730-34), had also
complained of being unable to dispatch specimens back to England (Gunn
& Codd, 1981, 55).
Figure 3. The commonly named ‘sugarbush’ (Protea), here depicted in an

engraving (Boerhaave, 1720, vol. 2, fol. 182v). Courtesy of die Niedersächsische
Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek, Göttingen. See also Paterson-Jones, 2001.
Of the 786 plants in the first twenty volumes of Curtis Botanical

Magazine, an illustrated botanical magazine which has run continuously
since 1787, almost one-third were devoted to Cape plants, mostly
collected for Kew by Masson. Under British rule at the Cape, plant
hunting became easier. This was aided by the appointment of a resident
botanist, beginning with Ludwig Pappe (1831-), the “experience of the
colonial farmer” and the sealed, protective glass container for plants
popularised by Nathaniel Ward (c. 1840) (Green Musselman, 2003;
McCook, 2016). Travelling gardeners like James Bowie (c. 1789-1869)
discovered novelties like Aloiampelos ciliaris (Haw.) (Klopper & Gideon
F. Sm. (CBM, 1978)) and the genus Bowiea, despite it being, strictly
speaking, a scaly desert plant, while William Burchell travelled for four
years into the interior producing 500 sketches and was encouraged to
describe the Cape as “a botanical garden, neglected and left to grow in a
state of nature” (Burchell, 1822, 17). Meanwhile, Arabella Roupell (1817-
1914), although celebrated by her biographers as a ‘pioneer artist’, was
providing illustrations (Roupell, 1849) that had been made twenty years
106 Chapter Eight
earlier by the Frenchmen F. Mordant De Launay and J.L.A. Loiseleur-

Deslongchamps, as the example of Liparia sphaerica Herb. Linn. goes to
show (Mordant de Launay et al., 1817-26, vol. 6, pl. 406).
WHAT CAN WE DO? BRING THE MEDITERRANEAN TO

WALES!
Given the very real existential threats to the Cape flora that exist today,
as sketched at the outset, the project of transplanting its contents to more
secure locations across the globe has everything to commend it. The
southern Welsh coastline, known as the ‘Celtic Riviera’, can perhaps offer
one such home: palms, yuccas and aloes were planted along coastal
promenades and in ‘Italian gardens’, as laid out at Penarth in the mid-
1920s and at Victoria Park in Swansea, as photos from 1925 testify to
(Francis Frith Collection #77381). This was part and parcel of the history
of tourism in the region, a phenomenon stretching back deep into the 19th
century (Moore, 1905; Boorman, 1986).
Wolfgang Bopp, curator for the Director of Horticulture, and Ivor
Stokes, at the National Botanical Garden of Wales, were responsible for
ground-work in the glasshouse once the structure had gone up in 2000, the
largest single-span glasshouse in the world, sheltering 3500 sq. metres of
vegetation (Figure 4). It was decided to concentrate on Mediterranean
plants for three reasons – first, the running costs (the heating is provided
by a biomass boiler) were considered less than for a tropical garden;
secondly, the fact that Mediterranean plants are generally under-
represented in botanical gardens; and thirdly, they are currently under
great environmental threat. Bopp laid out the planting of the glasshouse
and sourced many of the plants: from Fernklof, a nature reserve in
Hermannus, South Africa and Kirstenbosch, the National Botanical
Garden of South Africa.
Plants brought were quarantined at the NBGW for nine months, totally
enclosed in mosquito netting and inspected regularly by DEFRA
(Department for the Environment, Food and Rural Affairs) . What pests
emerged were killed off. Some 200 species from the West Cape alone are
represented in the glasshouse out of a total of 230 from South Africa as a
whole, and 3000 species altogether (Gould, 2006).
Figure 4. Mediterranean plants under the glass dome at the National Botanical
Garden of Wales. Photo by the author.
The Mediterranean plant collections near Llanarthney might be

considered a PMR, or plant micro-reserve, in the parlance of the LIFE
programme launched by the European Commission in 2007, a small plot
of land of up to 20 ha. that is of peak value in terms of plant endemism or
rarity, although the goals of the former are primarily protective, whereas
those of PMRs are to inventorize and to monitor plant diversity (European
Commission, 2008, 17-19).
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CHAPTER NINE
SOCIOZOOLOGICAL SCALES:
HUMAN’S PERCEPTIONS ON NON-HUMANS
THROUGH A CONSERVATION PERSPECTIVE
SUSANA GONÇALVES COSTA,

CATARINA CASANOVA AND PHYLLIS LEE
WHAT ARE SOCIOZOOLOGIC SCALES?
Social perceptions and how they interfere with the way humans see
nonhumans
Social perceptions are composed of two different factors: (i) the

individual and his/her cognitive abilities and (ii) the cultural context where
he/she lives. This last factor comprises values, norms, beliefs (e.g.
religion) and attitudes that were already operating in the society where the
subject was raised (Deth & Scarbrought, 1998). To be accepted, one has to
learn the features of his/her culture (Giddens, 2000). Therefore, social
training is needed in order to transform the ‘savage’ into a ‘civilized’
creature (Lévi-Strauss, 1966). Socialization allows us to perceive the
objects around us that – once cognitively captured – are organized with
respect to our culture’s patterns (Yerbyt & Leyens, 2004; Baron et al.,
2007; Smith & Mackie, 2007). An individual absorbs what surrounds
him/her and organizes his/her perceptions – regarding his/her cultural
context – in order to be accepted by the other members of the society
(Giddens, 2000). This is how we learn our place in the world and – as a
result – how we are positioned in relation to other humans, nonhumans and
the environment (Arluke & Sanders, 1996; Serpell, 1996; Costa et al.,
2013).
For instance, in Hinduism and Buddhism, the belief in a divinity that
exists beyond the Universe and that is present in all living beings and
Sociozoological scales 115
adopts different shapes and species, is a central idea (Gavin, 2000). Both
religions are rooted in reincarnation principles and, as a consequence, in
vegetarianism. Non-violence is the key for a good future reincarnation,
which happens based on one’s previous good or bad behaviour. As such,
different lives will occur, depending on the individual’s past conduct. No
one should kill or injure other living forms since they can be past beloved
ones, compromising future ‘good’ reincarnations and karma. The idea of
‘good’ and ‘bad’ reincarnations is not totally free from anthropocentric
thoughts. In fact, according to Hindu reincarnation matrixes, a brahman1
murderer has higher chances of becoming a dog, a pig, a donkey or even a
pukassa2 (Renou, 1980). Through this perspective, becoming a nonhuman
is worse than being a human. Nevertheless, depending on their social
status (castes, in the Hindu culture), not all humans are considered ‘good’.
On the other hand, for the religions in Judeo-Christian cultures,
humans are clearly seen as superior entities. Humans are the bridge
between the divine and the profane (Shneider, 1970). Humans are the only
creatures made by God ‘in His image’ who are allowed to rule over the
Earth. In Judeo-Christian cultures, there is an obvious preference for
humankind (Hertzberg, 1981), particularly for men and patriarchal
domination. It is humans’ duty to rule over all the other species, taking
advantage of them. This is where Western anthropocentrism settles.
Social perceptions and sociozoologic scales in Western societies

Due to its anthropocentric nature, in Western societies 3 peoples’
perceptions often organize the animal kingdom symbolically into ‘good’
and ‘bad’ animals (Arluke & Sanders, 1996). While zoology classifies
animals according to their biological features and affinities, the
‘sociozoologic scale’ organizes species as a function of their perceived or
actual roles in the local society. There is a clear hierarchy of animals,
based on moral judgements, that depends on how useful the animal is, how
closely it collaborates with humans, how evil the animal can be and how
demonic it is perceived to be (Sandøe & Christiansen, 2009). Such a
model is based on traditions and prejudices that are often associated with
the way we see and deal with other humans, namely people belonging to
minority groups or ‘outsiders’ (Arluke & Sanders, 1996; Nibert, 2002).
1 A member of the highest rank of the caste system.

2 A member of the lower caste, also known as an ‘untouchable’.
3 The expression ‘Western societies’ in this context refers to the societies of
developed countries, mostly located in the Northern Hemisphere.

116 Chapter Nine
‘Good’ animals, for instance, have a high moral status due to their
subordinate roles. They accept their status and reinforce the concept that
humans are the pinnacle of the animal kingdom. Companion animals,
livestock, lab and anthropomorphized animals are examples of nonhumans
perceived as ‘decent citizens’ (Leach, 1964; Morris, 1967; Arluke &
Sanders, 1996; Costa & Casanova, 2014). Companion animals seem to like
their status in human societies; they appear to be genetically predisposed
to be part of the human world. Cats and dogs that are kept as companions
are common in Western societies. They are seen by their owners as
organisms of affection and, paradoxically, as living beings that are
dominated by us (Arluke & Sanders, 1996), which means that companion
animals’ welfare is not always seen as a priority by humans.
Despite the fact that the animal’s owner wants the best for the animal, he or
she may, out of ignorance and unintentionally, treat the animal in ways that
jeopardize its health or welfare – for example by treating it as a human
being rather than an animal of the species in question with its particular
needs. (Sandoe & Christiansen, 2009, 31)
Besides companion animals, nonhumans classified as ‘tools’ are also

part of the ‘good’ faction. These individuals are seen in a positive way
because they are useful for both providing us with scientific data and with
food supplies. Laboratory mice or livestock exist for humans’ benefit
(Arluke & Sanders, 1996).
On the other hand, ‘bad’ animals are viewed as uncontrolled creatures
potentially capable of subverting the sociozoologic scale.
They may be freaks that confuse their place, vermin that stray from their
place, or demons that reject their place. They are oddities that cause
repulsion, unwelcome visitors that provoke fear, or dangerous attackers
that rouse horror. In turn, society may ignore, marginalize, segregate or
destroy them. (Arluke & Sanders, 1996, 175)
There are three different categories of ‘bad’ animals. First, ‘freaks’ are
the least evil and include all the creatures that do not have a clear status in
the social order. Since their place is ambiguous, their moral status puts
them on the margins of society. There is no urgency to destroy them,
though they are not welcome in our social sphere. Examples of what a
‘freak’ can be are people that apparently mix human and animal features
due to malformations that remind people of animals4 . ‘Vermin’ have a

lower status than ‘freaks’. They usually cross human boundaries to
threaten individuals and their environment. They are thought to be ‘dirty’.
Rats are frequently perceived in this way, unless they are contributing to
our welfare improvements in a lab. Finally, ‘demons’ are the worst
animals of all and are, according to some humans’ points of view, able to
challenge the social order imposed by us and to reverse the fundamental
master-servant relationship present in the traditional order.
These animals do not fear humans, humans fear them. These animals hunt
humans, humans do not hunt them. These animals have power over
humans; humans do not have power over them. (Arluke & Sanders, 1996,
181)
Wildlife such as snakes, sharks and wolves are seen as ‘demons’ due to
their untamed and/or dangerous behaviour.
Although such constructs are typically shared by the majority of
individuals, the models are sufficiently flexible to allow ‘good’ animals,
for example dogs, to turn ‘bad’ (e.g. Patronek et al., 2000). For example,
pit bulls are seen as ‘demons’ that kill and eat their victims (Arluke &
Sanders, 1996). Since the 80s, this pedigree dog’s attacks have been
hyperbolically described by the media, perpetuating the negative attitudes
people have towards the breed. In fact, there are no data corroborating the
idea that pit bulls attack people more often than any other pedigree.
Rabbits are also a good example of how an animal, depending on the
context in which it is perceived, can be classified either as ‘good’ or ‘bad’
(Torosyan & Lowe, 2017). These nonhumans can be seen as a source of
proteins, a Guinea pig or even a companion animal. However, in some
specific scenarios, rabbits can also be considered pests that invade and
destroy crops and jeopardize ecosystems.
Sociozoologic scales have largely been used to reflect Western urban
areas’ perceptions of nonhumans, portraying the way we relate with other
living forms and bringing light to the drivers of our potentially
anthropocentric behaviour and the way it may jeopardize nonhumans’
welfare (e.g. farm, lab and companion animals). They also help us to
understand the ways we relate with other humans, namely minority groups
4 Such as the ‘Giraffe Woman’ (who had long limbs), Jo-Jo (the dog faced boy
who had hair all over his body and face) and Camel Girl (whose malformed knees
forced her to walk like a quadruped); all of them were circus attractions in the
United States at the end of the 19th century.
118 Chapter Nine
(Nibert, 2002). However, in a more practical and intervening way, these

models can be useful to understand how locals living inside and outside
protected areas relate with biodiversity and how these relationships
potentially jeopardize endangered species’ survival (Costa et al., 2013;
Costa, 2013). As such, we believe that policymakers, stakeholders,
academics and conservationists should consider sociozoologic scales as an
essential part of the decision-making processes when it comes to
establishing conservation and sustainable development programmes.
SOCIOZOOLOGIC SCALES OF TWO DIFFERENT CULTURAL

CONTEXTS
To better understand the functional uses of the sociozoologic scales

and how different cultural contexts interfere in the way humans perceive
and relate with nonhumans, we present two distinctive case studies: (i) a
Western urban area context (Almada, Portugal); and (ii) a protected area in
a rural West African context (Cantanhez Forests National Park, Guinea-
Bissau).
A survey questionnaire was conducted in the two scenarios (see Table
1). In both cases, subjects were asked to indicate – from a list provided by
the interviewer – which species they like/dislike most. Due to potential
issues in language interpretation, the list presented in the West African
context was made up of photos to guarantee that subjects were all on the
same page regarding the species we wanted them to rank (Figure 1).
Due to some important differences in the way we collected data,
namely regarding sample size, features used to rank the species and data
analysis methods, we will focus strictly on the main conclusions of both
data sets5. Though lacking methodological details, from a sociozoologic
point of view these results are still worth considering because – even from
a broad perspective – they show us how different cultures can exhibit
similarities in the way culturally unrelated people organize the animal
kingdom.
5 The two data sets were collected with different purposes. Data collection in
Almada was conducted in order to accomplish a Master’s degree, while the
research conducted in CFNP was part of a broader project aimed at protecting
chimpanzees. The latter data set was also used to obtain a PhD.
Figure 1. Woman ranking photos of nonhumans in CFNP (Guinea-Bissau). Photo

by Susana Costa.
120 Chapter Nine
The Western urban case
Almada is a city located on the southern margin of the Tagus River, on

the opposite side to Lisbon. 57% of its population live in the more
urbanized area, where contact with nature is rare.
As previously mentioned, during data collection (see Table 1), subjects
were invited to point out, from a list of species, which nonhumans they
like/dislike and the ones they believed to be the most intelligent/unintelligent
(see Figure 2).
Regarding the species subjects liked the most, in general, and not
surprisingly, Almada’s sample mainly showed themselves to be fonder of
mammals than any other animals. As part of the nonhumans that subjects
felt more affectionately about, cats, dogs, dolphins, chimpanzees and
parrots were the most mentioned. Dogs, particularly, are remarkably
meaningful to humans. They were the first domesticated animals (Titiev,
1969) and since then, they have been playing the role of our best friends,
representing an extension of our identity (Beck & Katcher, 1996; Sanders,
1999). Dolphins are thought to behave kindly and in a friendly way
towards humans, and parrots’ appearance and behaviour (e.g. flat face and
the ability to reproduce human words) makes both species
anthropomorphic (Morris, 1967).
Table 1. Summary of data collection.
Cultural Year of Method Hours of Sample List of species to

context data data size be ranked
collection collection
Almada, 2004 Survey- 30hrs total N = 120 Written list that
Portugal questionnaire for (60 men, comprised 21
interviews 60 species that -
women; according to the
age range urban Western
from 15 cultural context -
to 61+) are traditionally
considered
“good” and
“bad” (i.e.
companion, farm
and lab animals,
charismatic
wildlife and
humans).
Cantanhez 2008- Survey- 64hrs total N=257 List of photos

Forests 2009 questionnaire for (133 men, that comprised
National interviews 124 26 nonhuman
Park, women; species that
Guinea- age range live/used to live
Bissau from 10 inside the
to 50+) protected area
(11 photos
represented
nonhuman
primates, since
the main goal of
the research
project was
chimpanzees’
(Pan troglodytes
verus) protection.
Figure 2. Almada’s sociozoologic scale adapted from Arluke and Sanders (1996).
Bad animals lie at the bottom due to their low moral status and good animals at the
top, due to their submissive and predictable behavior.
On the other hand, the animals that subjects said they disliked were
mostly non-mammals. Species reported as dangerous (such as snakes and
spiders) or related to death (e.g. vultures) are among the highest ranked
animals. There were only two exceptions regarding mammals: rats and
bats. Rats are only perceived as good animals in two specific situations: (i)
when they are kept as companion animals; and (ii) when they are
contributing to research inside a laboratory. Otherwise, they are seen as
122 Chapter Nine
eager to invade our territory, spreading potentially lethal diseases (Birke,

2003). On the other hand, bats are seen as very peculiar animals: (i) though
they are mammals, they have wings and fly; (ii) they become active only
at night; and (iii) they rest upside down. No wonder they have been
portrayed as related to vampires, which makes them ‘demons’ according to
the Arluke and Sanders (1996) classification.
In relation to the species’ intelligence, though their positioning among
the preferred nonhumans was not brilliant 6 , chimpanzees’ human-like
appearance makes them very intelligent in the eyes of these human
fellows. Farm animals were consistently ranked as unintelligent. From the
perspective of the scale built by Arluke and Sanders (1996), farm animals
are supposed to be considered ‘good’. They live inside the boundaries of
human societies; they seem to like their status; and they are totally
dominated by us. Nevertheless, they are food. So, looking at them as being
brainless might make us feel less guilty. We need to be able to exploit, kill
and eat these animals’ corpses without blame (Franklin, 1999).
No significant differences were found in relation to gender, religion
and education. The results were consistent throughout the sample.
The rural Western African case
This sociozoologic scale refers to the Cantanhez Forests National Park

(CFNP), a patchy tropical rainforest area in the south of Guinea-Bissau
(lat.: 11016’42.78”N; long.: 1454’42.30”W), where encounters between
humans and wildlife are frequent (Figure 3). From all the species that one
can find inside the protected area, chimpanzees are the most charismatic,
and that is probably why they were also the most mentioned species during
data collection.
Gender and religion appeared to play significant roles in the structuring
of the sociozoologic scale amongst the people of the CFNP. Men tend to
be more positive than women in their rankings of chimpanzees. Men see
chimpanzees mainly as good and intelligent. They were referred to as very
wise crop-raiders, since they appear to know exactly when it is safe to
steal fruit from farms. Men’s perceptions of chimpanzees’ cleverness
6 Physical similarities between humans and chimpanzees – due to our huge genetic
proximity – transform the latter in a quasi-offensive human caricature. As such,

apart from the intelligence point of view, this might not contribute to their
sociozoologic status in the Almada sample. Besides, chimpanzees are too distant
from this Western urban context – both geographically and emotionally.
might be related to this species’ ability to elude the farmers’ crop

protection strategies. Women appeared to be less positive towards
chimpanzees than the men. According to their testimonies, chimpanzees
are seen as a hazard that jeopardizes women’s and children’s safety. There
are several examples of chimpanzees attacking women and small children
in Africa (e.g. Hockings et al., 2010; Garriga et al., 2017; Sousa et al.,
2018). Although we never confirmed whether this happened in the CNFP,
there were reports that some attacks had occurred in the villages of Mejo
and Farim.
Figure 3. CFNP’s sociozoologic scale adapted from Arluke and Sanders (1996).
Bad animals lie at the bottom due to their low moral status and good animals at the
top, due to their submissive and predictable behaviour
Female respondents appeared to prefer domestic animals. Chickens and

goats were rated as good animals by female respondents, probably due to
their physical proximity and potential returns. Women are expected to
accomplish their daily tasks in – or nearby – villages, which might make
them feel closer to livestock. As an exception, gazelles were highly rated
by women for their positive attributes, possibly because they are
considered ‘tasty’ and due to their more gentle presence as well. In
addition, in a male-dominated culture like this, women are associated with
gazelles as being pretty, sexy, and elegant.
Both Muslims and non-Muslims (i.e. Animists and Christians) rated
hyenas and rock pythons negatively, possibly due to their potentially
dangerous behavior, although sometimes they are associated with the
124 Chapter Nine
spiritual and animist world as guardians, shape-shifters and sentinels.

These species are not perceived as respecting humans’ territorial
boundaries; they do not fear humans and, thus, cannot be dominated by us.
They are seen as ‘demons’ (Arluke & Sanders, 1996). Ironically, hyenas –
according to some elderly men’s testimonies – are extinct in this region,
but are still classified as ‘bad’, which makes us believe that a
reintroduction of the species in this territory may fail.
Muslims rated some primate species as bad, namely baboons and
vervet monkeys. Since Muslims mainly have fruit and cash crop farms
(Temudo, 2009), the conflict between people and these raiding species is
potentially more serious than that experienced by non-Muslims. On the
other hand, non-Muslims rated primates as edible, especially baboons and
vervet monkeys, which suggests that non-Muslims are more eclectic in
relation to their dietary habits than Muslims. However, despite Islamic
restrictions regarding certain kinds of meat consumption, some young
Muslims hunt and trade bushmeat as an extra source of income. While
strict religious principles forbid consumption, these appear not to prohibit
the hunting or sale of this meat (Arberry, 1996)
MODELS’ DIFFERENCES AND SIMILARITIES
Species’ appearance, utility and behaviour define both sociozoologic

classifications.
Gazelles in Guinea-Bissau are probably the most positively positioned
wild animal in this sociozoologic context. Dogs and cats are the most
beloved ones in the Portuguese sample. In both cases, these species’ tame
behaviour, their appealing aesthetic features and their well-defined social
status put them in the highest position.
On the other hand, hyenas are believed to have the ability to transform
themselves into humans to kill domestic animals and people in the villages
– they are ‘demons’ according to Arluke and Sanders’ (1996) terminology.
In Almada, snakes, spiders, vultures, bats and rats are among the most
feared. In both samples, subjects have very few chances of having real
encounters with these nonhumans. In the case of the hyenas from the
CFNP, the species have not existed in the protected area for decades, but
myths and traditional beliefs have been helping people to crystallize
negative perceptions and attitudes towards hyenas. In the urban Western
scenario, vultures are associated with death, while snakes and spiders are
believed to be capable of spreading lethal venom. In conclusion, whether
one is in Africa or in Europe, nonhuman animals that do not respect our
territory or bodies lay at the lower level of the sociozoologic scale.
Anthropomorphized animals – such as chimpanzees (Guinea-Bissau)

and dolphins and parrots (Portugal) – might also benefit from a higher
status, since they are seen as almost human. Dolphins seem to be able to
communicate with humans and parrots can actually use words. In the case
of the CFNP’s chimpanzees, due to their human-like appearance, they are
considered ancestors and, thus, the consumption of their meat is a taboo.
However, their bad behaviour in relation to farmers and their crops and
also some alleged attacks on women and children have been preventing
them from going straight to the top of the sociozoologic hierarchy (Costa
et al., 2013).
In the CFNP, being edible appears to be a positive attribute7. Animals
whose meat is considered tasty are valued – this seems to be the case for
gazelles. Livestock in Western societies, similar to species hunted for
bushmeat in Guinea-Bissau and many other parts of Africa, is very
valuable, both economically and from a nutritional point of view.
Nevertheless, while edible animals in a context such as the CFNP are
undoubtedly considered ‘good’, in Almada they seem to live in a midpoint
between ‘good’ and ‘bad’. Being away from the process of raising and
slaughtering livestock might contribute to urban Westerners’ blindness
regarding these nonhumans. Farm animals are not ‘bad’ because they do
not interfere with our urban nature-free lives, but they cannot be ‘good’
either, otherwise it would be too hard to use their meat8.
Farm animals and chimpanzees, due to their undefined status, lay in a
kind of limbo where ‘good’ and ‘bad’ seem to mix.
FINAL REMARKS
Whether one is willing to implement in situ conservation efforts or to

raise awareness of the importance of biodiversity protection in an urban
context, sociozoologic scales are of high importance. Nonhumans are not
all perceived in the same way, and the more positively the species we wish
to protect are seen, the better they will suit a successful conservation
programme (Costa et al., 2013). This is true for the sociozoologic scales of
the locals living in close proximity to wildlife, but also for those living in
7 Hunting and bushmeat consumption is a major conservation threat (e.g. Rogan et

al., 2018).
8 Flexibility is a well-known feature of the sociozoologic scales (e.g. Patronek et
al., 2000; Torosyan et al., 2017).

126 Chapter Nine
other places where their consumption habits interfere with distant

ecosystems.
Besides their capacity to shed light on how inconsistently we relate
with other living beings (Arluke & Sanders, 1996), sociozoologic scales
can be a useful starting point to figure out ways to change attitudes
towards neighbouring wildlife and to get the public to engage in
environmental protection measures, adopting more eco-friendly lifestyles
worldwide.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
We thank S. Cumpóm, V. Ventura, S. Fragoso and M. Castanheira for

helping with the data collection. Thanks are also due to our sponsors:
Lanidor and the Foundation for Science and Technology (Ministério da
Ciência, Tecnologia e Ensino Superior, Portugal; funding references:
POCI/ANT/57434/2004 and SFRH/BPD/87847/2012). We would also like
to acknowledge IBAP and AD (the local NGO), Guinea-Bissau, for all the
logistic support provided. Finally, we want to thank all the people in the
CFNP and Almada who kindly and patiently collaborated with us.
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Arluke, A. & Sanders, C. 1996. Regarding Animals, Philadelphia: Temple
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CHAPTER TEN
PRIMATE BEHAVIORAL ADAPTATIONS

TO ANTHROPOGENIC HABITATS –
THE CASE OF CANTANHEZ NATIONAL PARK
IN GUINEA-BISSAU
TANIA MINHÓS
AND MARIA FERREIRA DA SILVA
BEING A NON-HUMAN PRIMATE IN A HUMANIZED WORLD
Non-human primates (hereafter primates) are frequently regarded as

special animals to us, humans. When we see them, either in the media, in
the zoo or in their natural habitats, we easily empathize with them as we
recognize human-like physical and behavioral similarities. They are our
closest phylogenetic living relatives, and, as primates, we share a series of
traits, such as an enlarged brain, slow development, complex sociality, ste-
reoscopic vision, and a more erect posture (Strier, 2000; Boyd & Silke,
2006). Primates share these and other traits that differentiate their evolution-
ary trajectory from that of other mammals, but are an incredibly diverse
group of species, varying enormously in their socio-ecological, behavioral,
morphological and cognitive features (Smuts et al., 1987; Strier, 2000).
Body size can range from a couple of tens of grams in the tiny nocturnal
mouse lemur from Madagascar to over 150 kg in the male gorillas from
Central Africa (Smuts et al., 1987; Strier, 2000). Although primates often
include more than one type of food in their diet, it is frequent for primate
teeth and guts to be adapted to process and digest one main type of food, the
species being described as folivore, frugivore, insectivore or gummivore.
Some primates are exclusively arboreal while others are mostly terrestrial.
Primates are often considered to be highly social, but species vary greatly
in the size and composition of their social groups. For instance, whereas
several prosimians are solitary primates, orangutans are semi-solitary, and
130 Chapter Ten
gibbons and titi monkeys live in pair-bonded systems. In all cases, the two
sexes have to disperse after puberty. Some tamarins and marmosets show a
less common grouping pattern, where a female shares the territory with
more than one male and their offspring and males assume a significant role
in parental care (polyandrous). Nonetheless, most primates live in polygy-
nous groups, in which several adult females and their dependent offspring
can share the territory with one or several adult males, forming one uni-
male–multi-female or multi-male–multi-female group, respectively (Strier,
2000; Boyd & Silke, 2006). The high need for social engagement results in
very complex social behaviors (e.g. cooperation, altruism, culture), which
are only possible due to an enlarged and complex brain that allows all their
group members’ interactions to be tracked (Tomasello & Call, 1997; Dun-
bar, 1998) and enables primates to come up with novel answers to novel
challenges. The rate and complexity at which innovation appears is im-
printed in the evolutionary trajectory of all living primates and our human
ancestors and was vital to our evolutionary success.
Primates can explore and adapt to a wide range of environments but are
highly vulnerable to extinction when their habitats are disturbed. Most pri-
mates inhabit tropical Africa, Asia, and South and Central America, over-
lapping with human populations that are fast-growing and highly dependent
on the exploitation of natural resources for financial income. As a result,
more than half of all species are threatened with extinction, exclusively as a
result of anthropogenic activities such as habitat destruction and fragmenta-
tion, hunting for bushmeat, pet trade or traditional practices or disease trans-
mission (Estrada et al., 2017). Living alongside humans has been a reality
for many primate populations, for centuries and/or millennia. In many rural
communities, primates are part of the peoples’ cosmogenies – their myths,
legends and folklore. The historical relationship between primates and hu-
mans shows that humans have been part of the non-human primates’ eco-
systems for many generations and co-existence has been possible and sus-
tainable. However, we have been witnessing, over the last decades, a rapid
change in this relationship as local human populations are drastically in-
creasing. Global demand for various crops (e.g. oil palm, rice, sugar cane),
livestock, timber, minerals or fossil fuels has led to a fast industry-driven
conversion and destruction of natural landscapes, dramatically reducing the
area of natural habitats available to primates (Estrada et al., 2017). Moreo-
ver, forested areas are more accessible to primate-targeting commercial
hunters (Fa et al., 2015; Nijman et al., 2011). As opposed to subsistence
hunting, commercial hunting extracts individuals at higher rates and accel-
erates the extinction of already small and isolated populations.
Primate behavioral adaptations to anthropogenic habitats 131
West Africa is a particularly sensitive region concerning primate con-

servation. West African primates are among the most threatened mammals
in the world (Brashares et al., 2001). Most populations survive in small and
isolated patches of natural habitat, surrounded by human-modified environ-
ments and faced with high levels of hunting (Conservation International,
2008). As a result, only those species that can display behavioral plasticity
facing new conditions will be able to persist in such anthropogenically-dom-
inated landscapes. Others, with a smaller degree of behavioral flexibility,
will most likely become extinct in coming decades. For example, the arbor-
eal black-and-white colobus monkey (Colobus ssp.) is known to adapt its
diet, group size, home-range, and dispersal when forests become smaller
and degraded, whereas the less socio-ecologically flexible red colobus (Pil-
iocolobus ssp.) tends to disappear faster from disturbed environments
(Minhós et al., 2013a; 2016; Onderdonk & Chapman, 2000). Chimpanzees
(Pan troglodytes) and baboons (Papio ssp.) have also been reported to i)
increase social bonding with unrelated females as a response to increased
intra-group competition (Barton et al. 2006; Lehmann & Boesch, 2009), ii)
change their diet in order to explore a wide variety of crop foods in crop-
dominated landscapes (Hockings & McLennan, 2012; Naughton-Treves et
al., 1998) and iii) cross human settlements, such as roads, villages or crop
fields (Hockings et al., 2006; 2015; Hoffman & O'Riain, 2012).
HOW SOCIO-ECOLOGICALLY FLEXIBLE

ARE THE PRIMATES FROM CANTANHEZ NATIONAL
PARK IN GUINEA-BISSAU?
Cantanhez National Park (CNP) (total area: 1,067 km2, Figure 1) is lo-
cated in the Tombali Administrative Region in the southwest of Guinea-
Bissau (NE limit: 11º22ƍ58ƎN, 14º46ƍ12ƎE; SW limit: 11º2ƍ18ƎS,
15º15ƍ58ƎW). Cantanhez means ‘Mountain of Forest’ and was declared a
national park in 2011 (Decreto 14/2011).
132 Chapter Ten
Figure 1. Map of the land cover of Cantanhez National Park, Guinea-Bissau (geo-
graphic information for the location of villages and land use data kindly provided by
IBAP)
The CNP is managed by the IBAP – Institute for Biodiversity and Pro-
tected Areas (https://www.ibapgbissau.org/index.php/pnc) and is a mosaic
of sub-humid, dry and mangrove forests and woodland savanna. It is home
to eight of the ten primate species found in Guinea-Bissau – the Western
chimpanzee (Pan troglodytes verus), the Guinea baboon (Papio papio), the
King colobus (Colobus polykomos), the Temminck’s red colobus (Piliocol-
obus temminckii), the Campbell’s monkey (Cercopithecus campbelli), the
Green monkey (Chlorocebus sabaeus), the sooty mangabey (Cercocebus
atys), and the Senegal bushbaby (Galago senegalensis) (Gippoliti &
Dell’Omo, 1996). Despite being a protected area, the CNP is a highly an-
thropogenic West African landscape. It is the home of over 20,000 people,
belonging to 10 different ethnic groups distributed across 110 villages
(Temudo, 2009). As a result of a high human population density, habitats
are fragmented by human settlements, such as roads, villages, and crop
fields (Simão, 1997; Figure 2).
Figure 2. Forest slashed and burned to be converted into agricultural fields (photo
by Maria Ferreira da Silva)
The Nalus were the first ethnic group to arrive on the Cantanhez Penin-
sula in the 16th century, and are considered the owners of the land. The Na-
lus have relied on traditional land-use management practices and religious
beliefs that convey some degree of protection to natural ecosystems (Frazão-
Moreira, 2001, 2009, 2016a; Sousa & Frazão-Moreira, 2010). The sustain-
able use of and respect for natural resources are common global features
among communities that rely on natural resources for their subsistence.
They are incredibly knowledgeable about the ecosystem and its functions
and have found ways to coexist with the other sympatric forms of life for
many centuries. However, as is the case for many other tropical areas around
the globe, Cantanhez has experienced a very rapid increase in the human
population. Currently, the local communities inhabiting the CNP are from
various ethnic groups and backgrounds, exhibiting practices, beliefs and
needs which are less compatible with the sustainable use of the forest’s nat-
ural resources. During the last decades, the areas occupied by the original
forest or that were considered sacred places have been converted to
croplands, mainly by slash-and-burn agriculture and the monoculture of
cashew trees (Oom et al., 2009), which constitutes a major threat to non-
human primates: they lose their habitats, their food supplies, their refuges
and come into closer contact with people, increasing the potential for con-
flicts and proneness to disease transmission (Hockings & Sousa, 2012,
2013). Additionally, all primates, with the exception of chimpanzees and
134 Chapter Ten
bushbabies, are commercially hunted for bushmeat consumption (Costa et

al., 2013; Gippoliti et al., 2003; Minhós et al., 2013b).
The primates from the CNP have been consistently studied for the past
ten years. The studies have been conducted by a multidisciplinary team of
researchers focusing on ecology, behavior, genetics, parasite infection and
local people’s perceptions, mainly with regard to four primates: the Western
chimpanzee, the Guinea baboon, the King colobus and the Temminck’s red
colobus (Bessa et al., 2015; Costa et al., 2013, 2017; Ferreira da Silva, 2012;
Ferreira da Silva et al., 2013, 2014, 2018; Frazão-Moreira, 2016b; Hockings
& Sousa, 2012, 2013; Minhós et al., 2013a, 2015, 2016; Parathian et al.,
2018; Sá et al., 2013; Sousa et al., 2011, 2014, 2017).
Here, we review the studies on primates from the CNP, namely chim-
panzees, baboons and colobus monkeys, that have reported behavioral
changes possibly as a response to recent human-induced alterations in the
environment. We discuss which environmental driver(s) may be responsible
for those behavioral changes and their conservation and evolutionary con-
sequences.
Chimpanzees are terrestrial forest-dwelling animals (McGrew et al.,
1981). The species is classified as frugivorous but also explores other foods
such as seeds, bulks, leaves, flowers, invertebrates and occasionally smaller
birds and mammals, including primates (Nishida & Hiraiwa-Hasegawa,
1987). It is thought that its feeding regime has a high impact on its social
system. Chimpanzees live in communities of 20 to over 100 individuals, in
multi-male–multi-female fission-fusion social groups (Hiraiwa-Hasegawa
et al., 1984). As they rely heavily on seasonal and scattered fruits, chimpan-
zee communities show very high inter-group competition for large territo-
ries and high intra-group female competition for food. Although chimpan-
zee socio-ecology is greatly influenced by a frugivorous regime, this great
ape shows remarkable dietary flexibility, being able to adjust and adapt its
feeding regime to different environments (Hockings et al., 2009; McLen-
nan, 2013). In the specific case of agricultural-dominated landscapes, chim-
panzees can even adjust their grouping patterns and risk assessment behav-
iors in order to explore the highly nutritious crop foods (reviewed in Hock-
ing et al., 2015). With the CNP being a mosaic of natural and human-altered
habitats dominated by crop fields, chimpanzees have altered their behavior
in order to explore a wide range of highly nutritious crops (Hockings &
Sousa, 2012, 2013; Bessa et al., 2015). Bessa and colleagues (2015) have
demonstrated that the chimpanzee community from Caiquene-Cadique in
the CNP was able to incorporate nine different fruit and non-fruit crops in
their diet, representing a total of 13.6% of all food consumed. They have
also shown that such dependence on crop foods is not affected by wild fruit
availability. This suggests that, rather than being forced to explore crop
foods as a result of a decrease in wild fruits’ availability, these chimpanzees
actually prefer to consume cultivated foods in times when they still have
wild fruit in the forest. This finding suggests at least two very interesting
but alarming facts: i) probably as a result of their high cognition, chimpan-
zees were able to adapt their dietary behavior, ranging and, most probably,
grouping patterns in a few generations in order to explore human-cultivated
foods; and ii) the fact that they choose to explore cultivated foods resulted
in increased contact with local human communities that may bring serious
economic, health and conservation consequences (Hockings & Sousa, 2013;
Bessa et al., 2015).
The Guinea baboon belongs to a behaviourally and ecologically flexible
but homogenous group (genus Papio, cf. Bergman, 2018; Kamilar, 2006)
that can benefit from living alongside human communities. They display a
set of behavioral responses that enable them to adapt quickly to human-re-
lated changes. In human-dominated environments, baboons are often at-
tracted towards areas where human food (crops or provisioned food) is
available because of higher predictability and improvement in foraging ef-
ficiency (Saj et al., 1999). Baboons may start to explore new diet items (Al-
berts & Altmann, 2006), change foraging routes and the location of sleeping
sites and shift home ranges to overlap with areas of better food availability
or to avoid perceived high-risk environments (Dunbar, 1988; Barton et al.,
1996; Cowlishaw, 1997). Their cognitive capacities, wide dietary range, and
opportunistic and co-operative behaviors make them a very successful spe-
cies at raiding and consuming human food (Sillero-Zubiri & Switzer, 2001).
However, the most frequent response of human communities to raiding ba-
boons is direct persecution and killing (Biquand et al.,1992). Baboons may
perceive hunters as predators, and thus hunting practices have the potential
to precipitate behavioral changes (Ferreira da Silva, 2012; Ferreira da Silva
et al., 2018). In other species, individuals reduce the risk of being hunted by
becoming more silent (Croes et al., 2006), adopting safer foraging and dis-
persal routes (Tutin et al., 1997), choosing not to disperse (Isbell & van
Duren, 1996) or adopting nocturnal habits (Krief et al., 2014). However, if
human-induced pressure overwhelms baboons’ behavioral ability to persist,
raiding populations may become extinct (e.g. hamadryas baboons: Biquand
et al.,1992; Guinea baboons: Galat et al.,1999-2000).
In Guinea-Bissau, the population of baboons have been reported to de-
cline since 1970-80 (Cá, 2008; Casanova & Sousa, 2006), mainly due to
persecution by farmers and poaching (Costa et al., 2013; Ferreira da Silva
et al., 2013, 2014; Minhós et al., 2013). CNP baboons show signs of behav-
136 Chapter Ten
ioral adjustments to frequent contact with human communities, and presum-

