Political Science 509

1|Unit 1: Understanding political science
Political Science: The History of the Discipline

Gabriel A. Almond (in Goodin, R.E. & Klingemann, H. [Eds.].A new handbook of political science)
Introduction. If we were to model the history of political science in the form of a curve of scientific
progress in the study of politics over the ages, it would properly begin in Greek political science, make
some modest gains in the Roman centuries, not make much progress in the Middle Ages, rise a bit in the
Renaissance and the Enlightenment, make some substantial gains in the 19th century, and then take off
in solid growth in the 20th century as political science acquires genuine professional characteristics. What
would be measured by this curve is the growth and qualitative improvement in knowledge concerned with
the two fundamental questions of political science: the properties of political institutions, and the criteria
we use in evaluating them.
xxx
A. The Greeks and Romans. Though heroic efforts have been made to include writings of the ancient
Near East in the political science chronicle, they are more properly viewed as precursors. Love for the
Bible cannot convert the advice given to Moses by his father-in-law as to how he might more efficiently
adjudicate the conflicts among the children of Israel, or the Deuteronomic doctrine of kingship, into
serious political science. But when we reach the Greece of Herodotus (c. 484:-:-425 BCE) we are in a
world in which analysis of political ideas and ideals, and speculation about the properties of different kinds
of "politics and the nature of statesmanship and citizenship, have become part of conventional wisdom.
Informed Greeks of the 5th century BC - living in the many independent Greek city states, in which the
same language is spoken and the same or similar gods are worshipped, sharing common historical and
mythological memories, engaged in inter-city trade and diplomacy, forming alliances and carrying on
warfare-provided an interested audience for information and speculation about varieties of governmental
and political arrangements, economic, defense and foreign policies.
The history of political science properly begins with Plato (428-348 BC) whose Republic, Statesman and
Laws are the first classics of political science. In these three studies, Plato sets out propositions about
justice, political virtue, the varieties of polity and their transformation which have survived as political
theories well into the 19th century and even until the present day. His theories of political stability and of
performance optimization, modified and elaborated in the work of Aristotle and Polybius, anticipate
contemporary speculation about democratic transition and consolidation. In his first political typology, in
the Republic, Plato presents ideal regime based on knowledge and possession of the truth, and hence
exemplifying the rule of virtue, and he then presents four other developmentally related regimes in
descending order of virtue - Timocracy, Oligarchy, Democracy, and Tyranny. Timocracy is a corruption of
the ideal state in which honor and military glory supplant knowledge and virtue; oligarchy is a corruption of
Timocracy, replacing honor with wealth as the principle of recruitment; democracy arises out of the
corruption of oligarchy, und in turn is corrupted into tyranny.
In the Statesman, written much later than The Republic, and in The Laws, written in his old age (after the
sobering experiences of the Peloponnesian War and the failure of his mission to Syracuse), Plato distinguishes between the ideal republic and the realistically possible varieties of polity. To classify real
regimes, he introduces the famous three-by-two table, marrying quantity and quality: the rule of the one,
the few, the many; each in its pure and impure versions. That generated the six-fold classification of
regimes - monarchy, tyranny, aristocracy, oligarchy, democracy, ochlocracy - which Aristotle perfected and
elaborated in his Politics, and which has served as a basic taxonomy through the ages and into the 19th
century.
In The Laws Plato presented the first version of the "Mixed Constitution" as the realistically best and most
stable regime, designed to halt the cycle of development and degeneration implicit in the six-fold scheme.
The Mixed Constitution, as formulated by Plato, attains stability by combining principles which might
otherwise be in conflict - the monarchic principle of wisdom and virtue, with the democratic principle of
freedom. This scheme was adopted and improved upon by Aristotle. It is the first explanatory theory in the
history of political science, in which institutions, attitudes, and ideas, are related to process and
performance. It is the ancestor of separation of powers theory.
Aristotle (384-322 BC) spent 20 years as a member of Plato's Academy. Then after a period of tutoring of
Alexander of Macedon, Aristotle returned to Athens and formed his own Lyceum, a teaching institution
cum library-museum and research institute. The method of the Lyceum was inductive, empirical and
historical, in contrast to the predominantly idealist and deductive, approach stressed in Plato's Academy.
The Lyceum is said to have collected 158 constitutions of Greek city-states, only one of which that of
Athens has survived. The lectures which make up Aristotle's Politics were apparently drawn from the
analyses and the interpretations of these data.
While Plato's metaphysics led him to depreciate the real world and the human capacity to perceive and
understand it, and to posit a world of ideal forms of which reality was a pale approximation, Aristotle, in
contrast, was more of a hands-on empiricist viewing political reality as a physician might view illness and
health. Sir Ernest Barker points out,
It is perhaps not fanciful to detect a special medical bias in a number of passages of the Politics.
This is not merely a matter of the accumulation of "case records; or of the use of the writings of
the school of Hippocrates such as the treatise of "airs, waters, and places." It is a matter of
recurring comparison between the art of the statesman and the art of the good physician; it is a
matter of the deep study of the pathology of constitutions, und of their liability to the fever of
sedition, which we find in Book V of the Politics; it is a matter of the preoccupation with
therapeutics which we also find in the same book-a preoccupation singularly evident in the
passage (at the end of chapter XI) which suggests a regimen and cure for the fever of tyranny
(Barker, introduction to Aristotle 1958 edn.: xxx).
While in his theory of the polity Aristotle begins from Plato's six-fold classification of states, from a realistic
point of view he argues that there are really four important types: oligarchy and democracy, the two types
into which most of the Greek city states might be classified; "polity" or constitutional or "mixed"
government, which is a combination of oligarchy and democracy, and which(because it reconciles virtue
with stability) is the first attainable form of government; and tyranny, which is the worst. To back up his
argument he points out that, while the social structures of cities vary according to the economies,
occupations, professions and statuses contained in them, these differences are reducible into different
distributions of rich and poor citizens. Where the rich dominate, we have oligarchy; where the poor
dominate, we have democracy. Where the middle class dominates, we may have "mixed" or constitutional
government, tending to be stable since extreme interests are out - weighed by moderate ones. Polit ical
structures and patterns of recruitment are classified according to the arrangements of the deliberative,
magistrative and judicial organs, and according to the access of different classes to them.
A modern political scientist - a Dahl, Rokkan, Lipset, Huntington, Verba, or Putnam - would be on quite
familiar ground with Aristotle's analysis, in The Politics and Ethics, of the relation of status, occupation,
profession and class to varieties of political institutions, on the one hand, and of the relation between
political socialization and recruitment to political structure and process, on the other. The metaphysics
and ontology would be shared. But had these chapters, or something like them, been submitted by
contemporary graduate students in search of dissertation topics, one can visualize marginal comments of
a Dahl or Verba: "What cases are you generalizing about?"; "What about using a scale here?"; "How
would you test the strength of this association?"; and the like. Aristotle presents a whole set of
propositions and hypotheses - on what makes for political, stability and what makes for breakdown, on
developmental sequences, on educational patterns and political performance - that cry out for research
designs and careful quantitative analysis. The Aristotelian method consists essentially of a clinical sorting
out of specimens, with hypotheses about causes and sequences, but without systematic tests of
relationships.
The Greek political theory of Plato and Aristotle was a combination of universalistic and parochial ideas.
The world about which they generalized was the world of the Greek city-states. They were generalizing
about Greeks and not about humankind. Citizens were differentiated from slaves, alien residents and
foreigner barbarians. With Alexanders conquests, and the intermingling of Greek and oriental cultures,
two notions generated by the Stoical philosophical school gained in authority. These were the idea of a
universal humanity and of an order in the world bused on natural law. These ideas were first advanced by
the Stoic philosopher, Chrysippus, in the last third of the 3rd century BC. Their clearest formulation was in
the work of Panaetius (185-109 BC) and Polybius (203-120 BC), two Stoic philosophers of the second
century who in turn transmitted these ideas to the Roman intellectual elite of the late republic. While
Panaetius developed the philosophical and ethical aspects of late Stoicism, Polybius adapted Platonic
and Aristotelian ideas to the history of Rome and to the interpretation of Roman institutions.
Polybius attributes the remarkable growth and power of Rome to its political institutions. He makes more
explicit the developmental ideas of Plato and Aristotle, offering simple social psychological explanations
for the decay of the pure forms of monarchy, aristocracy and democracy and for their degeneration into
the impure forms of tyranny, oligarchy and ochlocracy. According to Polybius, the Roman state builders
had, through a process of trial and error, rediscovered the virtues of the mixed constitution-the
combination of the monarchic, aristocratic and democratic principles implemented in the Consulate, the
Senate and the Assembly. It was these institutions which made possible the conquest of the world in the
course of half a century, and which according to Polybius guaranteed a future of stable and just world rule
under Roman law.
Three-quarters of a century later, the Roman lawyer Cicero (106-43 BC), applied "mixed constitution"
theory to Roman history at a time when the institutions of the Roman Republic were already in deep
decay. This part of his work was an appeal for a return to the structure and culture of the earlier Roman
Republic prior to the populist and civil war decades of the Gracchi, Marius and Sulla. More significant and
lasting was his development of the Stoic doctrine of natural law. This was the belief that there is a
universal natural law resulting from the divine order of the cosmos and the rational and social nature of
humanity. It was his formulation of this natural law idea which was taken up in the Roman law, and
passed from it into Catholic church doctrine and ultimately into its Enlightenment and modern
manifestations.
Thus we find formulated in Greek thought by the end of the third century BC, and in Roman thought in the
following centuries, the two great themes of political theory, themes that carry through the history of
political science into the present day. These are: "What are the institutional forms of polity?" and "What
are the standards we use to evaluate them?" The answer to the first was the Platonic and Aristotelian sixfold classification of pure and impure organizational forms, and the mixed constitution as the solution to
the problem of degeneracy and cyclicalism. The answer to the question of evaluation - legitimacy, justice was the doctrine of national law. These ideas were transmitted to Rome by the late Stoics (particularly
Panaetius and Polybius) and from the work of Romans (such as Cicero and Seneca) into Catholic political
theory.
B. Mixed constitutions and natural law theory in history. Mixed constitution theory and the theory of
law receive their fullest medieval codification in the work of Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274), who relates the
mixed constitution to justice and stability through its conformity to divine and natural law. His exemplars of
the mixed constitution are the divinely ordained political order of the Israel of Moses, Joshua and the
judges, balanced by elders and tribal leaders, and the Roman Republic in its prime, with its mix of
Assembly, Senate and Consulate. He follows the arguments of Aristotle on the weaknesses and
susceptibility to tyranny of the pure forms of monarchic, aristocratic and democratic rule. Combining the
pure forms is the antidote to human weakness and corruption.
In the late middle ages and in the Renaissance, mixed government and natural law provide the theoretical
coinage according to which governments were valued. Just as Israel of the pre-monarchic period and
Rome of the Republican age were viewed by Thomas Aquinas and those whom he influenced as
approximating the ideal of mixed government in the past, for the Italian political theorists of the late middle
ages and Renaissance the exemplar was Venice, with its monarchic Doge, its aristocratic Senate and
democratic Great Council. The stability, wealth and power of Venice were taken as proof of the superiority
of the mixed system.
The variety of principalities and republics in northern Italy in these centuries, the overarching and rival
claims of Church and Empire, the warfare, conquest, revolution, diplomatic negotiation and institutional
innovation III which they were constantly engaged, stimulated several generations of political theorists
who reflected and wrote on this political experience?
Central to their discussions were the ideas of the mixed constitution as expressed in Aristotle and Thomas
Aquinas. With the translation of his History of Rome in the 16th century, Polybius became influential
particularly in Florence and on the work of Machiavelli (1469-1527). In the Florentine crises of the late
15th and early 16th centuries, Machiavelli engaged in a polemic with the historian Guicciardini in which
the principal authorities cited were Aristotle, Polybius and Thomas Aquinas, and the issues turned on
which countries were the best exemplars of the mixed constitution. Guicciardini favored an Aristotelian,
Venetian-Spartan aristocratic bias; Machiavelli favored a somewhat greater role for the popular element,
relying more on Polybius for support.
The breakthrough of Renaissance political theory lay in Machiavelli's treatment of the legitimacy of
regimes and political leaders. Prior to The Prince and the Discourses, writers treated political regimes
dichotomously as pure and corrupt, normative or non-normative, in the original Platonic and Aristotelian
senses. Machiavelli, viewing politics as practiced in Italy in the 15th and 16th centuries, legitimized nonnormative politics as unavoidable, as survival-related, as part of reality. A Prince who failed to employ
problematic means when necessary to survival would be unable to do good when that was possible.
Machiavelli touched the nerve of political science with this "value- free" orientation, and his name became
a synonym for moral indifference and political cynicism. The issues raised by this venture into realism are
still fluttering the dovecotes of political philosophy.
The theory of sovereignty, so important a theme in the Middle Ages, Renaissance, and the Enlightenment,
receives its first full formulation in the work of Jean Bodin (1529-1596). His doctrine of absolutism as a
solution to the problem of instability and disorder is formulated in polemic with the theory of the mixed
constitution. Employing a realistic, historical method he makes the argument that the classic cases of
mixed government, Rome, and Venice, were actually concentrated and centralized regimes: indeed,
every important and long lasting regime ,concentrated the legislative and executive powers under a
central authority. His appreciation of the influence of environmental and social structural conditions on the
characteristics of states anticipates Montesquieu in its anthropological sensitivity.
While there was substantial progress in the development of political science in the Enlightenment, such
writers as Hobbes, Locke, Montesquieu, Hume, Madison and Hamilton were pursuing the same themes
that concerned Plato, Aristotle, Polybius, Cicero, Aquinas, Machiavelli, and Bodin forms and varieties of
rule, and the standards by which one judged them. In considering the progress made by the
Enlightenment philosophers we look for improvements in the gathering and evaluation of evidence and in
the structure of inference.
The first scholarly project completed by Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679) was a translation of Thucydides'
Peloponnesian Wars, a history of a disorderly and tragic epoch, just as England of the 17th century was
disturbed by civil war, regicide, dictatorship and exile. Hobbes's view of the state of nature, of the reasons
for humankind's consent to be governed, the nature or political obligation, and the legitimacy of different
forms of government, was influenced by reflections on the fall of Athens and the violence and moral
confusion of 17th-century England. In his later books De Cive and especially Leviathan, Hobbes
concluded that sovereign authority in a society is required if the deliverance of its members out of a
disorderly and violent state of nature is to be secured. In exchange for obligation and obedience, the
subject gets safety and security. The best form of government logically derived from these premises,
because itn is rational and unambiguous is monarchic absolutism, limited by the rulers obligation to
provide for the security and welfare of the members of the society. Hobbess achievement was his logical
derivation of conclusions about the best form of government from what he viewed as material conditions
and human needs. He advanced the argument by restricting assumptions to what he viewed, and what he
thought history confirmed, as "material" evidence of the human condition. He drew uncompromising
logical inferences from these assumptions.
John Locke's conclusions about the origins and legitimacy of government, in his Second Treatise of
Government, are derived from a different set of contractual assumptions than those of Hobbes. People
consent to government to assure their welfare and liberty. The Lockean state of nature is not so abysmal
as that of Hobbes. There are inconveniences and costs, and the consent to government is a conditional
one, measured by the extent to which government performs these limited functions. In moving from the
state of nature people cede to the community their right of enforcing the Iaw of reason so as better to
preserve life, liberty and property. There are the beginnings of "separation of powers" theory in John
Locke. The power granted to the community is divisible into three components - the legislative, the
executive, and the federative, the last a relatively unspecified power pertaining to foreign relations. In
Locke as well as in Hobbes, the progress in political science scholarship lies in the logical derivation of
the nature and forms of government, and of the bases of authority, liberty and obligation, from sociological
and psychological assumptions. Their strength lies in their logical rationalism, rather than in the gathering
of evidence.
Though it is an exaggeration to describe Montesquieu's evidence as rigorously gathered and
accumulated, surely he takes this step beyond Hobbes and Locke. While he recognizes laws of nature,
and derives the formation of government from these laws, he emphasizes above all the variety of humanpolitical experience and the pluralism of causation. Montesquieu goes to "Persia, and back in time to
Rome, so to speak, to Venice, to many other European countries, and especially to England, to compare
their institutions with those of France. He is a causal pluralist. To explain varieties of polity and public
policy he considers climate, religion, customs, economy, history, and the like. He founds the best form of
government in his notion of separation of powers, and a kind of Newtonian balance among these powers,
which he views as most likely to preserve liberty, and promote welfare. And, in Book XI of his Spirit of
Laws, he finds his best exemplification of separation of powers in post - Petition of Right England.
Montesquieu's classification of governments includes republics, monarchies, and despotisms, with the
republican category being further divisible into aristocracies and democracies. He finds exemplified in the
government of England the ideal of mixed government combining democratic, aristocratic and monarchic
institutions in a dialectic-harmonic balance. His political theory is an explanatory, system-functional,
conditions-process-policy theory.
It had great influence on the framers of the American Constitution. And it may have been in Hamilton's
mind when he wrote in Federalist 9, "The science of politics ... has received great improvement. The
efficacy of the various principles is well understood, which were either not known at all, or imperfectly
known to the ancients" and, in Federalist 31, "Though it cannot be pretended that the principles of moral
and political knowledge have, in general, the same degree of certainty with those of the mathematics, yet
they have much better claims in this respect than ... we should be disposed to allow them" (Hamilton
1937 edn.: 48,189). What led Madison and Hamilton to view themselves as such good political scientists
was through having tested the theories of Montesquieu, Locke and other European philosophers against
the experience of the thirteen colonies and of the United States under the Articles of Confederation. They
had the confidence of engineers in applying laws of politics, derived from empirical and laboratory-like
examinations of individual cases. Separating executive, legislative and judicial power (which they had
learned from Montesquieu) and mixing powers through checks and balances (which they had learned
from practical experience with the thirteen colonies) enabled them to treat politics in equation-like form:
"Separation + checks and balances = liberty."
C. The 19th century. In the 17th and 18th centuries, the philosophers of the Enlightenment forecast
the improvement in the material, political and moral condition of humanity as a consequence of the growth
of knowledge. In the 19th and 20th centuries, scholars and intellectuals elaborated this theme of progress
and improvement, predicting different trajectories, and causal sequences. In the first part of the 19th
century there were the great historicists (or historical determinists) - Hegel (1770-1831), Comte (17981857) and Marx (1818-1883 ) - who, in the Enlightenment tradition, saw history as unilinear development
in the direction of freedom and rational rule. In Hegel, reason and freedom are exemplified in the Prussian
bureaucratic monarchy. In Comte, the constraints of theology and metaphysics are broken by science as
it enables humanity to exercise rational control over nature and social institutions. In Marx, capitalism
supplants feudalism, and is supplanted in turn, first by proletarian socialism and then by the truly free,
egalitarian society.
Hegel departs from Enlightenment notions by his dialectical view of history as the clash of opposites and
the emergence of syntheses. The Prussian bureaucratic monarchy as rationalized and modernized in the
post-Napoleonic decades was viewed by Hegel as the exemplification of an ultimate synthesis. ln Marx,
the Hegelian dialectic became the principle of class struggle leading to the ultimate transformation of
human society. According to Marx, the nature of the historical process was such that the only social
science that is possible is one that is discovered in, and employed in, political action. In Marxism, this
science of society became a hilly validated, economy-ideology-polity driven scheme. Armed with this
powerful theory an informed vanguard would usher in a world of order, justice and plenty.
Auguste Comte, the originator with Saint -Simon (1760-1825) of philosophical positivism, inaugurated the
new science of "sociology" in his six-volume Cours de Philosophie Positive (Koenig 1968). He made the
argument that all the sciences went through two stages - first, the theological; second, the metaphysicalbefore becoming, in the third stage, scientific or positive. Thus, argued Comte, astronomy first passed
through these three stages, then physics, then chemistry, then physiology. Finally, social physics (the
social sciences inclusive of psychology) was in process of maturing as a science. Comte saw this new
scientific sociology as furnishing a blueprint for the reform of society.
There was a wave of empiricism in reaction to these sweeping, abstract, monistic theories. This reaction
produced a large number of descriptive, formal-legal studies of political institutions and several
monumental, pedestrian, descriptive political ethnographies, such as Theodore Woolsey's Political
Science; Or the State Theoretically and Practically Considered (1878); Wilhelm Roscher's Politik:
Geschichtliche Naturlehre der Monarchie, Aristokratie, und Demokratie (1892); and Woodrow Wilson's
The State: Elements of Historical and Practical Politics (1889/1918). These were essentially ponderous
classificatory exercises, employing some variation of the Platonic-Aristotelian system of classification.
Similar to the historicists, but more empirical in approach and more pluralistic in explanation, were a
group of writers in the second half of the 19th century who might be characterized as evolutionists and
who influenced modern sociology in a variety of ways. These included Herbert Spencer (1820-1903), Sir
Henry Sumner Maine (1822-1888) and Ferdinand Toennies (1855-1936). Spencer (1874/1965), an early
post Darwinian social evolutionist, avoids a simple unilinearism. He is concerned with accounting for
cultural and political variation, as well as generic improvement. He explains political decentralization and
centralization by physical features of the environment, such as mountainous - versus open prairie terrain.
He also makes the argument, backed up - by historical example, that democratization is the consequence
of socioeconomic changes resulting in urban concentration, and the proliferation of interests due to the
growth of manufactures and the spread of commerce.
There was a common dualistic pattern among the later 19th-century writers on the historical process.
Maine (1861/1963) distinguishes ancient from modern law in terms of the shift from status relationships of
a diffuse character to specific contractual ones. Toennies (1887/1957) introduces the distinction between
Gemeinschaft und Gesselschaft (Community and Society). At the turn of the century Weber (1864 1920)
and Durkheim (1858-1917) contrast modern rationality with traditionality (Weber 1922/1978: vol I, pp, .
24ff), organic with mechanical solidarity (Durkheim 1893/1960). This theme of "development;' of
"modernizat ion;' continues into the 20th century and to the present day, with efforts at defining,
operationalizing, measuring, and interpreting socio-economic-pol itical "modernization" discussed below.
It was common throughout the 19th century to speak of the study of politics and society as sciences for
knowledge about politics to be described as consisting of lawful propositions about political institutions
and events based on evidence and inference. Collini, Winch and Burrow document this in great depth and
detail in their book, That Noble Science of Politics (1983). As in earlier times, the historians and publicists
of the 19th century looked for "lessons" from history, but with increasing sophistication. Recalling his
"method" in writing Democracy in America, Tocqueville ( 1805-59) observed, "Although I very rarely spoke
of France in my book I did not write one page of it without having her, so to speak, before my eyes"; and
in appreciation of the comparative method more generally, he said. "Without comparisons to make, the
mind does not know how to proceed" (Tocqueville 1985: 59,191).
Collini, Winch, and Burrow point out that in the 19th century propositions about the nature and
explanation of political phenomena increasingly came to be based on historical inductions rather than
from assumptions about human nature. In part this was attributable to the simple growth of knowledge
about contemporary and historical societies. Imperialism and colonialism brought vast and complex
cultures such as India as well as small-scale and primitive societies such as the American Indian and the
African cultures, into the intellectual purview of European scholars and intellectuals. Exotic parts of the
world became accessible and invited more cautious and controlled efforts at inferring cause and effect
than was the case with Machiavelli and Montesquieu. At Oxford and Cambridge, at the very end of the
19th century, under the leadership of E.A. Freeman (1874), Frederick Pollock (1890) and John Seeley
(1896) comparative history came to be viewed somewhat sanguinely as the basis for a genuinely
scientific study of politics. It was introduced into the History Tripos at Cambridge in 1897 in the form of two
papers - one on Comparative or Inductive Political Science, and a second on Analytical and and
Deductive Politics (Collini et al.: 341 ff.). As early as 1843, John Stuart Mill (1806 - 73) had recognized in
his System of Logic (1843/1961) that the comparative method in the human sciences was in some sense
equivalent to the experimental method in the natural sciences. A century and a half ago Mill had in effect
anticipated the "most similar systems strategy" of Przeworski and Teune. (1970).
For John Stuart Mill, Tocqueville, Ostrogorski, Wilson and Michels, democracy as an alternative to other
regimes is a major preoccupation. Each in his own way continues the debate about "mixed government."
Mill wants the educated, the informed, the civically responsible to play a preeminent role in democracy to
avoid the corrupt and mass potentialities latent in it. Tocqueville found in the American legal profession an
aristocratic admixture to moderate the "levelling" propensities of democracy. Ostrogorski (1964: vol. ii,
Conclusion) and Michels (1949) both see fatal flaws in democracy, and inevitable oligarchy, resulting from
the bureaucratization of mass political parties.
These 19th-century trends readily fall under our organizing concept of the advancing rigor and logical
coherence of the study of political phenomena defined as the properties and legitimacy of rule.
Linking European political theory with American political science of the first decades of the 20th century
was the concept of "pluralism: a variation on the "mixed government" theme. The concept of state
sovereignty, associated with the ideology of absolutist monarchy, was challenged in the late 19th and
early 20th centuries by "pluralists" of both the right and the left. Otto Gierke (1868) in Germany and Leon
Duguit (1917) in France question the complete authority of the central state. Conservative political theorists such as Figgis (1896) asserted the autonomy of churches and communities; left-wing theorists such
as Harold Laski (1919) made such claims for professional groups and trade unions.
With the seminal figures of Marx and Freud, and the great sociological theorists of the turn of the 19th
century - Pareto, Durkheim, Weber - and with the polemic about sovereignty and pluralism, we are
already in the immediate intellectual background of 20th-century political science.
D. The professionalization of political science in the 20th century. In the latter half of the 19th
century and the first decades of the 20th, the rapid growth and concentration of industry and the
proliferation of large cities in the United States, populated in considerable part by immigrants from the
countryside or from foreign countries, created a situation prone to corruption on a major scale. It took
political entrepreneurs with resources to organize and discipline the largely ignorant electorates that
swarmed into such urban centers as New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, St. Louis, Kansas City and
the like. The "boss" and the "machine" and intermittent reform movements were the most visible American
political phenomena of the late 19th and early 20th century. Reform movements inspired by an ideology of
efficiency and integrity, and supported by urban business and professional elites, drew on the talents of
journalists of the quality media and academic communities. The corruption of politics by business
corporations seeking contracts, franchises and protection from governmental regulation became the
subject of a journalistic "muck raking" literature, which brought to public view a political infrastructure and
process - "pressure groups" and the "lobby," deeply penetrative and corrupting of local, state and national
political processes.
In the interwar years American political scientists were challenged by this political infrastructure, and by
the muckraking literature which exposed it, and" began", to produce serious monographic studies of
pressure groups and lobbying activities. Peter Odegard (1928) wrote on the American Anti-Saloon
League, Pendleton Herring (1929) on pressure Groups and the Congress, Elmer Schattschneider (1935)
on politics and the tariff, Louise Rutherford (1937) on the American Bar Association, Oliver Garceau
(1941) on the American Medical Association, and there were many others. They put their stamp on the
political science of the interwar years. The realism and empiricism of these early students of what some
called "invisible" or "informal government drew on the ideas of an earlier generation of American political
theorists including Frank Goodnow (1900) and Woodrow Wilson (1887).
D.1. The Chicago School. Thus in the first decades of the 20th century the notion of a "scientific"
study of politics had put on substantial flesh. Europeans such as Comte, Mill, Tocqueville, Marx, Spencer,
Weber, Durkheim, Pareto, Michels, Mosca, Ostrogorski, Bryce and others had pioneered, or were
pioneering, the development of a political sociology, anthropology and psychology, in which they moved
the study of politics into a self-consciously explanatory mode. Empirical studies of governmental and
political processes had made some headway in American universities. But in major part the study of
politics in American universities in these decades was still essentially legal, philosophical and historical in
its methodology. The significance of the University of Chicago school of political science (c. 1920-40) lay
in its demonstration through concrete, empirical studies that a genuine enhancement of political
knowledge was possible through an interdisciplinary research strategy, the introduction of quantitative
methodologies and through organized research support. Other writers spoke a language similar to
Merriams in "The Present State of the Study of Politics" (for example, Catlin 1964). But the school which
Merriam founded in the 1920s, and staffed in part with his own students, made a quantum leap in
empirical investigative rigor, inferential power in the study of things political, and in institutional innovation.
What led him to become the great political science entrepreneur of his generation was the dynamic setting
of the city of Chicago, booming with wealth and aspiring toward culture in the early 20 th century decades,
and the interplay of his academic life and his political career. His hopes for high political office had been
dashed by his defeat in the Chicago mayoralty campaign in 1919. It was no longer possible for him to
aspire to become the "Woodrow Wilson of the Middle West" (Karl 1974: chap. 4). At the same time he
was unable to settle for a quiet academic career. His years in municipal politics, and his wartime
experience with foreign affairs and propaganda, sensitized him to "new aspects" in the study of politics.
Not long after returning to the University of Chicago from his "public information" post in Italy, he issued
his New Aspects (1931b) declaration and began his build-up of the Chicago department and the various
research programs which identified it as a distinctive "school." He was an institutional innovator: first
creating the Social Science Research Committee at the University of Chicago to dispense financial
support for promising research initiatives among the Chicago social science faculty; and then pioneering
the formation of the Social Science Research Council to provide similar opportunities on the national
scale.
The first major research program to be initiated at Chicago was built around Harold Gosnell, who received
his doctorate under Merriam in 1921 and was appointed to an assistant professorship in 1923. He and
Merriam collaborated in a study of the attitudes toward voting of a selection of some six thousand
Chicagoans in the mayoral election of 1921. The selection was made prior to the introduction of "probability sampling" and was carried out through "quota control" which sought to match the demographic
characteristics of the Chicago population by quotas of the principal demographic groups. Quota control,
discredited in the Truman-Dewey election of 1948, was then the "state of the art' approach to the
sampling of large populations. The interviewers were University of Chicago graduate students trained by
Merriam and Gosnell. Gosnell followed up this study with the first experiment ever to be undertaken in
political science. This was a survey of the effects o voting of a non-partisan mail canvass in Chicago that
was intended to get out the vote in the national and local elections of 1924 and 1925. The experimental
technique Gosnell (l927) devised was quite rigorous: there were carefully matched experimental and
control groups, different stimuli were employed, and the results were analyzed according to the most
sophisticated statisitical techniques then available. Follow-up research was done by Gosnell in Britain,
France, Germany, Belgium and Switzerland. Nothing like this had been done by political scientists before.
Harold Lasswell (1902-78), a young prodigy from small-town Illinois, brilliantly implemented Merriam's
interest in political psychology. His accomplishments when he was in his 20s and 30s were extraordinary.
Between 1927 and 1939 he produced six books, each one innovative, exploring new dimensions and
aspects of politics. The first, Propaganda Technique in the World War (1927), introduced the study of political
communication (to be followed in 1935 by a book-length annotated bibliography called Propaganda and
Promotional Activities, identifying the new literature of communications, propaganda and public relations.
The second book, Psychopathology and Politics (1930) explored the "depth psychology of politics" through
the analysis of the case histories of politicians, some of them are mentally disturbed. The third book,
World Politics and Personal Insecurity (1935), speculated about the psychological bases and aspects of
individual political behavior, different kinds of political regimes, and political processes. The fourth book,
the celebrated Politics: Who Gets What, When, and How (1936), was a succinct exposition of Lasswell's
general political theory, emphasizing the interaction of elites, competing for such values as "income,
deference and safety! In 1939 he published World Revolutionary Propaganda: A Chicago Study, in which he
and Blumenstock "examined the impact of the world depression on political movements among the
Chicago unemployed, exemplifying the interaction of macro and micro factors in politics at the local,
national and international levels. ... also published some twenty articles during these years in such
periodicals as The American Journal of Psychiatry, The Journal of Abnormal Psychology, Scientific Monographs,
The American Journal of Sociology, The Psychoanalytical Review and the like. He was the first investigator of
the interaction of physiological and mental-emotional processes to use laboratory methods. He published
several articles during these years reporting the results of his experiments in relating attitudes, emotional
states, verbal content and physiological conditions as they were reported or reflected in interview records,
pulse rates, blood pressure, skin tension and the like.
While Gosnell and Lasswell were the full-time makers of the Chicago revolution in the study of political
science, the senior scholars in the department - including Merriam himself, and his colleagues Quincy
Wright in international relations and L.D. White in public administration were also involved in major ways
in the making of the reputation of the Chicao School. Merriam (1931) sponsored and edited a series of
books on civic education in the US and Europe, a forerunner of contemporary studies of political
socialization and culture. During these same years Quincy Wright (1942) carried on his major study of the
causes of war, which involved the testing of sociological and psychological hypotheses by quantitative
methods. Leonard White took on Lord Bryce's (1888) problem of why in America the "best men do not go
into politics."
D. 2 World War II and the post-war behavioral revolution. The Chicago School continued its
productivity up to the late 1930s, when the University administration under Hutchins attacked the value of
empirical research in the social sciences. Several of the leading professors in the Department of
Philosophy, including George Herbert Mead and others of leading pragmatists resigned and went to other
universities. In political science, Lasswell and Gosnell resigned, and Meriams retirement brought the
productivity of the Chicago Department of Political Science almost to a halt. However, the Chicago School
had reached a mass which assured its future in the country at large. Herman Pritchett continued his
innovative work in public law at the University of Chicago; Lasswell continued his work at Yale, inspiring
Dahl, Lindblom and Lane in their transformation of the Yale department. V.O. Key, Jr., at Harvard,
produced several generations of students with empirical and quantitative research interests in political
parties, elections and public opinion. David Truman and Avery Leiserson brought the study of interest
groups to theoretical fruition. William T. R. Fox, Klaus Knorr and Bernard Brodie and the present author
and their students brought University of Chicago international relations and comparative politics to Yale,
Princeton, Columbia, Stanford, MIT and the Rand Corporation.
World War II turned out to be a laboratory and an important training experience for many of the scholars
who would seed the "behavioral revolution." The problems of how to insure the high rate of agricultural
and industrial production on the part of a reduced labor force, how to recruit and train soldiers, sailors and
airmen, and later how to discharge and return them to civilian life, how to sell war bonds, how to control'
consumption and inflation, how to monitor internal morale and the attitudes of allies and enemies, created
demand for social science personnel in all the branches of the military and civilian services. The war effort
created pools of social science expertise which, on the conclusion of the war, were fed back into the
growing academic institutions of the post-war decades.
Working for the Department of Justice, Lasswell developed systematic quantitative content analysis for
the monitoring of the foreign language press, and the study of allied and enemy propaganda in the United
States. He also participated with social scientists such as Hans Speier, Goodwin Watson, Nathan Leites
and Edward Shils in the work of an analysis division in the Foreign Broadcast Intelligence Service of the
Federal Communications Commission, which among other things analyzed the content of Nazi
communications for information on internal political and morale conditions in Germany and occupied
Europe. Survey research techniques, other kinds of interviewing methods, statistical techniques,
especially sampling theory, were brought to bear on the war-related problems of the various military
services, the Departments of Agriculture, Treasury and Justice and such agencies as the Office of Price
Administration and the Office of War Information. Anthropology, then in its psychiatric-psychoanalytic
phase, was similarly drawn into the war effort. The causes of Fascism and Nazism, the reasons for the
French political breakdown, the cultural vulnerabilities of Russia, Britain and the United States, were
sought in family structure, childhood socialization and cultural patterns. The Office of War Information and
the War Department drew on the anthropological and psychological expertise of Ruth Benedict, Margaret
Mead, Cora Dubois, Clyde Kluckhohn, Ernest Hilgard, Geoffrey Gorer and others. Social psychologists
and sociologists specializing in survey research and experimental social psychology-including Rensis
Likert, Angus Campbell, Paul Lazarsfeld, Herbert Hyman, Samuel Stouffer and Carl Hovland - were
employed by the Army, Navy and Air Force in dealing with their personnel problems, by the Department of
Agriculture in its effort to increase food production, by the Treasury in its effort to market bonds, and by
the various intelligence services , including the OSS. A younger generation of political scientists working
in these various agencies during the war years experienced something like post-doctoral internships
under the supervision of leading scholars in the social science disciplines.
The rapidly growing academic enterprise in the postwar and Cold War world drew on these war-time
interdisciplinary experiences. The curriculum on political science and departmental faculties expanded
rapidly in response to this broadened conception of the discipline and the spread of higher education. The
study of international relations, stimulated by the important American role in the postwar and Cold War
world, was fostered in mostly new research institutes at Yale, Princeton, Columbia, MIT, Harvard,
spreading into the middle western and western universities in the 1950s and 1960s. New subspecialties
such as security studies, international political economy, public opinion and political culture studies joined
with the older subspecialties of international law, organization and diplomatic history in staffing of these
research institutes and political science departments. The new developing nations of Asia, Africa, the
Middle East and Latin America, now seen as threatened by an aggressive Soviet Union, required area
specialists and specialists in economic and political development processes and problems. Departments
of political science expanded rapidly to accommodate these new area specialties and international
relations programs.
The survey research specialists of World War II found themselves to be in great demand. Business
wanted to know how best to market and merchandize its products; and politicians wanted to know the
susceptibilities and intentions of their constituents. From small beginnings in the 1930s and 1940s, the
field of survey and market research exploded in the post-war decades. It had both commercial and
academic components. The main academic institutions involved in this development were: the University
of Michigan, with its Institute of Social Research and its Survey Research Center founded by the
psychologists Rensis Likert, Angus Campbell and Dorwin Cartwright; the Bureau of Applied Social
Research at Columbia, founded by sociologists Paul Lazarsfeld and Robert Merton; and the National
Opinion Research Center at the University of Chicago, headed in its early years by sociologist Clyde Hart.
These three organizations in the postwar decades produced a literature and a professoriate that
contributed substantially to the "behavioral revolution.
Among these three university centers, the University of Michigan turned out to be the most important in
the recruitment and training of political scientists. Its Institute of Social Research established a Summer
Training Institute in the use of survey methods open to young political and other social scientists as early
as 1947. Over the years this program has trained hundreds of American and foreign political scientists in
survey and electoral research techniques. In 1961 it established an Interuniversity Consortium for Political
and Social Research (ICPSR), supported by subscribing universities and maintaining in machinereadable form a rapidly growing archive of survey and other quantitative data. This archive has served as
the database for a large number of doctoral dissertations, articles in learned journals and important books
illuminating various aspects of the democratic process. It has administered its own summer training program in quantitative methods.
In 1977 the University of Michigan, Survey Research Center Election Studies became the American
National Election Studies supported by a major grant from the National Science Foundation, with an
independent national Board of Overseers drawn from American universities. This organization-based at
the Center of Political Studies of the Institute of Social Research of the University of Michigan, directed by
Warren Miller, and with its Board of Overseers chaired by Heinz Eulau of Stanford University has
regularly conducted national election studies, with input from the larger national political and social
science community as a whole.
If we can speak of the University of Chicago school of political science as the agency which sparked the
scientific revolution in the study of politics in the inter - war decades, surely the University of Michigan
Institute of Social Research deserves a major credit for the spread of this scientific culture in the postWorld War II decades into most of the major academic centers in the United States and abroad. Several
hundreds of scholars have been trained in survey and statistical methods in its Summer Training
Institutes; scores of articles and dozens of books have been produced by scholars using its archival
materials; the Michigan election studies have served as models for sophisticated election research in all
the rest of the world.
The spread and improvement in empirical political theory involved more than election research technique
and theory. Such fields as international relations and comparative politics grew as rapidly as did the field
of American politics, and their newer growth involved quantification and interdisciplinary approaches. The
major university centers of graduate training during the post-war decades - Yale, the University of
California at Berkeley, Harvard, the Universities of Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Stanford, Princeton,
MIT and others - turned out hundreds of political science PhDs to staff the proliferating and growing
political science departments in American and in many foreign colleges and universities. Most of these
centers of graduate training provided instruction in quantitative methods in the decades after WWII.
Under the leadership of Pendleton Herring, the Social Science Research Council in the 1940s and 1960s
facilitated and enriched these developments through its graduate and post-doctoral fellowship and
research support programs. Two of its political science research committees - the Committee on Political
Behavior, and its spin-off Committee on Comparative Politics, were particularly active in spreading these
ideas and practices. The Committee on Political Behavior provided direction and support in American
election and legislative studies. The Committee on Comparative Politics led in the development and
sophistication of area and comparative studies. While most of the participants in these programs were
American political and social scientists, around one-fifth of the participants in the conferences of the
Committee on Comparative Politics during the years 1954-1972 were foreign scholars. Some of these Stein Rokkan, Hans Daalder, Samuel Finer, Richard Rose, Giovanni Sartori, among others - were in turn
leaders in movements in Europe and in their particular countries to expand and improve the quality of the
work in political and social science.
The discipline of political science was becoming a modern "profession" over these years. Departments of
Political Science, Government and Politics had first come into existence at the turn of the 19th century,
when they began to be formed by an alliance of historians, lawyers and philosophers. By the first decades
of the 20th century, there were free standing departments in many American universities. The American
Political Science Association was formed in 1903 with a little more than 200 members. It reached around
3,000 members at the end of World War II, exceeded 10,000 in the mid-1960s, and now includes more
than 13,000 individual members. Most of these members are instructors in institutions of higher
education, organized in a large number of sub specialties. Most political science teachers and
researchers have obtained degrees as Doctors of Philosophy in political science in one of the major
10 | U n i t 1 : U n d e r s t a n d i n g p o l i t i c a l s c i e n c e
centers of graduate training. Qualifications for the degree normally involve passing a set of field and
methodological examinations, and the completion of a major research project. Scholarly reputations are
based on the publication of books and articles screened for publication by "peer review." Advancement in
scholarly rank normally requires evaluation by external reviewers specialized in the field of the candidate.
There are dozens of political science journals, specialized by field and governed by the processes of peer
review.
The half-century of political science training and research since the end of World War II has created a
major academic profession, with many subspecialties, and has made many substantive contributions to
our knowledge and understanding of politics in all its manifestations. Area-studies research on Western
and Eastern Europe, East, Southeast and South Asia, the Middle East, Africa and Latin America, carried
on by literally thousands of trained scholars organized in "area study" centers in scores of universities and
colleges, with their own professional organizations and journals - has produced libraries of informative
and often sophisticated monographs.
A quick and selective review of substantive research programs may help us appreciate this growth of
political knowledge. We have already described the spread and sophistication of election research. Its
forecasting record; may be compared with that of meteorology and seismology. We have made major
progress in our understanding of political culture as it affects political institutions and their performance,
as well as the cultures of important elite and other social groups. Examples from survey research include
the work of Gabriel AImond, Sidney Verba, Alex Inkeles, Ronald Inglehart, Samuel Barnes and Robert
Putnam. More descriptive-analytical studies of political culture are exemplified in the work of Lucian Pye.
Our understanding of political participation has been brought to a high level through a series of studies
carried on over the last decades by Verba and his associates.
In the early decades of the postwar period Talcott Parsons and others developed "system" frameworks for
the comparison of different types of societies and institutions, building on the work of such European
sociological theorists as Weber and Durkheim. Drawing on these and other sources David Easton
pioneered the introduction of the "system" concept into political science.
Through aggregate statistical methods, we now have vastly improved understanding of the processes of
modernization and democratization and government al performance. Significant progress has been made
in our understanding of interest groups and of "corporatist" phenomena, and in our appreciation of the key
importance of political parties in the democratic process.
Theories of representation and of legislative behavior and process have been explored and codified in
studies by Eulau, Wahlke, Pitkin and Prewitt. Herbert Simon, James March and others, beginning from
studies of governmental organizations, have created a new interdisciplinary field of organization theory
generally applicable to all large-scale organizations including business corporations. Public policy
research, pioneered jointly in Europe and the United States, has taken off in recent decades and
promises the development of a new political economy.
The theory of democracy has been significantly advanced by the work of Robert Dahl, Arend Lijphart and
Giovanni Sartori. That of democratization has been developed by Juan Linz, Larry Diamond, Phillipe
Schmitter, Guillermo O'Donnell, Samuel Huntington and others. The life-long dedication of Robert Dahl to
the study of democracy is an example of how normative and empirical political theory may mutually enrich
each other (Dahl 1989).
While we have stressed the growth and spread of empirical, explanatory and quantitative political science
in this chapter, there has been "progress" in the older branches of the discipline as well. The propositions
and speculations of the political historians, political philosophers and legal scholars have been
increasingly based on improvements in scholarly methodology - rigorous accumulation of information, and
refinements in the logic of analysis and inference. Comparative political history has made important
contributions to the theory of the state, political institutions and public policy ... Refinements in case study
methodology have been made by Harry Eckstein and Alexander George, and these have increased the
rigor of historical studies in comparative politics and foreign policy. The methodology of comparison has
been refined and improved through the work of Almond and his collaborators, Adam Przeworski and
James Teune, Arend Syphart, Neil Smelser, Mattei Dogan, David Collier, and Gary King, Robert Keohane
and Sidney Verba.
With the work of Rawls, Nozick, Barry, Walzer, Fishkin and others, normative political philosophy has
made substantial progress, and not entirely without influence from empirical studies. William Galston
(1993), in the recent edition of Political Science: The State of The Discipline II, points out that political
philosophy and theory are moving in the direction of increasing reliance on empirical evidence, much of it
drawn from the research of political science and the other social science disciplines. Galston urges
political theorists to take on the task of codifying the findings of empirical research as they may bear on
political philosophy, as Robert Dahl, Dennis Thompson, and James Q. Wilson have done.
Martin Shapiro's (1993) evaluation of the contemporary study of the courts and public law similarly urges
a closer integration of legal studies with institutional and processual political science. Political science
without legal analysis is seriously lacking in explanatory power; and legal analysis without the political
institutional and processual context is formalistic and sterile. The work of Shapiro and that of a growing
band of students of the courts and public law demonstrates the validity of this proposition.
Thus, our account of the history of political science is inclusive of progress made by the earlier traditional
sub disciplines, measured by the same criteria. As the scientific revolution of the last century has
impinged on the study of politics the response of the discipline of political science has been multivocal
and ambivalent. Some parts of the discipline responded earlier to these challenges; and some parts saw
the face of science as lacking in all compassion and empathy, and as a threat to humane scholarship.
One ought not to overlook the fear of obsolescence generated by the introduction of statistics,
mathematics and diagrammatic virtuosity. But the newer generation cultivating the study of political
history, philosophy and law have overcome these anxieties, discovered the vulnerabilities and
shortcomings of the behavioral approach, developed their own arsenal of mystifications, and have proven
to be quite as competent in the employment of smoke and mirrors as their behavioral brethren.
xxx
Political Science in the Philippines

(Remigio Agpalo, Adventures in Political Science. Quezon City: UP Press)
THE HISTORY OF political science in the country can be traced back to a significant period of Philippine
history - the Propaganda Movement (1880-1895) and the Philippine Revolution (1896-1901) - and it could
be characterized as a movement of the discipline in terms of focus on a subject matter and approaches to
the study. In terms of focus, the discipline is moving away from the state and towards the political system;
in terms of approaches, from the legalistic, institutional, historical, and normative approaches towards the
systemic, sociological, processual, and behavioral approaches. The major trends indicate a development
towards a more comprehensive political science and greater professionalization. The major problems
arise from the inevitable difficulties and tribulations of a very young discipline with few professional
practitioners in a modernizing polity beset by numerous problems. The agenda for the future naturally and
logically are shaped by the discipline's major problems and trends.
