This chapter collates the archaeological evidence presented in Part II. It begins with a reassessment of the evidence put forward to refute the historical plausibility of the United Monarchy, showing that it did not stand the test of time and that in the long run, the challenges raised failed to shake the kingdom’s foundations. The chapter then moves on to integrate the archaeological evidence into a coherent picture of the United Monarchy’s establishment, expansion, and solidification. Finally, it reviews the theoretical underpinning of the discussion, arguing that much of the debate was based on a red herring, leading to an evaluation of the United Monarchy in comparison to well-established empires such as Assyria and Rome, rather than short-lived empires, which is further developed in Chapter 14.

True ruin-mindedness begins with the poet Petrarch, the subject along with his successors of the fourth chapter. He was the first person we know of who visited Rome with the intention of seeing the ruins. Thanks to his unrivalled knowledge of Latin literature, he viewed the ruins as ‘sites of memory’, complementary to and made comprehensible by the texts of Roman poets and historians. For Petrarch and his successors, the ruins became an essential part of the historical and cultural heritage of the ancient Romans, a material complement to the history of Livy and the poetry of Virgil. Such complementarity was crucial to endowing the ruins with some context and meaning; they were not just piles of broken rubble but a valuable part of the Roman cultural achievement as a whole. Petrarch’s enthusiasm was infectious and it can be claimed that he initiated two new disciplines, urban topography and antiquarianism, the subjects of the next two chapters, 5 and 6. From this point on, progression will be largely chronological, as the sentiment of ruin-mindedness is developed and enlarged.

The first chapter presents evidence in support of the claim that an interest in ruins was never widespread. It had to begin somewhere and at some time. There had also to be certain factors, which are set out in the chapter, that facilitated the interest. The main evidence for a lack of interest in ruins is seen in the motives for tourism in ancient Greece and Rome – indeed, tourism is one of the leading themes of the whole work. The indifference of the Greeks and Romans to ruins is also found in other cultures, notably China’s. What seems to be needed for the ruins of any culture to arouse interest and to make a favourable impression is a gap in the continuity of that culture, such as occurred in Roman culture from late antiquity to the early Middle Ages in Europe. Someone aiming to bridge that gap – a tourist, say – who surveys past Roman culture with a sympathetic eye and an understanding of its achievements is in a position to find the ruins, the material remains of Roman culture, as interesting as any of its other monuments.

The chapter examines tangible and intangible evidence associated with the Irish who emigrated and settled in America and who sometimes returned to Ireland and evaluates whether it can be considered as part of an Americanising of Irish identity. Material culture associated with Irish emigration to America such as posters, guidebooks, newspapers, wakes, places, spaces, letters, remittances and the returner, ideas and behaviours became integral parts of Irish society and their influence went beyond their practical use in facilitating departure. Each created a vision of America in Ireland which accords with Mark Wyman and Dirk Hoerder’s European-wide findings that two distinct images of America emerged in the home country: the ‘materialistic view of the land of wealth, and the idealistic view of the land of equal rights and democracy’. These largely positive views of America translated into ‘Americanising’ forces in Irish society alongside British and other European economic, political and cultural forces in Ireland. These two-way forces revolving around America as a destination and as a swiftly modernising country, particularly from the nineteenth century onwards, meant that Irish women and men of all backgrounds were exposed to American ideas, practices and behaviours.

The presence and power of Jesus in early Christian material culture are mediated through texts, visual depictions, and other objects, representing and re-presenting Jesus across various contexts. Focusing especially on the first five centuries ce, the analysis addresses Jesus in the materiality of text, liturgy, relic, and symbol, revealing early Christian theologies and practices that resonate in later historical periods and highlighting the complex dialectic of Jesus’s presence and absence in material forms.