ably, to avoid hunters. Primate-targeted hunting is a nocturnal activity, car-
ried out at sleeping sites (Cá, 2008; Ferreira da Silva, 2012). Contrary to
other populations, which choose to sleep in tall trees (Anderson & McGrew,
1984), CNP baboons were observed to sleep in mangrove forests, where
trees are short but inaccessible to hunters (Casanova, personal communica-
tion). CNP baboons also feature reduced vocalizations when human pres-
ence is detected, in contrast to the less hunted Senegalese population (Fer-
reira da Silva et al., 2018), which is described to be highly vocal (Byrne,
1981). A geographically broad genetic study in Guinea-Bissau revealed a
genetic dissimilarity between female baboons from inside and outside the
Peninsula of Cantanhez and lower levels of genetic diversity for the CNP
population when compared to two other protected areas in Guinea-Bissau –
Cufada Lagoons Natural Park and Boé National Park (Ferreira da Silva et
al., 2014). These results suggest a recent decrease of the female-mediated
gene flow across the land bridge connecting the CNP to the mainland (Fer-
reira da Silva et al., 2014, 2018). The Guinea baboon is thought to be a
female-biased dispersal species (Koop et al., 2015), and these results reflect
a modest level of isolation of the CNP population. Most likely, female ba-
boons avoid crossing a large area of croplands and other human settlements
currently occupying the narrow land bridge between the Cubucaré Peninsula
where the CNP is located and the Guinea-Bissau mainland (Ferreira da Silva
et al., 2018). A decrease in gene flow may ultimately lead to the inbreeding
of the population and a consequent reduction of its reproductive fitness (Fer-
reira da Silva & Bruford, 2017).
The socio-ecology of African colobus monkeys contrasts greatly with
the previous two primates. Colobines are mainly arboreal and folivore pri-
mates, relying heavily on the existence of preserved and continuous forest
for survival (Figure 3).
Their digestive systems and behavior (e.g. activity patterns, home, and
daily range) are adapted to explore these nutritionally poor and hard to di-
gest food items, and they need large areas of primary forest in order to meet
their energetic requirements. Despite sharing many ecological requirements,
black-and-white colobus monkeys (BWC) differ substantially from red col-
obus monkeys (RC) in their social structure: i) BWC live in one-male–
multi-female small groups and RC live in large multi-male–multi-female
groups; ii) in BWC, dispersal is mainly male-mediated and in RC dispersal is
female-biased; and iii) BWC exhibit stronger female-bonding than RC females.
Figure 3. Temminck’s red colobus female grooming a king colobus baby in Iem-
berém forest (CNP, Guinea-Bissau) (photo by Tânia Minhós)
Some of their socio-ecological differences are most likely responsible for

their different levels of susceptibility to habitat disturbances (reviewed in
Oates & Davies, 1994). Although both primates are regarded as habitat and
food specialists, BWC are more resilient to degraded habitats, being able to
adapt their diet, group size, dispersal or ranging patterns to smaller forest
patches. In contrast, red colobus are usually the first primate to go extinct in
disturbed habitats, its presence being a good indicator of the quality of the
habitat (Minhós et al., 2013, 2016; Onderdonk & Chapman 2000; Struh-
saker, 2010). The CNP illustrates this situation very clearly. Minhós and
colleagues (2016), using genetic data, showed that both primates had under-
gone a recent and strong population decrease, most likely as a consequence
of the unsustainable human exploitation of the forest resources. Although
both primates currently exist in meager numbers (around 300 reproductive
individuals for each species), the red colobus experienced a more severe
population decrease and are absent from more degraded areas in the park.
The same team of researchers has detected behavioral changes in both pri-
mates, which are most likely responses to a poor and highly human-im-
pacted habitat. It was found that the BWC from the CNP have a flexible
dispersal system. Whereas dispersal has historically and across long dis-
tances been mediated mainly by males, dispersal is currently conducted by
138 Chapter Ten
both sexes within the CNP (Minhós et al., 2013a). The fact that females are
also dispersing in this population can be a response for either inbreeding
avoidance (long-tenure of the dominant male) or increased intra-group fe-
male competition for food resources (reviewed in Lawson-Handley & Per-
rin, 2007). Both drivers for female dispersal can be explained by the poor
habitat quality and availability. On the other hand, the less flexible RC from
the CNP do not seem to be able to adapt their group size or dispersal to the
reduced and fragmented habitat, but we found plasticity in the intra-group
female bonding. As a consequence of the female-dispersal system and their
folivore diet, RC females are not reported to engage in social bonding with
other females in the group (Struhsaker, 2010). We studied the social inter-
actions and estimated relatedness using genetic data for one RC social group
from the CNP. For the first time, we described high levels of social bonding
among non-related females, showing that kinship does not explain this co-
operation. It is likely that these females are experiencing increased levels of
intra-group competition as a result of inhabiting a degraded and small forest
and from being forced to cooperate with non-related females (Minhós et
al.,2015).
In this chapter, we have illustrated different behavioral responses that
four socio-ecologically different but sympatric primates exhibit in a human-
altered landscape. Despite their different levels of ecological/behavioral
flexibility and vulnerability to habitat disturbances, the four primate species
showed responses to the disturbances as attempts to adapt or cope with the
new environment. In the case of the chimpanzees, some behavioral changes
emerge as ways to explore new resources, and, although risking increased
competition with humans, may reflect their ability to adapt to the new con-
ditions. However, for the baboons and colobus, behavioral changes are
probably short-term responses to a deficient habitat and may reflect the spe-
cies’ inability to adapt to this human-altered landscape, which is indicative
of high conservation vulnerability. In either case, and despite their behav-
ioral flexibility, all four primates face increased risk of extinction as a result
of living in sympatry with a fast-growing human population, with negative
consequences for the long-standing co-existent relation between human and
non-human primates in the CNP.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
We are very grateful to the Guinea-Bissau governmental agencies Instituto

de Biodiversidade e Áreas Protegidas (IBAP), for sampling permits and
fieldwork logistics, and to Direcção Geral de Florestas e Fauna (DGFF) for
samples exportation permits; to all research assistants and guides and to the
researchers that have been working in Cantanhez National Park for the past
years and directly or indirectly contributed with results reviewed by this
work: Cláudia Sousa, Catarina Casanova, Kimberly Hockings, Amélia
Frazão-Moreira, Susana Costa, Joana Sousa, Rui Sá, Joana Bessa, Hellen
Bersacola, Michael Bruford , Lounès Chikhi; ; This work was supported by
FCT - Fundação para a Ciência e a Tecnologia, (PTDC/IVC-
ANT/3058/2014), Born Free Foundation, Chester Zoo Conservation Fund,
Primate Conservation Incorporated. MJFS worked under a FCT contract
(CEECIND/01937/2017).
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
AMAZONIA:
IN SEARCH OF A COMPLEX
AND DECOLONIZED HUMAN ENGAGEMENT
WITH THE ENVIRONMENT
FRANCISCO J. D. BIDONE
INTRODUCTION: THE “EL DORADO”?
The objective of this chapter is to discuss human engagement with the

environment in the Brazilian Amazon from an historical perspective. We
start by briefly discussing the construction of the initial Eurocentric
imagery, which began influencing the modern perception of Amazonia.
We then present a critical analysis of possible alternatives to a future
pathway for the region, one that would be characterized by socio-
ecological fairness and harmony.
Human engagement with the Amazon rainforest dates back thousands
of years (Castro, 2010). For a long period of time, people and the
Amazonian environment evolved in harmony with the movements of
nature. Indigenous realities were thus conceived in oneness with the
motions of natural events. This interconnectedness refers to an ontological
vision of the forest as the locus for the reproduction of life, in both its
material and spiritual dimensions. However, this relation was eternally
changed by the arrival of the Europeans to this sacred environment, which
they referred to as “the New World” in the 1500s.
The trail-breaking crossing of the Spanish explorer and conquistador
Francisco de Orellana (1540) through the Amazon River, narrated by
Gaspar de Carvajal (1955, modern edition), perhaps constituted the basis
of Eurocentric narratives regarding the Amazon. Following Orellana, the
next centuries saw many other distinguished pioneers envision the territory
from a similar perspective. As one can read in the diary entries of voyagers
146 Chapter Eleven
or fictional stories, early Amazonian travellers built narratives composed

by socially constructed imaginaries made up of the region’s features, the
perceiver’s own senses and a fear of the unknown. Examples of such
narratives could be read in Carvajal’s diaries from 1542 which describe
Orellana’s initial voyage, as well as in Levi Strauss’s or Humboldt’s
scientific accounts centuries thereafter, or in the works of Brazilian
fictional writers, such as Euclides da Cunha or Milton Hatoum. The
following extract from Carvajal’s diaries shows a conflict between the
Spanish and Amerindians whose leaders on the battlefield were named
Amazonas after Greek mythology, thus giving name to the river (Carvajal,
1955):
They [Spanish] fought the Indians who had women in the lead of battle
(…) These women were very white and tall and had long hair, wrapped
around their heads, they were muscular and walked naked, keeping their
shame covered with leather. Bows and arrows in the hands fighting like ten
Indians.
Under similar terms, the following extract from Padre Cristóbal de

Acuña’s Nuevo descubrimiento del gran Rio de las Amazonas (1641)
ratifies the claim of fantastic reports about endless riches and mythical
views around Amazonia:
If the golden lake has the gold that the general opinion ascribes to it, if the
Amazons indeed inhabit among the greatest riches of the planet, as many
have held witness; if Tocantins, made so famous by the French for its
precious stones and abundance of gold; (…) then, in this Great River
everything is enclosed: the golden lake, the Amazons, the Tocantins and
the rich Omáguas (...) In it is deposited the immense treasure which the
majesty of God has preserved to enrich with that of our great king Philip
the fourth. (Acuña, 1994, 103)
What is El Dorado? There are multiple and contrasting meanings of El

Dorado. When narrating the enterprises of Francisco Pizarro and Francisco
de Orellana, for example, Gonzalo Fernandez de Oviedo (1522) claims
that, besides searching for Indian spices, these adventurers were also in
search of the ruler of a marvellous country, a prince named Dorado.
Sozina (1982) claims that the origin of El Dorado resides in the discovery
and looting of Aztec gold. After conducting an expedition to the region,
Walter Raleigh (1595) believed that El Dorado was located in what is now
the Brazilian state of Rondônia. This is to name but a few authors. In any
case, despite the disputed veracity of its meaning and origins, the
colonization of the Amazon remains tied to the implications of the
Amazonia: in search of a complex and decolonized human engagement 147
with the environment
mythical subjection embodied by the multiple ideas of El Dorado. In

modern days, the ideology within State policies and economic enterprises
is still accompanied by such mythological elements (Castro, 2010).
The immense proportions of the Amazon intimidate newcomers.
Logistical difficulties posed by natural and geographical features have
historically been well documented and described, even in the most heroic
and oftentimes embellished tales. The archetype constituted in the myth of
El Dorado is perhaps the initial Western vision projected on the Amazon.
In this mythical symbolic space, dreams of abundance dwelled in the
promise of a fertile land filled with natural resources and riches (Castro,
2010). This vision was intensely pursued in the mercantilist undertakings
initiated by Europe’s advances into the New World. Nevertheless,
geographical obstacles as well as resistance from local populations
culminated in hostile situations faced by settlers. Such difficulties served
two purposes: on the one hand, they hindered colonial insertion and
progress, which preserved the livelihoods of local inhabitants and the
conservation of the Amazonian ecosystem in general terms; on the other,
they consolidated the leitmotif of the territory to be conquered, broken in,
and tamed by colonial powers.
One could attempt to explain the rationale of El Dorado by reading
Vieira’s (2016) surveys on the different stories created by humans to make
sense of the daunting Amazonian environment. For her, these stories serve
as portraits of the Western engagement with the region and constitute a
response to an utterly foreign landscape, where the interconnectedness of
humans within the rainforest— humans, fauna, flora and natural events—
emerges with the utmost appeal to Western perceptions. As argued by
Vieira, the interconnected character of human interaction within the
ecosystem signifies a breakdown of the processes of individuation,
delimitation and demarcation, which compose the modern illusion of man
as a unified independent subject. Nevertheless, the impossibility of taming
and ruling over the Amazonian immensity and complexity is also
embedded in the subjectivities concerning this perception.
In psychoanalytic terms, it evokes the Freudian death drive, at the liminal

point where life and death, being and non-being, converge. In
contemporary philosophical language, it could be equated to Deleuze and
Guattari’s idea of a “body without organs”, where all hierarchies and
totalizations collapse. In political terms, it would amount to pure anarchy, a
state in which various elements converge and diverge without any
predetermined rules or stable structures. (Vieira, 2016, 119)
148 Chapter Eleven
Under such terms, a dichotomic character was also assumed by early

perceptions of Amazonia, which either identified it as a “green hell” or a
“heavenly paradise”. The author claims that the vilification and idealization
of the Amazon, its representation as either an inimical or a friendly space,
are but two sides of the same coin. Faced with the proliferation of fauna
and flora in the forest, Western colonizers, intellectuals, and later various
governments of Amazonian nations superimposed upon the region the
readymade religious fables of hell and paradise, enemy and friend, good
and evil, as a response to their inability to come to terms with the
complexity of Amazonian life. The very proliferation of travel narratives
and fictional literature about the region testifies to its fetishizing as a
symbol of wild nature (Vieira, 2016).
In addition, we claim that the concept of otherness, as proposed by
Bauman (1991), also makes up the mythical psychoanalytical framework
within which the Amazon is perceived. Bauman (1991) argues that social
identities are set up as dichotomies representative of the power dynamics
present in the social order. In this dichotomous framework, one side turns
out to be the oppressed or degraded side of the other. The rule of power is
reflected differently on each side, as the group enjoying greater political
power controls the construction and representation of majority and
minority identities within the society. Hierarchy is therefore present in this
framework, in which certain groups are socially constructed as being
superior to others. In the case of Amazonia, the dominance of colonial
narratives has led to the creation of the subordinate other.
This other might even dwell in a racist conception of sub-people,
portrayed in the symbolically constructed figure of the savage—the non-
civilized, as coined by Ribeiro (1995). The other is constantly re-framed
into the dialectics of the social construction of Amazonian space and
frontiers. The forest ecosystem is at times portrayed as the other that needs
to be broken or excluded, so that modernity can emerge. Thus, traditional
knowledge and indigenous livelihoods as the other do not represent the
culture and epistemological models present within the social and cultural
identities of hegemonic powers. Consequently, the most recent views on
the rainforest (capitalistic conservationism) also address it in a simplistic
manner. An example is the economic and utilitarian view present in the
modern concept of environmental or ecosystem services (Wilson and
Matthews, 1970; Ehrlich and Mooney, 1983).
Narratives reflected in the above-mentioned works reduce Amazonian
complexities to economic or tokenized visions. In turn, such visions are
representative of a homogenized Amazonia that is deprived of its
structural, cultural and social complexities. It excludes other perceptions
that account for the longstanding cultural and historical spatial interaction
of humans within the Amazonian milieu. Reductionisms create a
dichotomy or a binary division, in Foucaultian terms (Foucault, 1977),
between: (a) what is accepted by market-oriented political, social and
human-constructed institutions—which in most recent times came to be
known as neoliberal governmentality—and (b) identified obstacles for the
spatial implementation of capitalist or mercantilist enterprises.
COLONIAL POWER AND KNOWLEDGE
Colonial knowledge and epistemologies are a social grammar embedded

within the construct of public and private spaces, culture, mentalities and
subjectivities. Not only do they facilitate a way of living for those
benefitting from them, but they also reveal the harsh realities of those who
suffer the effects of their implementation (B. Santos, 2010). Consequently,
to decolonize means to break the condition of subordination that resulted
from supplanting local knowledge with foreign epistemologies.
Edward Said’s Orientalism (1991) is seminal research in this
connection. His work deals with the West’s structuring of the East, or
Orient, as the global other. For Said, it was this conception that prepared
the backdrop for the cultural, social and political take-over of non-Western
regions by hegemonic European powers. Said’s concept of Orientalism
points out that, even if political independence has been reached in Oriental
nations, the systems of representation and thinking—and thus the basis of
colonial power relations—are greatly maintained. For him, this represents
an ontological and epistemological distinction between the European West
and the Orient.
The colonial dominance of a capitalistic narrative is value-laden.
Under its own terms, it establishes the dominant cultural meaning or
understanding of poverty and wealth; what is modern and what is archaic;
what is civilized and what is un-civilized. Other means of livelihood and
forms of human interaction are therefore subject to be classified through
the notions of material scarcity, and the absence of relevant knowledge or
civilized manners. It automatically designs and assigns its meanings to
poverty, ignorance or incivility. Rather than perceiving other cultures as
abundant and plural, inventive and rich, the capitalist perception will
define them as poor and disenchanted.
In practical terms, Eliane Brum (2018) claims that, in Brazil and
throughout Latin America, such a reversal of values is pre-conditioned by
colonial dominance. If a large-scale land-grabber is called a “farmer”,
“land grabbing” becomes part of “agribusiness” and the criminal origin of
150 Chapter Eleven
the deed is erased. The protagonists are perceived as performing an

important activity for the common good of society, and agricultural
producers as solely guided by a common sense of capitalistic production.
This so-called “common sense” was instrumental in constructing Brazil’s
social identity. Such identity legitimates determined elements as positive
while casting away others as negative elements in Brazil’s social fabric.
Looking at this process from a higher scale, particularly in view of the
dominance of neoliberal governments across the global political economy,
poverty and disenchantment in the region are closely linked to processes
of historical enclosure. The capitalistic appropriation of land causes a
massive dispossession of local populations and deprives local inhabitants
from accessing the land (Bollier, 2003), precluding the metabolic reproduction
of local livelihoods. As explained by Harvey (2004), accumulation by
dispossession is a primitive form of capitalist accumulation. It is a process
that involves the elimination (dispossession) of rights and establishes
capitalist control of collective forms of property—such as nature, water
and knowledge—thereby increasing accumulation. He emphasizes how
this current expansion is a form of robbery, the “original sin” of primitive
accumulation, whereby the current over- accumulation does not cease.
Blinded by the multiple narratives that compose human engagement with
the Amazonian environment, what is left is a desert of unfulfilled promises
for progress. Unfortunately, this is a common reality in today’s Amazonia.
Elements within the foundational myth of El Dorado have been present
throughout different historical periods and constantly reframed to fit new
historical contexts. The maintenance of a colonial imposition of knowledge
was present in the era of mercantilism (1500–1750), through national
developmentalism (20th century), and later towards the present neoliberal
conservationism (21st century). One central argument in this chapter is
that this symbolic dimension provides the necessary elements for the
making of Amazonian spatial policies. Narratives are constantly evolving
to fit new agendas of intervention. In the case of the Amazonian space,
they are created by dominant powers to exploit it for particular interests.
Such narratives emerge from two disparate visions of the Amazon region:
either as an eternal expanding frontier for economic growth (Greenpeace,
2017) or as the lungs of the planet (UNEP, 2017). In both cases, the
structural elements of El Dorado are present in the imagery of a vast green
territorial void, abundant in natural resources and open for the taking.
The issue of conservationist narratives of the Amazon requires further
discussion. Since the 1970s, environmental concerns have led to an
increase in ecological movements worldwide and their empowerment.
Such movements question and challenge the impacts of capitalism on the
environment and, in some cases, even impede businesses indefinitely.

Sustainable development as a concept has been the most practical outcome
in development policies emerging from such movements—under the
narrative that there are limits to economic growth. For Passetti (2012),
sustainable development is the conservative conductor for solving the
environmental crisis, the most grievous issue of which is climate change;
moreover, it is guided by a consensus on the dilemma between
environmental conservation and economic growth. Sustainable development
is a solution embedded within capitalism’s dominant narratives: economic
growth, top-down initiatives, languages and structures.
By applying different forms and instruments, the emergence of
sustainability within policy maintains the colonial aspects of previous
models of development. An example of such a claim is reflected by the
international initiative of “Reducing Emissions from Deforestation and
Forest Degradation" (REDD+), a rainforest conservation strategy proposed
at the United Nations Forum on Climate Change. Applied to several
Amazonian nations’ localities over the past decade, it maintains certain
colonial aspects: the rainforest is commodified and used to compensate for
CO2 emissions elsewhere; foreign guidelines to halting deforestation are
applied to local policies; effects on local peoples and their livelihoods; and
outcomes are not necessarily representative of local empowerment bred
from bottom-up strategies.
Changes in Brazil’s political arena, from right-wing governments of
the past decades to the recent progressive “Partido dos Trabalhadores”,
have not altered the capitalist, colonial aspects of spatial development in
the Amazon region. A very recent example of colonial interests is the
construction of the dams of Belo Monte, Pará—an enterprise that has
caused great socio-environmental impacts, such as an egregious disregard
for local populations and massive displacement of people.
The following passages from different historical periods exemplify the
perception of the overall structure of Amazonia as El Dorado. First,
Euclides da Cunha in his famous series of essays Um Paraíso Perdido:
ensaios amazônicos, written from 1904 to 1909, claimed that “the Amazon
is the last page, to be written, from the Genesis” (Cunha, 2000). Later,
President Getúlio Vargas, in a notorious speech given in Manaus, also
envisioned the Amazon as the next frontier for Brazilian progress, while
proclaiming man’s rule over nature in Brazil’s Amazonia. Perhaps such a
notion of progress could also mean the utmost realization (or the Genesis)
of modern development. In the words of President Getúlio Vargas (1941,
229):
152 Chapter Eleven
All of Brazil has eyes turned to the north [of Brazil], with the patriotic
desire to assist in the emergence of its development—not only Brazilians,
but also foreigners, technicians and businessmen. They will come to assist
in this endeavour, applying their experience and their capital in order to
increment commerce and industries…. Amazonian legends have deep roots
in the soul of its people’s race and history, marked by heroism and virile
audacity. They reflect the tragic majesty of the fights against destiny. To
conquer the land and to subject the forest have been our duties. In this
secular fight, we have obtained victory after victory1.
The First National Plan for Development introduced by the Military

Dictatorship (1964–1985) was precisely utilitarian in its vision for
Amazonian future, as observed below (PND I, 1971, 29):
The strategy for the Amazon is to integrate its territory for development….
Economic occupation and development will take advantage of the
expansion of economic frontiers, to absorb the populational surplus from
other Brazilian regions and raise income and welfare levels of the Amazon
region2.
At the dawn of the 21st century, well-intentioned proposals for the

conservation of the Amazon rainforest are still representative of
economic interests placed by foreign agendas. This is the case of the
REDD+ implementation. The following excerpt is withdrawn from a
report by the German Federal Ministry for Economic Cooperation and
Development, currently a major funder for anti-deforestation projects
in the Brazilian Amazon, such as REDD+. The global and economic
rationale present within this narrative clearly represents the present
discourse for rainforest conservation in the midst of the climate change
phenomena.
The Brazilian Amazon hosts a quarter of the world’s terrestrial species,

carries out 15% of terrestrial photosynthesis and contains an enormous
carbon stock—all of which contribute significantly to global social and
economic benefits. (BMZ, 2015)
1 Translated by the author.

FUNDAMENTAL CHANGES IN KNOWLEDGE AND POSSIBLE

ALTERNATIVES FOR AMAZONIA
The Amazon rainforest entered the 21st century with great importance
in political, cultural and scientific dimensions. In general, narratives
continue to describe its immense stock of natural resources and the living
experiences of its peoples. These perceptions can be observed in
descriptions of the Amazon as “the lungs of the world”, as it is widely
regarded as the most biodiverse tropical forest on the planet, with the
greatest stock of minerals and the largest river, constituting one third of
the world’s fresh water. Such claims strike the most diverse interests, from
environmentalists to scientists, politicians or corporate executives. The
context of climate change has also added pressure on the path that the
Amazon might take in the coming future. It reaffirms the imminent
necessity to halt deforestation and secure the world’s carbon absorption
and climate regulation “services” provided by the Amazon rainforest.
However, there is far more complexity in understanding Amazonia
than such discourses or mottos can clarify. As claimed by Milton Santos
(1997), the geographic space is an accumulation of different times.
Different temporalities are thus co-inhabiting within the space (Porto
Gonçalves, 1999). Over 180 different indigenous populations with their
own dialects, hundreds of communities of quilombolas and ribeirinhos,
and settlers from the Brazilian south or northeast compose the rich socio-
cultural diversity that constitute different Amazonian realities, apart from
the millions of people dwelling in urban centres—centralities that emerged
from the massive dislocation of peoples and regional environmental
depletion. For this reason, it is imperative to assess the plurality of
realities, visions and perceptions that constitute the Amazon as a region.
The work of the geographer Berta Becker (1988) regarding the social
production of space in the Amazon is particularly relevant to this
discussion. In line with her considerations, to understand the actual
frontiers in the social production of space, one should move beyond the
dichotomies between the capitalist worldview and its conceptualized
Baumanian other. Doing so would require a move towards complexity,
which can be assessed by applying systems theory.
Systems theory was initially conceived in the fields of theoretical
physics and quantum mechanics. While analyzing complex phenomena at
the microscopic level, unusual systems and dissipative structures were
observed in the processes of breaking the conservation of constituent
elements at a larger scale. This concluded in the interpretation that
molecular disorder had led to irreversible growth. The evolution of the
154 Chapter Eleven
system had reached new states of probability. The historic notion of a

linear and irreversible growth was counteracted, insofar as micro-scale
processes had influenced its redirection. For Becker, such properties might
also be inherent and applied to social bodies in the field of social sciences.
Hence, the social sciences should be able to incorporate such discoveries
to enrich their analytical power (Becker 1988).
Rather than thinking of such a reduced epistemic divide in the
development of Amazonian territorialities, as observed with the Foucaultian
binary divide, one should assess the dynamics of frontiers as a non-linear
process, wherein ongoing tensions in the chain of actions and reactions
among the multiple stakeholders are constantly reshaping social relations.
Spatial frontiers are in constant motion; they are subject to contexts and
uncertainties.
The issue of scales is particularly important, as local realities are also
shaped by movements on multiple scales. Therefore, thinking merely of a
binary conflict, for instance between peasants and capitalist agendas,
would be insufficient for a thorough approach. Under a larger scale of
analysis, one might observe how the peasant resistance movement is
already embedded within the dominant global neoliberal governmentality.
It exerts its dominance to influence regions, states and localities
worldwide, both materially and subjectively. Assessments at the local
level might not sufficiently allow one to observe and understand how the
actual frontiers are being shaped and contoured along upper scales—for
example, the changes and evolutions of global geopolitics or the constant
tensions set in the Brazilian political arena.
Frontiers function as complex adaptive systems, as they are shaped by
different temporal, spatial and social scales, nested hierarchies, irreducible
uncertainty, multidimensional interactions and emergent properties
(Giampietro et al., 2011). In other words, the social production of space
and how we assess frontiers in Amazonian territorialities should take into
account the imponderable as well as the uncertainties emerging in the
Amazonian social fabric. An assessment must pay careful attention to the
interplay between scales and how they influence or alter the dynamics in
which local realities are developing. In turn, they should also bear in mind
the feedback loops emerging from local events exerting pressure on the
national or global arenas.
Chico Mendes’s claim for an eco-socialist approach to human
engagement with the natural environment could also play a significant role
in addressing the construct of Amazonian social frontiers. In the 1980s, the
so-called “empates” were established by rubber tappers as a means of
resistance against the imminent takeover of the forested land by cattle
ranchers and loggers. In northern Brazil, the construction of highway BR-

364 had already proven its destructive effects through the states of Mato
Grosso and Rondônia. The plans to continue its construction into Acre
raised even more pressure on local social movements to secure their land
and access to the rainforest.
The rubber tappers’ defence of the forest began locally as a workers’
syndicate movement. As claimed by Porto-Gonçalves (2009), the
resistance’s success in the long run can be partially explained by their
newly established connection to other scales of power, some even reaching
far beyond the forest’s frontiers. Chico Mendes understood the formation
of a worldwide ecological movement as a break in the dominant system of
world power and knowledge. The “Limits to Growth Report” proposed
that capitalism’s dynamics could not go on as usual. The scarcity of
resources and the total failure of global ecosystems became a worldwide
concern. Under global narratives for sustainable development and the
adherence of international ecological movements, the rubber tappers’
movement out of Xapurí, in the state of Acre, gained great prominence.
But most importantly, it led to new alliances in the political scenario by
broadening social and power relations in the region, and reshaping
frontiers and socio-political boundaries (Porto-Gonçalves 1999).
In this present discussion of potential future pathways for Amazonia,
we might find a certain resonance with the process of decolonization, as
proposed by authors such as Boaventura de Sousa Santos, Enrique Dussel
and Edward Said. As we have pointed out, the maintenance of a colonial
imposition of knowledge was most present in the era of mercantilism
(1500–1750), through national developmentalism (20th century), and
towards the present neoliberal conservationism (21st century). The
influence of colonialism is further accentuated in a global context that
imposes a series of added pressures on the environment (e.g. land
grabbing, extractive resources, and corporate political alliances). As
advocated by Boaventura de Sousa Santos (2010), it is necessary to
decolonize knowledge and reinvent power in order to facilitate the
emergence of new epistemologies, particularly those originating in the
Global South. For Boaventura, the most advanced struggles of the last
thirty years were carried out by indigenous peasantry, female activists and
Afro-descendants residing in remote locations, like Amazonia. However,
their demands were not translated into colonial languages. Terms such as
“socialism”, “human rights”, “democracy” and “development” were
absent in their respective vernaculars. Instead, they spoke of “dignity”,
“respect”, “territory”, “self-government”, and “buen vivir” (“good living”)
in Mother Earth.
156 Chapter Eleven
The Amazonian case is not different from other regions of the world
that were also profoundly colonized. An imposed model of development
designed by top-down dynamics is the historical backdrop of Amazonian
contemporaneity. To invert such logic could mean a move towards local
empowerment. Important examples of attempts to resist the impositions of
the development model have historically been present, not only within the
Amazonia of Brazil, but also in other nations of South America. In 2017,
most environmental conflicts involving assassinations of local leaders and
activists occurred in South America (Global Witness, 2018).
Under these terms, “to decolonize” means to deconstruct the historical
myths that have historically shaped the imagery of Amazonia. In addition,
it means to rethink the engagement between humans and nature. A new
rationale of this relation should demonstrate how far more complex and
interconnected the relation of man and nature is after long ago being
driven away by the so-called Age of Enlightenment’s idea of
anthropocentric control over nature. In The Web of Life, Fritjof Capra
(1996) contributes to this discussion by stating that modernity suffers from
a crisis of perception, in which global leaders and the dominant
institutions they govern do not realize the interconnectedness between
problematic issues currently faced by the global community—i.e. poverty,
inequality, climate change, social conflicts and environmental depletion, to
name but a few. The world is not a collective of isolated elements, but
rather a complex network of phenomena in total interconnection and
interdependence.
As Capra claims, only a radical change in perception, incorporated
through systemic thinking, might allow humanity to perceive the operation
of global systems in a more holistic manner. In other words, we must
begin perceiving the interconnectedness of issues faced by humanity at the
dawn of the 21st century. Capra could not be closer to ancient Amazonian
knowledge: the other, as conceptualized earlier in this chapter, historically
oppressed by hegemonic power and knowledge.
The words of Ailton Krenak, an important indigenous leader in Brazil,
adheres to the idea of the crisis of perception as pointed out by Capra:
For me, there are still visions of life that sing and dance to raise the sky.
When the sky is putting pressure on the world, some humans are singing
and dancing to raise the skies…. I don’t accept the check-mate, the end of
the world or the end of history. In this hard, contemporaneous moment, is
when I evoke the necessity to sing, dance and raise the sky3 (Milanez,
2016).

CONCLUSION
This chapter discussed aspects related to changes in human engagement

with the Amazonian environment since the arrival of Europeans in the
1500s. First, we argued the importance of the myth of El Dorado as the
initial Eurocentric vision of Amazonia. Over time, human engagement
evolved into a psychoanalytical framework that is most present in Western
epistemologies and ontological perceptions—i.e. the inability to perceive
humans and nature as one. Further, we claimed that such epistemological
reductionism in envisioning the Amazon is reflected in the construction of
the other. This construction established relations of power by generating
hierarchical social identities, where the other is but the inferior of the
dominant side. Dominance through hegemony is applied through the
effectiveness of a dominant social grammar embedded within the construct
of social space and subjectivities. Such application of power and
knowledge has been historically present in human engagement with the
Amazon. Most importantly, it has determined a model of development by
which social relations perceive local forms of knowledge as subordinate
while depleting the rainforest ecosystem.
We then moved on to present possible alternatives to such reduced
epistemes. In this connection, we offered two key elements: the importance
of viewing the social production of space under the prism of complexity,
and the importance of decolonizing power and knowledge. We pointed out
how complexity theory (within systems theory) might allow us to perceive
the social construction of Amazonian frontiers from a broader perspective.
Such complexification might allow us to better grasp the actual
subjectivities and materialisms shaping Amazonian reality.
Moreover, we offered the idea that in addition to complexifying the
way Amazonian reality is assessed, we should also attempt to decolonize
the spatialization of colonial knowledge. Decolonization might assist the
emergence of local solutions and the adoption of bottom-up visions for
constructing the future.
The crisis of perception, as conceptualized by Capra (1996), showed us
how indigenous Amazonians have always thought of their lives and their
interaction within the Amazonian space—where human engagement with
the environment is complex, interconnected and interdependent.
158 Chapter Eleven
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CHAPTER TWELVE
ENVIRONMENTAL CONFLICTS AND MAN-

NATURE REPRESENTATIONS IN THE BUILDING
OF THE PORTUGUESE EUROPEAN IDENTITY
PAULO E. GUIMARÃES1
INTRODUCTION
In 1901, Eça de Queiroz’s A Cidade e as Serras [The Town and the

Hills]2 was published. The novel presents the dilemma of one member of
the Portuguese landed elite who rediscovers the beauty and capacity for
physical and mental regeneration through the humanized nature of his
country, which he contrasts with the comfort and pleasures that cities and
technological progress offer the bourgeoisie. His experiences, split
between Paris and his village, reflect the dilemmas facing a civilization
based on the virtues of science and technology, material prosperity and
industrialization as a means of achieving welfare and power. To him,
Portugal is a country with a rustic beauty in which poverty is intertwined
with the simplicity of people, where happiness is possible due to the
ability to enjoy the simple things of rural life and the paternalism of local
elites. Thus, the fruits of industrial civilization should be adopted
selectively through policies ensuring health and well-being. The debate
was marked at that time by a mood of nationalism, with the Portuguese
elite divided over the path of economic growth the country should follow
(Mendes, 1996). Faced with a choice, Queiroz’s protagonist opted for
agrarianism.
1 This research was funded by the FCT (Fundação para a Ciência e a Tecnologia)
as part of project UID/CPO/00758/2013.

