Chapter 2 continues to dig into the Roman rhetorical tradition in order to clarify some aspects of the intellectual history of a pair of terms, forma and materia, which recur throughout Machiavelli’s political philosophy, allowing him to talk about the shape or form – as well as the stuff, or material – of the entities he is analysing. One prevalent assumption to be found in various parts of the relevant scholarship is that Machiavelli’s use of forma and materia indicates his reliance upon Aristotle. By way of contrast, this chapter argues that we have to turn to consider the historical fortunes of an entirely different set of classical resources. Classical Roman thought deployed the pair of Latin terms materia and forma in rhetorical, literary, architectural, and moral theory within a theoretical landscape far removed from any Aristotelian commitments. This chapter brings a greater measure of historical depth and conceptual precision to the pre-Machiavellian career of these ideas in classical and Renaissance political thought in order to illuminate what Machiavelli is doing with them, and to show why they should be identified as the theoretical foundation of ‘l’arte dello stato’.

Chapter 7 systematically re-examines Machiavelli’s beliefs about lo stato as they emerge in his early political writings and culminate in the first full statement of his theory in Il Principe. The architecture of that theory is clarified: it is an account of both free and unfree states, and it is shown to be articulated according to a theory of rhetorical definition which was instantly recognizable to his humanist contemporaries. The place of Machiavelli’s thinking about liberty and its absence in the princely state is then investigated, as is his account of state formation, which is demonstrably conducted in equally rhetorical terms, recurring not only to the concepts of form and material to describe how political bodies are artfully assembled and shaped, but also to rhetorical ideas about invention and disposition in Machiavelli’s view of the creative work involved in founding new states. The chapter identifies the evolving role of a theory of political obligation within Machiavelli’s account of the state, before culminating in an analysis of his understanding of Fortuna’s role in state matters and his rejection of the Senecan wisdom which elsewhere informed Renaissance thinking about the remedies for good and bad luck in human affairs.

Chapter 3 focuses on liberty and servitude, and the way in which these conditions – defined in Roman law in terms of the status of individual persons – are predicated of collective bodies described as civitates and populi in Roman political philosophy. Machiavelli’s relationship to this particular conception of liberty has been at the centre of much recent literature on classical, early modern, and contemporary republicanism, but his theory of freedom requires closer scrutiny, not least because of its relationship to a line of thinking about popular self-government which had been used by humanists to articulate a theory of popular sovereignty from the late fourteenth to the early sixteenth century in Renaissance Florence. This chapter shows how the key concepts of this thesis come from Cicero’s philosophy, which conveys to the humanists an influential account of how to constitute the entity which he calls the populus as the ultimate bearer of public authority. Cicero’s view of ‘the people’ as the master of its own affairs informs his definition of the res publica as res populi – literally, a ‘thing of the people’ – and this chapter shows how it informs the very basis of the classical republican tradition which Machiavelli inherits and reworks.

Any proper investigation of Machiavelli’s conceptualization of the state has to commence where his own investigation begins: with his definition of what states are. Accordingly, this chapter elucidates the particular theory of definition which informs Machiavelli’s theory of lo stato. Machiavelli is continually preoccupied with what we ‘call’ things – or how we ‘nominate’ them, as he sometimes puts it. These are matters of definition in a technical sense, pursued according to a set of argumentative procedures derived from the pages of the ancient Roman rhetorical theorists Cicero and Quintilian. This chapter reconstructs their theory of definition, showing how they classify things in rhetorical argument, before turning to illustrate the theory in action in Roman antiquity by examining how the concept of the civitas – the crucially important political noun used in classical Latin to denote ‘the city’, ‘city-state’, or ‘citizenry’ – is handled in the writings of Cicero, Seneca, and Augustine. The second section of the chapter analyses the reception of this theory and its application to the idea of the civitas in medieval and Renaissance political culture in order to explain how and why Machiavelli comes to rely upon it.

The argument which I have been advancing throughout this book is that we should properly regard Machiavelli as a philosopher of the state. Although I hope that the investigation has already brought to light sufficient evidence to sustain this case, I should like to close it by returning to summarize very briefly two main reasons why the body of thinking about lo stato which he progressively articulates from Il Principe to the Discorsi qualifies him as such.

