I document the relentless intraparty power struggle within the KMT from 1925 to 1945 following the sudden death of its founder, Sun Yat-sen, and investigate the profound impact of elite conflicts on party- building efforts. Although Chiang Kai-shek at first ascended the KMT ranks by exploiting ideological conflicts between the KMT-Left and KMT-Right factions, he constantly faced challenges from his intraparty rivals, who coalesced around regional military strongmen. Similar to the rise of Mao, Chiang benefited from contingent events and finally eliminated threats from Hu Han-min and Wang Ching-wei. Chiang, however, was only a quasi-dominant party leader because regional strongmen remained defiant in the face of his reform efforts. Importantly, the KMT remained a party deeply entrenched in an elite mobilization infrastructure, heavily reliant on the cooperation of regional strongmen and local elites for policy implementation. The lack of infrastructure for mass mobilization capacity became an impediment later when the power of those elites was weakened during the Japanese invasion, as shown in its ineffectiveness in grain mobilization detailed in Chapter 4.

Hume criticized the idea that all legitimate government rests on consent of any sort, tacit or express. He did not deny that some governments originated that way, or that it was an admirable way. But he thought it absurd to claim that legitimate government authority is contingent upon each subject’s consent. To say that it is so is contrary to common opinion and, moreover, simply shifts the question to that of the bindingness of promises. That bindingness must rest on the idea of necessity, and so it is needlessly indirect to appeal to promises when government can be justified directly by its necessity to prosperous and secure society. Hume, however, also made a positive contribution to the social contract tradition. He described how a convention, or common practice, can coordinate expectations and behavior without the need for any express agreement or contract. Later theorists make use of Humean convention in order to connect the idea of hypothetical consent to the actual circumstances of life. In short, government is legitimate where there is a convention of conformance to a social contract that would, hypothetically, be approved by clear-minded individuals.

There are several downsides to having lower taxes that conservatives tend to ignore. Low taxes are frequently associated with worse health outcomes, such as life expectancy and infant mortality. Low taxes are also associated with worse educational outcomes. Less social mobility, lower human development scores, and worse infrastructure are also associated with lower levels of taxation according to cross-national and US data. None of this is good for America’s economic performance or society.

Chapter 10 on International Atmospheric Trust cases investigates the application of the public trust doctrine in climate litigation. Historically, under this doctrine courts have maintained that certain natural and cultural resources should be held in trust for the public, with the government acting as a trustee. The authors explain the practical application and interpretation of this doctrine in climate litigation, examining key cases (through 2022) across various jurisdictions, including the United States, Canada, India, Pakistan, and Uganda. The effect is to produce a Restatement of best practices in climate litigation revealing the successes and challenges encountered when invoking the public trust doctrine in climate litigation. This review of the case law reveals an emerging distinction between the U.S., which has seen the erection of procedural barriers in federal and state courts to avoid deciding cases on the merits, and international courts, who have reached the merits of several cases, ordering remedial actions. The chapter underscores the potential of this doctrine to induce more robust climate action among the political branches of government, reflecting a growing recognition among courts outside the U.S. of their own role in safeguarding the atmosphere.

This chapter explores Jewish iconography in Late Antiquity, focusing on the evolution of visual representations in synagogue art and everyday objects. Drawing on archaeological remains from ancient Palestine and the Diaspora, it examines architectural decorations, mosaics, wall paintings and interior furnishings. Analysis of these remains reveals that Jewish iconography was not static but evolved dynamically in response to broader Graeco-Roman and early Christian artistic traditions. The chapter illustrates this by demonstrating how synagogue ornamentation combined traditional Jewish symbols – such as the menorah, Torah shrine and ritual objects – with motifs borrowed from surrounding cultures, including mythological figures and zodiac imagery. It also engages with the long-standing debate on aniconism in Judaism, arguing that figurative art was more prevalent than previously assumed. Emphasising that Jewish art served both religious and communal functions, the chapter highlights how it reinforced Jewish identity during a period of cultural transition.

