In this chapter I trace the problem of killing in Christian thought. I then raise the question of whether any intentional killing can be justified; in the remainder of the book I argue that the answer to this question is “no”.

Ignatius Sancho had a rich artistic life, from music to literary criticism to engagement with the theater. Unfortunately, little is known about the latter – Joseph Jekyll’s 1782 short biography of Sancho offers only a few sentences about what appears to have been a failed attempt at playing the titular leads of William Shakespeare’s Othello and Thomas Southerne’s Oroonoko. However, Jekyll’s biography offers an important window into eighteenth-century thinking about race and performance, in spite of (and, in part, because of) its limited and compromised nature. Crucial to Jekyll’s explanation for Sancho’s theatrical failure is a supposedly “defective and incorrigible articulation,” most often read along the lines of disability. This chapter examines how vocal and linguistic performance in the eighteenth-century created and disrupted popular narratives about race.

This chapter examines concerns that AI might replace human judges, potentially compromising the right to a fair trial and other fundamental rule of law values. Rather than dismissing these concerns, we present a balanced analysis of the opportunities and challenges posed by AI-enhanced judicial decision-making. We explore this issue through the lens of Article 6 ECHR, examining potential applications, including case management, evidence collection, and legal interpretation. We emphasise the critical need for transparency and robust safeguards to protect due process rights. Equally significant are questions surrounding perceptions of justice and the maintenance of public trust and legitimacy in judicial proceedings. Even sophisticated AI systems require continuous oversight and human interpretive expertise to ensure that litigants and the broader public perceive the technology and judicial role as efficient, fair, and reliable. The chapter concludes by developing a typology of AI in judiciary – from judicial clerks to bureaucratic judges to R. Dworkin’s idealised ‘Judge Hercules’ – examining how AI can enhance traditional judicial capabilities and improve overall judicial performance.

This concluding chapter affirms that the integration of AI into courts is no longer a question of if, but how. Courts, as constitutional institutions, face profound normative questions: how does AI affect transparency, impartiality, and public trust? While AI improves court operations in many jurisdictions, it also risks eroding judicial values and the rule of law. Global examples show diverse adoption paths, yet shared challenges, such as AI opacity, lack of judicial AI literacy, and accountability gaps, demand coordinated oversight. Ultimately, a human-centred approach to judicial AI is essential. Rather than rejecting AI or accepting it uncritically, the authors advocate a balanced path that preserves the human and interpretive role of judging.

This chapter situates the study within a broader historical, political, and scholarly context, and presents the methodology upon which it draws. First, the chapter sketches the history of Gambella as a site of encounter between the Ethiopian state and Nuer society and examines the historical and anthropological scholarships on Ethiopia’s peripheries and on the eastern frontier of Nuerland. It then discusses my own encounter with Gambella, the context and political environment in which research took place, the local religious landscape and the place of Messianic Jews in it, and the ‘data collection’ methods and research approach deployed. The final sections of the chapter explore my positionality in Gambella, as a Jewish Israeli researcher among Messianic Jews, and the sort of intersubjective encounters that informed this study.

This chapter introduces the reader to how the oil industry mobilizes political support from publics. It argues that historically, the sector has shied away from grassroots politics, or employed short-lived, financially secretive front groups. However, today this is changing. Oil firms’ contemporary outreach is apt to take the form of visible, far-reaching, and long-term campaigns that openly tout partnership between companies and citizens. This style of organizing troubles the neat binary between grassroots politics and corporate public relations. To address this, the chapter suggests we think of all political mobilization as “manufactured publics,” emphasizing the strategizing, labor, and mixture of interests inherent in all contentious political efforts. This theoretical lens allows us to explore both the affective realities of people who join pro-oil groups and the corporate interests that shape these campaigns.

Judicial systems, long considered the most tradition-bound of public institutions, are at a critical juncture. From Strasbourg to São Paulo, from Delhi to Wellington, courts around the globe confront a shared challenge: how to navigate justice in an era redefined by artificial intelligence (AI). The question is no longer whether courts will engage with AI – but how, and on whose terms. This Handbook is the first global and comparative volume that systematically examines the use of AI and digital technologies in courts. It provides an interdisciplinary and cross-jurisdictional perspective on how judicial institutions are responding to the opportunities and risks posed by AI – from e-filing systems and predictive tools to ‘robo-judging’ and AI- supported decision-making. The forty-five contributions of the Handbook are arranged across ‘Part I: AI and Courts: Context and Normative Positions’, ‘Part II: AI and Courts: Disciplinary Perspectives’, ‘Part III: AI & Tech Challenges to Judicial Values’, and ‘Part IV: AI in Courts across the Globe: Jurisdictional Perspectives’, with each part offering a distinct analytical lens on justice and judging in the age of AI. The Handbook examines not just what AI can do for courts, but also what courts must do to ensure AI enhances, rather than erodes, their fundamental role in democratic societies.

The Introduction explains why nineteenth-century Cuba is a particularly rich context for studying racialism (the assumption that social hierarchies are based on the existence of races), racial doubt (those moments when this assumption gets questioned and racial differences seem less clear), and the different groups of racialized people who mobilized doubt as they worked to reinvent themselves and their society. It also shows how the analysis of the notions at the core of each chapter – racist agnosia, farce, passing-as-open-secret, fictions of racial coherence, back talk, and the reappropriation of Blackness – illuminates present-day critiques of color blindness. Finally, it explains why the book is divided into three parts. The first part focuses on enslaved people’s testimonies and abolitionist writing that attacked illegal slavery by denouncing lies, falsification, and farce; the second one, on free people of color who wrestled with two “one-drop” rules (one which rendered a person not-white, the other which made them whiter); and the third one, on the emergence of Black Cuban writing.

This chapter surveys Pindar’s reception from the poet’s own lifetime until the Byzantine period. Four ‘moments’ of that reception are singled out from that very rich reception history. First, Plato, whose citations and evocations of Pindar were to prove crucial for the subsequent critical tradition; second, the Alexandrian grammarians who created a corpus of seventeen books of poems, and the poets (Callimachus, Theocritus, Apollonius) who reflected that new engagement with Pindar in their poems; thirdly, the critical treatises of Dionysius of Halicarnassus and the poetry of Horace, both produced at Rome in the Augustan period; and finally (and most briefly), Plutarch and the authors writing in Greek prose under the Roman Empire.