This chapter explores the question of whether the epistemology of the secret of international law and the necessities it puts in place can be resisted. No definite answer to that question is sought here and only tentative reflections on the possibility of resisting the epistemology of the secret are provided in the following paragraphs. This chapter proceeds as follows. This chapter starts by elaborating on why it matters to spare no effort to resist the epistemology of the secret and rein in its consequences. The chapter then recalls that a mere termination or discontinuation of the epistemology of the secret, of its necessities, and of all the literary, hermeneutical, critical, economic, and ideological attitudes it entails is an impossibility. Resistance, it is subsequently argued, can only take the form of an act of obnubilation, a notion whose concrete implications for international legal thought and practice are subsequently spelled out.

Most biodiversity resources are under states’ jurisdictional control or are shared among states in a region. These biodiversity resources cannot, thus, be characterized as global common resources. The biodiversity loss that is witnessed worldwide has, however, put the protection of biodiversity on the international agenda with a new sense of urgency. The international management of national biodiversity involves attempts of the international community to globally enclose national commons. As many states do not have adequate resources to protect and manage their biodiversity resources, these resources often become open access resources and are degraded. National and transnational protected areas and international gene banks are methods that have been used to protect biodiversity resources. Other efforts include measures to curb or prohibit the trade in endangered species and the adoption of international treaties, such as the World Heritage Convention, the African Convention for the Conservation of Nature, and conventions on the protection of migratory species, seals, and whales. This chapter emphasizes that local and global efforts for the protection of biodiversity should not be used as means to suppress the rights of indigenous peoples and farmers or to forcibly relocate them without their consent.

There exist various risks and uncertainties in supply chains. This chapter begins with conceptual sources of risks and uncertainties such that operational risks, and epistemological and ontological uncertainties emerge from the tension between organizations’ knowledge and the truth about operational dynamics. Then, it looks at the information, operational, and capital flows in supply chains to identify practical sources of risks and uncertainties. It proposes a supply chain framework for manufacturing and service industries that link critical lead times to supply chain risks and uncertainties.

The relationship between One Health and human rights is both symbiotic and antagonistic. The objectives of One Health align with human rights to the extent that they advance specific rights, particularly the rights to life and health. One Health also promotes human dignity, the foundation of human rights, by improving environmental conditions and addressing threats to health that impact people’s lives. Yet the inherent anthropocentrism of human rights sits uneasily with One Health’s commitment to human, animal, and environmental health. The growing field of environmental human rights may offer some way forward for resolving this tension and advancing the legal framework for One Health, while also highlighting some of the potential pitfalls along the way. Early environmental human rights positioned the environment as a precondition for the enjoyment of human rights. More recently the right to a healthy environment has been recognised more widely, expanding the potential for human rights objectives to include protection of environmental health, and perhaps also animal health. This chapter will explore the lessons that human rights law might offer and the potential for the right to a healthy environment to temper the anthropocentrism of human rights in a way that better promotes the triple objectives of One Health.

The public who acted as unsolicited citizens during the time of the constitution making continued to expect and insist, moreover, that state authorities and politicians open avenues for their participation. The public ensured that in India, there was no idolized constitutional ’moment’, frozen in time. Instead, they turned the making of the constitution into an enduring momentum for India’s democracy and its democratic politics. The constitution became an open site of struggle, never solely within the purview of judges and legislatures. The multiple acts of assembling beyond the Constituent Assembly during the time of the constitution making took on a life of its own, creating organisations and social movements, which animated local politics and sustained a vibrant constitutional culture.

The Introduction examines the emergence and development of law and literature as an interdisciplinary field, while highlighting the ways in which eighteenth-century studies has contributed to and been shaped by the enterprise. Over the past twenty-five years, scholars have examined numerous connections between the era’s legal and literary discourses, emphasizing the formal complexities of both legal and literary texts. The chapters in this volume build upon and extend this body of work, taking up topics including the nature of legal and literary interpretation, the role of legal rhetoric in Britain’s industrial economy, the desire for and resistance to law during public health crises, the regulation of the legal profession, the emergence of the modern judicial decision, the place of law in Britain’s expanding empire, and the role of law in maintaining and rectifying gendered, racial, religious, and class-based inequalities. The Introduction presents an overview of these case studies, reflects on themes running through the volume, and offers suggestions for future work in the field.

I begin by highlighting three characteristics that ancient elites imagined that enslaved persons ought to have: usefulness, loyalty, and property. I start by noting how discourses of enslavement and utility are intertwined. The Shepherd’s concern for utility is most clearly expressed in its two visions of a tower under construction, in which enslaved believers are represented as stones who will be useful (or not) for the construction of the tower before the eschaton. Second, I turn to the concept of loyalty (pistis), suggesting that the Shepherd uses such language in a way that encourages God’s enslaved persons to exhibit loyalty to God at all costs. Finally, I point to how enslaved persons in antiquity were often characterized as commodified by placing the Shepherd alongside inscriptions about enslaved people from Delphi and documentary correspondence. Not only does the Shepherd portray its protagonist Hermas as lacking bodily autonomy while being exchanged between divine actors, but the text also calls on God’s enslaved persons to purchase other enslaved people who are imagined to be their physical property (e.g., as houses, fields) when they arrive in God’s city.

This chapter examines the relationship between English satire and libel law between roughly 1670 and 1730. It takes up the growth of verbal ambiguity and the use of irony, circumlocution, and allegory among satirists such as John Dryden, Alexander Pope, and Delarivier Manley, and demonstrates how the courts responded to verbal ambiguity by refining the supposedly “objective” interpretive standards to be used by jurors. Such standards created mechanisms for delimiting verbal ambiguity and restricting the interpretive latitude of jurors while permitting the crown to skirt technical linguistic issues. These revisions to the law were part of a more general refinement of libel laws, which furnished the government with its primary means of regulating the press during this period. The interaction between libel law and satire had consequences for both legal procedure and literature – consequences that extended well beyond the eighteenth century and that continue to shape legal and literary practice today.

Using press advisors – and, in Continental Europe, press bureaus – politicians employed repressive and proactive methods for influencing the press. The older, repressive method consisted of censorship, but politicians gradually shifted towards proactively shaping rather than preventing publicity. They wrote and edited newspaper articles themselves and ‘inspired’ content in different newspapers. In Britain, politicians relied on the papers of their political party; in Germany, the chancellor and emperor had to rely on (semi-)official newspapers. Despite Britain’s free press rhetoric, papers like the Times closely interacted with government as well. Newspaper ownership was already more concentrated in the colonies, enabling a politician to gain widespread control there – as did Rhodes in South Africa. Press agencies formed nodes in international communication, subjecting them to politicians’ interference. Politicians’ contacts with the press were smoothed through secret payments, though such secrecy was often exposed, making it counterproductive. Traditional methods of influencing the press lost effectiveness. Censorship became counterproductive, with court cases generating only more publicity for censored content. Commercialization made newspapers financially independent and less susceptible to politicians’ payments. The mass readership was less interested in newspapers that expressed political opinions, or even described politics to begin with. While politicians still managed the press, they thus needed new strategies for attaining favourable coverage.