Although the major ilustrados or intellectuals of the Propaganda Movement and the Philippine Revolution
during the period 1880-1901 of Philippine history did not regard themselves as practitioners of political
science, they are actually the fathers of Philippine political science. These ilustrados are five: the
triumvirate of the Propaganda Movement [Jose P. Rizal (1861-1896), Graciano Lopez Jaena (1856-1896),
and Marcelo H. del Pilar (1850-1896)] and the duumvirate of the Philippine Revolution [Emilio Jacinto
(1875-1899) and Apolinario Mabini (1864-1903)].
That these five intellectuals are indeed the fathers of Philippine political science is shown clearly in the
major works of leading practitioners of political science in the country before and after World War II.
Before World War II, Teodoro Kalaw, the author of Manual de Ciencia Politica, highlighted the importance
of the works of these ilustrados. After World War II, Cesar A. Majul likewise recognized the significance of
the political and constitutional ideas of these intellectuals?
Of the triumvirate of the Propaganda Movement, Rizal was the most prolific, original, and comprehensive
- definitely the greatest. An advocate of liberal democracy and modernization, Rizal expounded and
analyzed his political ideas in several works, especially in his two essays The Indolence of the
Filipinos and The Philippines a Century Hence, his two novels - The Social Cancer and The Reign of
Greed! and his constitution for the Liga Filipina? Based on the propositions on man, whose attributes are
dignity, rationality, perfectibility, and freedom, Rizal's political philosophy posits the progressive
development of human society. The culmination of this progressive development is a new socio-political
order, whose constituent elements are new men, who are nationally participant, oriented towards scientific
and universalistic values, and truly self-confident and free. In such polity, agriculture, commerce, and
industry would flourish, the arts and sciences would develop, and the laws would be wise and just.
Education of the people is the means which brings about this new socio-political order, and, hence,
Rizals prescribed mode of social and political change is evolutionary instead of revolutionary.
Jaena and del Pilar are likewise exponents of liberal democracy like Rizal. Jaena's political ideas have
been compiled and published in a book Speeches, Articles and Letters; and del Pilar's in appendices to a
book Marcelo H. del Pilar. A book on the latter's political ideas has also been published.
Of the political thought of the duumvirate of the Philippine Revolution, Mabini's has been written about
and analyzed more extensively and fully than Jacinto's. Mabini's political thought is more extensive,
comprehensive, and systematic than Jacinto's. Like Rizal, these two political thinkers are likewise
exponents of liberal democracy, for they were influenced significantly by Rizal. Jacinto's political writings
have been compiled and published in Buhay at mga Sinulat ni Emilio Jacinto, and Mabini's in La
Revolucion Filipina.
The approach to politics by the fathers of Philippine political science is philosophical or normative. This
was a major orientation of the tradition of Europe, which was the principal source of their political ideas.
The cession of the Philippines by Spain to the United States in 1898 and the defeat of the Filipinos in the
Filipino-American War in 1901 paved the way for a new direction in the development of Philippine political
science. The shift was from the philosophical or normative approach to the legalistic institutional and
pragmatic approaches, with a view to developing a science of government. This shift was inevitable
because the Americans by the turn of the century had already established an American Political Science
Association and developed a political science based on the legalistic and institutional approaches. The
new direction in political science was effected by the Americans through the University of the Philippines,
which was chartered in 1908. In the law establishing the University of the Philippines, one section
provided that the Board of Regents shall have the power "to provide," among others, "a College of Social
and Political Science."
This College of Social and Political Science has never been established, although the provision has never
been repealed, in the University of the Philippines. However, a Department of Political Science was
established in the University in the College of Liberal Arts in 1915. Its first "Chief of the Department," as
the designation of the head of the Department was called in the first few years of the Department, was
George A. Malcolm, who had been appointed as Acting Dean of the College of Law for the academic year
1912-1913. In 1916, Malcolm published a book, The Government of the Philippine Islands. He declared:
In modern political science, there is understood by "state," in its widest sense, an independent society,
acknowledging no superior. The United States Supreme Court in an early case defined "state" as "a
complete body of free persons united together for the common benefit, to enjoy peaceably what is their
own and to do justice to others." A more comprehensive definition containing the essential constituent
elements is that a state is "a community of persons more or less numerous, permanently occupying a
definite territory, independent of external control and possessing an organized government to which the
great body of inhabitants render habitual obedience.
The above quotation was deliberately chosen in order to indicate Malcolm's focus on the study of political
science - the state, which is a juridical concept. His approach to the study of government is also obvious
in the above quotation; it is legalistic, as indicated by citations of a definition of state from Chisholm v.
Georgia (1793), 2 Dall. (U.S.), 455, I L. Ed. 456; and Garner's Introduction to Political Science
The first Filipino student of politics to define political science adopting the Malcolm position was Teodoro
M. Kalaw. In his Manual de Ciencia Politica in 1918, T.M. Kalaw said that the object of the study of his
book was "the nature and organization of the State, the structure and functions of the great branches of
government, and the theory of political and civil liberties."
The first Filipino political scientist with very profound influence in the development of Philippine political
science is Maximo M. Kalaw, the younger brother of Teodoro M. Kalaw. Maximo M. Kalaw's great
influence in the development of the discipline is based on the following facts: (1) He was the second of
two staff members of the Department - the first was the Chief of the Department, Dean Malcolm - who
originally manned the Department in the academic year 1915-1916; (2) He was the first Filipino appointed
as head of the Department; (3) During the formative years of the Department at the University of the
Philippines, from 1920 to 1934, he was not only head of the Department but also the Dean of the College
of Liberal Arts; (4) He was eminently qualified academically, for aside from his studies in the University of
the Philippines, he had gone also to the United States, getting an Ll.B. degree at Georgetown University
in 1915 and an A.B. degree at George Washington University in 1916, studying special courses at the
University of Wisconsin, and being honored by the University of Michigan in 1924 with a Ph.D. degree; (5)
He was the first Filipino exchange professor to an American university; (6) He was co-author, with Dean
George A. Malcolm, of Philippine Government, which was formerly an approved textbook in the public
schools; (7) He was also the author of other books, such as Self-Government in the Philippines; The
Case for Filipinos; The Development of Philippine Politics, 1872-1920; and Philippine Governmen; (8)
Finally, he was also very active and prominent in journalism and the public service; he was associate
editor of the Manila Times in 1918; technical adviser to independence missions to the United States in the
early 1930s, member of the National Assembly, and Secretary of the Department of Instruction and
Information during the Osmena administration.
Like Malcolm and his older brother, the younger Kalaw also defined political science as a study focused
on the state. He was also convinced of the practical value of political science. He said:
The study of the state, and principally of its organ, the government - its development, organization, and
function - is . . . of vital importance especially to a people of a young republic that have assumed for
themselves the supreme sovereign powers of a State.
The state - focused political science started by Malcolm and the Kalaws in the University of the
Philippines was continued by subsequent students of government and politics, especially textbook
authors of introduction to political science and Philippine government.
One of the earliest authors of such textbooks, Jose M. Aruego, who was also the most prominent Filipino
political scientist after Maximo M. Kalaw before World War II and the post-war period until the 1940s and
early 1950s, published Principles of Political Science in 1932 and Philippine Government in Action in
1954. The preface of the former stated: "The aim has been to present within a single volume a general
survey of the study of political science. The study begins and ends with the state. The latter likewise
revolves around the juridical concept of state. Both books had been revised at least three times to
accommodate new data and developments, but in the revised editions the state focus of the textbooks
had never been changed.
Other textbooks on Philippine government written by authors prominent either in academe or the
government are The Government of the Philippines,The Constitutional Government of the Philippines,The
Government of the Republic of the Philippines, Philippine Government and Politics, and Philippine
Government. The Tolentino textbook was published in 1950, and the one by Espina came off the press in
1981. The others were published between 1950 and 1981. All of them were analyzed in terms of the
state, using the legalistic and institutional approaches.
Owing to the influence of Malcolm and the Kalaws and the impact of the textbooks on Philippine
government, the state - focused political science has become firmly established in the Philippines, both in
the private and public colleges and universities. However, this kind of political science has been
challenged by political scientists with orientations in political sociology and political economy.
An example of critiques of the state - focused kind of political science by political scientists with
orientations in political sociology is a paper delivered during the golden jubilee of the Department of
Political Science of the University of the Philippines in 1965. The author of this paper argued that the
focus on the state should be supplanted by new foci - the concepts of political system and political
process. The reason given for this contention was:
In our post-independence era, the State - focused kind of political science is no longer
appropriate. Our problem now is no longer how to gain independence (to which problem the state
- focused political science was appropriate, for it revolved around the concepts of sovereignty and
rights), but how to modernize as a nation - economically, socially, and politically. It is not the rights
and powers of government agencies and the people legally defined that ought to interest us
primarily now, but the ways and means to develop and mobilize the resources of the nation and
integrate the various sectors and groups which constitute the Philippine social and political
system.
The author of the paper compared and contrasted the political science focused on the state, which was
labeled the old political science, and the political science focused on the political system and political
process, which was termed the new political science. He said:
The old kind is essentially legalistic in approach. It is legalistic because it studies the juridical
concept of State, the various forms of government, the branches and agencies of a government,
their legal powers and limitations, the people as citizens or aliens, or as voters or non-voters, their
legal rights and limitations, the idea and nature of sovereignty, the legal relationships between
sovereign states, and the prerogatives and legal limitations of them. It is essentially static
because it emphasizes legal structures and functions . . . . When it studies the dynamics of
government, it studies procedures. Thus its analysis of legislation, administration, adjudication,
and elections is mechanical. Legislation, for instance, is analyzed in terms of first reading, second
reading, the rules of procedure or debate, third reading, the kinds of voting during third reading,
and so forth. In elections, the same mechanical approach is adopted - registration of voters, who
are and are not voters, qualifications and disqualifications of voters, voting, rules to be applied in
counting the votes, and so forth. The interplay of social, economic, political and other forces in the
political system is not stressed and may even be ignored. Thus, all the life, complexity, grimness,
grace, confusion, and dynamism of politics are underplayed or disregarded.
The new political science, on the other hand, is essentially sociological and dynamic. It studies the
political system and the political process instead of the State. It stresses, instead of legal rights and
authority, actual political behavior and the social, economic, ideological, geographical and other dynamic
factors which affect it. It emphasizes political interaction and actual participation instead of legal
relationships. But it does not ignore or disregard the authority and rights of government agencies, citizens,
and other political units or persons. They are also studied, except that they no longer constitute the main
bulk of the analysis.
Because of the divergent emphases and approaches of the old and the new political science, their
methods and techniques of studying and understanding government and politics also differ. The old
political science lays much emphasis on library study, analyzing legal documents, such as written
constitutions, statutes, administrative rulings, and the like. The new political science frequently makes use
- of field survey, observation, and interviews.
The critiques of the state - focused political science by political scientists with orientations in political
economy started appearing in the later 1960s and during the 1970s. Dr. Francisco Nemenzo, Jr. is one of
the articulate and vigorous exponents of political science with orientations in political economy. During the
third national conference of the Philippine Political Science Association in 1977, Nemenzo remarked:
The mainstream of political science in the United States, as in the Philippines, has been an
intellectualized expression of bourgeois ideology. As its formative stage, political science was hardly more
than bourgeois jurisprudence reduced into liberal rhetorics, and there was a tendency to explain political
realities in terms of the legal system. The so-called "traditional approach" gave rise to the impression that
lawyers make the best teachers in political science.
Over the last two decades, political science has, of course, become more sophisticated. The legalistic
conception of reality has given way to more dynamic approaches. All this has made political science, alas,
no less conservative. Our areas of concern have shifted from the study of formal rights to actual citizens'
participation; from structures and legally prescribed functions of governmental agencies to patterns of
political behavior; etc.
But studies along this line still leave unexamined and, therefore, uncriticized the foundations of the
bourgeois social order.
Accordingly, Nemenzo proposes that a political economy orientation should be followed by students of
politics. The political economy preferred by Nemenzo is of Marxist variety; and the new foci of political
science he prescribes are dependency and liberation, the key concepts in current radical literature.
Of the two alternatives to political science focused on the State political sociology (focused on political
system and political process) and political economy (focused on dependency and liberation) - the former,
partly owing to the fact that it was advocated earlier, is gradually growing in strength in the Philippines.
Another reason why it has been gradually becoming stronger is that the professional practitioners of the
discipline - Ph.D. degree holders, most of whom are graduates from American universities - are also
increasing in number gradually. It must be noted that American universities were responsible for the
behavioral revolution in political science in the 1950s and early 1960s. Most of these Ph.D. practitioners
of Philippine political science were products of American universities during the behavioral revolution of
political science. The two indicators of its gradual growth of strength are the increasing number of courses
and increasing number of books published about political sociology in comparison to the number of
courses and books published related to political economy.
To complete the brief history of political science in the Philippines, data on students enrolled and
graduated with degrees in political science, as well as the number of colleges and universities providing
courses in political science, are required. Unfortunately, complete data on these matters are not readily
available, for these have not been collected, collated, and summarized in systematic studies as needed
for a comprehensive understanding of the state of political science in the country. What are presented
below are necessarily those selected data which are available.
In 1976, Bulatao, et al. reported that there were "40 state colleges and universities throughout the islands,
as well as over 600 private colleges and universities, enrolling, as of 1972-1973 a total of 720,000
students. It is difficult, however, to estimate the number of students taking political science as courses or
as a course of study in these private and public institutions of higher learning, although in most schools a
course on Philippine government and politics is a required subject for all students.
It is a well-known fact, however, that there are only few universities in the Philippines with autonomous
departments of political science. The oldest university in the Philippines, the University of Santo Tomas
(which was founded in 1611), until now does not have an autonomous department of political science.
Courses in political science in the University, however, are taught in a Department of Social Sciences.
The most prestigious Catholic university with an autonomous Department of Political Science - the
Ateneo de Manila University - has a very small department, with a staff of only three faculty members.
Among the Protestant - operated universities, Silliman University is certainly one of the best, but like the
University of Santo Tomas, it still does not have an autonomous department of political science, although
it does have a Department of Social Sciences. Among the non-sectarian universities, the University of the
East and Far Eastern University perhaps have the largest autonomous departments of political science,
but data on their students and graduates in political science are not readily available. The University of
the Philippines has the oldest Department of Political Science in the country, established in 1915.
Data on college graduates in private schools with a bachelor's degree in Foreign Service and in Public
Administration (which are actually political science degrees) - the table where these data were drawn
does not include political science - are provided by Bulatao, et al. for academic year 1969-1970. Out of a
grand total of 13,825 students who graduated in the private schools with degrees in various fields, there
were 225 students with majors in the social sciences. Of these students, there were 45 graduates in
political science, fifteen (15) of whom graduating with an A.B. Foreign Service and thirty (30) with a B.S.
Public Administration.
The data presented above indicate that the private colleges and universities are not producers of
graduates in political science. If some universities, like the University of the East and Far Eastern
University, have a large staff of faculty members who belong to departments of political science, these
departments appear to be primarily servicing only students who take up required introductory courses in
political science (e.g., Philippine Government and Politics) but not taking care of students who are majors
in political science. It is possible, of course, that Bulatao, et al. have incomplete data in their table of
graduates in the private schools in the liberal arts and sciences by major in 1969-1970. However, their
source - Division of Evaluation, Research and Statistics, Bureau of Public Schools, Statistical Bulletin,
1969-1970 - appears to be reliable. And Bulatao, et al., are professional social scientists. This means that
if one talks of political science in the Philippines, he must refer to political science in the University of the
Philippines. We must now look into selected statistical data on political science students in the state
university.
The first student to graduate with a bachelor's degree in political science from the U.P. Department of
Political Science graduated in 1920. The first student to graduate with a master's degree in political
science in the University of the Philippines graduated apparently in 1925. The first student to graduate
with a Ph.D. in political science graduated in 1970.
In 1961-1962, the Department of Political Science graduated the following number of students with the
following degrees: Bachelor of Arts in Political Science - 46; Bachelor of Science in Foreign Service - 48;
and Master of Arts in Political Science - 2.
For the academic years 1969-1970 and 1970-1971, Arcellana provides the following statistical data:
Our Department has been busy . . . . In 1969-1970 it services 1,013 A.B. majors and 523 Foreign
Service students for a total of 1,536 undergraduates, plus 72 graduate students for a grand total
of 1,608 students. These figures dipped somewhat in 1970-1971 to 710 A.B. majors and 358
Foreign Service students for a total of 1,068 undergraduates, and 84 graduates (increase of 12)
for a grand total of 1,152 political science upperclassmen .... In 1969-1970, there were 86
graduates of A.B. Political Science and 59 graduates of B.S. Foreign Service, degree courses
administered by our Department. In 1970-1971 there were 81 graduates of A.B. Political Science
and 34 graduates of B.S. Foreign Service.
In 1981, there were 357 undergraduate majors in A.B. Political Science and 36 in B.S. Foreign
Service, as well as 75 graduate students, enrolled in the Department. The graduates in A.B.
Political Science were 41 students; in B.S. Foreign Service, 9; in M.A. Political Science, 4; and
Ph.D. Political Science, 1.
Since the discipline of political science is not well-developed in the private colleges and universities, and
since among state universities it is only the University of the Philippines that has a developed discipline of
political science, the discussion of trends in the teaching of political science will be focused primarily on
the trends in teaching at the state university.
As already pointed out in the first section of this paper, the Department of Political Science was
established in 1915, and that its first "Chief of the Department" was Dean George A. Malcolm. In the first
year of the Department in academic year 1915 - 1916, there were only five political science courses
offered - Political Science 1_5. By the next academic year, 1916-1917, these courses had doubled,
Political Science 6-10 having been added. As listed in the Catalogue, 1916-1917, Announcements 19171918 of the University, these ten political science courses were: Political Science 1. Principles of Political
Science; Political Science 2. Constitutional History; Political Science 3. American Government; Political
Science 4. Philippine Government; Political Science 5. Oriental Governments; Political Science 6.
European Governments; Political Science 7. Political Parties; Political Science 8. Municipal Government;
Political Science 9. Theory and Practice of Legislation; and Political Science 18. Teachers' Course in
Government. These courses were taught by only two staff members, Dean Malcolm of the College of Law
and Maximo M. Kalaw.
During the early 1920s, the courses of the Department doubled once more, Political Science 11 -12
having been added. By this time, Maximo Kalaw was already the Head of the Department, as well as
Dean of the College of Liberal Arts. The additional courses, as listed in the General Catalogue 1922-1923,
Announcements 1923-1924, were: Political Science 11. Diplomacy; Political Science 12. Constitutional
Development in China; Political Science 13. Chinese Diplomacy; Political Science 14. Far Eastern
Relations and Politics; Political Science 15. History of Political Thought; Political Science 16. Problems of
Municipal Government; Political Science 17. International Law; Political Science 18. Current Political
Problems; Political Science 19. Colonial Government; Political Science 20. History of Diplomacy; Political
Science 21. American-Philippine Relations; and Political Science 22. Seminar in Political Science.
By this period, the staff members of the Department had more than trebled in number, for the General
Catalogue 1922-1923 listed seven instead of only two members. Also, the scope of political science as
taught had become comprehensive, for all the major fields of political science were already to be found in
the political science curriculum of the Department - Political Institutions and Comparative Governments,
Political Dynamics, International Relations, and Political Philosophy and Theory. However, it must be
noted that there were only two courses in Political Dynamics - Political Science 7 - Political Parties and
Political Science 9 - Theory and Practice of Legislation - and only one Political Philosophy and Theory Political Science 15 - Political Thought. Practically, all of the twenty-two courses in political science of the
Department dealt with Political Institutions and Comparative Governments and International Relations.
The general pattern of the courses in political science in the University of the Philippines as instituted by
Malcolm and Kalaw during the formative years of the discipline between 1915 and 1925 remained
essentially the same even after Kalaw's retirement as Head of the Department of Political Science and
Dean of the College of Liberal Arts in 1935 until the outbreak of World War II in Asia in 1941 and even
after the end of World War II in 1945 until the early 1950s. Some courses were abolished, others
renamed, several renumbered, and a few were instituted, but by and large, the pattern remained
essentially the same.
One of the few courses instituted after World War II that is noteworthy is Political Science 107,
Geopolitics. The description of the course in the Catalogue 1947-1948 of the University reads: "A study of
political institutions as affected by geographical environments; brief review of forces and politics behind
colonial expansion; trends towards international groupings which affect international relations and politics.
We take note of this course, which was introduced by Pedro L. Baldoria, a Ph.D. holder from the
University of Southern California who joined the Department in 1947, for two important reasons. First, it
was the most popular and influential course of the Department after World War II until the 1950s as
indicated by the number of students who studied under Dr. Baldoria and several master's theses written
based on geopolitics.
Second, it was an interdisciplinary approach (i.e., in terms of political geography) challenging the
traditional interdisciplinary approach based on political law. However, after Dr. Baldoria's death in 1966
the course on geopolitics became dormant, and eventually it was abolished for lack of a faculty member
sufficiently interested in teaching the course.
The decade of the 1950s is a significant period in the history of the Department of Political Science for
two principal reasons. First, during the first half of the decade, the Department lost a major area - public
administration. It was made an autonomous unit, becoming the Institute of Public Administration in 1952
and later as the College of Public Administration. And second, there was a new development in the staff
of the Department.
Until the first half of the decade of the 1950s, only Dr. Baldoria was the Ph.D. holder in the Department
after the early Ph.D. holders of the Department were taken by the national government to serve the new
Republic after its independence in 1946, or had retired or died in the late 1940s. However, by the second
half of the decade, Dr. Baldoria ceased to be the only Ph.D. holder of the Department. Three faculty
members of the Department taking up Ph.D. courses in the United States finished their doctoral studies
one after the other in the later 1950s - Onofre D. Corpuz in 1956, Cesar A. Majul in 1957, and Remigio E.
Agpalo in 1958.
Corpuz's major academic interests were political institutions and political theory. In the graduate program,
he introduced some courses on Philippine political institutions. In the undergraduate program, his
contributions were notable. He instituted a course on "Policy, Politics, and Government," described as
"Meaning of politics as the process by which the community makes public decisions. He transformed
Political Science 2, Constitutional History, into Political Science 108, Constitutional Systems. And he
instituted a new course, Political Science 121, The Philippine Administrative System. Thus, Corpuz put
more vigor to the theoretical, systemic, and systematic study of government and politics. Unfortunately,
for the discipline of political science, he did not serve the Department of Political Science long enough to
give it profound influence, for he was taken by the University Administration as Vice-President for
Administration in the early 1960s and eventually by the national government as national official, first as
Undersecretary of the Department of Education in 1966 and later as Secretary of the Department of
Education and then Minister of the Ministry of Education and Culture, as well as top official of other
national bodies (e.g., President of the University of the Philippines and President of the Development
Academy of the Philippines).
Majul's main academic interest was political philosophy. However, owing to the fact that he was originally
connected with the Department of Philosophy, he could not give the Department of Political Sciences his
full time. In fact, more of his time was given to the Department of Philosophy than to the Department of
Political Science. Nevertheless, Majul introduced a new course in the graduate program of the
Department - a course on the political and constitutional ideas of the Philippine Revolution.
Agpalo became Academic Officer-in-Charge of the Discipline of Political Science in 1961-1963, and
Chairman of the Department of Political Science in 1963-1966. Transforming Corpuz's "Policy, Politics,
and Government" into a course on political sociology, now entitled "Society, Politics, and Government,"
and adding "Interest Groups" to the old course on political parties, as well as renaming the old course on
research in political science as "Systematic Politics," Agpalo continued the Corpuz orientation in
theoretical, systemic and systematic study of politics and government; and at the same time, he started
the emphasis on the political sociology orientation of political science. In the graduate program, he
introduced several courses on political dynamics, political theory, and comparative government. Among
the new courses which he introduced are: Political Movements, The Elite in Politics, Politics of Revolution,
Politics of Modernization, Contemporary Problems in Political Dynamics, The Developing States,
Totalitarian Governments, The Theory of Democracy, The Theory of Totalitarianism and Authoritarianism,
The Roman Catholic Theory of Politics, Political Obligation, and Seminar on Plato and Aristotle. In 1965,
he likewise led the Department in the celebration of the Golden Jubilee of the Department by holding an
international conference on the twin themes of "Trends and Problems of Asian Governments and Politics"
and "Political Science in Asia." This golden jubilee conference was attended by delegates not only from
representative colleges and universities all over the Philippines but also by selected delegates from
Japan, China, India, Thailand, Vietnam, Malaysia, Australia, and the United States. He also started the
adoption of a quintuple classification of areas of the courses in political science offered by the Department
in both the undergraduate and graduate programs. Based primarily on the International Political Science
Association classification of the areas on political science in the 1950s, 53 the fields or areas of political
science as adopted by the Department were: I. Political Dynamics; II. Comparative Governments; III.
Philippine Government and Politics; IV. World Politics and International Law; and V. Political Theory and
Methodology.
Since the 1960s, the curricular program of the Department of Political Science, by and large, stabilized,
although some revisions of descriptions, occasional renumbering, a few institution, and some abolition of
courses have been effected.
With regard to the present staff members of the Department, these have grown from two faculty members
in 1915-1916 to twenty four in 1982-1983. Of these present staff members, eight have Ph.D. degrees,
fourteen have master's degrees, and two have bachelor's degrees. Of the two with bachelor's degrees,
one is about to finish his masteral studies.
As regards the courses in political science taught in other colleges and universities, there is no need to go
into detailed discussion, for either they have very few courses in political science, or if they have several
courses, these are generally modeled after the course offerings of the University of the Philippines. At
least two reasons may account for the University of the Philippines courses being used as models. First,
the University of the Philippines has been the leading institution in the country in various academic fields,
including the social sciences in general, and political science in particular. And second, several members
teaching political science in the universities which have autonomous Departments of Political Science
have graduated from the University of the Philippines.
We shall present a general profile of political science courses taught in various universities of the country
as a conclusion to the discussion of the trends in teaching political science. The data we shall present are
those gathered by Vigilia in a survey in 1968-1969 and 1971-1972 of seven colleges and universities in all
important regions of the country: Northern Luzon - St. Louis University; Metropolitan Manila - University of
the Philippines, Ateneo de Manila University, University of the East, and Philippine Christian College;
Visayas - Silliman University; and Mindanao - Mindanao State University. In Vigilia's study, the quintuplefield classification of main areas of political science of the Department of Political Science of the
University of the Philippines was adopted, adding a sixth field - public administration - "because it was
considered by some of the institutions covered as another area although in UP it is a separate and more
specialized field."
Vigilia's findings on the courses in political science taught in the above-mentioned seven colleges and
universities are:
1) International Relations and Comparative Government were the most emphasized areas.
International Relations subjects constituted 32.36 percent of the total course offerings in 19681969 and 31.79 percent in 1971-1972. For the same years, Comparative Government had 18.5
percent.
2) Political Theory and Political Dynamics were stressed next with Political Theory accounting
15.6 percent of total offerings for both academic years and Political Dynamics for 13.3 percent in
1968-1969 and 13.87 percent in 1971-1972.
3) Philippine Government and Politics and Public Administration were emphasized last with
unvarying 15 and 20 subjects, respectively, in both academic years.
4) State-owned schools appeared to be more conscious of an equal emphasis on areas

excepting Public Administration which is virtually nonexistent.
5) Private institutions have given a relatively heavier weight to only three areas, namely,
Comparative Government, International Relations, and Public Administration.
6) Curricular changes during the two academic years were insignificant.
With regard to trends in research on Philippine political science, these could be surveyed by dividing the
time span from 1915, when the Department of Political Science of the University of the Philippines was
established, to 1981, into three periods: 1915-1945, the pre-war to World War II period; 1946-1965, the
independence period up to the golden jubilee year of the Department of Political Science; and 1966-1981,
the post-golden jubilee period until 1981, the year when martial law was lifted in the Philippines. These
periods may also be called Period I, Period II, and Period III, respectively. For manageability, only the
significant books and/or monographs on Philippine political science will be examined.
During the period of 1915-1945, eight political scientists (four foreigners and four Filipinos) could be
identified as having produced significant or at least creditable works in Philippine political science. The
four foreigners were George A. Malcolm, Dapen Liang, Grayson Kirk, and Joseph Ralston Hayden. The
four Filipinos were Teodoro M. Kalaw, Maximo M. Kalaw, Jose P. Laurel, Sr., and Jose M. Aruego.
Of the books written by the four Filipinos, only the major works of Maximo M. Kalaw were presented in
full. We shall now identify the principal works in Philippine political science of the remaining three, with a
brief statement of their academic and/ or governmental career.
Teodoro M. Kalaw, who was earlier mentioned as the author of Manual de Ciencia Politica in 1918, was
editor of El Renacimiento, 1907-1909; member, Philippine Assembly, 1910-1913; Secretary, Philippine
Assembly, 1913-1916; Director, National Library, 1916-1917 and 1929-1939, and Secretary of the
Department of Interior, 1920-1922. He was also the author of La Masoneria Filipina (1920) and La
Revolucion Filipina (1924), as well as the editor of Epistolario Rizalino (1930-1938) and Apolinario
Mabini's La Revolucion Filipina (1931).
Jose P. Laurel, Sr. taught in the Department of Political Science, as well as the College of Law, of the
University of the Philippines. He also taught in the National Teacher's College, and he founded the
Lyceum of the Philippines. Having served as member of the Cabinet and of the Philippine Legislature
during the American regime and during the Commonwealth era as Associate Justice of the Supreme
Court, as well as Secretary of Justice, Laurel likewise served the country as President of the Republic
during the Japanese Occupation and Senator in the Congress of the Philippines after World War II.
Laurel's principal works in political science are in the areas of political philosophy or ideas and public law.
His works in public law are: The Election Law; Local Government in the Philippine Islands; Cases on
Constitutional Law, Vol. 1; Cases on Constitutional Law, Vol. II; Administrative Law and Practice; The
Three Powers of Government Under the Philippine Constitution; Philippine Constitutional Law ; and
Philippine Law on Elections. Laurel's studies involving political ideas or philosophy are Forces that Make
a Nation Great; Political and Moral Orientation; Bread and Freedom; Our Economy-What Can Be Done;
Thinking for Ourselve; and Moral and Educational Orientation for Filipinos.
Jose M. Aruego was Dean and Professor of Political Science, College of Liberal Arts, and Professor of
Political Law and International Law, National Law College, of the University of Manila. He also served as
delegate to the 1934-1935 Philippine Constitutional Convention and to the 1971-1972 Philippine
Constitutional Convention. His principal works in political science, besides the two mentioned in the first
section of this paper, are The Framing of the Philippine Constitution, Vols. I and II; International
Documents for the Philippines; and Philippine Government in Action and the Philippine Constitution.
In the case of Dean Malcolm, besides his books already mentioned in the first section, he also authored
The Commonwealth of the Philippinel and First Malayan Republic? With regard to Liang, a Chinese
political scientist who was a Visiting Professor of Political Science in the Department of Political Science
in the 1950s, he was the author of The Development of Philippine Political Parties.
Kirk and Hayden are both American academics, the former not only a professor of political science but
also at a later date, President of Columbia University; and the latter, a professor of political science at the
University of Michigan. He also served as an Exchange Professor in the University of the Philippines and
later as Vice Governor of the Philippines. Kirk's major work is Philippine Independence; and that of
Hayden, The Philippines: A Study in National Development?
The approaches to the studies in political science in Period I were either in terms of political or public law,
or political philosophy, or historical development. The focus was the state, either emerging or fully
developed, or its agencies, leaders, and similar entities, or movements or transformations taking place
within it. Whatever the approach or the focus of the study, in every case there was no attempt at systemic
analysis. Even the movements or transformations within the state or the emerging state, which can lend
themselves easily to systemic analysis, were studied in terms of historical development.
During the second period, from 1946 to 1965, there were twelve books on Philippine political science
which are significant or at least creditable. Listed in chronological order, these books are: The Philippine
Presidential Election of 1953; The Philippine Presidency; The Bureaucracy in the Philippines; Focus on
the Barrio; Magsaysay and the Philippine Peasantry; The Congress of the Philippines; The Political
Process and the Nationalization of the Retail Trade in the Philippines; Patterns in Decision-Making: Case
Studies in Philippine Administration; The Philippines and the United States; Politics in the Philippines;
Leaders, Factions, and Parties: The Structure of Philippine Politics, and The Philippines.
If the political science outputs of Period I are compared with those of Period II, it is quite obvious that the
outputs of the first period are either quite limited in scope, i.e., they cover specific subjects, such as
Philippine Commonwealth or Philippine Independence; or about norms, either descriptive (such as the
election law) or prescriptive (such as values, ethical orientations, and the like). Moreover, they are either
approached legalistically or historically. In the case of the outputs of the second period however, while
studies on specific subjects are still made, there is more variety of subjects examined and the approaches
used are also more varied not confined to legalistic and historical approaches. Decision-making and
policy-making approaches are used, as well as functional, structural, interest-group analysis, institutional,
inter-state, historical, and legalistic approaches.
During the third period, from 1966 to 1981, which is five years shorter than Period II, there are thirty books
on political science published that could be assessed as significant or creditable. These books are
likewise listed below in the chronological order of their publication.
The first fifteen of these books were published between 1966 and 1974.
They include the following: The City in Nation-Building; The Development of an Interest Group; The
Political and Constitutional Ideas of the Philippine Revolution; U.S. Military Bases and Philippine
American Relations; Foundations and Dynamics of Filipino Government and Politics; American NeoColonialism: Its Emergence in the Philippines and Asia; Philippine Parties and Politics; Ramon
Magsaysay: A Political Biography; The Matrix of Policy in the Philippines; International Law in Philippine
Relations; The Political Elite and the People: A Study of Politics in Occidental Mindoro; Philippine Local
Government: Issues, Problems, and Prospects; Muslims in the Philippines; United States-Philippine Cooperation and Cross-Purposes; and Towards a Southeast Asian Community.
The last fifteen of these books, published between 1975 and 1981, are the following: Chinese-Philippine
Diplomatic Relations, '1946- 1975; The Philippine Congress: Causes of Structural Change; Parliamentary
Government; The Huk Rebellion; The Philippines and the United States: The Forging of New Relations;
The United States and the Philippines; The Philippines and Southeast Asia; Of Citizens and Leaders:
Reform and Government in a Suburban Setting; . Marcos and Martial Law in the Philippines; Central
Planning and the Expansion of Public Enterprise; Roots of Dependency: Political and Economic
Revolution in 19th Century Philippines; Islam and Development: A Collection of Essays; The Social and
Political Thought of Claro M. Recto; The United States and the Philippines: A Study in Neo-Colonialism;
and Church-State Relations.
It is obvious that in spite of the fact that Period III is five years shorter than Period II, the outputs of the
third period are very much greater than those of the second period. In fact, books published in Period III
increased by more than double of those published in Period II. It is also important to note that there was
tremendous increase in research work on international relations. The study of local government units or
their politics, which was introduced in Period II, also substantially increased in Period III. Studies on
political instability (rebellion or revolution) and dynamic ideologies (nationalism, neocolonialism, and
imperialism) had also emerged in the third period. Finally, political philosophy or political thought, which
was prominent in Period I and virtually absent in Period II, had reappeared with vigor in Period III.
In general, the main trends indicated by the research outputs of Philippine political science from 1915 to
1981 as shown in the data of the three periods as presented above are:
(1) development towards comprehensiveness, i.e., more and more areas/fields of political
science are researched; (2) movement away from legalistic and institutional approaches and
towards systemic and behavioral approaches; (3) adoption of new interdisciplinary areas of
study, such as political sociology and political anthropology, besides the more traditional fields
of political history, political law, and political philosophy; (4) development towards more
explanatory, theoretical, or systemic studies; and (5) development, in more general terms,
towards greater scientific rigor.
xxx
Political Science for Knowledge and Civilization

(Remigio Agpalo, Adventures in Political Science. Quezon City: UP Press)
THE THEME OF my paper revolves on three questions. What is the purpose of political science? How
can we make it relevant? What is the responsibility of political scientists? I can think of at least four ways
of tackling this subject. First, it can be discussed in terms of clientele served. Thus focused, some of the
basic questions that could be raised are: Of the various clientele groups which political science serves students, colleagues, local community, nation, and mankind - which should be given primary attention? Is
it possible for Filipino political scientists to serve with dedication and justice subnational, national, and
supranational groups simultaneously? Second, the theme may be considered by drawing attention to the
purpose of political science. Is the purpose of political science primarily theoretical, practical, technocratic,
or civic? Thirdly, it could be discussed in terms of the autonomy of the discipline. Some of the questions
that can be taken up from this consideration are: To what extent is political science an autonomous area
of study? Can it remain a relevant and valid study if it dissociates itself from the state? What is the
relationship of political science to the regime or to the political elite? Should it work in cooperation with the
political elite, helping them in realizing their goals and objectives? And fourth, the theme can be handled
by relating it to teaching concerns. With this as focus, one may inquire into the following questions: What
orientations should guide those who teach political science? What approaches should be used in teaching
the subject? What are the problems involved in adopting certain orientations and approaches? How can
political science be made relevant to Filipino students? What is the responsibility of political scientists as
teachers?
I have chosen to tackle the assignment given to our panel, however, by discussing the teaching of
comparative and Philippine politics. There are at least three reasons for this decision. First, manageability
is always a valid principle to invoke in any conference. We can make our theme manageable by focusing
it on a specific subject, provided however that it is significant. Second, among the urgent problems
confronting the Filipino political scientists is the one involving the teaching of comparative and Philippine
politics. And third, all the issues mentioned earlier, in any case, can still be touched upon in the course of
discussing the teaching of comparative and Philippine politics, although it must be admitted that some of
them would be brought in only as assumptions or obiter dicta, or even as mere implicit ideas logically
following from the main argument.
The teaching of comparative and Philippine politics makes certain assumptions. First, it assumes the
obvious point that those of us who teach the subject know some significant matters about it. However, we
could not have learned significant matters about it unless we must have studied it seriously in the first
place. But how could we have studied it, if we had not been motivated to study it at all?
Obviously, we must also ask: What were the reasons which spurred political scientists to study politics?
Let us broaden this further: Why do students study politics?
I am sure that there are various reasons. Many studied it because they believed it was appropriate
background for the study of law. Others studied it because their friends enrolled in the course. Some
studied it because it seemed to them a snaps course. Still others pursued political science as a
preparatory for the rough and tumble politics at the local, national, and international arenas. There are,
however, a few who studied it because they believed with Aristotle that it is the most sovereign of the arts
and sciences, a discipline concerned with the highest good of man - justice. But there are also some who
took it up because they had been convinced, as Machiavelli was, that it is the central activity of man, an
activity understood in terms of struggle for power.
For those of us who did not turn out to be practicing lawyers, bureaucrats, or politicians but instead
became political scientists, I believe that wittingly or unwittingly, we had been inspired by either the
Aristotelian vision or the Machiavellian orientation, or both of them.
Aristotle and Machiavelli are both different from and similar to each other. In certain matters they
diverged; but in other points they converged. Aristotle, although empirical in his studies of politics, was
essentially normative in orientation. Machiavelli, while concerned with normative values (he was a
defender of republicanism), was basically empirical in approach to politics. But even if they definitely
diverged along the normative . . . empirical continuum, they nonetheless converged at a central point.
Both raised the most profound of questions that could be asked about politics: (1) What is politics, and
why is it that there is politics? (2) What is political man, and why does he behave as such? In other words,
both believed that the primary purpose of the study of politics is theoretical; i.e., dedicated to "bringing
order and meaning to a mass of phenomena which (otherwise) ... would remain disconnected and
unintelligible. In order to realize this purpose, political science makes use of description, explanation,
prediction, and evaluation.
I have adopted both the Aristotelian normative vision and the Machiavellian empirical orientation in my
approach to politics. We cannot have a full understanding of politics unless we adopt both perspectives.
The knowledge of politics entailed in these views naturally is a politics which is not bound to any particular
time or place. In other words, it is not a politics chained to a particular period, such as the twentieth
century or the period of martial law; or bound to a particular city, such as the Rome of Cicero or the city of
the New Society. Instead, it is the universal and eternal politics, the episteme politike, which political
scientists since time immemorial have sought to discover from their explorations, investigations, and
reflections. The other name for this politics is political science.
Realistic insofar as approach is concerned, this kind of political science aims to serve man, who is viewed
as a unique being endowed with reason, a dignity that sets him apart and above beasts, and a creative
capacity for civilization. Its orientation, based on this premise, is humanist. Thus, when regimes brutalize
man through tyranny, oppression, and exploitation, this political science does not retreat in the safety of
the ivory tower. Instead, it embarks on a systematic, careful, and thorough study of the situation with a
view to discovering the truth of the matter. When the study is finished, after rechecking its facts and
reconsidering its interpretation of the data, it comes forth in public, holding high the lamp of knowledge so
that truth and man are vindicated. It does not shirk this responsibility because it knows that the discipline
of political science is a defender of knowledge and civilization.
I posited some views on the nature of politics and that of the discipline which studies it because it is
necessary to lay down the premises of my argument. In this paper I shall argue that in order to have a
valid approach to the teaching of relevant comparative and Philippine politics, we need an approach
which is not culture-bound, time-chained, and place-bound. Such an approach must also be both realistic
and humanist. In other words, it must set down the grim reality of political life, and it should never forget
that man is the end of politics.
This kind of approach is possible if we teach comparative and Philippine politics in terms of political
system, political participants, policy-making, policies, and political change, all of which are viewed from
the perspective of struggle for power; and if we evaluate the actions of the political participants and
performance of the political system according to the criterion of civilization.
The approach must also include a sufficient number of political systems from ancient to modem times
from Africa, Asia, Europe, and the Americas, all of which are analyzed systematically. Since it is also a
fact that each actual political system differs from all other political systems, the approach must also
include factors which can account for the differences. These factors, which constitute the foundations of
political systems, are the historical, geographic, economic, socio-demographic, cultural and constitutional
foundations.
Before I present my proposed approach to comparative and Philippine politics, let me comment on two
major approaches which have been used extensively and defended vigorously by colleagues in political
science. The approaches are the traditional country-by-country approach and the recent dependencia
approach.
The traditional country-by-country approach is the one adopted by traditional textbook authors. Focused
usually on major governments of Europe, this approach stresses legal and institutional features of the
state. Macridis said:
The interest of the student is concentrated primarily on an analysis of the structure of the State,
the location of the sovereignty, the electoral provisions, and the distribution of the electorate into
political parties whose ideologies and programs are described.
Macridis had correctly criticized this approach as one which essentially descriptive, essentially parochial,
essentially static, essentially monographic, and essentially non-comparative. In other words, it is
theoretical at all.
The recent dependencia approach has been developed mainly by students of Latin America. Based on
the concept of dependence, which had been defined by one author as a situation in which the economy
of certain countries is conditioned by the development and expansion of another economy to which the
former is subjected, it argues that the relations of dependence to which dependent countries are
subjected conform to a type of international and internal structure which leads them to underdevelopment
or more precisely to a dependent structure that deepens and aggravates the fundamental problems of
their peoples. The type of international structure is linked to capitalist imperialism and the internal
structure to feudalism or neo-feudalism. It further argues that the dependence arising from these relations
and structures cannot be overcome without a qualitative change in their internal structures and external
relations. This actually means that capitalist imperialism should be destroyed and socialism or
communism must be made triumphant not only in the dependent countries but also in capitalist countries.
This approach at best is time-chained and culture-bound. It may even be ideological, for it adopts a
doctrine of unilinear progress culminating in one and only one earthly paradise-either socialism or
communism. It also ignores or glosses over dependence brought about by countries which embarked
upon socialist or communist embarked upon a socialist or communist revolution; and it rejects ab initio the
adaptability of human institutions and the creativity of human beings, even if these have not been
disconfirmed, if such persons happened to be not disciples or advocates of socialism and communism
and if such institutions happened to be capitalist.
The approach which I propose for the teaching of comparative and Philippine politics may be called a
modified systems-and- functional approach. It is a modified version because it revises the earlier systems
and functional approaches of Dahl, Easton, and Almond by emphasizing political participants instead of
political abstractions, putting greater emphasis on conflict within and between political systems, and
balancing the behavioral tendencies in those authors with humanist values of civilization. It is also a
modified version because I have incorporated into the systems-and-functional approach insights from
group theoreticians, such as Bentley and Truman, elite theorists, such as Pareto, Mosca, and Michels and
students of modernization and development, such as Eisenstadt and Huntington. Nevertheless, the
approach retains much of the basic ideas of Almond, Dahl, and Easton.
The principal concept of the proposed approach to comparative and Philippine politics is that of political
system. Dahl defined this to refer "any persistent pattern of human relationships that involves to a
significant extent power, rule, or authority. Easton emphasized another aspect, stating that a political
system can be designated as "those interactions through which values are authoritatively allocated for a
society. Both authors stressed abstractions, such as power, rule, or authority in the case of Dahl, and
authoritative allocation of values for a society in the case of Easton. I prefer to define a political system as
a set composed of the political elite, the counter elite, and the people who interact and transact with one
another, with the people articulating interests with the political elite and the counter elite, the political elite
converting the input of interests into output of public policies, and the counter elite attempting to oust the
political elite from the government. This definition is almost the same as Dahl's and Easton's, but it differs
in that it emphasizes the participants of the political process and the power struggle.
Every political system has foundations. Among the most important are the historical, geographic,
economic, socio-demographic, cultural, and constitutional foundations. Depending upon the particular
aspects and nature of these foundations, these serve as limiting and facilitating factors of the behavior of
the participants of the political process and of the performance of the political system as a whole.
The political system is dynamic because dynamic processes are continuously going on within it. The sum
total of these dynamic processes is the political process of the system.
There is, in the first place, an input process which involves the articulation and aggregation of interests
from the people, who participate in the political process as public, interest groups, or political party. An
interest is any claim which a person or a group makes upon another person or group. A public is a
number of people who have evinced a concern on a social issue. An interest group is an organized body
of individuals promoting, defending, or articulating some kind of interest or combination of interests either
with the government or non-governmental entities. A political party is an organized body of individuals
who participate in the political process with a view to winning and controlling the government. To succeed
in its objectives, a political party aggregates as many interests of interest groups and publics as it could
muster. The input process has two aspects. If the interests are articulated with the political elite (an
aggregate or organized body of individuals who have won and controlled the higher positions in the
government), then this is input process at the official level. However, if the interests are brought to bear on
the counter elite (an aggregate or organized body of influential leaders in the political system, whose
primary aim is to oust the political elite from the government), then this is input process at the unofficial
level.
