Using previously uncited archival evidence from the US, the UK, and Czechia, we highlight Bohuslav Ečer’s significant impact on the Charter of the International Military Tribunal held at Nuremberg from 1945 to 1946. A politically motivated jurist from Czechoslovakia, Ečer proved a key innovator in international criminal law, pushing for bold new precedents at Nuremberg. We highlight multiple legal arguments that Ečer innovated and championed. These include the prosecution of individuals for the crime of aggression, the forfeiting of sovereign immunity during wartime, a broader definition of war crimes that included “crimes against humanity,” and the collective responsibility of certain “criminal” Nazi organizations as a means of streamlining individual-level prosecutions. We trace Ečer’s political thought and activism, including how his arguments joined with those of other prominent legal thinkers outside the US, including Hersch Lauterpacht and Aron Trainin. The article thus adds an important, yet often overlooked, voice to Nuremberg’s intellectual history and helps remedy the Anglo-American bias of dominant histories of international criminal law.

Attending to our responsibility to the dead in our present historical moment of danger, this lecture stages three distinct reading experiments in “living together with the dead” with special attention to Palestine and Algeria. The first scene contemplates the times of war and death that constitute what Jalal Toufic refers to as “the withdrawal of tradition past a surpassing disaster.” The second scene explores artistic resurrection in literature by examining antiphonic burial during colonial war while juxtaposing philosophical conceptions of the relationship between death, burial, and history writing. I thus elaborate a concept of death as non-secular and theological, and of history writing as a form of anamnesis that inhabits the isthmus between the Terrestrial realm and the realm of the Unseen. The final scene is a meditation on poetry under conditions of colonial and postcolonial catastrophe. Throughout, theology and poetry serve as provocations to the discipline of history.

The historiography of liberalism has taken a theological turn. Many scholars now trace the origins of liberal thought to Christian orthodoxy, with its emphasis on the radical equality of humanity under the absolute sovereignty of God. Others trace it to the heresy of Pelagianism, with its emphasis on the radical freedom of humans to choose between good and evil under the rationalistic judgment of God. Focusing on a classic expression of early-modern liberalism, Benjamin Franklin’s Autobiography, this article questions the theological turn: Franklin’s thought, I argue, rejects both Augustinianism and Pelagianism, along with their underlying metaphysical presuppositions concerning human liberty.

This article examines Adam Smith’s concept of the federative: the double-facing constitutional power to conduct international relations today called the treaty or foreign-affairs power. We reconstruct Smith’s account of the federative from his major and minor works and demonstrate its importance in his account of law and empire. We first examine Smith’s early “internal federative,” where the power grows from the internal constitutional organization of the state. What starts as a democratic right to wage war and make peace becomes concentrated over time in the sovereign and its advisers as a “senatoriall” power. We then turn to the “external federative” in Smith’s later works, where the federative is redesigned as a power to unify colonial legislative bodies, connecting the familial sentiments of Britain and America, and forming a model for moving, slowly, towards the conditions Smith deemed necessary for international justice.

Beginning in the late 1990s, a debate emerged whether Edmund Burke might be read as a significant critic of empire because of his impeachment of Warren Hastings. The debate that ensued, I argue in this article, revealed ambiguities and paradoxes in the category of anti-imperialism. Rather than imperialism and anti-imperialism representing a clean binary, anti-imperial projects, events, and figures may embody the very sorts of politics that many disciplinary debates about anti-imperialism wish to critique. Foregrounding “anti-imperialism” in the history of political thought, I conclude, may obfuscate as much as it illuminates—even when examining the twentieth-century experience of decolonization.

The recent resurgence of exclusionary nationalism across the advanced capitalist world has caused historical scholarship on neoliberalism to reorient itself. Previous accounts of neoliberalism proved inadequate to theorize the hegemonic crisis that neoliberalism has been thrust into, prematurely rushing to declare neoliberalism dead. The task is to offer an interpretation of resurgent nationalism that can account for points of tension with hegemonic neoliberalism without underestimating the ways it lives on in the present. This essay critically reviews three books that offer distinct interpretations of neoliberalism’s enduring hegemonic crisis. If Melinda Cooper and Tehila Sasson’s respective works provide new critical perspectives on the history and present of neoliberal ideas, Jennifer Burns’s study offers an insider’s perspective on the pressures that neoliberalism is under from the nationalist right.

