Murad Idris

This review supplements William Bain’s Political Theology of International Order by sketching out two historical threads that are inseparable from the histories of European thought and order that occupy the book. There are gestures toward both strands along the margins of Bain’s account, in a few observations and footnotes. They also have important implications for the place of political theological difference in this story and for the status of colonialism, hierarchy, and resistance. First, I expand on some of the book’s references to non-Christians and discuss the place of Islamic theology. Second, reflecting on Luther in relation to Muslim empires and adapting Bain’s acknowledgment of Grotius’s justifications for colonialism, I highlight the significance of hierarchy, enmity, and violence for a number of the thinkers mentioned, especially what their political theologies authorize in relation to non-Christians. These two sets of observations can help us imagine a complementary story less about international order than about the politics of proselytization and colonization. It also raises questions about the work that political theology as an analytic can do, especially when we globalize political theory and international political thought. I conclude by pondering the place of resistance in relation to imposed order and immanent order.

Peace is a universal ideal, but its political life is a great paradox: "peace" is the opposite of war, but it also enables war. If peace is the elimination of war, then what does it mean to wage war for the sake of peace? What does peace mean when some say that they are committed to it but that their enemies do not value it? Why is it that associating peace with other ideals, like justice, friendship, security, and law, does little to distance peace from war? Although political theory has dealt extensively with most major concepts that today define "the political" it has paid relatively scant critical attention to peace, the very concept that is often said to be the major aim and ideal of humanity. In War for Peace, Murad Idris looks at the ways that peace has been treated across the writings of ten thinkers from ancient and modern political thought, from Plato to Immanuel Kant and Sayyid Qutb, to produce an original and striking account of what peace means and how it works. Idris argues that peace is parasitical in that the addition of other ideals into peace, such as law, security, and friendship, reduces it to consensus and actually facilitates war; it is provincial in that its universalized content reflects particularistic desires and fears, constructions of difference, and hierarchies within humanity; and it is polemical, in that its idealization is not only the product of antagonisms, but also enables hostility. War for Peace uncovers the basis of peace's moralities and the political functions of its idealizations, historically and into the present. This bold and ambitious book confronts readers with the impurity of peace as an ideal, and the pressing need to think beyond universal peace.

The Oxford Handbook of Comparative Political Theory provides an entry point into this burgeoning field by both synthesizing and challenging the terms that motivate it. The handbook demonstrates how mainstream political theory can and must be enriched through attention to genuinely global, rather than parochially Euro-American, contributions to political thinking. Entries emphasize exploration of substantive questions about political life-ranging from domination to political economy to the politics of knowledge-in a range of global contexts, with attention to whether and how those questions may be shared, contested, or reformulated across differences of time, space, and experience. They connect comparative political theory to cognate disciplines including postcolonial theory, area studies, and comparative politics. Creative organizational tools such as tags and keywords aid in navigation of the handbook to help readers trace disruptions, thematic connections, contrasts, and geographic affinities across entries.

Massimiliano Tomba's Insurgent Universality locates an “alternative legacy of modernity” in how revolutionary movements across three centuries and four continents interpreted and claimed different pasts, concepts, and alternatives for themselves. These movements, from the Communards to the Zapatistas to the Russian Revolutionaries, engaged in democratic experiments in self-government, radical equality, and collective possession. In this forum, Tomba's interlocutors offer reflections and questions about the position of the critical historian, universality, and colonialism. Tomba's response explains the stakes of his project with two further examples of his historiographic practice.

In recent decades, the trope that classical Muslim thinkers anticipated or influenced modern European thought has provided an easy endorsement of their contemporary relevance. This article studies how Arab editors and intellectuals, from 1882 to 1947, understood the twelfth-century Andalusian philosopher Ibn Ṭufayl, and Arabo-Islamic philosophy generally. This modern generation of Arab scholars also attached significance to classical Arabic texts as precursors to modern European thought. They invited readers to retrospectively identify with Ibn Ṭufayl and his treatise, Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. Comparisons of Ibn Ṭufayl to European thinkers, and re-presentations of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān as the precedent or genesis of European thought, facilitated these editors’ global imaginaries, anti-colonial projects and political fantasies. This article tracks these projects and fantasies through the afterlife of Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān from early printings and generalist surveys to later editions and studies, as Ibn Ṭufayl’s significance became sutured into his imagined importance for Europe, and for going beyond Europe.

One of the exciting developments in political theory in the last decades is that the boundaries of the discipline gradually but vigorously expanded beyond “the West,” as evident in the rise of work that is often labeled “comparative.” Basic to this shift is the recognition that various thinkers, ideas, and contexts—usually marked as “non-Western”—have been peripheral to, and remain marginalized in, the discipline of political theory. However, the discipline’s framing of the “comparative” as the study of “non-Western political thought” tends to take for granted the boundary between “West” and “non-West.” The primacy of this assumed correspondence between “comparative” and “non-Western” is most visible and problematic in the ongoing institutionalization of the “comparative turn.” I understand comparative political theory as an immanent critique of political theory: the discipline presents itself as global, but in practice it is too often confined to studying a few places, histories, and bodies of knowledge. The “comparative” calls for political theorists to more reliably study politics and power anywhere. To take “comparative” to mean the study of equivalent, coherent forms of “non-Western” otherness is to elide the historicity of “the Western” and the ways in which it has been made in relation to non-Europeans.

This article studies the politics and ethics in Ibn Ṭufayl’s twelfth-century allegory, Risālat Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān. I discuss this allegory alongside Ibn Sīnā’s own Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān and Absāl and Salāmān, first, to show that their representations of politics are not reducible to epistemology, and second, to argue that Ibn Ṭufayl inverts the political principles depicted in Ibn Sīnā’s two tales. The paper focuses on how the characters in each allegory interact with one another, and it reconstructs the neglected politics and ethics of the allegories’ seemingly minor characters. I argue that in Ibn Tufayl’s descriptions of Ḥayy’s failure to convert the neighboring islanders, the islanders consistently act in accordance with three political ideals: association, hospitality, and friendship. The islanders’ reactions to Ḥayy’s arrival and to his attempts to ‘educate’ them show each of these ideals broken down into an antinomy. Ibn Tufayl’s critique of these political ideals turns on their internal potential for self-subversion.