The nineteenth-century Russian poet Fedor Tiutchev rightly marvelled at his motherland’s remarkable growth: ‘Moscow, and Peter’s town, and Constantine’s city, these are the Russian realm’s cherished capitals … But where is its limit? Where are its borders? The fates will reveal them in times to come …’ Over the past 400 years an obscure principality deep in the forests on Europe’s eastern edge had expanded to become the largest continental empire on Earth – a domain whose immense territory stretched from the Baltic Sea to the Pacific Ocean and beyond, covering one-sixth of the planet’s dry surface. Although somewhat diminished in size after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, Russians today still nickname their country ‘the seventh continent’.

Russia emerged as a European power in the early eighteenth century with a suddenness that alarmed its neighbors – and indeed some of its more distant potential supporters. Russia’s newfound prominence was in large part the outcome of a series of international conflicts often referred to as “the Northern Wars.” Conflict over the fate of the eastern Baltic littoral had entered a new phase near the middle of the sixteenth century with the decline of the Livonian Order and the growing territorial ambitions of nearby states. Aside from the crusading Order itself, which had formally disbanded by 1561, the nearby states of Denmark, Sweden, Muscovy, Poland-Lithuania, and Brandenburg persistently battled one another over the fate of the littoral, in varying configurations but with surprisingly few intermissions until 1721. The more important of these multilateral conflicts are conventionally identified as the Livonian War (1558–83), the mid-seventeenth-century conflicts among Sweden, the Commonwealth, Muscovy, Brandenburg, and Denmark that included the Thirteen-Years’ War (1654–67), and finally the “Great Northern War” (1720–21) which ended in Russian victory. While the earlier conflicts remained relatively confined, in diplomatic and military terms, to Northern and Eastern Europe, the outcome of the last Northern War not only established the Russian Empire as the dominant Baltic state; it also led to Russia’s broader recognition as a major force in the broader European diplomatic world.

In the Feyerabend lecture Kant already presents his claim that the principle of right is a principle of coercion, that is, that the state is authorized to use coercion to counteract an unauthorized violation of universal freedom. Such state use of force is a hinderance of a hinderance to freedom. But how is this coercive power specified in particular circumstances? I examine three extreme cases in which a state might be authorized to use its coercive power against its own citizens to cause their deaths: capital punishment, eminent right in emergencies, and war. This paper will show that Kant offered specific explanations of particular limits to legitimate state power, rejecting different limits offered by Beccaria (capital punishment), Achenwall (eminent right and war), and Vattel (war). These assessments reveal that Kant was of several minds regarding whether in any social contract a citizen could rationally consent to these uses of coercion and whether actual or only hypothetical consent was required. I suggest that only later in the published Doctrine of Right did Kant work out his position consistently.

This chapter considers the experiences of those emigrants who did not respond to the call to arms and thus became draft evaders. With few exceptions, evading the Italian draft was actually quite easy for emigrants and brought no immediate consequences. Draft evasion simply meant that a man would decline to present himself at the consulate to arrange the trip home. The chapter explores the factors that influenced men to evade the draft, including the impact of family members, economic concerns and political beliefs. Socialists and anarchists, in particular, were militant draft evaders: some even left the United States for Mexico in order to avoid call-up to either the Italian or American armies. Treaties were signed between Italy and Britain and France for the reciprocal exchange of draft evaders although Italians were the primary target of the policy, while in Australia Italian draft evaders were rounded up and deported so that they could be enlisted into the Italian Army.

In 1911, Italians living abroad constituted one-sixth of Italy’s population, numbering roughly five million people. However, the experiences of emigrant communities have not been incorporated into the narrative of Italy’s war. This chapter discusses the place of migration within the historiography of the First World War and of the war within migration history. It introduces the cohort of 300,000 emigrant soldiers who returned to Italy to complete their conscripted military service during the war, a mass mobilisation which was a uniquely Italian phenomenon. Scholars are divided as to whether this should be regarded as a success or a failure: I argue it is remarkable that so many made the journey considering that, in most locations, there were no coercive measures obliging them to do so. The chapter lays out the global micro-history approach adopted in the book and the decision to focus on four emigrant soldiers, each typical and atypical in different respects: Americo Orlando in São Paulo, Esterino Alessandro Tarasca in New York, Cesare Bianchi in London and Lazzaro Ponticelli in Paris.