This article revisits the scholarly consensus that historical discourse in nineteenth-century Spanish America was primarily focused on nation building and state formation. Without denying the interest of post-colonial intellectuals in the histories of their home countries, it argues that the most urgent matters of concern for Spanish Americans who wrote about history, at least from the 1830s to the 1860s, were how to dismantle the legacies of colonialism at a transnational level and how to position Spanish America as a pivotal agent of change in world history. Focusing on the writings of a series of intellectuals from today’s Argentina, Chile, Colombia, Peru, and Venezuela, the article analyzes the emergence of the lexicon of decolonization, Spanish American challenges to Eurocentric approaches to “universal history,” and the proposal of narratives on global historical development alternative to the ones promoted from Western Europe and the United States during the Age of Revolutions.

Civil religion has been imagined as a bloodless rationalism or a baptized patriotism, but rarely as a fully fledged religion. This article argues that a strain of civil religion emerged out of deism in the 1770s and 1780s that aspired to be an authentic religion complete with public prayer. This “practical civil religion” looked to spirituality and social ritual as a means of taming the passions and achieving national regeneration. One of the first to imagine such a religion was the journalist and novelist Louis-Sébastien Mercier. The dissenting minister David Williams went beyond Mercier’s dream, in 1776 opening the world’s first deist chapel at Margaret Street in London. Maximilien Robespierre’s short-lived cult of the Supreme Being in revolutionary France represented the apogee of the tradition of practical civil religion. Robespierre proposed the cult as a means of effecting national regeneration and completing the Revolution.

For a major liberal theorist of totalitarianism’s rise and early advocate for European unification, it is surprising how little Spanish philosopher José Ortega y Gasset’s views on the Second World War have factored into studies of his political thought. In this article, I show that Ortega described the conflict as a “catastrophe” that motivated European unification. Rather than an ex post facto interpretation, this was for him the fulfillment of a prophecy. As early as 1930, Ortega had predicted an impending catastrophe that would represent both a consequence of and a corrective for interwar democracy. European unification, then, was only possible to pursue after such an event. Noting that Ortega’s casting of European unification as a response to the Second World War reflects common contemporary assumptions, I also argue that he exhibits how this logic can be enlisted in the service of constraining democracy.

Alfred Marshall used an evolutionary theory of race to ground individual psychology and explain economic behavior. The psychological theory, drawn from Herbert Spencer, explained British and US industrial leadership by the innate excellences of Anglo-Saxon workers and entrepreneurs, without invoking colonialism or other uses of state power. It also asserted the internal solidarity of Anglo-Saxons. Because they were inclined to help each other, argued Marshall, Anglo-Saxons could handle laissez-faire. The paper situates Marshall in conversation with Anglican liberals like F. D. Maurice, and argues that a shared racial consciousness worked as a common ground among Coleridgean Romantics and radicals like Mill and Spencer who needed a category of the nation that did not rely on the state.

Murray Bookchin (1921–2006) is best known today for pioneering a novel synthesis between social anarchism and ecology in the 1960s. Both his writing and his activism had a substantial impact on the young New Left and the radical ecology movement, and were in polemic dialogue with radical environmentalists, anarcho-primitivists, and deep ecologists. This article explores the development of Bookchin’s early political thought within the framework of a “postwar environmental moment” and uncovers how he uniquely politicized ecological science in the 1950s. I argue that Bookchin’s early writings were a critical response to both the dire environmental issues of his time and the limitations he perceived in Old Left politics. Furthermore, I demonstrate that Bookchin’s understanding of ecological science was not simply a product of a turn to anarchism, but was directly linked to debates among 1950s ecologists, typically overlooked in the recent scholarship on Bookchin.

This article examines the role of legal argument in late eighteenth-century antislavery thought by subjecting Granville Sharp’s legal writing to detailed scrutiny. Much scholarship on law and antislavery in the British context justifiably focuses on the meaning of Lord Mansfield’s 1772 ruling in Somerset’s Case. Adopting a different approach, this article reads Sharp’s antislavery jurisprudence expansively, as an effort to fashion legal and political ideals. In so doing, it shows that Sharp’s legal writing was part of a broader project aimed at associating antislavery with a particular conception of national identity. Examining Sharp’s wide-ranging analysis of statute and common law, the article further argues that Sharp developed a form of natural-rights constitutionalism, melding the radical cause of abolition with the notion of tradition. Finally, the article explains how Sharp’s jurisprudence promoted an ideologically important vision of abolitionism as a distinctively modern form of progress. In short, the article argues that Sharp’s legal writing should be read not only in relation to Somerset but also as a means of understanding the character of antislavery thought and its relation to wider currents in eighteenth-century radicalism.