2 Eça de Queirós (1845-1900) was a career diplomat and acclaimed realist writer. A
Cidade e as Serras is considered one of the “must read” 20th-century Portuguese

novels and has been recommended by educational authorities for school students.
162 Chapter Twelve
A book published to celebrate Portugal’s participation in Brazil’s

National Fair in Rio de Janeiro (1908) reinforced that vision, with a
description of the country’s economic and social life. The chapter about
the development of Portuguese industry begins as follows:
The Portuguese people, who history shows are dashing, adventurous and
tenacious, fighting for each span of their kingdom, discovering and
conquering new lands, distinguishing themselves as audacious navigators,
laborious colonizers, strenuous warriors and unflagging farmers, had never
shown a particularly industrial nature. (Simões, 1908, 359)
Portugal was defined as being essentially agrarian against those who

considered the country to be mainly rural and who called for it to
overcome its ‘backwardness’. The debate, which had divided the political
elite since the agrarian crisis of the 1880s, deepened during the First
Republic (1910-1926) and extended until the end of Salazar’s regime
(Brito, 1989)3. Emerging regionalism and motorized tourism after the
1930s reinforced images of Portugal through stereotyped agrarian
landscapes, celebrations of nature transformed by hard physical work by
Portuguese peasants, their animals and simple tools. Landscapes intended
to be essential, such as the vineyard terraces of the Douro Valley or
Madeira, the cork tree forests in the south, or the fishing towns, were, in
fact, the result of the close integration of Portuguese capitalism into the
British world economy combined with protectionist agrarian policies.
Those traditionalist images became iconic for regional identity building
(see Queiroz, 2017).
The image of Portugal as agrarian and traditionalist Catholic was
consolidated during the Estado Novo. It became part of the nationalist
discourse on its peculiarity and was celebrated by decorating railway
stations with images of past glories and humanized landscapes painted on
tiles as part of a project that was promoted until the 1940s (Lourenço,
2004). This traditionalist corporatism was presented as an alternative to
capitalism and communism and their shared belief in science and
technology as tools for human progress. This peculiar path to modernity,
which resided within Portugal’s Catholic and imperial mission, was
affirmed at Portugal’s contribution to the 1939 New York World Fair.
Neo-realist literature challenged the hegemonic narrative by offering
counter images of everyday life that celebrated those worked and suffering
3 The 1940s were considered a turning point for the development of industrial
projects (see Brito, 1989), while during the 1960s the growth of industrial exports
to Western European countries somehow undermined the African imperial project
after Salazar was replaced in 1968.
Environmental conflicts and man-nature representations in the building 163
landscapes. It is unsurprising that it took until the late 1960s until the
Marxist historian Armando Castro felt able to speak out about the
“industrial revolution in 19th-century Portugal”, with his successors
speaking of “islands of industrialization” in the country, recognizing
Portugal was not completely separate from contemporary industrial
growth trends.
Environmental problems affecting industrialized countries could not be
farther from the lives and consciences of the Portuguese people. It seemed
as if in a country of farmers, fishermen, sailors and picturesque villages
that only the cities of Lisbon and Porto would experience the pollution and
environmental degradation found in other European cities. Here we see
that environmental conflicts both provide a view of competing visions on
the appropriation and use of natural resources and the irreversible
processes transforming the environment, and help question contemporary
representations and nationalist identity constructions. Based on recent
contributions and empirical research, this chapter identifies different types
of conflict resulting from the expansion of industry in Portugal from the
second half of the 19th century.
OTHER RURAL LANDSCAPES
It is often believed environmental awareness came to Portugal either in

the late 1960s or in the wake of the Carnation Revolution, and that the
environment was not an issue for common people (Soromenho-Marques,
2005). However, the historiography of environmental conflict in Portugal
since the late 19th century – a period of liberalization, capital investment
and external demand – is changing, or is at least challenging those
assumptions. Different geographical case studies of the mining and
metallurgical industries, commercial agriculture and industrial fishing
offer a view of a country that was concerned with the environmental
problems caused by opening up to world markets and agrarian capitalism
(Vaquinas, 1990; Freire, 2000; Guimarães, 2016; Silva, 2013).
The appropriation of common land and the destruction of the ancient
collective system of production, the extension of rice growing in the
Mondego and Sado river valleys that caused an increase in malaria
morbidity4, increased pressure on marine resources due to the growth of
4 Malaria was endemic in many regions of Portugal due to the marshes that appear
during dry summers and affect rivers and streams; it became identified with “rural
population” and rice production. State-sponsored initiatives to deal with this major
health problem appeared during 1930s, but the disease remained uncontrolled up to
the 1950s. See Carvalho (1899) and Saavedra (2013).
164 Chapter Twelve
the export-oriented canning industry or the advent of large-scale mining

and soil erosion and contamination, air and water pollution due to the
transformation of pyrites, cassiterites (tungsten), Galena, tin and uranium
all became causes of local contention. Violence and protests often erupted
after periods of tension between the affected populations and often foreign
business groups, caused by environmental disruption. Conflicts sometimes
broke out long after the environmental damage occurred. In other cases,
such as with uranium mining, conflicts over liabilities and reparations
emerged many years after the mines had closed. In the 1950s, radioactive
water caused by the extraction method used in the uranium mines was
dumped directly into the Mondego river (Veiga, 2014, 57-58). Popular
struggles for environmental justice challenge images of the recent rural
environment. At the beginning of the 20th century, the three main rivers in
the center and south of the country (Mondego, Sado and Guadiana) were
contaminated by a modern mining industry promoted and encouraged by
the state after the 1930s.
Environmental conflict offers a nuanced view of this bucolic image of
a landscape populated by a hard-working people and crossed by railways –
images often captured in photographs and paintings and shared in the press
in celebration of this agrarian matrix of capitalist development.
Simultaneously, conflicts reveal the unequal distribution of power in
society and the clash of interests between dominant groups communicating
an ideology that accepts progress but analyzes costs and options. This
debate came to Parliament during the First Republic, when deputies stood
up for the people against the interests of the mining companies or spoke in
their own interest as farmers or landowners affected by the high levels of
acid in watercourses. The environmental aspect was therefore recognized
in the debate between agrarians and industrialists at the end of the 19th
century.
These debates also reveal that early environmental concerns in liberal
industrial legislation, created by an enlightened elite to deal with the
problems of overfishing and pollution since the Regeneration (1852-1889),
were not only motivated by a vague desire to adopt models prevailing in
advanced industrial countries. In the case of mining, the elite followed the
Spanish Mining Review (Revista Minera) and understood the rights that
held back the mining industry. The mining laws of the 1850s gave
companies the right to use common land and prevented local communities
from interfering.
Figure 1. Map of Portugal (mainland) showing the locations of towns, villages and
rivers that are mentioned in the text.
166 Chapter Twelve
The institutional system limited the power of local landowners by

creating a mining sector encouraged, managed and supervised by the
mining administration and centralized by the government. By the time the
conflict between landlords, farmers and miners and Rio Tinto led to the
death of protestors in Huelva in 1889, Portugal had experienced several
serious conflicts caused by mining and the roast-leaching of pyrites.
From the historical point of view, these conflicts are crossroads
allowing us to document the interest groups, mediators and arguments
accounting for social and environmental change. Following the destruction
of their fields and rivers, farmers and fishermen found work in the mines
or activities resulting from the expansion of mining.
MINING CONFLICTS AND NEW ACIDIC LANDSCAPES
The first environmental mining conflict in Portugal resulted from the

interruption of environmental services generated by mining works in
antiquity. One night in 1855, people entered the mines at São João do
Deserto, near Aljustrel. By cutting off the waters used to treat skin
problems, stomach ailments and malaria at the nearby spa, the mine had
infuriated the crowd and offended the spa’s management and employees.
The origins of the waters date to pre-Roman mining operations. Such
situations were not exceptional for modern miners in Portugal, who used
their presence to identify potentially valuable deposits. The toponymy also
suggested another area with potential – the Ribeira do Roxo, so named for
its purple water. Visitors arrived during the summer, and tensions between
local activities and foreign workers exploded when the mine was flooded
by those acidic underground streams. Local authorities intervened only
when placed under pressure by the civil governor, but the company
(Lusitanian Mining Company) failed soon after. Nonetheless, by way of
compensation, it was forced to supply the “sacred waters” to the spa by
hand. A decade later, a new company (Companhia de Mineração
Transtagana) was forced to build new thermal water facilities.
More serious were the events leading to the flooding of the Braçal
mines in Sever do Vouga in 1862. The pattern of collective behavior
followed those of earlier peasant rebellions: church bells called people to
the churchyard from where they made their way to the mine where they
challenged the troops stationed there, forcing them to withdraw, before
destroying the blast furnaces and mining equipment. The mine closed for
several months and took two years to recover. The locals claimed the
burning of Galena and arsenical pyrites in furnaces released gases that
destroyed their vineyards and their land, but the government insisted the
culprits acted out of superstition and malice. The mining company was
using common lands and cutting down the pine trees for their exclusive
use while pressing the authorities to privatize the land (Justino, 2016).
The mining operation at Braçal had been headed by a German
merchant, Mathias Feuerherd, since 1845, who contracted the work to
miners and metallurgists in the Hartz region of Germany. The project was
considered a model and the metallurgical establishment was appointed to
the Portuguese king Don Fernando. The affair came to Parliament, which
decided to compensate Feuerherd for his losses with the construction of a
mining road linking different deposits in the region that were being
exploited then. Local tensions continued to intensify until 1866.
In the 1870s, similar tensions ended in violence at Feuerherd’s mine at
Telhadela in the same region. The army’s presence at times of tension and
the intervention of a local Member of Parliament drew attention to the
miserable conditions of the people that brought no practical result other
than an obligation on the concessionaries to provide farmers with free lime
with which to fertilize their soil. While the mines occasionally employed
farmers, tensions remained high, and there were acts of sabotage such as
drilling the miners’ canteens, preventing them from being lowered into the
mine.
At the Algares mine just outside Aljustrel, a Portuguese company
installed a furnace that caused villagers to complain to the authorities,
which forced the mining company to redesign its project. To achieve this,
it had to increase its capital on two occasions, from 300,000 to 750,000
reis, as much capital as that owned by the Alentejo’s two regional banks.
Consequently, the company, Transtagana, focused its furnace operations in
Pedras Brancas, about 7 kilometers away. As a result, it had to buy
extensive farm properties (herdades) and build a railway to transport the
raw ore, all of which increased costs. With the price of copper falling, the
company eventually collapsed, and the mines closed in the 1880s.
Mason & Barry, a British family-owned company with a mine at São
Domingos, had more success processing poorer grade pyrites when the
price of copper minerals began its steady decline in global markets in the
1860s. By the early 1870s, it had altered its mining methods to combine
income from the richer mineral exploitation with the poorest ore
processing (with less than 2.5 percent of copper). James Mason then
combined open-pit mining with the old system of galleries and wells and
established a metallurgical plant in nearby Achada do Gamo. In the early
1870s, the company engaged in metallurgical experiments and abandoned
the use of closed ovens because of their prohibitive cost in large-scale
168 Chapter Twelve
operations. The alternative method was to use open ovens (called telleras),
a solution the company feared not so much because of the financial costs
and the prospect of paying substantial compensation to large landowners
in a poor region, but rather out of a fear of conflict with neighbors
(Guimarães, 2016). The directors of Mason & Barry knew about the
compensation paid by mining companies to large landowners in
neighboring Spain. However, on the Portuguese side of the Guadiana, the
key concern was to get government approval for plans to treat pyrite and
to obtain an “expropriation for public utility” license, which was easy to
get once the plans were authorized. Lists of the confiscated properties do
not include any influential and large landowners.
Roasting pyrites in open ovens allowed most of the sulfur to escape
into the air; however, the discovery and development of a
hydrometallurgical system during the 1870s made it possible to solve that
technical issue and overcome any potential conflicts with farmers and
locals due to the release of sulfur gases in large-scale operations. Official
government approval for the new ore treatment system was obtained
shortly after a nocturnal raid on the mining camp to extinguish the burning
ore piles. Meanwhile, the population increased substantially and changed
in composition, and the number of police officers doubled to 50 at a time
when observers noted the mine had a seditious appearance.
Another serious incident remains unexplained. The Caveira mine,
granted to Ernesto Deligny, closed for two years following fires in the
galleries and was abandoned soon after. Despite the existence of large
amounts of salt in nearby Alcácer, this mine was not used for the
production of soda, and its viability depended on the railroad built many
years later, in 1912. The complaints of farmers in Alcácer, Grândola and
Aljustrel from the end of the 19th century concerned the reopening of the
mines at Caveira, Lousal and Aljustrel (São João and Algares), all of
which used hydrometallurgy (natural cementation).
Hydrometallurgical ore processing at São Domingos gave rise to
recurring complaints from fishermen on the Guadiana and at Vila Real de
Santo António regarding the discharge of polluted water. The company
had to build large tanks for storing acid waters and, to limit the impact of
discharges that now only took place during winter, had to purchase land on
which the water could evaporate. The victims of pollution were mostly
poor fishermen who used traditional art xávega methods. They claimed
the sardines disappeared from the coast and that the Guadiana, in which
they fished in winter, was “dead”. James Mason made a “voluntary”
payment towards Algarve maritime commitments during the early 1880s,
paying more than 1,000 reis as compensation, while launching a public
campaign to minimize his responsibility for the pollution of the Guadiana.

After all, the Spanish mines also released acid water into the Guadiana
through its tributary, the Chança5.
An unexpected and long-lasting result of the hydrometallurgical
system was the outbreak of malaria pandemics and deaths. The problem
was so serious that senior staff, administrators and soldiers living in
company houses had to move from the mining town. The eucalyptus
plantations on the edge of artificial lakes, which gave “a picturesque air”
to the mining landscape (in the words of contemporary observers), were
the result of recommendations by the commission created for that reason
(Guimarães, 2016).
The social landscape also changed. The land that had been acquired for
roasting operations, and which was no longer required, was leased to
sharecroppers (seareiros) and local farmers. Mason became a large
landowner, and to celebrate his entrepreneurial success the crown offered
him two peerages. The exploitation of tin by dredging the Gaia Valley in
Guarda from 1914 led to a conflict between locals and the Portuguese-
American Tin Company (Silva, 2013), with members of the local elite
leading political resistance to mining. Conflict and political mobilization
intensified after 1922, leading to Parliament debating a proposal to ban
mining on agricultural land. The movement was unable to stop the
American company, but it did prevent new firms from dredging. The
authoritarian regime halted the attempt to ban mining on agricultural land
while championing the mining industry through the Mining Development
Service (Serviço de Fomento Mineiro) in the late 1930s, which helped
identify valuable deposits that were licensed to private investors.
TRADITIONALISM AND FORESTATION
The traditionalism that emerged at the end of the 19th century and
fascinated the middle classes and elites after the First World War is
somehow related to a key period in the advancement of agrarian
individualism. The sale of common land that supported ancient agrarian
systems continued during the First Republic and Estado Novo with them
being appropriated by the state and then privatized or offered to
individuals (Freire, 2000). In the name of progress, liberalism defended
the privatization of common lands that represented one of the pillars of
peasant society. The movement began during the 17th century but had free
5 For more on the communication strategies of large companies, such as Rio Tinto
in Spain, see Garrido and Perez Cabada (2016) and Perez Cebada (2014: 157-220).
170 Chapter Twelve
rein from the mid-19th century (Melo, 2017, 80-93; 102-113). Local
resistance often consisted of civil disobedience and involved the destruction
of walls, fences, crops and grazing cattle. From the 1880s on, there was a
move to plant industrial forests in the highland commons (baldios
serranos), a move that received new impulse during the first four decades
of the 20th century. The debate over uncultivated land (incultos) was most
active during the First Republic, which established a rural police force,
thus satisfying an old demand from farmers to stop the “misuse of the
people”. It also encouraged municipalities to sell common land, or those
lands that “belonging to all, belonged to no one”.
The authoritarian state associated issues of uncultivated land, the
exploitation of communal lands and the physiocratic project to promote
the resettlement of land in the south with people from the northwest, and
agricultural intensification through major hydraulic works. For that, the
corporatist state took it upon itself to manage and exploit common land
through the Internal Colonization Board. Technicians defended the
forestation of those lands and committed to the development of mines as a
way of solving the problem of “rural overpopulation”. Consequently, the
alienation of uncultivated land by local authorities increased during the
1940s and 1950s, following the publication of the Law of Forest
Settlement (Law 1971, June 15, 1938) (Freire, 2000; Estevão, 1983).
Forestry services then banned grazing on forestry land, a decision that
harmed the poorest and accelerated the abandonment of agriculture and the
desertification of the interior (Devy-Vareta, 2003). In this way, the Estado
Novo “carried out the most cunning and repressive campaign against
communal lands, reserving more than 400,000 hectares of vacant land for
forestry”, ending the traditional use of this land with a direct impact on the
herds (Baptista, 2010). The political “openness” of the last years of the
regime supported the “people’s struggle for the appropriation of the
commons”, and so their restitution was included in the political agenda
after April 25, 1974 (Barros, 2012; see decree-law 39/76, January 19).
INDUSTRIAL FISHING AND IMPOVERISHED GROWTH
The image of Portugal as a land of sailors and fishermen painted by

French sociologist León Poinsard in the early 20th century was reinforced
by the expansion of the canned fish industry and the policies on cod
introduced by the Estado Novo. The increase in fishing catches during the
late 19th century and the periodic crises forced a state interested in the
high income generated from fish taxes to regulate sardine fishing and
promote scientific research on fish resources. This legislation set limits on
the size of fishing nets used in Valencian and American style nets and on
the distance between them. It also promoted a concessions regime that
threatened small independent fishermen and older shipowners.
In Setúbal, shipowners called for “the prohibition of trawlers known as
bugigangas, or at least limiting them to an area or season” (Setúbal, 1903,
14). The Republic established an open fishing regime as early as 1910,
eliminating fears maritime concessions would be imposed (Machado,
1951). However, the provisional government’s 1911 decree protected
trawling and encouraged the overexploitation of marine resources. This
policy was counteracted by fishermen who, on December 8, 1910, took
strike action to protest the government’s protection of steam trawlers that
“devastate the seabed, destroying fish nurseries” (Costa, 2011, 212). The
struggle for control of the fisheries market involved industrialists and
harbormasters, who began pursuing, fining and arresting fishermen under
any pretext. A decisive strike involving all fishermen lasted seven months.
The increasing demand for fish during the First World War created an
opportunity for fishermen to enhance their power. Through the fishing
ships and equipment (cercos) controlled by their union, they took control
of the fish delivered to the factories. When the journalist Adelino Mendes
(1878-1963) visited what he called “the city of the anarchists”, the power
of the sailors was at its peak (Mendes, 1916, 163-164). They were the
highest paid workers in the country and had substantial percentage shares
of the fish (that they later traded in the towns and factories), greatly
reducing the shipowners’ profit margins. The social economy then seemed
to be the inevitable evolution of this business, once they had more than
twenty fishing boats (cercos) registered under the union’s control. The
fisherman was then considered to be the real boss, regardless of whether
he worked for a shipowner or a cooperative. In that context, the behavior
of fishermen changed, limiting their catches when prices were low. “Being
well paid”, a shipowner said, “he does not need to fish so much” (Mendes,
1916, 170).
However, the industrialists were able to reestablish control of the
market in 1922, after 74 days on strike, when a “lot of fishes were thrown
into the sea”. Fishing with dynamite, a method used by steam fishing
boats, was once again banned in 1924. Industrialists had not resolved the
“fish supply and price” issue (less than 10 percent was for national
consumption) by the end of the First Republic. In other words, the
problem of the subordination of fisheries to industrial interests had gone
through a period marked by a periodic shortage of fish and a sharp decline
in industrialists’ profit margins. In the early 1930s, the corporatist
organization imposed “a class dictatorship” under the guise of national
172 Chapter Twelve
collaboration between social classes, while at the same time enabling

overfishing and low prices at the factories just as observers declared the
canning industry to be going through an agonizing period. In 1951, Falcão
Machado described the results of that policy:
The proletarianization of the fishing class aggravated by the fishing crisis
has reduced the standard of living of fishermen, not only in their modes of
existence but all its aspects.
He then linked the social crisis to the ecological crisis: The disharmony
of these conditions (geographic, that is, guaranteeing the sustainability of
the resources) caused by the alteration of any of them, mainly fishing
techniques that cause the destruction of feeding grounds used by shoals,
results in a lack of fish as they starve or move away in search of food.
In short, Machado claims it was the deliberate use of the most
productive type of net, the trawl net, which caused “the destruction of fish
feeding grounds on the continental shelf and the consequent disappearance
of the shoals” (Machado, 1951, 197).
In the first two decades of the 20th century, Setúbal fishermen set their
face against those “technical advances” and fought against the use of trawl
nets and trawlers. These technical advances also led to the disappearance
of estuary fisherman and the independent way of life of “individual
fishing, family boats and small workshops” (Machado, 1951, 197).
CONCLUSION
The cases presented here emphasize the social conflict resulting from
imposed environmental changes in a way that challenges traditionalist
images and narratives embedded in the nationalist discourse at the end of
the 19th century and reinforced by Salazar’s regime. By supporting mining
developments, heavy chemical and resinous wood industries, “irrational”
extensive cereal farming and industrial tree plantations, capitalist farming
and industrial fishing, the regime profoundly altered the social and
environmental landscapes it so praised in its propaganda.
Those cases also illustrate the environmental aspect of the agrarian
versus industrialist debate dividing Portuguese elites from the beginning of
the 20th century. Industrialists clearly understood this aspect of the
traditionalist discourse during the Estado Novo. In 1958, Ferreira do
Amaral6 presented his defense of industrialization as follows:
6 Ferreira do Amaral (1909-1995) was an electrical engineer, a 1940s and 1950s’

director of the Industrial Administration, and a major figure within Estado Novo.
Maçãs de D. Maria is a happy rural parish (...), it does not have any
industry apart from the more pastoral than factory activities, which are
born and develop in the villages of the interior (...). Olive mills, the village
blacksmith, terracotta pottery, sawmills, the harmonious and fresh mills or
windmills (...). Paio Pires (...) is as content as Maçãs de D. Maria, but it is
not a rural parish. (...) It is in the group of the most industrialized counties
of the country (...). These parishes are both picturesque. One is picturesque
to mark time, between the water-mills and the green (...), the other in the
lives of the industry that is born in Portugal [steel industry]: the
surrounding fields are less green and are gradually becoming contaminated
with the pollution of the factory chimneys. But the fumes and dust are not
properly a layer of gold that will cover Paio Pires. They will perhaps be
silver gold – but they are certainly evident progress (...). (Amaral, 1958,
16-17)
But the history of D. Maria, as of thousands of other rural parishes,

was already changing in the 1940s with a new cycle of emigration,
depopulation, agricultural stagnation and forestation. Portugal’s elites
were turning to industrial progress and “modern Europe”, but a new image
of Portugal had to be constructed after the 1974 Revolution.
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Barros, M. 2012. Os Baldios: História, Desenvolvimento e Gestão – O
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do Castelo.
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Resistência na Península Ibérica (Século XX) (pp. 191-224). Lisbon:

Colibri.
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Alfragide: Dom Quixote.
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nas Estações Ferroviárias Portuguesas. MA (Contemporary Art
History), Faculdade de Ciências Sociais e Humanas, Universidade
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Machado, F. 1951. “A Pesca Marítima em Setúbal”, Compte Rendu du
XVIIe Congrès Internationalle de Geographie, Vol. 16: 179-198.
Melo, C. 2017. Arborizar Contra Cheias, Tempestades e Mares 1834-
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Setúbal, Armadores de Pesca de Sardinha. 1903. Representação dos
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PART 4
LANDSCAPE AND HERITAGE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SADO PALAEOVALLEY CONFIGURATION:

IMPLICATIONS FOR THE MESOLITHIC
SETTLEMENT DURING THE HOLOCENE
SEA-LEVEL RISE
ANA MARIA COSTA,

MARIA DA CONCEIÇÃO FREITAS, ROGÉRIO
MOTA, MANEL LEIRA, CÉSAR ANDRADE,
NUNO PIMENTEL, ANA CRISTINA ARAÚJO,
ROBERTO BAO, MARIANA DINIZ AND PABLO
ARIAS
INTRODUCTION
The Sado valley surroundings, upstream of Alcácer do Sal, display a

relatively high density of Late Mesolithic sites, dated between ca.8400-
7000 cal BP (e.g. Arias et al., 2015, Peyroteo-Stjerna, 2016; Figure 1).
Those sites are described in the archaeological literature as shell middens
by the abundance of remains of estuarine invertebrates such as
Scrobicularia plana and Cerastoderma edule (e.g. Arnaud, 2000;
Carvalho, 2009; Diniz and Arias, 2012; Arias et al., 2017), despite its
location more than 25km upstream of the current outer estuary. Besides
shells and shell fragments, fish remains from coastal waters species such
as Argyrosomus regius, Galeorhinus galeus, Dicentrarchus labrax and
Sparus aurata were also found in some of these middens (Gabriel et al.,
2012).
Sado Palaeovalley configuration 177
Figure 1. A: Location of shell middens, geotechnical profiles, ERT profiles and

sediment cores; palaeovalleys morphology derived from ERT with representation
of mean sea level at ca.10000 cal BP, ca.8400 cal BP and ca.7000 cal BP
according to Vis et al. (2008) and Costas et al. (2016). The Vale dos Açudes
palaeovalley was not drawn (see discussion). B: Geology of the studied area
adapted from Gonçalves and Antunes (1992).
178 Chapter Thirteen
More than 100 Mesolithic burials (Umbelino and Cunha, 2012; Peyroteo-
Stjerna, 2016) were recovered from the Sado shell middens. į13C and į15N
analyses performed on bone collagen extracted from skeletal human
remains demonstrate the systematic consumption of marine resources by
these communities. According to isotopic data, two dietary groups can be
identified in the Sado valley: one located further downstream presents a
mixed marine-terrestrial diet; the other, located further upstream, has a
predominantly terrestrial diet (Umbelino and Cunha, 2012; Peyroteo-
Stjerna, 2016; Figure 1).
The high concentration of shells and the results of the isotopic analyses
led several authors to hypothesize the existence of an estuarine
environment in this section of the valley coeval with Late Mesolithic
occupation, similar to the ones found today in the outer estuary (e.g.
Arnaud, 1989; Larsson, 1996; Araújo, 1995-1997). However, the extent of
marine flooding has never been studied.
Since the end of the Last Glacial Maximum, the mean sea level (MSL)
has been rising, favouring the inundation of the pre-incised Sado valley
and other major depressions of the Portuguese coast (Andrade et al.,
2013). Freitas and Andrade (2008) describe the Sado estuary after the
maximum marine transgression as an embayment developed in an
indented coast with a direct connection with the sea. According to the
curves drawn for the Holocene (Vis et al., 2008; Costas et al., 2016), the
sea level was rising at a high rate until ca.7000 cal BP and decelerated
from that date onwards.
The only geomorphologic data on the Sado valley Late Quaternary
incision resulted from the interpretation of geotechnical cores performed at
Alcácer do Sal (GRID, 1989; ENGIVIA, n.d.; Figure 1). Here, a deep
incised valley reaching ca.38m is interpreted from alluvial sediments
deposited above Palaeogene and Neogene materials (Figure 2).
This work aims to characterize the palaeomorphology of the Sado
valley upstream of Alcácer do Sal using Electrical Resistivity Tomography
(ERT) and sediment cores to depict the palaeoenvironment during the
period when Mesolithic hunter-gatherer communities occupied and
exploited the valley.
Figure 2. Sado palaeovalley morphology and characterization of the alluvial

sediment at Alcácer do Sal (adapted from GRID, 1989; ENGIVIA, n.d.).
REGIONAL SETTINGS
The Sado river has a maximum length of ca.175km and drains an area
of ca.7700km2 (INE, 2007). The terminal area corresponds to a bar-built
estuary occupying about 140km2 (Bettencourt et al., 2003) protected by
the Tróia sand spit. The estuary has a length of 50km, reflecting the
maximum marine intrusion, or 57km if the upper limit of the tidal dynamic
is considered (Bettencourt et al., 2003). Estuarine tides are semi-diurnal,
the tidal range varying between 1.5m and 3.9m during neap and spring
tides, respectively (Bettencourt et al., 2003). At present, the river thalweg
is anthropically-controlled and the alluvial plain is used for agriculture,
particularly rice production.
In the study area, the river channel cuts mainly sediments of the
Palaeogene “Vale do Guizo” formation, composed of alluvial pinkish
sandy conglomerates and marly clays (Pimentel, 2002). These rather
consolidated rocks are the basement of the Late Quaternary alluvial infill
of the Sado river, upstream of Arapouco. Downstream of Arapouco, the
Miocene “Alcácer do Sal” formation, with coastal yellowish biocalcarenites
and marly sandstones, outcrops in the left margin of the river,
corresponding to the basement of the alluvial infill, while slaty pelitic
rocks and greywackes of the Palaeozoic “Mértola” formation outcrops at
the right margin (Antunes et al., 1991, Gonçalves and Antunes, 1992). The
plateaux surrounding the Sado valley and its tributaries are occupied by a
decametric cover of fluvial orange sands and clays of the Pliocene
“Marateca” formation (ibidem; Figure 1B). Aeolian quartz-rich sands
dated from the Pleistocene-Holocene, resulting from the remobilization of
the Pliocene sands, extend over the plateaux and some slopes of the study
area (mostly to the south), while Quaternary sandy terraces are present at
both margins (Gonçalves and Antunes, 1992). All these Plio-Quaternary
sediments, as well as the Palaeogene sandy clays, are probably the main
source for the Late Quaternary alluvial infill of the Sado river.
MATERIALS AND METHODS
The electrical characters of the materials differ from each other, and
the electrical resistivity measures the degree to which a material resists to
the electrical current flow (e.g. Smith and Sjogren, 2006). Electrical
Resistivity Tomography (ERT) consists of producing an electrical field on
the ground by introducing into it an electrical current with two electrodes
and measuring the voltage drop across the surface with two other
electrodes, a procedure that yields information about the distribution of
electrical resistivity below the surface. The different behaviour of the

material to electrical input allows the identification of different types of
materials. Such a continuous procedure along a line with several dozens of
electrodes materializes an ERT profile, which can be performed with
different electrode configurations. Five ERT profiles using the dipole-
dipole configuration were gathered in the studied area oriented
perpendicular to the present-day channel: three on the Sado channel and
two in the Carrasqueira (Arez) and Vale dos Açudes tributaries (Figure 1).
The resolution of ERT profiles depends on the distance between electrodes
(e.g. Baines et al., 2002) and is different between profiles due to the
extension of the surveyed area (Table 1). An ABEM resistivity meter
equipped with a Lund system was used to collect resistivity data. Data was
processed with the Res2Dinv software. Topographic data (coordinates and
altimetry), collected using a Global Navigation Satellite Systems (Topcon
Geosystem with field controller FC-25) operating in real-time, was
incorporated in resistivity data processing.
Table 1 – Location of the ERT profiles and their main characteristics
Dipolar Maximum Profile

Location Reference distance depth extension
(m) (m) (m)
1 – Arapouco 20 102 800
Sado
2 – Vale do Guizo 20 102 800
channel
3 – São Bento 10 51 400
Sado 4 – Arez 4 26.2 160
tributaries 5 – Vale dos Açudes 6 30 240
Five sediment cores were collected in the Sado alluvial plain

overlapping ERT (Figure 1). In Arapouco, the entire core was collected;
however, at the other locations only the sediment from the core base was
recovered. Despite the collection of sediments, the whole sedimentary
column was characterized macroscopically for texture. The texture and the
analyses of environmental proxies on the collected sediments provide
information for ERT calibration.
į13CVPDB was determined in the sediment after the removal of inorganic
carbon using HCl 10% in i) a FlashEA1112 combustion elemental
analyser (ThermoFinnigan) coupled online with a Delta Plus Finnigan
MAT IRMS at the University of A Coruña; and ii) on a Sercon Hydra 20-
22 stable IRMS, coupled to a EuroEA elemental analyzer for online
sample preparation by Dumas-combustion at the Stable Isotopes and
Instrumental Analysis Facility, University of Lisbon. Delta calculation

was performed according to į=[(Rsample–Rstandard)/Rstandard]*1000, where R
is the ratio between the heavier isotope and the lighter one. į13CVPDB
values are referred to PDB (Pee Dee Belemnite).
For diatom identification, smear slides were prepared by placing 15–
20mg of sediment in distilled water, stirring it, and letting it settle for
approximately 10s. The suspension was then removed placing a pipette
just above the bottom of the vial. Naphrax (refractive index: 1.73) was
used as a mounting medium. Diatoms species were observed and
identified using an Nikon Optiphot with phase contrast at a magnification
of 1000× (oil immersion). In this study, for each sample diatom valves
were counted and identified in at least three random transects across the
slide. Partial valves were counted according to the method of Schrader and
Gersonde (1978). Diatoms were identified following the published
taxonomic descriptions of Witkowski et al. (2000) and Álvarez-Blanco
and Blanco (2014). The diatom-based reconstruction of sedimentary
environments was based on Vos and Wolf’s (1993) methodology. Salinity
trends were constructed specifically to capture potential
palaeoenvironmental information from sediments using autoecological
information by summarizing the relative frequencies of occurrence in all
salinity classes described in Vos and Wolf (1993).
Nine organic samples (Table 2) were selected for AMS radiocarbon
dating at the Beta Analytic (USA) laboratories. The radiocarbon ages
determined were calibrated using OxCal v.4.3 (Bronk Ramsey, 2009) and
the IntCal13 calibration curve (Reimer et al., 2013). Samples date the base
of the cores and, at Arapouco, the sedimentary sequence.
RESULTS
1. Electrical Resistivity Tomography
ERT values for the studied area, both for the Sado channel and its
tributaries, were always lower than 400ohm.m, with many values as low
as 5ohm.m on the top layers. In the Sado channel, lower resistivity values
are present until depths of ca.-40m MSL, while in the tributaries resistivity
values increase at ca.-15m MSL at Arez and are very superficial at Vale
dos Açudes (Figure 3). Resistivity values increase upstream, from
Arapouco to São Bento (Figure 3). In Vale do Guizo and São Bento, ERT
profiles show higher resistivity layers within the area filled with sediments
with lower resistivity values (Figure 3).
Figure 3. ETR profiles of the Sado channel and tributaries and interpretation. The
white arrow (Vale do Guizo profile) indicates the channel’s SW migration. The
black line indicates the proposed palaeomorphology for the valleys.
2. Sedimentology and chronology
Sediment cores are essentially made up of mud with occasional

intercalations of sandy mud, except for the Vale dos Açudes core where
intercalations of fine to coarse sand were identified (Figure 4). At the base
of most sedimentary sequences occur coarser sediments, constituted
essentially by sand. Due to their depth and the collection methods, those
sediments could not be recovered.
The results of radiocarbon dates and calibrated ages are presented in
Table 2. Radiocarbon ages at the base of the Sado channel cores are
younger than the ages for the base of the tributary’s cores. In the Sado
channel, calibrated ages are all younger than ca.3570 cal BP (median
calibrated age value for the sample Arapouco#5 635-637), and sediments
only represent the infilling of the valley during the Meghalayan. The
median calibrated ages for the base of the cores collected on the tributaries
are older, and the sequences represent the sedimentation occurring since
the Greenlandian-Northgrippian transition (Holocene stages named after
ICS 2018). At Arez (-10.6m MSL), the median calibrated age is ca.8590
cal BP, while in Vale dos Açudes the median calibrated age is ca.7300 cal
BP (Figure 4; Table 2).
Figure 4. Variation in texture, į13C and salinity (derived from diatom assemblages’
data) against depth relative to MSL. Grey rectangles represent the samples
collected for environmental proxy’ analysis.
Table 2 – Radiocarbon determinations for the sediment cores. The dates have been calibrated with the IntCal13
curve (Reimer et al., 2013) using the Oxcal v.4.3 program (Bronk Ramsey, 2009).
Core
Sample į13C Conventional 14C Calibrated age
Loc. Lab code Material depth Reference
reference (‰) age BP BP (95%)
(cm)
Arapouco2#9 Beta- Organic
153 -25.4 2620±30 2778-2726 Costa et al., 2019
152-154 436176 sediment
201 -25.4 3170±30 3452-3349 Costa et al., 2019
200-202 408535 sediment
355 -22.7 3100±30 3379-3235 Costa et al., 2019
354-356 393523 sediment
553 -23.5 3400±30 3711-3573 Costa et al., 2019
552-554 408534 sediment
625.5 -23.4 3210±30 3542-3368 Costa et al., 2019
624-627 431370 sediment
Sado channel
636 -23.5 3330±30 3636-3479 Costa et al., 2019
635-637 431371 sediment
VG1 Beta- Organic
1010.5 -24.2 2750±30 2925-2771 This work
1010-1011 457795 sediment
Sado3A Beta- Organic
719.5 -24.3 2110±30 2153-1995 This work
719-720 457793 sediment
Arez1 Beta- Organic
1062.5 -25.9 7810±30 8644-8538 This work
1062-1063 343145 sediment
Sado
Sado3AC1 Beta- Organic
tributaries
767.5 -26.0 6360±30 7416-7183 This work
766-769 457794 sediment
3. Environmental conditions (organic chemistry and diatom assemblages)
The origin of organic matter preserved in sediments is frequently

