By the Caroline era, London’s broader theatergoing public contained within it the smaller subset of a theatrical community – those playgoers collectively invested in the cultivation of their dramatic knowledge and interpretive acuity. Chapter 4 offers a phenomenological prehistory of this community, locating its activation in the moment of performance itself. The chapter traces the formation of this theatrical community alongside the dramatic trope of impersonation, which constructed the unknown depths and vicissitudes of individual identity as a function of the bifurcated structure of the playhouse. Through readings of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night and The Comedy of Errors, the anonymous Look About You, John Fletcher’s Love’s Cure, and Dekker and Middleton’s The Roaring Girl, this chapter argues that the formation of spatially relational identities in impersonation plots extended from the stage to the amphitheater: constituted as a series of mirror images only partially revealed, London’s theatrical community was produced by spectators’ mutual recognition of their uncertainty about one another.

Chapter 5 examines how considerations of coherence manifest in the use of analogical reasoning by investor-state tribunals. In particular, it demonstrates through concrete examples and case studies that the persuasiveness and correctness of an arbitral award based on analogical reasoning depends on the degree of its internal coherence. It is argued that coherence in an analogical inference manifests in two ways. Firstly, in a methodological sense, coherence manifests itself in the way the adjudicator frames the legal question at issue and in the degree to which the analogy, as drawn, satisfies the elements of similarity, structural parallels, and purposiveness. Secondly, in a substantive sense, coherence manifests itself in the normative contextualisation of the legal question and in the moral appeal of the proposed interpretation derived from the analogy.

This chapter sets out to establish what Molière’s prefaces and meta-theatrical plays tell us about audience laughter. In these texts, Molière sets up the notion of an ideal public, primarily by means of spectator characters who act as models or counter-models in terms of reception. His laughing characters allow us to understand the link between Molière and the laughter of a public that saw itself in them. In this way, Molière echoes wider contemporary discourse on comedy at the same time as contributing to its development. He offers reflections on parody, on the connection between audience laughter and poetics, on the relationship of the social aspects of audience laughter to moral decency and on laughter as an indication of a comic author’s merit. His spectator characters reflect a contemporary discourse that saw laughter as an entirely legitimate reaction to the performance of comedies, and Molière is thereby situated at the heart of the critical re-evaluation of laughter that occurred between 1660 and 1670, of which he was at once a beneficiary and one of the driving forces.

Gentili sought to develop a set of rules to help regulate warfare. However, given his positions on absolutism and the value of the reason of state tradition, it is hard to see what resources he had available for encouraging sovereigns to actually play by those rules. In this chapter, I argue that Gentili squared the circle through a dichotomy at the heart of his legal framework: the distinction between violence carried out by a “public” entity and all other forms of violence. In Gentili’s framework, those carrying out the latter would immediately be discredited as “pirates” or “enemies of mankind.” The key, of course, was what Gentili meant by “public.”

One particular twentieth-century scholar stands out in how influential he was in ensuring Gentili’s position as a key protagonist in the history of international law: Carl Schmitt. This chapter argues that Schmitt’s influential emphasis on Gentili is not simply an inheritance of nineteenth-century narratives. Rather, Schmitt places Gentili at the heart of his history of the development of international law and the evolution of the concept of war in a move that should be understood as part of his broader attempt to defend authoritarian rule. In particular, I argue that placing so much emphasis on Gentili provided Schmitt with a way to make absolutist forms of rule seem normatively desirable. Schmitt came to associate absolutism with the humanization and the rationalization of warfare, not through an analysis of historical facts (which would have made the endeavor difficult) but through a partial interpretation of the works of some “great” thinkers, most importantly Gentili’s treatise on war.

The previous chapter outlined the personal, institutional, and political dynamics that played a part in Alberico Gentili’s nineteenth-century revival, in particular the emergence of the academic discipline of international law and the crafting of a historical narrative about its past. What we have yet to uncover is the specific story that emerged about Gentili’s greatness in his nineteenth-century context. In Chapter 3, we saw that in the aftermath of his death, Gentili had been remembered primarily for his absolutist writings. Two and a half centuries later, what story did his revivers tell to justify celebrating him as a founder of international law? This chapter argues that nineteenth-century international lawyers painted Gentili as the man who had invented the modern definition of war. In doing so, they gave us a popular narrative about the history of the laws of war that has prevented us from appreciating the profound changes that occurred in the regulation of war in course of the nineteenth century.

