What are the categories: fundamental entities or concepts? Suárez answers this question by rejecting strong realism as well as conceptualism. On his view, the distinction of ten categories marks a conceptual distinction that is grounded in reality, but without there being a one-to-one relation between concepts and entities. Rather, the distinction is grounded in different things (res) as well as modes (modi) and in combinations of these two building blocks of reality. The chapter examines this grounding relation by first analyzing Suárez’s account of things and modes and the way they are related to each other. It then focuses on the categories of substance and quality and explains in what sense the concepts of substance and quality are grounded in things and modes. Finally, it argues that Suárez subscribes to a distinctive form of reductionism that differs from the standard nominalist approach to the categories.

Realism is one of many International Relations theories that attempt to understand and explain the way the international system functions in anarchy without any overarching government. It emphasizes the importance of individual states as the primary actors and decision makers within this system and argues that the most defining characteristics of all states include self-interested behavior and an inherent instinct to survive at any cost. The three main subcategories within realism are classical realism, neorealism (in its offensive and defensive variants), hegemonic realism and power-transition theories, and neoclassical realism.

Suárez holds that a predicated universal is an ens rationis, something properly regarded as an extrinsic denomination grounded in the intrinsic individual formal unities of mind- and language-independent res; he is thus a nominalist rather than a realist, where nominalism, although this term is variously understood in his period of philosophizing, denies the existence of anything beyond individuals. This conclusion has, however, been disputed, not least because Suárez’s approach is careful and highly nuanced. The main chore of this chapter is twofold: first, to show that he is indeed a nominalist and then, second, to explicate and assess the character of his nominalism, which will also perforce involve us, albeit only briefly, in reflecting on his reservations about accepting the existence of anything which is not an individual, which is to say, then, his motivations for rejecting realism about universals.

This chapter explores Leoš Janáček’s innovative and individualistic approach to opera, with a particular focus on his most frequently performed work, Jenůfa. Composed between 1894 and 1903, Jenůfa reflects Janáček’s interest in the concept of realism, influencing his choice of subject matter, the use of a prose text, and a compositional style rooted in spoken language. The chapter also discusses Janáček’s fascination with Gustave Charpentier’s 1900 opera Louise and its impact on Janáček’s musical language. Similar approaches can also be identified in Janáček’s other operas. The composer’s innovations encountered resistance within Czech musical circles, and it took more than a decade for them to receive even partial appreciation.

Nathan G. Jennings concludes the volume with a synthetic view on liturgical theology, the art of doing theology from and through the celebration of actual liturgies. He introduces the groundbreaking ideas of Alexander Schmemann on the matter and explains how the field has further developed, despite certain tensions with historical claims.

Why did the United States lose the war in Afghanistan? Only a repeated habit of decision-making explains consistent strategic miscalculation. Policymakers in every administration prioritized counterterrorism – a comparatively simple, easily defined, “realistic,” concrete mission. They subordinated broader, more ambiguous, harder-to-define, morally aspirational, long-term goals, such as counterinsurgency and nation building. Policymakers did so even though – as repeated strategy reviews showed – the Taliban and al-Qaida were linked; success in the war against either depended on success in both; and counterinsurgency and nation building were necessary, alongside counterterrorism operations, to achieve the larger goal of al-Qaida’s defeat. These policies became embedded in the US bureaucracy, ensuring the bureaucracy kept implementing bad strategy on autopilot even when policymakers and repeated strategy reviews highlighted the problem.

In his chapter, Luke Gibbons examines artists and writers who take up the subject of the “great scar” of the Civil War, and in their work he finds silence, misdirection, and the kind of temporal indeterminacies that are characteristic of so much revivalist cultural production. By examining literary and cinematic works by Louis D’Alton, Liam O’Flaherty, John Ford, and Dorothy McCardle, Gibbons argues that temporal discontinuity has a positive role to play by reactivating that which history has deactivated. Civil War literature invites the reader to go beyond the surface realism of the text in a way that provides an opening to the real, which in Lacanian terms is foreclosed and mapped over by imaginary constructs. Gibbons’s consideration of Irish literature and film strongly suggests an alternative to conventional realist accounts beholden to historical causality, a way of reading the temporal discontinuity in way that offers a fresh perspective on the trauma of the Civil War.

This chapter traces naturalism, a radical outgrowth of realism and one of the earliest movements in modernist theatre, beginning with its first articulations by Émile Zola and his French contemporaries through to manifestations, variations, and subversions of naturalist ideas across Europe, the United States, China, and India. Based in scientific epistemologies and a rejection of aesthetic idealism, naturalism introduced still potent innovations in dramatic form, scenography, audience experience, and the division of labour in theatre. Through confronting depictions of character and agency as fundamentally shaped by physiological, hereditary, and environmental forces, naturalism paved the way for later reformist theatre while seeding subsequent modernist movements that rebelled against its physicalist and materialist accounts of human experience.