inferred by į13C (e.g. Lamb et al., 2006 and references therein). Sediments
collected in the Sado channel and in its tributaries present different į13C
values. The results from the Arapouco core are published in Costa et al.
(2019). In Arapouco, į13C values vary with depth. Values of ca.-24‰
were determined for the sediment between -4.25m MSL and 0m MSL,
while values between -25‰ and -27‰ were determined for the sediment
collected above the MSL. į13C values of the cores collected at Vale do
Guizo and São Bento present mean values of ca.-24.7‰. For the samples
collected in Arez and Vale dos Açudes tributaries, the mean į13C values
are -26.3‰.
The bottom of the Arapouco record shows the development of brackish
diatom assemblages, dominated by Cyclotella meneghiniana, a
brackish/freshwater planktonic species. In the mid-core section, diatoms
show an assemblage almost exclusively composed by marine planktonic
Thalassiossira species, similar to those found today in the Sado estuary,
along with some brackish forms. In the uppermost part of the record,
diatom assemblages show a return to brackish conditions, characterized by
marine, marine/brackish and brackish/freshwater diatoms, with Cocconeis
spp. and Nitzschia spp. as the dominant taxa.
Diatom assemblages in Vale do Guizo are dominated by the marine
tychoplanktonic Cymatosira belgica, while an epipsammic diatom,
Opephora mutabilis, is the most frequent taxon in the Arez record. The
diatom content in both cores is cosmopolitan and widespread in brackish
waters. O. mutabilis is common in intertidal sandflats.
In São Bento sediments, diatom assemblages are composed by
planktonic species common in fresh and brackish waters. The marine
tychoplanktonic C. belgica is also present. This is also a cosmopolitan
species found both in plankton and in the benthos, frequently found in
sandy beaches but also very abundant in silty sediments. Upper core São
Bento diatom assemblages are dominated by planktonic estuarine species.
At Vale dos Açudes, all samples above -0.98m MSL depth are almost
barren of diatoms. Whole valves were rare. Epipelic diatoms are the most
frequent taxa. The diatom content at the core’s base shows the highest
abundances of cosmopolitan epipelic species, common in marine to
brackish waters.
DISCUSSION
1. Palaeomorphology of the valleys
One of the most important characteristics of ERT is the ability to

accurately identify and map sand and gravel deposits from silt and clayey
sediments (Baines et al., 2002), as it is widely used to reconstruct the
geometry of fluvial channels and river valley infillings (e.g. Baines et al.,
2002; Maillet et al., 2005). In similar environmental conditions, silts and
clays present low electrical resistivity while sands and gravels show high
electrical resistivity (e.g. Gourry et al., 2003). ERT profiles performed in
the studied area revealed contrasts in electrical resistivity, pointing to
different geological formations. It is important to mention that the Sado
palaeovalley is embedded in Palaeogene sediments constituted mainly by
conglomerates, sands and pelites (Antunes et al., 1991; Gonçalves and
Antunes, 1992) and that the surrounding Caenozoic formations are the
ones that mostly provide sediments to the fluvial area. In this context,
similar resistivity values can be achieved for the encasing sediments and
for the coarser accumulations of the fluvial/estuarine area that can make
the interpretation of ERT profiles more difficult. However, it has been
possible to identify a strong contrast between the Caenozoic basement,
with its higher resistivity (represented by warm colours in Figure 3), and
the recent Sado alluvial infilling, with its lower resistivity (represented by
cold colours in Figure 3).
ERT profiles therefore allowed different incision depths in the Sado
main channel and in its tributaries to be distinguished. The different ERT
resolutions achieved in the Sado channel and in the tributaries lead to
anomalies in the profiles that can be misleading. For example, at Arapouco
and Vale do Guizo, where the resolution is lower, there are low resistivity
values (valley sediment infilling; see Discussion point 2.) positioned ca.
-50/-60m MSL at some points (Figure 3). Considering that the
geotechnical descriptions of the cores collected at Alcácer do Sal place the
Caenozoic basement at ca.-40m MSL, it is very unlikely that the valley
presents higher depths in upstream areas, unless tectonics had played a
role in the area. There is no clear evidence of recent tectonic activity in the
Sado valley, and so the deeper low resistivity values are considered
anomalous. Despite the different resolutions of ERT, resistivity values
show that the Sado palaeovalley is deeper than the Sado tributaries. It
reaches ca.-40m MSL (assuming the depth considered at Alcácer do Sal),
while at Arez it only reaches ca.-15m MSL (Figure 3). At Vale dos
Açudes it was not possible to draw the palaeomorphology of the valley
due to the similarity in the electrical resistivity response, however a

shallow valley is expected. Considering the base of the cores, younger
ages were obtained at higher depths in the Sado valley in opposition to
older ages at shallower depths in the tributaries (Figures 3 and 4; Table 2).
2. Infilling of the Sado and tributaries’ palaeovalleys
Arapouco ERT profile reflects a palaeovalley ca.40m deep filled with

mud (low resistivity) embedded in sediments with higher resistivity
corresponding to the Caenozoic basement (Figure 3). This profile was
performed in a cross straight section of the valley (Figure 1), probably
controlled by the occurrence of a fault that raised the Palaeozoic block of
the “Mértola” formation (Antunes et al., 1991). Slightly coarser sediments
seem to occur near the river’s right margin where the Sado thalweg is at
present. The mud sediments correspond to the infilling of the valley, and
the slightly coarser sediments reflect the proximity of the thalweg that, in
this section and due to old tectonic constraints, could always have been
located at the right margin of the river.
Vale do Guizo’s ERT profile crosses a sharp bend of the Sado valley
(Figure 3). The depth of the valley was assumed to reach ca.-40m MSL
considering the above discussion, however high resistivity areas (Figure 3
– dashed dark grey lines) were detected above that depth and within the
fine sediment infill of the valley. Those areas are interpreted as old active
channels that changed position due to meander migration by extension to
the southwest and as a result of an accumulation of sediments derived
from colluvial processes to the northeast (Figure 3). Meander migration in
meandering systems is the most common type of channel change (Brown,
1997), however those high electrical resistive areas could also be the
consequence of avulsion processes that result from the rapid abandonment
of a channel and the adoption of a new course, generally at lower areas of
the floodplain (Brown, 1997). Both hypotheses favour the accumulation of
sediments eroded from the opposite margin. The hypothesis of the higher
resistivity values being derived from a Palaeogene residual relief cannot be
discarded.
At São Bento, ca.8km upstream of Arapouco, the valley reaches depths
higher than -38m MSL, reflecting the slope profile of the fluvial valley,
but due to the uncertainty of ERT data no accurate depth was determined.
A high electrical resistivity area was found on the ERT profile (Figure 3),
reflecting the accumulation of coarser sediments that are probably related
to coarser fluvial accumulations. The sediment core collected at São Bento
does not reach the depth of the coarser deposit, preventing its
characterization.
At Arez, the ERT profile reproduces a valley filled with fine sediments
(reflecting the low dynamic of the small Carrasqueira stream),
corresponding the higher resistivity values below -15m MSL to the
encasing formations.
It was not possible to draw the palaeomorphology of the Vale dos
Açudes valley as ERT data provides similar electrical values. That is
interpreted as being the result of a proximal source contribution to the
sediment valley infilling in a very shallow valley.
3. Palaeoenvironmental conditions
In general, terrestrial and freshwater organic materials present lower

į13C values (<-25‰) than marine organic components (>-25‰; Lamb et
al., 2006 and references therein). The į13C values determined for the lower
section of Arapouco (below the MSL; Costa et al., 2019) and for the
sediments recovered from Vale do Guizo and São Bento reflect an
estuarine area receiving organic matter from marine (marine dissolved
organic carbon [DOC]) and terrestrial (C3 land plants)/fluvial (freshwater
DOC) environments during the Meghalayan. The top section of Arapouco
(above the MSL), with lower į13C values, reflects an increase in the
contribution of organic matter from terrestrial plants and freshwater
phytoplankton to the sediment as a response of the valley’s infilling, the
decrease of accommodation space and the aggradation of the alluvial
plain.
In the Sado tributaries, the į13C values are lower (mean values of ca.
-26.3‰ for both locations), pointing to a terrestrial (C3 land plants)/fluvial
(freshwater dissolved and particulate organic carbon) source for the
organic matter.
The overall environmental trend reflected by the salinity pattern
inferred from diatom assemblages indicates variability between an
estuarine and a river-influenced environment. A comparison of the diatom-
based salinity record from all cores with the į13C record reveals close
similarities in terms of both timing and the interpretation of proxy records
(Figure 4).
The radiocarbon data for the analysed sediments in these cores points
to deposition since the end of the Greenlandian (ca.8590 cal BP at Arez;
Figure 4; Table 2) or the beginning of the Northgrippian (ca.7300 cal BP
at Vale dos Açudes; Figure 4; Table 2).
CONCLUSIONS AND IMPLICATIONS FOR THE LATE

MESOLITHIC COMMUNITIES
Combining organic chemistry and diatoms’ palaeoenvironmental

information, and considering the depth of the Sado palaeovalley (ca.-40m
MSL), the MSL stipulated for the Greenlandian (ca.-30m MSL at 10000
cal BP and ca.-13m MSL at 8400 cal BP; Vis et al., 2008; Costas et al.,
2016) and for the early phases of the Northgrippian (ca.-4m MSL at 7000
cal BP; Costas et al., 2016), when Late Mesolithic communities occupied
the surrounding Sado areas (between ca.8400 and 7000 cal BP), it appears
that estuarine conditions prevailed in the studied area, at least up to São
Bento (Figure 1). During that time-span, the estuarine environment, and
the extent of the salinity conditions, were most probably dependent on
changes in sea level rise rates, climate variations and river flow. The high
sea level rise rate during the Greenlandian allowed for the inundation of
the studied area since at least 10000 cal BP, promoting the development of
estuarine environments. The attenuation of the sea level rise rate during
the Northgrippian and the consequent infilling of the valley led to the
aggradation of the alluvial plain; however, estuarine conditions were
present in the area until the Meghalayan, long after its abandonment by the
mesolithic groups.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This work was developed in the scope of a PhD grant funded by FCT
(SFRH/BD/110270/2015) and under project SimTIC (HAR2017-82557-P)
funded by the Plan Estatal de Innovación Científica y Técnica y de
Innovación 2017-2020 of the Spanish Ministry of Science, Innovation and
Universities. The authors also acknowledge the support of the Instituto
Dom Luiz (IDL) (UID/GEO/50019/2013).
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CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE PRIMACY OF GOODNESS:

THE NATURALISATION OF SPECIES AND THE
WILL TO DO WELL IN THE 19TH CENTURY
CRISTINA JOANAZ DE MELO
INTRODUCTION
One of the most controversial examples of a change in perception over

the last two centuries towards a tree species is the one regarding Eucalyptus
globulus. In the nineteenth century, it was discussed in scientific essays as
a potential substitute for quinine, a substance crucial in preventing malaria,
independently of its forthcoming overexploitation for other purposes. In the
1800s, the guiding line for its plantation in Portugal, as across the Mediter-
ranean, was the primacy of goodness, under the will to prevent or even erad-
icate epidemics.
Although eucalyptus became an unwanted tree in the twentieth century,
magnolias, for example, which were brought to Europe from the Americas
in the seventeenth century, did not provoke a similar environmental back-
lash. Did that outcome result from the latter being considered a decorative
species or because the scale of planting was not seen as large enough to
harm the local ecosystems?
My main goal is to discuss the process under which the same ecological
object, exotic trees, suffered a huge change in symbolic value from the nine-
teenth to the twentieth century. Some of them passed from being considered
very adequate for the improvement of health and civil protection to becom-
ing perceived as very harmful to life-supporting systems. Thus, to under-
stand how the perception about the very same tree species changed so much,
it is relevant to analyse what differed in their contexts, time, space, and the
driving civilizational paradigms.
196 Chapter Fourteen
SETTING THE STAGE
Nowadays, when studying the historical perspective regarding the trans-

fer of trees across the world, some conclusions tend to be quite negative
towards past human actions (Grove, 1995; United Nations, 2015). Reason-
ing from the current perspective under the battery of huge environmental
global knowledge, some interpretations regarding the past have emerged
which have been influenced by disciplines such as environmental studies,
ecology and even climatology, thus providing less space for environmental
analyses that consider the proper historical contexts. Some perspectives
have, in my view, almost obliterated other interpretations that could shed a
different light on the process of species transfer across the globe as the mo-
tivation for their circulation reached beyond a vision of profit at any cost.
Perceived through a lens of a social-environmental-ecological approach
of degradation, these interpretations would conclude, fairly, that the planta-
tion of exotic botanical elements, namely trees like Eucalyptus globulus and
Acacia podalyriifolia (mimosa), would become invasive in Europe, namely
in Portugal.
Prior to these approaches, economic-social or imperial history had of-
fered a wide range of interpretations about how Europeans explored many
locations in the colonies with no regret about their transformation, focusing
merely on financial profit at the social and ecological expenses of destruc-
tion (Melo et al., 2017; Vaz et al., 2017). And the transfer and naturalisation
of tree species – across continents and seas – was also verified under the
framework of European imperial domination.
If a process of degradation of landscapes did occur mostly from the
1800s onwards, however, the process of ecosystems’ change since then, as
of resources depletion, was neither homogeneous nor synchronised in all
regions of the world. The naturalisation of exotic trees was attempted at
different rhythms.
Throughout the nineteenth century, the husbanding and plantation of
woodlands to heal environments was encouraged from the Alps and Pyre-
nees to Portugal. Trees were planted across different chronologies on the
slopes across the mountain chains in Europe to prevent torrential floods;
along sandbanks to block the invasion of dunes over farmed land; as well as
to convert degraded wetlands, where epidemics like cholera, typhus or yel-
low fever spread, into healthy areas. In fact, eucalyptus would only be con-
sidered harmful and labelled an invasive species in Portugal after the Sec-
ond World War.
The primacy of goodness 197
A long process of perceptual change around exotic tree species took

place gradually, moving from admirable to invasive. In this sense, my hy-
pothesis is that perceptions of exotic trees first evolved from being regarded
as ornamental elements to instruments of public policies which could serve
the community. This was largely because of the scientific achievements in
chemistry, medicine, forestry and biology that informed these views. Fur-
thermore, the scale of the implementation of policies regarding these species
was vastly shorter than the one verified at present. Experiments could be
tested and improved in each territory motivated by the desire to improve
social conditions not to destroy ecosystems. And those aims responded both
to notions of public duty as to religious beliefs.
Thus, by considering the proper historical context, in this chapter, in-
stead of thinking of environmental degradation through the wide spread of
invasive plants, it is proposed to tell a story of landscape transformation and
the nursing and plantation of exotic trees in Portugal from the point of view
of the coeval agents that implemented the naturalisation of those natural
resources. These agents, scientists and politicians based their assumptions
on the leading knowledge of their era exemplified through tested scientific
experiments, in Portugal and elsewhere. This led them to believe that stra-
tegic-scientific afforestation of a given exotic species in degraded wet areas
and stagnant waters would grant positive social benefits through environ-
mental ameliorations.
MOTIVATIONS TO IMPROVE THE SOCIETY

AND TRANSFORM GEOGRAPHY
Ecology and the Common Good: Great Issues of Environment (2014),

edited by Richard A. Houghton and Allison B. White, offers many examples
concerning the improvement of the common good through history. This is
a concern that, in my view, can already be found in thinkers of the eight-
eenth and nineteenth centuries, namely in Adam Smith’s An Inquiry into the
Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations of 1776.
As Smith proposed in this seminal work, economic growth would help
to eradicate famine, and the wealthier nations ought to help the poorer ones
to eradicate misery and poverty (Smith, 1983 [1776]). In his opinion, re-
flected by being a Presbyterian Pastor, the richer nations had a moral duty
to improve production once they had acquired scientific and technological
results that other regions of the globe had not. Producing more cereals, rais-
ing more cattle and more sheep, developing further techniques for building
houses – all of these would aim at providing something to those who did not
have it: food, clothing, shelter.
According to the theologian Elena Lasida, Smith would have thought

about how economic development could help humans to reach salvation
(Lasida, 2011). The ongoing process of naturalization of agriculture, in-
creasing numbers of cattle, textile production and other naturalized Euro-
pean achievements suggest, to that author, ideas not to exploit and enslave
human lives or create what later on would be known as capitalism but to
amend unbalanced realities by doing as Jesus Christ had commanded,
through the practice of the works of mercy (Lasida, 2011).
This Presbyterian Pastor lived under a tenet of belief where sinners
would have great difficulty in obtaining salvation easily, but the practice of
works of mercy could help to reduce the weight of transgressions when
meeting the Lord; thus Smith, as the Pastor he was, had found a universal
way of redeeming the actions of humanity.
The development of natural sciences and technology would have al-
lowed Europe to increase production. Wilderness was tamed and farmed.
Technology helped to transform wild areas where food was not produced
into controlled fields. With the food surplus a market was generated, and
competition was seen as a means to increase productivity and promote lower
prices. And all of these actions would have been about providing for the
ones that had less. However, this reasoning would later on be almost im-
posed from above, under the liberal period, on populations as the framework
of a moral economy, in nineteenth-century Spain for instance (Vaccaro,
2007). For Adam Smith, those who could not afford food, clothes and shel-
ter would be given what they needed according to the commandments of
Jesus, made possible by the surplus in production. Moreover, in my view,
economy and human relations, for Smith, were quite intertwined (Smith,
1781). Thus, profit was about redistribution:
To feed the hungry;

To give water to the thirsty;
To clothe the naked;
To shelter the homeless;
To visit the sick;
To visit the imprisoned, or ransom the captive;
To bury the dead.
From my perspective, and pushing Lasida’s interpretation further, I am

reflecting on the extent to which transforming landscapes in order to in-
crease food production or eliminating the risk of widespread epidemics
through technology and forestry would be embodied in the same paradigm:
development to improve living conditions.
In reality, epidemics of disease and malaria in wetland areas were a huge

problem and an almost permanent threat throughout the 1800s in Portugal
and other European regions, for example, around the Mediterranean Basin
(Pimentel, 1876). As will be discussed below, for the Portuguese nation, the
State’s moral duties and religion (Christianity) were thought of as being in-
tertwined by the members of the elites and ruling classes (Soares, 1862;
Pina, 1881).
The primacy of goodness, in the quest to grant civic protection and to
fulfil moral Christian duties through public works or the economy, would
always have been in the background when planning and building water-
works, particularly the naturalization of exotic trees at a scale wider than for
the ornamentation of gardens.
Considering the above, some questions can be addressed with the pur-
pose of better understanding the process of exotic trees becoming wide-
spread. Firstly, what was the scale of the diffusion of exotic species in the
nineteenth century in Portugal? Did some exotics become planted on a mas-
sive scale or did nature take its course and naturalization get out of control,
because science could not predict such an efficient nor a later effect of a
widespread predator which pushed along other ecological damage?
In order to analyse these questions, this chapter attempts to place the
diffusion of exotic trees in Portugal in the nineteenth century under the
needs felt at the time, using the knowledge available about the good uses
that exotics could fulfil. This will not erase the later impact of, for example,
acacia and eucalyptus on a massive scale in Portugal in the twentieth and
twenty-first centuries. However, it will place actions in their own era where
much later environmental impacts could by no means have been predicted.
EXOTIC TREES, FROM ORNAMENTAL TO HEALERS:

AN UPDATED REQUIREMENT
In 1914, Fernando Bello would entitle his degree dissertation Essências

Florestais Exóticas a Cultivar em Portugal [Exotic Forestry Essences to
Cultivate in Portugal]. Trees coming from all continents – Australia, Amer-
ica, Africa, Asia and North Europe, such as the Blue Gum tree, Eucalyptus
globulus, from Australia; the Lawson Cypress, Chamaecyparis lawsoniana,
from northwest USA; Acacia species; Cedar of Lebanon, Cedrus libani;
Cryptomeria japonica; Pseudotsuga douglasii; and Pycea species (now
Pseudotsuga menziesii) – were praised as being very important for a wide
range of purposes. The purposes included: economic crop production, eco-
logical preservation (against soil erosion) and health control. Some of the
species were revealed to have multiple uses: aesthetic, aromatic, prophylac-

tic and in forestry timber products and other goods (Bello, 1914).
In a way, Bello’s dissertation could be seen as being rooted in ideas de-
veloped since the eighteenth century, where seigneurial farms had acquired
fame due to their beautiful forested and aromatic roads, lined by ornamental
and therapeutic trees (Barbosa, 1799).
Acacia and eucalyptus species were judged to be decorative as much as
sensorial places of pleasure; the perfumes emitted by them were quoted as
examples of exquisite taste, with the wisdom of using them placing the
owner of such fresco at the cutting edge of civilisation and knowledge (Bar-
bosa, 1799). But from being ornamental in the eighteenth century, they
would come to be seen as a precious asset for dealing with public health
issues in the wetlands in the second half of the 1800s in Portugal (Junior,
1871; Pimentel, 1884).
In the 1800s, cholera, malaria and yellow fever were present from Russia
to Portugal. If epidemics worried rulers across Europe in the 1830s, in the
1850s concern increased for public health as crises escalated. The destruc-
tion of food caused by massive rainfall gave rise to undernutrition, which
added to the lack of hygiene in slums and tenements in the cities. Faecal
contamination of waters became dramatic (Baldwin, 1999; Saavedra, 2014).
In the Portuguese capital, Lisbon, between 1857 and 1858, 10% of the pop-
ulation perished due to yellow fever, typhus and cholera. The need to stop
this calamity was more than evident. In the following three decades, mostly
during summers, intermittent fevers would reappear year after year in wet-
lands and other dank farming areas near to fields of still and stagnant waters,
such as rice fields (Leite, 2005; Rodrigues, 2008).
At the time, the most current knowledge stated that epidemics (malaria)
could arise and proliferate from bad smells that were frequently, but not
solely, associated with degraded waters, wetlands and marshes. In France
and Italy, the contemporary scientific knowledge proposed that the antidote
to the noxious-smelling areas would not only be in afforestation (Temple,
2011) but in providing aromatic settings (Pimentel, 1876). In Portugal, sim-
ilar problems were occurring for which equivalent solutions were proposed.
There was an increasing need to eliminate the sources of widespread
epidemics that affected human lives as much as fauna (cattle) and flora (Ri-
beiro, 1868; Brantz, 2011; Saavedra, 2014). The solutions advocated would
be through eradicating smells by planting trees on the one hand, and drain-
ing or irrigating wetlands and stagnant waters on the other (Ribeiro, 1868).
Very mindful of all these problems, in 1860, the Portuguese General Di-
rector of Agriculture, professor in agronomy and editor of the journal Ar-
chivo Rural [Rural Archive], Rodrigo de Moraes Soares, argued that areas
of permanently tainted waters should be transformed into productive lands

or artificial pastures. But his main argument was against the rice fields.
These, he contended, although producing food, should be replaced by other
types of cultivation as those areas were responsible for epidemics and the
killing of many peasants. Hence, legislators had the moral duty of stopping
that situation, which they were able to because technology and science had
provided them with solutions. If they did not do so, they would be disobey-
ing the commandments of their Lord Jesus Christ, not practising the works
of mercy in providing care to the needy and therefore risking the salvation
of their souls:
Para quem não põe em dúvida os dogmas da religião Cristã, e os princípios

da moral universal, a cultura do arroz é o desprezo desses dogmas, a
prostergação desses princípios. Engrossar os cabedais á custa da vida e
saúde alheia é a negação da caridade, virtude fundamental do cristianismo.
(Soares, 1862, 306)1
In 1859, in the report about rice fields and marshlands, the commission
advised quite strongly for the extinction of rice cultivation. It took seven
years for it to be abolished by the Act of 1st July 1867 (Melo, 2017). In that
same year, in June 1867, though it was only printed for the public in 1868,
the Report on the Forest Estate of the Portuguese Mainland, ordered by the
Minister of Public Works, João de Andrade Corvo, was finished. This
document concluded that there was an urgent need to plant trees in areas
with a dramatic risk of flooding and in wetlands, which contained optimal
conditions for the widespread transmission of epidemics (Melo, 2017).
In that report, the engineers Carlos Ribeiro and Nery Delgado clearly
stated that the first areas that should be forested were the coastal lagoons,
marshlands, sandbanks, river margins and banks. All seemed to be a priority
(Ribeiro, 1868). And yet, if estuaries at the mouths of rivers, whether of
private, public or common property, were identified as needing immediate
afforestation, that report did not once mention the introduction of exotic
trees to achieve this. Indeed, the forestation of mountain summits, river
margins, marshlands, swamps and bordering lagoons were mainly advised
to be cleaned with pine species (Ribeiro, 1868). This report became one of
the most quoted documents as a reliable source in the underlying reports of
1 "For those who do not question the dogmas of the Christian religion, and the prin-
ciples of universal morality, the culture of rice is the contempt of these dogmas, the
postponement of these principles. Getting wealthier at the expense of the life and
health of others is the denial of charity, the fundamental virtue of Christianity”
(translation of the author).
the Forestry Administration Bureau in the 1870s, which, until the 1880s, did
not give a clear direction on eucalyptus in the National Woods.
Moreover, after the new cycle of inland flooding, which was evidenced
all over the territory, occurring in 1867 and again in 1872, the rulers decided
to deal with the origin of the problem. The memorandum written about the
urgent need to control the major inland floods provoked by the international
river, the Tagus, basically repeated the previous advice: the afforestation of
river margins, wetlands, marshlands, fens and lagoons. And again, neither
eucalyptus nor acacias were mentioned as being part of the solution (Eça,
1877).
This absence of information in technical reports seems to contrast with
the increasing diffusion of knowledge about eucalyptus’s marvellous
characteristics towards an improvement of rotten or decomposed
landscapes. It was praised by other coeval authors, amazed by eucalyptus’s
properties, as Radich has shown (Radich, 2007). Indeed, in 1876, the
forestry engineer Sousa Pimentel was determined to convince the public
about the goodness of eucalyptus. In his opinion, eucalyptus was an
amazing essence that could be explored through a giant range of
possibilities. His insight towards this natural resource was driven greatly
towards its medical properties. These could be exploited both by public and
private agents once they had been proven useful beyond any scientific doubt
for many purposes.
It seems the list of good things to be obtained from eucalyptus was
paramount in this thinking, and all were proven by science. First of all, it
would be a substitute for quinine, which was a crucial medicine to fight
yellow fever in Portugal, to be used amongst the swamps and productive
rice fields and just as importantly, or even more so, in the colonies. Being
part of a solution for epidemics and pandemics, the tree and its leaves could
be used as medicine with propaedeutic and therapeutic properties for the
eradication of miasmas, exhalations, flus and colds. The cure would be
obtained through its aroma. The understanding was that this would purify
soul and spirit. Concerning its use as an intervention in degraded
ecosystems, it would help the drainage of mixed and unhealthy waters by
converting lagoons, marshes and rice paddies into productive fields. Finally,
it would cover the needs of timber and charcoal production.
In 1884, Sousa Pimentel published a second edition of his work, now
further stressing eucalyptus’s capacity to produce timber, sustain river
banks, slopes and help prevent soil erosion (!), and then its therapeutic
properties. In 1884, however, it was chemically proven that eucalyptus
could not replace quinine (Radich, 2007). Nonetheless, Sousa Pimentel was
amazed by the examples of eucalyptus plantations. Overall, there were
44,200 mature eucalyptus plants in Portugal in 1884, and a further 4,500 in

nurseries. But many specimens had been lost, given the lack of protection
from wind and drought (Pimentel, 1884).
In this 1884 work, Pimentel stressed a very important conclusion, which
was that eucalyptus could not survive in wetlands where the root was
permanently waterlogged as it would rot and die. It could drain irrigated
areas, maybe mobile dunes, but not lagoons or similar. Thus, the possibility
about eucalyptus healing swamps requires further research before mapping
those areas once the experiments on different types of soils and areas with
more or less irrigation produced different outcomes. There is no clear
answer on its abilities to drain permanent or occasional watered fields from
the sources of the period accessed so far. What is known is that, in the
wetlands, malaria persisted in the 1880s.
Still, in 1881, the Bishop of Coimbra, D. Manuel Pina, was addressing
the Ministry of the Public Works in strong terms. Coimbra is a diocese
located in the centre west of the Portuguese territory, near to the mouth of
the longest national river, the Mondego. He was voicing the citizens’ views
and advocating on their behalf, accusing the government of not fulfilling its
duties towards the citizens. The intermittent fevers were not diminishing,
mortality was huge and could be observed locally near to the swampy, damp
and degraded areas in the wet fields.
By addressing the Ministry in such an aggressive fashion, Pina was
providing a statement and a challenge. Through the laicisation of affairs
traditionally mastered by the Church, in a context where the political elite
were trying to push back the influence of the Church in social life, namely
in assistance issues, the question was: “Why were the public works and
public policies not being developed accordingly”? Since the Constitutional
Chart in article 9 had nominated the Executive Power for that responsibility
– defending the population from public health risks – the ecclesiastic was
exhorting that the government should set out its prior competence,
according to the law!
Não é caridade nem ministério parochial só a esmola que se dá, os

sacramentos que se administram, e a doutrina Chiristã que se ensina; são-
no também a vida agrícola, social e doméstica que se melhora (…); a
salubridade e condições hygienicas das povoações que se promovem; as
doenças e enfermidades que se acautelam (…); o egoísmo e as ambições
desordenadas que se combatem. (Pina, 1881, 4-5)2
2“It is not charity or parochial ministry just to give alms, or the sacraments that are
administered and the Christian doctrine that is taught; it is also about the agricultural,
According to Pina, defending the populations from governmental

inaction was the real duty of the bishop. In the end, were there the praised
solutions of afforestation with exotic species? Were they mere samples of
possibilities?
In the context of the tremendous effects of torrential flooding, erosion
of the slopes and very scarce forest cover in the mountains and generally
across the land (Melo, 2017), eucalyptus, according to the aforementioned
three enthusiasts, indeed seemed quite promising. As Maria Carlos Radich
(2007) has stated, the greater knowledge about eucalyptus that Sousa
Pimentel had in 1884 than had been available for Oliveira Junior (1871),
and which would be even greater for Pereira Coutinho (1887-8), is evidence
of the short time it had taken for the tree to reach a very great height. That
is to say, its amazing capacity for producing timber testifies that eucalyptus
plantations were developing steadily. The three authors were absolutely
passionate about this tree (Coutinho, 1887-8).
Sousa Pimentel recorded statistics about it in 1884. These started to
reveal a promising development. This very fast growing species was
offering a promising possibility of an alternative energy supply as timber
for navy and house building, and Portugal was lacking mineral
coal/charcoal resources. Moreover, eucalyptus was adjusted to sustain river
margins and prevent erosion on the slopes, providing protection against
torrential floods. It was necessary for the idea of health control to be better
tested. However, Radich has pointed out that it was not until the 1880s that
eucalyptus trees were introduced into the National Woods nurseries
(Radich, 2007).
CONCLUSIONS
Introducing and testing the behaviour of botanic jewels transferred

across continents and far-off seas resulted from a profound and inner will
of doing well for the sake of humankind, towards an improvement in human
living conditions. The perception of intervention and the scale of controlled
plantations of trees, woodlands and forests was totally different from that of
today.
Through the nineteenth century, “exotic” did not mean bad, it did not
mean invasive or causing degradation and depletion. On the contrary, the
transfer of “exotic” tree species around the world occurred mainly, while
considering their potential for performing well, with a view to transforming
social, and domestic life that improves; (…) the salubrity and hygienic conditions of
the villages that are promoted; diseases and illnesses that are cautioned; (…) the
selfishness and the disordered ambitions that are fought” (translation of the author).
areas to improve health and degraded environments. Scientists were by no

means seeking to harm nature but to heal areas where living conditions were
at risk.
Without any intention of denying the impacts that Europeans and the
human factor had in changing ecosystems profoundly in the long run, I have
avoided reading the past from the current twenty-first-century perspective.
That view, from an historical perspective, becomes methodologically
distorted, for it does not allow us to understand the motivations and actions
of coeval actors that encouraged science to invest in the “naturalisation” of
exotics as the possibilities and limits of science from their contemporary
times and geographies.
Summing up, the intentional transfer of species of exotic trees, in the
nineteenth century, was to do well, to improve the common good, to protect
the communities. The intentions behind the planting of eucalyptus, and
similarly for acacias, were to safeguard the human population from
epidemics and to repair the environment. It was not to provoke ecological
disasters.
Eucalyptus was originally introduced slowly and in modest ways.
Gradually, it became exploited for several purposes which eventually ended
up with it being used to manufacture paper, but only after science had made
this possible and recommended. The real problem was the scale of
implementation, resulting in the ornamental becoming invasive, but this
only happened after the 1860s.
Thus, it is important to keep in mind that approaches to environmental
changes, in the long run, need to give greater insight into their historical
contexts, for that is the only path to understand coeval motivations, and
also that the human factor, in spite of its errors, in former times has
already tried to improve nature and grant its protection.
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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WORKING WITH NATURE:

19 CENTURY VINEYARDS IN THE ALGARVE
TH
ANA DUARTE RODRIGUES
INTRODUCTION
Focusing on the Algarve winescapes of the 19th century, this chapter

argues that the farmers of this region have adapted to their environmental
conditions based on traditional knowledge, artisanal practices and
resilience. The Algarve is the most southern region of Portugal, and
although not geographically part of the Mediterranean basin, it has a
Mediterranean climate, marked by long and hot summers and cool and wet
winters. Therefore, the Algarve vegetation is typically Mediterranean. In
the 19th century, several descriptions made by both foreign and national
authors who were travellers, naturalists, botanists, and agronomists
portrayed the Algarve landscape as a wide-ranging garden. However, the
wine production was criticized, especially when compared with the region
of Douro, whose winescapes were considered ‘scientific landscapes’
(Macedo, 2011).
The history of science has focused its interest on the cultivation of
vines from the perspective that wine is largely a product scientifically built
by viticulture and winemaking (Paul, 1996). Science invaded vineyards in
the late 19th century, largely due to the diseases that hit these crops, such
as phylloxera. The study presented here argues for a change in perspective:
to look at the Algarve vineyards’ culture and wine production as artisanal
practices, which nevertheless denote an empirical knowledge of nature and
adaptation to the environment.
Additionally, focusing on the Algarve winescapes of the 19th century
through the lens of the conceptual framework of the interrelated topics
Identity, Memory and Landscape (known by its acronym IML) (Yoffee,
2007), this chapter shows how an important part of the country's landscape
Working with nature: 19th century vineyards in the Algarve 209
heritage is completely lost, including certain varieties of vine, traditional

horticultural processes and, consequently, the region's identity.
The history of landscape gained momentum with the emergence of
both heritage values and environmental ones, which endowed the
landscape with a great social visibility, even contributing to the creation of
specific instruments of protection and regulation of the landscape. This
increased the diversity of perspectives and contributed to the reinforcement
of values of 'cultural authenticity' and the idea of landscape as heritage
(Yoffee, 2007).
Vineyards, wine-making processes, and wineries shape the landscape
to such an extent that they convey identity to certain regions or countries,
then labelled as 'wine regions' or 'wine countries'. International
historiography has already consecrated Italy, France, some regions of the
USA, and Portugal as such (Peters, 1997; Sommers, 2008; Sereni &
Litchfield, 2014). Historiography has also enhanced some regions of
Portugal as winescapes, showing how they have shaped the landscape and
embodied the region's distinctiveness. The unique vineyards of the
Azorean island of Pico, planted in lava ground, were already classified as a
World Heritage site by UNESCO in 2004 (Sousa, 2004). In the
surroundings of Lisbon, the rebirth of the wine produced in the villa of the
Marquis of Pombal in the 18th century, known as Carcavelos wine, also
stands out (Pereira & Cabral, 2007). However, the most celebrated
Portuguese winescapes are the scientific Port wine landscapes in the
Douro region, which received the contribution of many English
landowners who established themselves in Portugal in the 18th and 19th
centuries (Macedo, 2011).
Although historiography has already addressed the Algarve vineyards
and wine production from a historical point of view (Bernardes &
Oliveira, 2006), based on unpublished documents and novel primary
sources, this chapter tackles the descriptions and reports of the Algarve
winescapes made by foreign and national experts and the region’s
potential for wine production. Moreover, it argues that although the most
advanced scientific methods of growing vines were not applied in the
Algarve, the Algarvean farmers succeeded in growing vines based on
specific artisanal practices. It also offers data on the vine varieties
cultivated in the Algarve between 1822 and 1872, which enhanced the
region’s biodiversity and identity. Finally, stemming from different
opinions on the quality of the Algarve’s wine, this chapter re-evaluates
this question by arguing that the wine did not lack quality but additives for
preserving wine.
210 Chapter Fifteen
Stemming from the perspective of the history of science and the IML
conceptual framework, I argue that the Algarve winescapes used to
contribute to the region's identity, parallel to the natural products that are
usually associated with the Algarve, such as oranges, figs, almonds, olives
and carobs. However, the research presented here demonstrates that the
traditional varieties of vine cultivated in the Algarve in the 19th century
and the beginning of the 20th century have disappeared from the
commercial circuit and wine producers and, in present times, they are
nothing more than a collection on a seed bank.1 In recent decades, French
varieties have invaded the Algarve’s vineyards. Based on these findings, I
argue that for a more ecologically balanced future for the Mediterranean
region, the awakening of landscape heritage is necessary.
THE ALGARVE WINESCAPES
Winescapes have been predominant in the Algarve and wine production

has contributed to the region's prosperity since medieval times (Bernardes
& Oliveira, 2006). In the 19th century, both Portuguese and foreign
travellers who wrote about the Algarve stated that vineyards were one of
the chief features of the region’s landscape.
In 1846, the German botanist Heinrich Moritz Willkomm (1821-1895)
travelled in southern Portugal and published a book on his travel memories
(Willkomm, 1847). He pointed out the vineyards as one of the chief
features of the Algarvean landscape, and he concluded through the
observation of the wine producers’ houses that they were prosperous
farmers. Indeed, he described the Algarve landscape as one in which olive
and carob trees “cover almost the promontory of the Algarve mountains,
alternating with large plantations of fig trees and orange trees, with
vineyards and vegetable gardens" (Willkomm, 1841, in Wilhelm, 1988,
187-188).
1 The research project 'Sustainable Beauty for Algarvean Gardens: Old Knowledge
to a Better Future' (IF/00322/2014), funded by the Portuguese Foundation of
Science and Technology, addresses the lack of sustainability of the Algarvean
gardens and argues that a deeper knowledge of autochthonous species and ancient
horticultural practices could benefit current practices (see Rodrigues, 2017). In this
context, pilot experiments are being carried at the Faculty of Sciences of the
University of Lisbon, and although, based on historical findings, the project
foresaw the importance of performing experiments with a traditional vine variety,
this was not ultimately possible as it could not be found in nurseries or wine
producers.
Furthermore, the French civil engineer Charles Bonnet (1816-1867)

came to Portugal between 1844 and 1846 to study the geomorphology of a
copper mine in the Algarve (Mesquita, 1990, 10). In 1847, he returned to
the Algarve and collected a lot of data to write his Mémoire sur le
Royaume de l'Algarve, having also become a member of the Royal
Academy of Sciences. Bonnet points out that vineyards occupied a lot of
terrains, especially in the surroundings of Monchique (Bonnet, 1850, 81).
Although foreign authors have provided important hints to understand
how winescapes were common in the Algarve in the 19th century, the most
important source to appreciate the layout and geographic dissemination of
vineyards in the Algarve in this period is the Report of the Agricultural
Society of the Algarve (1872). The Portuguese military officer Gerardo
Augusto Pery (1835-1893), a member of the Society of Statistics of France
and of the Royal Academy of Sciences of Lisbon, reported that the regions
of Tavira, Olhão, Lagoa, Vila Nova de Portimão, Faro, Castro Marim, Vila
Real de Santo Antonio and Albufeira were winescapes in the second half
of the 19th century (Pery, 1872, fl. 24-25). Wine landscapes were also to be
seen in other regions before the appearance of powdery mildew of the
vine. This disease devastated the best part of the Algarve vineyards in the
1860s (Pery, 1872, fl. 23). After that, the Algarvean farmers took two
different paths: some decided to cultivate fig trees rather than vineyards,
but the farmers from Loulé, Monchique, Lagos and Alzejur decided to
replant their vineyards, thus maintaining the winescapes and the
landscape’s identity (Pery, 1872, fl. 24-25).
Therefore, winescapes continued to prevail in the Algarve and farmers
have shown resilience towards the negative impact of vines’ diseases.
Nevertheless, Pery was disappointed with the Algarve wine production’s
performance as, in his opinion, the region’s potential was underappreciated.
He stated that "keeping in mind the region's favourable climate and the
great portion of terrain which gather the best conditions to the good
development of vineyards, it's a shame that the area occupied by such
culture is diminutive" (Pery, 1872, fl. 23).
Furthermore, Pery argued that any of the three geologically distinctive
Algarve regions – the mountain, the Barrocal2 and the coast – provided
adequate climatic and topographic conditions for growing vines. This was
the reason behind Pery's disappointment, as one could grow any kind of
vine and produce different wines throughout the region: in the schistose
region of the mountain range terrains like those of the cliffs of the Douro,
2The Barrocal is the Algarve’s inland area, between the mountain and the coast. Its
name derives from the geology due to the presence of irregular hills, which are
called ‘Barrocos’ in the Portuguese language.
212 Chapter Fifteen
"where the best wines of the world are produced"; in the coastal zone, in
clayey soils, similar to those of Bairrada; in the sandy ones by the ocean,
like those of Lavradio, Cartaxo, which he argued were "regions well
known for their portly wines so sought after for boarding"; and finally, in
the region of Monchique, where the soil was "very similar to that of the
vineyards of Dão, Fundão, Alto Mondego, and several Alentejo wine-
growing centers" (Pery, 1872, fl. 23v.).
Although the region’s potential was not fully explored, and most
vineyards were concentrated in the coastal area from Sagres to Quarteira
(D'Avillez, 2006, 192), the 19th century Algarve landscape can be
considered as an outcome of nature and people through the continuum
process of land cultivation. These are the foundations on which landscape
identity is built.
GROWING VINEYARDS
In general, the processes for vineyard cultivation practiced in the