This chapter studies global histories that consider aspects of the material world. It exposes the – often tacit – assumptions that guide these global material histories and holds them up for careful inspection. Its particular interest is in the grounds on which global material historians associate matter and material culture with a specific scale, context or level of observation: with world-making, the global scale and ‘connectivity’, but also with the concrete, the ‘micro’ and the intimate. In that context, the chapter discusses a wide range of themes, from the risk of fetishising material things – as in, reverencing them for properties, including ‘global’ ones, merely projected onto them – to the inevitability of canvassing some forms of materiality on a global scale: the pollution of air, for instance, or, for the post–Cold War era, the issue of resource shortages. The chapter argues that, like any form of historical writing, global material histories are under the influence of their practitioners’ own times’ socioreligious texture, global imaginary and discursive habits; mindful of the telos and conceptions that pervade their work, they will be better prepared to see the world of matter and material culture in all its changeability, elusiveness and polysemy.

Recent research is demonstrating that other women and children, besides those in senior officers’ families, lived inside Roman military bases during the Principate; however, such women are rarely discussed in written sources. Also, the archaeological remains of military bases essentially lack the types of evidence for sexed bodies and gendered practices that can be found in burial contexts and figurative representations. This chapter discusses how more material-cultural approaches to artifactual remains from such sites can be used to investigate gendered identities and lived socio-spatial practices, and to develop better understanding of the place of such women in these hypermasculine spaces. This chapter is concerned with developing approaches to the artifactual remains from these sites, and the potential range of people and activities they represent, to investigate the presence of women within the fortification walls of these bases, and the roles that they may have played here. It demonstrates how an integrated approach to “gendering” artifacts can be used to explore the probabilities, rather than the certainties, of artifacts as gender attributes and how analyses of artifact distribution patterns can be used to identify women who often are not identified through other media, and so seeks solutions to identifying gendered behaviors.

The concluding Chapter 8 examines the commemorative afterlives of the West India Regiments in Britain and the Caribbean. Placing this within the wider context of the centenary of the First World War, including the ’culture wars’ that have occurred around how the British Empire is remembered, the chapter considers the acquisition, creation and display of the regiments’ material culture.

Material culture profoundly influences the ways we understand, experience and represent sexuality. This chapter examines cross-cultural material cultures of heterosexuality, homosexuality, domestic life, communal rituals, sex work and intimate relationships, among other examples. The history of sexuality and material culture is a long one, and to consider Roman brothels, Palauan men’s houses and Peruvian pottery is to recognise their significance in changing sexual mores. Objects, including buildings and artworks, can tell us about fundamentally diverse ways of understanding sexuality as an everyday practice and the subject of academic inquiry. The chapter also offers a discussion of the ephemera of movements for sexual rights in more recent times. These objects may be everyday items repurposed for queer life and politics, for example, or custom-made props for protest and organising. Museums have often paid little attention to the material culture of sexuality, hiding away incriminating exhibits, but new museological approaches to objects reveal the intricacies of intimate life, tell the story of previously marginalized forms of sexuality, and even resist established modes of power. Material culture, and the ways we address it, speak forcefully to the politics of sexuality.

Swift’s world was a material one, influenced by his experiences of the institutionalisation of British imperialism, mercantile capitalism, science, medicine, philosophy, the book trade, party politics, and aesthetics. This chapter focuses on a single category of material culture of especial importance in Swift’s writings: consumer goods. The early part of this chapter sets out the essential background on the ‘consumer revolution’ in the early eighteenth century, before addressing its influence on Swift’s writings: in particular the pamphlets concerned with Irish manufacturing, and his fascination with the material culture of women’s dressing rooms.

Chapter 6 provides a detailed explanation of the practical and political challenges faced by the projects to introduce nutmeg (and clove) into Mauritius. It is about the experiential and unsettled knowledge mobilised in the French attempts to acclimatise spices. It engages with the material practices associated with transportation and acclimatisation. The chapter explores various examples of highly ambivalent strategies for the transport on ships and cultivation in foreign soil of the spices. All of these were by no means initiated in the metropolis. This chapter is primarily concerned with natural obstacles, or rather how local actors in Mauritius sought to overcome them by employing non-conventional strategies and initiatives. Using the example of grafting, it argues that techniques and methods were developed independently in different parts of the world, and were not ‘transferred’ from Europe to the colonies, or vice versa. The sketchy and uncertain knowledge of the French remained fragmented until at least the 1780s, which led to miscalculations and an eventual failure of the project to establish a spice trade. Exploring the reasons for this failure, the last chapter reinforces calls to understand the decentred, complex, and slow process of plant knowledge in the making.