According to Hobbes, glory causes conflict in two ways: by causing competition over comparative recognition, and by making men violently sensitive to insult. Interpreters have generally depicted the sensitivity to insult as a manifestation of the desire for comparative recognition. This reading raises two problems. First, the two ways in which Hobbes uses glory are inconsistent. Second, if the problem with glory is comparison, then the law of nature enjoining the acknowledgment of equality should lead to war rather than peace. This paper illuminates these obscurities by placing Hobbes in the context of the contemporary literature on honor and civility. These sources reveal two concepts of honor which correspond to the two ways in which Hobbes writes about glory. Hobbes draws heavily from these sources, but intentionally elides the two concepts of honor in order to undermine an ideology of honor that was used to justify disobedience and unlawful violence.

This paper analyzes Aristotle's discussion of courage, the first and paradigmatic virtue in his account of moral virtue, as the perfection of human beings’ natures as both political and rational. It identifies unrecognized complexities in his definition of courage as “a mean with respect to fear and confidence,” in his subtle analysis of political courage, and especially in what he reveals to be the conflict-riddled reasons people find courage noble and good. While working to moderate the excessive fieriness of traditional heroism and to render citizens’ courage more sober and moderate, Aristotle shows why political courage can in fact never be made perfectly rational, pointing to a key limit to human rationality altogether.

One of the many contributions of Postmodern Platos is that it raises an old question in the postmodern age: what is the value of philosophy? This essay finds and assesses three distinct arguments for the philosophical life in Zuckert's book, which she associates with Aristotle, Nietzsche, and Strauss. Philosophy, according to all three arguments, represents the highest life for human beings because it realizes our highest capacity, and it secures for our otherwise finite existence a measure of permanence. The arguments diverge on the question of the order and goodness of nature. The case for philosophy has relevance in our postmodern age, as we are driven to ask the question of the best life yet are unequipped to answer it.

Many critics of Augustine target his “pessimism,” arguing that his fixation on evil denies the value of this-worldly goods. This article challenges this view by exposing a methodological assumption that often underwrites it—the idea that Augustine's texts can be abstracted from their rhetorical contexts. To illustrate, I offer a close reading of City of God 22.22–24, a passage frequently cited as evidence of Augustine's pessimism. By analyzing how Augustine uses rhetoric to “instruct” and “encourage” his readers, I argue instead that this passage should be interpreted as an exercise of hope that helps readers resist temptations toward presumption and despair. This account complicates the common binary between optimism and pessimism and supplies a novel interpretation of key passages in City of God.

Political theorists have relegated Rousseau's writings on Geneva to the category of historical accident, assuming that whatever he had to say about politics was said fully in works like the Social Contract. This has created a widespread impression that Rousseau had little to say about ordinary political practice. In this paper, I take up his dissection of the Genevan constitution in the Letters from the Mountain. A work which has attracted little attention even from historians, the Letters are in fact essential for understanding Rousseau's thoughts on the people's role in democratic government. His proposals for reform give clear content to the abstract arguments about popular sovereignty presented in the Social Contract. Against readings that emphasize Rousseau's distrust of the people, the Letters reveal that Rousseau expected popular sovereignty to take the form of active and routine participation in both legislation and government on the part of ordinary citizens.

“Social justice” is a powerful idea today, but its origins and meaning are unclear. One of the first to use the term was Antonio Rosmini, author of The Constitution under Social Justice (1848) and other works of moral philosophy. I argue that Rosmini arrived at his idea of social justice by developing Thomistic natural law theory into a novel view of the common good that balances two principles: (1) the equal rights and dignity of persons as ends-in-themselves, a version of “personalism” influenced by Kant and Christianity; and (2) unequal rewards for those who contribute most to society, a version of Aristotelian “proportionalism” based on the social nature of man. I conclude by comparing Rosmini's idea of social justice to John Rawls's “theory of justice” and Catholic social teaching.