In the intervening 54 years between the end of the Second World War and the Australian-led international intervention in East Timor, much about the way soldiering was conducted in Australia had changed. National service had ebbed and flowed in various guises and an Australian Regular Army had emerged as the lead force, a ready deployment force. But it was nothing like the large land force that could be mustered at its peak in early 1943. At the end of the first post-Cold War decadethe Australian Army was at best what could be described as a boutique force with limited experience on peacekeeping operations, limited deployable strength and a larger but considerably hollowed out Reserve. This chapter examines a part of the journey there.

This chapter provides readers with an overview of the book, as well as its major argument. It argues that, while historians have traditionally treated war and military issues as temporary issues that affected American society only during wartime and had little impact on society during peacetime, the issues were, in fact, fundamental to political and cultural changes in American society during the first half of the twentieth century. The chapter also outlines how the remainder of the book will support this argument by focusing on how the relationship formed during this time between national security, education, and the cultural conception of “youth” strongly influenced young people’s educational experiences and had significant social consequences that still exist today.

This chapter examines the debates in American society surrounding the conscription of young men, particularly those under the age of majority (age twenty-one), for World War I. Before the war, men under the age of twenty-one had served in the U.S. armed services, but mainly as volunteers. The necessity to establish a selective draft system in 1917 sparked an intense debate in American society about whether minors should be drafted into the military. This chapter also explores how military training programs for soldiers were established on civilian college campuses during the war, most notably the Student Army Training Corps, and how the educational elite played an active role in doing so and established educational institutions as military training sites during wartime.

On the face of it, total war would seem to be fundamentally and entirely at odds with the very notion of individual freedom. Yet the relationship between the two was more complicated than that. From the beginning of World War I, much propagandistic effort went into stressing the voluntariness of military or quasi-military service. At the same time, imposing discipline on complex societies triggered major tensions, unintended effects, and subversive behaviors, allowing for some unexpected gains in personal independence. In general, military conflicts exacerbated disputes about the very meaning of freedom – both while they were being fought and when they were being anticipated or commemorated. This chapter discusses three issues: the extent to which military mobilization and enemy occupation created room for female independence, the ways in which contemporaries understood conscription and soldiers coped with it, and the various means by which Europeans endeavored to free themselves from military conflict, from muddling through to principled resistance under Nazi occupation or during the Cold War.

More than 2.7 million men and approximately 65,000 women served in Vietnam or in the Southeast Asian theater between 1963 and 1975. Yet much of the literature on the American side of the Vietnam War discusses the role of decision-making by presidents and their civilian advisors, along with military strategy developed and directed by general-grade officers. This chapter instead deals with the combat soldiers and marines who actually did the fighting in the jungles and rice paddies of South Vietnam. These “grunts” had to first be selected, then trained, then sent to “repo-depots” where they became replacements for those who had been killed or wounded by the National Liberation Front or People’s Army of Vietnam soldiers. They were then sent to the field with their new units and would serve one year before “coming home.” Society would then have to deal with thousands of returning veterans, many with PTS(D) and some with a newly identified condition – moral injury.

Covering late antique Egypt into the period of Arab rule, this chapter introduces documents and literary texts translated from Greek, Coptic, and Arabic. In the countryside, coloni joined slaves and dependents at work on the great estates of Byzantine Egypt, while in the cities slavery continued as before. Coptic literature from the same period introduces servitude within Christian monasteries. The writings of Shenoute and Gnostic texts regularly employ the vocabulary of slavery in a negative sense. The trade, employment, and emancipation of slaves continued. Conscripted labour is also documented. Children and adults donated to monasteries represent a new form of sacred servitude. With the Arab conquest of Egypt, war and raiding resurface as important sources of slaves. Nubia and the Near East were again key areas for their acquisition, and slaves are illustrated as active in most areas of life and integrated into the religious life of their owners’ households.

The collapse of the Tokugawa shogunate and the subsequent rise of the Meiji government were accompanied by the Japanese archipelago’s first large-scale conflict in two centuries. Warfare was not merely a consequence of the social and political upheaval of the restoration era. Rather, organizational reforms and the adoption of new technologies helped accelerate the collapse of the shogunate and shaped the manner of the modern state’s consolidation. Rather than recounting campaigns and battles, this chapter focuses on three interlocking sets of themes: technology, social change, and gender. Each theme relates to a particular story of the restoration era: the replacement of traditional Japanese arms by gunpowder weapons; the decline of the samurai and the rise of the conscript soldier; and the effacement of warrior masculinity by the ideal of the patriotically subservient “serviceman” (gunjin).