Algarve are similar to those employed elsewhere and have not been
considered pejoratively by the Agriculture Society's experts who produced
the 1872 Report, as it was pointed out that "some owners treat their vines
carefully" (Pery, 1872, fl. 24). However, three major differences in the
cultivation process can be pointed out: they did not use a plow, they did
not make the empa – the process in which the vine sticks are folded and
tied to living or dead tutors, and which is the only way for the vine to
stand vertically and allow the sap to be distributed throughout the plant –
and the vine grew on the ground, thus clearly contradicting the appearance
of the Douro's scientific landscape as a result of the almost 'laboratorial'
processes of its cultivation (Macedo, 2011).
In 1841, the president of the city council of Lagos, João Baptista da
Silva Lopes (1781-1850), described both the horticultural process of
growing vines, as well as its wine production. He observed that, earlier,
vines were planted in an irregular manner and quite close to each other,
within a distance of about three spans (one span equals ca. 22 cm).
However, the modern vineyards of the 1840s followed an improved
cultivation method. Strains were aligned and separated by about five-six
spans (Lopes, 1841, 139). Thirty years later, the vineyards were all
cultivated in a regular way, from which we can deduce that the method
must have been generalized between 1840 and 1870.
In the 1872 Agricultural Report, Pery described the cultivation method
thus: the rooted cuttings were planted at a distance of 1.10 m or 1.20 m in
equidistant parallel lines, so that the arrangement was in perfect harmony
with the climate of this region. Each thousand strains occupied, therefore,
a surface of 1225 m2, which corresponded to 8160 roots per hectare (Pery,
1872, fl. 27v.).
The process of vine cultivation in the Algarve included the harvest, the
alumia (excavating the strains at a depth of 0.10 or 0.15 m), the pruning,
the plantação ao covato (planting in an open hole at the bottom of the
trunk, where the rooted cutting is fixed), and the redra (the second digging
operation in vineyards to remove the impurities or weeds) (Pery, 1872, fl.
27v.).
The harvesting of grape vines was done in September, as it is in current
times, followed by the alumia, which should be done immediately before
the first rains. The next procedure – pruning – was, according to Lopes’
description, supposed to take place in January (Lopes, 1841, 139). Pruning
was probably not done according to the best practices, since it has been
criticized by several authors. For example, Constantino Botelho de
Lacerda Lobo (1754-?), sent by the Royal Academy of Sciences of Lisbon
to the Algarve between November 1790 and January 1791, stated that the
Algarve's farmers cut all the vines, and the consequence of this
malpractice was that the vines did not produce half the grapes they could
in the following year (Lobo, 1994, 237). In his opinion, the Algarve's
farmers should therefore have promoted the improvement of their
vineyards with the pruning and grafting of the best grape varieties, so that
the strain retained a proportional number of canes to keep sturdy (Lobo,
1994, 237). Moreover, around forty years later, the president of Lagos city
council made the same kind of observation. Lopes considered that pruning
could be improved by leaving more canes for the grape sprouts and that
this should be done before the rise of the sap (Lopes, 1841, 139). If this
practice was observed, vineyards would produce more.
The reason that lies behind these critiques is the expertise revealed by
Porto and Lisbon wine producers, to whom the Algarve farmers are
compared and supposed to do the same (Lobo, 1994, 237). For example, a
landowner of the Municipality of Faro, Mr. Barrote, a man with an
entrepreneurial spirit, and who was very active and a lover of progress,
began to experiment in his vineyards, populated with the best castes, with
pruning and the empa system used in the outskirts of Lisbon, where the
best castes were grown. Only his disease prevented him from drawing any
valid conclusions concerning his experiments (Pery, 1872, fl. 28).
However, the 1872 Report gives another explanation for the kind of
pruning technique used in the Algarve vineyards. It is called póda raza
(shallow pruning), and the farmers argue that it is the most adequate
process for the kinds of soil they have in the region (Pery, 1872, fl. 27v.).
214 Chapter Fifteen
When this method is used, the strain is kept very low, cranes spread onto
the ground, and bunches of grapes ripen on the ground (Pery, 1872, fl. 28).
Certainly, shallow pruning did not allow the empa to be practiced, as it
was in other regions of Portugal throughout the same period. Other voices
argued against this explanation, stating that in this warm region this
practice was unnecessary and that in many other regions with similar soils,
farmers did not follow this method (Pery, 1872, fl. 28).
The redra was done in April and May and at that time manure was also
sometimes added. In some places, farmers usually sowed vineyards every
three years by pouring manure into each strain (Pery, 1872, fl. 28v.). Near
the coast it was totally different. In perfect synchrony with the surrounding
environment, farmers applied sea plants and algae mixed with fish waste
as manure to fertilize vineyards (Pery, 1872, fl. 29). The exploitation of
the resources that the land gave them was so ingenious that in years of
scarce pastures they fed the oxen with sardines (Pery, 1872, fl. 42).
The oenologists of the Algarve consider that nitrogen fertilizers, such
as fish manure and sea plants, may have opposite effects. If, on the one
hand, they favor the development of the strain and give it more vigor, on
the other hand, they impair the quality of the grape, making it less
aromatic and sweet (Pery, 1872, fl. 29).
In poor lands where it is very convenient to add composts to the vines,
it is recommendable that vegetative manures are used (Pery, 1872, fl. 29).
To do this, the most cost-effective and best solution was for farmers to
sow rye or lupine into the vine and bury their crops as the vines are dug
(Pery, 1872, fl. 29). In the poor lands of Barrocal, for example, when it
was necessary to fertilize the vineyards, farmers planted rye seed or lupine
and buried this harvest at the time they dug all the fields. Therefore, I
argue that the adaptability of horticultural practices in the Algarve stems
from the wise approach to the stewardship of the land and the region’s
resources, in which natural manures could not easily be replaced by
chemical fertilizers – although these were already available in the 19th
century.
Parallel to the traditional horticultural practices, this research has
revealed more than sixty of the traditional grape varieties – red and white
– that were cultivated in the Algarve between 1822 and 1872.3 However,
none of these vine varieties can be found on the commercial circuit or
amongst wine producers. In current times, these vine varieties are no more
than a collection in a seed bank of the Algarve Department of Agriculture,
located in Tavira.
3 Data comes from Girão, 1822, and ANTT, MOPCI, mç. 870, nº 74, fls. 25, 26.
However, some of the ancient varieties, such as Espadeiro, Chaparro,

Caroncha, Bocalrão, Languedor, Citima, Pão-ferro, Godlho, Penso,
Tendeira, Alvilha, Mespigas, or Vale de Barreiros, cannot be found in this
seed bank and may constitute an irreparable loss of biodiversity, if they are
not found in other seed banks.4 All the other ancient vine varieties that
vanished from the landscape, but which can still be found in Tavira,
should be submitted to pilot experiments to test their quality, resilience to
disease and productivity.
The restructuration of vineyards in recent decades introduced French
varieties into the Algarve landscape. The Algarve winescapes hold castes
such as Aragonez (Tinta Roriz), which currently represents 25% of the
cultivated area, Syrah (7%), Cabernet Sauvignon (6%), Touriga Nacional
(5%), Alicante Bouschet, Merlot, Petit Verdot, Alfrocheiro, Tinto Cão,
Grenache, Verdelho and Viognier. Vineyards presently occupy 2140 ha,
especially concentrated in the areas of Silves, Lagoa, Portimão, and Lagos
(D'Avillez, 2006, 195). The reasons behind the predominance of French
varieties in the Algarve might not be only related to productivity. For
example, Lopes considered that there were a lot of vines of both varied
and excellent quality, from which the Portuguese were able to produce
good wine and in abundance, to such an extent that there was none for
exportation as it was all consumed inside the country (Lopes, 1841, 138).
Therefore, the reasons for the abandonment of the traditional Algarve vine
varieties require some doubts. Furthermore, as recent trends privilege the
uniqueness of some wines rather than the ones that hold a more standard
palate, this research argues for the recuperation of some of the Algarve’s
traditional vine varieties.
WINE IN THE MAKING
The Algarve was considered in the 19th century as "one of the most
promising regions for the production and commerce of the best and most
precious wines in the world" by the agronomist Alexandre de Sousa
Figueiredo who wrote a book on the improvement of the Algarve’s wine
production in 1873 (Figueiredo, 1873, 3). The region's climate and soils
were the most adequate for the growth of vines. In addition, its important
harbors could facilitate its exports. However, the vineyard culture was far
from being profitable in the second half of the 19th century. The stipulated
reason was the low quality of the wine, as the producers could not
guarantee the wine's conservation during its travels (Figueiredo, 1873, 3).
4 Following information given by the Algarve Department of Agriculture in 2018.

216 Chapter Fifteen
As for the quality of the wine, the opinions were divergent. For
example, at the turn of the 19th century, Link had eulogized the wine by
stating that "The wine of this province is white, contrary to the general
custom of the country, but is good, and supplies a part of Alentejo" (Link,
1801, 454). The wines called 'da Fuzeta' were considered the best in the
Algarve,5 but the wines from Moncarapacho, Quelles and Pechão in the
regions of Olhão, Lagoa and Portimão were also famous (Pery, 1872, fl.
24). Finally, and within this time frame, the Algarve's wines were present
in international exhibitions, such as in the Great Exhibition of London in
1874, in the Exhibition in Berlin in 1889, and in the Universal Exhibition
in Paris in 1900 (D'Avillez, 2006, 190) – evidence of the wine’s quality as
well as its international acknowledgement.
On the contrary, for some experts, the wine was not made according to
the best processes. For example, Figueiredo claimed that the harvest
should be done as early as possible, and grapes should enter the mill
straight away (Figueiredo, 1873, 5). Yet farmers sometimes left the grapes
on the ground for some time, and although this was a practice that could
be tolerated in cold climates, it was not recommended in the Algarve
(Figueiredo, 1873, 5). Sometimes, farmers by the seafront began the
harvest in September and in the mountains by the end of that month
(Bonnet, 1850, 82), which was already quite late for this region.
Following the harvest, grapes were placed in baskets; then they were
trampled under the feet of men, and water was added to grape musts when
placed in kettles or barrels, most of the time without using any scale or
preparation. Despite water being poured into musts, at least two or three
almudes per pipe, the president of Lagos city council considered the wine
to be fine and delicate (Lopes, 1841, 139). In the end, they used a
glucometer, which is an artisanal device to measure the amount of glucose
(sugar) in grape musts (Figueiredo, 1873, 6).
Figueiredo makes a series of scientific recommendations to overcome
the deficiencies of the artisanal processes of wine production and secure
the improvement of the wine’s quality in the future. He suggests the use of
the system of enclosed fermentation in barrels, such as the ones invented
by Michel Perret Ainé in Cuves à étages et appareil de distillation (1870)
or described by António Augusto de Aguiar in As balsas dansantes:
considerações ácerca dos processos de vinificação (1867). During the
fermentation process, a lot of carbonic acid is created and it has to be
driven to the exterior of the barrels. Otherwise, it will explode. To avoid
5The wines of Fuzeta gained this name because they were exported from Fuzeta,
however they were not all from that region.
this, Figueiredo recommends the use of the Payen hydraulic batch mixer
or the universal batch mixer described by João Inácio Ferreira Lapa in his
Technologia Rural (1871) (Figueiredo, 1873, 11).
In the period considered, the traditional techniques of the Algarvean
farmers in the cultivation of vines proved to be effective because they
knew how to make the most of the resources they had around them. In
contrast, their peripheral situation regarding the main development of wine
growing and winemaking proved to be more negative because, although
many authors consider the wine to be of good quality, the Algarvean wine
could not last a voyage and therefore be sold elsewhere or even exported,
as Port wine could.
FINAL REMARKS
Focusing on vineyards, this chapter has tackled the problems of the

Algarve horticultural processes of cultivating vineyards and the total
amnesia concerning traditional grape varieties of the 19th century, which
themselves constituted a major feature of the identity of the Algarve's
landscape at the time.
This case study has enabled us to enrich the narratives on agriculture
through the lenses of identity and sustainability rather than 19th-century
agricultural progress. Additionally, it allows the comparison between
regional and national horticultural and agronomic practices, highlighting
the co-construction of a regional and national landscape identity, from the
process of which emerges the idea of working with nature rather than
dominating it.
The problems of sustainability faced by the Algarvean landscape in
current times are interlinked with problems of identity, and a better
understanding of Mediterranean landscape history and traditional species
cultivated in the region is needed. Moreover, traditional horticultural
practices would benefit current choices of landscape construction and
protection. Irreversible losses of this heritage can already be traced. This
chapter's goal is to contribute not only to a deeper knowledge of this story,
but also to create an impact on current practitioners and act as a
springboard for the rebirth of traditional varieties of grapes that have been
cultivated in the Algarve for centuries.
218 Chapter Fifteen
REFERENCES
Aguiar, A. A. de. 1867. “As balsas dansantes (considerações acerca dos

processos de vinificação),” Jornal de Sciencias Mathematicas,
Physicas e Naturaes, Vol. IV: 283-291.
Ainé, M. M. P. 1870. Cuves à Étages et Appareil de Distillation.
Bruxelles: Imp. De Combe et Vaude Weghe.
Bernardes, J. P. and Oliveira, L. F. 2006. A vinha e o vinho no Algarve. O
renascer de uma velha tradição. Algarve: Comissão de Coordenação e
Desenvolvimento Regional.
Bonnet, C. 1850. Algarve. Description Géographique et géologique de
cette province. Lisboa: Typographie de la meme Academie.
D'Avillez, V. 2006. A vinha e o vinho em Portugal. Lisboa: Verbo.
Figueiredo, A. de S. 1873. Breves indicações práticas para o
melhoramento da fabricação dos vinhos do Algarve. Lisboa: Typ.
Universal.
Girão, T. 1822. Tratado Teórico e Prático da Agricultura das vinhas, da
Extracção do Mosto, Bondade e Conservação dos Vinhos e da
Destilação das Águas Ardentes. Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional.
Link, H. F. 1801. Travels in Portugal and through France and Spain: with
a dissertation on the literature of Portugal, and the Spanish and
Portugueze languages. London: Printed for T. N. Longman and O.
Rees.
Lobo, C. B. de L. and Vidigal, L. (introduction and notes). 1994.
“Memória sobre a agricultura do Algarve e melhoramento que pode
ter,” Anais do Município de Faro, Vol. 24: 217-248.
Lopes, J. B. da S. 1841. Corografia ou Memoria Economica, Estadistica e
Topografica do Reino do Algarve. Lisboa: Academia das Ciências de
Lisboa.
Macedo, M. 2011. "Port wine landscape: Railroads, Phylloxera, and
Agricultural Science", Agricultural History Society, Spring: 157-173.
Mesquita, J. C. V. 1990. “Estudo Introdutório,” in Memória sobre o Reino
do Algarve: Descrição Geográfica e Geológica. Faro: Secretaria de
Estado da Cultura/Delegação Regional do Sul.
Paul, H. W. 1996. Science, Vine, and Wine in Modern France.
Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press.
Pereira, A. D. B. and Cabral, A. 2007. A vinha e o vinho em Carcavelos.
Cascais: Câmara Municipal.
Pery, A. J. 1872. Algarve Agricultural Society, Report. Arquivo Nacional
da Torre do Tombo (National Archives of Torre do Tombo),
Ministério das Obras Públicas, Comércio e Indústria, mç. 870, nº 74.
Peters, G. L. 1997. American winescapes: the cultural landscapes of

America's wine country. Boulder: Routledge .
Rodrigues, Ana D. 2017. "Sustainable beauty for algarvean gardens: cross-
boundary solutions between the humanities and the sciences",
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Sereni, E. and Litchfield, R. B. 2014. History of the Italian Agricultural
Landscape. Princeton, NJ: Princeton Legacy Library.
Sommers. B. J. 2008. The geography of wine: How landscapes, cultures,
terroir, and the weather make a drop. New York: Plume.
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Amoldische Buch.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ASSESSMENT TO NEGOTIATE CULTURAL

ECOSYSTEM SERVICES OF PLACES
CHRISTINE ROTTENBACHER
INTRODUCTION
As a landscape architect, I developed an assessment method (Moved

Planning Process, MPP) to negotiate the use and maintenance of places
that build our cultural landscapes. I reviewed the effects of walking to-
gether over shared used places on negotiation processes within my PhD
‘Moved Planning Process MPP’, focusing on communication structures of
heterogeneous groups and how emotions are an important part of these
communication interactions. Further, I used the theory of the contact pro-
cess to structure those interactions, community building processes and
analysed how shared experiences can lead to shared constructed realities (I
have already published articles about those results). In further practical
work and reflection periods as well as research, the focus on decision-
making and negotiation processes led to investigations about the attach-
ment to places and how human experiences are expressed within a public
participation process. We start with the sensing and reflecting qualities of
places and with an exchange about the meaning of places. Subsequently,
cultural ecosystem services can be identified together, and the ongoing
negotiation about the use and maintenance of land is supported by the
dynamic of shared experienced place relationships.
Cultural ecosystem services can range from recreation, experiencing
relaxation, and even spiritual qualities, to everyday work activities in the
landscape. Concepts like territory concepts (Janz, 2002), perception and
action concepts (Kepner, 1999; Goldstein, 2000; Damasio, 1999) as well
as phenomenological insights (Merleau-Ponty, 1945 (1966); Casey, 1997)
need to be integrated into the assessment method. Places get meanings,
which are defined by relationships. These relationships are expressed with-
Assessment to negotiate cultural ecosystem services of places 221
in the special social context and influenced by personal and shared experi-
ences and knowledge (‘here and now’ within the assessment). The naming
of the qualities of place takes a big part, as it is related to the visible par-
ticulars of local topographies, biographical associations, and socially given
systems. In repeated contacts with places, the relationships of humans
within the social-natural context can be strengthened. I would like to show
how these relationships can grow to a shared reality, a construction of the
past as ‘what happened here?’, and lead to a reflection of maintaining
habits. As social identities are situated in places and landscapes, this can
contribute to negotiating their use and maintenance for the future.
Both individual personal knowledge and shared communal knowledge
are incorporated throughout the socio-cultural frameworks and subse-
quently shape the use, behaviour and maintenance of place and land. The
concepts of place making and the meaning of place, with a focus on hu-
man-nature relationships, can help to structure the negotiation processes
that combine biological as well as cultural diversity.
In my practical work I started to investigate cultural ecosystem services
together with participants to enable an expression of the nature-human
relationships. Thereby the definition of cultural ecosystem services is
enlarged from recreational values, aesthetic values, values of identification
and ethical-spiritual values to existence values and knowledge systems
about landscape and place, as they are integrated into everyday work and
existing.
Using the dynamics of expressing values and meanings of place in par-
ticipation processes can help with working with the relationships humans
experience and developing stewardship programs. The approach presented
in this article assumes that the negotiation of a sustainable stewardship is
based on an identification and emotional attachment to a place (Saar &
Palang, 2009). The relationship between the community and their places
has significant effects on the landscape with its life-supporting processes.
The next section discusses how it is possible to create a base for nego-
tiating emotions as relationships to places, to ground them in place at-
tachment concepts. Thereby I will introduce the Moved Planning Process
to show how I enable contact processes to develop amongst the partici-
pants.
MEANING OF PLACE – HOW TO NEGOTIATE EMOTIONS
Place meaning and place attachment are complex and multifaceted

phenomena which involve the interplay of affects and emotions, as well as
222 Chapter Sixteen
knowledge and beliefs, and behaviours and actions about a place. Scannell
and Gifford (2010, 5) described place attachment as
…a bond between an individual or group and a place that can vary in terms
of spatial level, degree of specificity, and social or physical features of the
place, and is manifested through affective, cognitive, and behavioural
psychological processes.
A substantial amount of research has been conducted on how place

meanings are created and how they are expressed and observed (narratives,
mental maps) in place attachment and humans’ sense of belonging to a
place, a community (Manzo, 2005). Current research deals mainly with
meanings that humans attach to places on individual levels and how this
process can contribute to their identity in enabling ongoing reflection and
self-understanding. So they can attach meanings to places to gain
continuity in an ever-changing environment with its cycles and rhythms
and can change meanings as an adaptation to new insights or forces
(Smaldone & Sanyal, 2005). Insights describe the connection between
cultural landscape as a means for maintaining and renewing identity with a
sustainable use of land (Bianca, 2008), as the connection between emotional
attachment and mental concepts, as the perception of the environment and
adapted behaviour leads to shaping and organising the land (Olwig, 2002).
The meaning of places represents various phenomena of emotional
relationships to places (positive and negative). The range reaches from
concepts of rootedness, belonging, protection, appropriation, the sense of
possession and control over a place (Jorgensen & Stedman, 2001) and of
comfort to humans’ experiences with nature (Kyle & Chick, 2004) and
wilderness (Frederickson & Anderson, 1999). One result points out that
significance or importance for single persons need not correlate with
aesthetics or scenic beauty (Manzo, 2005). Often, they are ordinary places
of routines and everyday life where people experience opportunities for
self-understanding and emotional development.
At the same time, the protection, management, and planning of cultural
landscapes have attracted broad attention from scientists, policymakers,
and the general public according to the adoption of the European Land-
scape Convention (ELC) in 20001.
1The interest in cultural landscapes also finds its expression in the UNESCO
World Heritage Convention and the IUCN Protected Landscape Approach. Both
There are interesting investigations about humans’ values and meanings

(Höppner et al., 2008) in relation to place attachment, and how they
determine self-efficacy and outcome-efficacy in participation processes. For
landscape assessment, a distinction is made between perceptual and
aesthetic experience and what the ELC (European Landscape Convention
CoE, 2000) calls the “opinions and expressions” of social stakeholder
groups. Usually, perceptual and aesthetic investigations are done by
experts and then combined with opinions and expressions. We can find
two fields of perceptual landscape studies (Heijgen, 2013):
- studies on visual and multi-sensorial perception and aesthetic

values – visual preferences belong to this field, the ‘classic’
approach in land management issues;
- studies on social perception – the intangible values of which the
landscape is an expression for a certain society or social group; we
can identify at least two groups of these values: the cultural value
(for example memorial, identity) and the fruition value or use (for
example producing, living, recreating).
Social attachment to place needs to be directly incorporated into

planning procedures. Their single needs and interests must be transformed
into a more comprehensive understanding, as participants cannot transcend
their particularity (Young, 2000), but they can develop shared
‘particularities’ of their special places (Haraway, 1991).
This article tries to contribute to the necessary discussion on how to
enter a discourse of negotiating these emotionally biased personal
meanings, because negotiating emotions needs different approaches and
‘emotional’ communication structures (Rottenbacher, 2004b).
In negotiating the use of land in a planning process, it is first necessary
to help express those emotional relationships by using the dynamic of the
mutual experiencing of meanings. To do so, we have to enlarge our
theoretical concepts about human-nature relationships.
One theoretical concept, considered here, is the “Human Theory of
Action” (Goldstein, 2000), where a human is described as an organism-
environmental entity. A human is embedded as a body-mind person in a
social-ecological environment. Experiences and knowledge are stored up
in the body and mind and used in each situation with other humans and
policies promote the protection, management, planning, and governance of cultural

landscapes.
224 Chapter Sixteen
places (Gustafson, 2001). These structures and social realities are

reconstructed, confirmed and extended with everyday experiences within
the everyday living space (lebensraum2). Simultaneously, the modalities of
perception orientate individual feelings, emotions and thinking patterns.
The capacities for environmental concern lie in how we perceive (feel,
discover and invent) nature and place, and how values are manifested in
the ongoing behaviour, engagement and maintenance of place.
‘I’ perceive ‘my’ place with my senses, ‘I’ experience it through my
feelings, and ‘I’ organise my actions within my world with my mind.
Different disciplines deal with emotions and embodiment (a term used in
cognitive science). It was recognised that cognitive and emotional states
are not necessarily binary opposites. Cognitive phases are not always
logical and emotive phases can be rational and logical (Ledoux, 2001).
Through feelings we are embedded in the ‘here and now’. Feelings are
accompanied by immediate physical reactions, which are expressed by
face play and body motion. Feelings can give an awareness and knowledge
of the situation, providing an orientation (Clynes, 1989) within the
environment. At the same time, humans need to express their emotional
and cognitive knowledge about place to create reliable relationships with
places. Within these expressions, they confirm and correct their
relationships.
NEGOTIATING ATTACHMENT TO NATURE AND PLACE

WITH THE MOVED PLANNING PROCESS
Different concepts of the relationship between culture and nature shape

societal views and actions towards the world. There is a broad field of
place attachment studies and how they could be incorporated in the devel-
opment of assessment methods for sustainable land use (Buchecker et al.,
2007). As place attachment studies mainly concentrate on individual at-
tachment, the focus here deals with the process of expressing meanings
and values by a group and negotiating shared attachment within a land-
scape planning context.
Nature and place can be understood and interpreted differently accord-
ing to the relationship within which it has significance, interweaving the
social experience of being in a place with the symbolic meaning of the
qualities of a place (Healey, 2001) and experiencing natural processes.
2The concept of lebensraum deals with the personal knowledge of individuals

about the meaning of place and the shared knowledge of communities.
Place attachment emerges through the process of experiencing those con-

structions and functions, a place which can fulfil, and of emotional and
social meanings (Leith, 2006). This process is vivid and spirited by the
‘lived bodies’ that live, use, and maintain place; at the same time, this
place animates these same bodies as they become emplaced here.
(…) as bodies expand into places, so places exfoliate through (built and
given) things into (social and natural) regions, and regions expand in turn
into worlds. From body and thing and region we come to world, but we do
so only insofar as the event of place is active throughout. (Casey, 1997,
336)
Scannell and Gifford (2010) differentiated psychological process di-

mensions like affect, cognition and behaviour and functions of place at-
tachment, related to aspects like survival and security, self-regulation and
continuity emplaced in the social system. It also can be described with the
concept of “being-in-the-world” as a phenomenological thought (Merleau
Ponty, 1966; Goldstein, 2000), as humans with their body and mind are
considered within each moment a profile of the becoming and being. It is
the connection of all that has effects on ‘me’ and what ‘I’ am causing at
the same time. ‘I’ am embedded within socially, historically and spiritual-
ly determined layers at a place (Goldstein, 2000).
Place attachment concepts can work together within a local communi-
ty-driven ‘bottom-up' approach, which seeks to enhance the existing social
glue within communities, encouraging them to come together towards a
common vision of a resilient and diverse life.
To enhance points of view, letting in new insights, I try to open the in-
teraction patterns to combine personal perception with new learning pro-
cesses (understandings) and initiate encounters with one’s own living
space (lebensraum). Participants are regarded as experts of their own eco-
logical-social environment and, through acknowledging their personal
experience, they themselves recognise their involvement and responsibility
for the place and land.
1. The Moved Planning Process (MPP)

To develop a base for decisions within a planning group, it is necessary
to get knowledge about the social and physical usage of space. Therefore,
planners create a process of encounter among participants to start an ex-
change of information. In this process, information has to be emotionally
and cognitively perceived and accepted by the group of participants; it has
to be integrated to arrive at decisions on future plans. The MPP is struc-
tured in several meetings to find decisions on organising physical space.
226 Chapter Sixteen
One important term for the MPP is the shared constructed reality (Rot-
tenbacher, 2006) between the participants. Our civilisation is based on the
construction of meanings, which appear in the daily acts and ideas of peo-
ple. These constructions document the personal processes of perception,
appropriation, identification and integration. If participants are walking
together, they experience their behaviour and actions on site more and pay
more attention to the exchanged expressions (nonverbal behaviour) than to
the expressed constructions (verbs) of the others. Therefore this can con-
tribute to the emergence of a shared constructed reality and enlargen the
previous presets (constructions) of the participants.
Shared reality emerges out of interaction and communication. To start
the communication and interaction, each meeting begins by walking to-
gether through the physical space the participants own, maintain or use.
Afterwards the group sits together and reflect on the experienced topics
and make their first decisions about maintenance before the next meeting.
This is called a moved planning process.
2. Phases of One MPP Meeting

Each meeting during the MPP is structured into a phase of walking and
a subsequent phase of sitting together to reflect. The arrangement enables
a process of contact within the group. Following is the phase structure of a
meeting of the group.
- Welcome: Each meeting starts with a welcome, where the aim is

explained as is the structure of the meeting. Participants are asked
to show and explain their daily environment. Then we start and
walk through the space to be planned.
- Arrival: The participants arrive mentally in the situation, at the lo-
cation and meet the other participants. Then they experience
movement and space. They get familiar with the situation, find their
style of interaction and take over their roles as experts of their daily
life and show their meanings and usages of space.
- Attending: While walking, we identify the important topics and
speak about them. We participate in a process and integrate new
experiences and information.
- Common decisions: While walking, we see what has to be done. At
the end of the meeting we sit together and reflect on the experienc-
es, collect ideas, recognise the needed activities and decide on the
next steps we have to do before the next meeting.
- Sharing of responsibilities: Everybody is assigned a task to com-
plete before the next meeting. The previous experience of a joint
activity creates the motivation to contribute to the participative pro-

cess. The participants immediately experience the outcome of their
first decisions and actions.
THE CONTACT PROCESS
These phases of the single meetings can be related to the contact pro-
cess described in the ‘Gestalt theory’ (Dreitzel, 1992; Kepner, 1999).
Within the contact process of a human with a place, or of humans with
each other at a place, we need to pay attention to this process as it repre-
sents experiencing, learning, integrating, communicating and more. How
do the expressions of meaning and a mutual understanding happen? These
communication structures have to be enabled holistically: to get and give
non-verbal and verbal information (Rottenbacher, 2004a), as the main
negotiation happens first on non-verbal levels (Argyle, 2002).
The MPP was used in different contexts for public participation for
about 20 years. Then it was possible to conduct scientific investigations
within an interdisciplinarily built framework to analyse the effects of
walking through the places and organising this emotional-cognitive com-
munication. Within a field-experimental setup, the expressions of stake-
holders (of single persons, subgroups and the whole group) were docu-
mented with videos. A subsequent video analysis by three independent
analysing groups (planners, psychologists, ethnologists) related non-verbal
(emotional) to verbal expressions. The results brought insights into how
the concept of a contact process gives a useful framework for structuring
the negotiation:
- in contact with nature and place, our senses give us information

about our inner and outside world at that special place;
- our emotions ‘tell’ us how we want to act towards the situation, as
an orientation;
- our mind organises the next action (Dreitzel, 1992).
The theory of contact (Gestalt therapy) specifies how we contact our

environment, and change as well as are changed during this process (Köh-
ler & Pratt, 1971). The contact process starts with an awareness of a situa-
tion. According to familiar or interesting contacts, a person ‘turns’ to-
wards the most currently relevant information. This awareness is an ability
to react selectively with emotional and cognitive resources to inside and
outside impulses.
228 Chapter Sixteen
SENTIENCE FIGURE ACTIVATION
Figure 1. Start of Contact Process, according to Kepner (1999).
The first drawing of Figure 1, “Start of the Contact Process” about sen-
tience, shows a balanced phase. Feelings and thoughts pass, and no feeling
is dominant. The second drawing sketches how one figure (Gestalt)
emerges, which is focused on one interest, and leads, as shown in the third
drawing, to an activation of awareness. Organism and environment touch
and melt into each other at that moment.
The activation is observable (for example in a video analysis; see Rot-
tenbacher, 2004a); this mobilises a sharpening of perception and interpre-
tation. The emotional-cognitive system develops an action.
ACTION COMPLETION OF CONTACT INTEGRATION
Figure 2. Completion of Contact, according to Kepner (1999).
The activation leads to a movement, an action. The movement is ob-

servable as small or big changes in eye gazes, postures, or moving the
head or the whole body. Upon the completion of contact, we open our-
selves to integrate (‘digest’) new information. The last drawing of the
second figure reminds us of the process of integration and the appreciation

of the contact – stakeholders are touched and appreciate the shared experi-
ences; this effect also contributes to the motivation to participate in the
negotiation process about the using and maintenance of place. It is very
important to give place to this phase of integration and appreciation for the
success of the public participation process.
The group of participants walk literally through a constant process of
self-development, perception, acceptance, and annexation. The shared
attachment is constantly reviewed and confirmed again.
Within the MPP, the group experiences changes in the human- envi-
ronment interactions as the effects of their actions:
- they gain new emotional and cognitive experiences;

- they express their knowledge about their world in movement,
which can be seen and be understood more easily;
- they experience and reflect the world by moving and negotiating.
In walking, the change of the environment is already integrated in the

act of the moved perception. Therefore, negotiations and actions are initi-
ated and supported by walking in the planning process.
Through movement, all persons meeting in this situation simultaneous-
ly perceive, decode, and make decisions about maintaining place. Recog-
nising the shared place attachment happens in parallel with a growing
group identity that enables an ongoing shared knowledge construction
about place.
EXPRESSION OF CULTURAL ECOSYSTEM SERVICES
Ecosystem services are ecological processes or functions that provide

benefits to human society.
Cultural ecosystem services are regarded as the "environmental set-
tings, locations or situations that give rise to changes in the physical or
mental states of people, and whose character are fundamentally dependent
on living processes” (Haines-Young & Potschin, 2013). Over millennia,
these environmental settings have been co-produced by the constant inter-
actions between humans and nature (Haines-Young & Potschin, 2013).
Although the general concept of ecosystem services is often associated
with a broadly instrumental view of ecosystem-human relations, the idea
of cultural ecosystem services is designed to recognise that ecosystems are
full of cultural value and require a holistic understanding of the contribu-
tions ecosystems make to human well-being. In relation to negotiation and
230 Chapter Sixteen
decision-making within a community, I use the concept of cultural ecosys-

tem services more to raise awareness about the effects of natural process-
es; for example, in the context of urban planning, we value the effects of
urban green infrastructure.
Figure 3 represents a map of a small town where we assessed place
values and natural processes in neighbourhood groups.
In principle, the cultural ecosystem services concept provides a method
in which the cultural dimension of ecosystem contributions to human well-
being can be utilised in decision-making through standardised compari-
sons with other ecosystem services:
- to assess local knowledge and place-based values in conjunction

with biophysical parameters;
- to understand humans, with their cultural diversity, as an integral
ecosystem component – services are indispensable to the quality of
everyday life.
Figure. 3 Attaining values to place and natural processes in public participation

232 Chapter Sixteen
FINAL REMARKS
The objective of participative planning processes is to develop a

common goal in organising physical space. The transition from personal
meanings to a shared attachment of place can be supported by consciously
working with set-ups, like an organised walking contact process, to
express emotions, meanings and attachment to a place while negotiating
cultural ecosystem services. The community-nature relationship is
experienced and expressed in walking, movement, and the naming of
shared values and actions:
- walking supports the expression of individual and collective

impressions, which promotes human communication;
- expressing what occupies me during the walk allows me control of
my social reality and helps to distinguish emotions, imaginations
and agreed facts;
- expressing during walking raises the capability of personal
expressiveness and with it the possibility to be understood;
- walking together over the sites to be used, monitored and
maintained renews human-nature relationships.
In a participatory planning situation, individuals meet more than once.