In the second place, there is a conversion process which is either official or unofficial. The official
conversion process involves the processing of the input of interests from the people by the political elite
and transforming them into public policies, which may flow out from the legislature, the executive, the
bureaucracy, the local government, and the judiciary. A public policy is the sum total of all the decisions
involving what is to be done by the government to a particular target, which may be a category of
individuals, a group, a subsystem of a political system, an entire political system, and the like. The
unofficial conversion process involves the processing of the input of interests from the people by the
counter elite and transforming them into counterprograms. A counterprogram is the sum total of all the
counter positions of the counter elite with regard to a particular target.
Thirdly, there is an output process which involves the activities related to the issuance of either
governmental decisions (legislative act, executive decree, administrative regulation, or judicial decision)
from the governmental machinery; or the emergence of counter positions from the counter elite.
Fourthly, there is a feedback process which involves the reactions of the people and the counter elite to
the policies of the political elite and those of the people and the political elite to the counterprograms of
the counter elite. The input process is activated once more after the people have reacted on the policies
of the government or the counterprograms of the counter elite and have articulated their new interests
based on their reactions on the policies and counterprograms.
Finally, there is an adversary process which involves the political elite and counter elite. In this process
the former attempt to maintain themselves in the government and advance their power and the latter try to
oust the political elite from the government. The adversary process may be violent or non-violent,
conflictual or competitive, and constitutional or unconstitutional.
The political process, thus, is a struggle for or by means of power. In the struggle for or by means of
power between the political elite and the counter elite, or in the attempt of the people to influence the
policies of the government, revolution or reform may result. A revolution is a serious conflict within a
political system between the political elite and the counter elite, together with their followers, which results
in the violent overthrow of the regime or the social order in a relatively short period, perhaps in a decade
or a generation, and its supplantment by a new and different regime or social order. When a revolution
overthrows a regime and supplants it with a new one, such as the American Revolution of 1776-1778,
such a revolution is called a political revolution. If the revolution overthrows a social order and supplants it
with another, such as the Russian Revolution of 1917-1936, such a revolution is called a social revolution.
Reform is a process of transformation of society or the polity by incremental changes which take place in
several generations.
To study the numerous political systems of the world systematically and get meaningful findings from such
a study, it is necessary to use a typology of political systems. In my Models of Political Systems and the
Philippines, I presented such a typology based on two dimensions: a vertical dimension (the stage of
modernization of the political system) and a horizontal dimension (the scope of democratization of the
polity). Both dimensions are subdivided into three. The dimension of stage of modernization of the
political system is subdivided into traditional, transitional, and modern. The dimension of scope of
democratization of the political system is subdivided into totalitarian, authoritarian, and democratic.
Nine models of political systems result from the combination of the vertical and horizontal dimensions,
including their subdivisions. These models are: Classical Dictatorship, a polity which is traditional and
totalitarian; Modernizing Totalitarian Polity, a political system which is transitional and totalitarian; Modern
Totalitarian Polity, a political system which is modern and totalitarian; Traditional Autocracy, a polity which
is traditional and authoritarian; Modernizing Authoritarian Polity, a political system which is transitional and
authoritarian; Modern Authoritarian Polity, a political system which is modern and authoritarian; Classical
Democracy, a polity which is traditional and democratic; Modernizing Democracy, a political system which
is transitional and democratic; and Modern Democracy, a polity which is modern and democratic. The
Athens of Pericles in the 5th Century B.C. is an illustration of Classical Democracy; Rome of Julius
Caesar in the 1st Century B.C., Classical Dictatorship; Ethiopia under Haile Selassie, Traditional
Autocracy; India of today, Modernizing Democracy; Cuba of our times, Modernizing Totalitarian Polity;
Nigeria or the Philippines of today, Modernizing Authoritarian Polity; the United States also of today,
Modern Democracy; the U.S.S.R. of the present, Modern Totalitarian Polity; and Singapore of
contemporary times, Modern Authoritarian Polity?
We must not conclude our teaching of comparative politics at the point after we have compared and
contrasted the patterns of politics of the various political systems using the analytical concepts of our
models, for responsible political scientist should make ethical judgments about various aspects of actual
political systems.
.
.
Fifteen years ago in 1963, delivering the presidential address during the first national conference of the
Philippine Political Science Association, I stated explicitly that political scientists should not refuse to
make value judgments. I would like to repeat what I articulated in the early 1960s. I said:
A political science which cannot make or refuses to make value judgments is . . . irresponsible. It
is also devoid of significance and relevance to political men . . . As Professor Leo Strauss has put
it: "The logic on which the new political science (which adopts the empirical and positivist
approach) is based may provide criteria of exactness; it does not provide objective criteria of
relevance." Thus, not providing criteria of relevance, . . . political science . . . leaves men in the
dark, without faith and without a sense of direction. When political science does this, it shirks its
responsibility and "passes the buck" - to use a colloquial phrase--to the politician, the journalist,
and the proverbial man-in-the-street, who usually lack the scholarly discipline, thoroughness, and
broadmindedness of the political scientist to prescribe what ought to be done on various political
problems, institutions, and practices. The results can be disastrous, particularly if they involve war
and peace, liberty and the police power of the State, and justice and injustice.
If we should make value judgments on politics and political system: what criterion should we adopt? At the
beginning of this paper, I state that political science, being committed to man as an end, is a defender
civilization. I would like to return to this idea, and to prescribe it as the criterion we ought to use in
evaluating politics and political systems.
Civilization is both a process and the end-result of a process. As process, civilization involves the
transformation of a state of human condition which can be called barbarism to another state of human
condition characterized by political development, liberty, and democracy. Barbarism, the polar opposite of
civilization, is characterized by the absence or low state of political development and absence of liberty
and democracy.
Political development is a necessary condition of civilization, and liberty and democracy are its sufficient
conditions.
What is political development? I defined political development as process of change from lack to full
flowering and fruition of the rule of law, civility, and social justice. This concept was contrasted to that
political modernization, which I defined as "a process of change from minimum to a maximum level of
rationalization of authority, national integration, and popular participation.
Since I have posited that political development is a necessary condition of civilization, and the marks of
political development are the rule of law, civility, and social justice, what is meant by the first clause is that
the rule of law, civility, and social justice are necessary conditions of civilization.
The rule of law, declared Chief Justice Concepcion, means
. . . that law is supreme, that the rule of reason, as opposed to the arbitrary will of tyrants, should
prevail, and that all men, rich or poor, high or lowly, are subject to the norms prescribed by law.
Without the rule of law, man will be under the law of the jungle, the inevitable result of which will be what
Hobbes had feared:
In such condition, there is ... no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear, and danger of
violent death; and the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.
Civility is an attribute of members of a society or polity such that each one is educated in good manners
and right conduct, socialized in the rights and duties of citizenship, and imbued with a commitment to
defend and promote the common good. Civility is a principle of restraint or moderation in order to protect
and promote the general interest or the general welfare.
Shils said more elaborately:
Civility is belief which affirms the possibility of the common good; it is a belief in the community of
contending parties within a morally valid unity of society. It is a belief in the validity or legitimacy of
the governmental institutions which lay down rules and resolve conflict. Civility is a virtue
expressed in action on behalf of the whole society, on behalf of the good of all members of the
society to which public liberties and representative institutions are integral. Civility is an attitude in
individuals which recommends that consensus about the maintenance of the order of society
should exist alongside the conflicts of interests and ideals. It restrains the exercise of power by
the powerful and restrains obstruction and violence by those who do not have power but wish to
have it. Civility is on the side of authority and on the side of those over whom authority would rule.
Without civility, the fate of man will be that of unendurable vexations or unending strifes, resulting in what
Hobbes had feared.
Social justice, as distinguished from individual justice, is concerned with the dispensing of justice so that
the society or the polity is not plunged into social turmoil, political instability, or civil war. There are
conservative liberal views of social justice, as well as radical positions.
A good example of the conservative-liberal viewpoint is that of Justice Laurel, who declared:
Social justice is neither communism, nor despotism, nor atomism, nor anarchy, but the humanization of
laws and equalization of social and economic forces by the State so that justice in its rational and
objectively secular conception may at least be approximated. Social justice means the promotion of the
welfare of the people, the adoption of measures calculated to insure the economic and social equilibrium
in the interrelations of members of the community, constitutionally, through the adoption of measures
legally justifiable or extra-constitutionally, through the exercise of powers underlying the existence of all
governments on the time-honored principle of salus populi est suprema lex.
Social justice, therefore, must be founded on the recognition of inter-dependence among diverse units of
a society and of the protection that should be equally and evenly extended to all groups as a combined
force in our social and economic life, consistent with the fundamental and paramount objective of the
State of promoting health, comfort, and quiet of all persons, and of bringing about "the greatest good to
the greatest number.
A comprehensive summary of the radical position on social justice is the one articulated by Honore in a
recent article. He said:
The principle of social justice resides in the idea that all men have equal claims to all advantages
which are generally desired and which are in fact conducive to human perfection and human
happiness. This has two main aspects: first, the equalization of the human conditions as far as
capital assets, human and inanimate, that is, the prerequisites of a good life are concerned. This
involves equal claims to the necessities of life, to life itself, health, food, shelter, etc., and also
equality of opportunity for both work and enjoyment. The second aspect of the principle of social
justice consists in the principles of non- discrimination and conformity to rule. These ensure that
what has been accorded under the first heading will not be taken subsequently. There are some
exceptions to the principle of social justice, in particular to the principle of non-discrimination.
These exceptions fall under subordinate principles of justice such as the justice of transactions,
justice according to desert, justice according to choice and justice according to need. There are
no further- exceptions to be found.
Whether social justice is defined from the conservative-liberal or the radical viewpoint, it is, like the rule of
law and civility, a required condition of a civil order. Without social justice, man's life will be unending
torment by alienation, frustration and anger which, in the long run, will trigger the explosion of riots,
rebellion, or civil war, bringing about Hobbes' nightmare.
Having clarified the principles which are necessary conditions of civilization, we may now explain in what
sense they are necessary conditions. They are necessary for civilization in the sense that without them,
civilization cannot be established; but even with their realization in the polity, it does not follow that
civilization will have reached its full flowering and fruition. In order that the entelechy of civilization will be
attained, there must be sufficient conditions for its full development. These are liberty and
democracy.
Liberty should include all human rights, which are the civil rights, the political rights and the social rights,
the last including economic and cultural rights. These rights have been provided for in the Constitution of
the Republic of the Philippines and in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights of the United Nations.
Without liberty, life is meaningless. However, liberty is equally meaningless if it is not understood in its
social context. Chief Justice Enrique Fernando declared:
It has to be thus, for it is liberty of individuals living in groups, not in isolation, that is safeguarded.
Necessarily then, one cannot simply have his way at all times. If it were thus, given the conflicting
desires of individuals in society, the result may be rank disorder. That is as objectionable as
regimentation at the other extreme. There is need, therefore, for adjustment and reconciliation
between the authority that must be recognized as possessed by the state to be utilized for the
welfare of all, and the liberty an individual cannot be denied for his self-fulfillment as a social
being.
Democracy has been characterized in the Constitution of the Republic of the Philippines:
Sovereignty resides in the people, and all governmental authority emanates for them.
However, I had defined democracy somewhat differently:
A democratic polity is one where control of the political elite by the people is maximum, the area
of liberty is extensive, politics is competitive, and society is pluralist.
Whether defined in terms of sovereignty of the people, or in terms of characteristics involving popular
control of the political elite, extensiveness of liberty, competitive nature of politics, and pluralist structure of
society, democracy certainly is significant to human dignity. Without democracy, the full dignity of man
cannot be vindicated.
In short, civilization is a state of affairs based on the necessary conditions of the rule of law, civility, and
social justice and the sufficient conditions of liberty and democracy.
Since this is the real meaning of civilization as a criterion of the actions of political elites, counter elites,
and the people in political affairs and the performance of political systems, it is the indispensable standard
which can truly tell whether man's fondest dream of attaining peace, freedom, and justice on earth has
been realized or not; and whether the Hobbesian nightmare of the war of man against every man, which a
Filipino novelist has called "the insolence and nastiness of human nature which is visited upon society
from time to time, has been tamed or not, if not completely vanquished. There is still another sense why
civilization is an indispensable criterion. Since political systems in Africa, Asia, the Americas, Europe, and
elsewhere vary as to the extent, pace, and domain of their civilization, this standard can provide an
effective means for appreciating more meaningfully the dismal state of the human condition in many parts
of the world. Finally, since it can serve as a port to be reached or as guiding star to be followed in order to
reach port after strenuous efforts and attempts to keep afloat and stay alive, civilization is hope for all
men, as well as nations, who are foundering in the raging sea of countries being ravaged by political
turmoil or civil war, and of regimes or political systems being ruled by illegitimate governments or by the
power of the gun.
Science as a Vocation
Max Weber
You wish me to speak about 'Science as a Vocation.' Now, we political economists have a pedantic
custom, which I should like to follow, of always beginning with the external conditions. In this case, we
begin with the question: What are the conditions of science as a vocation in the material sense of the
term? Today this question means, practically and essentially: What are the prospects of a graduate
student who is resolved to dedicate himself professionally to science in university life? In order to
understand the peculiarity of German conditions it is expedient to proceed by comparison and to realize
the conditions abroad. In this respect, the United States stands in the sharpest contrast with Germany, so
we shall focus upon that country.
Everybody knows that in Germany the career of the young person who is dedicated to science normally
begins with the position of private lecturer. After having conversed with and received the consent of the
respective specialists, he takes up residence on the basis of a book and, usually, a rather formal
examination before the faculty of the university. Then he gives a course of lectures without receiving any
salary other than the lecture fees of his students. It is up to him to determine, within his interest, the topics
upon which he lectures.
In the United States the academic career usually begins in quite a different manner, namely, by
employment as an 'assistant.' This is similar to the great institutes of the natural science and medical
faculties in Germany, where usually only a fraction of the assistants try to habilitate themselves as private
lecturers and often only later in their career.
Practically, this contrast means that the career of the academic person in Germany is generally based
upon plutocratic prerequisites. For it is extremely hazardous for a young scholar without funds to expose
himself to the conditions of the academic career. He must be able to endure this condition for at least a
number of years without knowing whether he will have the opportunity to move into a position which pays
well enough for maintenance.
In the United States, where the bureaucratic system exists, the young academic person is paid from the
very beginning. To be sure, his salary is modest; usually it is hardly as much as the wages of a semiskilled laborer. Yet he begins with a seemingly secure position, for he draws a fixed salary. As a rule,
however, notice may be given to him just as with German assistants, and frequently he should be not
come up to expectations.
These expectations are such that the young academic in America must draw large crowd of students.
This cannot happen to a German docent; once one has him, one cannot get rid of him. To be sure, he
cannot raise any 'claims.' But he has the understandable notion that after years of work he has a sort of
moral right to expect some consideration. He also expects--and this is often quite important--that one
have some regard for him when the question of the possible habilitation of other private lecturers comes
up.
Whether, in principle, one should habilitate every scholar who is qualified or whether one should consider
enrollments, and hence give the existing staff a monopoly to teach--that is an awkward dilemma. It is
associated with the dual aspect of the academic profession, which we shall discuss presently. In general,
one decides in favor of the second alternative. But this increases the danger that the respective full
professor, however conscientious he is, will prefer his own disciples. If I may speak of my personal
attitude, I must say I have followed the principle that a scholar promoted by me must legitimize and
habilitate himself with somebody else at another university. But the result has been that one of my best
disciples has been turned down at another university because nobody there believed this to be the
reason.
A further difference between Germany and the United States is that in Germany the private lecturer
generally teaches fewer courses than he wishes. According to his formal right, he can give any course in
his field. But to do so would be considered an improper lack of consideration for the older docents. As a
rule, the full professor gives the 'big' courses and the docent confines himself to secondary ones. The
advantage of these arrangements is that during his youth the academic person is free to do scientific
work, although this restriction of the opportunity to teach is somewhat involuntary.
In America, the arrangement is different in principle. Precisely during the early years of his career the
assistant is absolutely overburdened just because he is paid. In a department of German, for instance,
the full professor will give a three-hour course on Goethe and that is enough, whereas the young
assistant is happy if, besides the drill in the German language, his twelve weekly teaching hours include
assignments of, say, Uhland (1787-1862). The officials prescribe the curriculum, and in this the assistant
is just as dependent as the institute assistant in Germany.
Of late we can observe distinctly that the German universities in the broad fields of science develop in the
direction of the American system. The large institutes of medicine or natural science are 'state capitalist'
enterprises, which cannot be managed without very considerable funds. Here we encounter the same
condition that is found wherever capitalist enterprise comes into operation: the 'separation of the worker
from his means of production.' The worker, that is, the assistant, is dependent upon the implements that
the state puts at his disposal; hence he is just as dependent upon the head of the institute as is the
employee in a factory upon the management. For, subjectively and in good faith, the director believes that
this institute is 'his,' and he manages its affairs. Thus the assistant's position is often as precarious as is
that of any 'quasi-proletarian' existence and just as precarious as the position of the assistant in the
American university.
In very important respects German university life is being Americanized, as is German life in general. This
development, I am convinced, will engulf those disciplines in which the craftsman personally owns the
tools, essentially the library, as is still the case to a large extent in my own field. This development
corresponds entirely to what happened to the artisan of the past and it is now fully under way. As with all
capitalist and at the same time bureaucratized enterprises, there are indubitable advantages in all this.
But the 'spirit' that rules in these affairs is different from the historical atmosphere of the German
university. An extraordinarily wide gulf, externally and internally, exists between the chief of these large,
capitalist, university enterprises and the usual full professor of the old style. This contrast also holds for
the inner attitude, a matter that I shall not go into here. Inwardly as well as externally, the old university
constitution has become fictitious.
What has remained and what has been essentially increased is a factor peculiar to the university career:
the question whether or not such a private lecturer, and still more an assistant, will ever succeed in
moving into the position of a full professor or even become the head of an institute. That is simply a
hazard. Certainly, chance does not rule alone, but it rules to an unusually high degree. I know of hardly
any career on earth where chance plays such a role. I may say so all the more since I personally owe it to
some mere accidents that during my very early years I was appointed to a full professorship in a discipline
in which persons of my generation undoubtedly had achieved more that I had. And, indeed, I fancy, on the
basis of this experience, that I have a sharp eye for the undeserved fate of the many whom accident has
cast in the opposite direction and who within this selective apparatus in spite of all their ability do not
attain the positions that are due them.
The fact that hazard rather than ability plays so large a role is not alone or even predominantly owing to
the 'all-too-human' factors, which naturally occur in the process of academic selection as in any other
selection. It would be unfair to hold the personal inferiority of faculty members or educational ministries
responsible for the fact that so many mediocrities undoubtedly play an eminent role at the universities.
The predominance of mediocrity is rather due to the laws of human co-operation, especially of the cooperation of several bodies, and, in this case, co-operation of the faculties who recommend and of the
ministries of education.
A counterpart are the events at the papal elections, which can be traced over many centuries and which
are the most important controllable examples of a selection of the same nature as the academic selection.
The cardinal who is said to be the 'favorite' only rarely has a chance to win out. The rule is rather that the
Number Two cardinal or the Number Three wins out. The same holds for the President of the United
States. Only exceptionally does the first-rate and most prominent person get the nomination of the
convention. Mostly the Number Two and often the Number Three persons are nominated and later run for
election. The Americans have already formed technical sociological terms for these categories, and it
would be quite interesting to inquire into the laws of selection by a collective will by studying these
examples, but we shall not do so here. Yet these laws also hold for the collegiate bodies of German
universities, and one must not be surprised at the frequent mistakes that are made, but rather at the
number of correct appointments, the proportion of which, in spite of all, is very considerable. Only where
parliaments, as in some countries, or monarchs, as in Germany thus far (both work out in the same way),
or revolutionary power-holders, as in Germany now, intervene for political reasons in academic selections,
can one be certain that convenient mediocrities or strainers will have the opportunities all to themselves.
No university teacher likes to be reminded of discussions of appointments, for they are seldom agreeable.
And yet I may say that in the numerous cases known to me there was, without exception, the good will to
allow purely objective reasons to be decisive.
One must be clear about another thing: that the decision over academic fates is so largely a 'hazard' is
not merely because of the insufficiency of the selection by the collective formation of will. Every young
person who feels called to scholarship has to realize clearly that the task before him has a double aspect.
He must qualify not only as a scholar but also as a teacher. And the two do not at all coincide. One can be
a preeminent scholar and at the same time an abominably poor teacher. May I remind you of the
outstanding teachings like Helmholtz or Ranke; and they are not by any chance rare exceptions.
Now, matters are such that German universities, especially the small universities, are engaged in a most
ridiculous competition for enrollments. The landlords of rooming houses in university cities celebrate the
advent of the thousandth student by a festival, and they would love to celebrate Number Two Thousand
by a torchlight procession. The interest in fees--and one should openly admit it--is affected by
appointments in the neighboring fields that 'draw crowds.' And quite apart from this, the number of
students enrolled is a test of qualification, which may be grasped in terms of numbers, whereas the
qualification for scholarship is imponderable and, precisely with audacious innovators, often debatable-that is only natural. Almost everybody thus is affected by the suggestion of the immeasurable blessing
and value of large enrollments. To say of a docent that he is a poor teacher is usually to pronounce an
academic sentence of death, even if he is the foremost scholar in the world. And the question whether he
is a good or a poor teacher is answered by the enrollments with which the students condescendingly
honor him.
It is a fact that whether or not the students flock to a teacher is determined in large measure, larger than
one would believe possible, by purely external things: temperament and even the inflection of his voice.
After rather extensive experience and sober reflection, I have a deep distrust of courses that draw
crowds, however unavoidable they may be. Democracy should be used only where it is in place. Scientific
training, as we are held to practice it in accordance with the tradition of German universities, is the affair
of an intellectual aristocracy, and we should not hide this from ourselves. To be sure, it is true that to
present scientific problems in such a manner that an untutored but receptive mind can understand them
and--what for us is alone decisive--can come to think about them independently is perhaps the most
difficult pedagogical task of all. But whether this task is or is not realized is not decided by enrollment
figures. And--to return to our theme- this very art is a personal gift and by no means coincides with the
scientific qualifications of the scholar. In contrast to France, Germany has no corporate body of
'immortals' in science. According to German tradition, the universities shall do justice to the demands both
of research and of instruction. Whether the abilities for both are found together in a person is a matter of
absolute chance.
Hence academic life is a mad hazard. If the young scholar asks for my advice with regard to habilitation,
the responsibility of encouraging him can hardly be borne. If he is a Jew, of course one says, give up any
hope. But one must ask every other man: Do you in all conscience believe that you can stand seeing
mediocrity after mediocrity, year after year, climb beyond you, without becoming embittered and without
coming to grief? Naturally, one always receives the answer: 'Of course, I live only for my "calling."' Yet, I
have found that only a few persons could endure this situation without coming to grief. This much I deem
necessary to say about the external conditions of the academic man's vocation. But I believe that actually
you wish to hear of something else, namely, of the inward calling for science.
In our time, the internal situation, in contrast to the organization of science as a vocation, is first of all
conditioned by the facts that science has entered a phase of specialization previously unknown and that
this will forever remain the case. Not only externally, but inwardly, matters stand at a point where the
individual can acquire the sure consciousness of achieving something truly perfect in the field of science
only in case he is a strict specialist. All work that overlaps neighboring fields, such as we occasionally
undertake and which the sociologists must necessarily undertake again and again, is burdened with the
resigned realization that at best one provides the specialist with useful questions upon which he would not
so easily hit from his own specialized point of view. One's own work must inevitably remain highly
imperfect. Only by strict specialization can the scientific worker become fully conscious, for once and
perhaps never again in his lifetime, that he has achieved something that will endure. A really definitive and
good accomplishment is today always a specialized accomplishment.
And whoever lacks the capacity to put on blinders, so to speak, and to come up to the idea that the fate of
his soul depends upon whether or not he makes the correct conjecture at this passage of this manuscript
may as well stay away from science. He will never have what one may call the 'personal experience' of
science. Without this strange intoxication, ridiculed by every outsider; without this passion, this 'thousands
of years must pass before you enter into life and thousands more wait in silence'--according to whether or
not you succeed in making this conjecture; without this, you have no calling for science and you should do
something else. For nothing is worthy of person as person unless he can pursue it with passionate
devotion.
Yet it is a fact that no amount of such enthusiasm, however sincere and profound it may be, can compel a
problem to yield scientific results. Certainly enthusiasm is a prerequisite of the 'inspiration' which is
decisive. Nowadays in circles of youth there is a widespread notion that science has become a problem in
calculation, fabricated in laboratories or statistical filing systems just as 'in a factory,' a calculation
involving only the cool intellect and not one's 'heart and soul.' First of all one must say that such
comments lack all clarity about what goes on in a factory or in a laboratory. In both some idea has to
occur to someone's mind, and it has to be a correct idea, if one is to accomplish anything worthwhile. And
such intuition cannot be forced. It has nothing to do with any cold calculation. Certainly calculation is also
an indispensable prerequisite. No sociologist, for instance, should think himself too good, even in his old
age, to make tens of thousands of quite trivial computations in his head and perhaps for months at a time.
One cannot with impunity try to transfer this task entirely to mechanical assistants if one wishes to figure
something, even though the final result is often small indeed. But if no 'idea' occurs to his mind about the
direction of his computations and, during his computations, about the bearing of the emergent single
results, then even this small result will not be yielded.
Normally such an 'idea' is prepared only on the soil of very hard work, but certainly this is not always the
case. Scientifically, a dilettante's idea may have the very same or even a greater bearing for science than
that of a specialist. Many of our very best hypotheses and insights are due precisely to dilettantes. The
dilettante differs from the expert, as Helmholtz has said of Robert Mayer, only in that he lacks a firm and
reliable work procedure. Consequently he is usually not in the position to control, to estimate, or to exploit
the idea in its bearings. The idea is not a substitute for work; and work, in turn, cannot substitute for or
compel an idea, just as little as enthusiasm can. Both, enthusiasm and work, and above all both of them
jointly, can entice the idea.
Ideas occur to us when they please, not when it pleases us. The best ideas do indeed occur to one's mind
in the way in which Ihering describes it: when smoking a cigar on the sofa; or as Helmholtz states of
himself with scientific exactitude: when taking a walk on a slowly ascending street; or in a similar way. In
any case, ideas come when we do not expect them, and not when we are brooding and searching at our
desks. Yet ideas would certainly not come to mind had we not brooded at our desks and searched for
answers with passionate devotion.
However this may be, the scientific worker has to take into his bargain the risk that enters into all scientific
work: Does an 'idea' occur or does it not? He may be an excellent worker and yet never have had any
valuable idea of his own. It is a grave error to believe that this is so only in science, and that things for
instance in a business office are different from a laboratory. A merchant or a big industrialist without
'business imagination,' that is, without ideas or ideal intuitions, will for all his life remain a person who
would better have remained a clerk or a technical official. He will never be truly creative in organization.
Inspiration in the field of science by no means plays any greater role, as academic conceit fancies, than it
does in the field of mastering problems of practical life by a modern entrepreneur. On the other hand, and
this also is often misconstrued, inspiration plays no less a role in science than it does in the realm of art. It
is a childish notion to think that a mathematician attains any scientifically valuable results by sitting at his
desk with a ruler, calculating machines or other mechanical means. The mathematical imagination of a
Weierstrass is naturally quite differently oriented in meaning and result than is the imagination of an artist,
and differs basically in quality. But the psychological processes do not differ. Both are frenzy (in the sense
of Plato's 'mania') and 'inspiration.'
Now, whether we have scientific inspiration depends upon destinies that are hidden from us, and besides
upon 'gifts.' Last but not least, because of this indubitable truth, a very understandable attitude has
become popular, especially among youth, and has put them in the service of idols whose cult today
occupies a broad place on all street corners and in all periodicals. These idols are 'personality' and
'personal experience.' Both are intimately connected, the notion prevails that the latter constitutes the
former and belongs to it. People belabor themselves in trying to 'experience' life--for that befits a
personality, conscious of its rank and station. And if we do not succeed in 'experiencing' life, we must at
least pretend to have this gift of grace. Formerly we called this 'experience,' in plain German, 'sensation';
and I believe that we then had a more adequate idea of what personality is and what it signifies.
Ladies and gentlemen. In the field of science only he who is devoted solely to the work at hand has
personality. And this holds not only for the field of science; we know of no great artist who has ever done
anything but serve his work and only his work. As far as his art is concerned, even with a personality of
Goethe's rank, it has been detrimental to take the liberty of trying to make his 'life' into a work of art. And
even if one doubts this, one has to be a Goethe in order to dare permit oneself such liberty. Everybody
will admit at least this much: that even with a person like Goethe, who appears once in a thousand years,
this liberty did not go unpaid for. In politics matters are not different, but we shall not discuss that today. In
the field of science, however, the person who makes himself the impresario of the subject to which he
should be devoted, and steps upon the stage and seeks to legitimate himself through 'experience,'
asking: How can I prove that I am something other than a mere 'specialist' and how can I manage to say
something in form or in content that nobody else has ever said? -- such a person is no 'personality.' Today
such conduct is a crowd phenomenon, and it always makes a petty impression and debases the one who
is thus concerned. Instead of this, an inner devotion to the task, and that alone, should lift the scientist to
the height and dignity of the subject he pretends to serve. And in this it is not different with the artist.
In contrast with these preconditions which scientific work shares with art, science has a fate that
profoundly distinguishes it from artistic work. Scientific work is chained to the course of progress; whereas
in the realm of art there is no progress in the same sense. It is not true that the work of art of a period that
has worked out new technical means, or, for instance, the laws of perspective, stands therefore artistically
higher than a work of art devoid of all knowledge of those means and laws, if its form does justice to the
material, that is, if its object has been chosen and formed so that it could be artistically mastered without
applying those conditions and means. A work of art which is genuine 'fulfillment' is never surpassed; it will
never be antiquated. Individuals may differ in appreciating the personal significance of works of art, but no
one will ever be able to say of such a work that it is 'outstripped by another work. which is also 'fulfillment.'
In science, each of us knows that what he has accomplished will be antiquated in ten, twenty, fifty years.
That is the fate to which science is subjected; it is the very meaning of scientific work, to which it is
devoted in a quite specific sense, as compared with other spheres of culture for which in general the
same holds. Every scientific 'fulfillment' raises new 'questions'; it asks to be 'surpassed' and outdated.
Whoever wishes to serve science has to resign himself to this fact. Scientific works certainly can last as
'gratifications' because of their artistic quality, or they may remain important as a means of training. Yet
they will be surpassed scientifically--let that be repeated--for it is our common fate and, more, our
common goal. We cannot work without hoping that others will advance further than we have. In principle,
this progress goes on endlessly. And with this we come to inquire into the meaning of science. For, after
all, it is not self-evident that something subordinate to such a law is sensible and meaningful in itself.
Why does one engage in doing something that in reality never comes, and never can come, to an end?
One does it, first, for purely practical, in the broader sense of the word, for technical, purposes: in order to
be able to orient our practical activities to the expectations that scientific experience places at our
disposal. Good. Yet this has meaning only to practitioners. What is the attitude of the academic person
towards his vocation--that is, if he is at all in quest of such a personal attitude? He maintains that he
engages in 'science for science's sake' and not merely because others, by exploiting science, bring about
commercial or technical success and can better feed, dress, illuminate, and govern. But what does he
who allows himself to be integrated into this specialized organization, running on endlessly, hope to
accomplish that is significant in these productions that are always destined to be outdated? This question
requires a few general considerations.
Scientific progress is a fraction, the most important fraction, of the process of intellectualization which we
have been undergoing for thousands of years and which nowadays is usually judged in such an extremely
negative way. Let us first clarify what this intellectualist rationalization, created by science and by
scientifically oriented technology, means practically.
Does it mean that we, today, for instance, everyone sitting in this hall, have a greater knowledge of the
conditions of life under which we exist than has an American Indian or a Hottentot? Hardly. Unless he is a
physicist, one who rides on the streetcar has no idea how the car happened to get into motion. And he
does not need to know. He is satisfied that he may 'count' on the behavior of the streetcar, and he orients
his conduct according to this expectation; but he knows nothing about what it takes to produce such a car
so that it can move. The savage knows incomparably more about his tools. When we spend money today
I bet that even if there are colleagues of political economy here in the hall, almost every one of them will
hold a different answer in readiness to the question: How does it happen that one can buy something for
money--sometimes more and sometimes less ? The savage knows what he does in order to get his daily
food and which institutions serve him in this pursuit. The increasing intellectualization and rationalization
do not, therefore, indicate an increased and general knowledge of the conditions under which one lives.
It means something else, namely, the knowledge or belief that if one but wished one could learn it at any
time. Hence, it means that principally there are no mysterious incalculable forces that come into play, but
rather that one can, in principle, master all things by calculation. This means that the world is
disenchanted. One need no longer have recourse to magical means in order to master or implore the
spirits, as did the savage, for whom such mysterious powers existed. Technical means and calculations
perform the service. This above all is what intellectualization means. This process of disenchantment,
which has continued to exist in Occidental culture for millennia, and, in general, this 'progress,' to which
science belongs as a link and motive force.
Now, do they have any meanings that go beyond the purely practical and technical? You will find this
question raised in the most principled form in the works of Leo Tolstoi. He came to raise the question in a
peculiar way. All his broodings increasingly revolved around the problem of whether or not death is a
meaningful phenomenon. And his answer was: for civilized person death has no meaning. It has none
because the individual life of civilized man, placed into an infinite 'progress,' according to its own imminent
meaning should never come to an end; for there is always a further step ahead of one who stands in the
march of progress. And no person who comes to die stands upon the peak which lies in infinity. Abraham,
or some peasant of the past, died 'old and satiated with life' because he stood in the organic cycle of life;
because his life, in terms of its meaning and on the eve of his days, had given to him what life had to
offer; because for him there remained no puzzles he might wish to solve; and therefore he could have had
'enough' of life. Whereas civilized man, placed in the midst of the continuous enrichment of culture by
ideas, knowledge, and problems, may become 'tired of life' but not 'satiated with life.' He catches only the
most minute part of what the life of the spirit brings forth ever anew, and what he seizes is always
something provisional and not definitive, and therefore death for him is a meaningless occurrence. And
because death is meaningless, civilized life as such is meaningless; by its very 'progressiveness' it gives
death the imprint of meaninglessness. Throughout his late novels one meets with this thought as the
keynote of the Tolstoyan art.
What stand should one take? Has 'progress' as such a recognizable meaning that goes beyond the
technical, so that to serve it is a meaningful vocation? The question must be raised. But this is no longer
merely the question of man's calling for science, hence, the problem of what science as a vocation means
to its devoted disciples. To raise this question is to ask for the vocation of science within the total life of
humanity. What is the value of science?
Here the contrast between the past and the present is tremendous. You will recall the wonderful image at
the beginning of the seventh book of Plato's Republic: those enchained cavemen whose faces are turned
toward the stone wall before them. Behind them lies the source of the light which they cannot see. They
are concerned only with the shadowy images that this light throws upon the wall, and they seek to fathom
their interrelations. Finally one of them succeeds in shattering his fetters, turns around, and sees the sun.
Blinded, he gropes about and stammers of what he saw. The others say he is raving. But gradually he
learns to behold the light, and then his task is to descend to the cavemen and to lead them to the light. He
is the philosopher; the sun, however, is the truth of science, which alone seizes not upon illusions and
shadows but upon the true being.
Well, who today views science in such a manner ? Today youth feels rather the reverse: the intellectual
constructions of science constitute an unreal realm of artificial abstractions, which with their bony hands
seek to grasp the blood-and-the-sap of true life without ever catching up with it. But here in life, in what for
Plato was the play of shadows on the walls of the cave, genuine reality is pulsating; and the rest are
derivatives of life, lifeless ghosts, and nothing else. How did this change come about?
Plato's passionate enthusiasm in The Republic must, in the last analysis, be explained by the fact that for
the first time the concept, one of the great tools of all scientific knowledge, had been consciously
discovered. Socrates had discovered it in its bearing. He was not the only person in the world to discover
it. In India one finds the beginnings of a logic that is quite similar to that of Aristotle's. But nowhere else do
we find this realization of the significance of the concept. In Greece, for the first time, appeared a handy
means by which one could put the logical screws upon somebody so that he could not come out without
admitting either that he knew nothing or that this and nothing else was truth, the eternal truth that never
would vanish as the doings of the blind persons vanish. That was the tremendous experience which
dawned upon the disciples of Socrates. And from this it seemed to follow that if one only found the right
concept of the beautiful, the good, or, for instance, of bravery, of the soul--or whatever--that then one
could also grasp its true being. And this, in turn, seemed to open the way for knowing and for teaching
how to act rightly in life and, above all, how to act as a citizen of the state; for this question was everything
to the Hellenic man, whose thinking was political throughout. And for these reasons one engaged in
science.
The second great tool or scientific work, the rational experiment, made is appearance at the side of this
discovery of the Hellenic spirit during the Renaissance period. The experiment is a means of reliably
controlling experience. Without it, present-day empirical science would be impossible. There were
experiments earlier; for instance, in India physiological experiments were made in the service of ascetic
yoga technique; in Hellenic antiquity, mathematical experiments were made for purposes of war
technology; and in the Middle Ages, for purposes of mining. But to raise the experiment to a principle of
research was the achievement of the Renaissance. They were the great innovators in art, who were the
pioneers of experiment. Leonardo and his like and, above all, the sixteenth-century experimenters in
music with their experimental pianos were characteristic. From these circles the experiment entered
science, especially through Galileo, and it entered theory through Bacon; and then it was taken over by
the various exact disciplines of the continental universities, first of all those of Italy and then those of the
Netherlands.
What did science mean to these persons who stood at the threshold of modern times ? To artistic
experimenters of the type of Leonardo and the musical innovators, science meant the path to true art, and
that meant for them the path to true nature. Art was to be raised to the rank of a science, and this meant
at the same time and above all to raise the artist to the rank of the doctor, socially and with reference to
the meaning of his life. This is the ambition on which, for instance, Leonardo's sketch book was based.
And today? 'Science as the way to nature' would sound like blasphemy to youth. Today, youth proclaims
the opposite: redemption from the intellectualism of science in order to return to one's own nature and
therewith to nature in general. Science as a way to art? Here no criticism is even needed.
But during the period of the rise of the exact sciences one expected a great deal more. If you recall
Swammerdam's statement, 'Here I bring you the proof of God's providence in the anatomy of a louse,'
you will see what the scientific worker, influenced (indirectly) by Protestantism and Puritanism, conceived
to be his task: to show the path to God. People no longer found this path among the philosophers, with
their concepts and deductions. All pietist theology of the time, above all Spener, knew that God was not to
be found along the road by which the Middle Ages had sought him. God is hidden, His ways are not our
ways, His thoughts are not our thoughts. In the exact sciences, however, where one could physically
grasp His works, one hoped to come upon the traces of what He planned for the world. And today? Who--
aside from certain big children who are indeed found in the natural sciences-- still believes that the
findings of astronomy, biology, physics, or chemistry could teach us anything about the meaning of the
world? If there is any such 'meaning,' along what road could one come upon its tracks? If these natural
sciences lead to anything in this way, they are apt to make the belief that there is such a thing as the
'meaning' of the universe die out at its very roots.
And finally, science as a way 'to God'? Science, this specifically irreligious power? That science today is
irreligious no one will doubt in his innermost being, even if he will not admit it to himself. Redemption from
the rationalism and intellectualism of science is the fundamental presupposition of living in union with the
divine. This, or something similar in meaning, is one of the fundamental watchwords one hears among
German youth, whose feelings are attuned to religion or who crave religious experiences. They crave not
only religious experience but experience as such. The only thing that is strange is the method that is now
followed: the spheres of the irrational, the only spheres that intellectualism has not yet touched, are now
raised into consciousness and put under its lens. For in practice this is where the modern intellectualist
form of romantic irrationalism leads. This method of emancipation from intellectualism may well bring
about the very opposite of what those who take to it conceive as its goal.
After Nietzsche's devastating criticism of those 'last men' who 'invented happiness,' I may leave aside
altogether the naive optimism in which science--that is, the technique of mastering life which rests upon
science, has been celebrated as the way to happiness. Who believes in this?--aside from a few big
children in university chairs or editorial offices. Let us resume our argument.
Under these internal presuppositions, what is the meaning of science as a vocation, now after all these
former illusions, the 'way to true being,' the 'way to true art,' the 'way to true nature,' the 'way to true God,'
the 'way to true happiness,' have been dispelled? Tolstoi has given the simplest answer, with the words:
'Science is meaningless because it gives no answer, the only question important for us: "what shall we do
and how shall we live?"' That science does not give an answer to this is indisputable. The only question
that remains is the sense in which science gives 'no' answer, and whether or not science might yet be of
some use to the one who puts the question correctly.
Today one usually speaks of science as 'free from presuppositions.' Is there such a thing? It depends
upon what one understands thereby. All scientific work presupposes that the rules of logic and method are
valid; these are the general foundations of our orientation in the world; and, at least for our special
question, these presuppositions are the least problematic aspect of science. Science further presupposes
that what is yielded by scientific work is important in the sense that it is 'worth being known.' In this,
obviously, are contained all our problems. For this presupposition cannot be proved by scientific means. It
can only be interpreted with reference to its ultimate meaning, which we must reject or accept according
to our ultimate position towards life.
Furthermore, the nature of the relationship of scientific work and its presuppositions varies widely
according to their structure. The natural sciences, for instance, physics, chemistry, and astronomy,
presuppose as self-evident that it is worthwhile to know the ultimate laws of cosmic events as far as
science can construe them. This is the case not only because with such knowledge one can attain
technical results but for its own sake, if the quest for such knowledge is to be a 'vocation.' Yet this
presupposition can by no means be proved. And still less can it be proved that the existence of the world
which these sciences describe is worthwhile, that it has any 'meaning,' or that it makes sense to live in
such a world. Science does not ask for the answers to such questions.
Consider modern medicine, a practical technology which is highly developed scientifically. The general
'presupposition' of the medical enterprise is stated trivially in the assertion that medical science has the
task of maintaining life as such and of diminishing suffering as such to the greatest possible degree. Yet
this is problematical. By his means the medical person preserves the life of the mortally ill man, even if
the patient implores us to relieve him of life, even if his relatives, to whom his life is worthless and to
whom the costs of maintaining his worthless life grow unbearable, grant his redemption from suffering.
Perhaps a poor lunatic is involved, whose relatives, whether they admit it or not, wish and must wish for
his death. Yet the presuppositions of medicine, and the penal code, prevent the physician from
relinquishing his therapeutic efforts. Whether life is worth while living and when--this question is not asked
by medicine. Natural science gives us an answer to the question of what we must do if we wish to master
life technically. It leaves quite aside, or assumes for its purposes, whether we should and do wish to
master life technically and whether it ultimately makes sense to do so.
Consider a discipline such as aesthetics. The fact that there are works of art is given for aesthetics. It
seeks to find out under what conditions this fact exists, but it does not raise the question whether or not
the realm of art is perhaps a realm of diabolical grandeur, a realm of this world, and therefore, in its core,
hostile to God and, in its innermost and aristocratic spirit, hostile to the brotherhood of human. Hence,
aesthetics does not ask whether there should be works of art.
Consider jurisprudence. It establishes what is valid according to the rules of juristic thought, which is
partly bound by logically compelling and partly by conventionally given schemata. Juridical thought holds
when certain legal rules and certain methods of interpretations are recognized as binding. Whether there
should be law and whether one should establish just these rules--such questions jurisprudence does not
answer.
It can only state: If one wishes this result, according to the norms of our legal thought, this legal rule is the
appropriate means of attaining it.
Consider the historical and cultural sciences. They teach us how to understand and interpret political,
artistic, literary, and social phenomena in terms of their origins. But they give us no answer to the
question, whether the existence of these cultural phenomena have been and are worth while. And they do
not answer the further question, whether it is worth the effort required to know them. They presuppose
that there is an interest in partaking, through this procedure, of the community of 'civilized persons.' But
they cannot prove 'scientifically' that this is the case; and that they presuppose this interest by no means
proves that it goes without saying. In fact it is not at all self-evident.
Finally, let us consider the disciplines close to me: sociology, history, economics, political science, and
those types of cultural philosophy that make it their task to interpret these sciences. It is said, and I agree,
that politics is out of place in the lecture-room. It does not belong there on the part of the students. If, for
instance, in the lecture-room of my former colleague Dietrich Schaefer in Berlin, pacifist students were to
surround his desk and make an uproar, I should deplore it just as much as I should deplore the uproar
which anti-pacifist students are said to have made against Professor Foerster, whose views in many ways
are as remote as could be from mine. Neither does politics, however, belong in the lecture-room on the
part of the docents, and when the docent is scientifically concerned with politics, it belongs there least of
all.
To take a practical political stand is one thing, and to analyze political structures and party positions is
another. When speaking in a political meeting about democracy, one does not hide one's personal
standpoint; indeed to come out clearly and take a stand is one's damned duty. The words one uses in
such a meeting are not means of scientific analysis but means of canvassing votes and winning over
others. They are not plowshares to loosen the soil of contemplative thought; they are swords against the
enemies: such words are weapons. It would be an outrage, however, to use words in this fashion in a
lecture or in the lecture-room. If, for instance, 'democracy' is under discussion, one considers its various
forms, analyzes them in the way they function, determines what results for the conditions of life the one
form has as compared with the other. Then one confronts the forms of democracy with non-democratic
forms of political order and endeavors to come to a position where the student may find the point from
which, in terms of his ultimate ideals, he can take a stand. But the true teacher will beware of imposing
from the platform any political position upon the student, whether it is expressed or suggested. 'To let the
facts speak for themselves' is the most unfair way of putting over a political position to the student.
Why should we abstain from doing this? I state in advance that some highly esteemed colleagues are of
the opinion that it is not possible to carry through this self-restraint and that, even if it were possible, it
would be a whim to avoid declaring oneself. Now one cannot demonstrate scientifically what the duty of
an academic teacher is. One can only demand of the teacher that he have the intellectual integrity to see
that it is one thing to state facts, to determine mathematical or logical relations or the internal structure of
cultural values, while it is another thing to answer questions of the value of culture and its individual
contents and the question of how one should act in the cultural community and in political associations.
