A study of Archaic Spartan commemoration, starting with Homeric ideas and the poetry of Tyrtaeus. A look at some key commemorative events in Archaic Sparta, including Sparta’s relationship with Samos and the Messenian Wars. A consideration of the role of commemoration in Spartan religion and cult.

Spirituality, religion and a sense of the sacred can be important areas for creativity and the re-imagining of social work. This chapter explores this arena, arguing that acknowledging and drawing on spirituality and sacredness are significant parts of social work and that to ignore them is to deny an important dimension of humanity. However, spirituality and sacredness are experienced and manifested in different ways and can be affected by dominant narratives in different cultural and political contexts and at different historical times. This chapter avoids making any claims as to the truth or otherwise of any forms of religion or spirituality and instead considers the role that a sense of the sacred and the spiritual can play in the re-imagining of social work.

In Chapter 3, I address religion as a moral foundation for capitalism by discussing the lives and writings of Max Weber and R. H. Tawney. Classical economists after J. S. Mill limited the motivations of economic man to narrow self-interest and increased the mathematical formalism of their discipline, which tied their hands in arguing for capitalism. I begin by discussing the narrowing of arguments for capitalism in the nineteenth century by classical economists and the resistance to this narrowing by historical economists in Germany. Next, I discuss Max Weber and his broad critique of capitalism which included important social and moral issues as well as economic considerations. Given their opposing views, I contrast Weber’s critique of capitalism with that of Karl Marx. I then discuss the British economist R. H. Tawney and his critique of capitalism as a devout Christian on the political left. Tawney’s attempts to address the social injustices of the British industrial revolution led him to support the British Labour Party, but he rejected Marx’s anti-religious views and his emphasis on class division. This sets up a discussion of the role of religion in the development of capitalism based on Weber and Tawney’s two seminal works.

The Romans had to cope with uncertainty and, in part, did so through a shared set of knowledge and practices, which this chapter calls a risk culture. These ways of coping contained a lower level of individuality, consciousness or reflexivity than Beck’s modern Risk Society. There was also no simple divide between lay and expert knowledge. The Roman world exposed its inhabitants to a variety of risks but the accumulated experience of coping with these represented a mutual way of mitigating the dangers.

This chapter brings to the fore a key theme across the second part of Mandatory Madness: the considerable agency exercised by families over the management of their mentally ill relatives. This chapter focuses in particular on the petitions that flooded the mandate government from the 1930s onwards, seeking the admission of relatives to the government’s mental health institutions. These petitions are read both for what they reveal about the often-complex therapeutic strategies pursued by families, and as carefully crafted arguments about mental health illness and the state’s obligations to its subjects. Petitions make clear that Palestinian Arab families in particular were much more actively engaged with questions of psychiatric care than has been often represented, incorporating the mandate’s processes, institutions, and indeed anxieties into their strategies for managing the mentally ill. Petitions reframe our understanding of the interactions between state and society in mandate Palestine, by revealing how these played out in the intimate stretches of people’s lives.

This chapter reconstructs the dynamics of the initial encounter between the British and the question of mental health illness in Palestine into the 1920s. Far from recapitulating a familiar narrative about the colonial introduction of psychiatry as a moment of rupture, it instead offers a multi-layered account of the opening of the first government mental health hospital at Bethlehem, in order to highlight how the British were in fact latecomers to an ongoing history of psychiatry in Palestine. Well before the British occupation of 1917, Palestinians had recourse to a range of medical and non-medical options for the management of the mentally ill, and those existing understandings, experiences, and institutions crucially shaped how the British responded to mental health illness across these formative years. As well as tracing the establishment of a key institution, this chapter also introduces a central figure in the history of psychiatry in mandate Palestine: Dr Mikhail Shedid Malouf.

