It is frequently suggested, today, that toleration and relativism are the same thing. This essay focuses on how John Locke dealt with this issue, that is, how he defended his principle of toleration against the charges of Jonas Proast that it would devolve into unbelief and moral relativism. In replying to Proast, Locke attempts to demonstrate that his principle of toleration will not become a sanction for unbelief and that while it extends to competing conceptions of salvation it does not extend to competing conceptions of the good. That is to say, Locke builds a fire wall between the two areas, the aim of which is to confine toleration to the realm of mere theology—it is this barrier, its basis and its extent and its durability, which I explore.

Few centuries have been as sanguinary as the twentieth. Leaving behind as their monuments the ruins of concentration camps and the work camps of the Gulag Archipelago, temporarily discredited, fascism and communism may have slouched into the shadows. Still, the forces of liberty have not succeeded in laying the foundations for a world of free republics. During the twentieth century, both in Europe and in the United States, the moral life of the free societies has been severely weakened. Families are a shadow of what they used to be. Traditional virtues and decencies, a sense of honor, and respect for moral character have given way to vulgar relativism. Thus, the dark underground river of the twentieth century has not been fascism nor communism but their presupposition: nihilism. And nihilism has not yet been abandoned.

This Special Issue is meant to inaugurate or help launch a field of inquiry which is either nonexistent or at most fledgling and embryonic in contemporary academia: the field of “comparative political theory” or “comparative political philosophy.” What is meant by these titles is an inquiry which, in a sustained fashion, reflects upon the status and meaning of political life no longer in a restricted geographical setting but in the global arena. The motivation behind this initiative is a transformation which profoundly shapes our waning century: the emergence of the “global village” involving the steadily intensifying interaction among previously (more or less) segregated civilizations or cultural zones. Although human lives everywhere are deeply affected today by the global forces of the market, technology, and the media, the implications of these changes have not yet fully penetrated into Western intellectual discourse. As practiced in most Western universities, the study of political theory or political philosophy revolves basically around the canon of Western political thought from Plato to Marx or Nietzsche—with occasional recent concessions to strands of feminism and multiculturalism as found in Western societies.

The steadily increasing appeal of Islamic fundamentalist ideas has often been characterized as a premodern, antimodern or, more recently, as a postmodern phenomenon. To explore the relationship of Islamist political thought to modernity, and the usefulness of the terminology of “modernity” to situate and understand it, this article explores two comparisons. The first is a comparison across time, and involves the juxtaposition of a prominent nineteenth century Islamic “modernist” and the critique of modernity by an influential twentieth century Islamic fundamentalist thinker. The second is a comparison across cultures, and involves the juxtaposition of this Islamic fundamentalist critique and many Western theorists similarly critical of “the modern condition.” These comparisons suggest that Islamic fundamentalist political thought is part of a transcultural and multivocal reassessment of the value and definition of “modernity.” Such reassessments should be understood in terms of a dialectical relationship to “modernity,” one that entails not the negation of modernity but an attempt to simultaneously abolish, transcend, preserve and transform it.

Contemporary liberals who advocate strict separation between church and state often defend themselves by suggesting that such a position is the only one compatible with the principle of liberal neutrality, whose origins go back to John Locke's first Letter on Toleration. This essay argues that this line of reasoning is mistaken. While Locke did endorse the neutrality principle, he did not endorse strict separation, and this fact suggests that the connection between liberal neutrality and strict separation is not as secure as many liberals have assumed. This examination of Locke's attitudes toward neutrality and strict separation aims both to clarify what is at stake in contemporary debates over strict separation in liberal states and to consider the conditions that would have to be met to mount a Lockean argument against weakening church-state separation in contemporary liberal states.

Rousseau and Kant both argue for contractarian theories of justice. In spite of their common contractarianism, however, Rousseau and Kant argue for conceptions of legitimacy which differ markedly. The substantive differences between their accounts of legitimacy, I suggest, illustrate the political implications of disagreement regarding the status of practical reason. Rousseau, in assigning reason to a merely instrumental status, anticipates both postmodern and empiricist skepticism regarding the power of reason to ground the choice of ends. Kant is the forerunner of contemporary accounts of justice which reject such skeptical views of practical reason. Rousseau's skepticism about practical reason ties his criterion of legitimacy directly to the actual preferences of individuals. Kant's more robust conception of practical reason (1) allows him to argue for a criterion of great generality and flexibility, but (2) ties the plausibility of his account of legitimacy directly to the soundness of his conception of practical reason.