These are quite heterogeneous problems. If he asks further why he should not deal with both types of
problems in the lecture-room, the answer is: because the prophet and the demagogue do not belong on
the academic platform.
To the prophet and the demagogue, it is said: 'Go your ways out into the streets and speak openly to the
world,' that is, speak where criticism is possible. In the lecture-room we stand opposite our audience, and
it has to remain silent. I deem it irresponsible to exploit the circumstance that for the sake of their career
the students have to attend a teacher's course while there is nobody present to oppose him with criticism.
The task of the teacher is to serve the students with his knowledge and scientific experience and not to
imprint upon them his personal political views. It is certainly possible that the individual teacher will not
entirely succeed in eliminating his personal sympathies. He is then exposed to the sharpest criticism in
the forum of his own conscience. And this deficiency does not prove anything; other errors are also
possible, for instance, erroneous statements of fact, and yet they prove nothing against the duty of
searching for the truth. I also reject this in the very interest of science. I am ready to prove from the works
of our historians that whenever the person of science introduces his personal value judgment, a full
understanding of the facts ceases. But this goes beyond tonight topic and would require lengthy
elucidation.
I ask only: How should a devout Catholic, on the one hand, and a Freemason, on the other, in a course
on the forms of church and state or on religious history ever be brought to evaluate these subjects alike?
This is out of the question. And yet the academic teacher must desire and must demand of himself to
serve the one as well as the other by his knowledge and methods. Now you will rightly say that the devout
Catholic will never accept the view of the factors operative in bringing about Christianity which a teacher
who is free of his dogmatic presuppositions presents to him. Certainly! The difference, however, lies in the
following: Science 'free from presuppositions,' in the sense of a rejection of religious bonds, does not
know of the 'miracle' and the 'revelation.' If it did, science would be unfaithful to its own 'presuppositions.'
The believer knows both, miracle and revelation. And science 'free from presuppositions' expects from
him no less--and no more than acknowledgment that if the process can be explained without those
supernatural interventions, which an empirical explanation has to eliminate as causal factors, the process
has to be explained the way science attempts to do. And the believer can do this without being disloyal to
his faith.
But has the contribution of science no meaning at all for a person who does not care to know facts as
such and to whom only the practical standpoint matters? Perhaps science nevertheless contributes
something.
The primary task of a useful teacher is to teach his students to recognize 'inconvenient' facts--I
mean facts that are inconvenient for their party opinions. And for every party opinion there are
facts that are extremely inconvenient, for my own opinion no less than for others. I believe the
teacher accomplishes more than a mere intellectual task if he compels his audience to accustom itself to
the existence of such facts. I would be so immodest as even to apply the expression 'moral achievement,'
though perhaps this may sound too grandiose for something that should go without saying.
Thus far I have spoken only of practical reasons for avoiding the imposition of a personal point of view.
But these are not the only reasons. The impossibility of 'scientifically' pleading for practical and interested
stands except in discussing the means for a firmly given and presupposed end--rests upon reasons that
lie far deeper.
'Scientific' pleading is meaningless in principle because the various value spheres of the world stand in
irreconcilable conflict with each other. The elder Mill, whose philosophy I will not praise otherwise, was on
this point right when he said If one proceeds from pure experience, one arrives at polytheism. This is
shallow formulation and sounds paradoxical, and yet there is truth in it. If anything, we realize again today
that something can be sacred not only in spite of its not being beautiful, but rather because and in so far
as it is not beautiful. You will find this documented in Isaiah 53 and in Psalm 21. And, since Nietzsche, we
realize that something can be beautiful, not only in spite of the aspect in which it is not good, but rather in
that very aspect. You will find this expressed earlier in the Fleurs du mal, as Baudelaire named his volume
of poems. It is commonplace to observe that something may be true although it is not beautiful and not
holy and not good. Indeed it may be true in precisely those aspects. But all these are only the most
elementary cases of the struggle that the gods of the various orders and values are engaged in. I do not
know how one might wish to decide 'scientifically' the value of French and German culture; for here, too,
different gods struggle with one another, now and for all times to come.
We live as did the ancients when their world was not yet disenchanted of its gods and demons, only we
live in a different sense. As Hellenic person at times sacrificed to Aphrodite and at other times to Apollo,
and, above all, as everybody sacrificed to the gods of his city, so do we still nowadays, only the bearing of
person has been disenchanted and denuded of its mystical but inwardly genuine plasticity. Fate, and
certainly no 'science,' holds sway over these gods and their struggles. One can only understand what the
godhead is for the one order or for the other, or better, what godhead is in the one or in the other order.
With this understanding, however, the matter has reached its limit so far as it can be discussed in a
lecture-room and by a professor. Yet the great and vital problem that is contained therein is, of course,
very far from being concluded. But forces other than university chairs have their say in this matter.
What person will take upon himself the attempt to 'refute scientifically' the ethic of the Sermon on the
Mount? For instance, the sentence, 'resist no evil,' or the image of turning the other cheek? And yet it is
clear, in mundane perspective, that this is an ethic of undignified conduct; one has to choose between the
religious dignity which this ethic confers and the dignity of manly conduct which preaches something quite
different; 'resist evil--lest you be co-responsible for an overpowering evil.' According to our ultimate
standpoint, the one is the devil and the other the God, and the individual has to decide which is God for
him and which is the devil. And so it goes throughout all the orders of life.
The grandiose rationalism of an ethical and methodical conduct of life which flows from every religious
prophecy has dethroned this polytheism in favor of the 'one thing that is needful.' Faced with the realities
of outer and inner life, Christianity has deemed it necessary to make those compromises and relative
judgments, which we all know from its history. Today the routines of everyday life challenge religion. Many
old gods ascend from their graves; they are disenchanted and hence take the form of impersonal forces.
They strive to gain power over our lives and again they resume their eternal struggle with one another.
What is hard for modern man, and especially for the younger generation, is to measure up to workaday
existence. The ubiquitous chase for 'experience' stems from this weakness; for it is weakness not to be
able to countenance the stern seriousness of our fateful times.
Our civilization destines us to realize more clearly these struggles again, after our eyes have been blinded
for a thousand years--blinded by the allegedly or presumably exclusive orientation towards the grandiose
moral fervor of Christian ethics.
But enough of these questions which lead far away. Those of our 'youth are in error who react to all this
by saying, 'Yes, but we happen to come to lectures in order to experience something more than mere
analyses and statements of fact.' The error is that they seek in the professor something different from
what stands before them. They crave a leader and not a teacher. But we are placed upon the platform
solely as teachers. And these are two different things, as one can readily see. Permit me to take you once
more to America, because there one can often observe such matters in their most massive and original
shape.
The American boy learns unspeakably less than the German boy. In spite of an incredible number of
examinations, his school life has not had the significance of turning him into an absolute creature of
examinations, such as the German. For in America, bureaucracy, which presupposes the examination
diploma as a ticket of admission to the realm of office prebends, is only in its beginnings. The young
American has no respect for anything or anybody, for tradition or for public office-- unless it is for the
personal achievement of individual men. This is what the American calls 'democracy.' This is the meaning
of democracy, however distorted its intent may in reality be, and this intent is what matters here. The
American's conception of the teacher who faces him is: he sells me his knowledge and his methods for
my father's money, just as the greengrocer sells my mother cabbage. And that is all. To be sure if the
teacher happens to be a football coach, then, in this field, he is a leader. But if he is not this (or something
similar in a different field of sports), he is simply a teacher and nothing more. And no young American
would think of having the teacher sell him a Weltanschauung or a code of conduct. Now, when formulated
in this manner, we should reject this. But the question is whether there is not a grain of salt contained in
this feeling, which I have deliberately stated in extreme with some exaggeration.
Fellow students! You come to our lectures and demand from us the qualities of leadership, and you fail to
realize in advance that of a hundred professors at least ninety-nine do not and must not claim to be
football masters in the vital problems of life, or even to be 'leaders' in matters of conduct. Please, consider
that an individual's value does not depend on whether or not he has leadership qualities. And in any case,
the qualities that make a person an excellent scholar and academic teacher are not the qualities that
make him a leader to give directions in practical life or, more specifically, in politics. It is pure accident if a
teacher also possesses this quality, and it is a critical situation if every teacher on the platform feels
himself confronted with the students' expectation that the teacher should claim this quality. It is still more
critical if it is left to every academic teacher to set himself up as a leader in the lecture-room. For those
who most frequently think of themselves as leaders often qualify least as leaders. But irrespective of
whether they are or are not, the platform situation simply offers no possibility of proving themselves to be
leaders. The professor who feels called upon to act as a counselor of youth and enjoys their trust may
prove himself a person in personal human relations with them. And if he feels called upon to intervene in
the struggles of worldviews and party opinions, he may do so outside, in the market place, in the press, in
meetings, in associations, wherever he wishes. But after all, it is somewhat too convenient to demonstrate
one's courage in taking a stand where the audience and possible opponents are condemned to silence.
Finally, you will put the question: 'If this is so, what then does science actually and positively contribute to
practical and personal "life"?' Therewith we are back again at the problem of science as a 'vocation.'
First, of course, science contributes to the technology of controlling life by calculating external objects as
well as man's activities. Well, you will say, that, after all, amounts to no more than the greengrocer of the
American boy. I fully agree.
Second, science can contribute something that the greengrocer cannot: methods of thinking, the tools
and the training for thought. Perhaps you will say: well, that is no vegetable, but it amounts to no more
than the means for procuring vegetables. Well and good, let us leave it at that for today.
Fortunately, however, the contribution of science does not reach its limit with this. We are in a position to
help you to a third objective: to gain clarity. Of course, it is presupposed that we ourselves possess clarity.
As far as this is the case, we can make clear to you the following:
In practice, you can take this or that position when concerned with a problem of value--for
simplicity's sake, please think of social phenomena as examples. If you take such and such a
stand, then, according to scientific experience, you have to use such and such a means in order
to carry out your conviction practically. Now, these means are perhaps such that you believe you
must reject them. Then you simply must choose between the end and the inevitable means. Does
the end 'justify' the means? Or does it not? The teacher can confront you with the necessity of
this choice. He cannot do more, so long as he wishes to remain a teacher and not to become a
demagogue. He can, of course, also tell you that if you want such and such an end, then you
must take into the bargain the subsidiary consequences which according to all experience will
occur. Again we find ourselves in the same situation as before. These are still problems that can
also emerge for the technician, who in numerous instances has to make decisions according to
the principle of the lesser evil or of the relatively best. Only to him one thing, the main thing, is
usually given, namely, the end. But as soon as truly 'ultimate' problems are at stake for us this is
not the case. With this, at long last, we come to the final service that science as such can render
to the aim of clarity, and at the same time we come to the limits of science.
Besides we can and we should state: In terms of its meaning, such and such a practical stand can be
derived with inner consistency, and hence integrity, from this or that ultimate value position. Perhaps it can
only be derived from one such fundamental position, or maybe from several, but it cannot be derived from
these or those other positions. Figuratively speaking, you serve this god and you offend the other god
when you decide to adhere to this position. And if you remain faithful to yourself, you will necessarily
come to certain final conclusions that subjectively make sense. This much, in principle at least, can be
accomplished. Philosophy, as a special discipline, and the essentially philosophical discussions of
principles in the other sciences attempt to achieve this. Thus, if we are competent in our pursuit (which
must be presupposed here) we can force the individual, or at least we can help him, to give himself an
account of the ultimate meaning of his own conduct. This appears to me as not so trifling a thing, even for
one's own personal life. Again, I am tempted to say of a teacher who succeeds in this: he stands in the
service of 'moral' forces; he fulfills the duty of bringing about self-clarification and a sense of responsibility.
And I believe he will be the more able to accomplish this, the more conscientiously he avoids the desire
personally to impose upon or suggest to his audience his own stand.
This proposition, which I present here, always takes its point of departure from the one fundamental fact,
that so long as life remains immanent and is interpreted in its own terms. Life is an unceasing struggle of
these gods with one another. Or speaking directly, the ultimately possible attitudes toward life are
irreconcilable, and hence their struggle can never be brought to a final conclusion. Thus it is necessary to
make a decisive choice.
Whether under conditions, science is a worthwhile 'vocation' for somebody, and whether science itself has
an objectively valuable 'Vocation' are again judgments about which nothing can be said in the lectureroom. To affirm the value of science is a presupposition for teaching there. I personally by my very work
answer in the affirmative, and I also do so from precisely the standpoint that hates intellectualism as the
worst devil, as youth does today, or usually only fancies it does. In that case the word holds for these
youths: 'Mind you, the devil is old; grow old to understand him.' This does not mean age in the sense of
the birth certificate. It means that if one wishes to settle with this devil, one must not take to flight before
him as so many like to do nowadays. First of all, one has to see the devil's ways to the end in order to
realize his power and his limitations.
Science today is a 'vocation' organized in special disciplines in the service of self-clarification and
knowledge of interrelated facts. It is not the gift of grace of seers and prophets dispensing sacred values
and revelations, nor does it partake of the contemplation of sages and philosophers about the meaning of
the universe. This, to be sure, is the inescapable condition of our historical situation.
We cannot evade it so long as we remain true to ourselves. And if Tolstoi's question recurs to you: as
science does not, who is to answer the question 'What shall we do, and, how shall we arrange our lives?'
or, in the words used here tonight: 'Which of the warring gods should we serve? Or should we serve
perhaps an entirely different god, and who is he?' Then one can say that only a prophet or a savior can
give the answers. If there is no such man, or if his message is no longer believed in, then you will
certainly not compel him to appear on this earth by having thousands of professors, as privileged hirelings
of the state, attempt as petty prophets in their lecture-rooms to take over his role. All they will accomplish
is to show that they are unaware of the decisive state of affairs: the prophet for whom so many of our
younger generation yearn simply does not exist. But this knowledge in its forceful significance has never
become vital for them. The inward interest of a truly religiously 'musical' person can never be served by
veiling to him and to others the fundamental fact that he is destined to live in a godless and prophetless
time by giving him the seat of armchair prophecy. The integrity of his religious organ, it seems to me, must
rebel against this.
Now you will be inclined to say: Which stand does one take towards the factual existence of 'theology'
and its claims to be a 'science'? Let us not flinch and evade the answer. To be sure, 'theology' and
'dogmas' do not exist universally, but neither do they exist for Christianity alone. Rather (going backward
in time), they exist in highly developed form also in Islam, in Manicheanism, in Gnosticism, in Orphism, in
Parsism, in Buddhism, in the Hindu sects, in Taoism, and in the Upanishads, and, of course, in Judaism.
To be sure their systematic development varies greatly. It is no accident that Occidental Christianity --in
contrast to the theological possessions of Jewry--has expanded and elaborated theology more
systematically, or strives to do so. In the Occident the development of theology has had by far the
greatest historical significance. This is the product of the Hellenic spirit, and all theology of the West goes
back to it, as (obviously) all theology of the East goes back to Indian thought. All theology represents an
intellectual rationalization of the possession of sacred values. No science is absolutely free from
presuppositions, and no science can prove its fundamental value to the person who rejects these
presuppositions. Every theology, however, adds a few specific presuppositions for its work and thus for
the justification of its existence. Their meaning and scope vary. Every theology, including for instance
Hinduist theology, presupposes that the world must have a meaning, and the question is how to interpret
this meaning so that it is intellectually conceivable.
It is the same as with Kant's epistemology. He took for his point of departure the presupposition:
'Scientific truth exists and it is valid,' and then asked: 'Under which presuppositions of thought is truth
possible and meaningful ? ' The modern aestheticians (actually or expressly, as for instance, G. V.
Lukacs) proceed from the presupposition that 'works of art exist,' and then ask: 'How is their existence
meaningful and possible?'
As a rule, theologies, however, do not content themselves with this (essentially religious and
philosophical) presupposition. They regularly proceed from the further presupposition that certain
'revelations' are facts relevant for salvation and as such make possible a meaningful conduct of life.
Hence, these revelations must be believed in. Moreover, theologies presuppose that certain subjective
states and acts possess the quality of holiness, that is, they constitute a way of life, or at least elements of
one, that is religiously meaningful. Then the question of theology is: How can these presuppositions,
which must simply be accepted be meaningfully interpreted in a view of the universe? For theology, these
presuppositions as such lie beyond the limits of 'science.' They do not represent 'knowledge,' in the usual
sense, but rather a 'possession.' Whoever does not 'possess' faith, or the other holy states, cannot have
theology as a substitute for them, least of all any other science. On the contrary, in every 'positive'
theology, the devout reaches the point where the Augustinian sentence holds: I believe not because of
irrationality, but in spite of absurdity.
The capacity for the accomplishment of religious virtuosos--the 'sacrifice of intellect'--is the decisive
characteristic of the positively religious man. That this is so is shown by the fact that in spite (or rather in
consequence) of theology (which unveils it) the tension between the value-spheres of 'science' and the
sphere of 'the holy' is unbridgeable. Legitimately, only the disciple offers the 'sacrifice of intellect' to the
prophet, the believer to the church. Never as yet has a new prophecy emerged (and I repeat here
deliberately this image which has offended some) by way of the need of some modern intellectuals to
furnish their souls with, so to speak, guaranteed genuine antiques. In doing so, they happen to remember
that religion has belonged among such antiques, and of all things religion is what they do not possess. By
way of substitute, however, they play at decorating a sort of domestic chapel with small sacred images
from all over the world, or they produce surrogates through all sorts of psychic experiences to which they
ascribe the dignity of mystic holiness, which they peddle in the book market. This is plain humbug or selfdeception. It is, however, no humbug but rather something very sincere and genuine if some of the youth
groups who during recent years have quietly grown together give their human community the
interpretation of a religious, cosmic, or mystical relation, although occasionally perhaps such
interpretation rests on misunderstanding of self. True as it is that every act of genuine brotherliness may
be linked with the awareness that it contributes something imperishable to a super-personal realm, it
seems to me dubious whether the dignity of purely human and communal relations is enhanced by these
religious interpretations. But that is no longer our theme.
The fate of our times is characterized by rationalization and intellectualization and, above all, by the
'disenchantment of the world.' Precisely the ultimate and most sublime values have retreated from public
life either into the transcendental realm of mystic life or into the brotherliness of direct and personal
human relations. It is not accidental that our greatest art is intimate and not monumental, nor is it
accidental that today only within the smallest and intimate circles, in personal human situations, in
pianissimo, that something is pulsating that corresponds to the prophetic pneuma, which in former times
swept through the great communities like a firebrand, welding them together. If we attempt to force and to
'invent' a monumental style in art, such miserable monstrosities are produced as the many monuments of
the last twenty years. If one tries intellectually to construe new religions without a new and genuine
prophecy, then, in an inner sense, something similar will result, but with still worse effects. And academic
prophecy, finally, will create only fanatical sects but never a genuine community.
To the person who cannot bear the fate of the times, one must say: may he rather return silently, without
the usual publicity build-up of renegades, but simply and plainly. The arms of the old churches are opened
widely and compassionately for him. After all, they do not make it hard for him. One way or another he
has to bring his 'intellectual sacrifice'--that is inevitable. If he can really do it, we shall not rebuke him. For
such an intellectual sacrifice in favor of an unconditional religious devotion is ethically quite a different
matter than the evasion of the plain duty of intellectual honesty, which sets in lacks the courage to clarify
one's own ultimate standpoint and rather facilitates this duty by feeble relative judgment. In my eyes, such
religious return stands higher than the academic prophecy, which does not clearly realize that in the
lecture-rooms of the university no other virtue holds but plain intellectual honsety. It, however, compels us
to state that for the many who today tarry for new prophets and saviors, the situation is the same as
resounds in the beautiful Edomite watchman's song of the period of exile that has been included among
Isaiah's oracles:
He calls to me out of Seir, Watchman, what of the night? Watchman, what of the night? The watchman
said, The morning comes, and also the night; if you will inquire, inquire, and come again. Isaiah 21:11-12
The people to whom this was said has enquired and tarried for more than two millennia, and we
are shaken when we realize its fate. From this we want to draw the lesson that nothing is gained
by yearning and tarrying alone, and we shall act differently. We shall set to work and meet the
'demands of the day,' in human relations as well as in our vocation. This, however, is plain and
simple, if each finds and obeys the demon who holds the fibers of his very life.
Politics as vocation
(Max Weber)
This lecture, which I give at your request, will necessarily disappoint you in a number of ways. You will
naturally expect me to take a position on actual problems of the day. But that will be the case only in a
purely formal way and toward the end, when I shall raise certain questions concerning the significance of
political action in the whole way of life. In today's lecture, all questions that refer to what policy and what
content one should give one's political activity must be eliminated. For such questions have nothing to do
with the general question of what politics as a vocation means and what it can mean. Now to our subject
matter.
What do we understand by politics? The concept is extremely broad and comprises any kind of
independent leadership in action. One speaks of the currency policy of the banks, of the discounting
policy of the Reichsbank, of the strike policy of a trade union; one may speak of the educational policy of
a municipality or a township, of the policy of the president of a voluntary association, and, finally, even of
the policy of a prudent wife who seeks to guide her husband.
Tonight, our reflections are, of course, not based upon such a broad concept. We wish to understand by
politics only the leadership, or the influencing of the leadership, of a political association, hence today, of
a state.
But what is a 'political' association from the sociological point of view? What is a 'state'? Sociologically,
the state cannot be defined in terms of its ends. There is scarcely any task that some political association
has not taken in hand, and there is no task that one could say has always been exclusive and peculiar to
those associations which are designated as political ones: today the state, or historically, those
associations which have been the predecessors of the modern state. Ultimately, one can define the
modern state sociologically only in terms of the specific means peculiar to it, as to every political
association, namely, the use of physical force.
'Every state is founded on force,' said Trotsky at Brest-Litovsk. That is indeed right. If no social institutions
existed which knew the use of violence, then the concept of 'state' would be eliminated, and a condition
would emerge that could be designated as 'anarchy,' in the specific sense of this word. Of course, force is
certainly not the normal or the only means of the state--nobody says that--but force is a means specific to
the state. Today the relation between the state and violence is an especially intimate one. In the past, the
most varied institutions--beginning with the sib--have known the use of physical force as quite normal.
Today, however, we have to say that a state is a human community that (successfully) claims the
monopoly of the legitimate use of physical force within a given territory. Note that 'territory' is one of the
characteristics of the state. Specifically, at the present time, the right to use physical force is ascribed to
other institutions or to individuals only to the extent to which the state permits it. The state is considered
the sole source of the 'right' to use violence. Hence, 'politics' for us means striving to share power or
striving to influence the distribution of power, either among states or among groups within a state.
This corresponds essentially to ordinary usage. When a question is said to be a 'political' question, when
a cabinet minister or an official is said to be a 'political' official, or when a decision is said to be 'politically'
determined, what is always meant is that interests in the distribution, maintenance, or transfer of power
are decisive for answering the questions and determining the decision or the official's sphere of activity.
He who is active in politics strives for power either as a means in serving other aims, ideal or egoistic, or
as 'power for power's sake,' that is, in order to enjoy the prestige-feeling that power gives.
Like the political institutions historically preceding it, the state is a relation of men dominating men, a
relation supported by means of legitimate (i.e. considered to be legitimate) violence. If the state is to exist,
the dominated must obey the authority claimed by the powers that be. When and why do men obey?
Upon what inner justifications and upon what external means does this domination rest?
To begin with, in principle, there are three inner justifications, hence basic legitimations of domination.
First, the authority of the 'eternal yesterday,' i.e. of the mores sanctified through the unimaginably ancient
recognition and habitual orientation to conform. This is 'traditional' domination exercised by the patriarch
and the patrimonial prince of yore.
There is the authority of the extraordinary and personal gift of grace (charisma), the absolutely personal
devotion and personal confidence in revelation, heroism, or other qualities of individual leadership. This is
'charismatic' domination, as exercised by the prophet or--in the field of politics--by the elected war lord,
the plebiscitarian ruler, the great demagogue, or the political party leader.
Finally, there is domination by virtue of 'legality,' by virtue of the belief in the validity of legal statute and
functional 'competence' based on rationally created rules. In this case, obedience is expected in
discharging statutory obligations. This is domination as exercised by the modern 'servant of the state' and
by all those bearers of power who in this respect resemble him.
It is understood that, in reality, obedience is determined by highly robust motives of fear and hope--fear of
the vengeance of magical powers or of the power-holder, hope for reward in this world or in the beyond-and besides all this, by interests of the most varied sort. Of this we shall speak presently. However, in
asking for the 'legitimations' of this obedience, one meets with these three 'pure' types: 'traditional,'
'charismatic,' and 'legal.'
These conceptions of legitimacy and their inner justifications are of very great significance for the
structure of domination. To be sure, the pure types are rarely found in reality. But today we cannot deal
with the highly complex variants, transitions, and combinations of these pure types, which problems
belong to 'political science.' Here we are interested above all in the second of these types: domination by
virtue of the devotion of those who obey the purely personal 'charisma' of the 'leader.' For this is the root
of the idea of a calling in its highest expression.
Devotion to the charisma of the prophet, or the leader in war, or to the great demagogue in the ecclesia or
in parliament, means that the leader is personally recognized as the innerly 'called' leader of men. Men do
not obey him by virtue of tradition or statute, but because they believe in him. If he is more than a narrow
and vain upstart of the moment, the leader lives for his cause and 'strives for his work.' The devotion of
his disciples, his followers, his personal party friends is oriented to his person and to its qualities.
Charismatic leadership has emerged in all places and in all historical epochs. Most importantly in the
past, it has emerged in the two figures of the magician and the prophet on the one hand, and in the
elected war lord, the gang leader and condotierre on the other hand. Political leadership in the form of the
free 'demagogue' who grew from the soil of the city state is of greater concern to us; like the city state, the
demagogue is peculiar to the Occident and especially to Mediterranean culture. Furthermore, political
leadership in the form of the parliamentary 'party leader' has grown on the soil of the constitutional state,
which is also indigenous only to the Occident.
These politicians by virtue of a 'calling,' in the most genuine sense of the word, are of course nowhere the
only decisive figures in the cross-currents of the political struggle for power. The sort of auxiliary means
that are at their disposal is also highly decisive. How do the politically dominant powers manage to
maintain their domination? The question pertains to any kind of domination, hence also to political
domination in all its forms, traditional as well as legal and charismatic.
Organized domination, which calls for continuous administration, requires that human conduct be
conditioned to obedience towards those masters who claim to be the bearers of legitimate power. On the
other hand, by virtue of this obedience, organized domination requires the control of those material goods
which in a given case are necessary for the use of physical violence. Thus, organized domination requires
control of the personal executive staff and the material implements of administration.
The administrative staff, which externally represents the organization of political domination, is, of course,
like any other organization, bound by obedience to the power-holder and not alone by the concept of
legitimacy, of which we have just spoken. There are two other means, both of which appeal to personal
interests: material reward and social honor. The fiefs of vassals, the prebends of patrimonial officials, the
salaries of modern civil servants, the honor of knights, the privileges of estates, and the honor of the civil
servant comprise their respective wages. The fear of losing them is the final and decisive basis for
solidarity between the executive staff and the power-holder. There is honor and booty for the followers in
war; for the demagogue's following, there are 'spoils'--that is, exploitation of the dominated through the
monopolization of office--and there are politically determined profits and premiums of vanity. All of these
rewards are also derived from the domination exercised by a charismatic leader.
To maintain a dominion by force, certain material goods are required, just as with an economic
organization. All states may be classified according to whether they rest on the principle that the staff of
men themselves own the administrative means, or whether the staff is 'separated' from these means of
administration. This distinction holds in the same sense in which today we say that the salaried employee
and the proletarian in the capitalistic enterprise are 'separated' from the material means of production.
The power-holder must be able to count on the obedience of the staff members, officials, or whoever else
they may be. The administrative means may consist of money, building, war material, vehicles, horses, or
whatnot. The question is whether or not the power-holder himself directs and organizes the administration
while delegating executive power to personal servants, hired officials, or personal favorites and
confidants, who are non-owners, i.e. who do not use the material means of administration in their own
right but are directed by the lord. The distinction runs through all administrative organizations of the past.
These political associations in which the material means of administration are autonomously controlled,
wholly or partly, by the dependent administrative staff may be called associations organized in 'estates.'
The vassal in the feudal association, for instance, paid out of his own pocket for the administration and
judicature of the district enfeoffed to him. He supplied his own equipment and provisions for war, and his
sub-vassals did likewise. Of course, this had consequences for the lord's position of power, which only
rested upon a relation of personal faith and upon the fact that the legitimacy of his possession of the fief
and the social honor of the vassal were derived from the overlord.
However, everywhere, reaching back to the earliest political formations, we also find the lord himself
directing the administration. He seeks to take the administration into his own hands by having men
personally dependent upon him: slaves, household officials, attendants, personal 'favorites,' and
prebendaries enfeoffed in kind or in money from his magazines. He seeks to defray the expenses from
his own pocket, from the revenues of his patrimonium; and he seeks to create an army which is
dependent upon him personally because it is equipped and provisioned out of his granaries, magazines,
and armories. In the association of 'estates,' the lord rules with the aid of an autonomous 'aristocracy' and
hence shares his domination with it; the lord who personally administers is supported either by members
of his household or by plebeians. These are propertyless strata having no social honor of their own;
materially, they are completely chained to him and are not backed up by any competing power of their
own. All forms of patriarchal and patrimonial domination, Sultanist despotism, and bureaucratic states
belong to this latter type. The bureaucratic state order is especially important; in its most rational
development, it is precisely characteristic of the modern state.
Everywhere the development of the modern state is initiated through the action of the prince. He paves
the way for the expropriation of the autonomous and 'private' bearers of executive power who stand
beside him, of those who in their own right possess the means of administration, warfare, and financial
organization, as well as politically usable goods of all sorts. The whole process is a complete parallel to
the development of the capitalist enterprise through gradual expropriation of the independent producers.
In the end, the modern state controls the total means of political organization, which actually come
together under a single head. No single official personally owns the money he pays out, or the buildings,
stores, tools, and war machines he controls. In the contemporary 'state'--and this is essential for the
concept of state--the 'separation' of the administrative staff, of the administrative officials, and of the
workers from the material means of administrative organization is completed. Here the most modern
development begins, and we see with our own eyes the attempt to inaugurate the expropriation of this
expropriator of the political means, and therewith of political power.
The revolution [of Germany , 1918] has accomplished, at least in so far as leaders have taken the place
of the statutory authorities, this much: the leaders, through usurpation or election, have attained control
over the political staff and the apparatus of material goods; and they deduce their legitimacy--no matter
with what right--from the will of the governed. Whether the leaders, on the basis of this at least apparent
success, can rightfully entertain the hope of also carrying through the expropriation within the capitalist
enterprises is a different question. The direction of capitalist enterprises, despite far-reaching analogies,
follows quite different laws than those of political administration.
Today we do not take a stand on this question. I state only the purely conceptual aspect for our
consideration: the modern state is a compulsory association which organizes domination. It has been
successful in seeking to monopolize the legitimate use of physical force as a means of domination within
a territory. To this end the state has combined the material means of organization in the hands of its
leaders, and it has expropriated all autonomous functionaries of estates who formerly controlled these
means in their own right. The state has taken their positions and now stands in the top place.
During this process of political expropriation, which has occurred with varying success in all countries on
earth, 'professional politicians' in another sense have emerged. They arose first in the service of a prince.
They have been men who, unlike the charismatic leader, have not wished to be lords themselves, but who
have entered the service of political lords. In the struggle of expropriation, they placed themselves at the
princes' disposal and by managing the princes' politics they earned, on the one hand, a living and, on the
other hand, an ideal content of life.
Again, it is only in the Occident that we find this kind of professional politician in the service of powers
other than the princes. In the past, they have been the most important power instrument of the prince and
his instrument of political expropriation.
Before discussing 'professional politicians' in detail, let us clarify in all its aspects the state of affairs their
existence presents. Politics, just as economic pursuits, may be a man's avocation or his vocation. One
may engage in politics, and hence seek to influence the distribution of power within and between political
structures, as an 'occasional' politician. We are all 'occasional' politicians when we cast our ballot or
consummate a similar expression of intention, such as applauding or protesting in a 'political' meeting, or
delivering a 'political' speech, etc. The whole relation of many people to politics is restricted to this.
Politics as an avocation is today practiced by all those party agents and heads of voluntary political
associations who, as a rule, are politically active only in case of need and for whom politics is, neither
materially nor ideally, 'their life' in the first place. The same holds for those members of state counsels and
similar deliberative bodies that function only when summoned. It also holds for rather broad strata of our
members of parliament who are politically active only during sessions. In the past, such strata were found
especially among the estates. Proprietors of military implements in their own right, or proprietors of goods
important for the administration, or proprietors of personal prerogatives may be called 'estates.' A large
portion of them were far from giving their lives wholly, or merely preferentially, or more than occasionally,
to the service of politics. Rather, they exploited their prerogatives in the interest of gaining rent or even
profits; and they became active in the service of political associations only when the overlord of their
status-equals especially demanded it. It was not different in the case of some of the auxiliary forces which
the prince drew into the struggle for the creation of a political organization to be exclusively at his
disposal. This was the nature of the Rate von Haus aus [councilors] and, still further back, of a
considerable part of the councilors assembling in the 'Curia' and other deliberating bodies of the princes.
But these merely occasional auxiliary forces engaging in politics on the side were naturally not sufficient
for the prince. Of necessity, the prince sought to create a staff of helpers dedicated wholly and exclusively
to serving him, hence making this their major vocation. The structure of the emerging dynastic political
organization, and not only this but the whole articulation of the culture, depended to a considerable
degree upon the question of where the prince recruited agents.
A staff was also necessary for those political associations whose members constituted themselves
politically as (so-called) 'free' communes under the complete abolition or the far-going restriction of
princely power.
They were 'free' not in the sense of freedom from domination by force, but in the sense that princely
power legitimized by tradition (mostly religiously sanctified) as the exclusive source of all authority was
absent. These communities have their historical home in the Occident. Their nucleus was the city as a
body politic, the form in which the city first emerged in the Mediterranean culture area. In all these cases,
what did the politicians who made politics their major vocation look like?
There are two ways of making politics one's vocation: Either one lives 'for' politics or one lives 'off' politics.
By no means is this contrast an exclusive one. The rule is, rather, that man does both, at least in thought,
and certainly he also does both in practice. He who lives 'for' politics makes politics his life, in an internal
sense. Either he enjoys the naked possession of the power he exerts, or he nourishes his inner balance
and self-feeling by the consciousness that his life has meaning in the service of a 'cause.' In this internal
sense, every sincere man who lives for a cause also lives off this cause. The distinction hence refers to a
much more substantial aspect of the matter, namely, to the economic. He who strives to make politics a
permanent source of income lives 'off' politics as a vocation, whereas he who does not do this lives 'for'
politics.
Under the dominance of the private property order, some--if you wish--very trivial preconditions must exist
in order for a person to be able to live 'for' politics in this economic sense. Under normal conditions, the
politician must be economically independent of the income politics can bring him. This means, quite
simply, that the politician must be wealthy or must have a personal position in life which yields a sufficient
income. This is the case, at least in normal circumstances. The war lord's following is just as little
concerned about the conditions of a normal economy as is the street crowd following of the revolutionary
hero. Both live off booty, plunder, confiscations, contributions, and the imposition of worthless and
compulsory means of tender, which in essence amounts to the same thing. But necessarily, these are
extraordinary phenomena. In everyday economic life, only some wealth serves the purpose of making a
man economically independent. Yet this alone does not suffice. The professional politician must also be
economically 'dispensable,' that is, his income must not depend upon the fact that he constantly and
personally places his ability and thinking entirely, or at least by far predominantly, in the service of
economic acquisition. In the most unconditional way, the rentier is dispensable in this sense. Hence, he is
a man who receives completely unearned income. He may be the territorial lord of the past or the large
landowner and aristocrat of the present who receives ground rent. In Antiquity and the Middle Ages they
who received slave or serf rents or in modern times rents from shares or bonds or similar sources--these
are rentiers.
Neither the worker nor--and this has to be noted well--the entrepreneur, especially the modern, largescale entrepreneur, is economically dispensable in this sense. For it is precisely the entrepreneur who is
tied to his enterprise and is therefore not dispensable. This holds for the entrepreneur in industry far more
than for the entrepreneur in agriculture, considering the seasonal character of agriculture. In the main, it is
very difficult for the entrepreneur to be represented in his enterprise by someone else, even temporarily.
He is as little dispensable as is the medical doctor, and the more eminent and busy he is the less
dispensable he is. For purely organizational reasons, it is easier for the lawyer to be dispensable; and
therefore the lawyer has played an incomparably greater, and often even a dominant, role as a
professional politician. We shall not continue in this classification; rather let us clarify some of its
ramifications.
The leadership of a state or of a party by men who (in the economic sense of the word) live exclusively for
politics and not off politics means necessarily a 'plutocratic' recruitment of the leading political strata. To
be sure, this does not mean that such plutocratic leadership signifies at the same time that the politically
dominant strata will not also seek to live 'off' politics, and hence that the dominant stratum will not usually
exploit their political domination in their own economic interest. All that is unquestionable, of course.
There has never been such a stratum that has not somehow lived 'off' politics. Only this is meant: that the
professional politician need not seek remuneration directly for his political work, whereas every politician
without means must absolutely claim this. On the other hand, we do not mean to say that the propertyless
politician will pursue private economic advantages through politics, exclusively, or even predominantly.
Nor do we mean that he will not think, in the first place, of 'the subject matter.' Nothing would be more
incorrect. According to all experience, a care for the economic 'security' of his existence is consciously or
unconsciously a cardinal point in the whole life orientation of the wealthy man. A quite reckless and
unreserved political idealism is found if not exclusively at least predominantly among those strata who by
virtue of their propertylessness stand entirely outside of the strata who are interested in maintaining the
economic order of a given society. This holds especially for extraordinary and hence revolutionary
epochs. A non-plutocratic recruitment of interested politicians, of leadership and following, is geared to the
self-understood precondition that regular and reliable income will accrue to those who manage politics.
Either politics can be conducted 'honorifically' and then, as one usually says, by 'independent,' that is, by
wealthy, men, and especially by rentiers. Or, political leadership is made accessible to propertyless men
who must then be rewarded. The professional politician who lives 'off' politics may be a pure 'prebendary'
or a salaried 'official.' Then the politician receives either income from fees and perquisites for specific
services--tips and bribes are only an irregular and formally illegal variant of this category of income--or a
fixed income in kind, a money salary, or both. He may assume the character of an 'entrepreneur,' like the
condottiere or the holder of a farmed-out or purchased office, or like the American boss who considers his
costs a capital investment which he brings to fruition through exploitation of his influence. Again, he may
receive a fixed wage, like a journalist, a party secretary, a modern cabinet minister, or a political official.
Feudal fiefs, land grants, and prebends of all sorts have been typical, in the past. With the development of
the money economy, perquisites and prebends especially are the typical rewards for the following of
princes, victorious conquerors, or successful party chiefs. For loyal services today, party leaders give
offices of all sorts--in parties, newspapers, co-operative societies, health insurance, municipalities, as well
as in the state. All party struggles are struggles for the patronage of office, as well as struggles for
objective goals.
In Germany , all struggles between the proponents of local and of central government are focused upon
the question of which powers shall control the patronage of office, whether they are of Berlin , Munich ,
Karlsruhe , or Dresden . Setbacks in participating in offices are felt more severely by parties than is action
against their objective goals. In France , a turnover of prefects because of party politics has always been
considered a greater transformation and has always caused a greater uproar than a modification in the
government's program--the latter almost having the significance of mere verbiage. Some parties,
especially those in America since the disappearance of the old conflicts concerning the interpretation of
the constitution, have become pure patronage parties handing out jobs and changing their material
program according to the chances of grabbing votes.
In Spain , up to recent years, the two great parties, in a conventionally fixed manner, took turns in office
by means of 'elections,' fabricated from above, in order to provide their followers with offices. In the
Spanish colonial territories, in the so-called 'elections,' as well as in the so-called 'revolutions,' what was
at stake was always the state bread-basket from which the victors wished to be fed.
In Switzerland , the parties peacefully divided the offices among themselves proportionately, and some of
our 'revolutionary' constitutional drafts, for instance the first draft of the Badenian constitution, sought to
extend this system to ministerial positions. Thus, the state and state offices were considered as pure
institutions for the provision of spoils men. Above all, the Catholic Center party was enthusiastically for
this draft. In Badenia, the party, as part of the party platform, made the distribution of offices proportional
to confessions and hence without regard to achievement. This tendency becomes stronger for all parties
when the number of offices increase as a result of general bureaucratization and when the demand for
offices increases because they represent specifically secure livelihoods. For their followings, the
parties become more and more a means to the end of being provided for in this manner.
The development of modern officialdom into a highly qualified, professional labor force, specialized in
expertness through long years of preparatory training, stands opposed to all these arrangements. Modern
bureaucracy in the interest of integrity has developed a high sense of status honor; without this sense the
danger of an awful corruption and a vulgar Philistinism threatens fatally. And without such integrity, even
the purely technical functions of the state apparatus would be endangered. The significance of the state
apparatus for the economy has been steadily rising, especially with increasing socialization, and its
significance will be further augmented.
In the United States , amateur administration through booty politicians in accordance with the outcome of
presidential elections resulted in the exchange of hundreds of thousands of officials, even down to the
mail carrier. The administration knew nothing of the professional civil servant-for-life, but this amateur
administration has long since been punctured by the Civil Service Reform. Purely technical, irrefragable
needs of the administration have determined this development.
In Europe , expert officialdom, based on the division of labor, has emerged in a gradual development of
half a thousand years. The Italian cities and seigneuries were the beginning, among the monarchies, and
the states of the Norman conquerors. But the decisive step was taken in connection with the
administration of the finances of the prince. With the administrative reforms of Emperor Max, it can be
seen how hard it was for the officials to depose successfully of the prince in this field, even under the
pressure of extreme emergency and of Turkish rule. The sphere of finance could afford least of all a
ruler's dilettantism--a ruler who at that time was still above all a knight. The development of war technique
called forth the expert and specialized officer; the differentiation of legal procedure called forth the trained
jurist. In these three areas--finance, war, and law--expert officialdom in the more advanced states was
definitely triumphant during the sixteenth century. With the ascendancy of princely absolutism over the
estates, there was simultaneously a gradual abdication of the prince's autocratic rule in favor of an expert
officialdom. These very officials had only facilitated the prince's victory over the estates.
The development of the 'leading politicians' was realized along with the ascendancy of the specially
trained officialdom, even if in far less noticeable transitions. Of course, such really decisive advisers of the
princes have existed at all times and all over the world. In the Orient, the need for relieving the Sultan as
far as possible from personal responsibility for the success of the government has created the typical
figure of the 'Grand Vizier.' In the Occident, influenced above all by the reports of the Venetian legates,
diplomacy first became a consciously cultivated art in the age of Charles V, in Machiavelli's time. The
reports of the Venetian legates were read with passionate zeal in expert diplomatic circles.
The adepts of this art, who were in the main educated humanistically, treated one another as trained
initiates, similar to the humanist Chinese statesmen in the last period of the 'warring states. The necessity
of a formally unified guidance of the whole policy, including that of home affairs, by a leading statesman
finally and compellingly arose only through constitutional development. Of course, individual personalities,
such as advisers of the princes, or rather, in fact, leaders, had again and again existed before then. But
the organization of administrative agencies even in the most advanced states first proceeded along other
avenues.
Top collegial administrative agencies had emerged. In theory, and to a gradually decreasing extent in
fact, they met under the personal chairmanship of the prince who rendered the decision. This collegial
system led to memoranda, counter-memoranda, and reasoned votes of the majority and the minority. In
addition to the official and highest authorities, the prince surrounded himself with purely personal
confidants--the 'cabinet'--and through them rendered his decisions, after considering the resolutions of the
state counsel, or whatever else the highest state agency was called. The prince, coming more and more
into the position of a dilettante, sought to extricate himself from the unavoidably increasing weight of the
expertly trained officials through the collegial system and the cabinet. He sought to retain the highest
leadership in his own hands. This latent struggle between expert officialdom and autocratic rule existed
everywhere. Only in the face of parliaments and the power aspirations of party leaders did the situation
change. Very different conditions led to the externally identical result, though to be sure with certain
differences.
Wherever the dynasties retained actual power in their hands--as was especially the case in Germany
--the interests of the prince were joined with those of officialdom against parliament and its claims for
power. The officials were also interested in having leading positions, that is, ministerial positions,
occupied by their own ranks, thus making these positions an object of the official career. The monarch, on
his part, was interested in being able to appoint the ministers from the ranks of devoted officials according
to his own discretion. Both parties, however, were interested in seeing the political leadership confront
parliament in a unified and solidary fashion, and hence in seeing the collegial system replaced by a single
cabinet head.
Furthermore, in order to be removed in a purely formal way from the struggle of parties and from party
attacks, the monarch needed a single personality to cover him and to assume responsibility, that is, to
answer to parliament and to negotiate with the parties. All these interests worked together and in the
same direction: a minister emerged to direct the officialdom in a unified way.
Where parliament gained supremacy over the monarch--as in England --the development of
parliamentary power worked even more strongly in the direction of a unification of the state apparatus. In
England , the 'cabinet,' with the single head of Parliament as its 'leader,' developed as a committee of the
party which at the time controlled the majority. This party power was ignored by official law but, in fact, it
alone was politically decisive. The official collegial bodies as such were not organs of the actual ruling
power, the party, and hence could not be the bearers of real government. The ruling party required an
ever-ready organization composed only of its actually leading men, who would confidentially discuss
matters in order to maintain power within and be capable of engaging in grand politics outside. The
cabinet is simply this organization. However, in relation to the public, especially the parliamentary public,
the party needed a leader responsible for all decisions--the cabinet head. The English system has been
taken over on the Continent in the form of parliamentary ministries. In America alone, and in the
democracies influenced by America , a quite heterogeneous system was placed into opposition with this
system. The American system placed the directly and popularly elected leader of the victorious party at
the head of the apparatus of officials appointed by him and bound him to the consent of 'parliament' only
in budgetary and legislative matters.
The development of politics into an organization which demanded training in the struggle for power, and in
the methods of this struggle as developed by modern party policies, determined the separation of public
functionaries into two categories, which, however, are by no means rigidly but nevertheless distinctly
separated. These categories are 'administrative' officials on the one hand, and 'political' officials on the
other. The 'political' officials, in the genuine sense of the word, can regularly and externally be recognized
by the fact that they can be transferred any time at will, that they can be dismissed, or at least temporarily
withdrawn. They are like the French prefects and the comparable officials of other countries, and this is in
sharp contrast to the 'independence' of officials with judicial functions. In England , officials who,
according to fixed convention, retire from office when there is a change in the parliamentary majority, and
hence a change in the cabinet, belong to this category. There are usually among them some whose
competence includes the management of the general 'inner administration.'
