Why and how economists have historically studied families is not well understood, neither by those in the discipline, nor by scholars studying families in neighbouring fields like sociology, anthropology, and philosophy. This lack derives from a mistaken view that family economics began in the 1960s when price theory was applied to family behaviour. It is also due to the narrowing of economics from the 1940s in the US, when social reform and advocacy work shifted to the discipline’s periphery. Affirming a contemporary need for gender-inclusive language, while using terms that access historical understandings, the book’s first goal is to show that economists developed methodologies for studying families as a function of how they conceptualised family poverty in different periods. Four historical phases are identified, with economists studying nineteenth-century deficits in family labour productivity in Britain and Europe, inadequacies in low-income family consumption in interwar America, underinvestment in human capital by a post-war ‘underclass’, and gendered injustices in resource distribution experienced by lone mothers, by women and girls in poor global South families, and by queer families. The book’s second goal is to show how family economists prioritised some social problems over others, allowing certain injustices to remain uncontested.

Little attention has been paid to competitive dynamics from a political perspective, despite numerous instances of political competition across cultures and systems. In liberal democratic societies, political competition is legalized, allowing citizens to elect leaders who represent their ideas. Conversely, in totalitarian societies, citizens lack voting rights, and political authority is not challenged through democratic means. However, political competitions still occur among ruling elites, often through purges to seize power. This chapter explores political competition, particularly in totalitarian regimes, where purges eliminate rivals among ruling elites. The collapse of such regimes has marked an evolution toward freedom and equal opportunities for all individuals, regardless of background, which aligns with Darwin’s theory of evolution. Highlighting the lack of research on political competitions from an evolutionary psychology perspective, this chapter underscores the need for future research on human emotions and competitive behaviors in the political arena.

The September 11, 1973 coup that overthrew Salvador Allende’s Unidad Popular government signaled the end of a radical political experiment, a “democratic road to socialism.” In its 1,000 days in power, Allende’s coalition state instituted a series of substantial political and economic changes, including the socialization of industries, agrarian reform, and the redistribution of wealth and authority. Unidad Popular faced fierce challenges from an increasingly mobilized opposition, who mounted campaigns in congress and in public space that fomented a climate of crisis in which the military might intervene. It also faced pressures from its own supporters, who occupied factories, lands, and city spaces in an effort to convince the state to radicalize the pace of change. Ruthless military intervention sought to “turn back” the political gains of the twentieth century that had reached their apex under Allende, and the military regime headed by Augusto Pinochet turned again and again to state-sponsored terror to entrench a “foundational project” that couple political authoritarianism with a neoliberal economy.

The radical, working-class political movements of the nineteenth century found Percy Shelley’s work quite useful. His poetry was quoted, reprinted, and set to song by Chartists in the 1840s and 1850s and by socialists near the century’s close. These activists selected a particular version of Shelley. They memorised, shared, and reprinted the poems – like Queen Mab, ‘The Mask of Anarchy’, and ‘Song: To the Men of England’ – that were, on the one hand, most available and affordable, and, on the other hand, most conducive to collective political action. Chartist editors, political orators, and socialist songwriters all strategically excerpted these poems, avoiding Shelley’s profound reservations about revolutionary action and transforming his work to serve their own political purposes. Across the nineteenth century, working-class activists collaboratively constructed a Shelley of their own.

Percy Shelley was a poet of fiery politics who recognised the power of language to surprise and even shock. Across three centuries and around the globe, politicians and activists have turned to Shelley’s poetry for help furthering their political causes. With specific attention to poems like ‘The Mask of Anarchy’, ‘Song to the Men of England’, ‘England in 1819’, and ‘Ode to the West Wind’, as well as to critical prose pieces like ‘A Philosophical View of Reform’ and ‘A Defence of Poetry’, this chapter situates Shelley’s views on revolution and reform in their historical context and takes some tentative steps towards exploring why Shelley’s poems have so frequently been put to political purpose.

This chapter begins by distinguishing some European and American framing of Shelley as a politically salient poet, made evident in commentary at the bicentenary of his death. It continues by accepting the negative judgements in Leavis’s notorious critique of ‘Ode to the West Wind’, reversed as positive features of Shelley’s poetry. Identified as prosodic velocity and metaphorical dynamism, these features are deemed to characterise ‘lyric trouble’. They are key to Shelley’s acknowledged influence in poems by Francis Thompson and Tom Raworth, while specific Shelleyan intertexts are identified in poems by Edward Dorn and Keston Sutherland.

