As human societies formed multi-scalar organizations assembling household units, labor and resources were needed to support supra-family activities. Perhaps most important was the way that labor was mobilized in reciprocal relationships between household and in support of community and political institutions. In colloquial parlance, ‘work’ and ‘labor’ are interchangeable, the essential human actions in all economic activities involving subsistence procurement, manufacture, building, transport, warfare, and ritual. Though in many respects isomorphic, we will speak mostly of labor. One difference is that work applies to expenditure of energy in individual and group tasks. Labor is social work engaged between parties (including for supernaturals); the social connections activated in labor parties could be the key motivator for people to work at all (Weiss and Rupp 2011:91). Labor contrasts with organic work (breathing, masticating, pumping blood) or habitual work (tying shoes, brushing teeth). Lucassen (2021:2) quotes Charles and Chris Tilly’s definition of work: “human effort adding use value to goods and services.” Weiss (2014:39) defines work as “agentic activity for changing the environment and creating artifacts,” a definition pleasing to archaeologists. Weiss and Rupp recommend a person-centric approach, finding out what it is like to be working – the lived experience (2011:83, 87). To Lucassen, empirical study of labor should focus on descriptions of men’s and women’s daily practice in their own words (2021:xvii). Lucassen concluded that the “satisfaction, pride, pleasure and the propensity for cooperation and the pursuit of equality in remuneration for effort” characterize labor (2021:45). All that tallies with George Cowgill’s admonition that archaeology should be eliciting human “lived experience” (2013:132–133).

The aim of this chapter is to discuss some of the assumptions made when selecting Norway as a case study to understand the modern history of anti-Zionism and antisemitism after 1967 and developments after 7 October. The argument is made that a small country can provide a good site for research about large questions. The chapter looks at the history of antisemitism in Norway in an attempt to explain the strong reluctance against identifying antisemitism in the political mainstream. The original constitution of Norway contained a paragraph banning Jews from entering the country. The background to this is presented. In the discourse that emerged after World War II, antisemitism was naturally seen to be a defining feature of Nazism. The broad reckoning that took place in Norway meant that antisemitism after 1945 came to be seen as something foreign, a dark force that was brought to Norway by external agents. In this way, Norwegians, like many Europeans, found an easy way to compartmentalize antisemitism as something alien.

The formations of central places in human societies involved the development of multi-scalar institutions, for which central places played key roles in the economy, politics, social stratification, and religion. With the development of cities, we see a clear linkage to a multiplicity of hierarchical relationships that increasingly dominated ancient and modern societies. The term city has been applied variously to large, populous settlements, depending on the theoretical orientation of scholars, different cultural and geographical areas where they occur, and phases of urbanization through which they pass (Marcus and Sabloff 2008). As seen from cases considered by our group, not all societies had large cities. Pueblo IV in the American Southwest, the Nordic Bronze Age (BA) chiefdoms, and the South Pare people of East Africa lived in settlements without having anything approaching a city. Cities were dynamic and diversified communities that changed according to the social, environmental, and political conditions that shaped their political and economic roles within their territories. They arose for different reasons and their formation requires understanding the economies and environmental conditions that supported them. But what is a city and what is urban? Those are important distinctions to make before comparing the economies of early urban societies.

Chapter 3 investigates the evolution of institutional shareholder activism, focusing on how a diverse range of investors – including pension funds, asset managers, hedge funds, and index funds – have moved from passive holders to more assertive and strategic actors in corporate governance. It traces the theoretical roots of shareholder activism, from the exit-versus-voice framework to the economic constraints and tactical shifts that define modern engagement. Using a typology of firm-, portfolio-, and system-level activism, the chapter explores a broadened strategic repertoire – illustrating a shift from adversarial tactics to more collaborative, coalition-based engagement – and examines how activist goals have expanded from financial returns to encompass ESG and systemic concerns. Drawing on a hand-collected dataset of UK activism campaigns (2010–20), it maps evolving trends in actors, agendas, and tactics, and analyses how ownership concentration and investment horizon influence outcomes. The chapter concludes by situating shareholder activism within policy debates, contrasting ‘engaged’ and ‘transient’ investors, and reframing shareholder voice within a pluralistic model of stewardship.

For financial and personal reasons, Eliot was keen that Adam Bede should be popular, but that aspiration necessarily brought the novel into competition both with popular culture and the popular fiction by women that Eliot had criticised in 1856. Adam Bede explicitly recognises the challenges of its publishing context, and seeks, whilst exploiting some of the interests of popular fiction, to educate its readers both about the responsibilities of the novelist and their fiction to practise a responsible form of realism, and the readers’ own capacity for more substantial fare. The overwhelming popularity of Mrs Poyser and her home-spun wisdom sites the novel’s popularity in the nostalgic appeal of country life, but primarily, as the reviewer Anne Mozley argues, in its developing the reader’s sympathy with ordinary people, and in establishing a link with the reader based in the harmonious creation of memories of familiar places and emotions.