The political element consists, above all, in the task of maintaining 'law and order' in the country, hence
maintaining the existing power relations. In Prussia these officials, in accordance with Puttkamer's decree
and in order to avoid censure, were obliged to 'represent the policy of the government.' And, like the
prefects in France , they were used as an official apparatus for influencing elections. Most of the 'political'
officials of the German system--in contrast to other countries--were equally qualified in so far as access to
these offices required a university education, special examinations, and special preparatory service. In
Germany , only the heads of the political apparatus, the ministers, lack this specific characteristic of
modern civil service.
Even under the old regime, one could be the Prussian minister of education without ever having attended
an institution of higher learning; whereas one could become Vortragender Rat, 2 in principle, only on the
basis of a prescribed examination. The specialist and trained Dezernent 3 and Vortragender Rat were of
course infinitely better informed about the real technical problems of the division than was their respective
chief--for instance, under Althoff in the Prussian ministry of education. In England it was not different.
Consequently, in all routine demands the divisional head was more powerful than the minister, which was
not without reason. The minister was simply the representative of the political power constellation; he had
to represent these powerful political staffs and he had to take measure of the proposals of his subordinate
expert officials or give them directive orders of a political nature.
After all, things in a private economic enterprise are quite similar: the real 'sovereign,' the assembled
shareholders, is just as little influential in the business management as is a 'people' ruled by expert
officials. And the personages who decide the policy of the enterprise, the bank-controlled 'directorate,'
give only directive economic orders and select persons for the management without themselves being
capable of technically directing the enterprise. Thus the present structure of the revolutionary state
signifies nothing new in principle. It places power over the administration into the hands of absolute
dilettantes, who, by virtue of their control of the machine-guns, would like to use expert officials only as
executive heads and hands. The difficulties of the present system lie elsewhere than here, but today
these difficulties shall not concern us. We shall, rather, ask for the typical peculiarity of the professional
politicians, of the 'leaders' as well as their followings. Their nature has changed and today varies greatly
from one case to another.
We have seen that in the past 'professional politicians' developed through the struggle of the princes with
the estates and that they served the princes. Let us briefly review the major types of these professional
politicians. Confronting the estates, the prince found support in politically exploitable strata outside of the
order of the estates. Among the latter, there was, first, the clergy in Western and Eastern India , in
Buddhist China and Japan , and in Lamaist Mongolia, just as in the Christian territories of the Middle
Ages. The clergy were technically useful because they were literate. The importation of Brahmins,
Buddhist priests, Lamas, and the employment of bishops and priests as political counselors, occurred
with an eye to obtaining administrative forces who could read and write and who could be used in the
struggle of the emperor, prince, or Khan against the aristocracy.
Unlike the vassal who confronted his overlord, the cleric, especially the celibate cleric, stood outside the
machinery of normal political and economic interests and was not tempted by the struggle for political
power, for himself or for his descendants. By virtue of his own status, the cleric was 'separated' from the
managerial implements of princely administration.
The humanistically educated literati comprised a second such stratum. There was a time when one
learned to produce Latin speeches and Greek verses in order to become a political adviser to a prince
and, above all things, to become a memorialist. This was the time of the first flowering of the humanist
schools and of the princely foundations of professorships for 'poetics.' This was for us a transitory epoch,
which has had a quite persistent influence upon our educational system, yet no deeper results politically.
In East Asia , it has been different. The Chinese mandarin is, or rather originally was, what the humanist
of our Renaissance period approximately was: a literator humanistically trained and tested in the
language monuments of the remote past. When you read the diaries of Li Hung Chang you will find that
he is most proud of having composed poems and of being a good calligrapher. This stratum, with its
conventions developed and modeled after Chinese Antiquity, has determined the whole destiny of China ;
and perhaps our fate would have been similar if the humanists in their time had had the slightest chance
of gaining a similar influence.
The third stratum was the court nobility. After the princes had succeeded in expropriating political power
from the nobility as an estate, they drew the nobles to the court and used them in their political and
diplomatic service. The transformation of our educational system in the seventeenth century was partly
determined by the fact that court nobles as professional politicians displaced the humanist literati and
entered the service of the princes.
The fourth category was a specifically English institution. A patrician stratum developed there which was
comprised of the petty nobility and the urban rentiers; technically they are called the 'gentry.' The English
gentry represents a stratum that the prince originally attracted in order to counter the barons. The prince
placed the stratum in possession of the offices of 'self-government,' and later he himself became
increasingly dependent upon them. The gentry maintained the possession of all offices of local
administration by taking them over without compensation in the interest of their own social power. The
gentry has saved England from the bureaucratization which has been the fate of all continental states.
A fifth stratum, the university-trained jurist, is peculiar to the Occident, especially to the European
continent, and has been of decisive significance for the Continent's whole political structure. The
tremendous after-effect of Roman law, as transformed by the late Roman bureaucratic state, stands out in
nothing more clearly than the fact that everywhere the revolution of political management in the direction
of the evolving rational state has been borne by trained jurists. This also occurred in England , although
there the great national guilds of jurists hindered the reception of Roman law. There is no analogy to this
process to be found in any area of the world.
All beginnings of rational juristic thinking in the Indian Mimamsa School and all further cultivation of the
ancient juristic thinking in Islam have been unable to prevent the idea of rational law from being
overgrown by theological forms of thought. Above all, legal trial procedure has not been fully rationalized
in the cases of India and of Islamism. Such rationalization has been brought about on the Continent only
through the borrowing of ancient Roman jurisprudence by the Italian jurists. Roman jurisprudence is the
product of a political structure arising from the city state to world domination--a product of quite unique
nature. The usus modernus of the late medieval pandect jurists and canonists was blended with theories
of natural law, which were born from juristic and Christian thought and which were later secularized. This
juristic rationalism has had its great representatives among the Italian Podesta, the French crown jurists
(who created the formal means for the undermining of the rule of seigneurs by royal power), among the
canonists and the theologians of the ecclesiastic councils (thinking in terms of natural law), among the
court jurists and academic judges of the continental princes, among the Netherland teachers of natural
law and the monarchomachists, among the English crown and parliamentary jurists, among the noblesse
de robe of the French Parliament, and finally, among the lawyers of the age of the French Revolution.
Without this juristic rationalism, the rise of the absolute state is just as little imaginable as is the
Revolution. If you look through the remonstrances of the French Parliaments or through the cahiers of the
French Estates-General from the sixteenth century to the year 1789, you will find everywhere the spirit of
the jurists. And if you go over the occupational composition of the members of the French Assembly, you
will find there--although the members of the Assembly were elected through equal franchise--a single
proletarian, very few bourgeois enterprisers, but jurists of all sorts, en masse. Without them, the specific
mentality that inspired these radical intellectuals and their projects would be quite inconceivable. Since
the French Revolution, the modern lawyer and modern democracy absolutely belong together. And
lawyers, in our sense of an independent status group, also exist only in the Occident. They have
developed since the Middle Ages from the Fursprech of the formalistic Germanic legal procedure under
the impact of the rationalization of the trial.
The significance of the lawyer in Occidental politics since the rise of parties is not accidental. The
management of politics through parties simply means management through interest groups. We shall
soon see what that means. The craft of the trained lawyer is to plead effectively the cause of interested
clients. In this, the lawyer is superior to any 'official,' as the superiority of enemy propaganda [Allied
propaganda 1914-18] could teach us. Certainly he can advocate and win a cause supported by logically
weak arguments and one which, in this sense, is a 'weak' cause. Yet he wins it because technically he
makes a 'strong case' for it. But only the lawyer successfully pleads a cause that can be supported by
logically strong arguments, thus handling a 'good' cause 'well.' All too often the civil servant as a politician
turns a cause that is good in every sense into a 'weak' cause, through technically 'weak' pleading. This is
what we have had to experience. To an outstanding degree, politics today is in fact conducted in public by
means of the spoken or written word. To weigh the effect of the word properly falls within the range of the
lawyer's tasks; but not at all into that of the civil servant. The latter is no demagogue, nor is it his purpose
to be one. If he nevertheless tries to become a demagogue, he usually becomes a very poor one.
According to his proper vocation, the genuine official--and this is decisive for the evaluation of our former
regime--will not engage in politics. Rather, he should engage in impartial 'administration.' This also holds
for the so called 'political' administrator, at least officially, in so far as the raison d'etat, that is, the vital
interests of the ruling order, are not in question. Sine ira et studio, 'without scorn and bias,' he shall
administer his office. Hence, he shall not do precisely what the politician, the leader as well as his
following, must always and necessarily do, namely, fight.
To take a stand, to be passionate--ira et studium--is the politician's element, and above all the element of
the political leader. His conduct is subject to quite a different, indeed, exactly the opposite, principle of
responsibility from that of the civil servant. The honor of the civil servant is vested in his ability to execute
conscientiously the order of the superior authorities, exactly as if the order agreed with his own conviction.
This holds even if the order appears wrong to him and if, despite the civil servants remonstrances, the
authority insists on the order. Without this moral discipline and self-denial, in the highest sense, the whole
apparatus would fall to pieces.
The honor of the political leader, of the leading statesman, however, lies precisely in an exclusive
personal responsibility for what he does, a responsibility he cannot and must not reject or transfer. It is in
the nature of officials of high moral standing to be poor politicians, and above all, in the political sense of
the word, to be irresponsible politicians. In this sense, they are politicians of low moral standing, such as
we unfortunately have had again and again in leading positions. This is what we have called
Beamtenherrschaft [civil-service rule], and truly no spot soils the honor of our officialdom if we reveal what
is politically wrong with the system from the standpoint of success. But let us return once more to the
types of political figures.
Since the time of the constitutional state, and definitely since democracy has been established, the
'demagogue' has been the typical political leader in the Occident. The distasteful flavor of the word must
not make us forget that not Cleon but Pericles was the first to bear the name of demagogue. In contrast to
the offices of ancient democracy that were filled by lot, Pericles led the sovereign Ecclesia of the demos
of Athens as a supreme strategist holding the only elective office or without holding any office at all.
Modern demagoguery also makes use of oratory, even to a tremendous extent, if one considers the
election speeches a modern candidate has to deliver. But the use of the printed word is more enduring.
The political publicist, and above all the journalist, is nowadays the most important representative of the
demagogic species.
Within the limits of this lecture, it is quite impossible even to sketch the sociology of modern political
journalism, which in every respect constitutes a chapter in itself. Certainly, only a few things concerning it
are in place here. In common with all demagogues and, by the way, with the lawyer (and the artist), the
journalist shares the fate of lacking a fixed social classification.
At least, this is the case on the Continent, in contrast to the English, and, by the way, also to former
conditions in Prussia . The journalist belongs to a sort of pariah caste, which is always estimated by
'society' in terms of its ethically lowest representative. Hence, the strangest notions about journalists and
their work are abroad. Not everybody realizes that a really good journalistic accomplishment requires at
least as much 'genius' as any scholarly accomplishment, especially because of the necessity of
producing at once and 'on order,' and because of the necessity of being effective, to be sure, under quite
different conditions of production. It is almost never acknowledged that the responsibility of the journalist
is far greater, and that the sense of responsibility of every honorable journalist is, on the average, not a bit
lower than that of the scholar, but rather, as the war has shown, higher. This is because, in the very
nature of the case, irresponsible journalistic accomplishments and their often terrible effects are
remembered.
Nobody believes that the discretion of any able journalist ranks above the average of other people, and
yet that is the case. The quite incomparably graver temptations, and the other conditions that accompany
journalistic work at the present time, produce those results which have conditioned the public to regard
the press with a mixture of disdain and pitiful cowardice.
Today we cannot discuss what is to be done. Here we are interested in the question of the occupational
destiny of the political journalist and of his chance to attain a position of political leadership. Thus far, the
journalist has had favorable chances only in the Social Democratic party. Within the party, editorial
positions have been predominantly in the nature of official positions, but editorial positions have not been
the basis for positions of leadership.
In the bourgeois parties, on the whole, the chances for ascent to political power along this avenue have
rather become worse, as compared with those of the previous generation. Naturally every politician of
consequence has needed influence over the press and hence has needed relations with the press. But
that party leaders would emerge from the ranks of the press has been an absolute exception and one
should not have expected it. The reason for this lies in the strongly increased 'indispensability' of the
journalist, above all, of the propertyless and hence professionally bound journalist, an indispensability
which is determined by the tremendously increased intensity and tempo of journalistic operations. The
necessity of gaining one's livelihood by the writing of daily or at least weekly articles is like lead on the
feet of the politicians. I know of cases in which natural leaders have been permanently paralyzed in their
ascent to power, externally and above all internally, by this compulsion. The relations of the press to the
ruling powers in the state and in the parties, under the old regime [of the Kaiser], were as detrimental as
they could be to the level of journalism; but that is a chapter in itself.
These conditions were different in the countries of our opponents [the Allies]. But there also, and for all
modern states, apparently the journalist worker gains less and less as the capitalist lord of the press, of
the sort of 'Lord' Northcliffe, for instance, gains more and more political influence.
Thus far, however, our great capitalist newspaper concerns, which attained control, especially over the
'chain newspapers,' with 'want ads,' have been regularly and typically the breeders of political
indifference. For no profits could be made in an independent policy; especially no profitable benevolence
of the politically dominant powers could be obtained. The advertising business is also the avenue along
which, during the war, the attempt was made to influence the press politically in a grand style--an attempt
which apparently it is regarded as desirable to continue now. Although one may expect the great papers
to escape this pressure, the situation of the small ones will be far more difficult. In any case, for the time
being, the journalist career is not among us, a normal avenue for the ascent of political leaders, whatever
attraction journalism may otherwise have and whatever measure of influence, range of activity, and
especially political responsibility it may yield. One has to wait and see. Perhaps journalism does not have
this function any longer, or perhaps journalism does not yet have it. Whether the renunciation of the
principle of anonymity would mean a change in this is difficult to say.
Some journalists--not all--believe in dropping principled anonymity. What we have experienced during the
war in the German press, and in the 'management' of newspapers by especially hired personages and
talented writers who always expressly figured under their names, has unfortunately shown, in some of the
better known cases, that an increased awareness of responsibility is not so certain to be bred as might be
believed. Some of the papers were, without regard to party, precisely the notoriously worst boulevard
sheets; by dropping anonymity they strove for and attained greater sales. The publishers as well as the
journalists of sensationalism have gained fortunes but certainly not honor. Nothing is here being said
against the principle of promoting sales; the question is indeed an intricate one, and the phenomenon of
irresponsible sensationalism does not hold in general. But thus far, sensationalism has not been the road
to genuine leadership or to the responsible management of politics. How conditions will further develop
remains to be seen. Yet the journalist career remains under all circumstances one of the most important
avenues of professional political activity. It is not a road for everybody, least of all for weak characters,
especially for people who can maintain their inner balance only with a secure status position. If the life of
a young scholar is a gamble, still he is walled in by firm status conventions, which prevent him from
slipping. But the journalist's life is an absolute gamble in every respect and under conditions that test
one's inner security in a way that scarcely occurs in any other situation. The often bitter experiences in
occupational life are perhaps not even the worst.
The inner demands that are directed precisely at the successful journalist are especially difficult. It is,
indeed, no small matter to frequent the salons of the powerful on this earth on a seemingly equal footing
and often to be flattered by all because one is feared, yet knowing all the time that having hardly closed
the door the host has perhaps to justify before his guests his association with the 'scavengers from the
press.' Moreover, it is no small matter that one must express oneself promptly and convincingly about this
and that, on all conceivable problems of life--whatever the 'market' happens to demand--and this without
becoming absolutely shallow and above all without losing one's dignity by baring oneself, a thing which
has merciless results. It is not astonishing that there are many journalists who have become human
failures and worth less men. Rather, it is astonishing that, despite all this, this very stratum includes such
a great number of valuable and quite genuine men, a fact that outsiders would not so easily guess.
If the journalist as a type of professional politician harks back to a rather considerable past, the figure of
the party official belongs only to the development of the last decades and, in part, only to recent years. In
order to comprehend the position of this figure in historical evolution, we shall have to turn to a
consideration of parties and party organizations.
In all political associations which are somehow extensive, that is, associations going beyond the sphere
and range of the tasks of small rural districts where power-holders are periodically elected, political
organization is necessarily managed by men interested in the management of politics. This is to say that
a relatively small number of men are primarily interested in political life and hence interested in sharing
political power. They provide themselves with a following through free recruitment, present themselves or
their proteges as candidates for election, collect the financial means, and go out for vote-grabbing. It is
unimaginable how in large associations elections could function at all without this managerial pattern. In
practice this means the division of the citizens with the right to vote into politically active and politically
passive elements. This difference is based on voluntary attitudes, hence it cannot be abolished through
measures like obligatory voting, or 'occupational status group' representation, or similar measures that
are expressly or actually directed against this state of affairs and the rule of professional politicians. The
active leadership and their freely recruited following are the necessary elements in the life of any party.
The following, and through it the passive electorate, are necessary for the election of the leader. But the
structure of parties varies. For instance, the 'parties' of the medieval cities, such as those of the Guelfs
and the Ghibellines, were purely personal followings. If one considers various things about these
medieval parties, one is reminded of Bolshevism and its Soviets. Consider the Statuta della perta Guelfa,
the confiscations of the Nobili's estates--which originally meant all those families who lived a chivalrous
life and who thus qualified for fiefs--consider the exclusion from office-holding and the denial of the right to
vote, the inter-local party committees, the strictly military organizations and the premiums for informers.
Then consider Bolshevism with its strictly sieved military and, in Russia especially, informer organizations,
the disarmament and denial of the political rights of the 'bourgeois,' that is, of the entrepreneur, trader,
rentier, clergyman, descendants of the dynasty, police agents, as well as the confiscation policy.
This analogy is still more striking when one considers that, on the one hand, the military organization of
the medieval party constituted a pure army of knights organized on the basis of the registered feudal
estates and that nobles occupied almost all leading positions, and, on the other hand, that the Soviets
have preserved, or rather reintroduced, the highly paid enterpriser, the group wage, the Taylor system,
military and work-shop discipline, and a search for foreign capital. Hence, in a word, the Soviets have had
to accept again absolutely all the things that Bolshevism had been fighting as bourgeois class institutions.
They have had to do this in order to keep the state and the economy going at all. Moreover, the Soviets
have reinstituted the agents of the former Ochrana [Tsarist Secret Police] as the main instrument of their
state power.
But here we do not have to deal with such organizations for violence, but rather with professional
politicians who strive for power through sober and 'peaceful' party campaigns in the market of election
votes.
Parties, in the sense usual with us, were at first, for instance in England , pure followings of the
aristocracy. If, for any reason whatever, a peer changed his party, everybody dependent upon him
likewise changed. Up to the Reform Bill [of 1832], the great noble families and, last but not least, the king
controlled the patronage of an immense number of election boroughs. Close to these aristocratic parties
were the parties of notables, which develop everywhere with the rising power of the bourgeois. Under the
spiritual leadership of the typical intellectual strata of the Occident, the propertied and cultured circles
differentiated themselves into parties and followed them. These parties were formed partly according to
class interest, partly according to family traditions, and partly for ideological reasons. Clergymen,
teachers, professors, lawyers, doctors, apothecaries, prosperous farmers, manufacturers--in England the
whole stratum that considered itself as belonging to the class of gentlemen--formed, at first, occasional
associations at most local political clubs. In times of unrest the petty bourgeoisie raised its voice, and
once in a while the proletariat, if leaders arose who, however, as a rule did not stem from their midst. In
this phase, parties organized as permanent associations between localities do not yet exist in the open
country. Only the parliamentary delegates create the cohesion; and the local notables are decisive for the
selection of candidates. The election programs originate partly in the election appeals of the candidates
and partly in the meetings of the notables; or, they originate as resolutions of the parliamentary party.
Leadership of the clubs is an avocation and an honorific pursuit, as demanded by the occasion.
Where clubs are absent (as is mostly the case), the quite formless management of politics in normal
times lies in the hands of the few people constantly interested in it. Only the journalist is a paid
professional politician; only the management of the newspaper is a continuous political organization.
Besides the newspaper, there is only the parliamentary session. The parliamentary delegates and the
parliamentary party leaders know to which local notables one turns if a political action seems desirable.
But permanent associations of the parties exist only in the large cities with moderate contributions of the
members and periodical conferences and public meetings where the delegate gives account of the
parliamentary activities. The party is alive only during election periods.
The members of parliament are interested in the possibility of interlocal electoral compromises, in
vigorous and unified programs endorsed by broad circles and in a unified agitation throughout the country.
In general these interests form the driving force of a party organization which becomes more and more
strict. In principle, however, the nature of a party apparatus as an association of notables remains
unchanged. This is so, even though a network of local party affiliations and agents is spread over the
whole country, including middle-sized cities. A member of the parliamentary party acts as the leader of the
central party office and maintains constant correspondence with the local organizations. Outside of the
central bureau, paid officials are still absent; thoroughly 'respectable' people head the local organizations
for the sake of the deference which they enjoy anyway. They form the extra-parliamentary 'notables' who
exert influence alongside the stratum of political notables who happen to sit in parliament.
However, the party correspondence, edited by the party, increasingly provides intellectual nourishment for
the press and for the local meetings. Regular contributions of the members become indispensable; a part
of these must cover the expenses of headquarters.
Not so long ago most of the German party organizations were still in this stage of development. In
France , the first stage of party development was, at least in part, still predominant, and the organization
of the members of parliament was quite unstable. In the open country, we find a small number of local
notables and programs drafted by the candidates or set up for them by their patrons in specific campaigns
for office. To be sure, these platforms constitute more or less local adaptations to the resolutions and
programs of the members of parliament. This system was only partially punctured. The number of fulltime professional politicians was small, consisting in the main of the elected deputies, the few employees
of headquarters, and the journalists. In France , the system has also included those job hunters who held
'political office' or, at the moment, strove for one. Politics was formally and by far predominantly an
avocation.
The number of delegates qualifying for ministerial office was also very restricted and, because of their
position as notables, so was the number of election candidates. However, the number of those who
indirectly had a stake in the management of politics, especially a material one, was very large. For all
administrative measures of a ministerial department, and especially all decisions in matters of personnel,
were made partly with a view to their influence upon electoral chances. The realization of each and every
kind of wish was sought through the local delegate's mediation. For better or for worse the minister had to
lend his ear to this delegate, especially if the delegate belonged to the minister's majority. Hence
everybody strove for such influence. The single deputy controlled the patronage of office and, in general,
any kind of patronage in his election district. In order to be re-elected the deputy, in turn, maintained
connections with the local notables.
Now then, the most modern forms of party organizations stand in sharp contrast to this idyllic state in
which circles of notables and, above all, members of parliament rule. These modern forms are the
children of democracy, of mass franchise, of the necessity to woo and organize the masses, and develop
the utmost unity of direction and the strictest discipline. The rule of notables and guidance by members of
parliament ceases. 'Professional' politicians outside the parliaments take the organization in hand. They
do so either as 'entrepreneurs'--the American boss and the English election agent are, in fact, such
entrepreneurs--or as officials with a fixed salary. Formally, a fargoing democratization takes place. The
parliamentary party no longer creates the authoritative programs, and the local notables no longer decide
the selection of candidates. Rather assemblies of the organized party members select the candidates and
delegate members to the assemblies of a higher order. Possibly there are several such conventions
leading up to the national convention of the party. Naturally power actually rests in the hands of those
who, within the organization, handle the work continuously. Otherwise, power rests in the hands of those
on whom the organization in its processes depends financially or personally--for instance, on the
aecenases or the directors of powerful political clubs of interested persons (Tammany Hall). It is decisive
that this whole apparatus of people--characteristically called a 'machine' in Anglo-Saxon countries or
rather those who direct the machine, keep the members of the parliament in check. They are in a position
to impose their will to a rather far-reaching extent, and that is of special significance for the selection of
the party leader. The man whom the machine follows now becomes the leader, even over the head of the
parliamentary party. In other words, the creation of such machines signifies the advent of plebiscitarian
democracy.
The party following, above all the party official and party entrepreneur, naturally expect personal
compensation from the victory of their leader--that is, offices or other advantages. It is decisive that they
expect such advantages from their leader and not merely from the individual member of parliament. They
expect that the demagogic effect of the leader's personality during the election fight of the party will
increase votes and mandates and thereby power, and, thereby, as far as possible, will extend
opportunities to their followers to find the compensation for which they hope. Ideally, one of their
mainsprings is the satisfaction of working with loyal personal devotion for a man, and not merely for an
abstract program of a party consisting of mediocrities. In this respect, the 'charismatic' element of all
leadership is at work in the party system.
In very different degrees this system made headway, although it was in constant, latent struggle with local
notables and the members of parliament who wrangled for influence. This was the case in the bourgeois
parties, first, in the United States , and, then, in the Social Democratic party, especially of Germany .
Constant setbacks occur as soon as no generally recognized leader exists, and, even when he is found,
concessions of all sorts must be made to the vanity and the personal interest of the party notables. The
machine may also be brought under the domination of the party officials in whose hands the regular
business rests. According to the view of some Social Democratic circles, their party had succumbed to
this 'bureaucratization.' But 'officials' submit relatively easily to a leader's personality if it has a strong
demagogic appeal. The material and the ideal interests of the officials are intimately connected with the
effects of party power which are expected from the leader's appeal, and besides, inwardly it is per se
more satisfying to work for a leader. The ascent of leaders is far more difficult where the notables, along
with the officials, control the party, as is usually the case in the bourgeois parties. For ideally the notables
make 'their way of life' out of the petty chairmanships or committee memberships they hold. Resentment
against the demagogue as a homo novus, the conviction of the superiority of political party 'experience'
(which, as a matter of fact, actually is of considerable importance), and the ideological concern for the
crumbling of the old party traditions--these factors determine the conduct of the notables. They can count
on all the traditionalist elements within the party. Above all, the rural but also the petty bourgeois voter
looks for the name of the notable familiar to him. He distrusts the man who is unknown to him.
However, once this man has become successful, he clings to him the more unwaveringly. Let us now
consider, by some major examples, the struggle of the two structural forms--of the notables and of the
party--and especially let us consider the ascendancy of the plebiscitarian form as described by
Ostrogorsky.
First England : there until 1868 the party organization was almost purely an organization of notables. The
Tories in the country found support, for instance, from the Anglican parson, and from the schoolmaster,
and above all from the large landlords of the respective county. The Whigs found support mostly from
such people as the nonconformist preacher (when there was one), the postmaster, the blacksmith, the
tailor, the rope maker--that is, from such artisans who could disseminate political influence because they
could chat with people most frequently. In the city the parties differed, partly according to economics,
partly according to religion, and partly simply according to the party opinions handed down in the families.
But always the notables were the pillars of the political organization.
Above all these arrangements stood Parliament, the parties with the cabinet, and the 'leader,' who was
the chairman of the council of ministers or the leader of the opposition. This leader had beside him the
'whip'--the most important professional politician of the party organization.
Patronage of office was vested in the hands of the 'whip'; thus the job hunter had to turn to him and he
arranged an understanding with the deputies of the individual election boroughs. A stratum of professional
politicians gradually began to develop in the boroughs. At first the locally recruited agents were not paid;
they occupied approximately the same position as our Vertrauensmanner. However, along with them, a
capitalist entrepreneurial type developed in the boroughs. This was the 'election agent,' whose existence
was unavoidable under England 's modern legislation which guaranteed fair elections.
This legislation aimed at controlling the campaign costs of elections and sought to check the power of
money by making it obligatory for the candidate to state the costs of his campaign. For in England , the
candidate, besides straining his voice--far more so than was formerly the case with us [in Germany ]-enjoyed stretching his purse. The election agent made the candidate pay a lump sum, which usually
meant a good deal for the agent. In the distribution of power in Parliament and the country between the
'leader' and the party notables, the leader in England used to hold a very eminent position. This position
was based on the compelling fact of making possible a grand, and thereby steady, political strategy.
Nevertheless the influence of the parliamentary party and of party notables was still considerable.
That is about what the old party organization looked like. It was half an affair of notables and half an
entrepreneurial organization with salaried employees. Since 1868, however, the 'caucus' system
developed, first for local elections in Birmingham , then all over the country. A nonconformist parson and
along with him Joseph Chamberlain brought this system to life. The occasion for this development was
the democratization of the franchise. In order to win the masses it became necessary to call into being a
tremendous apparatus of apparently democratic associations. An electoral association had to be formed
in every city district to help keep the organization incessantly in motion and to bureaucratize everything
rigidly. Hence, hired and paid officials of the local electoral committees increased numerically; and, on the
whole, perhaps 10 per cent of the voters were organized in these local committees. The elected party
managers had the right to co-opt others and were the formal bearers of party politics. The driving force
was the local circle, which was, above all, composed of those interested in municipal politics--from which
the fattest material opportunities always spring.
These local circles were also first to call upon the world of finance. This newly emerging machine, which
was no longer led by members of Parliament, very soon had to struggle with the previous power-holders,
above all, with the 'whip.' Being supported by locally interested persons, the machine came out of the fight
so victoriously that the whip had to submit and compromise with the machine. The result was a
centralization of all power in the hands of the few and, ultimately, of the one person who stood at the top
of the party. The whole system had arisen in the Liberal party in connection with Gladstone 's ascent to
power. What brought this machine to such swift triumph over the notables was the fascination of
Gladstone 's 'grand' demagogy, the firm belief of the masses in the ethical substance of his policy, and,
above all, their belief in the ethical character of his personality. It soon became obvious that a Caesarist
plebiscitarian element in politics--the dictator of the battlefield of elections--had appeared on the plain. In
1877 the caucus became active for the first time in national elections, and with brilliant success, for the
result was Disraeli's fall at the height of his great achievements. In 1866, the machine was already so
completely oriented to the charismatic personality that when the question of home rule was raised the
whole apparatus from top to bottom did not question whether it actually stood on Gladstone 's ground; it
simply, on his word, fell in line with him: they said, Gladstone right or wrong, we follow him. And thus the
machine deserted its own creator, Chamberlain.
Such machinery requires a considerable personnel. In England there are about 2,000 persons who live
directly off party politics. To be sure, those who are active in politics purely as job seekers or as interested
persons are far more numerous, especially in municipal politics. In addition to economic opportunities, for
the useful caucus politician, there are the opportunities to satisfy his vanity. To become 'J.P.' or even 'M.P.'
is, of course, in line with the greatest (and normal) ambition; and such people, who are of demonstrably
good breeding, that is, 'gentlemen,' attain their goal. The highest goal is, of course, a peerage, especially
for the great financial Maecenases. About 50 per cent of the finances of the party depend on contributions
of donors who remained anonymous.
Now then, what has been the effect of this whole system? Nowadays the members of Parliament, with the
exception of the few cabinet members (and a few insurgents), are normally nothing better than welldisciplined 'yes' men. With us, in the Reichstag, one used at least to take care of one's private
correspondence on his desk, thus indicating that one was active in the weal of the country. Such gestures
are not demanded in England ; the member of Parliament must only vote, not commit party treason. He
must appear when the whips call him, and do what the cabinet or the leader of the opposition orders. The
caucus machine in the open country is almost completely unprincipled if a strong leader exists who has
the machine absolutely in hand. Therewith the plebiscitarian dictator actually stands above Parliament.
He brings the masses behind him by means of the machine and the members of Parliament are for him
merely political spoilsmen enrolled in his following.
How does the selection of these strong leaders take place? First, in terms of what ability are they
selected? Next to the qualities of will--decisive all over the world--naturally the force of demagogic speech
is - above all decisive. Its character has changed since the time speakers like Cobden addressed
themselves to the intellect, and Gladstone who mastered the technique of apparently 'letting sober facts
speak for themselves.' At the present time often purely emotional means are used--the means the
Salvation Army also exploits in order to set the masses in motion. One may call the existing state of
affairs a 'dictatorship resting on the exploitation of mass emotionality.' Yet, the highly developed system of
committee work in the English Parliament makes it possible and compelling for every politician who
counts on a share in leadership to cooperate in committee work. All important ministers of recent decades
have thisvery real and effective work-training as a background. The practice of committee reports and
public criticism of these deliberations is a condition for training, for really selecting leaders and eliminating
mere demagogues.
Thus it is in England . The caucus system there, however, has been a weak form, compared with the
American party organization, which brought the plebiscitarian principle to an especially early and an
especially pure expression.
According to Washington 's idea, America was to be a commonwealth administered by 'gentlemen.' In his
time, in America , a gentleman was also a landlord, or a man with a college education--this was the case
at first. In the beginning, when parties began to organize, the members of the House of Representatives
claimed to be leaders, just as in England at the time when notables ruled. The party organization was
quite loose and continued to be until 1824. In some communities, where modern development first took
place, the party machine was in the making even before the eighteen-twenties. But when Andrew Jackson
was first elected President--the election of the western farmers' candidate --the old traditions were
overthrown.
Formal party leadership by leading members of Congress came to an end soon after 1840, when the
great parliamentarians, Calhoun and Webster, retired from political life because Congress had lost almost
all of its power to the party machine in the open country. That the plebiscitarian 'machine' has developed
so early in America is due to the fact that there, and there alone, the executive--this is what mattered --the
chief of office-patronage, was a President elected by plebiscite. By virtue of the 'separation of powers' he
was almost independent of parliament in his conduct of office. Hence, as the price of victory, the true
booty object of the office-prebend was held out precisely at the presidential election. Through Andrew
Jackson the 'spoils system' was quite systematically raised to a principle and the conclusions were drawn.
What does this spoils system, the turning over of federal offices to the following of the victorious
candidate, mean for the party formations of today? It means that quite unprincipled parties oppose one
another; they are purely organizations of job hunters drafting their changing platforms according to the
chances of vote-grabbing, changing their colors to a degree which, despite all analogies, is not yet to be
found elsewhere.
The parties are simply and absolutely fashioned for the election campaign that is most important for office
patronage: the fight for the presidency and for the governorships of the separate states. Platforms and
candidates are selected at the national conventions of the parties without intervention by congressmen.
Hence they emerge from party conventions, the delegates of which are formally, very democratically
elected. These delegates are determined by meetings of other delegates, who, in turn, owe their mandate
to the 'primaries,' the assembling of the direct voters of the party. In the primaries the delegates are
already elected in the name of the candidate for the nation's leadership. Within the parties the most
embittered fight rages about the question of 'nomination.' After all, 300,000 to 400,000 official
appointments lie in the hands of the President, appointments which are executed by him only with the
approval of the senators from the separate states. Hence the senators are powerful politicians. By
comparison, however, the House of Representatives is, politically, quite impotent, because patronage of
office is removed from it and because the cabinet members, simply assistants to the President, can
conduct office apart from the confidence or lack of confidence of the people. The President, who is
legitimatized by the people, confronts everybody, even Congress; this is a result of 'the separation of
powers.'
In America , the spoils system, supported in this fashion, has been technically possible because American
culture with its youth could afford purely dilettante management. With 300,000 to 400,000 such party men
who have no qualifications to their credit other than the fact of having performed good services for their
party, this state of affairs of course could not exist without enormous evils. A corruption and wastefulness
second to none could be tolerated only by a country with as yet unlimited economic opportunities.
Now then, the boss is the figure who appears in the picture of this system of the plebiscitarian party
machine. Who is the boss? He is a political capitalist entrepreneur who on his own account and at his
own risk provides votes. He may have established his first relations as a lawyer or a saloonkeeper or as a
proprietor of similar establishments, or perhaps as a creditor. From here he spins his threads out until he
is able to 'control' a certain number of votes. When he has come this far he establishes contact with the
neighboring bosses, and through zeal, skill, and above all discretion, he attracts the attention of those
who have already further advanced in the career, and then he climbs. The boss is indispensable to the
organization of the party and the organization is centralized in his hands. He substantially provides the
financial means. How does he get them ? Well, partly by the contributions of the members, and especially
by taxing the salaries of those officials who came into office through him and his party. Furthermore, there
are bribes and tips. He who wishes to trespass with impunity one of the many laws needs the boss's
connivance and must pay for it; or else he will get into trouble. But this alone is not enough to accumulate
the necessary capital for political enterprises. The boss is indispensable as the direct recipient of the
money of great financial magnates, who would not entrust their money for election purposes to a paid
party official, or to anyone else giving public account of his affairs. The boss, with his judicious discretion
in financial matters, is the natural man for those capitalist circles who finance the election.
The typical boss is an absolutely sober man. He does not seek social honor; the 'professional' is despised
in 'respectable society.' He seeks power alone, power as a source of money, but also power for power's
sake. In contrast to the English leader, the American boss works in the dark. He is not heard speaking in
public; he suggests to the speakers what they must say in expedient fashion. He himself, however, keeps
silent. As a rule he accepts no office, except that of senator. For, since the senators, by virtue of the
Constitution, participate in office patronage, the leading bosses often sit in person in this body.
The distribution of offices is carried out, in the first place, according to services done for the party. But,
also, auctioning offices on financial bids often occurs and there are certain rates for individual offices;
hence, a system of selling offices exists which, after all, has often been known also to the monarchies, the
church-state included, of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.
The boss has no firm political 'principles'; he is completely unprincipled in attitude and asks merely: What
will capture votes? Frequently he is a rather poorly educated man. But as a rule he leads an inoffensive
and correct private life. In his political morals, however, he naturally adjusts to the average ethical
standards of political conduct, as a great many of us also may have done during the hoarding period in
the field of economic ethics. That as a 'professional' politician the boss is socially despised does not worry
him. That he personally does not attain high federal offices, and does not wish to do so, has the frequent
advantage that extra-party intellects, thus notables, may come into candidacy when the bosses believe
they will have great appeal value at the polls. Hence the same old party notables do not run again and
again, as is the case in Germany . Thus the structure of these unprincipled parties with their socially
despised power-holders has aided able men to attain the presidency--men who with us never would have
come to the top. To be sure, the bosses resist an outsider who might jeopardize their sources of money
and power. Yet in the competitive struggle to win the favor of the voters, the bosses frequently have had
to condescend and accept candidates known to be opponents of corruption.
Thus there exists a strong capitalist party machine, strictly and thoroughly organized from top to bottom,
and supported by clubs of extraordinary stability. These clubs, such as Tammany Hall, are like Knight
orders. They seek profits solely through political control, especially of the municipal government, which is
the most important object of booty. This structure of party life was made possible by the high degree of
democracy in the United States --a 'New Country.' This connection, in turn, is the basis for the fact that the
system is gradually dying out. America can no longer be governed only by dilettantes. Scarcely fifteen
years ago, when American workers were asked why they allowed themselves to be governed by
politicians whom they admitted they despised, the answer was: 'We prefer having people in office whom
we can spit upon, rather than a caste of officials who spit upon us, as is the case with you.'
This was the old point of view of American 'democracy.' Even then, the socialists had entirely different
ideas and now the situation is no longer bearable. The dilettante administration does not suffice and the
Civil Service Reform establishes an ever-increasing number of positions for life with pension rights.
The reform works out in such a way that university-trained officials, just as incorruptible and quite as
capable as our officials, get into office. Even now about 100,000 offices have ceased being objects of
booty to be turned over after elections. Rather, the offices qualify their holders for pensions, and are
based upon tested qualifications. The spoils system will thus gradually recede into the background and
the nature of party leadership is then likely to be transformed also but as yet, we do not know in what way.
In Germany, until now, the decisive conditions of political management have been in essence as follows:
First, the parliaments have been impotent. The result has been that no man with the qualities of a leader
would enter Parliament permanently. If one wished to enter Parliament, what could one achieve there?
When a chancellery position was open, one could tell the administrative chief: 'I have a very able man in
my election district who would be suitable; take him.' And he would have concurred with pleasure; but that
was about all that a German member of Parliament could do to satisfy his instincts for power--if he
possessed any.
To this must be added the tremendous importance of the trained expert officialdom in Germany . This
factor determined the impotence of Parliament. Our officialdom was second to none in the world. This
importance of the officialdom was accompanied by the fact that the officials claimed not only official
positions but also cabinet positions for themselves. In the Bavarian state legislature, when the
introduction of parliamentary government was debated last year, it was said that if members of the
legislature were to be placed in cabinet positions talented people would no longer seek official careers.
Moreover, the civil-service administration systematically escaped such control as is signified by the
English committee discussions. The administration thus made it impossible for parliaments--with a few
exceptions--to train really useful administrative chiefs from their own ranks.
A third factor is that in Germany, in contrast to America, we have had parties with principled political views
who have maintained that their members, at least subjectively, represented bona-fide Weltanschauungen.
Now then, the two most important of these parties, the Catholic Centre Party and the Social Democratic
party, have, from their inceptions, been minority parties and have meant to be minority parties. The
leading circles of the Centre party in the Reich have never concealed their opposition to parliamentarian
democracy, because of fear of remaining in the minority and thus facing great difficulties in placing their
job hunters in office as they have done by exerting pressure on the government. The Social Democratic
party was a principled minority party and a handicap to the introduction of parliamentary government
because the party did not wish to stain itself by participating in the existing bourgeois political order. The
fact that both parties dissociated themselves from the parliamentary system made parliamentary
government impossible.
Considering all this, what then became of the professional politicians in Germany ? They have had no
power, no responsibility, and could play only a rather subordinate role as notables. In consequence, they
have been animated anew by the guild instincts, which are typical everywhere. It has been impossible for
a man who was not of their hue to climb high in the circle of those notables who made their petty positions
their lives. I could mention many names from every party, the Social Democratic party, of course, not
excepted, that spell tragedies of political careers because the persons had leadership qualities, and
precisely because of these qualities were not tolerated by the notables. All our parties have taken this
course of development and have become guilds of notables. Bebel, for instance, was still a leader
through temperament and purity of character, however modest his intellect. The fact that he was a martyr,
that he never betrayed confidence in the eyes of the masses, resulted in his having the masses
absolutely behind him. There was no power in the party that could have seriously challenged him. Such
leadership came to an end, after his death, and the rule of officials began.
Trade-union officials, party secretaries, and journalists came to the top. The instincts of officialdom
dominated the party--a highly respectable officialdom, of rare respectability one may say, compared to
conditions in other countries, especially the often corruptible trade-union officials in America. But the
results of control by officialdom, which we discussed above, also began in the party.
Since the eighteen-eighties the bourgeois parties have completely become guilds of notables. To be sure,
occasionally the parties had to draw on extra-party intellects for advertising purposes, so that they could
say, 'We have such and such names.' So far as possible, they avoided letting these names run for
election; only when it was unavoidable and the person insisted could he run for election. The same spirit
prevailed in Parliament. Our parliamentary parties were and are guilds. Every speech delivered from the
floor of the Reichstag is thoroughly censored in the party before it is delivered. This is obvious from their
unheard-of boredom. Only he who is summoned to speak can have the word. One can hardly conceive of
a stronger contrast to the English, and also--for quite opposite reasons--the French usage.
Now, in consequence of the enormous collapse, which is customarily called the Revolution, perhaps a
transformation is under way. Perhaps--but not for certain. In the beginning there were new kinds of party
apparatuses emerging. First, there were amateur apparatuses. They are especially often represented by
students of the various universities, who tell a man to whom they ascribe leadership qualities: we want to
do the necessary work for you; carry it out.
Secondly, there are apparatuses of businessmen. It happened that men to whom leadership qualities
were ascribed were approached by people willing to take over the propaganda, at fixed rates for every
vote. If you were to ask me honestly which of these two apparatuses I think the more reliable, from the
purely technical-political point of view, I believe I would prefer the latter. But both apparatuses were fastemerging bubbles, which swiftly vanished again. The existing apparatuses transformed themselves, but
they continued to work. The phenomena are only symptoms of the fact that new apparatuses would come
about if there were only leaders.
But even the technical peculiarity of proportionate representation precluded their ascendancy. Only a few
dictators of the street crowds arose and fell again. And only the following of a mob dictatorship is
organized in a strictly disciplined fashion: whence the power of these vanishing minorities.
Let us assume that all this were to change; then, after what has been said above, it has to be clearly
realized that the plebiscitarian leadership of parties entails the 'soullessness' of the following, their
intellectual proletarianization, one might say. In order to be a useful apparatus, a machine in the American
sense--undisturbed either by the vanity of notables or pretensions to independent views--the following of
such a leader must obey him blindly. Lincoln's election was possible only through this character of party
organization, and with Gladstone, as mentioned before, the same happened in the caucus. This is simply
the price paid for guidance by leaders. However, there is only the choice between leadership democracy
with a 'machine' and leaderless democracy, namely, the rule of professional politicians without a calling,
without the inner charismatic qualities that make a leader, and this means what the party insurgents in the
situation usually designate as 'the rule of the clique.' For the time being, we in Germany have only the
latter. For the future, the permanence of this situation, at least in the Reich, is primarily facilitated by the
fact that the Bundesrat will rise again and will of necessity restrict the power of the Reichstag and
therewith its significance as a selective agency of leaders.
Moreover, in its present form, proportional representation is a typical phenomenon of leaderless
democracy. This is the case not only because it facilitates the horse-trading of the notables for placement
on the ticket, but also because in the future it will give organized interest groups the possibility of
compelling parties to include their officials in the list of candidates, thus creating an unpolitical Parliament
in which genuine leadership finds no place. Only the President of the Reich could become the safetyvalve of the demand for leadership if he were elected in a plebiscitarian way and not by Parliament.
Leadership on the basis of proved work could emerge and selection could take place, especially if, in
great municipalities, the plebiscitarian city-manager were to appear on the scene with the right to organize
his bureaus independently.
Such is the case in the U.S.A. whenever one wishes to tackle corruption seriously. It requires a party
organization fashioned for such elections. But the very petty-bourgeois hostility of all parties to leaders,
the Social Democratic party certainly included, leaves the future formation of parties and all these
chances still completely in the dark.
Therefore, today, one cannot yet see in any way how the management of politics as a 'vocation' will
shape itself. Even less can one see along what avenue opportunities are opening to which political talents
can be put for satisfactory political tasks. He who by his material circumstances is compelled to live 'off'
politics will almost always have to consider the alternative positions of the journalist or the party official as
the typical direct avenues. Or, he must consider a position as representative of interest groups--such as a
trade union, a chamber of commerce, a farm bureau, a craft association, a labor board, an employer's
association, et cetera, or else a suitable municipal position. Nothing more than this can be said about this
external aspect: in common with the journalist, the party official bears the odium of being declasse. 'Wage
writer' or 'wage speaker' will unfortunately always resound in his ears, even though the words remain
unexpressed. He who is inwardly defenseless and unable to find the proper answer for himself had better
stay away from this career. For in any case, besides grave temptations, it is an avenue that may
constantly lead to disappointments. Now then, what inner enjoyments can this career offer and what
personal conditions are presupposed for one who enters this avenue?