Even as the Army increased its commitment to peacekeeping, its overall strength declined, as defence budgets dropped from their Cold War heights. This drawdown saw the Army turn inwards as it managed the shift from a forward-deployed overseas force to a smaller one primarily based in the continental United States. As the Army’s numbers fell and the overseas missions it deployed on increased, soldiers and their families suffered from the increase in operational tempo and the Army struggled to retain personnel. Later in the decade, the Army faced a severe recruiting shortfall amid a booming economy, as it missed its enlistment targets in 1998 and 1999. This shortfall, which coincided with an increasing reliance on the National Guard and Army Reserve for overseas deployments, as well as internal deliberations over the changing role of the Army, prompted renewed concerns about the health of the All-Volunteer Force. Tensions between the twin ideals of the ‘citizen soldier’ and the ‘profession of arms’ were heightened after the end of the Cold War, as the Army’s leadership struggled to rethink the nature of military service while managing a large-scale drawdown from their 1980s peak.

World War I felled Berlin’s grand hotel industry in three blows. The first was a shortage of goods, services, and labor; the second, a decline in the quality of the goods and services still available; and the third, a resultant depletion of capital reserves as shortages drove prices out of reach. As the state increased its demands on everyone’s time and energy, managers found themselves unable to devote their full attention to shoring up systems and hierarchies. A grueling four years then ended in ignominy and danger when, in November 1918, political violence surged into hotel lobbies, restaurants, and guest rooms. The fate of Berlin’s grand hotels mirrors the fate of the German Second Empire, which also collapsed in the face of defeat and revolution in the fall of 1918.

At the outbreak of war in 1914, the journal The Sphere published a two-page spread showing the ‘Shakespeare Cliff’ with the well-known ‘This England’ speech from Shakespeare’s Richard II, alongside other images connecting England to Shakespeare’s work. Related to the image are many writings of the First World War, including editions of the plays, the life of Shakespeare, Shakespeare and warfare, the Tercentenary of his birth, and the relation between Shakespeare and German literature. An article in the popular John O’London’s Weekly argued that Shakespeare had been a soldier, and suggested that Englishmen should follow his example and fight for their country.

This chapter discusses the economic dimensions of war. It begins with the classic guns vs. butter framework from economics, whereby spending on the military trades off with spending on other priorities. It builds on this concept to discuss the three main ways that governments finance wars, through increased taxation, borrowing, and printing money. It also examines the market for warriors – how governments gather citizens into the military as soldiers – comparing conscription and volunteerism systems. Next, it discusses the market for weapons, how the private sector produces weapons for the government, and the consequences of different market structures for weapons production. Among other concepts and issues, it explores the fundamental problem of sovereign finance (that government borrowers cannot be forced to pay off debts), the "commercial peace" proposition that trade between states breeds peace, and the economic consequences of war. It applies many of these concepts to a quantitative study on whether access to credit helps state win their wars, and a case study of the development of the US taxation system as a means to fund US participation in the World Wars.

Chapter two examines the conflicting nationalist politics mobilising Irish volunteers in wartime Britain. It profiles the political languages and cultures of Irish volunteers in British centres, from the 150,000 recruits in the British armed forces to the eighty-seven rebels in the armed forces of the Irish Republic; interrogates the correspondence, and separation, of Irish nationalist identities between home/front; and charts the rise, and estranged demise, of Irish Party support in wartime Britain. The Irish Party, this chapter submits, successfully maintained its ‘two face’ political position in Britain, in anticipation of a short war and a bitterly contested general election on the Home Rule issue, a political strategy termed ‘home front nationalism’. Redmond’s rejection of a British Cabinet position in May 1915, and the I.P.P.’s rejection of conscription in January 1916, however, fatally undermined the Irish Party’s policy. The participation of British-based Irish Volunteers in the 1916 Rising was a rebellion against the wartime politics of ‘home front nationalism’ and British citizenship. An examination of the ‘British connection’ to the Rising, from the Edinburgh-born James Connolly to the London-based Michael Collins, supports the thesis that military strategy was not the primary focus of the 1916 leaders.