Machiavelli assigns a complicated role in his political theory to the concept of the beneficium (or benefizio in Machiavelli’s Italian) in order to describe the benefits that the power of the state can bring; and this chapter focuses on one philosophical language which is used throughout the Italian Renaissance to discuss this idea and which comes to shape Machiavelli’s own thinking decisively. That language is classical in origin; and it is intimately associated with one text in particular: Seneca’s On Benefits. In the first section of the chapter, Seneca’s thinking about generosity and gratitude is explicated within the wider context of his social philosophy to show how it forms part of a theory of moral obligation, informed by a firmly Stoic notion of natural human sociability. The second section shows how Seneca’s contentions are subsequently retrieved and put to work in pre-humanist and humanist political thought to discuss the moral relationships between members of civil associations and to underline the perils of the vice of ingratitude in political society. Once the place of Seneca’s theory in Renaissance discourse is elucidated, it becomes easier to see how Machiavelli manipulates its contentions into a theory of political obligation within his account of the state.

This chapter examines Northern Ireland’s literary culture from the 1930s to the 1960s, highlighting how writers identifying as ‘Irish’ engaged with British institutions like the Left Book Club (LBC) and the Workers’ Educational Association (WEA). This reflects the complex identities characterising Protestant identity before and after the Second World War. During this period, the Belfast and broader Ulster context of the ‘Progressive bookmen’ represented a vibrant yet overlooked literary environment, challenging the narrow perceptions of a bigoted provincial atmosphere.Louis MacNeice (1907–63) was the most prominent of the writers discussed, alongside other influential figures like John Boyd (1912–2002), W. R. ‘Bertie’ Rodgers (1909–69), and John Hewitt (1907–87). All were steeped in leftist thought and opposed the Ulster Unionist establishment. The passing of the Flags and Emblems Act of 1954, codifying British symbols, and the rising tide of Irish nationalism posed significant challenges.Despite this, these Protestant writers advanced their values in union halls, WEA classes, pubs, and media outlets. The chapter explores their connections to local publications, the Labour movement, the Spanish Civil War, nationalism, and the BBC. Ultimately, while the Northern Irish conflict overshadowed the Progressive Bookmen, this chapter highlights their rich literary heritage and complex identities.

Who is the audience for social criticism? What goals does it seek to achieve? How do we evaluate performances within this genre? These seemingly simple questions uncover complexities beyond the scope of a single essay, yet they frame the issues addressed here, particularly through the concept of ‘performance’. Social critics often adopt a self-consciously dissident voice, presenting themselves as lonely ‘outsiders’ to emphasise their stance. However, this identity is never straightforward; criticism inherently presupposes a community of potential allies, and every act of dissent simultaneously asserts an alternative authority. One might argue that within every ‘outsider’ lies an ‘insider’ trying to emerge, but this perspective risks solidifying rather than challenging existing categories.This phenomenon is particularly prominent in twentieth-century political writing, where there is a heightened focus on the systemic social and economic forces that reinforce conformity. However, conventional scholarly approaches often overlook the diverse literary expressions of this dynamic, favouring an analysis centred on propositional content. This view assumes that political writing comprises closely argued propositions aimed at securing agreement, dismissing non-propositional elements as decoration or distraction. This chapter’s aim is not to validate or dismiss the dissident voice but to explore the literary strategies that navigate its implicit logic.

This chapter explores the poetry of G. D. H. Cole (1889–1959) as a medium for expressing political ideas, highlighting his dual identity as a socialist intellectual and poet. While Cole is best remembered for promoting guild socialism and contributing to economic history and the Fabian Society, he also published poetry, which he saw as part of his political life. His early and middle-age works, including New Beginnings (1914) and The Crooked World (1933), reflect a serious literary approach, aspiring to integrate historical verse forms within socialist thought. Cole’s poetic output also embraced satire, with The Bolo Book (1921) parodying hymns and popular songs to critique political figures and issues humorously. This blend of literary and satirical genres allowed him to engage readers in socialist discourse through varied tones and forms. By examining both the poetry itself and its cultural reception, this chapter illuminates how Cole’s verse contributed to and reflected British socialist culture in the early twentieth century, offering insight into how poetry served as a vehicle for political engagement in his era.