They can recognise previous interactions and remember outcomes of
earlier negotiations and actions. The back and forth between self-interests
and group interests determines the dynamic of the meetings. Within
repeated contacts with places, the relationships of the humans within the
social context are strengthened, corrected and extended. These
relationships grow to a shared reality, a construction of the past as ‘what
happened here?’, a construction of social traditions, and a construction of
personal and social identities. We progress from personal values and
attitudes to a shared attachment to place. This ultimately touches upon the
feeling of identity of the people affected.
They are able to recognise in which relationship their attachment to
nature and place stands with the attitudes of society at large, which are
manifest in the use of place and in the use of land. Their single needs and
interests can be transformed into a more comprehensive understanding,
and shared ‘particularities’ in the human-nature relationship can be
developed.
Figure 4. Shared knowledge construction and growing of identity

234 Chapter Sixteen
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PART 5
SCIENCE AND NATURAL HISTORY

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SILENT PASSENGERS –
ON THE LONG-DISTANCE TRANSPORTATION
OF PLANTS ACROSS OCEANS IN THE ERA
OF NAVIGATIONS
MANUEL MIRANDA FERNANDES
INTRODUCTION
Exotic plants are present everywhere we look. Whether in gardens,

parks, fields, forests or uncultivated land, plants of exotic origin have
become a key feature of ‘globalised landscapes’ (Ricciardi, 2007). Human
perceptions towards these plants range widely from curiosity and
ornamental appreciation to scientific interest, and from usefulness as
sources of food and raw materials to a sense of threat arising from invasive
processes (Mack, 2001). However, many of these plants are not
newcomers: their presence is a result of ‘piloted migrations’ over the past
six centuries (Sloterdijk, 2008, 107), if we only consider the era of
European navigations. Seaborne transportation between distant locations,
such as the New World, East Asia or Australia, required the development
of specific logistics enabling seeds, rhizomes, tubers, bulbs, saplings and
cuttings to reach their destinations alive. The way these ‘silent passengers’
– a term used here to evoke Dupré & Lüthy’s Silent messengers (2011) –
endured shipboard conditions for long periods of time was certainly
dependent upon practical experience gained through trial and error. Recent
research has focused on the conditions required for specimen transportation
from America to Spain (Figueroa, 2012; Pablo Núñez, 2015), on
transportation and cultivation by the French and British in the Early
Atlantic (Allain, 2000; Laird & Bridgman, 2014; Parsons & Murphy,
2012; Romieux, 2004), and on the evolution of plant containers (Keogh,
2017; Klemun, 2012; Nelson, 2018). The broader context of plant
transfers, in historical and cultural terms, is addressed by a wealth of
Silent passengers 239
literature, a significant part of which is summarized by Beinart &

Middleton (2004).
Nevertheless, most of the published research on the logistics of plant
transfers is focused on the context of the 17th century onwards,
emphasizing natural history expeditions that looked for natural objects of
scientific interest. Correspondingly, previous efforts to transport plants by
sea are generally overlooked, despite relevant information found in
maritime travel accounts and other sources.
The aim of this chapter is to review a selection of examples of
transoceanic plant transfers by way of human mediation from the 15th to
the 18th centuries, highlighting the practical organization and other
conditions required for success. Considering the silence of the plants
transported aboard ships, we constructed an approach to this topic
involving textual and iconographic research.
We share the view that it is not possible to fully understand the current
processes of landscape transformation at a global scale without considering
the conditions of the introduction and diffusion of exotic plants over the
long term. To a certain degree, this might also be applied to the conditions
under which plants were transported aboard ships and to the underlying
practical knowledge that allowed these transfers. All these aspects are
crucial in reshaping the plant world, and their consideration might open
new perspectives to meet the challenges of living together in a globalized
world.
EARLY ATLANTIC EXCHANGES
The maritime explorations of the Atlantic by Italians, Portuguese and

Spanish during the 15th century led to a social and ecological experiment,
more specifically in inhabited islands such as Madeira and Porto Santo
where the first settlers arrived in c.1420, “fully equipped with all seeds
and plants, as one who hoped to settle in that land” (Barros, 1628, 7r,
author's translation). Among the plants that were introduced, wheat
(Triticum spp.) prevailed, being used to test the agrarian aptitude of the
newly discovered islands that would allow for settlement (Godinho, 1987).
Wheat bread, along with wine, also played a fundamental religious role in
Christian rituals, central to the life of the settlers’ community (Margarido
& Henriques, 1989). Not surprisingly, both the cultivation of wheat and
the vine (Vitis vinifera) were developed in Madeira and Porto Santo
around 1455, when Alvise da Cadamosto, the young Venetian merchant
and traveler, arrived there (Peres, 1988). Cadamosto explicitly refers to the
cultivation of malvasia de Candia, a vine variety probably introduced
240 Chapter Seventeen
from Crete (APH, 1988, 93), which implies the ability to transport vine
cuttings from the Eastern Mediterranean, overcoming contrasting difficulties
from the seaborne transportation of cereal seeds. Sugar cane (Saccharum
officinarum) was also introduced into Madeira, possibly from Sicily, along
with practitioners in its cultivation (Barros, 1628, 30v); it acclimatized
perfectly in the temperate climate of the island (APH, 1988, 93), which
made Madeira a ‘launching center’ of the sugar culture for other Atlantic
islands, such as the Azores, Cape Verde and São Tomé, and later also for
Brazil (Magalhães, 2009). The Atlantic ‘pilgrimage’ of sugar cane during
the 15th century shows that, as with vines, it was already possible to
organize its transportation by sea in order for it to be introduced
successfully into new geographical areas, albeit dependent upon the
utilization of slave labor.
In the opposite direction, one of the first endemic plants from the
Atlantic islands introduced in Europe was the dragon tree (Dracaena
draco), cultivated in Lisbon monasteries in 1494, according to the German
physician and humanist Hieronymus Münzer (Vasconcelos, 1930). It is not
clear, however, how this medicinal plant, highly praised for its red resin –
the dragon's blood – could have been transported aboard, whether as seed,
sapling, or both.
This early exchange and plant cultivation was accompanied by a
drastic transformation of the islands of Madeira and Porto Santo through
fire, timber exploitation and the introduction of herbivores such as rabbits
(APH, 1988, 93; Barros, 1628, 7r-8v). In order to grow the newly
imported crops, the insular ecosystems were forced to renounce their
pristine forest cover, becoming units of settlement and production
(Margarido & Henriques, 1989). The introduced plants, as agents of
ecological change, promoted the substitution of one nature for another, a
process common to other Atlantic islands during the 15th and 16th
centuries, condensing over a period of a few decades a process that had
evolved in mainland Europe over millennia.
ACROSS THE OCEANS: BETWEEN THE NEW WORLD

AND INDIA
The European maritime contacts with the New World (1492-93) and
India (1497-99) that led to the establishment of the first network of sea
routes circuiting the globe imposed new challenges for the transportation
of living plants: sailing to the Antilles or Brazil from an Iberian port could
take about two months and a one-way navigation to India via the Cape
route more than six months (Benassar, 1984). However, wheat, vines and
sugar cane were readily introduced in Hispaniola during the first voyages
of Columbus, as well as fig trees (Ficus carica), pomegranates (Punica
granatum), melons (Cucumis melo) and citrus trees (Citrus limon), among
other crop plants (Colmeiro, 1892). During the 16th century, some crops
introduced in Brazil from Old World locations used the Atlantic islands as
stopovers, e.g. Cape Verde for rice (Oryza sativa) and São Tome for
bananas (Musa spp.) (Gândavo, 1576). Also significant are seeds of
vegetables and condiment plants sent from Portugal to Bahia (Brazil),
where some 30 species were cultivated around 1587 (Varnhagen, 1851).
As in other colonial territories, these crops played a role in controlling
local society and contributed towards the reorganization of the native
landscape (Dean, 1991).
The early transfer of New World plants into Europe and its diffusion is
well documented in 16th-century herbals and in the catalogues of the first
botanical gardens. Nevertheless, the earliest known images of maize (Zea
mays), pumpkins, and squash (Cucurbita maxima and C. pepo) from the
New World are artistic depictions painted around 1515-17 by Giovanni da
Udine in the Villa Farnesina (Rome), providing evidence of the rapid
transfer of these crops (Janick, 2012). Plants like the globe amaranth
(“amarantus purpureus”, possibly Gomphrena globosa), chili peppers
(“siliquastrum”, Capsicum annuum) and maize (“turcicum frumentum”,
Zea mays) were described and illustrated de visu by the German physician
and botanist Leonhart Fuchs and his collaborators (Fuchs, 1542); the
prickly pear (“opuntia”, Opuntia ficus-indica) was reported in the
European context by Pietro Andrea Mattioli (1558) from plants that were
already circulating in Italy and elsewhere in Europe. In Portugal and
Spain, plants introduced from the New World were recorded by the
Flemish naturalist Carolus Clusius during his journey to Iberia (1564-65),
namely avocado (“persea”, Persea americana), agave (“aloë americana”,
Agave americana), sweet potato (“batatas”, Ipomoea batatas) and Indian
shot (“canna indica”, Canna indica) (Clusius, 1576). A tangible example
of the logistics of seaborne transfer is provided by the Sevillian physician
Nicolas Monardes, who describes how jalapa (“mechoacan”, possibly
Ipomoea jalapa), a Mexican medicinal herb, was carefully brought onto a
ship inside a barrel, arriving alive in Seville (Monardes, 1565). A similar
example, regarding the transfer of the purging cassia (“cañafistola”,
possibly Cassia grandis) inside barrels from Hispaniola to Spain, had been
mentioned by Oviedo y Valdés (1535). Of the American plants introduced
early on in Europe, maize greatly contributed towards changing the
cultural landscape, as it also did in Africa (Ferrão et al., 2008; Henriques,
1989), and easy travelers like chili peppers have been widely diffused,
becoming one of the world’s most consumed spices (Halikowski Smith,

2015).
In the Indian Ocean region, where the spices that propelled early
Iberian navigations originated, we also find significant examples of plant
exchange, namely ginger (Zingiber officinale). It was first introduced into
Brazil during the 16th century, possibly via São Tomé, and was also
introduced into Hispaniola (De Vos, 2006; Varnhagen, 1851); its rhizomes
were usually covered with clay for seaborne transfer, as described by the
Portuguese physician and botanist Garcia da Orta in his Colóquios (Orta,
1563, 116). Arriving from America, one of the first plants cultivated in
India was possibly the pineapple (Ananas comosus), a ‘pilgrim fruit’
recorded by Cristóbal Acosta (1578, 350); together with the cashew tree
(Anacardium occidentale), both were soon integrated into the Indian
cultural landscape, as represented in 1596 by the Flemish traveler Jan
Huygen van Linschoten (Pos & Loureiro, 1997). Other American plants
such as the guava tree (Psidium guajava), papaya (Carica papaya) and
amaranth (Amaranthus tricolor) were depicted in c.1610 by Manuel
Godinho de Erédia, showing evidence of its transfer to Asia (Everaert et
al., 2001). A late attempt to transfer a single plant by sea is provided by
the Jesuit priest António Gomes, regarding a specimen of mango tree
(Mangifera indica) transported in 1647 from Goa to Mozambique; placed
aboard the ship’s castle, it showed good signs of vitality during the
journey, but would not reach its destination due to shipwreck (Axelson,
1959).
THE LOGISTICS OF PLANT TRANSFERS IN THE AGE

OF ENLIGHTENMENT
A new stage in the logistics of long-distance plant transfers emerged

from the late 16th to the 17th century, when the Dutch and British powers
arrived in the Indian Ocean. As a consequence, Portuguese commercial
interests shifted to the Atlantic area, followed by proposals for transferring
spice cultivation from India to Brazil (Macedo, 1817). After 1680, pepper
(Piper nigrum) and cinnamon (Cinnammomum verum, syn. C. zeylanicum)
plants were repeatedly sent from Goa to Brazil, together with handwritten
instructions on how to care for plants on board and how to grow them;
also sent were ginger, jackfruit (Artocarpus heterophyllus), mango trees,
saffron (Crocus sativus) and Arabian jasmine (Jasminum sambac). To
reduce failure, seeds were transported in glass jars, young trees were
transplanted with their own soil, containers were firmly attached to the
ship and a sufficient supply of irrigation water was guaranteed (Almeida,

1975).
The first printed pamphlets on the survey and long-distance transfer of
useful exotic plants are probably those of Boyle (1665), Sprat (1667) and
Woodward (1696), contributing to the emergence of a new topic in
Natural History literature. Detailed instructions would later be published
in a notice by Duhamel du Monceau and La Galissonnière (1752); this
notice had a second enlarged edition the following year and a reprint in
Turgot’s Mémoire instructif (1758). Engravings of boxes and wired cases
for seaborne plant transportation, namely breadfruit (Artocarpus altilis)
and mangosteen (Garcinia mangostana), had been printed in two of John
Ellis’ pamphlets (1770; 1775) (Figure 1); these containers may have been
commissioned from John Burnham, a carpenter in the Holborn district of
London. Of these engravings, one was reproduced in Gómez Ortega’s
Instrucción (1779) and others included in the third edition of The
Naturalist’s and Traveler’s Companion (Lettsom, 1799, 1st ed. 1772).
This pamphlet had been translated into French (Lettsom, 1775) and was
also quoted by the Portuguese Jesuit and botanist João de Loureiro in an
account of the long-distance transfer of spices (Loureiro, 1789). The final
purpose of these diverse though interconnected pamphlets was, of course,
to help plants of economic and scientific interest to be successfully
transferred from their native homelands to botanical gardens and plant
nurseries, surpassing the hazards of sea voyages.
In the late 18th century, official expeditions regarding seaborne
transfers such as clove (Syzygium aromaticum) and nutmeg (Myristica
fragrans) from Moluccas to Mauritius (Brixius, 2015), or breadfruit from
Tahiti to Jamaica (Smith, 2006), showed an unprecedented degree of
organization, probably facilitated by printed instructions, but most
certainly embodying practical knowledge acquired through previous
experience. In such missions, ships could be specially adapted for plant
transportation, as exemplified by the French gardener Hyppolite Nectoux,
regarding the delivery of plants from the East Indies to America (Nectoux
& Thouin, 1791) (Figure 2). Logistical developments allowed the transfer
of plants over ever greater distances, the maritime exchange between
Europe and Australia, also known as ‘antipodean exchange’, being an
outstanding example (Frost, 2010).
This era would come to an end during the early 19th century due to
progress in maritime navigations and the introduction of the Wardian case,
an improved container for seaborne plant transfers (Ward, 1842). A new
era in plant exchanges was about to begin, enhancing transfer rates and
propelling horticulture as never before.
Figure 1. Wired case for seaborne transportation of breadfruit, mangosteen or other

useful plants. From Ellis (1775). Wellcome Collection. CC BY.
Figure 2. Containers for the sea transport of plants and their arrangement on the
deck of a ship. From Nectoux & Thouin (1791). Gallica / Bibliothèque Nationale
de France.
FINAL REMARKS
Exotic plant propagules are silent passengers aboard ships, but their
introduction into distant locations, when successful, may have far-reaching
effects on cultural landscapes. In early navigations, transported plants
would ensure food supplies and help organize daily life in previously
unknown lands, but plant transfers readily became a matter of imperial
concern, within a context of rivalry between nations. Nevertheless, plants
easily cross political boundaries, as does ethnobotanical knowledge.
During the European era of navigations, the transfer of a huge amount of
exotic plants from distant continents relied on specific transportation
logistics, assisted by a network of botanical gardens and colonial nurseries
that enabled exchanges between more and more distant regions. Reshaping
the plant world with human help has transformed landscapes, e.g. the
Mediterranean region (Gade, 1987; Sermet, 1973), where exotic plants
like the prickly pear or Australian acacias and eucalyptus became
‘characteristic’. On a wider scale, the diffusion of cash crops like sugar,
coffee, tea or bananas are emblematic of this process, its results being on
display on the shelves of any nearby supermarket.
Many aspects of plant transportation logistics require further research,
bringing together perspectives from different disciplines. Special consideration
must be paid to the early stages of seaborne plant transfers, before printed
instructions appeared. An effort to better understand human-mediated
plant transfers may help current perceptions to embody an environmental
history background, particularly in the case of those exotic plants that
became weedy or invasive. Instead of blaming them, would it not be wiser
to fully recognize the human role in their transfers? It is likely that such a
point of view might lead to more inclusive policies and better practices in
landscape management.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To Isabel Castro Henriques and Yves-Marie Allain for their valuable

help with bibliographic sources. To Inês Amorim and two anonymous
reviewers for their comments and suggestions. To Kevin de La Tour for
his precious help in revising the text. To Ana Roque, Cristina Brito and
Cecilia Veracini for their kind support.
This work was supported by European Regional Development Funds,
through the COMPETE 2020 Operational Programme ‘Competitiveness
and Internationalization’, under Grant POCI-01-0145-FEDER-006891;
and by national funds through the Portuguese Foundation for Science and
Technology (FCT) under Grants UID/GEO/04084/2013 and SFRH/BD/
76100/2011.
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
FROM FIELDWORK TO BOOKS:

THE GATHERING OF INFORMATION
BY PORTUGUESE IMPERIAL AGENTS
AND ITS CIRCULATION IN EARLY MODERN
BOTANICAL TREATISES
TERESA NOBRE DE CARVALHO
INTRODUCTION
Following Vasco da Gama’s arrival in Calicut, Portuguese officials

were tasked with identifying the main markets, products, routes, ports and
cities of the East. Able technicians and practical men, they surveyed the
local peoples and recorded their observations in detailed reports.
Politicians, prelates, physicians and merchants trusted the accuracy of
these classified findings. The reports of navigators, factors, overseers and
apothecaries often proved to be decisive in strategic decision-making and
in the reformulation of knowledge relating to drugs, spices and other
Asian products. This essay, by highlighting the relevance of the work
carried out by these informants, focuses on some of the records which, at
the time, contributed to the most comprehensive knowledge of Asian
natural resources.
EARLY DATA RECORDS
The records from what is today known as the Roteiro da primeira

viagem de Vasco da Gama are a copy of the report attributed to Álvaro
Velho. His account describes a long ocean crossing which connected cities
across the world never before united by a single sea voyage. In his journal,
the writer sought to establish points of contact between the world he knew
and the one that was being revealed to him (Figure 1).
From fieldwork to books 253
Figure 1: Journal of Vasco da Gama. At the end of the Roteiro da primeira viagem
de Vasco da Gama à Índia (c.1500-1550), the author included a detailed geo-
commercial appendix (Biblioteca Pública Municipal do Porto, ms 804).
At the end of the manuscript, the author included a geo-commercial

appendix. The information collated in this document located, with the
greatest accuracy the age permitted, the provenance of diverse spices and
drugs, gums and resins, stones, fabrics and Eastern dyes. Even without
knowing the coordinates which would allow one to pinpoint the location
of the ports and islands referenced, the informant recorded a vast amount
of data. With this report, the Corte de Lisboa learnt the geographical
254 Chapter Eighteen
origin of a wide variety of Asian products. Little by little, references to

new ports, cities, kingdoms and islands of the East were added to
European maps.
Apart from being of interest to monarchs, prelates, scholars and
investors, this information was also valuable to navigators, merchants and
cartographers, who welcomed with manifest interest the data recorded
during each voyage. Upon disembarking in Lisbon, recently arrived
navigators and voyagers were questioned about the details of their ocean
crossings. Their observations were recorded and entrusted to the officials
of the Casa da Guiné e da Índia. As a result, information allowing capes,
bays, coves, freshwater stopping points and islands to be located, and
records about winds, currents and tides, were noted down in logbooks and
on maps which, away from prying eyes, were constantly updated.
From 1492 onwards, a vast amount of data about the New World
arrived in Seville where a similar institution was established in 1503, the
Casa de Contratación. There, the information was duly analyzed by
Spanish physicians, cosmographers and pilots. In addition to regulating
overseas trade, the officials of the Casa de Contratación were tasked with
training pilots, drawing maps and charts and collecting information about
the New World from amongst pilots, soldiers and travellers.
The Cantino Planisphere (1502) is one of the age’s most noteworthy
Portuguese maps known today. This chart was commissioned by Alberto
Cantino, an agent of the Duke of Ferrara sent to Lisbon at the beginning of
the 16th century. Produced by an anonymous cartographer of the Casa da
Guiné e da Índia, it was based on the Padrão Real and contained sensitive
information about the latest Portuguese maritime advances. Along with
territorial records, the chart contained, in its meticulous captions,
information about Asian products. In these brief inscriptions that the
cartographer positioned next to islands, cities and ports of the East,
information about the provenance or trade of spices, drugs and luxury
goods was included. This planisphere abandoned some of the conventions
promulgated by Ptolemy’s Geography and attested to the immense value
that Asian natural resources held in the eyes of Europeans.
This information was kept far from covetous eyes and the regulations
established by Dom Manuel I (r.1489-1521) included severe punishments
for those who shared it inappropriately. The importance that the king
attributed to the collection of data about the East is widely attested to in
contemporary documents. In the letter that scribe Álvaro Vaz sent to the
monarch in 1504, we read:
Your Lordship has asked that I very briefly describe all the islands and
places which lie in this sea of India and along the coast between here and
Malacca, as well as the goods to be found, and which of ours are best for
there, and the prices of both. (Andrade, 1972, 1, 344)1
Despite the interest of the monarch in learning of the riches of Malacca

and the apparent desire of the scribe to fulfil this request, the truth is that,
in this text, Álvaro Vaz provided no news about the local peoples or their
values. It is likely that this information was sent in a separate, now lost,
report. Years later, in 1506, Dom Manuel ordered two surveys to be
conducted, firstly by Viceroy D. Francisco de Almeida (Viceroy 1505-
1509) and then by his successor, Diogo Lopes de Sequeira (Governor
1518-1522), with which he hoped to learn about Malacca. In these we
read:
…work to learn about the things of those parts [of Malacca], to learn: of
its riches and rewards and of the size of the land and by whom it is
governed… (Andrade, 1972, 2, 559)2
The king was certain what type of information he intended his

emissaries to collect. The reports sent to Lisbon therefore reflected this
interest in identifying strategic geographical locations which would allow
the movement of luxury goods to be controlled3.
In addition to reports, descriptions and samples of goods, other items
were sent to the king by his agents posted to the East. Jorge de
Albuquerque, who served as Captain of Malacca in 1514, sent a letter to
the monarch the following year. Along with news of inestimable strategic
value, it also contained a branch with leaves and floral buds from the clove
tree (Syzygum aromaticum (L.) Merrill & Perry).
Probably aware that he lacked the competence and authority to depict
the plant, Albuquerque instead opted to send the branch itself. By
foregoing sketches and textual descriptions, he allowed the court
physicians to contrast the morphological details of the sample with the
features described in circulating botanical texts. In addition, possessing
this branch at such an early date suggests royal dominion over the route
and trade of goods originating from the highly-coveted Spice Islands. The
appropriation of both the physical space and the nature of the East were
inseparable features in the imperial narrative (Carvalho, 2017).
1 Author's Responsibility Translation.

2 Author's Responsibility Translation.
3 An analysis of contemporary documentation suggests that the same instructions
were given to all voyagers, whether they were travelling to the Atlantic islands,
Brazil, the African coast or India.
Until the early 16th century, most Europeans only knew about the
plants, drugs and spices of the East through traded goods, the medical-
botanical texts in circulation or the testimony of voyagers and merchants.
With the return of Gama’s fleet and the establishment of regular journeys
between Lisbon and the East, it became commonplace to see many Asian
goods and vegetable species unloaded at Lisbon’s Ribeira dock. This
allowed doctors (both residents and those passing through the kingdom’s
capital) to observe these tropical specimens in more detail. It is likely that
Portuguese scholars would have gone to the port to question the voyagers
and ask those aboard ships to bring plants, branches, fruits and seeds from
India. In this way, Lisbon gardeners could see whether these plants, far
from their regions of origin, could acclimatise to life in the royal gardens.
By observing the plants grown there, the doctors could not only challenge,
correct or confirm the botanical knowledge in circulation, but also, if they
so wished, test the properties of new products recorded by the physicians
and apothecaries in Goa. Similarly, in Spain, during the 16th century, new
gardens were created in Seville, Aranjuez, Escorial and Madrid to cultivate
American plants and to test the medical properties recorded by travellers
(Goodman, 1988; Lopez-Piñero, 2002).
The setting up of hospitals in the cities and fortresses of the East and
the establishment of mixed medical teams, composed of European and
Asian physicians and surgeons, enabled the Portuguese doctors based in
Goa to adopt practices and medicines successfully used by local
practitioners. This openness to new ideas based on “reason and
experience” facilitated the emergence of a hybrid medicine in Asia
(Grove, 1991, 160-176; Pearson, 2001, 100-113; Varajadaran, 2007;
Carvalho, 2015, 190; Walker, 2016, 161-192). It was not, however, seen
as necessary or desirable by most Lisbon-based specialists. This fact
dismayed the apothecaries of the East, who looked on with consternation
at the reluctance of the Boticário-mor and Físico-mor (Chief apothecary
and Chief physician) to order, in the Cartas Gerais sent annually by the
Casa da Índia, medicinal drugs used by the locals. An exception to this
was, for instance, the use of guaiacum, the efficacy of which is described
in N. Poli’s De cura morbi gallici (1517), L. Schmauss’ De morbo gallico
tractatus (1518) and Ulrich van Hutten’s De guaiaci medicina et morbo
galico liber (1519); its virtues were praised by Oviedo in Sumário (1526)
and its effectiveness by Monardes in Historia Medicinal (1569). The use
of guaiacum in the treatment of syphilis in the infirmaries of the Hospital
de Todos-os-Santos in Lisbon is documented from an early stage. From
the 1530s onwards, at the suggestion of the Portuguese living in India,
there was a growing use of Smilax china – a species used in the East by
local physicians with recognised success and which was highly praised by
Amato Lusitano in De Materia Medica (1553) and Garcia de Orta in
Colóquios dos Simples (1563).
LISTS OF DRUGS, LETTERS AND REPORTS
Every year the so-called Rol de Drogas (List of Drugs) was sent from
Lisbon in the Cartas Gerais da Índia. Upon arriving in the East, the
official responsible for preparing and packaging the order would
immediately set about acquiring the products so that, when the ships were
being readied to return to the kingdom, all the drugs being sent had been
duly packed. In Cochin, the Vedor da Fazenda (Overseer of the Treasury)
would supervise the loading of the drugs and ensure that the requests made
by Lisbon physicians and apothecaries had been satisfied. The orders were
normally prepared by the apothecaries (or possibly the physicians), with
the quantities and prices recorded by the vedores da fazenda (Andrade,
1971).
The knowledge of many of these Portuguese officials very often
resulted from vast on-the-ground experience. Visits to local markets and
bazaars where drugs abounded, port inspections of goods, surveys
conducted in the regions under their jurisdiction in order to better know
the natural riches that surrounded them, and the regular inspections of
hospital and fortress drug stores provided these officials with a practical
understanding that proved to be of great importance for the appropriation
of knowledge relating to the natural world. In a document dated to 1509,
Afonso de Albuquerque (Governor 1509-1515) ordered Diogo Pereira,
then Factor of Cochin, to hand over to Gaspar Pires, apothecary at the
Hospital of Cochin, any drugs that he requested. In November of the same
year, overseeing the delivery of the drugs requested by Albuquerque, the
pharmacist sent a receipt to the administrator (Vasconcellos e Meneses,
1987). This document proves that factors and other administrative officials
were tasked with listing and acquiring in local markets the drugs which
supplied the fortress and hospital drug stores.
Other men of action included Duarte Barbosa (c.1480-1521) and Tomé
Pires (c.1465-c.1540). Both spent long periods in the East serving the
Portuguese administration. It is highly likely that the scribe at the factory
of Cannanore (Barbosa) and the apothecary of Cochin and Malacca (Pires)
based the reports they sent to Dom Manuel on their readings and
observations and on the testimonies of local informants. Thanks to the
efforts of these two authors, the kingdom was informed of the regional
contours of the East, of its ports and markets, of the lives of its peoples, of
the eating habits of its societies and its wealth of natural resources. The
texts of these royal officials unveiled a part of the world hitherto unknown
to the West. More than a mere record of geographical, political and
economic information, the reports contained references to an enormous
variety of tropical fruits, the peculiarity of Asiatic plants, as well as
extremely important descriptions of spices and aromas (Figure 2).
Through the reports and letters of royal officials, the Portuguese elites
became increasingly aware of the geographical dispersal, distribution
routes and therapeutic qualities of the natural resources of the East. Some
of this information remained in handwritten form and therefore had a more
restricted circulation. Reports, like those of Barbosa or Pires, due to their
greater scope and informational value, reached a wider European
readership through Ramusio’s Delle Navigationi et Viaggi (1550).
It seems to have been in the 1540s, probably under the governorship of
Martim Afonso de Sousa (Governor 1542-1545) or D. João de Castro
(Governor 1545-1548) that overseers, factors and apothecaries based in the
East were more systematically called upon to provide information about
Asian natural resources. Some of these officials responded promptly to
their leaders’ requests and the data supplied was compiled in the Elvas
Codex, a volume bringing together 25 texts. The subjects covered were of
obvious strategic significance, ranging from lists of drugs, goods and
products to the identification of routes and markets and descriptions of the
provenance of certain drugs or spices4. The reports were recorded by
apothecaries5, overseers of the treasury and treasurers6, chief navigators7,
factors8 or secretaries to the Governor9. The information collected
resembles that requested years later by the Spanish Crown from the
4 The Codex can be found in the Biblioteca Municipal de Elvas (Cod 5/381).
5 Simão Álvares, Emformação […] do nacymento de todas las droguas que vão
pera o Reyno (Calado, 1960, 50-57).
6 Rui Gonçalves de Caminha, Emformação […] sobre os mantimentos, ferro e
outras muytas cousas que vem a Guoa (Calado, 1960, 42-67).

7 Nicolau Gonçalves, Estes são os nomes dos ryos que Cochym pera o Norte per
onde vem ter a madeyra a Cochym e os nomes dos Senhores e Caymays e Reys
(Calado, 1960, 43-48).
8 António Pessoa, Emformação das cousas do Ceylão (Calado, 1960, 36-38);
Bastyão Lopes Lobato, Enformação do enxofre que vem de dentro do estreyto de

Ormuz (Calado, 1960, 117-120) and Enformação do rendimento da cidade e reino
dUrmuz, dada per Bastyão Lopes Lobato, feitor que foy na dita terra (Calado,
1960, 128-130).
9 Coje Percolim, Emformação dalgumas cousas da Persia (Calado, 1960, 132-
133).
administrators of the New World and which came in the form of the
Relaciones Geográficas10.
Figure 2. A letter for the king. In January 1516, Tomé Pires sent a detailed letter to
Dom Manuel I. In this Carta, the apothecary identified the provenance, local uses
and main markets of the Asian drugs and spices being sold (ANTT, CC –
1/19/102).
10On these surveys see: Álvarez-Pélaez, 1993; Bustamante, 2000; Mundy, 2000;
Barrera, 2006 or Pardo-Tomas, 2016.
In addition to the information collected by specialists and administrative

officials, the volume also includes information about Japan and China
gathered by the priests Francis Xavier and Nicolau (Lanciloto)11. Years
later, in the 1550s, more systematic information-gathering about mission
lands in overseas territories would be carried out by religious officials. In
the case of the Society of Jesus, in a missive sent from Rome on 24
February 1554 to Father Gaspar Barzeo, who was serving as Vice-
Provincial of India, the Jesuits’ interest in gathering information about the
everyday life and natural world of the Indies is revealed12.
Some important persons of this city [Rome], read with great interest the
letters from India and expressed their desire to read about the cosmography
of those regions where ours live; for example, how long are the days in
summer and winter days, when the summer begins, if the shadows fall to
the left or to the right. Finally, they wish to know if there is anything else
that seems to be extraordinary, as it may be about animals and plants not
known in Europe or not with their size. (Udiás, 2015, 105)13
This letter, sent by the founder of the Society of Jesus, reveals the
interest in collecting data relating to mission lands, the daily lives of the
people and curiosities of the region. The subsequent publication of
versions containing some of this information served to edify the readers, to
awaken vocations and proved to be a more effective way of acquiring
mission patronage, upon which the missionary work so heavily depended.
In addition to the surveys conducted by Society of Jesus priests and
brothers, members of other religious orders also assisted with the regional
11 Emformação da ilha do Japão dada por Mestre francisquo que soube de pessoas
muy autemtiquas; Mais emformação das cousas do Japão (Calado, 1960, 88-112);
Emformação da Chyna mandada por hum homem a mestre francisquo (Calado,
1960, 113.117); and Mais emformação sobre o Japão a qual deu o Padre Niqulau
(Calado, 1960, 121-125).
12 A similar letter was sent in the early 1550s to Father Manuel da Nóbrega S.J.,
the Provincial of Brazil.