Chapter 4 reconceptualises investor stewardship by tracing its historical, conceptual, and economic roots and advancing a theory of stewardship as delegated, relational power. It unpacks the evolving meanings of stewardship – from early moral connotations to contemporary use in corporate governance and investment management. Rejecting a narrow principal–agent lens, it reframes stewardship as a multidimensional practice embedded in complex delegation structures and layered accountabilities. The chapter introduces a tripartite model of stewardship – as power exercised by institutional investors, on behalf of clients and beneficiaries, and for the benefit of wider, often unseen, stakeholders – and a four-part relational model: client stewardship, end-investor stewardship, asset stewardship, and sustainability stewardship. These relationships expose the plural and sometimes conflicting responsibilities investors bear within a fragmented investment chain. It also considers the economic rationale for investor stewardship, highlighting incentives, constraints, and portfolio dynamics. Finally, it introduces the enlightened steward as a pluralistic figure balancing private mandates with systemic effects.

In this chapter, the starting point is the Bandung conference and the early development of Third Worldism as an ideology. Many socialists and social democrats in the West saw Israel as a progressive force in the years before and after the Jewish state was established. From the mid-1950s, however, there emerged new perspectives on the conflict between Israel and the Arabs as the relationship was increasingly seen in the context of global anti-colonialism and anti-racism. The Suez crisis of 1956 contributed significantly to this interpretation as the conflict was seen as a clash between old imperialist powers and an emerging Third World. Through the 1960s and 1970s, this perspective came to dominate the view of Israel on the political left. Lines were drawn between the conflict between Israel and the Arabs and other conflicts, such as the war in Vietnam and the struggle against apartheid in South Africa. The conflicts were increasingly understood as local expressions of a global war between white oppressors and oppressed peoples of color. In this worldview, the Jews were eventually to take the place as the whitest of white oppressors.

The first part of the chapter argues that the Iliad was an ‘oral-dictated text’ and it remained basically stable from the beginning. It challenges the common belief that the text was unstable until the time of Pisistratus. The second part addresses the interaction between divine action and human freedom. Many critics wrongly reject the Iliad’s narrative coherence by overestimating the power of gods and fate. These critics often assume Zeus is omnipotent and that humans must instantly obey. The chapter counters this, showing that Homeric characters, particularly Achilles, act freely, contemplating the possibility of rejecting divine orders, and of accepting the possible consequences of doing so. It discusses the concept of ‘double motivation’, defining it strictly as a god influencing a character’s mind without the character’s awareness. These instances of double motivation are rare and highlighted by the Homeric narrator. Cases where gods threaten or bribe characters are excluded from this definition, being analogous to cases when powerful human beings do the same. This new definition clarifies the scope of ethical choices and freedom within the Iliad’s narrative mechanism.

Focusing on the Republic, this chapter argues that Plato presents philosophy as a full-fledged technē, with dialectic as its core expertise. It analyzes the principle of specialization in book two, showing that philosopher-rulers are akin to shoemakers or doctors: they possess the right nature, undergo extensive training, and acquire specialized knowledge. The chapter distinguishes dialectic from politics, arguing that political leadership is a “grand commission” for philosophers, not a separate technē. It sketches how dialectic can provide the normative framework for ruling, while political experience supplies the field-specific content. This chapter reveals philosophy as a serious profession embedded in the sociopolitical fabric of the ideal city.

The effectiveness of comparative studies resides in the breadth and suitability of the cases used in pursuit of a research question. We have selected thirteen societies to develop a comparative understanding of how premodern economies were organized and operated. These span a broad range of societies in terms of organization, complexity, and their place in time and space. They include societies from around the world: six from the Americas and seven from Eurasia and Africa (Figure 2.1). They are diverse in adaptation and scale, and include horticultural, foraging, pastoral, mixed economy, and sedentary agricultural groups. Examples include tribal, chiefdom, and ancient state-level societies. Despite this diversity and the historical independence of the Americas and Eurasian/African examples, commonalities exist in economic structures because of the cumulative and shared nature of economic behaviors that we hope to capture.

The Introduction frames the central question of the book: Is philosophy a technē, and what would it mean if it were? The concept of technē – a rational, teachable, and practice-based form of expertise – is central to Plato’s philosophical vocabulary and deployed across discussions in ethics, epistemology, and political philosophy. The Introduction outlines the book’s structure and introduces key terms. Plato’s identification of philosophy as a technē entails a reevaluation of intellectual labor, aligning philosophers with cobblers and doctors rather than with poets and politicians. This reframing has implications for how we understand Plato’s critique of sophistry, his vision of philosopher-rulers, and the broader relationship between expertise and democratic politics.