In a time of great contest and confusion over the future of democracy as a governing principle, the example of Abraham Lincoln continues to provide encouragement and direction about democracy’s viability in the face of immense challenges. In The Political Writings of Abraham Lincoln, Allen Guelzo brings into one volume Lincoln’s most famous political documents and speeches from his earliest days as a political candidate under the banner of the Whig Party, to his election and service as the first anti-slavery Republican president, from 1861 to 1865, and the nation’s leader in the fiery trial of civil war. While many anthologies of Lincoln’s political documents routinely concentrate on his presidential years or only on his anti-slavery writings, Guelzo concentrates on documents from Lincoln’s earliest political activity as an Illinois state legislator in the 1830s up through his presidency. The result is an accessible resource for students, researchers, and general readers.

The chapter explores the question of who is aid for through the development initiatives associated with the anti-apartheid, activist, Patrick van Rensburg: at Swaneng Hill School and the Serowe Brigades in Botswana. The charismatic van Rensburg pioneered a system of ‘Education with Production’ that made him a hero of the international aid community. His projects offered a vision of rural development that stood in defiance of the capitalism of South Africa and the global North. For the incredible numbers of volunteers supported by the humanitarian charities, van Rensburg’s initiatives were the formative moments of their lives. Van Rensburg was an inspirational presence, and the Brigades became the project through which western staff embarked on their own consciousness-raising about the problems facing the developing world. But for all the success of the Brigades in inspiring volunteers and donors, increasingly van Rensburg found himself at odds with the Botswana Government and he drifted gradually to a close alignment with the socialist, opposition political party. This clash of agendas – and frequently, of personalities – meant that the ultimate beneficiaries of aid were sometime forgotten amidst the competing agendas of donors, funders, volunteers and governments.

Guild and craft apprentices had entered written contracts (indentures) with their masters and mistresses since the late medieval era in England. Consent in these relationships was not a matter of great anxiety, and the documents treated the topic with minimal concern. From the 1570s, English parish officers adopted these indentures for the new system of parish apprenticeship. They carefully archived masters’ written consent for future reference, to help ensure that better-off householders fulfilled their roles in providing for the poor children bound to them. A small number of parish apprenticeship indentures included new “free will clauses,” which stated that the pauper child in question had offered free and willing consent to serve. Although little contemporary commentary exists on the matter, parish officers likely inserted such language as a defense against suspicions that they had excessively coerced poor children to enter unwanted labor contracts. The chapter concludes with a case study of a guild apprentice whose gentry status protected him from recruitment into colonial servitude.

In a time of great contest and confusion over the future of democracy as a governing principle, the example of Abraham Lincoln continues to provide encouragement and direction about democracy’s viability in the face of immense challenges. In The Political Writings of Abraham Lincoln, Allen Guelzo brings into one volume Lincoln’s most famous political documents and speeches from his earliest days as a political candidate under the banner of the Whig Party, to his election and service as the first anti-slavery Republican president, from 1861 to 1865, and the nation’s leader in the fiery trial of civil war. While many anthologies of Lincoln’s political documents routinely concentrate on his presidential years or only on his anti-slavery writings, Guelzo concentrates on documents from Lincoln’s earliest political activity as an Illinois state legislator in the 1830s up through his presidency. The result is an accessible resource for students, researchers, and general readers.

At first glance, Hans Kelsen (1881–1973) remains a marginal figure within US political discourse. However, this chapter argues that revisiting Kelsen is crucial if we are to understand present-day intellectual tendencies supportive of autocratic threats to US democracy. A neglected, yet pivotal, anti-Kelsenian moment proves decisive among influential right wing intellectuals, so-called ‘west coast’ Straussians based at California’s Claremont Institute, who enthusiastically supported Donald Trump and embraced his authoritarianism. The lawyer and Claremont affiliate John Eastman, for example, worked to prevent a peaceful transfer of power to then President-elect Joe Biden in 2020 to keep Trump in power. Trump’s Claremont Institute defenders have absorbed crucial facets of Leo Strauss’s critical rejoinder to Kelsen: Strauss’ longstanding anti-Kelsenianism has morphed into their subterranean anti-Kelsenianism. To validate this claim, the chapter revisits Strauss’ complicated theoretical dialogue with Kelsen, while also highlighting crucial moments in the arcane history of postwar American Straussianism. What is gained theoretically, and not just historically or politically, by doing so? The Claremont Institute’s apologetics for Trump corroborate Kelsen’s worries that attempts to revive natural law under contemporary conditions invite autocracy.

The first reliable accounts concerning King Arthur reached the Iberian peninsula in the twelfth century, but they did not become popular until the fourteenth century. From then on, the success of the texts was reflected in translations, retellings and imitations. The political particularities of the peninsula changed over time as the cultural references shifted from Al-Andalus to Castile: while in the early stages a classical tradition survived along with some Oriental influences from the Arabs, in the thirteenth century there was an increase in the French influence, which lasted into the fourteenth century and then gave way to the influence coming from Italy thanks to the expansion of the kingdom of Aragon in the Mediterranean. At the beginning of the sixteenth century, Rodríguez de Montalvo’s Amadís de Gaula (1508) revived the model.

