The federal courts ultimately came to the nation’s rescue. In 1794, the Supreme Court abruptly reversed course and decided that federal judges could adjudicate cases arising from captures made by French privateers operating from the United States. British officials were initially skeptical about vindicating their sovereign’s rights through the courts, but they came to embrace litigation as a useful weapon in their global struggle with revolutionary France. French diplomats resented judicial interference with privateering, and they demanded that executive branch officers intervene in proceedings to defend France’s prerogatives under treaty and international law. But the Washington administration refused. The courts, in Thomas Jefferson’s words, were “liable neither to controul nor opposition from any other branch of the Government.” Judges continued to have doubts about their role in resolving international legal disputes, but they came to accept responsibility for establishing American sovereignty. This tale of judicial ascendancy might seem at odds with our usual understanding of the courts as the “least dangerous branch” of the early federal government, but the truth is that American policymakers deliberately sought to make the courts supreme, at least at sea.

In 1793, war between France and Great Britain plunged the United States – and the federal courts – into crisis. As the French Revolution reverberated around the Atlantic, the impetuous French foreign minister, Edmond-Charles Genet, launched privateering attacks against British commerce from the United States. The Washington administration tried to prevent Americans from dragging the nation into war, but partisan rivalry and a lack of federal law enforcement power stymied its efforts. Desperate to demonstrate the nation’s sovereign bona fides in the face of British complaints, the administration turned to the courts for help. It asked federal judges to resolve difficult and highly consequential legal disputes that the political branches were unable or unwilling to address. But the judges were not the acquiescent handmaidens in foreign affairs that modern commentators imagine. They balked at violating longstanding principles of international law, and they were wary of compromising the judiciary’s own institutional integrity by intervening in the affairs of state. In the midst of an international conflict of unprecedented scope, the founders’ confidence that the federal courts would ensure the nation’s peace and security seemed to have been mistaken.

This chapter refutes three interrelated feminist objections to Heidegger’s thought. Section 6.1 argues that the analytic of Dasein should not be seen as the elaboration of an implicitly masculine exemplar, but rather that it is the articulation of a structural essence, which can and has been productively employed by feminist philosophers. Section 6.2 suggests that far from erasing the issue of gender at an ontological level, Heidegger’s understanding of Dasein’s neutrality speaks to an anti-essentialist critique of binary gender. Finally, Section 6.3 offers an interpretation of authenticity as a form of genuine self-understanding – similar to Sandra Lee Bartky’s notion of developing a ‘feminist consciousness’ – which can work to critique and transform role-based relations and ‘inauthentic’ understandings prescribed by das Man. The aim of this chapter is thus to demonstrate that far from being inimical to feminist theorizing, Being and Time can be a fruitful resource for furthering feminist projects.

Chapter 2 considers how Italian emigrants navigated the arrival of war during the period of Italian neutrality from August 1914 to May 1915. The immediate effects of the war in 1914 were felt most amongst those in Germany, Austria-Hungary, Belgium and France, many of whom suddenly lost their jobs. Not content to remain unemployed and risk living in a war zone, a mass exodus to Italy began. By October 1914, half a million Italian emigrants had returned to Italy from across Europe. They faced grave difficulties upon arrival, primarily in finding employment, leading to instances of serious public unrest. The chapter also considers the experiences of the 3,000 garibaldini, Italian volunteers in the French Army, half of whom were Italian emigrants already living in France and half of whom were volunteers from Italy and elsewhere, including six of Giuseppe Garibaldi’s grandsons. Finally, the chapter analyses the immediate response of Italian emigrant communities to Italy’s declaration of war against Austria-Hungary on 23 May 1915 and entry into the war alongside Britain, France and Russia.

The treatment of the law of war and neutrality during the interwar era was dominated by two trends. Scepticism was voiced at the relevance and utility of these fields in light of poor compliance during the First World War and the emergence of jus contra bellum. This did not prevent others from engaging with the most pressing issues, including the challenges posed by technological developments (submarines, asphyxiating gases and military aviation); the protection of civilian populations, especially against the risks of aerial bombardment; and the need to expand the application of the law of war in cases of insurrection and civil war. Later events show that the international community did not address these challenges satisfactorily. Initiatives failed due to ‘technological determinism’ and concern for national interest. However, several developments clearly foreshadowed the transition from a law of coexistence to one of co-operation that would come to fruition with the Geneva Conventions of 1949. Indeed, many of the fundamental tenets of modern international humanitarian law emerged, as the law of war began to afford more importance to the rights of the individual.