The practice of Islamic veiling is examined in terms of the notion of freedom. Historically, veiling has been seen by Westerners as the ultimate symbol, if not tool, of gender oppression in Islamic cultures; yet many Islamic women not only participate voluntarily in the practice but claim it as a mark of resistance, agency, and cultural membership. This would seem to pose a paradox for Western feminists, but this paradox stems from a misunderstanding of veiling perpetrated by feminists and nonfeminists alike, as well as from inappropriate conceptions of freedom that dominate Western political theory, and to which Western feminism finds itself indebted. Examining veiling as a multifaceted practice located within varying and complex contexts may develop an understanding of freedom that recognizes the ways in which patriarchal contexts set the parameters within which women express their agency.

This article examines Kant's What is Enlightenment? and The Conflict of the Faculties with a view to recovering certain neglected aspects of his defense of freedom in the public use of reason. Kant's arguments in the two works are the most tangible expression of the concern with the scope and limits of reason in politics that runs throughout his political philosophy. Yet the political purpose and rhetorical strategy of that defense has received less attention than it deserves. Kant contends the possibility of establishing ends set by reason as critical standards in politics depends on rulers being persuaded that their interests are best served by cooperating with philosophers. The famous distinction in What is Enlightenment? between the public and private uses of reason proposes the terms of this cooperation. In The Conflict of The Faculties Kant makes similar arguments in defense of the university. He presents it as an institution that exists to serve governments but that can also pursue enlightening ends if government grants it the freedom to do so. The article attempts to show Kant's awareness of enduring conflicts between reason and authority in politics, and it argues that his defense of the public use of reason addresses them in a way that is still worthy of our attention.

Questions of exclusion, membership and the status of resident foreigners press upon liberal political thought and society with a particular sharpness, given the universalist underpinnings of the liberal commitment. How within the horizon of liberalism and rights discourse are we to think of the foreigner? The article suggests some reasons why we should consider suspect the cluster of notions surrounding alienage and sketches why the moral salience of the foreignness of these outsiders at our door and present among us has diminished, and thus brought under scrutiny our traditional comportment toward them. But it is not so much intended here to seek a resolution of these issues as to motivate a cluster of questions, to argue for their importance and to show the inadequacy of the treatment of them that we have inherited.

Liberalism is now thought to be particularly inclined toward internationalism, so that international guarantees of human rights are regarded as a quintessentially liberal project. Classical liberal thought had a different view. So Vattel's mid-eighteenth-century Law of Nations, which is much more insistent on individual rights, is also much more sympathetic to national claims than the pre-liberal doctrines of Grotius. Even John Locke's classical liberalism is quite attentive to the claims of nationality. The national element in classical liberal thought remains evident in the thought of the American Founders and in nineteenth-century liberalism.

Martin Heidegger's rectorate (1933–1934) was characterized by an incontestable involvement with Nazism. However, neither the rectorate, nor Heidegger's ambitious project for the transformation of the university within which it was embedded, was reducible to Nazism. Indeed, Heidegger's project to transform the university dates from his earliest lecture courses at Freiburg University in 1919 and was a hallmark of his thinking long before the rise of Nazism. That project was itself linked to the long-standing dispute in German academia over the role of the university in the modern world, which involved such thinkers as Kant, Schelling, Schopenhauer, and Nietzsche. Despite the entanglement with Nazism, which stamped his rectorate, Heidegger's thinking about the university as a site for the transformation of human existence is especially pertinent today.

Martyrdom has been a recurring theme in the Iranian political culture. This article presents an analysis of its sociological and historical significance and delineates the causes of its politicization and popularization since the 1960s. In order to understand this tradition in its broader cultural context, the relationship between the preeminence of tragedy in Iranian pre and post-Islamic popular culture and martyrdom is explored. By examining the writings of the major literary and political figures, the metamorphosis and political utilization of this tradition in recent political history of Iran are propounded. The article demonstrates how martyrdom as a symbol has functioned to forge a sense of solidarity, enhance mass mobilization, and preserve the sacred values of the community. In this context, the leading intellectuals and lay thinkers alike perceive of martyrdom as a symbol of communal cleansing and regeneration. The symbolic and utilitarian use of this tradition are also analyzed in the pre-and postrevolutionary period.