This article examines the influence of Spinozism on Leszek Kołakowski’s humanist Marxism between 1953 and 1968. After historically exploring Kołakowski’s early Stalinism and his later belief that Hegel’s historical theodicy, in eradicating the contradiction between totality and particularity, abolished individual moral responsibility, it examines Kołakowski’s interpretation of Spinoza’s alternatively ahistorical and ambiguous relationship between substance and its modes, which Kołakowski admired despite finding it metaphysically contradictory. It shows that this interpretation contributed to Kołakowski’s Marxism, which focused on the moral freedom of the individual by accepting the permanence of contradiction between subjectivity and totality. His interest in Spinoza also changed Kołakowski’s understanding of modernity, which he increasingly identified with the seventeenth century, especially those forms of thinking that contradictorily blended elements of religious and rationalist thought. While Kołakowski abandoned Marxism, this interest in the relationship between religion and secularism defined much of his thought after 1968.

Among many conundrums in Isaiah Berlin's thought are the apparent tension between a strongly “personalist” approach to ideas and appreciation for Romanticism, and his warnings against the identification of freedom with human perfection and of politics with aesthetic projects, and aversion to any form of excessive “zeal,” as potentially oppressive, callous, and cruel. Berlin the moderate, skeptical liberal coexisted with Berlin the enthusiast and hero-worshipper. This article argues that, over the course of his writing career—both in early, largely unknown writings on contemporary musicians, and in better-known work on the history of ideas and “personal impressions” of contemporaries—Berlin brought these disparate elements of his outlook together through an aesthetizing of heroism, and a close identification of the aesthetic with the ethical. It concludes by suggesting that Berlin's way of understanding heroism may have something to tell us about how commitment to liberalism and appreciation for heroism may coexist and intertwine in ways that contribute to a greater appreciation, and more compelling defense, of liberalism.

As the paragon of Chicago school macroeconomics in the late twentieth century, Robert Lucas is closely associated with the collapse of Keynesian hegemony in the 1970s and with neoliberalism more generally. This article explores Lucas’s changing political commitments using previously unexploited archival evidence. It shows that although he often articulated his views in the form of anti-Keynesian polemic, he had a deeply ambiguous relationship with the Keynesian project. Lucas upends interpretations of neoliberalism that emphasize ignorance in the face of the market, as his research program is premised on the hope that states and scholars can make the economy visible, and hence controllable, through stable policy rules. He was impressed by Keynesian successes and the technocratic worldview they made intelligible, but he remained suspicious of economists’ close collaborations with government.

This article clarifies the relationship between Isaiah Berlin’s liberalism, pluralism, humanism, and “aestheticism” by analyzing his unique approach to, and stories about, the history of ideas. I argue that Berlin should be understood as a reformer of liberalism, who understood his intervention in intellectual-historical terms. Reacting against what he saw as threats to human liberty and dignity rooted in the monist rational–scientific aspirations and expectations of Enlightenment-influenced political ideologies, Berlin responded by reinterpreting liberalism’s commitment to negative liberty through an aesthetic conception of the human being and a pluralist way of thinking about politics. In addition to reconstructing how Berlin’s writings on the history of ideas enact this liberal reformation, and clarifying the ways in which his resulting liberalism is and is not aesthetic, I also evaluate the potential implications of Berlin’s work for thinking about liberal politics in the present.

This article traces the emergence of a new type of economist in interwar France—the conjuncturist—through a study focusing on Alfred Sauvy and Robert Marjolin. We argue that these neglected figures helped to shape a new, autonomous, field of expertise that consisted of diagnosing and forecasting the economic situation to guide public decision making. As we show, the history of the conjuncturists is closely linked to that of the Popular Front in general, and to its emblematic law on the forty-hour week in particular. By becoming the most vocal opponents of this law, the conjuncturists fomented an open mutiny against the very government that had given them their first prominent position, in order to obtain the repeal of the forty-hour week, which Sauvy achieved in November 1938. Although the Popular Front was by then a thing of the past, and a future war with Germany had become the most likely outcome, the figure of the conjuncturist had succeeded in firmly occupying the institutional landscape of 1940s France—a form of economic expertise that was henceforth inseparable from political activity itself.