The chapter examines the development and changing nature of the laws and customs of war in Old Regime Europe. It focuses on land warfare, scrutinising the received idea that the waging of war in this age was characterised by a growing moderation and by the improvement of troops’ conduct and discipline. The chapter surveys the major principles and doctrines of the jus in bello and the use thereof made by European players. In doing so, it draws on state and military practice as well as scholarly – legal and military – literature. Subjects which are covered include the theoretical conceptualisation of the laws of war, status in war and neutrality – limited to its terrestrials aspects – the emergence of new legal constraints regarding the treatment of prisoners of war and civilians, siege warfare and use of weapons, the treatment of enemy possessions and occupation.

Between the mid-fifteenth and mid-seventeenth centuries, norms on maritime warfare by both private and public actors developed through the intensification of maritime trade networks, European colonial and commercial expansion in other continents, the growing ascendancy of the sovereign state, and the emergence of a distinctive legal scholarship on topics of the law of nations. Although even among European political actors, there was still no general consensus on precise and binding norms governing maritime warfare, the building stones of a normative framework were gradually established which would be integrated from the later seventeenth century onwards into a more consistent body of international law. Prize courts played a crucial role in promoting the principles of such a legal framework, as did state practice on key issues such as blockade, contraband and neutrality.

This chapter offers a discussion on the laws of war, or jus in bello, as the previous one. However, it provides an exclusive focus on maritime warfare. Old Regime Europe was marked by the expansion of permanent state battlefleets and the strengthening of naval administrations. At the same time, a complementarity between public and private forms of maritime warfare, notably privateering, persisted as one of the defining aspects of naval warfare. The chapter deals with the specificity of waging war at sea and related legal issues. It draws both from state-military practice and from the specialised legal literature that started to appear at the time. Subjects which are covered include the main rules of naval warfare, privateering, the treatment of prisoners of war, the bombardment of coastal cities, prize law and the role of admiralty courts. Particular attention is devoted to the issue of maritime neutrality. Indeed, the recurrent tension between the respective rights and duties of neutrals and belligerents assumed great relevance in this period, being often dealt with in international treaties and legal scholars’ treatises.

Impartiality as a property of government is central to many of the major constitutional concerns of liberal democracy. This essay tersely considers the nature and implications of impartiality in three main areas: the rule of law; the distinction between the right and the good; and freedom of speech. Because of constraints of space, each of the discussions in this paper is no more than a sketch of the complex matters that are at issue in debates over impartiality.

Parallel to Chapter 2, this section reconstructs the socio-economic history of the art market after the First World War. The immediate postwar year, marked by political and economic instability, posed unique challenges for the losers of the war. Germany, in particular, faced hyperinflation, a phenomenon that contributed to accelerate changes initiated by the war. In contrast, the stagnation of the French art market was aggravated after 1918 due to nationalisation, bureaucratisation, and new distribution patterns that only cemented its isolation. Meanwhile, the British market remained relatively stable and less reliant on foreign buyers. The rise of neutral parties’ purchasing power, notably in Switzerland, Sweden, and the Netherlands, highlighted the new dynamics of a fragmented market. Overall, the war altered the trade dynamics of the European art market, with uncontrollable expansion in Germany, French decline, and British stability reflecting its economic impact.

The sources mention many Athenians who settled abroad during the troubles to quietly go about their business, or remained in the city, secluded in their oikos, without joining either camp. To take an interest in these ‘nonaligned’ individuals is to give their place in history back to the many protagonists who resisted the all-encompassing logic of the stasis and the contradictory injunctions that it gave rise to: Choose your side, comrade! But not everything is political in the same way and with the same intensity, either today or in the past: Even in the midst of turmoil, politics does not invest all spheres of existence and all the different layers of society in equal measure. Indeed, orators readily stigmatized the Athenians expelled by the Thirty who, instead of rallying to the democrats in Piraeus, had preferred the comfort of exile; symmetrically, many Athenians who remained in the city tried to demonstrate that they had not participated in any way in the exactions of the oligarchy. Socrates represents in this respect a case that is both common and exceptional: common, in that he was far from being the only one not to take sides during the civil war; exceptional, in that he declared this neutrality loud and clear, even if it meant arousing suspicion on both sides. A final question remains: Did all these ‘neutral individuals’ form a chorus in their own right? What links can be established between people who have remained outside the field of political confrontation – strangers to the ‘bond of division,’ to paraphrase Nicole Loraux? To put it another way: Is it possible to ‘make community’ out of abstention, even if it is an active choice?