Conclusion: The book ends by reflecting on the boundaries of ‘fact’ and ‘fiction’ in the context of maritime writing and the range of texts that render the different forms of lived experience associated with seafaring. It restates the book’s focus on the everyday global sea of the long nineteenth century that shaped the lives, labour practices, and imaginative worlds of working-class individuals and their families.

In Schoenberg’s Vienna the theatre, more so than music, was central to cultural discourse; unsurprisingly, opera and musical drama interested Schoenberg from early on, and he returned to dramatic genres repeatedly throughout his compositional career. In surveying the lively and varied theatrical life of Vienna around 1900 and after, this chapter examines shifting trends in modernist drama – including changing fashions in staging and set design – alongside the influence of significant authors, artists and innovators. It locates the Viennese stage as a site for cultural exchange with other major European centres, and ultimately argues that, if written from the perspective of the theatre, the history of Viennese musical modernism would look quite different from the story of post-tonal progress that has dominated our narratives of Schoenberg’s creative trajectory.

If literary form and railway infrastructure do not neatly align in nineteenth-century novels, then what is the significance of their close, inconsistent entanglement? Chapter 4 examines George Eliot’s 1876 novel Daniel Deronda, which takes full advantage of transport and communications infrastructure in its two mainline plots. Throughout Eliot associates markers of such systems – ‘dusty waiting rooms’, un-consulted Bradshaw’s railway guides, and telegrams relaying old news – with stasis and regression. Even where they advance the plot, they draw the narrative back in time. This chapter parallels communication infrastructure and novel form to interrogate how and why Eliot reconfigures established and well-traversed form in her final novel that pushes against the margins of literary realism. By offering an upset chronology and a refusal to drive plotlines to a conventional resolution, to what extent does Eliot reconceptualise systems rooted in timeliness and destination in Daniel Deronda?

Although María Irene Fornés is recognized by her peers as one of the great avant-garde innovators of her time, her absence from many critical and mainstream accounts of American playwriting suggests that her experimental techniques were not easily intelligible as part of a movement, even one fabled for the unintelligibility of its creative effects. As a corrective critical gesture, Roy Pérez looks to Art (a short and sparsely documented play from 1986) to understand the role of the avant-garde in Fornés’s larger body of work. Pérez argues that – even as the avant-garde earned a reputation for being fixated on unpragmatic political ideals, aesthetic difficulty for its own sake, or humorless alienation – Fornés wrote plays plays that danced their characters and viewers through spellbinding thought experiments, making lofty questions seem like everyday ruminations, that we might pursue with a sense of play, or at least with authentic feeling.

Chapter 4 addresses four types of issues. First, I delve into the ambiguous status of the idea of legitimacy in the discourse on politics. Legitimacy is both omnipresent and an object of suspicion. On the one hand, it is one of the terms most frequently used in conversations on politics. On the other hand, especially in the academic disciplines that deal with the study of politics, the notion of political legitimacy has its detractors. There is intellectual nervousness about embracing it and relying on it. Second, comparing natural sciences and social sciences, I explore some of the features of what a theory is (description, explanation and predictability) and what this means for the theory of social phenomena that factors in political legitimacy. Third, I examine two different approaches of politics: politics mainly as power, and politics mainly as community. Fourth, I highlight the centrality of legitimacy for a theory of politics as community.

This chapter considers Heidegger’s “two-handedness” on the issue of realism versus idealism: on the one hand, an apparent realism about entities, while on the other, an apparent idealism about being. Interpreters tend to resolve the tensions such two-handedness engenders by giving one side or the other the upper hand. Kantian approaches to Heidegger privilege idealism, other readings favor realism. The latter readings neglect Heidegger’s own rather mocking remarks directed at those who fear idealism as “the foul fiend incarnate” and favor instead what he calls a “blind realism.” Properly understood, such remarks point toward a position beyond both realism and idealism, a position akin to, but importantly different from, Quine’s naturalism. Quine’s imagery of “working from within” and “mutual containment” provide models for a more evenhanded approach to the issue of realism and idealism. Moreover, they help us to understand Heidegger’s principal aim of rejecting both positions.

The chapter starts by outlining the version of direct realism endorsed by Aristotle. I argue that he was committed to uncompromised realism about perceptible qualities and to the view that we immediately perceive the bearers of these qualities without any need of further synthetic acts. These features highlight the difficulty of capturing the explanantia of perception. Two notions key to that endeavour are those of mediation and discrimination. The chapter provides a novel analysis of mediation (for discrimination, see Chapter 6), arguing that, for Aristotle, media are – more or less perfect – qualitative conductors. Furthermore, the chapter addresses the existing debate about what, according to Aristotle, happens in the sense organs when we perceive. I argue that the dilemma governing this debate between spiritualism and materialism (either ‘literalist’ or ‘analogical’) is a false one. Tertium datur, and this alternative turns out to be precisely the view Aristotle embraced: perception consists of a thoroughly material process, but what this process results in must not be a standing material likeness (which would mark the end of perception because like cannot be affected by like), but a dynamic ‘phenomenal’ likeness – the presence of a quality of the perceived object which remains to be precisely a quality of that object.