Is statesmanship still compatible with democracy? Democratic theorists once viewed democracy as a partnership between citizens and statesmen, to which each brought complementary virtues. Statesmanship has come to be condemned by many contemporary democratic theorists, however, as inimical to democracy. By turning statesmen into “facilitators,” they seek to displace statesmanship with an expanded concept of citizenship. In response, and stung by charges of elitism, embattled liberal defenders of statesmanship have begun to recast it in light of this line of attack. Most notably, the liberal Bruce Ackerman has sought to advance a new concept of nonelitist, “neutral” liberal statesmanship that is compatible with democracy. This study examines both the criticisms that led to this rethinking of statesmanship—especially in the thought of Benjamin R. Barber, liberal statesmanship's leading critic—and Ackerman's success in meeting them. Our study tries to demonstrate that Ackerman actually reconstructs liberal statesmanship on the basis of Barber's arguments and thereby further undermines the statesmanship he purports to defend. I conclude with an effort to rehabilitatean older understanding of liberal statesmanship.

An analysis of Leo Strauss's difficult and relatively neglected criticism of Max Weber in Natural Right and History reveals the fundamental difficulties that political science, and social science more generally, must overcome in order to be a genuine science. In Strauss's view, the inadequacy of the fact-value distinction, which is now widely acknowledged, compels a re-examination of Weber's denial of the possibility of valid knowledge of values. Strauss identifies the serious ground of this denial as Weber's insight that modern philosophy or science cannot refute religion. Believing that philosophy or science cannot ultimately give an account of itself that meets the challenge of religion, Weber maintained a “tragic” view of the human situation. Strauss also expresses profound doubt about the possibility of philosophy or science, but ultimately he suggests that a certain kind of study of the history of political philosophy might resolve the conflict between philosophy and divine revelation, and, therewith, the “value problem.”

Systematic analysis shows the psychological premises of Machiavelli's political theory to be fairly consistent and to transcend historical circumstance. Above all, the apparent contradiction between its rapacious and consensual sides can be resolved by unearthing his distinction between necessary properties and contingent attributes qua habits. Following medieval medical theory, necessary properties include: spirit that animates the body; mind with faculties of ingenuity, imagination, and memory; desires for preservation, glory, power, freedom, wealth, and sexual pleasure; and four humors received from the stars. While serving the desires, mind stimulates them to expand into the limitless ambition characteristic of Machiavellian individuals. Habituation to laws and gods makes possible the institutional life of republics, in that cooperative habits solve the collective-action problem faced by a multitude of self-ruling citizens. However, such republics are ultimately alliances for joint gain rather than structures of virtue—challenging the ascendant view of Machiavelli as a “civic humanist” and Aristotelian.

Several critics of Indian secularism maintain that given the pervasive role of religion in the lives of the Indian people, secularism, defined as the separation of politics or the state from religion, is an intolerable, alien, modernist imposition on the Indian society. This, I argue, is a misreading of the Indian constitutional vision, which enjoins the state to be equally tolerant of all religions and which therefore requires the state to steer clear of both theocracy or fundamentalism and the “wall of separation” model of secularism. Regarding the dichotomy, which the critics draw between Nehruvian secularism and Gandhian religiosity, I suggest that what is distinctive to Indian secularism is the complementation or articulation between the democratic state and the politics of satya and ahimsa, whereby the relative autonomy of religion and politics from each other can be used for the moral-political reconstruction of both the religious traditions and the modern state.

According to Aquinas's view, while the mandate that political authority be instituted and exercised is an immediate consequence of the natural law precept that the common good be promoted, the question of who possesses political authority is settled by customary law. Samuel Beer's rival interpretation, one of the few attempts to discern Aquinas's view on political authority, is incompatible with Aquinas's explicit remarks on these matters. The present account provides an interpretation that both fits Aquinas's few explicit remarks about the source and form of political authority and explains the terseness of his remarks on that subject.