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In the latter half of the twentieth century, lasting memories of two world wars and astonishment over the power of nuclear weapons left both policymakers and scholars of war largely preoccupied with the possibility of a catastrophic World War III. Instead, however, the face of war since 1945 has been that of regionally limited small wars and insurgencies fought with conventional weapons. Many of these conflicts began as armed rebellions against colonial regimes, but often later evolved into armed conflicts between and among various subgroups seeking control of state government. Such conflicts have usually been asymmetrical, with the party holding the reins of state power using aircraft, artillery, and armored vehicles, while those fighting against the regime have been limited to weapons that individuals can carry, such as automatic rifles, mortars, rocket-propelled grenade launchers, and improvised weapons of various sorts. The asymmetries have also typically gone deeper, with the fighters on the former side wearing uniforms and those on the latter often not; those on the former side making use of fortified bases and those on the latter side protecting themselves by blending in with the civilian population. Further, there have frequently been asymmetries in how each side has fought, with the militarily weaker side relying on stealth tactics, deception, and attacks against nonmilitary targets of more general public value, including direct attacks on people protected as noncombatants under the laws of war. The particular range of tactics classified as terrorism begins at this point, with the specific, direct, and intentional targeting of noncombatants. Such attacks not only have been the means of choice for transnational nonstate actors, including al-Qaeda and the self-styled Islamic State, but have also been used to considerable effect in local civil wars.
Responsibility is a key theme of recent debates over the ethics of international society. In particular, rising powers such as Brazil, China, and India regularly reject the idea that coercion should be a feature of world politics, and they portray military intervention as irresponsible. But this raises the problem of how a society's norms can be upheld without coercive measures. Critics have accused them of “free riding” on existing great powers and failing to address the dilemma of how to deal with actors undermining societal values. This article examines writing on responsibility and international society, with particular reference to the English School, to identify why the willingness and capacity to use force—as well as creative thinking in this regard—are seen as important aspects of responsibility internationally. It then explores statements made by Brazil, China, and India in UN Security Council meetings between 2011 and 2016 to identify which actors they see as responsible and how they define responsible action. In doing so, it pinpoints areas of concurrence as well as disagreements in their understandings of the concept of responsibility, and concludes that Brazil and India have a more coherent and practical understanding of the concept than China, which risks incurring the label “great irresponsible.”
The modern literature on responding to global poverty is over fifty years old and has attracted the attention of some of the most prominent analytical political theorists of the age, including Brian Barry, Charles Beitz, Simon Caney, Thomas Pogge, John Rawls, and Peter Singer. Yet in spite of this extraordinary concentration of brainpower, the problem of global poverty has quite clearly not been solved or, indeed, adequately defined. We are therefore entitled to ask two questions of any new contribution to this literature: first, what does it have to offer that past work does not; and second, what reason is there to think that, this time, it will truly make a difference. These questions will be posed below, but before undertaking this task it may be useful to offer an overview of the field, with particular attention to why the problem of global poverty seems so intractable.
Most speakers of Irish English use a dental stop for words containing <th>, a sound that is generally pronounced as [θ] and [ð], in other varieties of English (Wells 1982; Ó hÚrdail 1997). Alveolar stops [t,d] and dental stops [,] are articulatorily and acoustically similar, and thus it is unusual for a language to use them contrastively (e.g. Ladefoged 2001). Despite this, Irish English contrasts them and speakers of this dialect have no trouble distinguishing them. This raises the question as to whether speakers of a dialect which does not use this contrast can distinguish them. To investigate this, speakers of Irish English and American English participated in an identification task involving words produced by an Irish English speaker. American English speakers had a high accuracy but did significantly worse than Irish English speakers, and both groups did significantly worse when the contrast was in final position than when it was in initial position. A small-scale production experiment examined words with this contrast and the vowel /a/, with the finding that for speakers of both dialects, the vowel is longer in words ending in <th> than <t>. The findings are discussed in the context of linguistic experience, and the effect of surrounding consonants on vowel duration.