13 “[…] Algunas personas principales, que en esta ciudad leen con mucha
edificación suya las letras de las Indias, suelen desear, y lo piden diversas veces
que se escribiese algo de la cosmografía de las regiones de onde andan los
nuestros, como seria quán luengo son los días de verano y de invierno, cuando
começa el verano, si las sombras van sinistras, ó à la mano diestra. Finalmente si
otras cosas ay que parezcan extraordinarias, se dé aviso, como de animales y
plantas no conocidas ó no in tal grandeza […]” (Documenta Indica, 1954, III, 61-
63).
use of local plants14. The existence of other documents, which remained

unpublished for many decades, confirms the Portuguese rulers’ interest in
surveying natural resources and the commercial potential of each region.
In these surveys and investigations, practical, religious or simply
adventurous men became vehicles in an innovative discourse on the world
they observed. In fact, several contemporary works on the Eastern natural
world remained unpublished until the 19th or 20th centuries: António
Galvão’s Tratado das ilhas Molucas (c.1544), Gabriel Rebelo’s Informação
das Cousas de Maluco (1561) and Manuel Godinho de Erédia’s Suma das
Árvores & Plantas da Índia Intra Ganges (1612).
SEEDS, LEAVES AND FLOWERS: FROM FIELDS

TO LIBRARIES
During the first half of the 16th century, whether through strategic
choice or the absence of printing houses in Goa, it was difficult to record,
in printed form, the new information relating to the natural world of the
East. Beyond handwritten documents, only oral testimony could make up
for the absence of new information on Asian drugs and spices. A printed
book on this theme would contribute to a stabilisation of medical practices,
to a firming up of knowledge relating to the markets and distribution routes
of goods and to a more effective exploitation of natural resources. The
publication of a volume on the medicinal products of India became, then, a
priority for rulers, royal officials, investors and technicians. Added to this
was the intensifying pressure that the European scholarly community was
applying on Portuguese doctors to consolidate their knowledge of the
natural resources of the East. For European scholars like Pier Andrea
Mattioli (1501-1577), it was up to Portuguese physicians to validate or
challenge the knowledge regarding Eastern drugs and spices established
by Pliny, Dioscorides, Galen, Avicenna, or Razi.
In 1563, Garcia de Orta (c.1500-1568) filled this gap. With comprehensive
clinical experience in the East and a profound understanding of the
scholarly texts, this Portuguese physician took advantage of the
information given to him by informants or that he came across in the
numerous reports and letters that he consulted. These documents were the
result of the surveys conducted by practical men who, over more than half
a century, travelled through Asia in search of samples and information on
14 The moral interpretation of the natural world was a concern of all religious
orders. More than just an aspect of appropriation, recording nature was part of an
attempt to interpret the work of the Creator. The complexity of this fascinating
subject places it beyond the scope of this analysis.
the origins and properties of Eastern goods. The decision of the doctor to
make use of the information supplied by these agents is one of the
innovative aspects of the volume that he published: Colóquios dos Simples
e Drogas e Coisas Medicinas da Índia (Goa, 1563) (Loureiro, 2012;
Carvalho, 2013; Carvalho, 2015).
Carolus Clusius (1526-1609) reworked Orta’s book. From the
publication of Aromatum et Simplicium (Antwerp, 1567) to Exoticorum
libri decem (Leiden, 1605), the botanist published several Latin versions
in which he gradually perfected and refined the accuracy of the textual and
pictorial descriptions. Following the methodology of appropriating
knowledge on the tropical natural world as first proposed by Garcia de
Orta and then by other Iberian physicians, Clusius hired the services of
informants. As they departed for the East, he would give these voyagers
detailed surveys to be completed. On their return, in addition to
conducting thorough debriefings, he would collect reports, testimonies and
samples (Egmond, 2015).
Cristóvão da Costa (c.1525-1594), the physician of D. Luís de Ataíde
(Governor 1568-1571), also included in his Tractado de las Drogas
(Burgos, 1578) the observations that he collected in Goa and Cochin. In
addition to his clinical experience in the East, his work also disseminated
sketches of plants drawn from life, information collected by royal officials
as well as data provided by local informants and local physicians. The
latter, thanks to their broad knowledge of the plants of the region, were
well qualified to provide information about the virtues of Asian species.
But this method of gathering information on tropical natural resources
was not limited to Asia. In Historia Medicinal de las Indias (Seville,
1565-1574), the Spanish doctor Nicolás Monardes recorded information
about the natural world of Spain’s colonial possessions on the American
continent. Relying on the information sent by missionaries, voyagers,
merchants and imperial agents on the ground, his book shared, from his
office in Seville, images and descriptions of the natural world of the
Americas. However, perhaps realising the need for the presence of doctors
in loco, in part to ensure a more effective assessment of the information
being collected, Francisco Hernández’s expedition to New Spain was
organised (1570-1577). Under the patronage of Philip II (r.1556-1598), the
doctor undertook a wide-ranging survey of knowledge relating to the
American natural world. In order to accomplish this scientific mission,
Hernández relied upon the collaboration of numerous informants, religious
officials and local experts.
Under the influence of this new methodology established by the
Iberian doctors for constructing knowledge relating to the natural world of
the Indies, the collection of specimens for the production of “firsthand”

sketches and written descriptions of plants and animals became commonplace
among Europeans posted to the tropics, as did the practice of surveying the
local peoples and the gathering of samples. Sent to the offices of erudite
Europeans, these materials were observed, analysed and compared to
scholarly texts. With this work conducted in different continents, by
various voices and by different hands, new knowledge of the nature of the
tropics was gradually constructed (Pimentel, 2001; Barrera, 2001;
Bleichmar, 2009; Leitão & Sánchez, 2017).
As Europe moved into the 1600s, a new methodology for appropriating
the tropical natural world, which relied heavily on local informants and
agents on the ground, was finally sanctioned.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank Ana Cristina Roque and Rui Manuel Loureiro for
their comments and bibliographic support and also James Mapp for his
help with the English version of the text.
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CHAPTER NINETEEN
SYNCRETISM AND SHARED PRODUCTION

OF KNOWLEDGE IN 18TH CENTURY
PORTUGUESE INDIA
FABIANO BRACHT
INTRODUCTION
This chapter analyses the early text Medicina Oriental, written by the
Goan physician Luís Caetano de Meneses1. The analysis is expected to
improve our understanding about the production of medical and
pharmaceutical knowledge in Portuguese India during the 18th century.
The fundamental questions in this article are related to the construction of
knowledge in colonial spaces and the relevance of local contexts to the
processes of knowledge production.
The problems addressed in this chapter – the processes of the construction,
circulation and reconfiguration of scientific knowledge within the Early
Modern colonial empires – are in line with the historiographical dynamics
that have been developing during the last decades. These dynamics
encompass primarily the field of History of Science, but also the domains
of Social History and Cultural Studies.
In August 2004, in Halifax, Canada, James A. Secord gave the opening
lecture of an international conference on the History of Science which had
the suggestive central theme of ‘circulating knowledge’. Beginning with
this intervention, he tried to take stock of the tendency that, according to
him, was winning ground amongst historians, sociologists and science
philosophers:
1 ACL (Academia das Ciências de Lisboa), Cod. 21 and 22.

Syncretism and shared production of knowledge in 18th century 267
Portuguese India
There are many clues that we [science historians] are beginning to face,
from a fundamentally historical perspective, knowledge not only as an
abstract doctrine, but as a communication practice (…). (Secord, 2004,
671)
From an historical point of view, the notion that the production and
circulation of knowledge are closely linked to the establishment of
communication processes has several meanings. I would like, however, to
direct my reasoning towards one that interlinks the transmission of
knowledge, techniques and concepts across frontiers2. There is a high degree
of plausibility in the assumption that most of the formative elements of a
given culture, from the material goods it possesses to the intricate networks
of meanings, rituals, beliefs, knowledge, linguistic tools, and pieces of
intangible heritage, are elements that, at some point in the past, were
incorporated despite the great variability of the circumstantial conditions
resulting from the contact with other cultures (Burke, 2009). Besides the
existing differences among different cultures, each cultural complex may
itself contain many dimensions. These differences are related to specific
aspects, such as stratifications of religious and social origins, contrasts
given by environmental diversity and even by random circumstances,
which result from the imponderability that is inexorably intrinsic to the
historical processes.
In recent years, historians of science, mainly those who are dedicated
to the study of the colonial empires, have attributed increased importance
to the idea that, during the Early Modern Age, such spaces sheltered an
intense construction, extension and reconfiguration of knowledge
dynamics3.
The adoption of this perspective has provided an opportunity for deep
historiographical reviews to be processed, especially with regard to
understandings about the development of scientific knowledge throughout
the Modern Era, and the role of local communities and their sets of
practices and knowledge. Previously consolidated perspectives, which are
now being heavily discussed, tended to consider the role of the local
communities in the construction of knowledge just as a secondary form, as
mere receptors and reproducers of a linearly diffused science, from their
2 The term frontier can be understood as being not necessarily a place, but much
more as the boundary of a cultural encounter in which both sides are clearly
defined, and at the same time endowed with a selective permeability, whose nature
is shaped by specific factors and a historical dimension.
3 For further reading about processes of the construction and circulation of
knowledge see: Hsia, 2009; Raj, 2009, 2013; Walker, 2007, 2013; Furtado, 2011;
Bastos, 2010; Dias, 2007; Pardo-Tomás, 2014; Bracht, 2018.
268 Chapter Nineteen
irradiation centers, in Europe, or through the colonial institutions and the

missionary actions of the religious orders (Raj, 2013). However, new
approaches have contributed to the broadening, in historiographical terms,
of the understanding that the production of scientific knowledge resulted
from a series of processes of cultural mixing and shared construction.
From these perspectives, historians, sociologists and science philosophers
sought to understand the production of knowledge throughout the Modern
Era as a sum of several processes, which involved the colonial spaces in a
multidimensional manner and from multidirectional pathways (Raj, 2013;
Bracht, 2018). The true construction of knowledge took place by means of
exchanges and negotiations, within a locus defined by Mary Louise Pratt
as the contact zone, which consisted of:
(…) colonial encounters, spaces in which people previously separated, in
historical and geographical terms, come into contact and establish
continuous relations, usually involving conditions of coercion, extreme
inequality and insoluble conflict. (Pratt, 1992, 6)
Much more than the simple result of an understanding process, the

production of knowledge in the colonial spaces also emerged from
conflicts and cross-interests through sensible negotiation processes. Points of
common interest arising from these processes were, to a large extent, the result
of incomplete understandings with respect to each other, but, at the same time,
a continued establishment of “mutual and creative misunderstandings” (White,
2001). The concept of “creative misunderstandings” has become the key
concept of the most recent understandings of the production of knowledge
in the colonial universes. Not for nothing did Harold John Cook, author of
several important works on this subject, use the same expression in one of
his most recent contributions to the matter (Cook, 2013).
The 18th-century Portuguese colonial spaces can be understood as
places of intense and dynamic processes of the construction, extension,
and reconfiguration of scientific knowledge. In these spaces, there were
multiple and complex processes of the syncretic production of knowledge
which were deeply related to the many local specificities and
idiosyncrasies and strictly connected to the circulatory channels
established by the imperial institutions. In this way, it becomes evident
that these processes are, on the one hand, inseparable from their local
contexts and, on the other, intrinsically related to the global contexts.
Portuguese India
THE MEDICINA ORIENTAL MANUSCRIPTS
Between 1740 and 1772, Luis Caetano de Meneses, a native Catholic

Goan, wrote the two volumes of Medicina Oriental (ACL, Cod. 21 and
22). The two voluminous manuscripts, held since the 1780s by the Science
Academy of Lisbon, are in fact two tomes of a single opus. The first book,
Socorro Índico aos Clamores dos Pobres Enfermos do Oriente, with 1396
pages, contains medical theory and analyses of medicinal drugs. The
author himself indicates, in several passages, that the book resulted from
the collection of information from diverse local masters of medicine.
However, these always remained anonymous and hidden as passive
contributors, and the offered practical knowledge is always validated by a
subsequent citation of a European intellectual authority. The first tome
contains seven books, each one written in the form of a discourse or
treatise about a given category of nature. In the discourses, the medicinal,
animal and mineral drugs are analysed in regard to their physical
appearance and their medicinal properties. In this sense, the treatises
expose the medical and natural philosophical characteristics of plants and
roots, fish and marine mammals, birds, quadruped animals, reptiles and
crawling animals, as well as metals, alkaline minerals and precious stones.
Under the title of Pharmacia Indiana, the second volume is a
compilation of more than three hundred pages containing pharmaceutical
prescriptions, some of them including a considerable number of local
drugs. Indeed, we have here a pharmacopoeia, filled with instructions for
preparing and manufacturing a myriad of remedies in accordance with
both chemical and humoral theories.
Meneses’ works can be considered deeply hybrid in the way in which
they incorporate European medical and pharmaceutical literature and by
the detailed local information that was collected, processed and
reconfigured. To write his work, Meneses resorted to some of the most
important Portuguese pharmacopoeias of the 18th century, such as the
Pharmacopeia Lusitana by Caetano de Santo António (1704); Âncora
Medicinal by Francisco da Fonseca Henriques (1721); Historiologia
medica by Joseph Rodrigues de Abreu (1733); Divertimento erudito
(1734) by friar João Pacheco (1734); and, lastly, the Materia Medica,
published in London by Jacob de Castro Sarmento (1735).
Among the seven treatises that make up volume one, the first one, Da
Historologia das Plantas, is by far the longest. This part contains
instructions on the medicinal uses of 782 plants and other diverse
substances of vegetal origin. In this treatise, there is at least one quote
from a European author for 294 (37.6%) plants. The remaining treatises,
which are considerably shorter than the first one, contain descriptions and
classifications of 146 fish4, 131 birds5, 114 quadrupeds, 81 reptantes
(crawling animals)6, 54 metals and metallic salts, and 130 precious stones.
Treatises two to seven, thus, describe a total of 656 entities, with reference
to European sources in 258 (39.33%). Altogether, the first volume
describes 1,438 items, with an average percentage of references to
European sources of 38.39%.
After analysing the quotations in the first volume, it is possible to
conclude that Luis Caetano based his work on a relatively limited number
of authors and that most of them are of Portuguese origin. However,
regarding the second tome, references are far more diverse. This book
includes a total of fifty references from different authors. In most cases,
precisely, 144 of a total of 306 formulas (47%), the references are
associated with recipes that were copied from several authors.
Due to these characteristics, the Medicina Oriental is keenly marked
by the European standards that can be found in other contemporary
medical treatises. But if in this particular respect the two tomes do not
differ considerably from most books on medicine and pharmacy published
in Europe in the mid-18th century, their contents are nonetheless
considerably different. Through the analysis of Meneses’ work, one can
infer that not only Indian physicians were consulted but also apothecaries
and herbalists, with the clear intention of obtaining more accurate
information about the local drugs described and analysed in volume one.
Similarly, it is reasonable to assume that, for volume two, he consulted
diverse local apothecaries and even village healers. This clearly
characterises the hybrid nature of the Medicina Oriental, engaged in the
processes of cultural syncretisation, bringing together components of
Asian and European origins. However, it is a challenging task to follow
this path of unheralded clues about the real Indian producers of knowledge
and why they were consulted. For although both books have enough
reliable information about the European authors called to validate the
knowledge produced, the same cannot be said about the local sources,
since not a single name is mentioned. Therefore, for a more accurate
understanding of how the author incorporated local-based knowledge in
his opus, it is crucial to deepen an analysis that recognises which elements
4 In fact, this category deals with aquatic animals, given that some amphibians,
molluscs, and crustaceans are also included, as well as mammals like the dugong
(Dugong dugon), dolphins and whales.
5 In a similar fashion to the previous category, this one describes flying animals,
including insects and bats.

6 All crawling animals, such as worms and some non-flying insects, are included.
Portuguese India
are effectively of Indian origin. This is fundamental to a better

understanding of how this knowledge has been incorporated and
transformed through contact with the European matrix. For by doing this,
one can follow the evidence the author provides himself.
In both volumes, two almost identical passages are found. As a
warning to his readers, Meneses wrote that "In order to be readily
understood by Indian readers, I wrote many names in the language of the
Country”7. In this sense, it can be said that it is through the presence of the
words in Konkani that it is possible to detect the data that allow us to
perceive how much the Medicina Oriental was inserted into the universe
of local knowledge. The two warnings mentioned above were accompanied
by a small set of rules on the pronunciation of several terms and syllables
in the local language when written in the Latin alphabet. Counting the
elements described in the first tome and considering the languages in
which the different names were written, we can note that of the total of
782 plants described in the first book, 462 (58.84%) were not identified by
Western names. Among those 462 plants, 338 (43.22%) were identified
only by their Indian names. Among these, 245 names (31.33% of the total)
are exclusively Goan designations, while 93 (11.89%) are combinations of
the different names in Konkani from Goa, from Salcete, Bardez and
Balgate or even from other Indian languages. These names were part of
the local culture, even when related to exotic plants, as for example the
many African specimens described. In the case of African species, and
because of the historical link between the eastern coast of Africa and
India, these drugs came mainly from Mozambique and, when they were
incorporated into the Goan medical culture, their original names were lost
or reconfigured.
The plants were part of the medical repository of the various categories
of agents, notably midwives, village healers and herbalists, who sold them
on the local markets, as well as apothecaries from the Congregação do
Oratório and Goan hospitals and literate Panditos who served the colonial
elite. Therefore, it is possible that Luis Caetano de Meneses obtained from
these groups the knowledge that he compiled, analysed, and categorised.
This knowledge was not supported by quotations from other works
because, for him, there were no expert authors of European books who
could validate it. Perhaps it was for this reason, in the second volume, that
Luis Caetano established criteria to facilitate the substitution of European
components found in pharmaceutical formulae for these plants, originating
7“Como para mais fácil percepção dos Leytores Indianos escrevo muitos nomes
em lingoa do Paiz” (ACL, Série Azul de Manuscritos, COD 21, our translation).
over 1,200 derived formulae, containing elements known to the local

medical culture. Thus, the Pharmacia Indiana, as an example of
historologias medicas8, presented itself as part of a broad process of the
construction, extension, and reconfiguration of knowledge.
FINAL CONSIDERATIONS
To conclude this analysis, an important question remains. What place

would the Medicina Oriental occupy in relation to the epistemological
transformations that were taking place in 18th century European medicine
and natural sciences? Most of the analyses and classifications of plants and
animals included in the Medicina Oriental followed criteria that had been
widely recognised in Europe since the first decades of the Early Modern
Age. However, from the second half of the 18th century onwards, these
standards gradually changed (Papavero et al., 1996). In this period,
Linnaeus’, Buffon’s and Tounefort’s ideas progressively added new
dynamics to the universe of classificatory theories. As an indirect effect of
these developments, much of the subjectivity of Early Modern
Humoralism was drained, little by little, of its explanatory range (Hankins,
2002).
According to the new classification models, plants and animals were
to be classified taking into account their morphological and reproductive
characteristics, mostly based on the binomial framed by the communion
between the new understandings of the concepts of shape and function.
These new models sought an opening of the possibility of classifying
plants and animals from standardised patterns, a task to be performed by
anyone, regardless of their place of observation. The slightest difference
between two individuals, plants or animals, should demand their
classification as two totally diverse beings (Margócsy, 2014, 29-73). In
this regard, the Medicina Oriental was written from a different
perspective. Following humoral theories and the Doctrine of Signatures,
Luís Caetano de Meneses – as well as most Early Modern natural
philosophers – used the principles of sympathy and emulation in order to
classify plants and animals as well as some selected inanimate beings.
Although Meneses dedicated an entire volume to chemical pharmacy, the
visions and interpretations found in his book no longer fitted within the
new developments taking place at the end of the 18th century, especially
those dealing with the problematics of phlogistic chemistry and the studies
on the properties of gases (Hankins, 2002). Hence, when the Medicina
8 “Medical historiologies” (our translation).

Portuguese India
Oriental arrived in Europe in around 1770, it was probably considered as

conceptually outdated by the “armchair savants” of the Academy of
Science of Lisbon.
The Medicina Oriental is quintessentially a hybrid, directly resulting
from the multiple hybridisation dynamics occurring in the contact zone
(Pratt, 1992) between Europeans and Indians. The work fuses not only the
knowledge of the Portuguese and the local elites, but also the popular
Christian and Hindu traditions, filtered while passing through the middle
ground (White, 2001) between these two universes. Each piece of
knowledge contained in the book was, within this process, reconfigured
through exchanges and negotiations.
Because of the connections with local cultures, the Medicina Oriental
deals closely with local medical and pharmaceutical demands and
knowledge, while maintaining a close connection with the European
references. Strategically, this kind of intellectual approach was largely
necessary due to the challenges of being accepted, recognised and
validated by both colonial and metropolitan “armchair savants”. In this
context, the Academy of Science of Lisbon was definitively an important
keystone in the processes of the validation of knowledge, being both a
guarantor and an instrument of power.
Finally, considering the elements analysed in this chapter, combined
with the theoretical perspectives focused in the frontiers of cultural
dynamics, we perceive that such processes of the construction of
knowledge largely depended on negotiation, and that the resulting
knowledge was indelibly marked by deep cultural relations and inherent
power imbalances. Therefore, when dealing with the contact zones in
which the Europeans were forced to adapt to the pre-existent systems in
the East, one also must deal with the central concept of cross-cultural
trade. The strengthening of social bonds and networks of knowledge was
thus a sine qua non step, without which the consolidation of all kinds of
cultural transfers would be considerably more difficult. Such a process
played an essential role in the building of this global world9. Knowledge
of drugs, diseases and pharmaceutical recipes was one of the most prolific
areas in which these transfers took place. In a sense, it was from this
shared construction of knowledge that, between conflicts and negotiations,
both colonisers and colonised could reach acceptable levels of coexistence.
In other words, it is possible to say, conditionally at least, that they learned
to live together. The circulation and shared production of knowledge are
thus core concepts for a more precise understanding of the historical
9 On this, see Polónia, 2017.

processes of the production of knowledge within the world of the Indian

Ocean that was, in this sense, a syncretic pool of ideas.
DOCUMENTAL SOURCES
ACL, Cod. 21 and 22. Meneses, Luís Caetano de. Medicina Oriental,
Socorro Indico aos Clamores dos Pobres Enfermos do Oriente para a
total profiligação de seus males, Adquirida de varios Professores da
Medicina, Offerecida a S.ma Trindade único deos verdadeiro. Por hum
natural de Goa. Goa, 17--.
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presente século, e ajustada ao uso prático deste Paíz. Lisboa: Officina
da Música.
Bastos, C. 2010. “Medicine, Colonial Order and Local Action in Goa”. In:
A. Digby, E. Waltraud & B. Projit (Eds.), Crossing Colonial
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Bracht, F. 2018. “Syncretism and shared production of knowledge in 18th
century Portuguese India”. In: A. Polónia, F. Bracht & G. Conceição
(Eds.). Connecting Worlds: Production and Circulation of Knowledge
in the First Global Age, Vol. 1 (pp. 45-73). Newcastle: Cambridge
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Burke, P. 2009. Cultural hybridity. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Cook, H. 2013. “Creative misunderstandings, Chinese medicine in 17th
century Europe”. In: D. Rodgers, B. Raman & H. Reimitz (Eds.),
Cultures in Motion. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Dias, J. P. S. 2007. Droguistas, boticários e segredistas. Ciência e
Sociedade na Produção de Medicamentos na Lisboa de Setecentos.
Lisboa: Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian/Fundação para a Ciência e a
Tecnologia.
Fonseca Henriques, F. da. 1710. Medicina lusitana: socorro delphico aos
clamores da natureza humana para total profligação de seus males.
Amsterdam: Officina de Miguel Diaz.
Fonseca Henriques, F. da. 1721. Âncora Medicinal para Conservar a Vida
com Saúde. Lisboa: na Oficina da Música.
Portuguese India
Furtado, J. F. 2011. “A medicina na época moderna”. In: H. Starling, L.

Germano & R. Marques (Eds.), Medicina: História em exame, Vol. 1
(pp. 21-81). Belo Horizonte: EdUFMG.
Hankins, T. 2002. Ciência e Iluminismo. Porto: Porto Editora.
Hsia, F. 2009. Sojourners in a strange land: Jesuits and their scientific
missions in late imperial China. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Margócsy, D. 2014. Commercial visions: Science, trade, and visual
culture in the Dutch Golden Age. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press.
Pacheco, J. 1734. Divertimento erudito para os curiosos de noticias
históricas. Lisboa Oriental: Officina Augustiniana.
Papavero, N. et al. 1996. Historia de la biología comparada desde el
Génesis hasta el siglo de las luces: el siglo de las luces (Parte II).
México: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México.
Pardo-Tomás, J. 2014. “Pluralismo médico y medicina de la conversión:
Fray Agustín Farfán y los agustinos en Nueva España, 1533-1610”,
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Pratt, M. L. 1992. Imperial Eyes. Travel Writing and Transculturation.
London/New York: Routledge.
Pita, J. R. R. 1998. História da Farmácia. Coimbra: Ordem dos
Farmacêuticos, Secção Regional de Coimbra, Minerva.
Polónia, A. 2017. “Interactions between the Local and the Global: Brokers
and Go-Betweens within the Portuguese State of India (1500–1700)”,
Asian Review of World Histories, Vol. 5 (1): 113-139.
Raj, K. 2009. “Mapping Knowledge: Go-Betweens in Calcutta, 1770–
1820”. In: S. Schaffer et al. (Eds.), The brokered world: go-betweens
and global intelligence, 1770-1820 (pp. 105-150). Sagamore Beach:
Science History Publications.
Raj, K. 2013. “Beyond Postcolonialism… and Postpositivism: Circulation
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Science, Vol. 104 (2): 337-347.
Santo Antonio, Caetano de. 1704. Pharmacopeia Lusitana, augmenthada
a methodo prático de preparar os medicamentos, na forma Chimica e
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Sarmento, J. C. 1735. Materia Medica physico-historico-mechanica, reyno
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questioning History (pp. 569-579). Lisboa: Nova Vega.
White, R. 2001. The Middle Ground: Indians, Empires and Republics in
the Great Lakes Region, 1650 – 1815. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
CHAPTER TWENTY
BRAZILIAN NATURE AND THE LOCAL

PRODUCTION OF KNOWLEDGE:
SOME ISSUES ABOUT NATURAL HISTORY
IN THE PORTUGUESE EMPIRE IN THE 18TH
CENTURY
GISELE C. CONCEIÇÃO
INTRODUCTION
The 18th century was marked by a growing interest of the Portuguese

Crown in Natural History. Throughout this period, it is possible to observe
an increase in the number of studies on the colonial Natural World which,
in turn, supported processes of the production and circulation of knowledge
encompassing the entire Portuguese Empire. This new interest in colonial
nature, following the paradigms of the Enlightenment and boosted by the
wide circulation of texts, led to the emergence of various science-diffusing
institutions such as the Academies of Sciences, the Botanical Gardens and
private collections as well as Cabinets of Natural History. Funded by patrons
and maecenas of Science and Natural Philosophy, wealthy nobles or
bourgeois, these institutions promoted the publication of books, memoirs
and catalogs of collections of exotic plants and animals as well as medical
books.
One of the main consequences of this renewed interest in knowing the
natural environment of the colonies was the recognition of the need for a
systematic investigation to improve knowledge not only on the colonial
world but on the parts of the globe hitherto unheard of. Everything was to
be observed, experimented, cataloged, described, classified and, finally,
analyzed concerning their uses, whether connected to science or economic
purposes. Therefore, to a large extent, it is possible to assume that these
278 Chapter Twenty
processes contributed to the promotion of scientific production throughout

the 18th century.
The Portuguese Crown, especially from the second half of the 18th century,
considered the application of these principles, at least partially, in the
investigation of the natural environment of their territories. In this process,
there was an intense participation of individuals with different intellectual
backgrounds. Frequently, even without an academic background in
philosophical-natural studies, these agents produced works on the Natural
World of the colonies (Conceição, 2017).
In quantitative terms, these individuals produced a larger volume of work
than those executed in the scope of the Viagens Filosóficas (lit.
‘Philosophical Voyages’) coordinated by Domenico Vandelli at the
University of Coimbra (Conceição, 2017). Therefore, the main objective of
this chapter is to demonstrate, through works produced by militaries and
physicians, how these policies concerning assessments and the exploration
of Brazil’s natural potentialities also fomented the production of knowledge,
our main focus being to comprehend the processes of the construction of
natural philosophical knowledge in the colonial territory.
THE PHILOSOPHICAL EXPEDITIONS AS INSTRUMENTS

OF POWER
From the beginning of the 18th century, and especially during John V’s
reign, there was an increase in the circulation of agents, books, ideas and
letters between Portuguese agents, whether they were in Portugal, in
northern Europe or in the colonies. In the first half of the century, a
significant part of Portuguese scientific thought circulated through letters
exchanged between diplomats, Crown officials, and intellectuals (Furtado,
2012). The content of these letters was most diverse, and through them,
scientific thinking circulated and was validated. This form of circulation not
only persisted during the second half of the 18th century but clearly increased
during this period (Conceição, 2017). The amount of works from the mid-
century onwards, in relation to political, economic and scientific questions
concerning the potential of the natural environment of the colonies,
especially Brazil, is arguably bigger. The obvious interest of the Crown
stimulated an increase in the number of agents studying colonial nature in
order to provide mechanisms that could be used to improve the knowledge
and use of natural resources for both scientific and commercial purposes.
From 1750, the Crown encouraged a policy of territorial expansion
towards the interior of Brazil, especially in relation to the regions bordering
the Spanish territories (Kantor, 2012). The main objective was to acquire a
Brazilian nature and the local production of knowledge 279
greater knowledge and mastery of these geographic spaces, in view of the

very expansion of agriculture and commerce, strategic and key areas of
colonial exploration. To a certain extent, it was in this context that
philosophical-natural studies about Brazil were thought out and put into
practice. This process was not exclusive to Portugal. Similarly, Spain
undertook several voyages and studies of territorial recognition as well as
scientific journeys to their colonies in America, the Philippines and the
Pacific (Domingues, 2013, 369).
In this sense, the project of the Philosophical Voyages demonstrates the
commitment of the Portuguese Crown to the implementation of policies
aimed at the development of Sciences, even in the colonial territories. The
Philosophical Voyages project was the conclusion of decades of studies,
criticism and attempts to form a group of naturalists qualified to develop a
systematic and scientific study of the natural potentialities of the colonies.
As an instrument of power of the construction project of the Portuguese
Empire, the Philosophical Voyages involved both politicians and diverse
sectors of the imperial economy and boosted the scientific scene throughout
the Empire. From the Crown to the University, going through the local
administration in the colonies, a commitment to the development of such
studies was an assumed policy (Brigola, 2003; Domingues, 2013;
Conceição, 2017).
Thus, the Philosophical Voyages should be seen as shared workflows
between various agents, including engineers, the military, naturalists,
physicians, state officials, politicians and clergymen. Initially, there was a
certain convergence between political-economic targets and scientific
objectives regarding the recognition and definition of territory, as a result of
which we can find engineers, physicians, military and even governors of
captaincies cataloging and describing animal and plant species.
Many works were written by the non-academic men who ventured on
the expeditions. The natural world of the colony became a source of
inspiration and interest for a wide range of agents who, in turn, developed
and promoted research on the potential of the natural resources of the
territory. Following these initiatives, science was to be central to the
economic development of the colony.
The expeditions then carried out encompassed all the Portuguese
Colonial Empire. The expeditions sent to Goa and Mozambique were led by
Manoel Galvão da Silva (1783-1793), the ones in Angola were undertaken
by Joaquim José da Silva (1783-1808) and those to Cape Verde by João da
Silva Feijó (1783-1790). However, it was the Brazilian branch of these
expeditions, headed by Alexandre Rodrigues Ferreira (1783-1792), which
gained greater notoriety.
280 Chapter Twenty
In the context of these expeditions, Ferreira’s voyage was, from the

financial, political and scientific points of view, the one of greater
importance if compared to those carried out in other territories.
The expedition itself had monumental dimensions, especially if the
distance covered in very little explored territories is considered.
Approximately 39,372 km were covered in the Amazon Basin and the
Captaincy of Mato Grosso (Ferrão and Soares, 2007; Simon, 1983). The
volume of information collected over almost ten years in the Amazon Basin
Rainforest was also great. Detailed drawings of tropical fauna and flora as
well as numerous reports, which also demonstrate a deep interest in rivers
and the tidal regime, attest to the interest and importance of the information
on the natural environment. Despite the subsequent misunderstandings that
caused the plundering, loss and deterioration of much of the collected
material, Ferreira's expedition demonstrates the strategic importance
attached to the study of nature within the Portuguese Empire.
Other expeditions, however, had considerably smaller resources, with
obviously different results in terms of the production of knowledge and its
validation by the scientific community. A good example of this situation is
that of the expedition of the naturalist João Machado Gaio in 1784 (a year
before the beginning of the expedition of Ferreira), who, under the
command of the Governor of the Captaincy of Ceará (José Telles da Silva),
organized and carried out an expedition in the Ibiapaba mountain range.
Gaio’s expedition resulted in the work Viagem filosófica que por ordem
e despesa do Ilmo. e Exmo. sr. José Telles da Silva fez João Machado Gaio
na serra da Ibiapaba, capitania do Ceará Grande, termo da Vila Viçosa
Real, desde 13 de julho de 1784 até 6 de agosto do fito ano1. Little is known
about his life. In 1784, the year in which he produced his philosophical work
about the Serra da Ibiapaba’s nature, he was promoted to captain of the 6th
Company of the Auxiliary Cavalry Regiment of that captaincy. But, unlike
his contemporary Ferreira, who was named as a correspondent partner of
the Lisbon Academy of Sciences in 1789, Gaio never reached this position.
From Gaio’s text, it is possible to perceive that his work was, from the
methodological point of view, very similar to that of Ferreira. Gaio sought
to focus on the kingdoms of nature, native populations, and products that
could be economically useful, but obviously on a smaller scale than Ferreira,
considering the extent of the territory and the number of species.
The report about the Serra da Ibiapaba begins with a geographical
location of the territory followed by a physical-geographical description.
Gaio reports everything he observes regarding the four kingdoms of nature,
1 ACL (Academia das Ciências de Lisboa), Série Azul de Manuscritos, COD 374.
though without great details about possible species. He emphasizes the

quality of water, the large number of rivers (according to him more than
forty) and the possibility of them being navigable, while pointing out that
most of these rivers, wells and cisterns were little used by the native
population. Curiously, in relation to the Animalia kingdom, he states that he
rather chose to describe the native peoples of the Serra da Ibiapaba instead
of reporting or cataloging species. As for the Plantae kingdom, the naturalist
is more precise. He underlines the importance of botany to naturalists and
informs the reader that he uses the Linnaeus system to classify species,
while also noting observations on timbers useful for shipbuilding or on the
medicinal plants
Alexandre Rodrigues Ferreira and João Machado Gaio can be
considered as examples of naturalists whose work was intrinsically
associated with the policies to encourage studies on the natural world of the
colonies. Both can exemplify the general character of the Philosophical
Expeditions undertaken in the different territories of the Portuguese
Colonial Empire which, like other examples that will be presented, not only
had a scientific character but clear political, economic and social
dimensions.
The relationship between Science and Power is clearly expressed in the
implementation of the scientific expeditions. However, the works developed
in the Philosophical Expeditions are not the majority of the philosophical-
natural works produced in the second half of the 18th century. In fact, the
studies produced by the naturalists trained at the University of Coimbra by
Domenico Vandelli are numerically insignificant when compared with the
works produced by other individuals who were not naturalists.
The diversity of agents involved is significant, and the works they
produced about Brazilian nature are quantitatively superior to those
produced in the scope of the Philosophical Expeditions. Even so, historians
still tend to consider Philosophical Expeditions as a model for the
understanding of scientific production in the 18th century. However, if one
intends to make an analysis that aims at a better understanding of the
different actors in the processes of construction of knowledge in Portuguese
America, other aspects must be considered; in this context, the scenario of
producers and works written about the Brazilian Natural World represent a
much more complex panorama, in which the Philosophical Expeditions are
nothing but one of the elements of this process.
From a documentary sources analysis, it is possible to say that a
typologically diverse range of agents participated in the production and
circulation of scientific works. There was a significant circulation of
knowledge between Europe and the colonies, and the production of
282 Chapter Twenty
knowledge in colonial territory went far beyond the simple use of a manual
of instruction made by intellectuals who never left Europe. The local and
empirical component in the production of knowledge was also fundamental,
generating works with different characteristics (Conceição, 2017).
In his book Putting Science in its Place, David Livingstone takes as one
of his central arguments the questioning on whether or not place could
influence scientific production. On the same line of thought, this chapter
analyzes if locality can be considered as a factor of influence in the
production of knowledge. The influence of local factors, as well as of the
place itself, could have influenced the agent’s choices on how to collect,
identify, describe and classify species. In this case, it is not only geography
that matters, but also agents and mechanisms associated with the
transmission, production, circulation and validation of knowledge
(Livingstone, 2013; Conceição, 2017).
Therefore, within the complex of agents that produced works about the
Brazilian natural resources, we can also include other individuals who
demonstrate the diversity of the production developed in colonial territories,
namely the military and the physicians/surgeons
The role played by the military was equally vital to the construction of
the image of the colonial territory. These agents worked on the elaboration
of maps and borders’ demarcation, on the edification of forts and villages,
and the reconstruction of cities. The military of medium and higher ranks
constituted a literate class, with an all-encompassing education that
involved knowledge in diverse fields of practical and utilitarian nature and,
in some cases, even in Natural History (Silva, 1999, 65). Oftentimes, the
professional activities of the military converged with other fields of
knowledge, and many of the works concerning Natural Philosophy were
authored by them.
Physicians and surgeons usually cataloged and analyzed the natural
elements that could be useful for medicinal and pharmaceutical knowledge.
Throughout the eighteenth century, there was a significant circulation of
knowledge among physicians and apothecaries about medicinal drugs. The
trade of drugs, medicinal plants and knowledge about medicinal practices
constituted an important part of the colonial economy (Dias, 2007, 129-
173).
During this period, both the military and physicians/surgeons promoted
a substantial production of knowledge about the natural environment of
Brazil, and part of this production was developed according to the directives
coming directly from the Metropolis. The Academy of Sciences of Lisbon,
the University of Coimbra (in the person of Domenico Vandelli) and the
policies of the Crown were fundamental to stimulating these groups to
develop works converging towards the same object: the inventory of Brazil's
natural potentialities. Considering the role of the two distinct groups of
agents mentioned above, we will now address the specific contribution of
each of them to the production of knowledge about nature in colonial Brazil,
through the examples of the physician Francisco Antonio de Sampaio and
the soldier Domingos Muniz Barreto.
LOCAL AGENTS AS GO-BETWEENS AND PRODUCERS

OF KNOWLEDGE
The case of Francisco António de Sampaio – Physician
Francisco António de Sampaio was born in Vila Real, Portugal, and

moved to Brazil, possibly in 1748. He later settled in Vila da Cachoeira (a
small village of the Captaincy of Bahia)2 and never returned to Portugal.
Despite the fact he never attended a medical school, he was authorized to
practice as a surgeon and physician in 1762 and worked at the two Faculties
of the Senate and at the Hospital of St. John of God (“partidista em ambas
as Faculdades do Senado e no Hospital de São João de Deus”), one of the
oldest in Brazil. This fact leads us to assume that he would be the official
physician of Vila da Cachoeira, and probably the only one. Of the little
information about his life and professional trajectory, some was given by
himself through his correspondence with the Lisbon Academy of Sciences
(Conceição, 2016, 2018a). Sampaio was named correspondent member in
1798, fifteen years after sending his first letters and presenting his works to
the savants of the Academy3. His work História dos Reinos Vegetal, Animal
e Mineral pertencente à medicina, Tomos I and II 4 , sent to the Lisbon
Academy of Science, is not unknown, having been quoted by authors such
2 The Vila da Cachoeira gained the administrative status of Vila (lit. town) in 1698
and experienced its golden period in the late 18th century with an increase in
economic activity and a considerable population growth. Its fluvial harbor’s
importance was mainly due to the trade of diverse important local goods such as
gold, tobacco, cassava root flour, and dried salted meat. It was from Vila da
Cachoeira that, in 1817, the German naturalists Carl Friedrich Philipp von Martius
(1794–1868) and Johann Baptist von Spix (1781–1826) started their scientific
expedition towards the hinterland of the Captaincy of Bahia.
3 For further reading about the correspondence between Sampaio and the Academy
see Conceição, 2016, 142-179.

