Generations of historians have seen the interplay between the early modern state and its armed forces, and between warfare and state formation, as key factors in the process of modernisation. The creation of the modern state was most powerfully expressed through the supposed symbiosis between absolute regimes and standing armies. The image of geometric order and discipline generated by formations of infantry drawn up in kilometre-long battle lines; the authorities’ direct involvement in provisioning, equipping, and uniforming its soldiers; central government’s reach into every aspect of warfare and military planning. All of these have been regarded as defining traits of the interconnection between the standing army and the state. Research on the inner structures of early modern military society has, until recently, been coloured by preconceptions about functioning hierarchies and chains of command, an increasingly effective military administration, rigid discipline, and corresponding efficiency in the waging of warfare. Such a top-down view remained unchallenged as long as researchers relied almost exclusively on sources derived from governmental and/or legal provenance, leaving an impression of overwhelming state authority reaching right down to the level of the common soldier.

‘Bella gerant alii.’ In 1516, by means of traditional dynastic finagling, the house of Habsburg acquired the thrones of Castile and Aragon, or Spain for short: the most bellicose and spectacularly expanding state in Latin Christendom. Henceforth, it seemed, the Habsburgs would no longer be able to leave war to others.

Since concluding Castile’s civil conflicts in the 1470s, the Spanish monarchs had, by force of arms, reconquered parts of French Catalonia, and added other acquisitions to their realms: southern Navarre, the western Canary Islands, Melilla, much of the Caribbean, and the kingdoms of Granada and Naples. For what came to be known as the Spanish monarchy it was the start of the most sustained period of success – measured by the crude, but decisive, standards of victory in the field and expansion on the frontiers – any Western European state had achieved since the Roman Empire.

Naval warfare changed out of all recognition from the late sixteenth century onwards through the rapid development of large square-rigged warships carrying heavy broadside gun batteries. A whole series of developments followed, with a long (if far from smooth) evolution in ships, equipment, strategy, and tactics continuing down to the last sailing navies of the early nineteenth century. It was clearly no accident that this naval revolution coincided with a great age of global European empires, which would have been impossible to create or maintain without effective naval power. Galleys and other oared craft became largely obsolete, except for some amphibious operations in the Mediterranean and for use in shallow waters around the innumerable Baltic islands. The crushing Dutch victory over a Spanish fleet at the battle of the Downs (1639) marked the first occasion when the full power of broadside gunnery became evident. Then the three Anglo-Dutch wars between the 1650s and 1670s saw a series of savage and bloody engagements between the fleets of two nations that were coming to be known as the Maritime Powers. The combination of imperial and trading ambitions, new financial arrangements, and relatively open societies enabled first the Dutch, and then the British, to develop naval power to new heights, in turn allowing them to punch well above their weight on the international stage. Under Louis XIV, France did mount a serious challenge to the Dutch and English, and for a time possessed the largest navy in the Western world. However, by the 1690s the French, and more gradually the Dutch, were finding the costs of maintaining this level of power at sea, as well as on land, to be too great.

For over half a century, discussion of the relationship between military finance, organisation, and state development has been dominated by the contested concept of a ‘military revolution’; the belief that there were one or a few periods of fundamental change that transformed both war and wider European history. More recently, this has been supplemented by the idea of smaller, but more frequent ‘revolutions in military affairs’ (RMAs) as individual military organisations respond to, or anticipate, changes made by their likely opponents. Technology is generally considered to drive both forms of ‘revolution’, as innovative weaponry and institutional practice transform war, rendering older models ineffective and obsolete. Change flows through a series of chain reactions, as states adapt to new conditions, modifying their structures to sustain and direct altered armed forces, and revising their forms of interaction with society both to extract the necessary resources and to legitimate their use in war-making.

This chapter examines the formal relationship between medical professionalism and compassion, looking at codes of ethics and practice guidelines, chiefly for medical professionals but also with reference to other healthcare workers. The chapter starts by exploring the importance accorded to compassion in ethical guidance for doctors in the United Kingdom (UK), Ireland, the United States, Australia, and New Zealand. It then examines guidance specifically aimed at psychiatrists, including documents published by the Royal College of Psychiatrists in the UK, the College of Psychiatrists of Ireland, and the American Psychiatric Association. Many of these guides emphasise the importance of compassion and related values, with the Royal College of Psychiatrists providing particularly detailed suggestions about building and sustaining compassion in mental healthcare. Compassion and related values also feature commonly in codes of practice and ethical guidance for other clinical professionals, such as nurses, midwives, social workers, occupational therapists, and others. This chapter concludes that, taken together, these statements of practice values and ethical principles reflect a welcome and growing emphasis on compassion in guidance for healthcare professionals across many clinical domains.

While exploring how specialist medical publishers and regular practitioners worked together to publish and advertise medical works on sexual matters, Chapter 3, Publishing for Professional Advantage, shows that the boundaries between communicating knowledge, promoting expertise, and trading on medical eroticism were not just blurry in contexts of the pornography trade and irregular medical practice. They were also blurry in regular medicine. Works on reproduction and sexual health issued by medical publishers were often textually similar to those issued by pornographers and irregulars, worked up using similar techniques, advertised, and distributed to non-medical readers in similar ways, and, regular practitioners often argued, for similar purposes. The chapter explores how and why these overlaps aroused particular concern among groups that advocated radical reforms to the medical profession. Rather than seeking to discipline regular medical publishing, however, reformers initially took a different route: they launched campaigns aimed at stamping out irregular practitioners’ trade in sexual health manuals.