This essay offers an interpretation of Alfarabi's Book of Religion, in which the tenth-century philosopher addresses more directly than in any of his other works the relationship between human and divine wisdom. I argue that, despite his apparent silence about the orthodox view of divine law, Alfarabi's primary purpose in the work is to challenge precisely that view, along with the theological opinions on which it depends. To this end, the Book of Religion encourages the examination, by political science, of religion's claim to lead men to happiness. Previous scholarly work has not explored the extent to which the Book of Religion contains a confrontation with orthodoxy and is therefore unable to explain how Alfarabi justifies his thoroughly rational account of religion. Based on the interpretation presented here, Alfarabi comes to light as a philosopher open to the most fundamental alternatives, rather than a dogmatic rationalist.

It is now commonplace to acknowledge Alexis de Tocqueville's support for Algerian colonization. Less well understood, however, is why he also endorsed the French strategy of “total war” in the regency. How was Tocqueville's liberalism linked to the specific shape of violence in Algeria? By situating his Algerian writings in the intersecting intellectual contexts of the 1840s, this essay argues that Tocqueville endorsed total war in Africa because of his passion for glory. Far from an aristocratic anachronism, that passion was the product of contemporary scientific debates over voluntarism in France. It was also shaped by the lingering legacies of revolutionary republicanism and Bonapartism which defined glory in terms of national defense. By tethering modern liberty to this conception of glory, Tocqueville provided resources for rationalizing settlerism's exterminationist violence.

This essay calls into question Zuckert's claim in Postmodern Platos that Strauss provides the best contemporary defense of the superiority of the philosophic life against the claims of Nietzsche and Heidegger that it leads to nihilism and despair. For her, Strauss persuasively draws on Plato, read through Alfarabi and Maimonides, to defend this view by showing that the philosopher understands the true ends of human life as a whole which is part of the whole, and thus provides a vision of the noblest, best, and most beautiful. I argue that this claim is implausible, that Strauss's Platonic vision of the ends of human life is obscure, and that even if correct, it does not offer an answer to the question of the relative value of these heterogenous ends, and thus does not demonstrate that the philosophic life is more worth living than any other form of life.

In volume 1 of Democracy in America, Tocqueville argues that the energy unleashed by democracy is one of democracy's greatest benefits. In volume 2, his portrait of democracy turns darker, and he recasts the dynamism of American society as an expression of an underlying restlessness. In this paper, I argue that restlessness (inquiétude) is a key element of Tocqueville's mature view of democratic man. Whereas previous scholarship on Tocqueville's view of restlessness either treats the theme instrumentally, by subordinating it to other themes, or seeks to illuminate Tocqueville's debt to other thinkers, this paper examines Tocqueville's treatment of restlessness as an important theme in its own right. Treating this theme in full requires examining his discussions of materialism, envy, democratic morality, and democratic peoples’ experiences of literature and art. Through this examination we see how, in Tocqueville's view, democracy, for all its merits, obstructs the path to human happiness.

Through a comparison of Leo Strauss's and Raymond Aron's interpretations of Thucydides's history, this paper sheds light on the relationship between political history and political philosophy. In continuing the dialogue between the two thinkers, I demonstrate that in spite of their opposed views on modern historical consciousness, they converge in a defense of the object and method of classical political history. However, there is a deeper disagreement regarding the relationship between philosophy and politics. While Strauss makes the case for the compatibility of classical political history and classical political philosophy on the grounds that Thucydides is a “philosophic historian,” Aron argues that it is precisely because Thucydides is not a philosopher that he succeeds in understanding an essential feature of political things, namely, contingency in history.

Catherine Zuckert’s Postmodern Platos is built around Leo Strauss’s complex response to Martin Heidegger’s vision of the prephilosophic starting points of philosophy, his phenomenology of human existence. Zuckert accepts too much of this spare phenomenology, and so gives too bleak an account of what philosophy can be. A richer account is available in Plato’s Phaedrus, and is even intimated at crucial points of Strauss’s own writings. The cheerful “first philosophy” built on this erotic phenomenology is truer than Heideggerian bleakness to where philosophy begins in practice, as much for Zuckert as for Strauss and Heidegger: in the experience of the eros of the conversation between teacher and student.