Well, first of all the career of politics grants a feeling of power. The knowledge of influencing men, of
participating in power over them, and above all, the feeling of holding in one's hands a nerve fiber of
historically important events can elevate the professional politician above everyday routine even when he
is placed in formally modest positions. But now the question for him is: Through what qualities can I hope
to do justice to this power (however narrowly circumscribed it may be in the individual case) ? How can he
hope to do justice to the responsibility that power imposes upon him? With this we enter the field of
ethical questions, for that is where the problem belongs: What kind of a man must one be if he is to be
allowed to put his hand on the wheel of history?
One can say that three pre-eminent qualities are decisive for the politician: passion, a feeling of
responsibility, and a sense of proportion. This means passion in the sense of matter-of-factness, of
passionate devotion to a 'cause,' to the god or demon who is its overlord. It is not passion in the sense of
that inner bearing which my late friend, Georg Simmel, used to designate as 'sterile excitation,' and which
was peculiar especially to a certain type of Russian intellectual (by no means all of them!). It is an
excitation that plays so great a part with our intellectuals in this carnival we decorate with the proud name
of 'revolution.' It is a 'romanticism of the intellectually interesting,' running into emptiness devoid of all
feeling of objective responsibility.
To be sure, mere passion, however genuinely felt, is not enough. It does not make a politician, unless
passion as devotion to a 'cause' also makes responsibility to this cause the guiding star of action. And for
this, a sense of proportion is needed. This is the decisive psychological quality of the politician: his ability
to let realities work upon him with inner concentration and calmness. Hence his distance to things and
men. 'Lack of distance' per se is one of the deadly sins of every politician. It is one of those qualities the
breeding of which will condemn the progeny of our intellectuals to political incapacity. For the problem is
simply how can warm passion and a cool sense of proportion be forged together in one and the same
soul? Politics is made with the head, not with other parts of the body or soul. And yet devotion to politics,
if it is not to be frivolous intellectual play but rather genuinely human conduct, can be born and nourished
from passion alone. However, that firm taming of the soul, which distinguishes the passionate politician
and differentiates him from the 'sterilely excited' and mere political dilettante, is possible only through
habituation to detachment in every sense of the word. The 'strength' of a political 'personality' means, in
the first place, the possession of these qualities of passion, responsibility, and proportion.
Therefore, daily and hourly, the politician inwardly has to overcome a quite trivial and all-too-human
enemy: a quite vulgar vanity, the deadly enemy of all matter of-fact devotion to a cause, and of all
distance, in this case, of distance towards one's self.
Vanity is a very widespread quality and perhaps nobody is entirely free from it. In academic and scholarly
circles, vanity is a sort of occupational disease, but precisely with the scholar, vanity--however
disagreeably it may express itself--is relatively harmless; in the sense that as a rule it does not disturb
scientific enterprise. With the politician the case is quite different. He works with the striving for power as
an unavoidable means. Therefore, 'power instinct,' as is usually said, belongs indeed to his normal
qualities. The sin against the lofty spirit of his vocation, however, begins where this striving for power
ceases to be objective and becomes purely personal self-intoxication, instead of exclusively entering the
service of 'the cause.' For ultimately there are only two kinds of deadly sins in the field of politics: lack of
objectivity and--often but not always identical with it--irresponsibility. Vanity, the need personally to stand
in the foreground as clearly as possible, strongly tempts the politician to commit one or both of these sins.
This is more truly the case as the demagogue is compelled to count upon 'effect.' He therefore is
constantly in danger of becoming an actor as well as taking lightly the responsibility for the outcome of his
actions and of being concerned merely with the 'impression' he makes. His lack of objectivity tempts him
to strive for the glamorous semblance of power rather than for actual power. His irresponsibility, however,
suggests that he enjoy power merely for power's sake without a substantive purpose. Although, or rather
just because, power is the unavoidable means, and striving for power is one of the driving forces of all
politics, there is no more harmful distortion of political force than the parvenu-like braggart with power,
and the vain self-reflection in the feeling of power, and in general every worship of power per se. The
mere 'power politician' may get strong effects, but actually his work leads nowhere and is senseless.
(Among us, too, an ardently promoted cult seeks to glorify him.) In this, the critics of 'power politics' are
absolutely right. From the sudden inner collapse of typical representatives of this mentality, we can see
what inner weakness and impotence hides behind this boastful but entirely empty gesture. It is a product
of a shoddy and superficially blas attitude towards the meaning of human conduct; and it has no relation
whatsoever to the knowledge of tragedy with which all action, but especially political action, is truly
interwoven.
The final result of political action often, no, even regularly, stands in completely inadequate and often
even paradoxical relation to its original meaning. This is fundamental to all history, a point not to be
proved in detail here. But because of this fact, the serving of a cause must not be absent if action is to
have inner strength. Exactly what the cause, in the service of which the politician strives for power and
uses power, looks like is a matter of faith. The politician may serve national, humanitarian, social, ethical,
cultural, worldly, or religious ends. The politician may be sustained by a strong belief in 'progress'--no
matter in which sense--or he may coolly reject this kind of belief. He may claim to stand in the service of
an 'idea' or, rejecting this in principle, he may want to serve external ends of everyday life. However, some
kind of faith must always exist. Otherwise, it is absolutely true that the curse of the creature's
worthlessness overshadows even the externally strongest political successes.
With the statement above we are already engaged in discussing the last problem that concerns us
tonight: the ethos of politics as a 'cause.' What calling can politics fulfil quite independently of its goals
within the total ethical economy of human conduct--which is, so to speak, the ethical locus where politics
is at home? Here, to be sure, ultimate Weltanschauungen clash, world views among which in the end one
has to make a choice. Let us resolutely tackle this problem, which recently has been opened again, in my
view in a very wrong way.
But first, let us free ourselves from a quite trivial falsification: namely, that ethics may first appear in a
morally highly compromised role. Let us consider examples. Rarely will you find that a man whose love
turns from one woman to another feels no need to legitimate this before himself by saying: she was not
worthy of my love, or, she has disappointed me, or whatever other like 'reasons' exist. This is an attitude
that, with a profound lack of chivalry, adds a fancied 'legitimacy' to the plain fact that he no longer loves
her and that the woman has to bear it. By virtue of this 'legitimation,' the man claims a right for himself
and besides causing the misfortune seeks to put her in the wrong. The successful amatory competitor
proceeds exactly in the same way: namely, the opponent must be less worthy, otherwise he would not
have lost out.
It is no different, of course, if after a victorious war the victor in undignified self-righteousness claims, 'I
have won because I was right.' Or, if somebody under the frightfulness of war collapses psychologically,
and instead of simply saying it was just too much, he feels the need of legitimizing his war weariness to
himself by substituting the feeling, 'I could not bear it because I had to fight for a morally bad cause.' And
likewise with the defeated in war. Instead of searching like old women for the 'guilty one' after the war--in
a situation in which the structure of society produced the war--everyone with a manly and controlled
attitude would tell the enemy, 'We lost the war. You have won it. That is now all over. Now let us discuss
what conclusions must be drawn according to the objective interests that came into play and what is the
main thing in view of the responsibility towards the future which above all burdens the victor.' Anything
else is undignified and will become a boomerang. A nation forgives if its interests have been damaged,
but no nation forgives if its honor has been offended, especially by a bigoted self-righteousness. Every
new document that comes to light after decades revives the undignified lamentations, the hatred and
scorn, instead of allowing the war at its end to be buried, at least morally. This is possible only through
objectivity and chivalry and above all only through dignity. But never is it possible through an 'ethic,' which
in truth signifies a lack of dignity on both sides. Instead of being concerned about what the politician is
interested in, the future and the responsibility towards the future, this ethic is concerned about politically
sterile questions of past guilt, which are not to be settled politically. To act in this way is politically guilty, if
such guilt exists at all. And it overlooks the unavoidable falsification of the whole problem, through very
material interests: namely, the victor's interest in the greatest possible moral and material gain; the hopes
of the defeated to trade in advantages through confessions of guilt. If anything is 'vulgar,' then, this is, and
it is the result of this fashion of exploiting 'ethics' as a means of 'being in the right.'
Now then, what relations do ethics and politics actually have? Have the two nothing whatever to do with
one another, as has occasionally been said? Or, is the reverse true: that the ethic of political conduct is
identical with that of any other conduct ? Occasionally an exclusive choice has been believed to exist
between the two propositions--either the one or the other proposition must be correct. But is it true that
any ethic of the world could establish commandments of identical content for erotic, business, familial,
and official relations; for the relations to one's wife, to the greengrocer, the son, the competitor, the friend,
the defendant? Should it really matter so little for the ethical demands on politics that politics operates
with very special means, namely, power backed up by violence? Do we not see that the Bolshevik and the
Spartacist ideologists bring about exactly the same results as any militaristic dictator just because they
use this political means? In what but the persons of the power-holders and their dilettantism does the rule
of the workers' and soldiers' councils differ from the rule of any power-holder of the old regime?
In what way does the polemic of most representatives of the presumably new ethic differ from that of the
opponents which they criticized, or the ethic of any other demagogues ? In their noble intention, people
will say. Good! But it is the means about which we speak here, and the adversaries, in complete
subjective sincerity, claim, in the very same way, that their ultimate intentions are of lofty character. 'All
they that take the sword shall perish with the sword' and fighting is everywhere fighting. Hence, the ethic
of the Sermon on the Mount.
By the Sermon on the Mount, we mean the absolute ethic of the gospel, which is a more serious matter
than those who are fond of quoting these commandments today believe. This ethic is no joking matter.
The same holds for this ethic as has been said of causality in science: it is not a cab, which one can have
stopped at one's pleasure; it is all or nothing. This is precisely the meaning of the gospel, if trivialities are
not to result. Hence, for instance, it was said of the wealthy young man, 'He went away sorrowful: for he
had great possessions.' The evangelist commandment, however, is unconditional and unambiguous: give
what thou hastabsolutely everything. The politician will say that this is a socially senseless imposition
as long as it is not carried out everywhere. Thus the politician upholds taxation, confiscatory taxation, outright confiscation; in a word, compulsion and regulation for all.
The ethical commandment, however, is not at all concerned about that, and this unconcern is its essence.
Or, take the example, 'turn the other cheek': This command is unconditional and does not question the
source of the other's authority to strike. Except for a saint it is an ethic of indignity. This is it: one must be
saintly in everything; at least in intention, one must live like Jesus, the apostles, St. Francis, and their like.
Then this ethic makes sense and expresses a kind of dignity; otherwise it does not. For if it is said, in line
with the acosmic ethic of love, 'Resist not him that is evil with force,' for the politician the reverse
proposition holds, 'thou shalt resist evil by force,' or else you are responsible for the evil winning out. He
who wishes to follow the ethic of the gospel should abstain from strikes, for strikes mean compulsion; he
may join the company unions. Above all things, he should not talk of 'revolution.' After all, the ethic of the
gospel does not wish to teach that civil war is the only legitimate war. The pacifist who follows the gospel
will refuse to bear arms or will throw them down; in Germany this was the recommended ethical duty to
end the war and therewith all wars.
The politician would say the only sure means to discredit the war for all foreseeable time would have been
a status quo peace. Then the nations would have questioned, what was this war for? And then the war
would have been argued ad absurdum, which is now impossible. For the victors, at least for part of them,
the war will have been politically profitable. And the responsibility for this rests on behavior that made all
resistance impossible for us. Now, as a result of the ethics of absolutism, when the period of exhaustion
will have passed, the peace will be discredited, not the war.
Finally, let us consider the duty of truthfulness. For the absolute ethic it holds unconditionally. Hence the
conclusion was reached to publish all documents, especially those placing blame on one's own country.
On the basis of these one-sided publications the confessions of guilt followed--and they were one-sided,
unconditional, and without regard to consequences. The politician will find that as a result truth will not be
furthered but certainly obscured through abuse and unleashing of passion; only an all-round methodical
investigation by non-partisans could bear fruit; any other procedure may have consequences for a nation
that cannot be remedied for decades. But the absolute ethic just does not ask for 'consequences.' That is
the decisive point.
We must be clear about the fact that all ethically oriented conduct may be guided by one of two
fundamentally differing and irreconcilably opposed maxims: conduct can be oriented to an 'ethic of
ultimate ends' or to an 'ethic of responsibility.' This is not to say that an ethic of ultimate ends is identical
with irresponsibility, or that an ethic of responsibility is identical with unprincipled opportunism. Naturally
nobody says that. However, there is an abysmal contrast between conduct that follows the maxim of an
ethic of ultimate ends--that is, in religious terms, 'The Christian does rightly and leaves the results with the
Lord'--and conduct that follows the maxim of an ethic of responsibility, in which case one has to give an
account of the foreseeable results of one's action.
You may demonstrate to a convinced syndicalist, believing in an ethic of ultimate ends, that his action will
result in increasing the opportunities of reaction, in increasing the oppression of his class, and obstructing
its ascent--and you will not make the slightest impression upon him. If an action of good intent leads to
bad results, then, in the actor's eyes, not he but the world, or the stupidity of other men, or God's will who
made them thus, is responsible for the evil. However a man who believes in an ethic of responsibility
takes account of precisely the average deficiencies of people; as Fichte has correctly said, he does not
even have the right to presuppose their goodness and perfection. He does not feel in a position to burden
others with the results of his own actions so far as he was able to foresee them; he will say: these results
are ascribed to my action. The believer in an ethic of ultimate ends feels 'responsible' only for seeing to it
that the flame of pure intentions is not quelched: for example, the flame of protesting against the injustice
of the social order. To rekindle the flame ever anew is the purpose of his quite irrational deeds, judged in
view of their possible success. They are acts that can and shall have only exemplary value.
But even herewith the problem is not yet exhausted. No ethics in the world can dodge the fact that in
numerous instances the attainment of 'good' ends is bound to the fact that one must be willing to pay the
price of using morally dubious means or at least dangerous ones --and facing the possibility or even the
probability of evil ramifications. From no ethics in the world can it be concluded when and to what extent
the ethically good purpose 'justifies' the ethically dangerous means and ramifications.
The decisive means for politics is violence. You may see the extent of the tension between means and
ends, when viewed ethically, from the following: as is generally known, even during the war the
revolutionary socialists (Zimmerwald faction) professed a principle that one might strikingly formulate: 'If
we face the choice either of some more years of war and then revolution, or peace now and no
revolution, we choose--some more years of war!' Upon the further question: 'What can this revolution
bring about?' every scientifically trained socialist would have had the answer: One cannot speak of a
transition to an economy that in our sense could be called socialist; a bourgeois economy will re-emerge,
merely stripped of the feudal elements and the dynastic vestiges. For this very modest result, they are
willing to face 'some more years of war.' One may well say that even with a very robust socialist
conviction one might reject a purpose that demands such means. With Bolshevism and Spartacism, and,
in general, with any kind of revolutionary socialism, it is precisely the same thing. It is of course utterly
ridiculous if the power politicians of the old regime are morally denounced for their use of the same
means, however justified the rejection of their aims may be.
The ethic of ultimate ends apparently must go to pieces on the problem of the justification of means by
ends. As a matter of fact, logically it has only the possibility of rejecting all action that employs morally
dangerous means--in theory! In the world of realities, as a rule, we encounter the ever-renewed
experience that the adherent of an ethic of ultimate ends suddenly turns into a chiliastic prophet. Those,
for example, who have just preached 'love against violence' now call for the use of force for the last
violent deed, which would then lead to a state of affairs in which all violence is annihilated. In the same
manner, our officers told the soldiers before every offensive: 'This will be the last one; this one will bring
victory and therewith peace.' The proponent of an ethic of absolute ends cannot stand up under the
ethical irrationality of the world. He is a cosmic-ethical 'rationalist.' Those of you who know Dostoievski will
remember the scene of the 'Grand Inquisitor,' where the problem is poignantly unfolded. If one makes any
concessions at all to the principle that the end justifies the means, it is not possible to bring an ethic of
ultimate ends and an ethic of responsibility under one roof or to decree ethically which end should justify
which means.
My colleague, Mr. F. W. Forster, whom personally I highly esteem for his undoubted sincerity, but whom I
reject unreservedly as a politician, believes it is possible to get around this difficulty by the simple thesis:
'from good comes only good; but from evil only evil follows.' In that case this whole complex of questions
would not exist. But it is rather astonishing that such a thesis could come to light two thousand five
hundred years after the Upanishads. Not only the whole course of world history, but every frank
examination of everyday experience points to the very opposite. The development of religions all over the
world is determined by the fact that the opposite is true. The age-old problem of theodicy consists of the
very question of how it is that a power which is said to be at once omnipotent and kind could have created
such an irrational world of undeserved suffering, unpunished injustice, and hopeless stupidity. Either this
power is not omnipotent or not kind, or, entirely different principles of compensation and reward govern
our life--principles we may interpret metaphysically, or even principles that forever escape our
comprehension.
This problem--the experience of the irrationality of the world--has been the driving force of all religious
evolution. The Indian doctrine of karma, Persian dualism, the doctrine of original sin, predestination and
the deus absconditus, all these have grown out of this experience. Also the early Christians knew full well
the world is governed by demons and that he who lets himself in for politics, that is, for power and force
as means, contracts with diabolical powers and for his action it is not true that good can follow only from
good and evil only from evil, but that often the opposite is true. Anyone who fails to see this is, indeed, a
political infant. We are placed into various life-spheres, each of which is governed by different laws.
Religious ethics have settled with this fact in different ways. Hellenic polytheism made sacrifices to
Aphrodite and Hera alike, to Dionysus and to Apollo, and knew these gods were frequently in conflict with
one another. The Hindu order of life made each of the different occupations an object of a specific ethical
code, a Dharma, and forever segregated one from the other as castes, thereby placing them into a fixed
hierarchy of rank. For the man born into it, there was no escape from it, lest he be twice-born in another
life. The occupations were thus placed at varying distances from the highest religious goods of salvation.
In this way, the caste order allowed for the possibility of fashioning the Dharma of each single caste, from
those of the ascetics and Brahmins to those of the rogues and harlots, in accordance with the immanent
and autonomous laws of their respective occupations. War and politics were also included. You will find
war integrated into the totality of life-spheres in the Bhagavad-Gita, in the conversation between Krishna
and Arduna. 'Do what must be done,' i.e. do that work which, according to the Dharma of the warrior caste
and its rules, is obligatory and which, according to the purpose of the war, is objectively necessary.
Hinduism believes that such conduct does not damage religious salvation but, rather, promotes it. When
he faced the hero's death, the Indian warrior was always sure of Indra's heaven, just as was the Teuton
warrior of Valhalla . The Indian hero would have despised Nirvana just as much as the Teuton would have
sneered at the Christian paradise with its angels' choirs. This specialization of ethics allowed for the
Indian ethic's quite unbroken treatment of politics by following politics' own laws and even radically
enhancing this royal art.
A really radical 'Machiavellianism,' in the popular sense of this word, is classically represented in Indian
literature, in the Kautaliya Arthasastra (long before Christ, allegedly dating from Chandragupta's time). In
contrast with this document Machiavelli's Principe is harmless. As is known in Catholic ethics--to which
otherwise Professor Forster stands close--the consilia evangelica are a special ethic for those endowed
with the charisma of a holy life. There stands the monk who must not shed blood or strive for gain, and
beside him stand the pious knight and the burgher, who are allowed to do so, the one to shed blood, the
other to pursue gain. The gradation of ethics and its organic integration into the doctrine of salvation is
less consistent than in India .
According to the presuppositions of Christian faith, this could and had to be the case. The wickedness of
the world stemming from original sin allowed with relative ease the integration of violence into ethics as a
disciplinary means against sin and against the heretics who endangered the soul. However, the demands
of the Sermon on the Mount, an acosmic ethic of ultimate ends, implied a natural law of absolute
imperatives based upon religion. These absolute imperatives retained their revolutionizing force and they
came upon the scene with elemental vigor during almost all periods of social upheaval. They produced
especially the radical pacifist sects, one of which in Pennsylvania experimented in establishing a polity
that renounced violence towards the outside. This experiment took a tragic course, inasmuch as with the
outbreak of the War of Independence the Quakers could not stand up arms-in-hand for their ideals, which
were those of the war.
Normally, Protestantism, however, absolutely legitimated the state as a divine institution and hence
violence as a means. Protestantism, especially, legitimated the authoritarian state. Luther relieved the
individual of the ethical responsibility for war and transferred it to the authorities.
To obey the authorities in matters other than those of faith could never constitute guilt. Calvinism in turn
knew principled violence as a means of defending the faith; thus Calvinism knew the crusade, which was
for Islam an element of life from the beginning. One sees that it is by no means a modern disbelief born
from the hero worship of the Renaissance which poses the problem of political ethics. All religions have
wrestled with it, with highly differing success, and after what has been said it could not be otherwise. It is
the specific means of legitimate violence as such in the hand of human associations which determines the
peculiarity of all ethical problems of politics.
Whosoever contracts with violent means for whatever ends--and every politician doesis exposed to its
specific consequences. This holds especially for the crusader, religious and revolutionary alike. Let us
confidently take the present as an example. He who wants to establish absolute justice on earth by force
requires a following, a human 'machine.' He must hold out the necessary internal and external premiums,
heavenly or worldly reward, to this 'machine' or else the machine will not function. Under the conditions of
the modern class struggle, the internal premiums consist of the satisfying of hatred and the craving for
revenge; above all, resentment and the need for pseudo-ethical self-righteousness: the opponents must
be slandered and accused of heresy. The external rewards are adventure, victory, booty, power, and
spoils. The leader and his success are completely dependent upon the functioning of his machine and
hence not on his own motives. Therefore he also depends upon whether or not the premiums can be
permanently granted to the following, that is, to the Red Guard, the informers, the agitators, whom he
needs. What he actually attains under the conditions of his work is therefore not in his hand, but is
prescribed to him by the following's motives, which, if viewed ethically, are predominantly base.
The following can be harnessed only so long as an honest belief in his person and his cause inspires at
least part of the following, probably never on earth even the majority. This belief, even when subjectively
sincere, is in a very great number of cases really no more than an ethical 'legitimation' of cravings for
revenge, power, booty, and spoils.
We shall not be deceived about this by verbiage; the materialist interpretation of history is no cab to be
taken at will; it does not stop short of the promoters of revolutions. Emotional revolutionism is followed by
the traditionalist routine of everyday life; the crusading leader and the faith itself fade away, or, what is
even more effective, the faith becomes part of the conventional phraseology of political Philistines and
banausic technicians. This development is especially rapid with struggles of faith because they are
usually led or inspired by genuine leaders, that is, prophets of revolution. For here, as with every leader's
machine, one of the conditions for success is the depersonalization and routinization, in short, the psychic
proletarianization, in the interests of discipline. After coming to power the following of a crusader usually
degenerates very easily into a quite common stratum of spoils men.
Whoever wants to engage in politics at all, and especially in politics as a vocation, has to realize these
ethical paradoxes. He must know that he is responsible for what may become of himself under the impact
of these paradoxes. I repeat, he lets himself in for the diabolic forces lurking in all violence. The great
virtuosi of acosmic love of humanity and goodness, whether stemming from Nazareth or Assisi or from
Indian royal castles, have not operated with the political means of violence. Their kingdom was 'not of this
world' and yet they worked and still work in this world. The figures of Platon Karatajev and the saints of
Dostoievski still remain their most adequate reconstructions. He who seeks the salvation of the soul, of
his own and of others, should not seek it along the avenue of politics, for the quite different tasks of
politics can only be solved by violence. The genius or demon of politics lives in an inner tension with the
god of love, as well as with the Christian God as expressed by the church.
This tension can at any time lead to an irreconcilable conflict. Men knew this even in the times of church
rule. Time and again the papal interdict was placed upon Florence and at the time it meant a far more
robust power for men and their salvation of soul than (to speak with Fichte) the 'cool approbation' of the
Kantian ethical judgment. The burghers, however, fought the church-state. And it is with reference to such
situations that Machiavelli in a beautiful passage, if I am not mistaken, of the History of Florence, has one
of his heroes praise those citizens who deemed the greatness of their native city higher than the salvation
of their souls.
If one says 'the future of socialism' or 'international peace,' instead of native city or 'fatherland'(which at
present may be a dubious value to some), then you face the problem as it stands now. Everything that is
striven for through political action operating with violent means and following an ethic of responsibility
endangers the 'salvation of the soul.' If, however, one chases after the ultimate good in a war of beliefs,
following a pure ethic of absolute ends, then the goals may be damaged and discredited for generations,
because responsibility for consequences is lacking, and two diabolic forces which enter the play remain
unknown to the actor. These are inexorable and produce consequences for his action and even for his
inner self, to which he must helplessly submit, unless he perceives them. The sentence: 'The devil is old;
grow old to understand him!' does not refer to age in terms of chronological years. I have never permitted
myself to lose out in a discussion through a reference to a date registered on a birth certificate; but the
mere fact that someone is twenty years of age and that I am over fifty is no cause for me to think that this
alone is an achievement before which I am overawed. Age is not decisive; what is decisive is the trained
relentlessness in viewing the realities of life, and the ability to face such realities and to measure up to
them inwardly.
Surely, politics is made with the head, but it is certainly not made with the head alone. In this the
proponents of an ethic of ultimate ends are right. One cannot prescribe to anyone whether he should
follow an ethic of absolute ends or an ethic of responsibility, or when the one and when the other. One
can say only this much: If in these times, which, in your opinion, are not times of 'sterile' excitation-excitation is not, after all, genuine passion--if now suddenly the Weltanschauungs-politicians crop up en
masse and pass the watchword, 'The world is stupid and base, not I,' 'The responsibility for the
consequences does not fall upon me but upon the others whom I serve and whose stupidity or baseness I
shall eradicate,' then I declare frankly that I would first inquire into the degree of inner poise backing this
ethic of ultimate ends. I am under the impression that in nine out of ten cases I deal with windbags who
do not fully realize what they take upon themselves but who intoxicate themselves with romantic
sensations. From a human point of view this is not very interesting to me, nor does it move me profoundly.
However, it is immensely moving when a mature man--no matter whether old or young in years--is aware
of a responsibility for the consequences of his conduct and really feels such responsibility with heart and
soul. He then acts by following an ethic of responsibility and somewhere he reaches the point where he
says: 'Here I stand; I can do no other.' That is something genuinely human and moving. And every one of
us who is not spiritually dead must realize the possibility of finding himself at some time in that position. In
so far as this is true, an ethic of ultimate ends and an ethic of responsibility are not absolute contrasts but
rather supplements, which only in unison constitute a genuine man--a man who can have the 'calling for
politics.'
Now then, ladies and gentlemen, let us debate this matter once more ten years from now. Unfortunately,
for a whole series of reasons, I fear that by then the period of reaction will have long since broken over
us. It is very probable that little of what many of you, and (I candidly confess) I too, have wished and
hoped for will be fulfilled; little-perhaps not exactly nothing, but what to us at least seems little. This will
not crush me, but surely it is an inner burden to realize it. Then, I wish I could see what has become of
those of you who now feel yourselves to be genuinely 'principled' politicians and who share in the
intoxication signified by this revolution. It would be nice if matters turned out in such a way that
Shakespeare's Sonnet 102 should hold true:
Our love was new, and then but in the spring,
When I was wont to greet it with my lays;
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing,
And stops her pipe in growth of riper days.
But such is not the case. Not summer's bloom lies ahead of us, but rather a polar night of icy darkness
and hardness, no matter which group may triumph externally now. Where there is nothing, not only the
Kaiser but also the proletarian has lost his rights. When this night shall have slowly receded, who of those
for whom spring apparently has bloomed so luxuriously will be alive? And what will have become of all of
you by then ? Will you be bitter or banausic ?
Will you simply and dully accept world and occupation? Or will the third and by no means the least
frequent possibility be your lot: mystic flight from reality for those who are gifted for it, or--as is both
frequent and unpleasant--for those who belabor themselves to follow this fashion? In every one of such
cases, I shall draw the conclusion that they have not measured up to their own doings. They have not
measured up to the world as it really is in its everyday routine.
Objectively and actually, they have not experienced the vocation for politics in its deepest meaning, which
they thought they had. They would have done better in simply cultivating plain brotherliness in personal
relations. And for the rest--they should have gone soberly about their daily work.
Politics is a strong and slow boring of hard boards. It takes both passion and perspective. Certainly all
historical experience confirms the truth--that man would not have attained the possible unless time and
again he had reached out for the impossible. But to do that a man must be a leader, and not only a leader
but a hero as well, in a very sober sense of the word. And even those who are neither leaders nor heroes
must arm themselves with that steadfastness of heart which can brave even the crumbling of all hopes.
This is necessary right now, or else men will not be able to attain even that which is possible today. Only
he has the calling for politics who is sure that he shall not crumble when the world from his point of view is
too stupid or too base for what he wants to offer. Only he who in the face of all this can say 'In spite of all!'
has the calling for politics.
VIRTUE AND THE TEACHING OF POLITICS

William Collins
Introduction. What this paper works to accomplish is to establish the plausibility of incorporating the
consideration of virtue into the teaching of undergraduate political science No less a person than the
founder of the study of politics suggests we proceed with caution. Writing in the Ethics [ Book I. iii ]
Aristotle has this to say : . . . a young man is not a fit person to attend lectures on political science,
because he is not versed in the practical business of life from which politics draws its premises and
subject matter. Besides he tends to follow his feelings, with the result that he will make no headway and
derive no benefit from his course, since the object of it is not knowledge but action. It makes no
difference, whether he is young in age or youthful in character, the defect is due not to lack of years but to
living and pursuing ones various aims under the sway of feelings; for to people like this knowledge
becomes unprofitable as it is for those who know what is right but fail to do it.
On the other hand for those who regulate their impulses and act in accordance with principle, knowledge
of these subjects will be of great advantage. With this warning in mind, Aristotle goes on to point out that
foremost among the issues for a political science is the Good, since all knowledge and every pursuit
aims at some good, and the end of political science is to ask what is the highest of all practical goods. [ I.
iv ] The immediate problem is to ask, in the face of the different opinions about it, what this good is, how
to go about getting an answer, and more particularly what type of disposition is best able to acquire such
knowledge.
Aristotle replies, we must start from what is known to us, and any serious student of political science
must have been well trained in his habits. If the starting point for the inquiry is some idea or experience of
the good, then an individual who already has good habits can easily grasp the sense of the moral values
because there will be no need to ascertain the reason why they are there. Given that political science is to
be concerned with the highest of all practical goods, and the best method is to start from what is known,
viz. the good, then one with proper moral habits will either have knowledge of the good at the start, or will
be disposed to learn it.
For those not possessing either the knowledge or the disposition Aristotle offers a citation from Hesiods
Works and Days that man is best who sees the truth himself; Good too is he who listens to wise counsel.
But who is neither wise himself nor willing to ponder wisdom is not worth a straw. The discussion which
follows leads Aristotle to a consideration of the specific character of the good which subsequently involves
an analysis of virtue or what he will more generally call human functioning.
My concern parallels Aristotles and is directed to the very practical problem of how to incorporate a
consideration of the good and human functioning into the materials typically presented in an introductory
course on political science. These materials are for the most part descriptive of political practice. Students
are typically not presented with how such practices are associated with either human functioning, or the
character of the good or goods the practices are intended to accomplish. Clearly, it has to be taken into
consideration that the setting for such a course is not the same as that of Aristotles. In general, the
contemporary manner of thinking about the character of human functioning is different, and the underlying
ideas concerning what it is to know and what it is that can be known depart dramatically from Aristotles
views on the subject.
To make a case for introducing such concerns into a beginning course, these differences have to be
recognized. Given that the problem is a practical one, that is presenting course materials to students, my
approach is first to set out the contemporary justification for the way politics is studied, and relate this to a
review of Aristotles understanding of what politics is about.. To do this I shall consider, Max Webers The
Vocation of Politics and Aristotles own overall organization of how to study politics found in the Ethics
and the beginning of the Politics. Webers Vocation was an address to university students, and was a
wide ranging account of what it means to take on politics as a way of life. The piece is well known for its
idea that final ends are not available to guide or act as a standard for conducting politics. However, there
is also, embedded within this address a fascinating discussion of the dynamics of state formation which
Weber takes as source of the quandaries associated with the vocation of politics. I think this could be a
possible and interesting link to Aristotle because implicit within Webers discussion there is an evaluation
of an action toward an end. If this a correct assessment, it might be a step toward making it possible to
incorporate both an understanding of human functioning and a consideration of the good into a beginning
course.
This discussion of the Weber address is followed by a review of Aristotles teaching both on the character
of politics being concerned with the highest practical good and his understanding of human functioning.
Even though it might be that Weber has identified an end directed historical process, I do not suppose
that either Weber or Aristotle can be reconciled at the level of their basic views. The intention of this paper
is rather to show both Weber and Aristotle present options which have important implications for teaching
undergraduate political science. These options need to be set out, so that an outline for a beginning study
of politics can be presented which takes into account both the means oriented character of contemporary
political description as well as a consideration of the features associated with the both character of the
practical good and the nature of human flourishing.
The paper is thus divided into three parts. Part One Politics as a Vocation is discussed with regard to the
problem of means and ends in political life. Part Two presents a summary of Aristotles treatment of what
is involved in the study of politics especially as this regards his approach to the problems of the practical
good and human flourishing. Finally, an outline for the beginning course is presented which will try to
accommodate both sets of results against the background of some contemporary tools now being used in
descriptive studies.
Part One: Max Weber on Politics as a Vocation. Politics as a vocation was originally a public lecture
given by Weber to a student club in Munich in the winter of 1918 -1919, just after Germany had been
defeated in World War I. It was one of Webers last writings before his death in 1920 (1) By one account,
it is classical statement of the ethical dilemmas involved in a political career , and as such it provides an
opportunity to enter into a contemporary discussion of what is meant by virtue .The purpose of the talk
was to describe the meaning of politics as a professional way of life given the prevailing conditions of a
European state system which had just exhausted itself in 4 years of catastrophic and ruinous war. It was
not Webers intention to present specific analyses, but rather to examine what a political career would
entail in the interior sense given the general character of the state itself. One commentator has remarked,
It is a measure of Webers deepest interests that his finest discussion of the calling for politics begins
with external factors, and then moves to what really matters most: the internal conditions for a way of
leading ones life or specific kind of conduct within the total life of humanity.
(2) In Webers own words: This lecture which I give at your request will necessarily disappoint you in a
number of ways. You will naturally expect me to take a position on the actual problems of the day. But that
will be the case only in purely formal way and toward the end, when I shall raise certain questions
concerning the significance of political action in the whole way of life. In todays lecture, all questions
referring to what policy and what content one should give to ones political activity must be eliminated. For
such questions have nothing to do with the general question of what politics as a vocation can mean. . . .
What do we understand by politics?. The concept is extremely broad and comprises any kind of
leadership in action. We wish to understand by politics only the leadership or influencing of the
leadership, of a political organization, hence today of a state.
(3) As a vocation or end which serves to define ones life, politics is to be associated with the actions of
the state and more particularly with its leadership. A state, continues Weber, is a human community that
successfully claims the monopoly of the legitimate use of physical force within a given territory. In more
specific terms: The modern state is a compulsory association which organizes domination. It has been
successful in seeking to monopolize the legitimate use of physical force as a means of domination within
a territory. To this end the state has combined the material means of organization in the hands of its
leaders, and it has expropriated all autonomous functions of the estates who controlled the means in their
own right. The state has taken their positions and now stands in the top place.
(4) Politics as a vocation takes place therefore under the aegis of the state, and will be directed toward
either competing for power, or seeking to influence its distribution among the states or among groups
within a state. He who is active in politics strives for power, either as a means in servicing other aims,
ideal or egoistic, or as power for powers sake, that is in order to enjoy the prestige feeling that power
gives
(5) There are as well two ways of making politics ones vocation. Politics is either a means for attaining a
living, what Weber calls living off politics or politics is what one lives for. To live for politics is to make
politics ones life in the internal sense. Either he enjoys the naked possession of power he exerts or he
nourishes his inner balance and self feeling by the consciousness that his life has meaning in the service
of a cause.
(6) Whether the politician takes a living from politics or whether he derives an inner satisfaction from it,
the crucial point is that both the external and internal life of the professional politician will now be framed
by the character and dynamics of the state. The next step is to describe who the professional politicians
are and identify their points of origin. With respect to the second question, the professional politician
emerges as an outcome of the development of the modern state which Weber describes in terms of the
long struggle between the prince and the estates. At different stages of this process the prince uses
certain kinds of people to forge and implement his aims. These individuals were drawn from across the
social spectrum at different moments along the way to the development of the autonomous state. Among
these Weber gives as examples, the clergy, the humanistically educated, the court appointed nobility, the
gentry and the university trained lawyer who after the French Revolution becomes a dominant player. At
the point when the autonomous state comes into existence an important division appears with
consequences for the vocation of politician. The development of politics into an organization which
demanded training in the struggle for power, and in the methods of this struggle as developed by modern
politics, determined the separation of public functionaries into two categories, which however are by no
means rigidly developed but nevertheless separated. These categories are administrative officials on the
one hand and political officials on the other.
(7) The professional politicians now operating within the confines of the state apparatus pursues one of
two distinct paths. He may become a functionary, whose honor is vested in his ability to carry out the
orders of superior authority, or he may become a political official. This latter category is further divided
based on a distinction between the political parties comprised of local notables and organized for gaining
power in a legislature, and those parties based on political machines. In this latter case, according to
Weber, the leaders appeal is what generates the material and inner rewards for the party officials. These
classifications are Webers external descriptions of the political vocation. What they accomplish is to link
the occupational description of the politician to historical processes associated with the development of
the state. Commentary on this text, has typically viewed Webers politician as an autonomous type when
in fact Webers point I think is more subtle. Since the political vocation is so strongly linked to the state,
itself a contingent historical outcome, the external shape of the political vocation would also vary.
Speaking to the Munich students, Weber points out, Therefore today one cannot yet see in any way how
the management of politics as vocation will shape itself. Even less can one see along what avenue
opportunities are opening to which political talents can be put for satisfactory political tasks.
(8) The important idea , at this point, is that the range of the politicians effective action, the actual limits of
his vocation are, in reality not his to define, but are rather already in place in the form of constraints
imposed by the state upon his freedom to maneuver. The point is particularly evident when Weber
describes how the politicians must respond to their external conditions. With respect to the role of the
administrative official as opposed to the political operative for example, According to his proper vocation,
the genuine official, and this decisive for the evaluation of our former regime will not engage in
politics. . . . the honor of the civil servant is vested in his ability to execute conscientiously the order of the
superior authorities exactly as if the order agreed with his own. This holds even if the order appears
wrong to him and if despite the civil servants remonstrances the authority insists on the order. Without
this moral discipline and self denial, in the highest sense the whole apparatus would fall to pieces.
(9) The administrator is severely restricted within confines of his function within the state. The end is not
for the officials to determine, it is there only for him to implement. Thus the problem of assessing ends
and means and the associated acts of moral discipline and personal self denial is now an external
imposition rather than an internal one. The state as the context for action has an even more profound
impact upon those who would devote themselves to politics as a form of genuinely human conduct.
Politics , at this level grants a feeling of power, says Weber, The knowledge of influencing men, of
participating in power over them, and above all the feeling of holding in ones hands a nerve fiber of
historically important events can elevate the professional politician above everyday routine even when he
is placed in formally modest positions.
(10) Webers list of the virtues accompanying the power bringing this inner enjoyment have a certain
classical resonance. Passion, a feeling of responsibility, a sense of proportion - these are for Weber the
required qualities. They must above all be accompanied by a habituation to detachment in every sense of
the word. Lack of objectivity, irresponsibility, vulgar vanity result when this sense of detachment is not in
place. Such must be avoided at all costs. The existence of state thus imposes a rigorous discipline upon
those, who would either devote themselves to a cause, or simply exercise power for its own sake. Weber
has strong words for those who do not meet the standards. Although, or rather just because power is the
unavoidable means and striving for power is one of the driving forces of all politics, there is no more
harmful distortion of political force than the parvenu like braggart with poser and the vain self reflection in
the feeling of power in general every worship of power per se. It is a shoddy and superficially blas
attitude toward the meaning of human conduct; and in no relation whatsoever to the knowledge of tragedy
with which all action, but especially political action is interwoven.
(11) I think the point here is that the vocation of politics where politics is pursued as genuinely human
conduct is indeed about the pursuit and use of power. It is the end moreover which owes it importance
and centrality to the presence of the state. Yet, it is not this end by itself, but rather this end undertaken
and pursued with a certain disposition which is what Weber wants to present to his listeners. Passion, a
feeling of responsibility, and a sense of proportion conditioned and habituated by sense of
detachment are what must equip a politician in his pursuit and exercise of the power which the state
makes available. The final problem becomes what standard should govern the exercise of these qualities.
It is here that the presence of the state will create a new and important set of issues for those who pursue
the political vocation. The problem is this, Is it true that any ethic of the world could establish
commandments of identical content for erotic, business and official relations; for the relations to ones
wife, to the green grocer, the son the competitor, the friend, the defendant?
(12) With regard to the state the answer must be no. The state is a unique entity; politics operates with
very special means, namely power backed up by violence. The availability of legitimate violence in the
hands of human associations is what determines the peculiarity of all ethical problems of politics. Here,
Weber makes a crucial move. The autonomous character of the state, places us into different life
spheres each of which will be governed by different laws.
(13) In a caste system for example each performs according to the imperatives set by the caste and the
whole system of castes is typically ordered to some end, presumably theological. This was the setting
before the emergence of the state; monk, pious warrior, the burgher all had ascribed social positions and
those positions, in turn, imposed their respective ethical imperatives. The emergence of the modern state
however detached us from such roles and the issue of ethical ends within the sphere of the state
becomes highly problematic. Weber has to retreat back to the individual and make a distinction analogous
to the distinction between political types. We are in the political sphere and the problem is how to
characterize ethically oriented conduct given that the state itself is neutral with respect to any specific
ethical standard. There are two maxims each leading to different behaviors: conduct can be oriented to
an ethic of ultimate ends, or to an ethic of responsibility. The latter takes into account the here and
now and realizes the limits of human nature and thus does not feel in a position to burden others with the
results of his own actions so far as he was able to see them The believer in an ethic of ultimate ends feels
responsible only seeing to it that the flame of pure intentions is not quenched.
(14) . The ethic of pure ends goes to pieces on the problem of justification of means by ends. This is
because there is no way to evaluate in any final sense what end should justify what means. On the other
hand, an ethic of responsibility pursued through state action puts one into contact with violence as a
means for action. The choices between the two ethics are thus not attractive. Everything gained through a
political process operating with violent means and following an ethic of responsibility endangers the
salvation of the soul. If however one chases after the ultimate good in a war of beliefs, following a pure
ethic of absolute ends, then the goals may be damaged and discredited for generations because
responsibility for consequences is lacking.
(15) One cannot then, according to Weber prescribe to anyone whether he should follow an ethic of
absolute ends or an ethic of responsibility, or when one or when the other, At the end of his address, after
speaking to the paradoxes of action associated with each of the two ethics Weber has this to say and it is
a comment directly related to the initial citation from Aristotle. It is immensely moving when a mature man,
no matter old or young in years who is aware of a responsibility for the consequences of his conduct and
really feels such responsibility with heart and soul, and who is following an ethic of responsibility,
somewhere reaches the point where he says: Here I stand; I can do no otherwise. That is something
genuinely human and moving. And every one of us who is not spiritually dead must realize the possibility
of finding himself at some time in that position. Insofar as this is true, an ethic of ultimate ends and an
ethic of responsibility are not absolute contrasts but rather supplements, which only in unison constitute a
genuine man a man who can have the calling to politics.
(16) For Weber there may come a moment when working within what might be called the prudential
frame, i.e. the ethic of responsibility the politician comes to the awareness of an ultimate end and bears
witness to it. It is this capacity Weber appears to say which is the fundamental condition for being called
the vocation of politics. More particularly given that politics is hard work, a strong and slow boring of hard
boards, says Weber, and given that the world may often from ones point of view may be stupid and base,
if despite all of that one can say , In spite of all this is the one who has the calling for politics.
Part Two: Aristotle - Politics and the Dynamics of Virtue. It is important at the start of any traditional
discussion of virtue to realize that it typically begins with an understanding of the term good. Aristotle, it
seems to me has a clear sense that when it comes to honor and intelligence and pleasure, the
definitions of good are different and distinct. In fact ,says Aristotle, the Good is not a common
characteristic corresponding to one idea [1096 b24-26 ]. Again, things are called good in as many senses
as they are said to exist; for they are so called in the category of Substance ( e..g. God or mind) and in
Quality (the virtues) and in Quantity (what is moderate) and in Relation (what is useful) and in Time
(opportunity) and in Place (habitat) and so on. Clearly, then there can not be a single universal common
to all cases, because it would be predicated not in all the categories but in one only [ 1096 a 19 - b6 ].
In an even more practical vein, Aristotle asks, And there is another problem. What advantage in his art
will a weaver or a joiner get from knowledge of this good itself? Or how will one who has a vision of the
Idea itself become thereby a better doctor or general?[1097a14] These citations are intended to show at
the onset that the connection between virtue and the teaching of politics will not involve a search for some
unitary conception of good as a basis for virtue. . . . for even if the goodness that is predicated in
common is some one thing or has a separate existence of its own, clearly it cannot be realized in action
or acquired by man. Rather, as we shall see, the problem is more involved, and I think will bring us closer
to Weber that we might , at first imagine.
For the purposes of the paper , the discussion of Aristotle proceeds in a sequence of steps: the polis or
state as locus of action (where is the good is to be sought?) ; the actor and the issue of virtue ( what
capacities are available for gaining the good?) ; justice as the link between part ( the individual ) and
whole.
Aristotles Polis as the Locus of Action. Aristotles polis has two distinct features, it is an association
and it is an association formed with a view to some good. Observation tells us that every state is an
association, and that every association is formed with a view to some good purpose. I say good because
in all their actions all men do in fact aim at what they think good. Clearly, then, as all associations aim at
some good, that association which is the most sovereign among them all and embraces all others will aim
highest, i.e. at the most sovereign of all goods. This is the association we call the state, the association
which is political. [1252a1 ]The immediate point is the emphasis placed on the function of the state as
the place where the individual goods are ordered. Aristotle emphasizes this directive character of the
political function in the Ethics. A knowledge of the good is of great importance to us for the conduct of our
lives are we not more likely to achieve our aim if we have a target?
Setting this target, providing a sense of what the directive good is to be is the subject of politics. Public
policy, the action of the state is therefore about the ordering goods to that good which is to be taken as
the highest for a given community . . . it is political science that prescribes what subjects are to be
taught in states, and which of these the different sections of the community are to learn, and up to
what point. We can also see that under this science come those faculties which are the most highly
esteemed, e.g. the arts of war, of property management, and of public speaking. But if politics makes use
of the other sciences, and also lays down what we should do, and from what we should refrain, its end
must include theirs; and this end must be good for man. For even if the good of the community coincides
with that of the individual, it is clearly a greater and more perfect thing to achieve and preserve that of a
community; for while it is desirable to secure what is good in the case of an individual to do so in the case
of a people or a state is something finer and more sublime [1094a22-b12 ].