4 FBN (Fundação Biblioteca Nacional/Rio de Janeiro), manuscritos, I–12, 01, 019
and FBN, manuscritos, I–12, 01, 020.

284 Chapter Twenty
as Timothy Walker (2018), William Joel Simon (1983) and Lorelai Kury
(2018).
Simon emphasized the fact that Sampaio was developing studies based
on the principles of Linnaeus even before Alexandre Rodrigues Ferreira
arrived in Brazil to develop his philosophical studies. In fact, Sampaio was
aware of the Systema Naturae, and he used Linnaeus’s work in many of his
descriptions of animals, trying to find connections between the species
described in the Linnaean system and the ones he was observing in Vila da
Cachoeira. And whenever he could not find them, he warned his readers that
they were species not classified by Linnaeus, which justified his own
description. In addition, he always tried to record the virtues and uses of
plants. As for the animals, besides the Linnaean classification of species, he
described them anatomically, specifying their medicinal uses, when applied.
Apart from Linnaeus, Sampaio mentions two more authors and their
works, widely known in the scientific community, which by the end of the
18th century were being openly challenged: the physicians Manoel Rodrigues
Coelho and his work Pharmacopeia Tubalense and Francisco da Fonseca
Henriques and his Ancora Medicinal. In these cases, instead of using the
works of these authors, Sampaio joined in with the discussions of the time,
criticizing them and showing that his own knowledge about some plants was
better and more precise than that of Coelho and Henriques. Even living
away from the important urban centers of colonial Brazil and never having
been in a European university, Sampaio's work clearly reveals his
interaction with Enlightenment science.
This scenario allows us to understand how the Crown’s incentives
stimulated the production of works on Brazilian nature, involving a large
number of agents in the colony. Sampaio was not an academic but, although
far from the centers of the producers of science, he maintained contact with
these centers, knew the concepts of Linnaeus, and had access to the
instructions issued by the Academy of Sciences, namely those that
encouraged individuals inserted in colonial contexts to describe and classify
the natural environment in which they lived.
The case of Domingos Alves Branco Muniz Barreto – Military
In such a scenario, in which a wide range of agents, whether linked to

the Crown or not, were involved in the recognition of the regional natural
resources and in the construction of philosophical-natural knowledge about
Brazil, the military affirmed themselves as examples of the production of
natural-philosophical works, especially in the field of Natural History. One
of these examples is Domingos Alves Branco Muniz Barreto and his works
about Bahia’s medicinal plants. Considering the military training of Muniz

Barreto, what would be a useful knowledge of nature for him? How should
he perform the work in order to provide such knowledge? Who was this
work for and why was it necessary? These were probably some of the
questions Muniz Barreto was trying to answer when he began his own
research and to which he sought to respond throughout his work, thus
providing his readers with more than a simple knowledge about medicinal
plants.
Muniz Barreto was born in Bahia in 1748 and died in Rio de Janeiro in
1831. He was a military man who wrote several texts on the political, social
and economic situation in Brazil as well as on the exploitation of Brazilian
natural resources. In addition, he also wrote about natural products that
could be grown or extracted from Brazilian nature, such as plants locally
used as medicines, and other natural resources with commercial and
economic potential. In the second half of the 18th century, he traveled
through an extensive territory, from the Captaincy of Bahia de Todos os
Santos to the Captaincy of Rio Grande de São Pedro (Conceição, 2018).
Although Muniz Barreto dedicated his work to the illustrious members
of the Academy, there is no record that he had been accepted as a member
of the Lisbon Academy of Sciences. However, the work of Muniz Barreto
clearly shows that, like Sampaio, he was aware of the scientific policies of
the time and the incentives given to works on the Brazilian natural
environment.
Two works are known that resulted from his research in Ilhéus (Southern
Bahia). One, which combines the Viagem a parte da Comarca dos Ilheos
na Capitania da Bahia5 and the Plantas do Certão do Gram Pará6, is now
in the archives of the Lisbon Academy of Science; the other, which
combines the Descripção de parte da Comarca dos Ilheos da Capitania da
Bahia dirigida à Academia R. das Sciencias de Lisboa 7 and Ervas
Medicinais do Brasil 8 , is kept in the Public Library of Porto. Both
manuscripts are identical. Besides these works, in the Historical Archive of
the Museum Bocage (Bocage Museum), there is still a list of natural
products that Muniz Barreto sent to Portugal9.
The work of Muniz Barreto is very interesting from the point of view of
the importance of Brazilian natural philosophical knowledge. His
5 ACL, Série Azul de Manuscritos, COD 374 (25).

6 ACL, Série Azul de Manuscritos, COD 627.
7 BPMP (Biblioteca Pública Municipal do Porto), reservados, 3ªsérie –Brasil,
Cota: MS 688.
8 BPMP, reservados, 3ªsérie –Brasil, Cota: MS 436.
9 For further reading about this work see Conceição, 2018, 98-125.
286 Chapter Twenty
observations include geographical descriptions and information on the

navigability of local rivers and soil fertility, on mineral resources and
agricultural crops, on indigenous groups and, most importantly, on local
medicinal plants and indigenous knowledge associated with their use. In this
context, Muniz Barreto did not neglect the process of data collection and the
construction of knowledge about medicinal plants and, from his own
understanding, sought to inform about the usefulness of some of these plants
for those who could use their writings as the basis of other fieldwork.
Thus, his botanical works start with an explanation about how he drew
the species, followed by what was, in his opinion, the best way to verify the
qualities of those plants and an explanation on the best method to gather the
selected plants. To this explanation he adds the drawing and the description
of the specimens.
Muniz Barreto developed his own system for cataloging and describing
specimens, mostly based on indigenous knowledge. According to him, the
observation and acknowledgment of the native American knowledge was
the best way to ensure the ability of any person to use his works, by
recognizing each plant that was being cataloged. Nevertheless, the
descriptions of the plants were made by comparing the native plants with
other known plants of the European botanical complex and, thus, the work
can be considered as a kind of technical manual on medicinal plants, which
could be useful for and used by anyone.
As for his philosophical observations, the place of prominence was
given to the geographical description, with some emphasis laid also on the
question of the navigability of the rivers, as João Machado Gaio had already
done. But unlike Gaio, he warned the savants of the Academy that he would
not describe the indigenous populations because they were not relevant for
the Academy.
Contrary to many works by his contemporaries, organized in
alphabetical order or thematic axes, the work of Muniz Barreto is organized
from the collection process itself, and the specimens appear in the same
order in which they were brought by the natives or by the local population.
Thus, at each collection site, there is a differentiated process of data
collection that includes both the individuals involved and the different
modes of knowledge transmission. As a result, the knowledge acquired
acknowledges the participation of natives as informers as well as the
importance of indigenous knowledge.
Muniz Barreto’s works resulted from his direct contact with the
indigenous populations living in the villages he visited, presupposing a
process of a reconfiguration of knowledge that recognizes and incorporates
the indigenous knowledge component. In turn, the local character of his
works can be analyzed not only from the perspective of the cataloged
specimens but also by the type of knowledge itself, as a very particular result
of a reconfiguration of indigenous and popular knowledge and the use of
local technics and materials (Conceição, 2018).
Therefore, in Muniz Barreto’s work, we can observe a complete process
of the reception, assimilation and integration of knowledge, associating both
European and indigenous knowledge. In his own opinion, this interaction
was paramount, and the construction of specific knowledge about local
medicinal plant species should be built through interaction with local
populations. In this dynamic, whenever possible, he sought specific
knowledge from European authors, providing his readers with a full
comprehension about Brazilian medicinal plants (Conceição, 2018).
In requesting help from the native Americans to collect plants, and
recognizing the importance of this same aid, Muniz Barreto established a
biunivocal relationship of knowledge exchange based on the assumption of
the construction of an inclusive scientific knowledge.
FINAL COMMENTS
In the second half of the 18th century, the interests of the Crown ended
up shaping the dynamics of the production of knowledge on Brazil’s natural
resources, as well as its diffusion within the Empire and beyond. Social,
economic, political and scientific issues were, in most cases, decisive factors
not only in the choice of studies to be carried out but also in the choice of
the territories and natural products to be considered with an economic,
commercial and even potential medicinal use. However, this scientific
production was not merely and exclusively based on works which enjoyed
the direct support of funding from the Crown. Many agents produced studies
aimed at their acceptance in the upper political and scientific circles.
It was due to the involvement of the Crown and the scientific institutions
involved in the initiatives to assess the natural potentialities of the colonies
that a large number of individuals, with various educational and professional
backgrounds, became central to the process of the construction of
knowledge about the Brazilian natural environment
This can be considered as a characteristic of a model of production of
knowledge, transversal to the entire Portuguese Empire; a model with its
own characteristics in relation to the scientific community of the time and
the works produced on the natural environment of the colonies, which gave
a very particular character to the relationship between man and nature in the
different colonial spaces of the Empire.
288 Chapter Twenty
SOURCES
ACL, Série Azul de Manuscritos, COD 374. Viagem filozofica, que por
ordem, e despeza do Ill.mo Ex.mo Snr. Joze Telles da Silva fes João
Machado Gayo na Serra da Ibiapaba Capitania do Siara Grande termo
de Villa Viçoza Real, desde 13 de Julho de 1784 até 6 de Agosto do
mesmo anno / [por] João Machado Gayo.
ACL, Série Azul de Manuscritos, COD 374 (25). Viagem a parte da
Comarca dos Ilheos na Capitania da Bahia / [por] Domingos Alves
Branco Muniz Barreto.
ACL, Série Azul de Manuscritos, COD 627. Plantas do Certão do Gram
Pará.
BPMP, reservados, 3ª série – Brasil, Cota: MS 688. Descripção de parte da
Comarca dos Ilheos da Capitania da Bahia dirigida à Academia R. das
Sciencias de Lisboa.
BPMP, reservados, 3ª série – Brasil, Cota: MS 436. Ervas Medicinais do
Brasil.
FBN, manuscritos, I–12,01,019. História dos Reinos Vegetal, Animal e
Mineral, Francisco António de Sampaio, Tomo I. Available at: BNRJ–
Digital. Cota: Mss 22949:
http://objdigital.bn.br/objdigital2/acervo_digital/div_manuscritos/mss2
2949/mss22949.pdf
FBN, manuscritos, I–12,01,020. História dos Reinos Vegetal, Animal e
Mineral, Francisco António de Sampaio, Tomo II. Available at: BNRJ–
Digital. Cota: Mss 22950.
http://objdigital.bn.br/objdigital2/acervo_digital/div_manuscritos/mss2
2950/mss22950.pdf
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XVIII. Lisboa: Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian.
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Construction and Reconfiguration of knowledge in the late eighteenth
century”. In: A. Polónia, F. Bracht & Gisele C. Conceição (Eds.),
Connecting Worlds: Production and Circulation of Knowledge in the
First Global Age (pp. 98-125). Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars
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Conceição, G. C. 2018a. “Francisco António de Sampaio and his Natural
History of Vila da Cachoeira: Circulation, Reconfiguration and
Validation of the Knowledge Production in the Second half of the 18th
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Conceição, G. C. 2017. Natureza Ilustrada. Processos de Construção de

Conhecimento Filosófico-natural Sobre o Brasil na Segunda Metade do
Século XVIII. PhD thesis, Universidade do Porto.
Conceição, G. C. 2016. “Natureza Ilustrada: Estudos sobre Filosofia
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Ferrão, C. & Soares, J. P. M. (Eds.). 2007. Diário da Viagem Filosófica pela
Capitania de São José do Rio Negro com a Informação do Estado
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Furtado, J. F. 2012. Oráculos da Geografia Iluminista: Dom Luís da Cunha
e Jean-Baptiste Bourguignon D’Anville na construção da cartografia do
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Ensaios de história das ciências no Brasil: das Luzes à nação
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Circulation of Knowledge in the First Global Age (pp. 182-219).

Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HISTORY AND NATURE IN THE COLONIAL

AMAZON:
ANIMALS AND PLANTS IN THE CONQUEST
OF THE NEW WORLD
WESLEY OLIVEIRA KETTLE
INTRODUCTION
Many of the members of the boundary commission remained in the

Amazon, being in charge of several technical services to which they could
contribute, such as Sambucetti, Sturm, Galuzio, and Landi, who made
maps, explored rivers, studied Amazonian nature, committed to main
political activities, such as building fortified settlements and urban nuclei,
as well as subsequent action against the Spanish. Outcomes of the Treaty
of Madrid were rewarding. Efforts regarding the intensive valuation of
Amazon and steady maintenance of Luso-Brazilian sovereignty (…)
became a steady guideline of the Portuguese political elite. (Reis, 1948:
111-2)
The conclusions presented by Arthur Cezar Ferreira Reis in this work

follow a historiographical tradition that interprets the colonial past of the
Amazon from the perspective of the "Portuguese political elite" and, in
this context, the action of agents involved in the process of demarcation is
taken as a reflection of the elites’ commitment and involvement in this
process.
This historiographical approach considers the knowledge produced by
the colonial agents as a consequence of the intellectual context of the
Enlightenment, developed in important European centres of the time such
as Spain and Portugal, which had Natural History as one of its main
concerns (Falcon, 1993) and, to a certain extent, defended the role and
292 Chapter Twenty-One
importance of the knowledge and appropriation of the natural world for

the process of colonial occupation.
On the other hand, traditional interpretations also enhance the
importance of the planning elaborated by the Portuguese government, which
would have been efficiently and conscientiously executed throughout this
period, as expressed in Reis’ discourse, according to which the
“Portuguese political elite” would be totally in control of the border
demarcation in the region.
Considering these interpretations as well as the specific context of the
border demarcation process, this chapter aims to show how the visions of
nature recorded by the participants in this process help us broaden the
scope of our understanding of the wider process of the colonial occupation
of the Amazon.
To do this, our research focused mainly on historical documents,
especially the eighteenth-century travel reports related to the Amazon
region during the process of border demarcation, seeking to contribute to a
reflection on the way in which historiography interprets this period of
Amazonian history.
HISTORY, NATURE, AND SCIENCE IN THE AMAZON
The overvaluation of the contributions of the demarcation commissioners,

especially regarding the works of Natural History, reinforces the argument
that the Portuguese Crown, as the producer of the colonial policy
guidelines, was responsible for the entire process of territorial occupation
and conquest. Accordingly, the success of the conquest was intertwined
with the knowledge of nature, and the Portuguese political elite was
primary responsible for its successful implementation. This type of
narrative construction excludes all proposals based on the recognition and
incorporation of local indigenous knowledge.
We cannot deny that the Portuguese political elite was responsible for
directives and negotiations in the process of Amazonia’s colonial
occupation. However, considering indigenous knowledge to understand
the Amazonian past allows the possibility of increasing our knowledge
about the period of the European occupation of the Amazon.
Interactions of Europeans with the nature of the New World created
demands that rearranged previously conceived plans. Despite the efforts to
keep everything under control, colonial agents were constantly in need of
responses to the challenges presented by forests, rivers, natural phenomena
and animals which were previously unknown. This reinforced the need to
study nature through the perspective of Natural History, ensuring not only
History and nature in the colonial Amazon 293
a scientific connotation to such a practice, but also a political one. José

Padua (2010) highlights the importance of this interaction in the
construction of a dynamic narrative that brings together biophysical,
cultural and social factors.
Dangerous animals such as snakes, jaguars and alligators were
registered as grounds for the suppression of demarcation journeys.
Difficulties caused by natural features such as waterfalls forced Europeans
to rework their expedition plans. New instruments for hunting, paddling
and collecting animals and fruits were added to the luggage assigned to the
scientific expedition. The specificity of the conditions of the Amazonian
environment, hitherto unknown by the men of science, imposed changes to
the list of objects that should be part of the luggage and challenged the
mathematical knowledge learned at the European universities (Kettle,
2015). But, most of all, these conditions changed the worldview of
colonial agents.
It is worth remembering that authors such as Arthur Cezar Ferreira
Reis (1948) were to a certain extent aware of the importance given to the
natural world by the Europeans; how rivers, mountains and other natural
features were used as key elements of the territorial demarcation process,
and how the production of albums, research and periodicals or the
organization of herbaria and animal specimens were also performed to be
used later as gifts in diplomatic actions attesting to the occupation of the
territory.
Visions of nature by men of science, clergymen, military men and
colonial administrators involved in the European conquest of the Amazon,
especially during the second half of the 18th century, should be understood
on the basis of their experiences in the New World, and not exclusively as
a reflection of the orientations of the Portuguese government, inscribed in
the ‘civilizing’ project of the Enlightenment and guided by the Natural
History methodologies.
The accounts of the life experience of the men of science hired for
boundary expeditions in the Amazon region also served to establish
relations with other scientists who held high positions in Europe; this was
a stimulus for Commissioners to develop activities and produce reports
attesting to their awareness of the language and appropriate scientific
practices used in the most important European cities (Kettle, 2010), which
could enable them to be recognized as men of science among their
European peers.
In line with this possibility, a letter written in 1767 by Angelo

Brunelli1 to Ferdinando Bassi2 shows the attempt to establish an
information network based on the work with ‘things of nature’. Such a
network presupposed, on the one hand, that colonial administrators would
receive data on the conquered lands as well as the identification of who
could participate in the project of territorial occupation (Kettle, 2010) and,
on the other hand, that the persons responsible for the research on nature
could legitimately claim the recognition of his position as a "naturalist" in
the Portuguese Empire.
(...) once you dedicate yourself entirely to contemplation of things of

nature and through this dedication you achieve high praise and you interact
brilliantly with Natural History itself, with discoveries which are not
insignificant, it seemed to me that it would not be by any means unpleasant
by writing to you about something which has to do, somehow, with your
own studies, and which, at the same time, is fascinating and worthy of
being known. (Brunelli, 1767 (2010), 517)
Brunelli's statement testifies that he understood Natural History was a

critical element of the border demarcation process and how the results of
works in that area of knowledge would be most welcomed by the
European Academy. Therefore, knowledge of the natural world was not
an option but an essential part of the strategy of the Iberian Empires to
perform territorial occupation, and while reflecting on the complexity of
that period we should not ignore either the environmental issues or the
way colonial agents perceived nature. Conversely, as Donald Worster
(1990) points out, the environmental perspective in history allows us to
1 Astronomer. Born in Italy, probably in Bologna, on January 22, 1722. He was a

secular priest who graduated in astronomy and came to work at the Astronomical
Observatory of the Academy of Sciences of the Bologna Institute. At the age of 28,
he was hired by Father João Álvares de Gusmão to be part of the Amazon Basin
Demarcation Commission. He remained in Grão-Pará until 1761. Once in Portugal,
he became professor of Arithmetic and Geometry at the Royal Academy of the
Navy and was appointed professor of Philosophy and Mathematics at the Royal
College of the Nobles by King José I. He retired from the College of Nobles in
1769 and returned to Bologna. He died on February 25, 180..
2 Responsible for the botanical exchange in the city of Bologna. At the Botanical
Garden of Bologna, he held the position of director of the rare and exotic plants
sector from 1763 to 1774, the year of his death. He was involved with different
fields of science, such as Physics, Chemistry, Paleontology and especially Botany.
He made important trips to collect new plants and exchanged messages and species
with Linnaeus.
consider the different driving forces of the construction of the narrative

based on the reports about nature.
In the 18th century, Lisbon was the great metropolitan centre of the
Portuguese Empire. The relation between the increase in conquests and the
promotion of the knowledge of the territories conquered based on Natural
History became increasingly noticeable. The need for explorers to
recognize the territory and describe new species of animals and plants,
indigenous people’s behaviour, climate and hydrography provided a
concrete setting from which various philosophical concepts could be
conceived. This sort of effort was related to a prominent political scenario
in Portuguese history, in which the issue of colonial borders was featured
(Raminelli, 2008).
Discussions on the boundaries between the domains of Spain and
Portugal in the Americas dragged on over the centuries, and in 1750 a
more effective work on knowledge of the conquered territory was still
needed. The advance to the west of the Portuguese in America was so
evident that it made diplomatic relations with the Spanish increasingly
delicate (Cortesão, 1965). At the time, the need for an economic and
technological renewal by both Portugal and Spain made effective control
of overseas territories an essential factor in this context, which the
historian Manuel Giraldo called “border reformism” (Giraldo, 1782
(1991), 8-9).
In fact, conflicts concerning the establishment of settlements and the
circulation of natural products exploited in America, especially in the
borderlands, also created demands which contributed to reforming the
border policy. Descriptions of nature then played an important role in
diplomatic negotiations, attesting to the successful conquest of a given
territory. In addition, it would be misleading to assume that the indigenous
peoples, who had a secular knowledge of the region, did not contribute to
this knowledge about the natural world (Pratt, 1999).
Another misconception would be to assume that there were no changes
in the way European colonial agents sought to understand the world once
they had interacted with the New World biosphere, which influenced their
work on Natural History. At this time, Enlightenment reformism was
carried out in a moderate manner, mixing tradition and innovation,
described by the German historian Sebastian Merkle (1909) as “Catholic
Enlightenment”, a term later appropriated by the French historian Bernard
Plongeron (Rosa, 2010, 215-18)3.
3 The original expression conceived by Sebastian Merkle is “Katholisch

Aufklarung”, which was used at an International Congress of History in 1909 in
order to highlight non-conservative characteristics of Catholicism throughout the
NATURAL HISTORY AND BORDER DEMARCATION

IN THE AMAZON
The works on Natural History made in the scope of the borders process
in the Amazon region were initially carried out under the guidance of
Sebastião José de Carvalho e Melo4 (1699-1788), the Portuguese Secretary
of State under the government of King José I (1750-1777), which followed
mercantilist guidelines in order to ensure positive revenues for the
kingdom’s finances (Falcon, 1993). Later on, under the rule of Queen
Maria I (1777-1816), despite the opposition of some noble sectors,
Enlightenment guidelines were also behind the foundation of museums as
well as the creation of the Royal Academy of Sciences of Lisbon (1779)
and the botanical gardens of Coimbra (1772) and Ajuda (1768). In this
way, a greater development of science was sought in the context of a
dialogue between the knowledge produced in the university and the
economic interests, or others of possible benefit to the Kingdom
(Carvalho, 1987), and the knowledge of nature.
Those institutions also played an important role in establishing
communication with science and knowledge produced abroad, considering
collection methods, studying the different Natural History collections,
drawing the collected samples and analyzing and comparing the various
descriptions of nature in the Portuguese colonies. Men of science wrote
about agriculture, geography, botany and other topics while Crown agents
were given the responsibility of discussing and evaluating the results,
applying methods according to their own interests. In doing so, it was
expected that the results of the link between scientific studies and
economic practices could give Portugal a new financial boost (Brigola,
2003).
The acknowledgement of the complexity of the political thinking that
guided the activities related to the demarcation of borders in America is
essential to the construction of a narrative composed by individuals of
different natures and origins that, in turn, give this process a distinct social
dynamic.
It is necessary to avoid explanatory frameworks which consider
Enlightenment thinking as an instrument strong enough to transform and
transmute the reality of the everyday life, livelihoods and mindsets of the
colonial subjects. Such an explanatory structure would conceive colonists
century of Enlightenment, therefore going against perspectives of Protestant

historiography.
4 Sebastião José de Carvalho e Melo is also known as the Marquês de Pombal, a
title he received in 1769.

as passive actors in such a context. Assuming "as a chameleon, the colors

and shadows dictated by the Enlightenment" (Brigola, 1988, 75), colonial
agents would apply only a single, pre-established model that would guide
both the demarcation process and their own visions of nature.
However, considering the particularities of “life in colonies”, as
plaintively described by Luís Vilhena (1969, 218)5 in the 17th century, we
can approach this question from a different point of view, which considers
the reactions of the settlers as a result of epistemological exchanges with
the indigenous populations, as well as of their experiences and expectations
(Falcon, 2001). This perspective is important to broaden our observations
on the different social groups involved in the occupation of the Amazon
Basin, while recognizing that the visions of nature in that region resulted
mainly from the concrete experiences of those living there.
On the other hand, we could even consider the existence of a project of
conquering the nature of the New World. The attempt to “domesticate”
and “dominate” the natural world through the scientific knowledge
produced at universities and organized at museums, academies of science
and botanical gardens was part of the politics which characterized the
Portuguese Enlightenment itself, aiming at making a profit for the
kingdom’s economy. Knowledge possessed by local inhabitants was never
devalued, even though it was not explicitly presented in the works
elaborated by colonial agents. This is an important interpretative key for
studying the accumulation of knowledge by all those involved with the
project of colonization, registering flora, fauna and regional landscapes,
and pointing out suggestions for land cultivation or the exploitation of
natural products (Reill, 2005).
Topics such as agriculture and mining began to be discussed by
Enlightened Luso-Brazilian men from a technical perspective, noting the
existence of knowledge that could be applied to benefit the Kingdom's
trade. The evaluation of the raw materials of each region as well as their
potential exploration were part of the agenda of the Enlightenment groups;
therefore, the studies published included analyses of natural products such
as timber, indigo dye and cotton from a scientific perspective conforming
to the Enlightenment concept (Raminelli, 2000, 27, 34).
Despite the importance of Enlightenment thinking and the scientific
matrix of Natural History in relation to the production of knowledge about
the nature of the New World, the episodes of the demarcation process
5 Luís dos Santos Vilhena was a professor of Greek in Bahia between 1787 and
1799. He wrote important accounts of the colonial society. Among other issues, he
complained about the reduced number of whites in comparison to African blacks in
Salvador.
show that, throughout the 18th century, colonial agents made use of
indigenous knowledge. The indigenous population, who are still neglected
by a significant part of the historiographical works dedicated to this
period, were nevertheless fundamental to the process of occupation
(Kettle, 2015). They were essential not only as a labour force in the
expeditions, but also as the custodians of information essential to a good
description of nature. They had knowledge on the territory and its
resources, they knew how to use and where to find medicinal and edible
plants, they knew all about the forests, the rivers and the creeks, the dirt
tracks, the climate, the tides….
The border demarcation team had to wait in Lisbon until 1753 before
travelling to South America. During this time, the news coming from the
Amazon caused some uneasiness and discomfort among the members of
the Border Commission. Reports on food supply problems in the interior
of the Amazon and on the quality of the technical instruments to be used
in the measurements (Brunelli, 1751 (2003), 652-3) raised serious doubts
as to the feasibility of the expeditions. Still, the information coming to
Lisbon far from matched the situation they would find in the interior.
There, everything was different from what they knew, and the Amazonian
world would contribute to profound changes in perceptions about the
natural world
In fact, the interaction with the Amazonian world resulted in the
emergence of a new scientific knowledge, mixing European and indigenous
references, although the incorporation of indigenous knowledge has never
been clearly assumed and recognized in the periodicals, research,
descriptions or other types of documents in which the works of the
demarcation Commissioners were reported.
It is true that a significant part of the Western historiography supported
the idea of a purely European science that not only devalued the
importance of this Luso-Brazilian knowledge, but completely disregarded
the secular native knowledge (Safier, 2008). However, our research
reveals that it would be misleading to assume that indigenous peoples only
served as rowers or forest guides, clearing out pathways for the European
demarcations through Amazonian rivers and forests.
The indigenous population released their knowledge about the
Amazonian world by providing access to information on the local
topography, the regional distribution of fauna and flora, the healing
properties of plants or the preparation of food, but also on tides, stars and
the hunting that, otherwise, the colonial agents would hardly have had
access to (Taladore, 2017)6. Thus, it is fair to consider that historiography

is still in debt to these indigenous peoples, since it did not recognize them
as active subjects in history.
In the course of our research, it was possible to identify complaints
made by European explorers because of the refusal of the indigenous
peoples to cooperate with the colonial agents during the demarcation
activities. During the journey, travellers had to rely on the knowledge of
the indigenous people about the plants found along the way, especially
when their medicinal value was at stake. And getting this information
almost always required great negotiation skills. In addition, reports from
colonial agents also reveal their lack of knowledge about the existence of
tides in the Amazon and how they were dependent on indigenous
information about the tidal system (Lima & Moreira, 2005).
These difficulties provided an opportunity for indigenous peoples to
negotiate their knowledge in exchange for advantages in colonial society
and thereby also to strengthen their role in the expeditions. As shown by
Karl Offen (2003), for instance, the natives will have negotiated
information for European cartographic production in exchange for a
guarantee for survival against the violence of the process of domination of
the conquerors.
Recently, studies carried out by Mauro Cezar Coelho (2016) have
emphasized an historical interpretation considering indigenous populations
as drivers of changes in the Portuguese colonial policy for the Amazon. As
shown by this author, the Portuguese legislation for the Amazon, while
presenting a set of norms designed to face the indigenous resistance to the
social model imposed by the Portuguese administration, revealed, in
between the lines, the strategies conceived by the indigenous peoples in
relation to the violent measures of the colonial agents, thus enhancing their
active role in the process of colonial occupation.
Following the same type of argument, Eric Taladore (2017) examines
how the Amerindians demonstrated their ability to negotiate their survival
6 Indigenous knowledge is valued in most written accounts of border expeditions.
Natives are presented as specialists in navigating techniques in the upper Rio
Negro waterfalls, and their experience regarding the knowledge of the tides was
even recognized by Governor Mendonça Furtado himself. As Landi emphasized,
they were indispensable for reporting the locations of plants and animals of
scientific or economic interest to colonial agents. Health problems such
expeditions had to face could not have been resolved without the information of
the natives about local medicinal plants and how to apply them. Moreover, the
learning of their hunting techniques, widely documented by the "riscadores"
(designers) that integrated the expeditions, also testifies to the recognition of the
importance of indigenous knowledge and practices.
with the European conquerors by considering the entire colonial space;

this, ultimately, could mean the possibility of moving to European cities.
This author highlights the protagonism of the indigenous peoples as
interpreters and farmers, as well as their technical skills in the construction
of buildings, gardening, and the domestication of flora and fauna. His
argument draws attention to the reductive interpretations that regard
indigenous Amazon peoples as passive actors who only reproduce
European standards of culture and technology.
In turn, Mary Louise Pratt (1999), in her investigation on the
colonization process of the Americas, also emphasizes how tools,
construction technics, religious rituals, and other areas of European
knowledge were permeable to the incorporation of indigenous knowledge.
Pratt uses the concept of ‘transculturation’ as a way of critically
understanding the appropriation of indigenous materials by the Europeans.
By doing so, it is possible to conceive native peoples as characters who
have managed to rework the technoscience possessed by the conquerors.
Nevertheless, Pratt recognizes the difficulties of the natives because of
their subaltern position in an asymmetrical power relation, but she uses
this very scenario to evaluate the strategies of resistance performed by
them.
The construction of knowledge in the Amazon throughout the 18th
century is also the subject of an analysis by Neil Safier (2008), who
underlines the lack of information on the participation of indigenous
peoples in the reports written by the Western explorers. According to this
author, this ‘effacement process’ was part of a broad political project to
impose Western Enlightenment values without, however, neglecting the
self-promotion of those involved in the colonization process.
Moreover, the analysis of colonial historical documentation has also
revealed the extent to which the knowledge gained about the New World
has been manipulated in order to ensure successful individual careers and,
as Safier (2010) points out, how the circulation of knowledge produced in
the colonized regions was perceived in the scientific world, internalized
and reconfigured under different forms.
LANDI, MABÉ AND CACUHI IN THE AMAZON
In one of his journals about the travels in the Amazon, António Landi,
a member of the Border Demarcation Commission, writes that, other than
the Portuguese officers, the expedition included two indigenous leaders:
Mabé and Cacuhi. According to Landi, Mabé and Cacuhi “were not good
friends” of the Portuguese “and their people were not subject to any
person and did not want to submit to any sort of servitude” (Landi, 1755
(1885), 166).
The diary, referring to one of the journeys in the region of Marié,
provides a possible explanation for the fact they were not very friendly to
the Portuguese. During the trip, Landi was very surprised by what, in his
own words, were "the most curious plants" he had ever encountered.
Wanting to describe them, he asked Mabé and Cacuhi for more
information. However, both were uncooperative, responding that they had
never seen those plants before. Whether or not this was true, the fact is
that both refused to help him in this task (Landi, 1755 (1885), 166).
The task of describing Amazonian flora and fauna depended on
indigenous testimony for both the identification and names of the different
species. In an unknown region, indigenous knowledge was the only form
of mediation between Europeans and the Amazonian natural environment,
and indigenous peoples were the only ones who could provide information
on where plants and animals could be found as well as on their
identification and use, which reminds us of the importance of considering
the 'mestizo' component of the reports produced (Domingues, 2001).
Landi’s diary contains either perceptions about nature or the obstacles
the team had to overcome. Its pages testify to the surprise with "the height
of a waterfall" where they could observe an "extremely beautiful
perspective", or two cliffs, "one of which was quite high, and it would be
possible to pass it as long as it had enough space". In turn, as they sailed
up the river, they observed new species that caught their eye and described
them:
Over rocks, which were on the water’s surface, as well as around them, a
certain herb grows, somewhat thick, though tender and well tissued, with
the shape of a crosier. Both indigenous people and soldiers asserted that it
was great for the condiment of manjares, and they ate it where there was
no abundance of meat, nor of fish; we ate a huge amount of greens, and
due to a flavoursome acid which it carries, it becomes pleasant to taste.
(Landi, 1755 (1885), 167)
FINAL CONSIDERATIONS
From what has been written above, it can be concluded that the
exploration travels carried out by the Commissions for the border
demarcation of the Amazon region created opportunities for the European
commissioners to interact with the indigenous peoples and the Luso-
Brazilian community already in the territory by putting into contact
different systems of knowledge. This interaction was the basis of
epistemological exchanges that allowed the Westerners to learn and use

knowledge and practices as well as tastes hitherto unknown.
In this process, the information on the plants given by the indigenous
leaders was not random; it was given or not according to their own
interests. The reports of António Landi support this thesis as they mention
both situations. On the one hand, as shown above, he records when it is
not possible to obtain information; on the other hand, he provides detailed
descriptions derived from indigenous testimony intertwined with his own
direct experience with the new species, which allow him to point out that a
certain “herb” had an “acid and pleasant” taste and could substitute meat
and fish (Landi, 1755 (1885), 168).
Therefore, knowledge of the natural world also had a practical and
immediate aspect: the acknowledgement and identification of edible plants
to ease the daily difficulties of the commissioners in charge of going
through the Amazonian hinterland.
If, on the one hand, the work produced during the process of
demarcation frontiers during the colonial period justifies the pertinence of
an approach from the perspective of environmental history, then on the
other, they unequivocally testify to how indigenous peoples and their
knowledge of the Amazonian natural environment were crucial to the
construction of a scientific knowledge in which European references were
not exclusive or prominent.
Despite the strategic orientations of the Portuguese administration and
the interest and commitment of the Academy, the knowledge acquired by
the Europeans about the Amazon was produced far from its offices, in
loco, through the experience of the forest, rivers and streams as well as the
experience of new flavours and feelings, the weight of oppressive moisture
and the fear of storms, the shipwrecks and contact with new plants and
animals. In this context, considering the colonial past from an
environmental perspective can broaden our perception of the Portuguese
occupation process of the Amazon region, and contribute to a better
perception of the complexity of the emergent colonial society, as well as
of the interactions with the indigenous world and the key role that
indigenous peoples played in this process; all essential factors for a better
understanding of the history of the Amazon.
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What is the book about?

What is the book about?

What topics are discussed in Part 2 of the book?

What topics are discussed in Part 2 of the book?

Peoples, Nature and

Learning to Live Together

Ana Cristina Roque, Cristina Brito

Edited by Ana Cristina Roque, Cristina Brito and Cecilia Veracini

This book first published 2020

Cambridge Scholars Publishing

Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Copyright © 2020 by Ana Cristina Roque, Cristina Brito, Cecilia Veracini

ISBN (10): 1-5275-4131-2

Part 1 - Learning to Live Together

Chapter One ................................................................................................. 2

Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 10

Part 2 - Climate and Environmental Changes

Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 26

Chapter Four .............................................................................................. 43

Chapter Five .............................................................................................. 55

Part 3 - Policies, Management and Conservation

Chapter Six ................................................................................................ 68

Chapter Eight ............................................................................................. 97

Chapter Nine............................................................................................ 114

Chapter Ten ............................................................................................. 129

Chapter Eleven ........................................................................................ 145

Chapter Twelve ....................................................................................... 161

Part 4 - Landscape and Heritage

Chapter Thirteen ...................................................................................... 176

Chapter Fourteen ..................................................................................... 195

Chapter Fifteen ........................................................................................ 208

Chapter Sixteen ....................................................................................... 220

Part 5 - Science and Natural History

Chapter Seventeen ................................................................................... 238

Chapter Eighteen ..................................................................................... 252

Chapter Nineteen ..................................................................................... 266

Chapter Twenty ....................................................................................... 277

Chapter Twenty-One ............................................................................... 291

- The “Empires, Nature and Environment” Project, History and Environment

- The project named ‘The importation and knowledge of African primates

ANA CRISTINA ROQUE, CRISTINA BRITO

Part 1 – Learning to live together – is a reflection on how we have

Part 2 – Climate and Environmental Changes – analyses aspects of this

its close relationship with climate and environmental changes. It is

Part 3 – Policies, Management and Conservation – provides an overview

Part 4 – Landscape and Heritage – points to the relevance of considering

in the comprehension of today’s landscape. It deals with contemporary

Part 5 – Science and Natural History – brings together perceptions and

Manuel Miranda Fernandes critically reviews some prominent

In Peoples, Nature and Environments: Learning to live together, all

Alves, A. A. 2011. The animals of Spain: An introduction to imperial

LEARNING TO LIVE TOGETHER

At the dawn of Modernity, Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679) famously

A much-needed change in our societies’ attitudes toward the natural

equalizer that unites all beings. Such an understanding of humanity

Later political philosophers went back to this idea of a Golden Age to

Heraclitus. 1948. “Fragments.” In: Ancilla to the Presocratic Philosophers.