In July 2019, in the midst of a record-breaking heat wave, Brooklyn went dark. In 90-degree temperatures, over 55,000 customers in Canarsie, Flatlands, Mill Basin, Bergen Beach, and Georgetown lost electricity in one of the largest power outages in New York’s history. Con Edison, the city’s power company, admitted that it deliberately disconnected these neighborhoods in order to prevent a widespread loss of power that would affect wealthier, whiter areas of the city. Although Black neighborhoods earn the highest scores in New York City’s heat vulnerability index (a ranking system that takes into account the proportion of green space to developed space, access to air conditioning, and the percentage of people living below poverty levels), they are the first on the line when the city’s infrastructure fails.1 What the index does not take into account, however, are the social and political risks to which these neighborhoods are also exposed during a blackout. After the lights went out, 200 police officers flooded Brooklyn, with the nebulous mandate to preserve order. A week earlier, the US Department of Justice had announced that it would not press charges against Daniel Pantaleo, the white police officer who killed Eric Garner on Staten Island in 2014. Now law enforcement roamed the streets of Canarsie, policing Black children for splashing water in 90-degree heat.

The final chapter, “Mesmeric Revolution: Pauline Hopkins’s Matrilineal Haiti,” extends the coordinates of Hopkins’s global commitments, charting an alternative geography beneath the Africa-oriented Of One Blood. By turning to the Caribbean, Hopkins reveals how Haiti emerges at key moments of energetic resistance. Moreover, she explicitly genders these moments of resistance as feminine. Focusing on the matrilineage of Hannah, Mira, and Dianthe, I argue that women in the novel carry specifically Haitian valences: from colonial Saint-Dominguan mesmerism, to the poison of Makandal, to the legacy of marronage. This muted Caribbean geography recenters women at the heart of the narrative, adumbrates Hopkins’s anti-imperialist politics, and subverts the dehumanizing energy politics of plantation genealogies.

Reading Byron's dramas through the conceptual framework of modern play theory helps us appreciate the works of 1820–2 as a unique experimental project. If we focus on Byron’s transgressive playfulness both in terms of genre expectations and the ethos of his original sources (ranging from the Bible and the apocrypha to historical accounts and popular fictional narratives), we may disambiguate some of the more persistent critical quandaries, such as Byron's unsystematic thinking or lack of dramatic rigueur. Rather than aloof carelessness, these dramas clearly attest to Byron’s critical insight into the limits of the authoritative, be it religious or historical, and form a key part of his lifelong exploration of liberty, where the personal is inextricably linked to the political. Play, and playing, for Byron, is one of the key concepts of cultural history.

Chapter 2 augments this framework by surveying the history of the evangelical revival, emphasizing the anxious relationship between missionaries and empire. I examine the growth of missionary societies, their conflicts with empire, and their descent into the underworld of collusion with imperialists. I highlight key moments in this history, including the Vellore Mutiny, which raised concerns about evangelism among more secular exponents of empire, and the subversive work of Johannes Van der Kemp among the Khoi in South Africa. The chapter concludes with a close examination of two brief epics composed by missionary propagandists in the 1790s, Thomas Williams and Thomas Beck. These poems reveal the early conceptual friction between evangelism and imperialism, but they also indicate the assumptions that would enable the two projects to be aligned in the nineteenth century.

This chapter moves from physical contests to consider those who took alternative routes toward enforcing the respect they believed was owed to them in old age. Rather than rely on physical force, some elders wielded the cultural and spiritual force associated with conjuration, hoodoo, and root-work to solicit respect, even fear, from others in the community. This was a route available to enslaved women and men, and this chapter moves beyond the gendered dimensions of physical competition and age to address wider generational power dynamics in community life. Conflict presented in the context of conjure offers another window into – and reveals the significance of – intergenerational strife among the enslaved, and shows how age operated as a contested relation of power that ran alongside, but sometimes superseded, gendered beliefs relating to power and authority. The chapter shows the existence of multiple, sometimes conflicting belief systems that were understood as marked by generational differences, as well as the impact of this for notions of solidarity among the enslaved.