Spokespeople play a critical role during health emergencies in communicating credible, accurate, and actionable messages to the public. Effective spokespeople not only gain the public’s support during health emergencies but also personalize the health agency. Through professionalism, trustworthiness, authenticity, reliability, and clear communication, spokespeople build trust with the public each time they address the media or deliver a speech. This chapter describes the role of a spokesperson and why this role is critical to emergency response operations. It outlines ideal characteristics of a spokesperson including professionalism, experience working with the media, involvement with decision-making, trustworthiness, charisma, clarity of speech, and relatability. This chapter explains common spokesperson pitfalls and practical tips on how to avoid them. Media briefing and interview techniques on how to communicate effectively with the media are included. Agenda setting theory is described. A student case study uses the Crisis and Emergency Risk Communication framework to analyze the communication of Dr. Nirav D. Shah, director of Maine’s Centers for Disease Control and Pevention, during the COVID-19 outbreak. End-of-chapter reflection questions are included.

Clinical ethics consultations can be haunting. Ethics consultants have few opportunities to reflect on the affective impact of their work. This book offers detailed cases, confessions, reflections, regrets, and triumphs experienced by ethics consultants. The authors bravely share what haunts them about the complex and demanding work of ethics consultation. Consultants experience moral distress but it’s rarely discussed. Our values are woven into the consultation. We’re not always sure if this is for better or worse. One poignant case may haunt us for our entire career. The second edition of the book includes the cases written by original authors regarding neonatology, pediatrics, palliative care, psychiatry, religious and cultural values, clinical innovation, professionalism, and organizational ethics. The book includes educational activities for ethics committees, consultants, and students at all levels of study. In the second edition, new authors reflect on clinical ethics practice, highlight how our practices have changed, and reflect on equity and diversity dimensions of patient care and ethics consultations.

This chapter begins with the evolution of American medicine from a “sovereign” self-regulating profession focused on direct patient service to a large industry that serves the social sector but that, because of its professional heritage, receives extensive public subsidies without equivalent public accountability. Next, the chapter identifies regulatory dynamics in American health care governance that structurally discourage movement from the prevailing, if dissonant, private law framework to one explicitly grounded in public law. The chapter concludes by highlighting the challenges and opportunities inherent in a private law approach to what is intuitively a public law domain.

Black Rhodesian soldiers’ loyalties – as opposed to motivations for initial enlistment – were premised upon a shared sense of professionalism. Inherent to this ethos was their soldierly prowess, honed through continuous training and operational experience, which was also co-constitutive of a deep, emotive sense of mutual obligation between fellow soldiers. Furthermore, these soldiers were socialised into a distinctive military culture, which created a powerful, emotive regimental loyalty that incorporated traditions to create an accentuated sense of in-group belonging and homogeneity that bound them to their regiment, and thereafter the wider army. professionalism and regimental loyalties of these troops ensured that they remained steadfast during combat and in the face of the surge in popularity of the nationalist challenge to white settler-colonial rule.

This book has contributed to a new understanding of the loyalties of black Rhodesian soldiers during the era spanning the terminal years of the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland, Zimbabwe’s war of liberation, and the tumultuous first two years of independence from 1980. That these black soldiers fought for white-minority rule in Rhodesia appears, superficially, both paradoxical and extraordinary, and it has led to their characterisation as supporters of the RF, mercenaries, or ‘sell-outs’ in neo-Rhodesian and nationalist literatures.

Once the RAR was an established, regular force, new forms of micro-level solidarities particular to regular soldiers took root, which fundamentally differentiated these soldiers from other combatants. professionalism of the Rhodesian Army was institutionalised and embedded during its transformation to a regular army, and was modelled upon British practice, doctrine, and traditions. This chapter thus uses a literature which has studied the British practice of creating soldierly cohesion and loyalty. Incorporating the arguments of military sociologists, particularly the work of Anthony King, and historians, it shows how a soldierly identity was shaped, which itself fed into an ideal of soldierly professionalism which become co-constitutive. Through extensive training, black RAR soldiers acquired great confidence not only in their own abilities, but also those of their peers, whom they could expect to fight for them in difficult situations. Underpinning these professional norms was a system of military discipline that relied upon a quasi-juridical form of oversight, which my interviewees attested was rational and fair.

The British colonisers introduced urban planning in Zimbabwe in 1890. The 1933 Planning Act, situated largely in the realities of Britain at the time, institutionalised planning as a practice for adoption by urban local authorities. The legislation was amended in 1945 to embrace changes noted in the countryside so that it became a Town and Country Planning Act. Noticing that some of the developments were exceeding one district, in 1976 the Planning and Country Act was revised to become the Regional, Town and Country Planning Act. It was revised in 1995 and still retains the title. The legislative instrument guides planning practice, directing regional, master and local planning. It covers aspects of development control, subdivision and consolidation. It would appear that all was going well until the practice began to be challenged in the 2000s, as retaining colonialist rigidity made development cumbersome if the necessary approvals were not in place. The 2005 Operation Murambatsvina was perhaps one of the worst human disasters in the land, with the planned city displacing the poor. A host of challenges exist, yet opportunities are there to improve planning in Zimbabwe.