A cherished myth in devolved Scotland is that writers and artists were crucially responsible for the establishment of the new parliament. While there is some truth to this, understanding the full context requires looking beyond the literary texts typically viewed as pivotal in reviving national confidence. Alasdair Gray’s Lanark (1981) certainly impacted a small literary audience, but its status as a “national” novel emerged from broader print culture networks. To appreciate its political significance, we must consider magazines like Scottish International, which published extracts of Lanark in 1969, alongside cultural periodicals like Chapman and the Edinburgh Review, which integrated Gray’s political vision into their missions during the 1980s and 90s.This chapter considers a range of Scottish political writing that contributed to this process. Here, “political writing” refers not to grand rhetoric, but to the organised creation of a neo-national public that recognised itself. It encompassed literary novels, journalism, and philosophical essays, including Tom Nairn’s work and the Red Paper on Scotland, edited by Gordon Brown (1975). The Red Paper, published by the Edinburgh University Students Publication Board (EUSPB), was connected to numerous Edinburgh-based magazines and the literary publisher Polygon. By examining this network of magazines, campaign groups, and party factions (Labour and SNP), we can identify the discursive frameworks and political alliances that led to the Scottish Parliament’s establishment in 1999, tracing much of contemporary Scottish politics back to the writing, editing, and publishing efforts of prior decades.

In the Coda, I revisit the book’s main themes from non-European perspectives. I suggest that as much as the notion of world literature and the comparative philological apparatus underlying it were conceived and elaborated in European criticism upon late-enlightenment encounters with Oriental literatures, the reception of non-European economies played a comparable role in shaping European discourses of world literature. Directly or indirectly, each design discussed in previous chapters resonated with or drew on non-European conceptions of exchange, wealth, and property (or, rather, what was perceived as such in the encounters). These include the Oriental “bazaar economy”, the anthropology of the gift in pre-modern communities, the isolationist policies of Edo-period Japan, the cult of the indigenously produced in pre-industrial societies, and the dissolution of commons in colonial land reform. Based on these comparisons, the conclusion offers tentative suggestions about a global political economy of world literature.

This chapter examines the relationship between the Conservative Party and its intellectual publications from the 1940s to the 1970s, with a focus on articles, books, and pamphlets on Conservative ideas. The 1940s were formative, as Conservatives debated the importance of political writing, ultimately leading to the establishment of the Conservative Political Centre (CPC) as the party’s in-house publisher. This allowed the Conservatives to position themselves as intellectual competitors to the Labour Party and the Fabian Society. The 1950s marked a high point, with groups like the One Nation and the Bow Group publishing influential works through the CPC, helping R. A. Butler establish a semi-independent framework for Conservative publications. However, from the early 1960s to the mid-1970s, Conservative publishing became fragmented and was subjected to the ‘market test’. Under Edward Heath, a shift towards technocratic and market-oriented views weakened the CPC’s role in publishing ideological content.During the Thatcher era, Conservatives embracing neoliberalism saw the party as intellectually strong, but a shift towards relying on the publications of external think-tanks resulted in the narrowing of the field of Conservative writing and publishing.

This chapter examines how elite women used writing to establish expertise in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, focusing on Beatrice Webb (1858–1943). It considers the early work as a social investigator that she undertook before marrying the prominent Fabian socialist Sidney Webb. The Webbs’ co-authored political writings are well-studied by historians, and Beatrice’s diaries and autobiography interest feminist scholars – this chapter combines these perspectives. It explores how Beatrice sought public recognition through writing, analysing her choice of topics, styles, and intended audiences. It also considers paths she avoided, shaped by the constraints of a woman writing on traditionally ‘masculine’ issues. Beatrice’s personal archive, particularly her diary, reveals her pursuit of influence and expertise on social and economic matters, from low wages to state welfare reform. Her approach highlights the challenges female authors faced when entering male-dominated genres like political economy. A final section discusses her autobiography, My Apprenticeship (1926), which became an authoritative account of the Victorian era. This work deepens our understanding of how Beatrice’s identity evolved as a writer and illustrates the complex relationship between gender, authorship, and expertise in political writing.