A problem arises in this passage. The science of politics pursues two goals, more or less
simultaneously: setting the target for the individuals ordering of goods, and securing the good for the
community as a whole. This problem will eventually become central for using Aristotles political science
as a way to link the study of virtue to the teaching of politics. However, before we come to this there is
another issue, what sort of thing is the polis? This question directs us to the materiality of the polis , what
is it that we have to work with in seeking out some sense of the good? There are two concerns, the
character of the association itself, and what account is to be given of the individuals who comprise it?
Aristotle is straightforward enough when it comes to describing the nature of the political association, it is
an outcome of a natural process. The process is grounded the natural reality of the pair bond between
male and female. This pair bond leads to the formation of a household, households form into villages, and
villages are the basis for the formation of the state. Self-sufficiency is by Aristotles account both the end
and perfection of the association beginning from the pair bond The final association, formed of several
villages is the state. For all practical purposes the process is now complete: self-sufficiency has been
reached, and while the state came about as a means of securing life itself, it continues in being to secure
the good life. . . It follows that the state belongs to the class of objects which exist by nature, and that man
is by nature a political animal [ 1252b27 ] .
Speech for Aristotle becomes the essential feature of the social bond for human beings. Speech serves to
indicate what is useful and what is harmful, and so also what is just and what is unjust. For the real
difference between man and other animals is that humans alone have a perception of good and evil, just
and unjust. It is the sharing of a common view in these matters that makes a household and a state
[ 1253a7 - a18 ]. The first part of Aristotles political science is now in place. There is an association which
is established on the natural reality of the pair bond. The motion toward increased self-sufficiency leads to
more complex forms of association reaching the point where complete self-sufficiency is attained. This is
the polis. This association is held together by the uniquely human power of human speech through which
is forged a common sense of what is good and evil, just and unjust. Further, it is the function of the state
to order the community to the good, and further to act as a means for educating its members as to the
proper ordering of their own individual goods. This leads next to a consideration of the human capacities
associated with acquisition of the good. This, for Aristotle, is the issue of virtue.
Human Capacity and the Problem of Justice: What is the Proper Role For Politics? The statesman
ought to have some acquaintance with psychology, just as a doctor who intends to treat the eye must
have knowledge of the body as a whole. [ 1102 a17 ]. This is so says Aristotle because we are seeking
the goodness that is uniquely human and this means we have to think about the human soul for the soul
is point of origin for the human happiness which for us constitutes the good. Aristotle identifies two parts
of the soul, the irrational and the rational. The irrational is, first, a matter of nutrition and growth something
which is shared with all life. There is also a second intermediate element associated with the irrational
which moves the nutritive processes in a beneficial manner or takes them in the contrary direction. This
intermediate element is partly rational as evidence that we are typically moved to act by admonition,
reproof and encouragement. The rational element is then what is generally meant by the term, the
exercise of speculative reason, and the attainment of wisdom. It also has this element which might be
called practical which is the ability to see the particular in light of a broader picture. Once these capacities
have been identified the virtues follow. They are the actualizing of these capacities, and are consequently
divided into classes in accordance with the way in which the capacities have been identified.
There are thus of two kind, intellectual and moral. The actualizing of the intellectual capacities is done
primarily through instruction and training and thus requires time and experience. The moral virtues on the
other hand are the result of habit. It is easy to see from this that moral virtues do not come from nature.
We are constituted by nature to receive the virtues but we acquire them by practice and habituation..
Again, of all those faculties with which nature endows us we first acquire the potentialities, and only later
effect their actualization. This is a crucial point says Aristotle, and it makes a substantial difference when
and how the practice of the virtues is first brought about. So it is a matter of no little importance what
sorts of habits we form from the earliest age it makes a vast difference, or rather all the difference in the
world [ 1103 b25 ].
The teaching of virtue is thus a practical not a theoretical science. It is not about the Good, but about
creating good men, that is, how best ought actions be performed so as to attain the good which is
happiness? The rules, says Aristotle are context driven, and can only be stated in general outline. Now
questions of conduct and expedience have as little fixity about them as questions of what is healthful; and
if this is true of the general rule, it is still more true that its application to particular problems admits of no
precision [ 1104 a3 ]. Though there are no professional or explicit set of rules for guiding the actualization
of human capacities in general there are, however, rules of thumb.
First, it is always important to keep in mind that the virtues are directly related to, and put into play by the
specific human capacities Aristotle has identified. To practice the virtues begins from this point. There are
then three general guidelines for the actualization of the inherent potentials associated with these
capacities, the activity which in fact is the practice of the virtues. First keep away from the extremes It is
says, Aristotle, best to locate the mean between either an excess or deficiency in exercise of one
capacity, but since this is very difficult, a less refined but perhaps more realizable goal would be avoid
excess at either end. For one of the extremes is always more erroneous than the other, and since it is
extremely difficult to hit the mean, we must take the next best course as they say and choose the lesser
of the evils. The next guidelines are be aware of your own errors which we are liable to fall into given our
different natural tendencies then drag ourselves in the contrary direction, for we shall arrive at the mean
by pressing well away from our ailing just like somebody straightening a warped piece of board. Finally in
every situation guard against pleasure and pleasant things because we are not good judges of pleasure,
and if we relieve ourselves of its attraction we are less likely to go wrong. [ 1109 a25 - b 15 ]
In every case however, Aristotle reminds that there is no universal way to ascertain the mean correctly in
every situation. Nevertheless, the man who deviates only a little from the right degree either in excess or
deficiency is not censured - only the one who goes too far. Yet it is not easy to define by rule for how long
and how much a man may go wrong before he incurs blame; no easier than it is to define any object of
perception. Such questions of degree occur in particular cases and the decision lies with our perception [
1109 b20 -21 ].
The summary points are these. Human capacities described as the potentials associated with human
soul are the point of origin for the virtues. The virtues represent the actualization of these human
capacities. Further, each of the specific virtues is associated with, and driven by a specific human
capacity. Given the two fold distinction between the rational and irrational parts of the soul there are two
corresponding types of virtue, intellectual virtues, and the moral virtues. The intellectual virtues are
developed, i.e. actualized, or brought into fruition through education and training, and the moral virtues
are made manifest through a process of habituation and repetition. In the latter case there are no hard
and fast rules insuring that a uniform result across all cases would emerge. The Ethics becomes a
textbook in which Aristotle through the citing of cases and the application of several rough and ready rules
of thumb reaches an extensive but approximate knowledge of what a proper actualization of human
potential as defined by its capacities would look like. Happiness ,the good for man, is thus a life lived
according to virtue, that is, through an actualization and bringing into fruition of his human capacities both
through habituation, and education and training. If we assume that the function of man is a kind of life, viz.
an activity or series of actions of the soul, implying a rational principle [ i.e seeking the mean ] ; and if the
function of a good man is to perform these well and rightly; and if every function is performed well when
performed in accord with its proper excellence: if all this is so, then conclusion is that the good for man is
an activity of the soul in accordance with virtue, or if there are more kinds of virtue than one, in
accordance with the best and most perfect kind. [ 1098a8 -27 ]
The last part of the citation tells us that if there are more kinds of virtue than one, the more perfect activity,
the best actualization of human capacity, the one bringing the greatest happiness will be the one in
accordance with the best and most perfect kind of virtue which is another way of saying in accordance
with the highest of human capacities. This now brings us back to a consideration of the functions of the
polis which is the ordering of goods toward a final or sovereign good. This is the problem of justice and it
is the virtue which is directive in the sense that the most of the other virtues can be ordered with respect
to it.
Justice: Reconciling Human Flourishing With Community Life. Aristotle tells us that justice may be
considered in two ways, as obedience to the law, this is General Justice, or as fairness which is Particular
Justice. Let us begin then by taking the various senses in which a man is said to be just. Well, the word is
considered to describe both one who breaks the law and the one who takes advantage of the other, i.e.
acts unfairly. So just means lawful and fair and unjust means both unlawful and unfair. [ 1129 a 21 - b 6 ]
General Justice is where the function of ordering goods to end occurs for a given political association.
Aristotle cites the poet Theognis in support of what he intends, In justice is summed up the whole of
virtue. The practice of general justice, obeying the law has a communal component it impacts upon others
and unlike the other virtues is not merely a matter of actualizing ones individual capacity. It is also
complete virtue, says Aristotle, in the fullest sense and it is complete because its possessor can exercise
it in relation to another person and not himself. [ 1129 b30 ]
This is because the function of the law is to prescribe for all departments of life, which is what Aristotle
was referring to when he highlighted the directive power of politics at the beginning of the Ethics. This
prescriptive activity aims at the common advantage as this is defined by the character of the regime. That
is it will aim the common good of all the citizens, or the best of them or of the ruling class. The central
point is that what is called just in the general sense is what tends to produce or conserve happiness of a
given political association.
The directive activity of the law completes the virtues as when it enjoins brave moderate and patient and
enjoins against violent conduct. Justice as a virtue is thus not so much about individual flourishing and
happiness, but about the completion of our happiness with respect to the happiness of the community. It
is clear from what we have said, what the difference is between virtue and justice: they are the same but
their essence is not the same; that when considered in relation to somebody else it is justice, when
considered simply as a certain kind of moral state is virtues.
Particular justice is like general because it has to do with ones relation to another, but it is different in that
it refers to those things which capable of being shared among the members of the community. What
would be fair with respect to who gets what shares of the communitys goods is the problem for particular
justice. To be just or unjust with regard to particular justice regards an understanding of the term
proportional equality, how are shares to assign with respect to some standard of merit.
This is a virtue that is not grounded on the actualization of our specific capacities but depends upon how
the regime defines equal in terms of its idea of merit. What particular justice accomplishes is to direct the
participants to abide by the idea of equal shares in accordance with a mean defined apart from
actualization ones individual capacity. Within the frame of the previous discussion of virtue, one might
expect that Aristotle would appeal to virtues like temperance when thinking about what one would deserve
with respect to goods or even to courage as a standard for receiving honor from the community. But in
dealing with particular justice the mean for this virtue is externally defined as it is a matter of legislation,
and is regime specific. Justice as the ordering of the community goods is the lawful, and, as this pertains
to particular justice, to what is to be considered equal or fair. What this now points to is in line though by
no means equal to the conundrum faced by Weber in his Vocation of Politics. Comparing the two
positions will make possible some suggestions concerning how the teaching of politics might be
connected to consideration of virtue.
Part Three: Weber and Aristotle on the Role of Virtue. In this last section, I want to make a series of
comparisons between Weber and Aristotle. There is, to say it once again, no sense that the two views are
commensurable in any real way. However, I think a case can be made that they deal with roughly the
same kinds of issues but in rather different ways. Since it is my view that Webers intellectual influence is
the basis for our own pedagogic approach his is the position I wish to enhance. To talk about virtue
currently is to speak in Weber terms. My thought is these might be expanded upon by considering the
way Aristotle resolved a similar problem.
The first issue is dynamics of state formation. Aristotle of course sees the state as the outcome of natural
process which is energized by the drive toward self-sufficiency. This terminates at a particular point the
city state and the problem becomes identifying the appropriate functions of the political association which
has emerged. The foundation for Aristotles science is grounded in what is called a teleological process or
movement toward an end which represents the actualization of the potential inherent in the sociality of the
participants. For Weber, the state is the end result of an essentially contingent historical process where
factions of the prince and the estates contend over power of their respective territories. The process is
one of continuous concentration of power in the hands of the prince and terminates when a prince attains
a monopoly of power for a given territory. There is process of development in both cases, and the
character of that process is what frames the problem of virtue in a specific way. For Aristotle power is
represented by human capacity, and virtue, is the appropriate actualization of that capacity. The state also
represents a certain kind of potentiality being the outcome of human sociality seeking self-sufficiency.
The state and the individual are thus linked by underlying commonality of actualization Webers state is a
contingent outcome directed toward no other end than that concentrating power. There is here no
inherent directionality because the goal, accumulate power is an accidental outcome resulting from the
conflicts associated with the competition between estates and prince The relation of state to participant
becomes contingent as well depending upon the status of the competition at a particular moment. The
fact that clergy, humanist, lawyers all appear as the dominant type of political official at one time or
another time reflects this reality.
The important point is what has emerged, not how or toward what end has the state become a reality. It is
not possible to define a political association - not even a state- through an account of the purposes of its
action... there has been no purpose which political associations have not on some occasion pursued,
none which all political associations have pursued. Thus one can define the political character of an
association only through the means which though not peculiar to it, is at all events even indispensable
for its nature; violence.
This definition of the modern state as a compulsory association which organizes domination., and which
has been successful in seeking to monopolize the legitimate use of physical force as a means of
domination within a territory has an important consequence for political education. In our courses and
teaching emphasis is usually placed upon the benign character of the state. It is typically presumed that
values such democracy, individual autonomy and affluence are at the center of what the state is about.
The point however , if Weber is to be the guide, is the state is a tool, a means to an end. That is its basic
reality, and should be among the explicit points established in any beginning study. Thus, when students
begin to learn how the state operates through its various institutions, and how individuals work on behalf
of the state, and finally how they seek to gain access to its power and resources, the crucial reality for
them to grasp is that all of the descriptions are about tools not final goals. The point is fundamental
because unlike any other institution this state is unique because in the final analysis it is grounded on the
legitimate use of violence.
The virtue and politics relation is defined by this basic point. Webers response to the centrality of violence
is to rely upon the individual conscience. The ethic of responsibility and the ethic of ultimate ends
converges only when the individual reaches a point of insight in which the power of the ultimate end
compels him, as an individual to take a stand. Absent this, Weber praises the stoic endurance
encapsulated by the phrase in spite of all.
What do we then do when faced by our beginning students? For the most part we have always done,
follow Weber. We, as a profession, describe the operations of the state. However, we disguise the
character of the unique means at the disposal of the state, and by doing so o avoid having to deal with its
impact upon those who would study and deal with the state We, as a profession thus studiously avoid
having to confront the conundrums associated with conscience versus responsibility by implicitly taking on
a political theology which sanctifies our individual values as final This in turn permits us to avoid the
unrevealed moral consequences always associated with the use of state power.
Weber, in his address, took this problem head on and ends by offering stoic resignation as the way
toward what he takes as the as the basic value, personal authenticity. This stoic resignation reflects the
fact that there is deep split, in Webers mind between the character of the regime, which reflects no
permanent values or end states other than what are there by accident, and the values of the individuals
who would serve the state. In the face of the states monopoly power resignation is the only reasonable
response. The state which embodies the whole overwhelms and submerges the moral life of its parts , the
individuals which make it up.
Education is confined to instilling technique, promoting political theology and urging a kind of acceptance
of the prevailing realities of power. Virtue as the exercise of ones capacities must inevitably be a private
matter if it is be of concern at all. There is no intellectually viable position except perhaps the rare
existential moment Weber describes, from which to close the gap between the exercise of private and
public virtue. Aristotles strategy in both the Ethics and the Politics , on the other hand, is directed toward
realizing the potentialities associated with human sociality. Virtue is matter of bringing into fruition ones
individual capacities, and doing it within a context defined by ones inherent affinity for association.
Politics is educative, it orders individual goods toward that single good structuring the exercise of the
virtues. In contrast to Webers emphasis on the possession of legitimate use of violence, Aristotle
continually expands upon the benign implications of the political association both as the context for the
exercise of virtue and as the means for discerning how best to come to a right balance between excess
and deficiency in the use of one capacities.
There is therefore, a very clear and distinct difference between Aristotle and Weber on the matter of
virtue. It would seem that in contrast to Weber it would be possible, using Aristotle, to combine both civic
education, the exercise of justice, and moral education how best to take full possession of ones
capacities. Yet, there is an ambiguity in Aristotle, justice as a human capacity involving the consideration
of the other, depends for its effective exercise upon the external power of the law. It is not, as in the case
of the other virtues , totally linked to ones own individual capacity. There is a split in which the political
and the individual, the part and the whole diverge, meaning that training in the practice of justice would be
somewhat different than the education required for becoming good. Starting from different positions both
Weber and Aristotle have had to acknowledge that the alignment of personal and public good is
problematic at best and impossible at worst. If it is the case that both Weber and Aristotle coming from
such disparate starting positions agree that it is difficult if not impossible to align the public and private
exercise of virtue, then what may be said about establishing any link between virtue and teaching politics?
I think the problem starts at the beginning with the manner in which both Aristotle and Weber given an
account of the State.
The dominance of the instrumental view of rationality typical of Weber appears to be a direct outcome of
his account of the state. The theme seems to be the state originates out of the violent competition
between two types of factions and ends up being no more than a repository for exercising violence
against those who would attempt to diminish the acquisition of power so that more violence could be then
exercised. Clearly that sets up a cycle from it is impossible to escape, unless one grasps the basic
principle that the dynamics of state formation are not by necessity grounded on violence but are only
associate with it by the accident. This, I think would foreclose the implicit idea that the state is somehow
represents a final outcome possessing a fixed character.
The way to get at this with undergraduates is to show that every institution they study is an outcome of a
given type of interaction which can be mapped and analyzed in a fairly standard manner. I think
particularly of Humes description of how both property and the idea of justice emerges out of a given set
of human interactions conducted under certain types of circumstances. The problem of virtue is thus
easily introduced as a given exercise of human capacity in a given setting with a given range of results.
Legislatures, executives, bureaucracies all the institutional accouterments of the modern state possess
similar dynamics which could be set forth, not only as description of the exercise of state power, but as
the outcome of human prowess effected over a time. Similarly, Aristotle has labored with great intensity to
show us the implications of human sociality with respect to the exercise of human capacity. The ambiguity
that appears is that Aristotle has a difficult time ordering the virtues in a coherent manner. On the one
hand the virtues are linked and brought into reality with respect to their corresponding human capacity.
Yet the virtue which guides and orders them is in part energized by the external power of the law meaning
that to attain virtue is as much a matter of the other as it is of ones own prowess. If this is so education
for each type of virtue must be different.
Yet, I suspect, there is way to get around this in teaching undergraduates. I use this example as one of
the many which are available. The problem of particular justice is well illustrated by what is called the
ultimatum game. One person is given a fixed of resource like money and the game is played by the
money holder offering an amount to another. Both receive their amount if the offer is accepted. On first go
round the receiver should accept any amount because any amount would be better than none. Such is
not the case as studies reveal that the amount will vary according to setting, a point Aristotle would surely
appreciate. But the issue is even more interesting. How would a given individual sense what that
underlying context is? That problem is what Aristotle would resolve through the exercise of prudent
calculation, prognosis, seeing the general case within the frame of a specific circumstance.
The link between virtue and the teaching of politics through this example would be a matter of teaching
discernment, observing how for example institutions act as constraints on the types of interactions which
can be framed in terms ultimatum games for example. In summary, the teaching of politics and a concern
for virtue is essentially the question of where the most appropriate place is to be found for the exercise
and development of human capacity. Avenues are available for identifying what these capacities are, for
observing how they have been exercised, and finally for assessing how they might unfold under certain
circumstance. . It is important and indeed vital that these tools be put to work in the teaching of politics for
as Aristotle remarked at the beginning of the Politics, .Anyone who by his nature and not simply by ill luck
has no state is either too bad or too good, either subhuman or superhuman, he is condemned as having
no family, no law, no home; he is a non cooperator like an isolated piece in a game of draughts [ 1253 a1
-3 ].
from Bernard Crick: In Defence of Politics
CHAPTER 7
IN PRAISE OF POLITICS
POLITICS deserves much praise. Politics is a preoccupation of free men, and its existence is a test of
freedom. The praise of free men is worth having, for it is the only praise which is free from either servility
or condescension. Politics deserves praising as - in Aristotle's words - 'the master-science', not excusing
as a necessary evil; for it is the only' science' or social activity which aims at the good of all other'
sciences' or activities, destroying none, cultivating all, so far as they themselves allow. Politics, then, is
civilizing. It rescues mankind from the morbid dilemmas in which the state is always seen as a ship
threatened by a hostile environment of cruel seas, and enables us, instead, to see the state as a city
settled on the firm and fertile ground of mother earth. It can offer us no guarantees against storms
encroaching from the sea, but it can offer us something worth defending in times of emergency and amid
threats of disaster.
Politics is conservative - it preserves the minimum benefits of established order; politics is liberal - it is
compounded of particular liberties and it requires tolerance; politics is socialist - it provides conditions for
deliberate social change by which groups can come to feel that they have an equitable stake in the
prosperity and survival of the community. The stress will vary with time, place, circumstance, and even
with the moods of men; but all of these elements must be present in some part. Out of their dialogue,
progress is possible. Politics does not just hold the fort; it creates a thriving and polyglot community
outside the castle walls.
Politics, then, is a way of ruling in divided societies without undue violence. This is both to assert,
historically, that there are some societies at least which contain a variety of different interests and differing
moral viewpoints; and to assert, ethically, that conciliation is at least to be preferred to coercion among
normal people. But let us claim more than these minimum grounds: that most technologically advanced
societies are divided societies, are pluralistic and not monolithic; and that peaceful rule is intrinsically
better than violent rule, that political ethics are not some inferior type of ethical activity, but are a level of
ethical life fully self-contained and fully justifiable. Politics is not just a necessary evil; it is a realistic good.
Political activity is a type of moral activity; it is free activity, and it is inventive, flexible, enjoyable, and
human; it can create some , sense of community and yet it is not, for instance, a slave to; nationalism; it
does not claim to settle every problem or to make every sad heart glad, but it can help some way in nearly
everything and, where it is strong, it can prevent the vast cruelties and deceits of ideological rule. If its
actual methods are often rough and imperfect, the result is always preferable to autocratic or to
totalitarian rule - granted one thing alone, that sufficient order is created or preserved by politics for the
state to survive at all. Praise, in politics as in love, beyond the early days of idealization, can only hearten,
if it paints a picture plausible enough to be lived with. It must be asked when is politics possible at all? It is
possible when there are: advanced or complicated societies, societies with some diversity of technical
skills and which are not dependent for their prosperity or survival on a single skill, a single crop, or a
single resource. Not all societies (or people) are in this position. Some primitive societies may be so near
the margin of survival, so dependent on constant toil and on the precarious success of harvests or trade
in a single commodity, that they never amass any capital, hence no leisure, no margin for tolerance, and
hence no possibility of political culture. Diversity of interests, which creates a speculative recognition of
alternatives, may simply not exist, or if so, be a luxury endangering sheer physical survival. Advanced
states in times of war or emergency revert to this condition; if everything depend, on the military, then
everything is subordinated to military considerations. But, of course, a people who have known politics will
be more reluctant to accept this condition on trust; they will take some chances with survival in order to
preserve liberty.
Diversity of resources and interests is itself an education. Men living in such societies must appreciate, to
some degree, alternative courses of action - even if just as speculative possibilities. There is then not just
a technique of doing some one thing, but an abstract knowledge of how other things are done. Some
division of labour exists and this, of itself, creates attempts at seeing their relationships: abstract
knowledge. The Greek polis was perhaps the first circumstance in which a division of labour went
together with a division of interests (or speculative alternatives) to a sufficient degree to make politics a
plausible response to the problem of ruling such a society. Politics is, as it were, an interaction between
the mutual dependence of the whole and some sense of independence of the parts. Obviously the small
size of these cities helped to make politics possible. The idea and the habit of politics stood little chance
of administrative survival in an Empire as large as Rome, when so many parts of the Empire were entirely
dependent on their immediate crops and on the military power of the centre. In an Empire politics must
expand from the Mother City, or perish under the burden of the struggle for sheer survival and the habits
of autocratic rule which it is forced to create in the true citizens. Part of the price of the Commonwealth's
remaining a British Empire would almost certainly have been autocracy in Britain itself - as France came
at least so near in the attempt to keep Algeria. And the Romans did not even have the fortunate necessity
of having to negotiate politically with other independent powers - the quasi-politics of international
relations.
Thus diversity of resources and interests is itself the education which is necessary for politics. There is no
a priori level of education - even literacy or any such test - which can be laid down as necessary for
politics. The level of education will be relative to the level of technological development. The unique
modern problem arises when advanced, Western industrial technology is suddenly introduced into a
hitherto colonial or underdeveloped area. Then there will almost inevitably be a time lag, at least, between
a countrys ability to handle these particular skills itself and its ability to develop or recognize a speculative
sense, even, of the alternative uses to which these skills and this capital can be put. The simultaneous
introduction of Western ideas, including that of free politics itself, may help; this is also a resource and a
skill. But politics has to strive against an initial sense that the introduction of scientific and industrial
technology is one unified and overwhelming good. Industrialism becomes at first a comprehensive slogan.
The fact of new machines is confused with the doctrine of 'technology': that technology solves everything
and that all problems are technological. Perhaps only time can show that not merely are real choices of
policy called for at every stage of industrialization, but that new and real differences of interests are
created.
Here is, of course, the great hope of many that freedom will grow even in the Soviet Union, even in China.
The complexity of industrial society, it is argued, will force genuine negotiation first between the party and
the managers, and then with the scientists and perhaps even the skilled workers. At least the managers
and the scientists, it is argued, because of their function cannot be prevented from meeting together, from
developing corporate interests divergent from those of the party and the party ideology. This is a
reasonable hope, but it is only a hope. Certain conditions of the modern age work against it. There is the
power of bureaucracy. One of the great conditions for, and achievements of, the process of state
consolidation and centralization in the whole modern period has been the growth of centralized, skilled
bureaucracies. The idea of a rational bureaucracy, of skill, merit, and consistency, is essential to all
modern states. Like democracy, as we have seen, bureaucracy is a force that strengthens any state political, autocratic, and totalitarian alike. The bureaucracy, like the priesthood of medieval Christendom,
can become more than an intermediary between the scientists, the managers, the workers, and the seat
of power; it can become a conservative power on its own acting in the name of whoever controls the state
at the time when these great changes begin. This ambivalent factor of bureaucracy, necessary to all
states, strengthening free and unfree alike, has then to be seen in the context of a second obstacle to the
hope that industrialization by itself creates freedom.
There is also, as part of industrialization, as we have been at sad pains to insist, a genuine revulsion
from, 'hatred of, and theoretical ,attack upon, politics. Politics itself is attacked for dividing communities,
for being inefficient, for being inconclusive and - with a completely false but powerful idea of science - for
being' antiscientific. Political thinking is replaced by ideological thinking. The force of abstract ideas is not
to be ignored - though it is the academic fashion of today to do so. So if we ask when is political rule
possible, we must also add - far from formally - that it is possible only when at least some powerful forces
in a society want it and value it. And it follows that politics is not possible when most people do not want it.
The element of will is not independent of circumstances, but it may often and has often weighed the
scales one way or the other. Certainly, there is little doubt at the moment which of the two great fruits of
Western civilization - politics and technology - is in greater demand in the non-Western world. If Western
history demonstrates that they did emerge together, this is no guarantee that in their migration they will
always be received together.
Skilled manpower is itself a crucial factor for the possibility of politics in underdeveloped areas. The
demand on educational resources, on the very small skilled talent available at all, for scientists, doctors,
and engineers, may make the vocation of politics seem either an unjustifiable luxury, or else seem a
refuge for not merely the second-rate, who anyway are the bulk of steady representative figures in free
societies, but for the utterly third-rate. In this dilemma it is worth noticing that the lawyer often holds a key
position. In Nigeria, for instance, and in most of the present and former British colonial dependencies, the
profession of law is highly esteemed and sought after. It was almost the only avenue of social advance for
the educated, and the most likely springboard for politics. The supply of lawyers is already greater than
the demand, at the moment, for strictly legal work. This can mean that political values are kept alive when politics becomes the arena of the talented underemployed. But, of course, it can also mean that if
political opposition has been silenced out of principles or alleged necessity, the supply of skill for a
despotic bureaucracy is ensured. Hope and fear spring, once again, from precisely the same factors. The
decision depends, once again - in large part at least, on a conscious affection for politics or disaffection
from it.
Closely related to this decision is what some writers mean by praising 'political ethics' or 'constitutional
ethics' as a condition of free societies: simply that people must agree to, or accept, the solution of social
problems by political and legal means. Problems can always be attacked by autocratic means. There was
a time, as we have seen, when liberals had a profound distrust of party and faction. James Madison
argued in the great Tenth Paper of The Federalist (one of the masterpieces of political literature) that
factions were, indeed, selfish and divisive. But he argued that they were inevitable (he said 'natural') and
could be eliminated (which they could be) only at the cost of eliminating liberty; they could and should be
restrained, but not destroyed. Indeed, as the state has grown larger and more complex, we go beyond
this and say that such organized factions - better still, parties as things which are capable of forming
responsible governments - are essential to free politics in the modern state. They should pursue their
'selfish' ends, for they are devices, whatever their doctrines or lack of doctrine, by which an electorate
may hold a government responsible for its actions; and they are gauges by which a government may
learn what it can safely and properly do. But they must be forced to pursue their aims in a way which does
not endanger public order and their aims should be limited, if they are to be worthy of support by free
men, to things which can be done without destroying politics. However convinced men are of the
rightness of their party, they must compromise its claims to the needs of some electoral and legal
framework, at least so far that the only way of removing it from power does not have to become
revolution. Political compromises are the price that has to be paid for liberty. Let us not delude ourselves
that we are not paying a price; but let us summon reasons to think that it is normally worth paying.
Political power is power in the subjunctive mood. Policy must be like a hypothesis in science. Its
advocates will commit themselves to its truth, but only in a manner in which they can conceive of and
accept its possible refutation. Politics, like science, must be praised for being open-minded, both inventive
and skeptical. One is not acting politically if one pursues as part of a policy devices intended to ensure for
certain that it can never be overthrown. This condition embraces both the well-meaning but futile attempts
of constitution makers to put something permanently above politics (though it may be part of politics to
make the gesture), and the autocratic attempt to forbid or destroy opposition. The true activity of
scientists, not the myth of 'scientism', should give some comfort - if only by analogy - to politicians. When
anything is deemed to be fixedly true by virtue of the authority who pronounces it, this thing can be neither
politics nor science. Everything has to be put to the test of experience - though some men are better at
framing hypotheses or policies than others. If all boats are burnt, if assertions are made categorically, as
in a totalitarian party, then the pace of the advance can only be intensified and made desperate. Politics is
to be praised, like science, for always retaining a line of retreat.
For independent positions in society to survive there must be some institutional framework. And this
framework can be thought of as guaranteeing these independencies. There is a long tradition of Western
political thought which sees the essence of freedom as the cultivation of constitutional guarantees. The
laws or customs which define the framework of government and representation must be put on some
different footing to ordinary customs or acts of legislation. There must be, it is said, some fundamental
law, something entrenched against the momentary caprice of government or electorate - something at
least made more difficult to change than ordinary laws. Some writers, then, properly aware of the
difficulties and dangers of calling free regimes 'democratic', call them 'constitutional-democracies' and
speak of 'constitutionalism' as the key to free politics. This view deserves praise but a qualified praise.
Let us simply realize that this is desirable but impossible to ensure. Some political societies survive
without such a strengthening of their foundations. Constitutionalism is itself a doctrine of politics. Like any
doctrine of politics it says that something is the case and that something should be. It says that political
government is limited government: that governments cannot do everything we or they may want. This is
true. But it also says that we should guarantee that they should not try - and this is impossible. There are
no guarantees in politics. Guarantees may have to be offered as part of politics. But while guarantees
stop short of giving independence to a former sub-group or dependency, they remain themselves things
subject to change, negotiation, and, even in the most rigid-seeming written Constitution, interpretation.
Constitutionalism is vitally important to politics. It is one of the great themes of Western thought and a
fruitful concept in that it leads us always to see abstract ideas as needing institutional expression, and to
see existing institutions as existing for some purpose. But the praise of politics as constitutionalism needs
to be realistic; it needs to be seen that it is the belief itself in fundamental or constitutional law which gives
this law force. No law can survive the withering of the belief. No law can survive the growth of new needs
and demands; if the fundamental law is not in fact flexible, it can hinder more than help free politics.
Constitutions are themselves political devices. They may be viewed as self-sufficient truths in the short
run; but in the long run it is political activity itself which gives - and changes - the meaning of any
constitution. When we praise a constitution we are doing no more than praise a particular abridgement of
a particular politics at a particular time. If the abridgement was a skillful one and circumstances are kind, it
may last into a long middle period and help to give stability to a state. But, in the long run, though the
words are the same and formal amendments to it may be few, the meaning of it will be different. Even the
old Anglo-American Whigs, the arch-constitution makers, used to say that no constitution was better
than the character of the men who work it.
Certainly, at any given time a settled legal order is necessary for freedom and politics. Law is necessary
in any society at all complex and people should be able to find out what it is fairly precisely and to use it
fairly cheaply. (Litigation, not politics, is the necessary evil of free states.) The autocrat was, indeed, an
arbitrary ruler - making laws without any process of consultation or litigation. And the totalitarian leader
thinks of law as policy: people are judged not for specific breaches of the law, but for not living up to the
general ideals of the regime. Certainly politics should be praised in procedures. Since the business of
politics is the conciliation of differing interests, justice must not merely be done, but be seen to be done.
This is what many mean by the phrase 'the rule of law'. The framework for conciliation will be a complexity
of procedures, frustrating to both parties, but ensuring that decisions are not made until all significant
objections and grievances have been heard. Procedure is not an end in itself. It enables something to be
done, but only after the strength behind the objections has been assessed. Procedures help to stop both
governments and litigants from making claims which they cannot enforce. Procedures, legal or
Parliamentary, if given some temporary independent power themselves, tiresome, obstructive, and
pettifogging though they may be, at least force great acts of innovation to explain themselves publicly, at
least leave doors open for their amendment if the government has misjudged the power of the forces
opposed to it. More praise, then, for politics as procedure than for politics as constitutional law, since,
while there is no doubt that procedures are necessary for politics, there is also no doubt that every
particular procedure is limited to time and place. Justice Frankfurter once asked the interesting question
whether one would rather have American substantive law and Russian procedures or Russian substantive
law and American procedures. Every essay should be pardoned one enigma.
Some common views about constitutions are more helpful if restated in political terms. Some claims for
necessary legal elements in political order need seeing, by just a shift of perspective, as themselves parts
of political order, or as possible but not exclusive types of political order. Consider the view that free
government depends upon legally instituted checks and balances and the division of powers. People at
times have felt extremely certain about this.
Alexander Hamilton wrote in the Ninth Paper of The Federalist:
The science of politics, however, like most other sciences, has received great improvement. The efficacy
of various principles is now well understood, which were either not known at all, or imperfectly known to
the ancients. The regular distribution of power into distinct departments; the introduction of legislative
balances and checks; the institution of courts composed of judges holding their offices during good
behaviour; the representation of the people in the legislature by deputies of their own election: these are
wholly new discoveries, or have made their principal progress towards perfection in modem times.
But these are not 'principles' at all. They are already the summary of an existing political practice in which
power was divided, indeed to an extraordinary degree; and in which legislative checks and balances
already existed in most of the separate Colonial or Provincial Assemblies as the procedural products of a
long struggle between the Royal Governors and the Assemblies, indeed between factions in the
Assemblies themselves. The American Federal Constitution was an invention intended to summarize and
synthesize an existing division of powers into a Federal Union which had itself only the minimum power
necessary to ensure common survival. (Federalism has been a practical response to divided power more
than a way of dividing it as a matter of principle.) And in America these divisions had been astonishingly
political in nature. They were predominantly the separate interests of thirteen existing fully political units.
Only through these political units could 'national' and sectional economic and social differences express
themselves.
This is not to say, however, else our praise would be but faint and local, that Hamilton's 'principles' (even if
not strict principles) had relevance only to American Colonial conditions. As we have argued, there
already exist in certain advanced societies divisions of power, group interests with independent strength
from the state itself - independent at least in the sense that the central state is not willing to risk
destroying them, but is conscious that it must conciliate them. It is these divisions which make the
Constitution necessary; they are not created by it. The constitutional principle of the division of powers
only affirms the reasons for which politics arises at all, and attempts to make them secure amid the need
for strong government to maintain both internal and external safety. The constitutional principle of checks
and balances only affirms the need for organized participants in politics to remember that their will is not
the only will. Even when this will does seem to be in fact the only will, typically in the first generation of
some colonial Liberation, it affirms the need for this unified majority to set obstacles against itself
developing illusions of infallibility and permanence. In the constitutions of many of the American states
there was, indeed, the praiseworthy spectacle of a unified majority willing to bind itself against itself. The
binding can never be permanent, but it can set up sufficient obstacles for second thoughts to follow any
initial impetus for great innovations.
So the relativity to time and place of all constitution-making does not mean that we are driven back merely
to the maintenance of order as the only clear criterion of good government. Mere order is not enough to
satisfy men as they are. Politics will fail if it cannot maintain order, as at the end of the French Fourth
Republic; but it is a counsel of despair to think that all that can be hoped for is public order and 'merciful
and just rulers'. We live in a democratic age whether we like it or not. And if none of the devices for
limiting power and for subjecting governments to control, even when they extend their control of the
economy vastly, are permanent or sure, yet we have learned more about such devices, even about
constitution-making, than the tired or despairing conservative will usually allow. Politics, again we insist, is
a lively, inventive thing as well as being conservative. We can use it for good and deliberate ends.
Political rule should be praised for doing what it can do, but also praised for not attempting what it cannot
do. Politics can provide the conditions under which many non-political activities may flourish, but it cannot
guarantee that they will then flourish. 'One cannot make men good,' said WaIter Bagehot, 'by Act of
Parliament.' No state has the capacity to ensure that men are happy; but all states have the capacity to
ensure that men are unhappy. The attempt to politicize everything is the destruction of politics. When
everything is seen as relevant to politics, then politics has in fact become totalitarian. The totalitarian may
try to turn all art to propaganda, but he cannot then guarantee that there will be art as distinct from
propaganda - indeed by his concern to destroy or enslave the abstract speculation of the philosopher or
the creativity of the artist, activities apparently quite irrelevant to mere political power, he demonstrates
that these irrelevancies are necessary to free life and free society. The totalitarian, like the autocrat, may
try to make use of religion until he is powerful enough to destroy it, but he is driven to degrade men in
order to try to prove that there is no soul which need not fear the body's harm.
To ensure that there be politics at all, there must be some things at least which are irrelevant to politics.
One of the great irrelevancies to the total-politician is simply human love:
How can I, that girl standing there,
My attention fix
On Roman or on Russian
Or on Spanish politics?
- the poet rightly asks. The girl, of course, may happen to be involved in politics - Yeats had his Maud
Gonne and Zhivago his Larissa - but the value of the involvement between the poet and the girl is not
political. Yeats called this poem 'Politics' and headed it with a remark of Thomas Mann's: 'In our time the
destiny of man presents itself in political terms.' Would Mann, one wonders, have disagreed with this
splendidly contemptuous criticism, or would Yeats have made it, were either sure that the other was using
politics in the narrow sense which we have striven to show is its best sense, and not as standing for all
forms of power and authority? If man has a destiny, politics is obviously incompetent to legislate about it;
but it can keep him alive and free to seek it. If artistic activity is an end in itself, then it is the denial of
politics to start laying down laws about art. No wonder poets and writers have constantly explored the
theme of the clash between political values and art and love. The independence of art and love, it is some
comfort to think, are not merely the sure signs of a free society, but have a deep influence in making men
think freedom worthwhile amid the temptations there are to surrender ourselves to the sense of certainty
offered' by an ideology. Politics does not need to defend itself against the anarchy and irresponsibility of
the artist and the lover; it does not need even to claim that it is necessary for everyone to be involved in
and to support politics. (It can withstand a lot of apathy; indeed when the normally apathetic person
suddenly becomes greatly interested in political questions, it is often a sign of danger.) But if the politician,
too, has a little proper pride in his vocation, he can at least ask such critics whether they are not
sometimes confusing state power in general with political rule in particular, or, more subtly, are not
accusing political regimes of being purely democratic - democracy, again, as the belief that because men
are equal in some things, they are equal in all. It is this belief against which the very existence of the
philosopher, the artist, and the lover is a unique testimony.
Even in true politics, however, there is no guarantee that there will not, in some unhappy circumstances,
be a clash between the public interest and private conscience. Indeed the paradigm-case of political
philosophy, the point at which this new thing began, was Plato's picture of the trial of Socrates as just
such an event. Plato, of course, leaves us in no doubt that love of wisdom- philosophia - should be put
before love of country; and he was condemning a particular democratic regime. But - the mark of the
great artist - he could not help but give us enough of the other side of the case to show that Socrates
really could be thought a danger to the state, by corrupting the most able youth of the city with a
technique of self-doubt at a time when the city was struggling in war for very survival, and needed every
ounce of military ability and civic patriotism available. Certainly Plato's Socrates himself saw no way out
of the dilemma but death. He could not promise, as an inspired philosopher, to hold his tongue for the
duration of the hostilities. Nothing can guarantee us against genuine tragedy - that moral virtues can lead
to disaster in certain circumstances except belief in an ideology which abolishes tragedy by making
every sacrifice a pragmatic calculation towards gaining future benefits for the collective cause.
One of the great disappointments of modern liberalism, made possible by democracy, was the need and
the ability to introduce military conscription, first in time of war, and then even in times of the mere threat
of war. Conscription taught liberals a sad lesson in the primacy of survival over personal liberties. But how
great and praiseworthy was the fact that even in the Second World War, even in genuinely total war,
Great Britain, and to a lesser extent the United States, solemnly made provision for conscientious
objection to military service. Let one be as critical of the bizarre concept of 'conscience' which arose in the
tribunals as one likes. Let one be as Machiavellian as one can and call it a mere gesture, something
which would never have been tolerated if the numbers involved, or the example, had proved in the least
bit a hindrance to the war effort. But the gesture was a gesture towards the kind of life which a political
regime thought it was trying to preserve. If someone's sense of self-identity was so deeply bound up with
feeling it impossible to kill a fellow human being, then that sense of self-identity had to be respected.
Perhaps pacifism as a social force did not matter very much. And a pacifist was just as useful as some
of them sadly realized - replacing an agricultural labourer for service in the infantry as he would have
been serving himself probably more so. But it is the mark of political regimes that they do not, as
ideological regimes do, condemn even ineffective opposition out of sheer arrogant principle. It is the mark
of freedom that, even if ideas may have to be prevented from achieving institutional and powerful form,
the ideas themselves are not forbidden and hunted down. We cannot always get what we want, but if we
lose the ability to think of wanting other things beside what we are given, then the game is lost forever.
Political activity is important not because there are no absolute ideals or things worth doing for
themselves, but because, in ordinary human judgement, there are many of these things. Political morality
does not contradict any belief in ideal conduct; it merely sets a stage on which people can, if they wish,
argue such truths without degrading these truths into instruments of governmental coercion. If the truth
'will set you free' and if the service of some ideal is held to be 'perfect freedom', let this be so, so long as
the advocates are prevented from involving others in the fraudulent freedom of coerced obedience. The
view that the belief in absolute ideals (or what Professor K. R. Popper has called' essentialism') is
dangerous to political freedom is itself intolerant, not a humanistic view of society but a gelded view,
something so over-civilized and logically dogmatic as to deprive many of any feeling that anything, let
alone free institutions, is worthwhile. Freedom and liberty are not ends in themselves, neither as methods
nor as substitute moralities; they are part of politics and politics is simply not concerned, as politics, with
absolute ends. It need neither affirm nor deny. And when sceptics or true believers are in fact acting
politically, it should teach us to take with a grain of salt the' purely practical' or 'the purely ideal'
construction which they put on their own involvement. Political morality is simply that level of moral life (if
there are other levels) which pursues a logic of consequences in the world as it is. To act morally in
politics is to consider the results of one's actions.
Lincoln once set out to define the position of the new Republican Party on the slavery question. He said
(in a speech of 15 October 1858):
The real issue in this controversy - the one pressing upon every mind - is the sentiment on the
part of one class that looks upon the institution of slavery as a wrong, and of another class that
does not look upon it as a wrong .... The Republican Party ... look upon it as being a moral,
social, and political wrong, and while they contemplate it as such, nevertheless have due regard
for its actual existence among us, and the difficulties of getting rid of it in any satisfactory way,
and to all the constitutional obligations thrown about it .... I repeat it here, that if there be a man
amongst us who does not think that the institution of slavery is wrong in anyone of the aspects of
which I have spoken, he is misplaced, and ought not to be with us. And if there be a man
amongst us who is so impatient of it as a wrong as to disregard its actual presence among us and
the difficulty of getting rid of it suddenly in a satisfactory way, and to disregard the constitutional
obligations thrown about it, that man is misplaced if he is on our platform. We disclaim sympathy
with him in practical action.
This is true political morality - indeed political greatness. If anyone is not willing to walk this kind of path
he might be happier to realize that he has in fact abandoned politics. He may abandon them for the lead
of the benevolent autocrat who will promise the end of slavery tomorrow, or he may simply do nothing
because he is not willing to muddy his conscience with such terrible compromises or equivocation. As
regards the greatness of a man who can sharpen the issue so clearly, I admit that there is always an
alternative interpretation of such words - hypocrisy. Someone may just be offering excuses for not doing
something which he does not believe in anyway. This is a matter of judgement - and perhaps the motive
does not matter if the right public actions follow, except to the man's own soul and to his biographer.
'Hypocrisy,' said Swift, 'is the tribute that vice pays to virtue.' What matters in politics is what men actually
do - 'sincerity' is no excuse for acting unpolitically, and insincerity may be channelled by politics into good
results. Even hypocrisy, to a very, very small degree, keeps alive something of the idea of virtue. Certainly
on an issue such as slavery, some people must keep a pure moral vision alive, but such visions, perhaps
held only by 'saints', fanatics, reformers, intellectuals, will be partially fulfilled only when there is an
attempt to realize them in terms of public policy. There is little doubt in Lincoln's case that he did truly
believe that slavery was a 'moral, social, and political wrong'. But it is rare good fortune for the leader of a
state himself to combine absolute ethics and the ethics of responsibility. And these are things only to be
reconciled through time.
The politician must always ask for time. The hypocrite and the enemy of reform uses time as an excuse
for inaction -literally the 'time-server' or the slave to time, he whose vision is entirely limited to the
immediate. But 'eternity', said the poet Blake, 'is in love with the products of time'. 'Eternal values' cannot
be treated as immediate values; but time in itself is nothing but a tedious incident on the way to death
unless in it and through it we strive to achieve - what the Greeks looked for in the public life - 'immortal
actions', ever memorable reforms, monuments to the belief that civilization can advance. In 1955 the
United States Supreme Court declared that racial segregation in all American schools supported by public
funds was unconstitutional. It enjoined the responsible authorities to integrate, not immediately - which
would have been impossible, without the use of force incredible to imagine in a free society - but with'
deliberate speed'. This was an act not merely of great moral (and presumably legal) significance, but of
political wisdom. The law is now known. That is as far as a Court or a moralist can go. But it will be an act
of political cowardice if the Federal executive cannot now constantly nudge the unreconstructed timeservers to implement the law. Time by itself solves nothing; but time is needed to attempt anything
politically.