European diplomacy changed significantly during the Ancien Régime. Sovereign powers made increasing use of different categories of ambassadors while grappling with religious division, international conflict, and emerging globalization. Papal diplomacy was itself hardly new, although it too evolved in these challenging circumstances. In various respects, the structures of papal diplomacy mirrored those of Europe’s dynastic states. Popes were nevertheless supposed to abide by certain ideological values as paternal figureheads, maintaining peace amongst warring Catholic powers while extending authority beyond Europe. This was problematic, as the papacy sought to square its own political interests with its moral duties. Given early modern Europe’s changing political landscape it is also unsurprising that the papacy’s supranational power was under increasing pressure. That was evident by the mid-eighteenth century, and the upheavals of the Revolutionary and Napoleonic period, although today it retains its traditional identity as a neutral diplomatic actor.

The Markets in Crypto-Assets (MiCA) Regulation has become a pressing matter amid various financial scandals related to cryptoassets. With several EU Member States in the process of adopting their own cryptoasset legislation, MiCA provides a harmonised approach for the European Single Market. Following a principle of “technology neutrality”, MiCA applies only to cryptoassets that are not covered by other EU financial law, except for e-money tokens (EMTs) to which both MiCA and the E-money Directive (EMD) apply. Hence, MiCA is a piece of “gap-filling” legislation that relies heavily on concepts from conventional EU financial law: cryptoassets similar to MiFID financial instruments and other “investment assets” are subjected to rules similar to those of MiFID and the Prospectus Regulation (PR), while cryptoassets similar to “banking assets” are subjected to rules similar to the Capital Requirements Directive (CRD) and EMD. In sum, this creates a legal framework where the risks inherent in the different types of cryptoassets are accounted for and mitigated, but where the difficult question of classifying cryptoassets into legal categories becomes all-important.

This chapter elaborates on the relationship between space and coexistence, and ways in which hegemony is reproduced in public space. Constitutionalism plays an ambivalent role in the reproduction of this hegemony, not least through the reproduction of a thick sense of publicness. This thick sense of publicness can be asserted against a range of “others”, such as religious, ethnic, and sexual minorities, whose identities may be subject to privatisation and retreat from public spaces. At the same time, constitutionalism offered a tangible alternative for the old order of toleration, recognising that religious divisions would be permanent, and that legal and social frameworks of accountability might support peace and order. Given that religious intolerance and the foundation of political order were entwined in early modernity, the establishment of the freedom of religion and the more general protection of religious minorities were vital to the project of the modern state.

Chapter 1 introduces the figure of the foreign fighter in the interwar period by focusing on the Spanish Civil War. It shows how the image of the nineteenth-century adventurer haunts the imaginary of the actors preoccupied with finding a legal status for the volunteers in Spain. This image is nonetheless constantly split in two: idealists and freebooters; heroes and opportunists; barbaric troops and brave highlanders. The chapter moves from the League to the Anglo-American doctrine, to domestic discussions and ends at The Hague in 1907. It is there that rules on foreign volunteers are codified in an international convention for the first time. The chapter further links the Brussels Conference of 1874 to those of Geneva in 1949 and offers a lens through which to understand how the shifting image of the adventurer reaches the decolonization period.

This chapter addresses symmetry’s implications for expressive freedom and religious liberty. Symmetry supports maintaining First Amendment law’s current focus on neutrality, notwithstanding emerging critiques that this approach lacks a strong historical foundation and unduly limits governmental regulation of offensive or dangerous ideas. At the same time, symmetric interpretation counsels against expanding the emerging “First Amendment Lochnerism” that threatens to extend constitutional protections for free expression into areas of economic and workplace regulation. A preference for symmetry also supports protecting religious groups, when possible, through more general protections for freedom of expressive association rather than through religion-specific constitutional doctrines. Although religious liberty may once have been a symmetric principle, today religion-specific protections risk placing constitutional law on one side of a fraught political divide over religion’s place in public life.