This chapter provides an overview of the proliferation of Arthurian texts produced in North America, from an 1807 pamphlet to the poetry, drama, children’s literature and prose fiction of the turn of the century. It situates the legend’s development in Canada and the United States in relation to the Arthurian revival in England, specifically Tennyson’s poetry. In doing so, it identifies some of the common stories adapted (the Grail quest, the love triangles) and the different approaches of Canadian and American authors, whether claiming continuity with, or separation from, the English tradition. The chapter ends with analysis of the American Arthurian novel with the most lasting influence: Mark Twain’s A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court (1889).

The afterword offers a coda to the volume, without addressing individual essays’ achievements individually. Rather, it reflects on how the essays reconceive the problem of Cold War liberalism as a category less in Atlantic intellectual history or political theory than in the history of the foreign relations of the American hegemon after World War II. The contemporary renaissance of Cold War liberalism suggests that pondering how it arose and dominated in the first place will continue to teach useful lessons about its senescent phase, which is unlikely to end soon. Someday geopolitical transformations will bring into being a different enough world than the Cold War liberal one that emerged in the middle of the twentieth century. Until then, the meanings and outcomes of Cold War liberalism will demand investigation, and this volume will play a pivotal role in an ongoing referendum on how contemporary politics came about, and on what should happen next.

This chapter provides a comprehensive analysis of the international legal framework governing Indigenous peoples’ rights, focusing on the Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention, 1989 No. 169 (ILO 169) and the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous peoples (UNDRIP). It explores the fundamental principle of free, prior, and informed consent (FPIC) within these instruments and its crucial role in sustainable development. Examining ILO 169, the chapter discusses guidelines related to self-determination, land rights, cultural preservation, and state obligations to cooperate with Indigenous peoples, specifically in the context of Canada’s Indigenous communities. Analysing the UNDRIP, it explores guidelines concerning self-determination, land rights, and states’ duty to obtain FPIC. Emphasizing the significance of consent as a cornerstone of Indigenous rights and sustainable development, the chapter concludes by acknowledging the complexities involved in its practical application. By delving into substantive and procedural aspects of international law, this chapter establishes an understanding of international legal norms in promoting Indigenous rights and facilitating sustainable development.

The literary tradition where Arthur first appeared belongs to Welsh language, the immediate descendent of the Brittonic Celtic language spoken across most of the island of Britain before the subsequent arrivals of the Romans, then the Angles, Saxons and Jutes,1 and the Normans. At the turn of the sixth century, which marks the moment associated with the Arthur of history, the landscape and cultural outlook of Wales and northern Britain offered an anchor to what were probably oral stories in circulation. The earliest surviving Welsh Arthurian poems and narratives furnished the essence and the pathways for the later transmission and adaptation of the legends into other languages and territories throughout the Middle Ages and beyond.2 The Cambridge History of Arthurian Literature and Culture (henceforth CHALC) acknowledges the longue durée of Arthuriana, from the origins of the Arthurian story to an exploration of its impressive reach across medieval Europe, then into the global world.

In a time of great contest and confusion over the future of democracy as a governing principle, the example of Abraham Lincoln continues to provide encouragement and direction about democracy’s viability in the face of immense challenges. In The Political Writings of Abraham Lincoln, Allen Guelzo brings into one volume Lincoln’s most famous political documents and speeches from his earliest days as a political candidate under the banner of the Whig Party, to his election and service as the first anti-slavery Republican president, from 1861 to 1865, and the nation’s leader in the fiery trial of civil war. While many anthologies of Lincoln’s political documents routinely concentrate on his presidential years or only on his anti-slavery writings, Guelzo concentrates on documents from Lincoln’s earliest political activity as an Illinois state legislator in the 1830s up through his presidency. The result is an accessible resource for students, researchers, and general readers.

Alongside Freud, Nietzsche, and Marx, Kierkegaard is a true master of the hermeneutics of suspicion. However, more than any other master of suspicion, Kierkegaard is keenly aware of suspicion’s potential existential and even epistemic dangers. In Works of Love, Kierkegaard warns that if suspicion becomes an exclusive mode of critique, rather than effectively exposing dogmatism, it can harden into a kind of hermeneutical dogmatism of its own. By contrast, he argues that love sees deeper than suspicion and is less susceptible to deception. This claim seems naive at best and dangerous at worst – something that the masters of suspicion would identify as illusion and internalized oppression. In this chapter, however, I offer extended analyses of Kierkegaard’s “suspicion of suspicion” and two of his most controversial prescriptions: (1) presupposing love and (2) finding mitigating explanations. I argue that, far from dismantling suspicion, these practices are designed to rehabilitate readers from hermeneutical dogmatism and thereby preserve suspicion’s justice-seeking capacities.