The framework and historical overview of my opening two chapters allow me to attend in Chapter 3 to the variety of epic productions in the 1790s. Surveying these epics, the chapter underlines the ways that they promote different ideas of British identity as they support, critique, and oppose the budding ideologies of Christian nationalism and imperialism. The chapter considers conservative epics that serve practically as propaganda for Tory politics and nascent imperialist sentiment (such as Henry James Pye’s Alfred), progressive epics that challenge both epic tradition and reactionary politics while still acquiescing to some assumptions of imperialist discourse, and religious epics that envision an empire of Christ whose relationship with the temporal British empire is often uncertain. Overall, the chapter suggests that the epic productions of the 1790s often imagined conversion as a partner of empire even as they revealed and frequently attempted to conceal the inconsistencies between them.

The first section of this chapter explores Nietzsche’s attempt to explain the origins and continued prominence of metaphysical philosophy in terms of the utility it produces. It argues that Nietzsche takes seriously Schopenhauer’s diagnosis of ‘humanity’s metaphysical need’, but explains this more precisely as a form of narcissistic impulse. The second section of the chapter aims to address Nietzsche’s seeming ambivalence over whether ‘humanity’s metaphysical need’ is a fundamental and static feature of the human condition, or whether it is acquired and, therefore, in principle eradicable via a new naturalistic and ‘historical’ philosophy. The final section of the chapter situates Nietzsche’s views on science, suffering, and progress in the context of the ‘social question’, arguing that the Nietzsche of the late 1870s is closer to the likes of Marx and Dühring in taking suffering to be capable of being significantly reduced, thus ejecting the need for art and religion to endow it with meaning.

This chapter introduces the problem of pessimism, its intellectual and social origins, and where Nietzsche fits into the ‘pessimism dispute’ of 1860–1900. It argues that the current secondary literature on Nietzsche has tended to overlook the historical context in which he was writing, often treating his thoughts on pessimism in isolation from the texts beyond those of Schopenhauer that he was reading on the matter. The chapter ends by laying out the structure of the forthcoming chapters.

Chapter 1 establishes a framework for understanding how the Romantic epic served as a vital literary form for addressing the tensions raised by the evangelical revival and the development of ideologies of Christian imperialism. Identifying epic poetry as an inherently conflicted genre that at once embodies reverence towards tradition and rebellion against it, the chapter investigates unique tensions in the Romantic epic that suspend it between an exterior focus influenced by the classics and an interior orientation inspired by Milton. Examining the conflicts within and between evangelism and the secular civilizing mission, the chapter argues that tensions within the epic genre make it useful for addressing similar anxieties exposed by the development of Christian imperialism.

The historiography on politicized ethnicities in Southeast Asia has for a long time gone hand in hand with the story of nationalism. Colonial rule was believed to have introduced the kinds of registers that stemmed from the Enlightenment into non-Western societies. Colonial ethnographers divided up populations by languages and culture, sometimes deciding that one or another embodied the genuine national identity. Benedict Anderson, working with indigenous literature and new research on the Southeast Asian geobody, introduced the notion that nationalism was a socially constructed political community. Like religious communities, it was an imagined community, in that any one member felt they were part of a larger, horizontal group whose full membership transcended their personal acquaintance.

Michael Howard maintains that most nation-states that came into existence before the mid-twentieth century were created by war or had their boundaries defined by wars or internal violence.1 The role of war, however, has been neglected in theories of nationalism, which tend to focus on the rise of nations and nation-states as a recent phenomenon generated by various forms of modernization. This comment does not apparently apply to the work of Charles Tilly and Michael Mann, who draw on the historiography of the European early modern “military revolution.”2 Military innovations, they argue, meant that success in warfare required an efficient process of fiscal extraction (taxes), which in turn was dependent on the development of a centralized state administration. Even in these accounts, however, nationalism and nations were relatively late derivatives of these modern processes, emerging in response to state centralizing pressures in the late eighteenth century.