This book is a study of non-alignment as it was conceptualised and developed in the context of modern India, particularly in the period immediately after independence. The main architect of India’s external affairs at this juncture was the first Prime Minister and Foreign Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru. The book is restricted to events that took place during the time he held office, between the years 1947 and 1964. In particular, this study aims to study non-alignment as an approach to security and as an approach to politics. There are three themes along which the book proceeds. First, the book contends that non-alignment is understood vaguely and inaccurately, leading to protracted debates about its past relevance and continued significance; secondly, that non-alignment frames politics innovatively; and thirdly, that this is an immensely precarious wager that encounters many points of resistance, which are not adequately engaged with in a sustained theoretical manner in literature on non-alignment. Thus, the book will argue that there has yet to emerge a serious critique of the political nature of non-alignment.

This chapter addresses the social barriers to implementing the technical solutions to climate change - enabling the reader to recongnise that the threats we face cannot be solved in a social vacuum. It challenges the narrative of the traditional growth economy and widening levels of inequality. It looks at the mechanisms of the legal system, the role of education and technology, and also highlights the three key areas of politics, media and business which will be explored in further detail in later chapters.

This chapter looks at the history of dishonesty in politics and why we must now do better. It gives the reader five criteria by which to assess a politician’s honesty, along with suggestions of what MPs can expect from us in return. Mike then explores the motives for voting and what democratic and parliamentary reforms would better serve humanity in the future, including an assessment of Citizens’ Juries.

Not a day goes by without a new story on the perils of technology. We hear of increasingly clever machines that surpass human capability and comprehension, of tech billionaires imploring each other to stop the ‘out-of-control race’ to produce the most powerful artificial intelligence which poses ‘profound risks to society’, we hear of genetic technologies capable of altering the human genome in ways we cannot predict and a future two-tier humanity consisting of those of us who are genetically enhanced and those who are not. How can we respond to these stories? What should we do politically? By way of exploring these questions (using the UK as the primary example of context), I want to move beyond the usual arguments and legal devices that serve to identify tech developers, and users, as being at fault for individual acts of wrongdoing, recklessness, incompetence or negligence, and ask instead how we might address the broader structural dynamics intertwined with the increasing use of AI and Repro-tech. My argument will be that to take a much sharper structural perspective on these transformative technologies is a vital requirement of contemporary politics.

The Athenian experience may help us to sharpen several decisive questions of our time: In what form do the mechanisms of inclusion and exclusion that run through a group build a true society that is more than the sum of its disparate networks? Conversely, by what processes does a society come to tear itself apart, or even disintegrate? How do heterogeneous social arenas and temporalities coexist within it? Under what conditions should the fervor of exceptional situations be maintained without sinking into totalitarian unity? All these questions unfold with clarity in one quite singular moment of the history of Athens: the civil war of 404/3 BC.

The College of Cardinals is a key constituent organ within the papacy, its members being charged with electing the pope and with advising him. Cardinals were originally priests and deacons who assisted the pope in his liturgical and charitable duties around the city of Rome during the first millennium and also the Bishops of Rome’s neighboring “suburbicarian” dioceses. These three orders of clerics cohered into a single College during the Gregorian reform of the eleventh and twelfth centuries: their status and role in papal affairs has waxed and waned in the centuries since. Today the College is more diverse and representative of global Catholicism than at any point in the past. However, it is also a larger and a less cohesive body, whose members are less familiar with each other – or with the pope – than their predecessors were.

Throughout this book, we have suggested that the notion of choruses offers a metaphor through which these diverse collectives can be understood. Granted, this metaphor is not a typical concept that historians ordinarily use to describe community life, such as the association or the network, which seem at first sight to offer a more stable descriptive framework. We nevertheless argue that the choral reference makes it possible to obtain fine-grained knowledge of the modulations of the Athenian city in 404/3, since it is anchored in Greek thought and social practices. Indeed, viewed through the lens of chorality, the Athenian community landscape appears in a new light, defined by plurality and contingency. Legal status is no longer a fixed barrier assigning place to individuals once and for all: Divergent temporalities constantly overlap and weave together the polyrhythmic fabric of the city. The question that guides the whole of our investigation is ultimately about the choral essence of the city. Is it possible to see the Athenian polis, and all the groups of which it is composed, as a choral song? Illustrating the scope of the Athenian social space does not consist only in describing its polyphony, but also in listening to the harmonics, be they consonant or dissonant, which cut across it.