I approach this paper as a prehistorian whose research has been primarily in areas with little or no surviving evidence for prehistoric fields, so that my only close encounter with field systems has been at Kilmashogue and other sites in the uplands just to the south of Dublin (figure 1 shows the location of the main areas and sites in Ireland mentioned in the text). These are certainly fixed in space but unfortunately are as yet floating in time (Cooney, 1985). But this personal predicament is in fact central to the problems approached in this paper: that while there is increasing evidence for prehistoric field systems in Ireland, they are frequently perceived as occurring in the archaeological record only in certain areas; that the relationship between them and other aspects of the archaeological record is not always clear; and that there are major problems in dating these field systems.

My second introductory point is to comment that the sequence of the title is deliberate. The significance of field systems must be seen in the context of what would have been the contemporary cultural landscape and land use, and the various interpretations which have been made of these. The occurrence of field systems has major implications for the way we view the human impact on the environment and use of the land during the Neolithic period in Ireland (4,000 – 2,500 BC).

Georgian landscaping is conventionally studied as an example of high culture, in terms of the history of art, literature and aesthetics. We take a more down to earth view and look at landscaping as an example of estate management, in terms of such topics as farming, planting, leases and rents. We do not pretend that the study of estate management offers a sort of ground-truth for understanding landscaping. Terms like ‘rent’ and ‘estate’ are of course no more eternal, nor less ideological, than terms like ‘picturesque’ and ‘landscape’. We will not neglect high culture, indeed a central theme of the paper is how the aesthetics of painting helped frame estate management. Even a casual reading of the literature on ‘improvement’ in the eighteenth century reveals a complex overlapping of not just economic and aesthetic issues but moral and political ones too. And the point of this paper is to reinsert landscaping and estate management into this complex.

In 1846 a story entitled ‘Derevnia’ (The Village) appeared in the Russian press. It was the account of the life of a young peasant woman, from her birth, through her upbringing as an unwanted orphan, her unsuitable marriage staged to satisfy the whim of the landowner's wife, her sufferings at the hands of her husband's family, to her decline and early death. The story aroused the ire of Slavophil critics: ‘In it is assembled all the coarseness, outrage and harshness, that can be found in peasant customs. But what is striking is not specific details, but the profound lack of feeling and complete lack of moral sense in the whole way of life.’ It was praised by the radical Westernist critic V.G. Belinsky no less profusely than it was attacked by the Slavophil Yu. S. Samarin, not for its literary merits but for its truth to life: ‘[Grigorovich] displayed here much observation and knowledge of real life and succeeded in demonstrating both the former and the latter in simple, honest, true images, with remarkable talent.’

In the field of cultural studies, it is well established that no history comes to us innocently. The stories we tell ourselves about ourselves are laden with preferred myths and the gentlest of facts. The challenge facing those operating within the field is to develop critical practices which expose some of the nonsense that disempowers our understanding. This demands the strengthening of those practices which promote new forms of knowledge. The identification of appropriate questions, the constructive use of all forms of evidence, the adoption of relevant, analytical methods, and the formation of coherent conclusions are essential to the health and future of any academic discipline. Within the field of museum studies, such rethinking has been taking place since the early 1980s (for example, Cannizzo, 1987; Hooper-Greenhill, 1988; Jenkins, 1987; Jenkinson, 1988; Kavanagh, 1991; Pearce, 1988; Porter, 1988).

Heritage is a messy concept ill-defined, heterogeneous, changeable, chauvinist – and sometimes absurd. In a TV programmer's words, just as ‘lifestyle has replaced life, heritage is replacing history'. Rather than ‘history’, Philadelphia's tourist boss now ‘talk[s] about heritage – it sounds more lively’. It is also more equivocal; as Walter Benjamin put it, every cultural treasure that is a ‘document of civilization is at the same time a document of barbarism’. Yet for all its ambiguity, ‘the idea of “Heritage” [is] one of the most powerful imaginative complexes of our time’.