In one of the reviews of the 1855 Leaves of Grass, an anonymous reviewer for the Swedenborgian Christian Spiritualist conceives of Whitman’s poetry (and poetry more broadly) as aligning with a tradition of spiritual mediumship.1 The great poets, that is, possess a medial capacity to channel and develop a “spiritual intercourse” with the muse, who is herself part of the transcendent realm. Having distinguished between the “two permanent types” of media – those singular agents who are lucky enough to receive “direct influx” from the divine source of love and wisdom, and a “second class of media” that channel “individual Spirits” and “societies of Spirits” – the reviewer proceeds to outline what is happening to the idea of mediumship as society transitions into a new and disorienting phase. “Many varieties of Mediumship,” the reviewer argues, “must be expected” in this moment of social and political turmoil, and not all of them either savory or desirable. The present age now produces imitators who merely “pour forth as Divine Revelations the froth and scum of a receding age”; confidence men who give “false notions of the state of man after death”; as well as other suspect figures who merely “come in contact with the outmost portion of the Spirit-life.” Then there are those more exceptional beings, best exemplified by Ralph Waldo Emerson, who “receive influxes from the upper mind-sphere of the age” and “[see] the future of truths as our Spirit-seers discern the future of man.”2

In the nineteenth century, visual culture became noted for spectacles such as panoramas, which sought to create an experience that offered more than simply viewing an engraving or a framed painting. The panorama placed the spectator at the centre of a circle, surrounded by a huge painting on a curved surface. This chapter focuses on the Arctic panorama Summer and Winter Views of the Polar Regions (1850) that opened in London in 1850. The chapter explains how a radically transformed Arctic was presented to a metropolitan audience, which anticipated education, entertainment, and an aesthetic experience at Leicester Square, London. Summer and Winter Views was based on the drawings of a recently returned officer, William Henry Browne, and made claims of authenticity in a competitive market. By closely reading the sources available for the panorama, including sketches, contemporary reviews, and prints, it argues that this affordable and persuasive spectacle of ‘savage horrors’ transformed the Arctic into a supernatural space of well-executed, yet sensationalistic, Gothic icescapes, masculine endeavour, and exotic meteorological effects.

This chapter introduces the subject matter of the book, provides the core problem statement and defines the central terms used in the book. The introduction also explains the focus on governmental adoption of cloud computing services, legal sources, and the research approach.

The introduction explains how cloud computing has made it possible and desirable for users, such as businesses and governments, to migrate their data to be hosted on infrastructure managed by third parties. The chapter further outlines why aspects of migration to cloud services pose specific legal, contractual, and technical challenges for governments.

The chapter further outlines the challenge of addressing contracting and procurement requirements, data privacy and jurisdictional obligations when using an opaque, global, multi-tenant technology such as cloud computing.

This chapter provides an overview of cloud computing technology. The explanation includes an overview of the differences between traditional outsourcing and cloud computing and how server virtualization makes cloud computing possible. The chapter also identifies the major players in the provision of cloud computing services and the primary cloud computing service and deployment models. The chapter evaluates central security concerns and risks including loss of availability and risks to data portability.

This chapter considers the ‘expanding the state model’ which limits the obligations flowing from fundamental rights to the state and only imposes obligations on non-state actors if they are, in some sense, state-like. This model fundamentally raises the question of what constitutes part of the state and, in so doing, provides an understanding of the determinants for having obligations. I argue the model focuses on the wrong issue: which agents are part of the state rather than the factors that are relevant to determining obligations. The chapter also examines the model as it is expressed through the case law of three jurisdictions – the United States, Germany and South Africa. In doing so, I explore the factors the courts employ to determine whether an entity or function is state-like and their implications for obligations. Those factors overlap with those identified in the other models – which, in turn suggests, the artificiality of confining the application of rights only to state actors.

Chapter 1 argues that total global public banking capacity is exponentially greater than what tends to be reported by international institutions. Two premises support the argument. First, the financing for development literature provides an inconsistent and inaccurate empirical account of public banks around the world. The forcefulness of this premise depends on the second premise, namely that national and subnational public banks persist in significant institutional numbers and size. The chapter shows there are more than 900 public banks with nearly $49 trillion in combined assets. Understanding the actual capacity of (sub)national public banks is a precondition for having an informed debate on the future of public banks and for whom they might catalyse a global green & just transition. The chapter opens this discussion by first locating public banks within the wider credit system and in relation to other types of public financial institutions.

This chapter examines the role played by sermons in developing the meaning of the term sympathy in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. When sympathy first appeared in English in the mid-sixteenth century it tended to be used in its physiological sense to refer to a correspondence or harmony between people, parts of the body, objects in the cosmos or the soul and the body. In the 1580s, however, preachers began to use sympathy in a narrower sense to refer to a mutual suffering between individual selves. Drawing upon works by Edwin Sandys, William James and Henry Holland, Meek argues that sermons from this period reflect and facilitate a shift in the understanding of sympathy from the physiological to the emotional and metaphorical – and that this process existed alongside similar developments taking place in dramatic culture. Meek argues that meditations on biblical narratives and exemplars may have played a more important role in shaping the understanding of compassion in the period than humoral or medical models.