In an important 1984 paper, “The Moral Education Theory of Punishment,” Jean Hampton argues that the practice of inflicting painful criminal punishments is justified only if punishment is morally educative. Hampton's suggestion forms the point of departure for this article on Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment. I show that Dostoevsky agrees with Hampton that punishment should aim at moral reform; however, Dostoevsky presents no evidence that self-punishment or legal punishment reliably cultivates respect for law, legal authority, oneself, or others as moral agents. Instead, Dostoevsky's post-Siberian writings are highly critical of Russian criminal justice, and emphasize that moral education comes through dialogue, reflection, and criticism. This highly individualized treatment may be experienced as painful, but it does not have to result from, and it may even be impeded by, legal “hard treatment.”

While it is often assumed that reconciliation culminates in the comprehensive resolution of conflict between deeply alienated parties, the article argues that reconciliation can only be achieved through complex mechanisms of estrangement that reveal alternative vistas or collective renewal. Art performs an important role in this process. The article theorizes estrangement as both an artistic and a political technique that can have world-disclosing, rather than alienating, effects on its audience: what Svetlana Boym calls estrangement for, rather than from, the world. I tease out the implications of this insight by examining the South African theater piece Ubu and the Truth Commission, which employs a number of estrangements devices in order to problematize the ambiguities and uncertainties of the post-Apartheid transition period. By subverting audience identification, yet triggering emotional contagion, the play imaginatively opens up the possibility of a common world in which agonistic relations are productively negotiated, rather than fully suppressed.

There is a growing literature on the theological roots of Schmitt's theory, however, such interpretations depart from the same position as Schmitt: from the political into the theological. In this quarrel between politics and theology, there is a less known contender, the theologian Erik Peterson, who developed a theological critique of Schmitt and shows the impossibility of a Christian political theology. In Political Theology II (1970), Schmitt criticizes the apolitical nature of Peterson's theology, but he ignores Peterson's theology of martyrdom. This paper recovers the centrality of martyrdom in Peterson's theology and argues that the martyr represents a counter model to Schmitt's sovereign. For Peterson, martyrdom is not apolitical act, but a public claim in which the martyrs testify in the public sphere that the highest human good is not political but eschatological. By recovering this eschatological dimension, Peterson shows the limits of Schmitt's interpretation of the political.

Because Plato's Philosophers: The Coherence of the Dialogues is such a monumental book, understanding its own coherence is a daunting task. The dialogue Theaetetus has as its theme the problem of knowledge, and so the part of Plato's Philosophers that deals with the Theaetetus seems a promising place to begin to think through what Zuckert's book means to be as a whole. In the Theaetetus we learn how knowledge, as a story that must begin and unfold for us in time, while necessarily partial, provides indirect, if imperfect, access to the whole and leads to a kind of self- knowledge. Plato makes this self-knowledge, the true goal of philosophy, most fully manifest in the drama of the life of his philosopher, Socrates, to which Plato's Philosophers, in meticulously tracing the dramatic order of the dialogues, means to provide access.

Over the last twenty years, comparative political theory has emerged as a distinctive contribution to contemporary theoretical and methodological debate in making the case for greater engagement between “Western” and “non-Western” traditions. While comparative political theory includes multiple methodological approaches and numerous objectives, this article argues for an interpretive method that combines conceptual and contextual analysis to demonstrate both the malleability of concepts and the varying implications that these concepts can have for political action in particular settings. The contextualized comparison need not necessarily be between Western and non-Western cases. This article argues for a “contextualizing concepts” approach and exemplifies this through an analysis of three cases where the concept of reconciliation has been articulated as a means of transforming divided societies since the 1990s: South Africa, Northern Ireland, and Australia.

I contrast two perspectives adopted to theorize political authorities. The first is the modern perspective. It conceives of political society as a civic union of free and equal citizens and regards the state as the political organization of this society. This perspective is primarily concerned with the principles that should govern the use of state power. The second is the political pluralist perspective. It recognizes a multiplicity of normative orders as equally legitimate. The focus is put on the civic processes by which a diverse citizenry should negotiate its interactions. I illustrate these perspectives by considering how they approach diversity, and more specifically the political claims of indigenous peoples. The pluralist perspective is argued to be normatively motivated by a consideration for the actual freedom of citizens to sustain diverse normative orders, to negotiate the structure of political society, and to jointly search for justice.