William Cooper’s rise from working-class living in London was steeper than Wilson’s but followed an equally complex pattern of social mobility generated by expatriate employment. The chapter charts his career and social journey from telegram-boy in working-class Bermondsey, underlining cultural factors supporting his rise in status. He progressed to junior telegraphy work on several Persian Gulf stations, then to supervision of a station in Russian Georgia on the Black Sea, and finally in Tehran, directing his company’s entire Persian telegraph operations, acquiring elite trappings of the Edwardian gentleman abroad. Telegraph management worked around the impacts of the Russian Revolution of 1905 and the Persian constitutional revolution of 1905-09, bringing him into close contact in Tehran with diplomatic and Persian elites, aided by his Bermondsey wife who earned a reputation among expatriates as an accomplished hostess. His elevation to elite status was underlined by his family’s adoption of an expatriate middle-class identity, and his middle-class masculinity and fatherhood practices, marked an intimate father-daughter relationship alongside firm patriarchal rules of behaviour.

This chapter examines the role of technology in Late Antiquity. It challenges the traditional view that the period was marked by technological stagnation. It argues that instead of focusing solely on innovation, historians should consider the continued use, adaptation and repurposing of existing technologies. It also highlights the survival and refinement of older methods, emphasising that technological choices were often influenced by social, political and environmental factors rather than pure efficiency. One of the chapter’s central discussions focuses on military technology, particularly the development of catapults. Analysing textual sources such as Vegetius’ Epitoma rei militaris and De rebus bellicis alongside archaeological evidence, the study reveals that military engineering remained highly sophisticated. The construction of catapults, their adaptation for different battlefield scenarios, and the organisation of state-run fabricae (weapons workshops) demonstrate that technological knowledge continued to be refined. Additionally, the chapter critiques the historiographical tendency to equate technological progress with economic growth, arguing that many technological decisions were driven by factors beyond economics. It concludes that Late Antiquity was not a period of decline but one of transformation, in which technological continuity and adaptation played a crucial role in maintaining societal structures.

This chapter examines the development of early Christian iconography, tracing how visual representations evolved between the third and fifth centuries. It explores a wide range of materials, including paintings, relief sculptures, mosaics, inscriptions and artefacts such as sarcophagi, lamps and glassware. Historical texts are also incorporated to provide context for the meanings behind Christian imagery. The chapter argues that early Christian art did not emerge in isolation but was heavily influenced by Roman artistic traditions. Many motifs, such as the Good Shepherd and the story of Jonah, were borrowed from Graeco-Roman visual culture and reinterpreted with Christian significance. It also addresses the debate over the absence of explicitly Christian imagery in the first two centuries CE, suggesting that early Christians likely relied on religiously ambiguous symbols before developing a distinct visual language. The discussion then shifts to the impact of imperial Christianity in the fourth century, which led to more monumental depictions of Christ, often portraying him as a ruler rather than a humble shepherd. Finally, the chapter highlights the crucial role of funerary art in shaping Christian visual culture, noting that many early depictions survived in catacombs and sarcophagi, reinforcing beliefs in salvation and resurrection.

Chapter 7 dissects how human rights laws have been harnessed in climate cases, scrutinising key judgments that have applied human rights frameworks to climate change and the implications of these legal strategies for both claimants and defendants. The authors’ analysis of emerging best practice reveals a growing acceptance of the notion that a State’s failure to take adequate action to address climate change constitutes a breach of human rights obligations, and this recognition is shaping legal strategies in climate litigation at the national and international levels. The authors also highlight how recent jurisprudence further suggests that corporations have important obligations to respect human rights in the face of climate change. Although jurisdictional disparities exist, the growing body of case law demonstrates the adaptability and replicability of rights-based reasoning, thereby contributing to the establishment of a consistent and coherent framework for ‘transnational’ climate law.

The Ptolemaic basilissa’s body was a significant subject in royal art, appearing across various kinds of visual and material culture. In this chapter, I explore the different ways that Ptolemaic royal women “wore” the female body in their representations. By attending to how the royal female body was conceptualized, visualized, and materialized, I examine the importance of corporeality to Ptolemaic queenship. By the first quarter of the third century, figural representations of Ptolemaic royal women were proliferated via objects that circulated across the waterscapes and landscapes of Egypt and the eastern Mediterranean and were carved onto surfaces of colossal architecture for various viewing communities. One of the most striking aspects of the material record for the Ptolemaic dynasty is the relatively large number of extant figural representations of royal women – consisting of temple reliefs, statues in the round, mosaics, glyptic arts, and other luxury portable objects – compared to that of other Hellenistic dynasties.