The English variety spoken in York provides a unique opportunity to study the evolution of the English determiner system as proposed in the Definiteness Cycle (Lyons 1999). York English has three vernacular determiners that appear to represent different stages in the cycle: the zero article, reduced determiners and complex demonstratives of the type this here NP (Rupp 2007; Tagliamonte & Roeder 2009). Here, we probe the emergence and function of demonstratives in the cycle from the joint perspective of language variation and change, historical linguistics and discourse-pragmatics. We will argue that initially, the demonstrative reduced in meaning (Millar 2000) and also in form, resulting in Demonstrative Reduction (DR) (previously known as Definite Article Reduction (DAR)). This caused it to become reinforced. Data from the York English Corpus (Tagliamonte 1996–8) and historical corpora suggest that the use of complex demonstratives was subsequently extended from conveying ‘regular’ deictic meanings to a new meaning of ‘psychological deixis’ (Johannessen 2006). We conclude that survival of transitory stages in the cycle by several historical demonstrative forms, each in a range of functions, has given rise to a particular sense of ‘layering’ (Hopper 1991). Our analysis corroborates the idea that grammaticalization trajectories can be influenced by discourse-pragmatic factors (Epstein 1995; Traugott's 1995subjectification).
The question “What is religion?” has again been roiling the academy, the courts, and public debate. In 1965, the Supreme Court of the United States opined on this question, deciding the fate of would-be conscientious objectors who would not affirm the existence of God. Relying largely on Paul Tillich, the Court ruled in their favor, expanding the notion of “religious belief” beyond its conventional Western confines. This article reexamines the issues raised in this case by exploring the theology of Paul Tillich, particularly its critique of religion as a separate sphere and its challenge to basic tenets of liberal political theory inherited from John Locke. The article, however, also juxtaposes the religion-expanding aspects of Tillich's thought with his strictures about “demonic” distortions of religion, requiring an excursus into Tillich's notions of the divine/demonic relationship. Tillich's rejection of the compartmentalization of “religion” led him to declare that more religious meaning may be found in putatively “secular” artifacts, such as Cubist art, than in conventionally “religious” symbols and institutions, including the Church. This approach both demands a radically interdisciplinary approach to “religion” and casts a skeptical eye on some putatively “religious” claims. The article concludes by juxtaposing Tillich's anti-essentialist critique of “religion” with more recent, and dramatically different, critiques, particularly those advanced by Talal Asad and Saba Mahmood.
Assessment and awarding of compensation to victims of injury and loss are among the main duties performed by courts in many different legal systems. In Western law, it constitutes a central purpose of tort law, which in itself is one of the fundamental branches of law. Did Chinese law have a specific approach to the question of compensation, which singularizes it from other legal systems? From the points of view both of statute law and judicial practice, my primary concern is to investigate whether compensation was granted to victims of injury or death under the Ming and Qing laws.
The question of Chu's cultural affinity perplexed—and continues to perplex—traditional and modern scholars. Some view it as the cultural Other of the Zhou world, while others believe that this state fundamentally belonged to the Zhou cultural sphere. The difficulty in assessing Chu's cultural trajectory derives in not a small measure from the bias of traditional sources, all of which were composed or compiled in the northern and eastern parts of the Zhou world. Yet recently discovered Chu historical manuscripts allow us to overcome this “northeastern bias.” How much do the newly available texts display—if at all—a distinct Chu identity? Do they present an alternative version of Chu history? Who were their audience? By answering these questions I hope both to revisit the question of Chu's relations to the Zhou (“Chinese”) world, and to put forward novel understandings of the usages of history writing in preimperial China.
Scarcely any turbulence, quarrels or disturbance ever occur there, but delinquents are punished with no other punishment than expulsion from communion with their society, which is a penalty they fear more than criminals elsewhere fear imprisonment and fetters. For a man once expelled from one of these societies is never received into the fellowship of any other of those societies. Hence the peace is unbroken and the conversation of all of them is as the friendship of united folk.
This was Sir John Fortescue's idealized account to the exiled prince of Wales, Edward of Lancaster, of the peace-loving nature of London's Inns of Court and Chancery in the mid-fifteenth century. Fortescue was not concerned with the reality, which, as he knew all too well, was different. He was concerned with impressing on his young pupil the perfection of the English law and the education of its practitioners, rather than the imperfections that existed in a society that the prince, as he explicitly told him, would never experience. Few who were familiar with the legal quarter that surrounded the Inns would have recognized the Arcadia that Fortescue described. Far from being the peaceful and well-ordered district that the former chief justice invoked, in the period when he wrote the area to the west of London's Temple Bar was a liminal space, populated by—among others—large numbers of young trainee lawyers, in whom the kind of unruly behaviour otherwise also associated with the early universities, not least the western suburb's Paris counterpart, the quartier latin to the south of the river Seine, was endemic. Among the most important factors that made it so was the very existence of the established, and to some extent tribal, all-male societies of the Inns of Court and of Chancery, at close quarters with the royal law courts and their heady mix of disputants and hired legal counsellors in permanent competition with each other.