This chapter examines late antique Armenia, focusing on its architectural developments, Christianisation and regional influences. It traces the evolution of Armenian church architecture between the fourth and seventh centuries, emphasising connections with Rome, Persia and Byzantium. The chapter discusses key archaeological findings, including churches, funerary monuments and inscriptions. Major sites like the basilica of Ereroykʿ, the church of Hṙipʿsimē and the patriarchal complexes of Duin and Zuartʿnocʿ reveal a shift from simple basilicas to complex domed designs. The chapter discusses innovations such as tetraconch and triconch plans and explores the role of elite patronage in church construction, as seen in the princely complex of Aruč. Rather than depicting Armenia as an isolated frontier, it argues that its architecture reflects strong ties with Syrian, Byzantine and Iranian traditions. Sculptural decoration, inscriptions and building techniques illustrate these cultural exchanges. While political shifts influenced construction, ongoing excavations continue to shape our understanding of Armenia’s late antique landscape. The chapter stresses the need for further archaeological research, particularly in under-explored areas, to provide a fuller picture of the region’s historical development.

The fourth century was a time of sweeping political, cultural, and social transformations, including profound changes in dynastic art. One such major change was that dynastic women began to appear in public art throughout the eastern Mediterranean, just before the military conquests of Alexander III. Fourth-century dynastic women were publicly active and could take on politically important roles, usually alongside their husbands or kings: they quelled arguments, arranged marriages for the poor, helped facilitate cases of manumission, and participated in royal spectacles, to name only a handful of examples. But what can their representations in public art tell us about the conceptual and political contours of dynastic femininity in the early fourth century? In this chapter, I examine the ways in which dynastic women from Lycia, Sparta, Caria, and Macedon figured as both subjects and patrons in monuments, using sculptural fragments, bases, inscriptions, and surviving textual records. Each of the select monuments under analysis illuminates how different communities represented the idealized dynastic woman – that is, a woman in close proximity to networks of power through marriage or by blood. As such, my examination of these examples will contribute to our understanding of the strategies that rulers developed to express dynastic legitimacy and continuity on the one hand and the ways in which non-dynastic people perceived queenship and its political contours via their own dedications of and engagements with representations of dynastic women on the other.

This chapter sees Edgar in peak career, a seasoned director and company secretary, but with continuing financial anxieties and resentments against his employer as he approached retirement. His last two years in Baghdad, in company with Winifred, illustrate the close relationship of the British imperial administration with Middle East shipping companies, and Edgar’s role in both. Winifred fostered the development of the Baghdad Anglican church, mainly for expatriates, and missionary activity, extending her St Albans church work. For Edgar, as for Winifred, their subsequent decade in the 1930s in St Albans before retirement offers a case study in expatriate transition to life at ‘home’, to domesticity and engagement in public life and local society, along with lingering Persian associations and nostalgia for their expatriate past. While expatriate service succeeded in cementing their class transformation, they remained vulnerable to middle-class economic austerity which characterised peacetime 1930s and wartime 1940s. The Wilsons’ longed-for stable settlement in England contrasted with the adoption of expatriate careers by all their children, with daughters as overseas missionaries and sons as overseas mining engineers, a tension between the continuation and rejection of expatriate mobility concluded in the next chapter.

On 6 December 1992, following the demolition of the Babri Masjid in India, communal riots broke out in several parts of the country. Mumbai witnessed a horrific bout of communal riots in the months between December 1992 and January 1993, which saw enormous violence against Muslim minorities in the city. This violence was accompanied by the Hindu right-wing political party Shiv Sena's attempts to reconfigure the city as a sacred Hindu space. According to official statistics, the death toll exceeded 800, and 1,50,000 residents, mostly Muslims, left the city. About 100, 000 Muslim refugees took shelter in camps constructed in neighbourhoods that were predominantly populated by Muslims in central Mumbai. The role of the police in the riots was widely criticised by civil society actors and later by an investigating committee as they were accused of being mute spectators and at times active participants in the excessive violence against Muslims, especially in the city's slums. The riots transformed the social geography of Mumbai drastically. Mumbai was a city with a high proportion of ethnically mixed neighbourhoods with the Muslim population spread across the city. After the riots, the Muslim population became far more concentrated in central Mumbai and in slums in north Mumbai. This violent spatial reorganisation of the city because of a concerted attack against Muslim minorities catapulted several Muslim women into the public sphere. They were involved in the rehabilitation of riot victims. Subsequently, they began participating in several initiatives that spoke to concerns of gender justice within the family and ultimately became a part of a project for addressing gender equality in the domain of Muslim family law.