Now let us continue to praise Lincoln as a great politician on even harder grounds, which may scare away
still more fair-weather friends of politics - or men who would do good if it did not mean walking, like
Bunyan's Pilgrim, through both Vanity Fair and the Valley of the Shadow of Death. In the middle of the
hardest time of the American Civil War, Horace Greeley, a militant abolitionist, challenged Lincoln to
commit himself to immediate emancipation as a matter of principle. Lincoln replied:
My paramount object in this struggle is to save the Union, and is not either to save or destroy
slavery. If I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it; and if I could do it by
freeing all the slaves, I would do it; and if I could do it by freeing some and leaving others alone, I
would also do that. What I do about slavery and the coloured race, I do because I believe it helps
to save the Union, and what I forbear, I forbear because I do not believe it would help to the
Union ... I have here stated my purpose according to my view of official duty, and I intend no
modification of my oft expressed personal wish that all men, everywhere, could be free.
Lincoln put preservation of the Union, the political order itself, above everything else, not because he did
not care for Negro suffering and exclusion - he did; but because only if there was a Union again, a
common political order again between North and South, could any of these problems be tackled.
Suppose I will risk the case of politics on even more unhappy grounds than Lincoln, I actually had to face
- that a man in his position could have felt confident of winning the war and preserving the Union only by
promising not to use his emergency powers as Commander-in- Chief to emancipate the slaves. Would
this have been justified? I think the hard answer is obviously - yes. The first responsibility of a leader is to
preserve the state for the benefit of those to follow. Suppose such a leader had privately believed that
after his making such a promise the legislature would, immediately after the war overrule him. This is no
deceit; he could not have been held responsible for their actions - or if so, it would have been an agony
for the private conscience faced with the primacy of public responsibility. Suppose even the darkest
situation of all, that he had privately believed that once his promise was made and once his war-time
powers were gone, the legislature would not emancipate the slaves. The personal agony of such a
position as this cannot be evaded, and it would be hard to blame a man who would abandon politics in
such a situation in the sense of resigning from office. But even then such a man as Lincoln would
probably not have abandoned power, for the true political statesman knows that while there is political
power at all, while there is a representative assembly, nothing is really certain, no single aspect of policy
is not negotiable, somehow, realizable in however small a part in the flexibility and management of a free
assembly.
The example of Lincoln is not too bad a one on which to rest the case for politics - however much pietistic
myths have obscured the grosser human tale of political action. He offended beyond reason many
responsible men of his day by rarely being willing to talk seriously in private, by his infuriating retreats into
badinage and the telling of old jokes. His dignity was a very variable quality. He seems to have been an
indifferent administrator, disorderly, inconsistent, and even slothful; his relations with Congress were often
inept and usually bad. But, for all that, he is as great an example of a mere politician as can be found. If
this claim actually sounds more odd to American than to English ears, it is because American English, or
rather American liberalism, has debased the word 'politician'. True, he preserved the State as a
statesman; but he sought to do it, even at the height of the emergency, politically. (It is not helpful to
inflate, as is done in American vernacular, every small but honest politician into a 'statesman'). Lincoln,
before his death, made it quite clear that he would oppose Congress if they sought to treat the South as a
conquered territory without constitutional rights. The task, he said, was that of 'doing the acts necessary
to restoring the proper practical relations between these States and the Union'; he scorned deciding, or
even considering whether these States had ever been out of the Union; he ironically suggested, almost
parodying his own best style, that each for ever after, innocently indulge his own opinion whether, in doing
the acts, he brought the States from without, into the Union, or only gave them proper assistance, they
never having been out of it. Politics, as we have seen, is indeed a matter of practical relations', not of
deduction from higher principles.
Lincoln had little dignity, but he had enough authority and he did not have pride. Pride is an easy vice for
any whose business must be in the public eye. But a true politician cannot afford it. The politician lives in
a world of publicity, calumny, distortion, and insult. He is often looked down upon by polite society as
being a mere 'fixer' and an 'opportunist' (though it is puzzling why this last word always has a bad
meaning); and he is mocked by intellectuals for rarely having ideas of his own:
a politician is an arse upon
which everyone has sat except a man
- which is the whole of an easy poem by e. e. cummings. And, indeed, the politician, beneath his
necessary flexibility, will rarely be a man of less than normal pliability and ambitions. He will provoke such
cheap mockery from spectators. But he will not take these things to heart. The successful politician will
learn how to swallow insults. The successful politician keeps in mind the English nursery proverb:
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But names will never hurt me.
He does not store up memories of insults and nor does he, when in power, take opposition personally,
making a matter of principle or of lese majeste of every ungenerous suspicion hurled upon him. A
politician, like any of us, may not be above such pettiness; but he has no need for it, so he must not show
it. The temptation is great, however. It is now an offence in Ghana's criminal code, punishable by up to
three years in prison, to defame or insult President Nkrumah. This law is a sad monument to a man who
showed such zest and ability for politics when in opposition himself. It is sad to think that this tender soul
may not even have enjoyed such politics. Lincoln once remarked, with pragmatic humility: 'A man has not
the time to spend half his life in quarrels. If any man ceases to attack me, I never remember the past
against him.' He told one of his generals : 'I wish you to do nothing merely for revenge, but that what you
may do shall be solely done with reference to the security of the future.' The politician has no more use for
pride than Falstaff had for honour. And if when suddenly dismissed from favour, he then invokes pride and
asks for employment and honour, he is just kicking against the terms of his trade which he, like any of us,
had ample opportunity to study. Politics as a vocation is a most precarious thing, so we should not grudge
the politician any of the incidental rewards he can pick up. But we must always beware that he does not
grow bored or frustrated with 'mere politics' - that all this need for compromise stops him from doing what
is obviously best for the nation. The price of politics is eternal involvement in politics ourselves.
The political leader, as we have seen, may have to take risks with liberty to preserve the nation. He may
have to invoke' sovereignty' and, at this point, the leader who cannot lead is not worth having. But he will
lead so that politics can survive. Lincoln wrote to General Hooker: 'I have heard, in such a way as to
believe it, of your recently saying that both the army and the government 'needed a dictator. Of course it
was not for this, but in spite of it, that I have given you command. Only those generals who gain military
successes can set up dictators. What I now ask of you is military success, and I will risk the dictatorship.'
Free politics is a risky business, though not so risky as dictatorship. And 'free politics', as I have sought to
show, is really a pleonasm - either word will do. If a politician has pride, it must be, as Aristotle
distinguished, a 'proper pride' - in his skill at his conciliatory vocation, not hubris, the attempt to be more
than a man, which commonly makes a man less than a man.
Conciliation is better than violence - but it is not always possible; diversity is better than unity - but it does
not always exist. But both are always desirable. Perhaps it all comes down to the fact that there are two
great enemies of politics: indifference to human suffering and the passionate quest for certainty in matters
which are essentially political. Indifference to human suffering discredits free regimes which are unable, or
which fear, to extend the habits and possibility of freedom from the few to the many. The quest for
certainty scorns the political virtues - of prudence, of conciliation, of compromise, of variety, of
adaptability, of liveliness - in favour of some pseudo-science of government, some absolute - sounding
ethic, or some ideology, some world-picture in terms of either race or economics. Perhaps it is curious, or
simply unnatural, that men who can live with dignity and honour in the face of such endemic uncertainties
as death, always so close in the normal possibilities of accident and disease; as love, its precariousness
and its fading, its dependence on the will and whims of others, yet can go mad for certainty in government
- a certainty which is the death of politics and freedom. A free government is one which makes decisions
politically, not ideologically.
There is no end to the praises that can be sung of politics. In politics, not in economics, is found the
creative dialectic of opposites: for politics is a bold prudence, a diverse unity, an armed conciliation, a
natural artifice, a creative compromise, and a serious game on which free civilization depends; it is a
reforming conserver, a skeptical believer, and a pluralistic moralist; it has a lively sobriety, a complex
simplicity, an untidy elegance, a rough civility, and an everlasting immediacy; it is conflict become
discussion; and it sets us a humane task on a human scale. And there is no end to the dangers that it
faces: there are so many reasons that sound so plausible for rejecting the responsibility and uncertainty of
freedom. All that we have tried to do is to show why political activity is best seen as only one form of
power relationship and political rule as only, one form of government; and then to advance some
arguments to show why the political solution to the problem of government is normally to be preferred to
others. The only end to such an incomplete essay of defence and praise is to repeat drily what it is we
have been describing.
Aristotle repeated his definition in almost the same words as we quoted at the beginning:
The object which Socrates assumes as his premise is ... 'that the greatest possible unity of the whole
polis is the supreme good'. Yet it is obvious that a polis which goes on and on, and becomes more and
more of a unit, will eventually cease to be a polis at all. A polis by its nature is some sort of aggregation. If
it becomes more of a unit, it will first become a household instead of a polis, and then an individual
instead of a household .... It follows that, even if we could, we ought not to achieve this object: it would be
the destruction of the polis.
CHAPTER 8
A FOOTNOTE TO RALLY THE ACADEMIC PROFESSORS OF POLITICS

(a) THE POLITICAL SYSTEM . That while politics is probably present to some degree in all systems of
government, that some systems are usefully differentiated as 'political systems'. The political system is
both an 'operative ideal' and the most scientific standard of comparison available.
ENGRAVED on the ring of power there are two primal curses upon all who profess to study the types and
ways of Government. One is the curse of separation: that walls of fire flare up between the study of
'institutions' and the study of 'ideas'. The other is the curse of identification: that when we ask in the
common tongue for the market-place of 'politics', students are quite happy to direct us to any old castle
called 'government'.
While both government and politics are all but universal phenomena, yet the most useful distinctions for
any theories which would explain governmental activity are between degrees of political activity; and there
are societies whose systems of government do not merely contain some political activity, but normally
depend on political activity to function at all. These are properly differentiated as 'political systems', what
Aristotle meant by 'polity', Fortescue's dominium politicum et regale, what the Whig translators meant by
'mixed government', or what Machiavelli, European inhabitants of Free Cities, and the American patriots
meant by 'republican'.
Political science, or the study of politics , is, of course, concerned ,with all types of government. And there
are many classificatory schemes or typologies which inhabit the text-books - for different purposes (but all
for some purpose, consciously or unconsciously). But it is unnecessary to deny that political science has
a peculiar commitment to political rule or the political system, if only for the obvious but important reason
that as an activity it exists only with great difficulty in non-political systems, and does not exist at all as a
free science in anti-political regimes. The term 'politics' is ambiguous, but only in two ways, both easily
distinguished. In the Politics, for instance, we see Aristotle using the term to stand for the general study of
all systems of government, but also to point to what he regarded as a peculiar system of government, and
the one that was normally the best. He even says, as we have seen, that Plato would press the idea of
moral unity - as being the essence of good government - so far that 'a polis ... will cease to be a polis.
Basically there are three styles of government which arise in societies of any degree of complication, that
is, in societies which recognize that there are deeply rooted conflicts of interest (whether moral or
material). There is the tyrannic or autocratic way where it is attempted to solve the problem of diversity
and order (the problem of government) by the authoritative enforcement of one of these interests as a
compulsory consensus. There is the political or republican way where it is attempted to conciliate these
differing' interests by in some manner letting them share in the business of government. There is the
modern totalitarian way where it is attempted to create a completely new society, such that conflicts would
no longer arise, by means of the guidance and enforcement of a scientific ideology whose claims, both for
knowledge and allegiance, are total. The most common form of 'politics' in the first type of society is
passive obedience (usually worship); in the second is individual participation or citizenship; and in the
third is mass enthusiasm (the pie is always in the sky).
When Aristotle called politics 'the master-science', he simply meant, not that it explained all other
'sciences', activities; or interests, but that it was the one that gave the others some reasonably acceptable
mutual priority in their claims on the scarce resources of any known community. Certainly if the
fundamental problem of society is that demands are infinite and resources are always limited, politics, not
economics, is the master-science. Decisions as to the allocation of resources are ultimately political; and
they are political, not just governmental, if they are in a manner which is rational in the sense that all
relevant factors are considered - by having political devices of public consultation and (in varying degrees,
of course, but always some) 'free speech'. And this process of political consultation and conciliation
obviously depends both on peculiar institutional arrangements, some form of representation, and on a
peculiar tradition of speculation about policy (neither of which are universal phenomena - like science and
technology, they have been products and exports of Europe). Politics is the master-science, both as an
activity and as a study(and it will be argued that neither the activity nor the study can exist apart from
each other). The 'political system' is both the 'operative ideal' of normal politics and the most scientific
standard of comparison available to us. That this is neither arrogance nor tautology becomes clear if we
consider, first, both a type of popular distaste for politics at all and the theoretical assault on its
explanatory primacy as a theory of how societies hold together. The political system is not necessarily
part of all social systems since it is meaningful to deny that one wants it.
(b) ANTI-POLITICS. That there are meaningful attitudes and theories which reject politics, thus showing
its unique character.
Sometimes those who dislike or hate politics have a better understanding of the specificity and
importance of the political system than do those who take it for granted. Even in regimes obviously both
'political' and 'democratic' there are those, as David Riesman wrote in The Lonely Crowd, who 'hate
politics even though they would insist that they only hate bad or corrupt politics'. Certainly we need more
studies of such attitudes and the movements associated with them. For the moment, may one just appeal
to common experience? One meets many people to whom it is the first test of a new acquaintance's
sensibility that he despises politics, politicians, and political speculation (even occasionally among those
who profess 'the subject'). He may be allowed to press a handful of good causes on one, but he must
then make clear that their fulfillment is thwarted by politics; or he may complain that the rational planning
of his private industry or of the 'public interest' is prevented by the intrusion of politics.
It would be easy if such people's views were based on a complete misunderstanding of the nature of
political activity. On the contrary, they may understand it better than some academic students of politics.
They object to its most characteristic features - compromise, conciliation, uncertainty, conflict; to its
necessary ambivalence or tension between preservation and creation; and to its curious movements
between bureaucratic anonymity and the magnification of personality in politicians. To some, the politician
is a standing insult to personal idealism, because in the practice of his vocation he has to treat deep
divergences of values as natural and as mere differences of preferences or opinion. To others, the
politician is a barrier to efficiency because he compromises particular interests instead of making total
plans.
Even those who admit that politics as an activity is a 'necessary evil' may deride any attempts at
formulating theories of politics. Politicians themselves commonly believe that they are 'purely practical
men', and many historians flatter them in the strange (and usually partisan) belief that this means they
neither need nor are influenced by theories. Then there are intellectuals who have no time for political
theory since it does not take into account aesthetic matters - fortunately; they are often more interested in
a theory destructive of politics, Marxism, because it does talk of these things - as it talks (predictably) of
everything.
Others formulate theories which make all politics inherently irrational or subsidiary, something to be
'explained away' by religion, psychology, economics, sociology, or even biology. There is a lot to be said
in favour of inter-disciplinary zeal- and even more in favour of refusing to take much notice of the
conventional pedagogic boundaries of subjects; but we want to make use of many bodies of knowledge
precisely because government and politics are the social activities which most affect both the stability and
worthiness of all aspects of society.
Marx formulated such an argument when he described the political state as a bourgeois state (agreeing
thus with the whole tradition of 'polity' from Aristotle through Machiavelli), but then as a system of coercion
and deceit: politics was a trick of the State to prevent the reign of Society. He spoke in the Communist
Manifesto of the need to deprive the 'public power' of 'its political character'. This had been explicit in an
article in Vorwiirts in 1844: 'Political thought is really political in the sense that the thinking takes place
within the framework of politics. The clearer and more vigorous political thought is, the less it is able to
grasp the nature of social evils. And in Die Heilige Pamilie: 'Only political superstition believes at the
present time that civil life must be held together by the State, when in reality the State is upheld by civil
life.' If priorities must be assigned in such terms Marx was surely wrong. There can be no complex 'civil
life' without politics - 'the State': to think otherwise is to advocate anarchism (which is, of course, Marx's
view of the final society). But the point to be made here is that proper advice is that political science
should broaden its perspectives, is often confused with a demand such as that of Marx, that politics must
be reduced to sociology. The whole of Professor Talcot Parson's The Social System (1952) could be
quoted as an example of this, but the point is made more simply when the theory appears as doctrine.
The hero of Joseph Goebbels's novel Michael remarked that 'Political Parties live off unsolved problems.
That's why they are not interested in their solution'. A multitude of the enthusiastic and the embittered
have spoken of 'mere politics' and the need to get rid of' the politicians. And Proudhon had spoken of the'
irksome situation' of his times as being due to: 'Une certaine maladie de l'opinion ... qu' Aristote ... a
nomme POLITIQUE'.
(c) POLITICAL RULE. That political rule sees politics as the activity by which differing interests within a
territory are conciliated.
Now there is much point in blaming Aristotle if one does not like politics, or if one doubts the utility of
treating political activity as a variable whose strongest manifestation is one type of government - political
rule (the government of a political system). For Aristotle first made clear how specific an activity it is:
'There is a point at which a polis by advancing in unity, will cease to be a polis ... And he saw that politics
was not a 'pure form', like Monarchy, Aristocracy, or Democracy, but was a blending of elements - elites
based on wide consent. It will be said that this is all too Greek, and that, anyway, the unstable polis was
giving way to the (unstable) Empire. But the contingencies are irrelevant: the point is that Aristotle
provided a theoretical definition which, based on a true generalization, transcended the particular form of
polity of his day. There is simply one type of governmental system which is inherently concerned with
conciliation based upon a recognition (both sociological and ethical) that civilized communities are
internally diverse. Politics can then be defined as the activity by which differing interests within a given
territory are conciliated. It presumes that there are already organized states. It is concerned with the
government of organized territories. But it is only one type of government. Its enemies, as has been said,
recognize this more readily than its friends. And it presumes the existence of active and self-reliant
individuals (the Greek man of arete, Machiavelli's virtu, or the Republican 'citizen') and of a multiplicity of
organized groups - both of which concepts, it is interesting, have been challenged by the two great antipoliticians, Hobbes and Rousseau.
Most governments try to suppress politics - though the widespread emulation of the form, at least, of a
political system is remarkable. Few succeed entirely, but some succeed sufficiently to make the distinction
clear between political regimes and nonpolitical regimes. Totalitarian regimes, indeed, are explicitly antipolitical. This does not mean that there is not some politics in such regimes: but it is palace politics, not
public politics. Such regimes cannot sensibly be regarded as 'political systems', as working by or for
politics. The existence of such' politics' even as these (for which words more ordinary and apt can be
found 'rivalry', 'intrigue', 'conflict', 'bargaining', etc.) is a measure of their incompleteness, not of their
stability; it is not thought to be, and it is not, their normal method of rule. Some politics exist in most types
of regime. But most regimes are not organized for politics: politics need be neither the normal method of
government nor a widely shared ideal for practical conduct.
(d) SEMANTIC DIGRESSION. That there is a tradition of using 'politics' in this sense.
All right, but why use 'politics'? Well, what else? It is obvious why 'democracy' is wrong: there are political
regimes which are not democratic in any sense (eighteenth-century England, for example, to go no
further); and then another word for democratic' would be needed to express the fact that all strong
governments since the Industrial and the French Revolutions depend upon mass support to govern at all.
Common usage may not always make the distinction, but learned usage can, for it always did. xxx
Granted that Charles McIlwain uses this passage in his Constitutionalism; Ancient and Modern as part of
his theory that 'constitutionalism' explains the peculiarity of Western government: he lays stress on the
word 'lawes'. But surely Fortescue, like Bracton before him, was pointing to the manner in which
the law was declared? In England it was declared politically, by consultation with the magnates and the
optimati at least. In France of the 1560s, those Catholic noblemen who came to see that the pursuit of
absolute principles was wrecking the State, were called - naturally enough - les Politiques. Machiavelli in
his Discourses, perhaps the clearest analysis of the conditions for free government ever written,
frequently describes a Republic as being 'uno vivere civile e politico', even just 'vivere politico', and on
occasion he uses 'politico' and 'libero' interchangeably. His fundamental distinction was between personal
or princely rule, relevant to times of crisis - the best way to save corrupt old states or to create new ones;
and republican or political rule, relevant to normal conditions in states with a large middle class - the best
way to preserve states through time. One can read how Henry VIII pondered between these two
alternatives in relation to Ireland, and finally decided not to use (expensive) military force, but to try to
govern by 'sober ways, politic drifts, and amiable persuasions'. And the distinction is vivid and colloquial
enough when Thomas Mann railed against his brother, even in a book called Betrachtungen eines
Unpolitisches: It would be a misunderstanding to believe that our politician is concerned with politics, that
is reform, compromise, adaptation, mutual understanding between reality and spirit ... and not rather with
the grand gesture of the world turned upside down, the destruction of the state, permanent rebellion of the
mob, revolution.' Examples could be multiplied; but the point is that when ordinary people talk of someone
'being political' they do not mean that he is either administering or making (or acting in response to) a
command.
(e) THE POLITICAL SYSTEM AS FACT AND VALUE. That the political system rests on a sociological
generalization and on an ethical commitment: that there is diversity and that this is normally good.
Politics thus rests upon a sociological generalization and an ethical commitment. The sociological
generalization is that territory organized under a government is normally' an aggregate of many
members', that established, advanced, or civilized societies contain a diversity of interests - whether
moral, social, or economic. The ethical commitment is that there are limits beyond which a government
should not go in maintaining or creating unity. No specific fixed limits can, of course, be demonstrated.
They are all relative to time and place. But the principle of limitations is general and the empirical
distinction is usually clear between systems which strive to limit power and those who strive after total
power. A political system occurs when and if it is believed by enough people that government, though it is
predominantly a social institution, yet neither can nor should be Omni competent or omnipotent.
Thus politics, in a true theoretical sense, exists in relatively few countries (though lip-service is paid to it in
more), still fewer of which appear very stable, even though in some degree it must exist in all countries.
But this difference of degree defines whether the system of government is itself political or not. In fact,
there is seldom much doubt about saying whether a regime is political or not, either by commonsense
general judgments, or by the application of various criteria, such as we all from time to time draw up. We
argue about specific items and formulations, but we do draw up some criteria in order to explain the
admitted crucial difference - whether we couch it in terms of political and non-political systems,
democratic and non-democratic systems, constitutional government, representative government, etc.,
etc .... (The difficulty is usually not in drawing such a distinction, but in explaining why some political
systems have proved less stable than others.) Probably the most useful criteria common to all such lists
are once again - the existence of individualism, of voluntary groups with - in any sense - political effect,
and of publicized opposition. Direct attempts to say that some things are inherently beyond the reach of
government have all proved fruitless; and even more subtle indirect attempts lead us to doctrinaire
absurdities of the type we attack in others. But it can be said that when all things are thought relevant to
government at once, there is no politics. Anything may prove a proper subject of governmental
intervention in a political system; but it is not a political system at all if there is a single authoritative
source for the allocation of values and for the determination of policies.
Again this comes back to what Aristotle meant by calling our study 'the master-science'. He did not mean
that it explained everything else scientifically. This arrogance has either been religious, or else the
modern concept of ideology which has stemmed from Marx's claim that everything is a product of the
economic system (or the still more absurd, but vastly influential, claim that everything is a product of
ethnic composition). He meant that without politics all the other 'sciences' or interests would be left either
without any ordering principle, without anything to establish priorities in every different time and
circumstance for their rival claims on the limited resources of any given territory -- which is anarchy; or
else the advocates of someone science or interest would be established above all others - which is
tyranny. The political system deals in priorities - by what is, after all, a fairly rational procedure for
discussing alternatives. Tyranny, Absolutism, Kingship, and Empire are systems which assign priorities in
an arbitrary manner. Totalitarian regimes believe in a final and lasting absolute allocation of resources and
values.
The present decay in the status of the master-science (both in its achievements and in its academic
prestige) is due, above all, to a widespread failure to recognize both its specific and limited nature, and, at
the same time, its overwhelmingly valuable nature - its obvious and inseparable connection with freedom.
Certainly political theory concerns a wider class of phenomena than political activity alone. But this is not
to descend into a crippling relativism. Political theory does show that political rule is the most preferable of
government in any but times of desperate emergency.
Political doctrines, even, however various, do assert that the very problem of government arises from the
fact and apperception of diversity, not from any ideal or material drive towards complete unity; and that
conciliation is more part of the human condition than the violence which is necessary to achieve unity.
All conciliation and compromise is not, of course, justifiable. Only those compromises which preserve
politics are justifiable. The argument is deliberately circular. For at times we suffer from a rather overcivilized sense of relativity: free and unfree societies alike are accepted as simply the products of different
histories and sociologies. Some sense, certainly, of what was once called 'the relativity of moral is
necessary for the tolerance which is the political manner of living together in cities. But it is inhuman
coldness, or a false chastity of intellect, to push this so far that all distinctions are obliterated, so that all
systems of government and all political judgements simply reflect different circumstances. Politics
embodies an ethic and a conscious purpose which cannot be reduced to sociology. Some systems of
government plainly thrive on constant violence and a perpetual sense of crisis; some others are able to
keep violence and coercion as a final and exceptional reserve to defend the state itself. There is no
necessity in government. Can one still not be simple enough to think that the fundamental reason why
Castros and Nkrumahs repress opposition is because they do not like it, because they enjoy power but
hate politics?
(f) THE CONDITIONS OF THE POLITICAL SYSTEM. That it is possible from the existing political theory
to reach substantial agreement about the conditions for political stability.
It is one thing to define political rule; it is another to explain the occurrence of political systems, or to
understand the likelihood that they may or may not prove viable in different circumstances. Surely the
most important task of political studies, both scientifically and morally, is to understand and explain the
conditions under which political systems prove stable?
In one sense, everything we do has some kind of relevance to' this problem. We cannot study a single
institution, be it the House or Lords, an election, the Parliamentary question, or a pressure group, without
commenting (explicitly or implicitly) on its effectiveness in maintaining the system of which it is part. But
we are hindered by the pedagogical distinction between ideas and institutions, and also by
methodological preoccupations which always disguise, and sometimes inhibit, actual generalizations.
(The function of 'methodologies' is, at best, the testing of actual generalizations, not their formulation.)
Much of the professional debate on the nature of Comparative Government' is really concerned with this
problem. But it tends either to draw up shopping lists of possible relationships, conceived a priori, as in
Macridis and in Almond, which are so general as to be finally tautologous (extended definitions of 'system'
with a dash of political colouring); or else, as in Lipset, though far more fruitfully, to be too specific by
treating all politics as if it were democratic politics.
In fact there is more knowledge about this problem in the traditional writings of political theory than selfconsciously' modern' social scientists often recognize (Machiavelli's Discourses, Montesquieu's L' Esprit
des Lois, the Federalist, Mill's Representative Government, and the second volume of Tocqueville's
Democracy in America are obvious examples). From these, and from many piece-meal modern studies,
there is a great deal of knowledge to be had about the conditions for political rule - far more than we
normally suppose. Some such generalizations as those which follow might be widely accepted. But their
mutual priority and their inter-relationships are vastly complicated and variable. Alas, here is no general
theory of the conditions for political rule this argument only seeks to identify the political system; but if it
exists at all, it has these elements. Plainly they all condition each other to some extent, but obviously it is
only possible in discussing actual cases to see how far some of them function more or less as derivatives
of others.
The political system is stable when these conditions exist:
(1) A society which recognizes itself to be complex (that is, a plurality of interests and a division of
labour).
(2) A society which recognizes itself to be composed of individuals (that is, some assumption that
individuals are more real than groups, and as real in this life as in any next).
(3) A society in which there are institutions representative of some of the governed which are
capable of being broadened to include more of the governed (that is, there appear to be no cases
of original creation or spontaneous combustion of free institutions).
(4) A society in which the ruling elite is not exclusive of penetration from other groups (that is, in
which the elite is not exclusively religious, hereditary, ethnic, or even learned or 'expert ').
(5) A society in which there is a large middle class (that is, to provide, in conjunction with
Condition (2), a citizen body _ but this need not imply the impossibility of a classless society; such
a society would, of course, be 'bourgeois ').
(6) A society in which government is denied to be predominantly a secular activity (that is,
Christian dualism can fortify politics, but if government is simply a part of a known divine order,
then priest-kings but no politicians).
(7) A society in which some social conflict is recognized as normal and is institutionalized (that is,
Madison's account of faction in the Federalist No. 10, or Machiavelli's account in the chapter of
the Discourses (1, 4) headed: 'That Discord Between the Plebs and the Senate Made This
Republic Both ?Free and Powerful.
(8) A society in which there are no extremes of wealth (this is formal and always subjective - but
to a degree: Lipset in his Political Man advances much empirical evidence on this).
(9) A society in which there is economic growth (at least in the long run - again see Lipset's
Political Man, also Max Weber's Capitalism and the Protestant Ethic).
(10) A society which can normally defend itself (whether by diplomatic or military means), but
which can control its own military (S. K. Finer's recent Man on Horseback can in fact be played
back as a brilliant study of political stability).
(11) A society in which a distinction is recognized, in law, custom, and speculative thought,
between 'public life' and 'private life' (that is, the foundation of much of what is now meant by 'civil
liberties', but with the proviso that neither 'private' nor 'public' can be defined except in terms of
the existence of the other.
(12) A society where there is a tradition of political speculation (that is, alternative policies can be
canvassed in the belief that 'progress', betterment, or reform can be made possible through
political action).
(13) A society in which the governing elite have the will to act politically (that is, Israel fulfils every
classical condition for 'liberty having no relevance to a city in a state of siege', Ghana few; yet one
is a political system, the other is not - it seems hard to avoid the conclusion that deliberate
intention enters into it).
(g) CONSENSUS. That consensus is not among those conditions.
To the above list there might have been added a negative condition: 'a society in which there is no
universal consensus (beyond a pragmatic agreement, derived from the other conditions, to do things
politically).' This will take some arguing: for 'consensus' is a favourite magic formula both of the simple
and of the over-subtle. It would have been easy enough to exclude consensus from an account of the
political system on grounds of ambiguity. Most of us can define it - differently; and we all know what it
means.
But if its hard-core of meaning, derived from Cicero's consensus juris (which he thought a necessary
condition of a Republic), is something like 'agreement about fundamental values', then it fails on empirical
grounds. Where is the consensus in Canada, for instance? Or anywhere, between Catholic, Protestant
(High or Low), Muslim, Hindu, Jew, Sceptic, Agnostic, Freethinker, Atheist, and Erastian, who commonly
share some common political allegiance - if they take their fundamentals seriously and take them to be
directly applicable to politics? Either this consensus is very fundamental - 'a man's a man for a 'that', or 'a
rose is a rose is a rose', which probably is a necessary assumption of any civilized governmental order,
indeed of any legal or political judgement; or else it is simply, in our sense, narrowly political.
But such a consensus about individual human autonomy is not in itself an ethical system; rather it is the
presupposition of any possible ethical system.
The consensus is not some systematic, external and intangible spiritual adhesive, not some metaphysical
cement or something mysteriously prior to or above politics; it is the activity of politics itself. In a political
system the 'public interest', 'the common good', and 'the general will' are simply pretentious or partisan
ways of describing the common interest in preserving the means of making public decisions politically.
Those who say we desperately lack a consensus of values, and have such a thing to offer (usually a
'fighting faith for democracy', or else monotheism), are in fact simply trying to sell us a particular brand of
politics while pretending that they are not, as it were, in trade themselves (our own island reputation for
empiricism commonly hides the fact that we are a nation of metaphysical shoplifters; the weirdest
prejudices stick to the hands of those who believe themselves to be purely practical).
Where such an articulate and systematic consensus does seem necessary is in an autocracy. A
government whose legitimacy is not maintained by a public adhesion to method, means, procedure, and
participation will need "the propagation of a myth of a single, true, substantive consensus as a kind of
teleological 'final-cause' for society. And perhaps there are still societies in which the existence of such a
consensus, drawn from religious foundations, hinders the development of a political system of
government.
If consensus is simply taken to mean that a high degree of agreement in fact exists about social values all right; but this is more likely to be a product of politics than a condition.
It does, of course, make things very much easier if one builds consensus into one's definition of politics.
Elsewhere I have attempted to show that this is common in purportedly 'scientific' theories of politics. It is
the metaphysics of the social engineer. If one takes certain basic axioms for granted', then one can be
scientific, or rather technological, about their implementation. That is why Professor David Easton's
Political System has the same defects as the cruder types of 'scientism' he criticizes. 'My point is,' wrote
Easton, 'that the property of a social act which informs it with a political aspect is the act's relation to the
authoritative allocation of values for a society' (p. 134). What authoritative allocation? Why 'values'? He is
plainly thinking of a particularly democratic type of society which in fact has an abnormally high degree of
agreement about what may perhaps be called 'values'. 'We are said to be participating in political life
when our activity relates in some way to the making and execution of policy for a society' (p. 128). But it is
not self-evident that all political systems, in our sense, will pursue 'policy' in Easton's sense. It may be
proper, though one doubts, to call the Grand Turk's barber a 'politician'; but if we call such a system
'political' then we are losing, once again, a crucial distinction; we are saying no more than that all power is
open to influence, that all power rests on some kind of consent. (And is this a tautology or a truism?)
(h) THE POLITICAL SYSTEM AND ORDER. That politics presumes that order already exists, both as a
historical condition and as a potential - called' sovereignty' - to be reasserted in times of emergency.
More important than consensus, even in some minimal sense, there is an assumption about the political
system which must be made explicit: the fact of government at all - the primacy of government, or the
prior success of government in establishing order. The political system is partly a response to the problem
of government; it is a way of maintaining order without the use of more violence than the ruler is able to
stomach or willing to risk if the outcome would be uncertain - in certain ethical traditions. Realism from
above is as necessary as clamour from below in the acceptance of great political reforms - the history of
the British franchise shows this. Clearly political rule is the best form of government, in many
circumstances. But it is a form of government. It is subject to many of the same conditions as government
in general: politicum et regale said Fortescue, but the King must act 'regale', or absolutely, to defend the
realm and enforce the laws (and this had to be so even in the American Federal Constitution of 1787).
The fact of government must, both historically and logically, before the condition of politics. The horse
does go before the cart - even though he can never quite shake it off. And' it is necessary to say this,
since much - most? - specifically democratic and liberal theory has it the other and the more difficult way
round: that government is a response to the demands and the needs of the governed. It should be. It may
come to seem so. It may be most stable when it is. But the picture is unhistorical and is always subject to
refutation in times of emergency. Consent can be simply a need of strong government. If a government is
to do great new things, it will need more support. If a government is to change the world, it will need mass
support. This is one of the great discoveries of modern government. Napoleon Bonaparte once said: 'The
politics of the future will be the art of stirring the masses.'
Political rule can only succeed in a political system. But political systems may need to suspend political
rule and may survive such periods of suspension. 'Those republics,' wrote Machiavelli, 'which in time of
danger cannot resort to a dictatorship will generally be ruined when grave occasions occur.' This reminds
us that 'dictatorship' was, in its original signification, a device of republican and constitutional politics. The
first way that political systems try to cope with states of emergency is to recognize in a legal sense that
they exist. This again has been a field but sparsely explored (perhaps because it falls between
'institutions' and 'ideas', while purely legal accounts are plainly inadequate). The trouble that the Weimar
Republic had with the Emergency Powers provisions of the Constitution has been often examined, but
have we a coherent account of how Britain was able to convert herself for time of war into an autocracy
which achieved a degree of mobilization of resources and of planning more 'total' than any of the
totalitarian powers?
Most of those who have espoused the concept of Sovereignty as a true generalization about
Governmental order have surely, in fact, been following Hobbes in abstracting a state of emergency (or a
natural condition of society without government) from normal political conditions. In this light, there is no
theoretical conflict between the concepts of 'political rule' and of 'sovereignty' however much the political
invocation of the doctrine to cover a failure of political prudence, as in the American question in British
politics, may make the very doctrine seem a synonym, as to the American Whigs, for tyranny.
There is no necessary contradiction even between the theory of sovereignty and the theory that power
can be (or is) federal. Most Federal States have, in fact, constitutional provisions to enable the
concentration of coercive power in time of emergency. The problems are great, but they are practical
ones. Lincoln said: 'It has long been a grave question whether any government not too strong for the
liberties of its people can be strong enough to maintain its liberties in great emergencies.' But he knew
that it was at least possible. He was not asking a genuine and open question; he was simply trying to get
a free people used to the idea that there would be some diminution of their liberties for the duration of
hostilities.
'Sovereignty' as a theory is a response to the rise of a specifically modern form of government, 'the State'.
Before such a highly centralized institution and symbol arises it is clearer simply to speak of order, and of
those types of order which are characterized by government. But if we hope to learn much from the
earliest or very simplest instances, anthropologists will disappoint us more than we are often led to
believe by the great prestige of their discipline. The recent discovery of the existence and importance of
organized government in even the most 'primitive' societies has not been without, once again, some
considerable confusion between government in general and political systems in particular. This
unfortunately makes much of the evidence advanced by anthropologists hard to integrate into political and
social theory.
Professor Schapera, for instance, uses both words in the title of his Government and Politics in Tribal
Societies (1956); but there is no distinction in the text. He says: 'By a "political community" I mean a
group of people organized into a single unit managing its affairs independently of external control .. .' (p.
8). This is interesting, in that territorial settlement and organized coercion seem to him, in the Bantu
nomads he studies, to be not necessary for what is plainly government, but not necessarily politics.
Radcliffe-Brown, thinking of more complicated social structures, wrote in his Preface to Fortes and EvansPritchard's African Political Systems: 'In studying political organization, we have to deal with the
maintenance or establishment of social order, within a territorial framework, by the organized exercise of
coercive authority through the use, or the possibility of use, of physical force' (p. xiv). But, once again, if
politics is defined in this way, then a valuable distinction is lost. Anthropologists do not appear to
distinguish between two types of human activity with significant differences, both in their effect on society
and in their sociological foundations. This may, of course, be because there are no primitive political
systems: political systems only exist in relatively advanced societies. But the truth of this would be easier
to establish if the distinction were applied. Certainly if none of the societies described in Fortes and
Evans-Pritchard or in Dr. Lucy Mair's Primitive Government (1962) are stable political systems, yet some
of them are remarkably more political than others. Some are regimes politicum et regale - with the
emphasis on the latter; but some are just regale. Everywhere there is some consultation, but in some of
the societies described it is institutionalized to a degree that could at least be called 'pre-political'.
In Malinowski there is some recognition of this - though not from his field-work. In his Scientific Theory of
Culture he wrote: 'Political organization implies always a central authority with the power to administer
regarding its subjects, that is, to coordinate the activities of the component groups; and when we say
power, we presuppose the use of force, spiritual and physical alike' (p. 165). This would seem to rule out
many of the societies described by Schapera, but it is halfway to a definition of the political system when it
recognizes that there are component groups who have to be coordinated. What all these studies seek to
establish is that organized government is an almost universal phenomenon which was not self-evident;
but they have not as yet established a body of knowledge or any criteria of much relevance to the political
system proper.
It is interesting that Radcliffe-Brown and Malinowski appear to adopt a 'modern standard of comparison' in
that they follow Max Weber closely in their stress on coercion. But Weber too can be confusing. He
defined politics in Politik als Beruf as the 'striving to share power and striving to influence the distribution
of power, either among states or among groups within a state'. Thus politics, to Weber, can hardly be a
universal phenomenon; at least its existence will be highly marginal in some states. But immediately
before he had defined the state as that 'human community that (successfully) claims the monopoly of the
legitimate use of physical force within a given territory'. Thus politics' among states' where this force - this
pre-political condition of statehood - is lacking, must at least be a very different kind of activity than that
within a state. This is not just a matter of words (or of subjective preferences). It is a matter of historical
and sociological knowledge - of true theory: distinctions need to be drawn to describe accurately two
radically different kinds of situation. Politics is one form of human activity; diplomacy or the conduct of
international relations is another. The political system exists within a prior framework of order.
International 'society' is not a political system. It is a proper subject for the study of government; but while
it has no common government at all, it is not helpful to call it political. (At every point of this argument let it
be conceded, indeed claimed, that we should take terms for our theories which are as close to common
linguistic usage as possible. Hence the Semantic digression' above. But where there are two traditions of
usage, it is surely proper to take that which is theoretically more fruitful. But we should not concede, as
some would have it, that the method of linguistic analysis shows that any systematic social or political
theory is quite arbitrary.)
(i) THE POLITICAL SYSTEM AND KNOWLEDGE. That knowledge of politics only thrives in political
systems.
There is something else implicit in any formulation of the conditions for a political system: the importance
of knowledge, or simply of truth. One peculiarity of the political system is that it is the only system of
government in which telling the truth about how the system works does not endanger the system.
Particular governments may - fortunately - be harmed by truths being discovered; but political systems
can be completely open systems (though this does not imply that they will be). It is no platitude, however,
that authority in primitive and tribal societies necessarily depends in large part, at least, on religious myths
whose claims to be true cannot always be taken too seriously. Punishment for blasphemy is an essential
institution in most such societies. It is no platitude that autocracies can never allow the free and public
canvassing of theories of politics, or even the accurate reporting of political events. The censor is an
essential institution in any autocratic society. l Those who talk about the tolerance shown by some
autocrats are merely kissing the boot that does not kick them.
This is the answer to those who doubt the connection of political theory to political action; and it is the
caution to those who admit but deplore the connection. Theirs is a theory of human action which actually
works against politics - or at least each case of theory-Iending-to-action needs to be publicly weighed on
its merits to see whether it excludes future modifications or allows for them. Political knowledge is always
tentative and hypothetical; it cannot hope to find scientific laws without excluding politics. (Machiavelli,
even in the Prince, even in his most deterministic mood introduces the concept of 'Fortuna' - something
highly empirical; and if Fortune is to be overcome, it can only be by heroic force. But there is no
guarantee that such force will always work.) But political knowledge cannot simply be a matter of'
intimations' or 'experience' either; there is in fact often a will to do things 'politically where politics has not
existed before, and considerable knowledge about how to make the attempt - emulation is not always
disastrous as, in their heart of hearts, disciples often know.
The academic study of politics depends on certain conditions. These are, at the best, precarious in even
the most enlightened despotism; they are non-existent in totalitarian regimes. The most important of these
conditions is plainly that truths can be discovered and may be told. The Russians, for example, are as
concerned as the rest of us to understand the reasons for educational choice; why do, for instance, so
many school-children and students of high intelligence try to choose 'non-productive' subjects? Western
sociologists asked their Russian colleagues at a recent conference in Moscow whether this might be
connected with social class. They received the answer, of course, that there are no social classes in
Russia. Obviously there are some fields of policy in which even the most 'policy-orientated' research is
not possible, even - presumably - at some social cost. Consider the conditions for research into
government activities. Professor W. M. Mackenzie has listed the requirements with admirable clarity.
Plainly their effective combination will not be possible in any but a political system. Two scientificallyminded men, both of whom have lived under oppression, have recently and independently discussed the
claim of Max Weber that social science should be 'wertfrei' - value free; they both concluded that
whatever the meaning or merit of this claim, it could only be seriously put forward at all in a free society.
We often take for granted the great amount of sheer information that is readily available in a political
system. Government statistics are usually reliable, because they are open to public rebuttal. Government
statistics are available both because people want to know why such a policy is thought desirable, or very
often just want to know; and because the government itself feels under a political compulsion to offer such
information. Oddly, we take this very much for granted, though true information and publicity for it are
perhaps institutions quite as important for political government as, for instance, electoral arrangements.
There may not be enough electoral studies, certainly from some sociological approaches, but it is hard to
think of any studies which have seriously tried to assess the amount and kind of information about
governmental activities which is or is not available, and to try to establish criteria to explain why some
information is not released (or is perhaps never sought for), and why perhaps some should not be. Some
of the points would be very obvious; but not all. There is an atmosphere, we all know, about information in
Whitehall and Westminster which, by comparison with Washington, looks quite pre-political- if one aspect
of politics is the ability to tell the truth about the operation of government without endangering the State.
The ineffability of Raison d'Etat only exists in a political system in time of emergency.
In this light we can see how our worthy Bagehot, for all the fruitfulness of his functional approach, is really
a pretty dubious, figure as a model for understanding government. His insistence on the need for
'mystery', 'fiction', and deceit to govern the masses shows him to be a politician defending - vainly - a
particular order, not someone concerned with establishing the general conditions for political rule.
(j) POLITICS AS FREEDOM. That where there is politics, there is freedom.
Where there is politics there is freedom. There is some freedom, even if limited to contesting aristocratic
clans, wherever government recognizes by institutional means the need to consult with conflicting
interests on some regular and known basis - whether, as we have said, through prudence (being unable
to predict the outcome of coercion), or through principle (when, in some sense, the equal freedom of
individuals is part of the moral culture).
'Freedom' was not included in the list of conditions for a political system because, in a minimal sense, it is
almost a pleonasm for politics; and because, in a more elaborate sense, it is a derivative of an already
existing political system or culture. If consultation and compromise are to be effective, if the government is
to find out accurately what groups want or will stand for, or what is their relative power, then people
representative of these groups must be free to speak the truth. Aristotle remarks that it is very difficult for
a tyrant to find people who will tell him the truth. If this is to be done, which surely contributes to the
efficiency of any government, the penalties of mistaken or unwelcome advice must not be too drastic. It is
helpful to government for there to be some spheres of independent thought and action (if only, at the very
least, the court-jester: in tyranny only the licensed simpleton tells the truth).
A political system is a free system - though the order is thus: freedom depends on politics as politics
depends on government. The activity of politics is a public activity between men who have the legal status
of freemen. Much purely semantic debate would be spared if we reminded ourselves more often that the
original signification of' freedom', and its Greek and Latin cognates, was always that of a status. The
Greeks felt themselves to be the eleutheros because they governed themselves among themselves. The
character of the free man was contrasted to that of the slave the free were generous, expansive, above
all public-spirited (liberaI?); the slavish were mean, narrow-minded, and selfish. Certainly freedom has a
history as a cultural phenomenon coterminous with politics long before philosophers and publicists came
along to speculate to such absurd extremes - we are told - as that freedom 'really means' either the
absence of all restraint (freedom: from government and politics), or liberation from all error (' In thy service
is the only perfect freedom' or Rousseau's ' ... must be forced to be free '). Such definitions are really
attempts to limit arbitrarily or transcend politics. Freedom only has a contextual leaning - if it has any
relevance to government at all.
It is notorious that political regimes will often consciously run risks with their very stability rather than
curtail particular freedoms. Only anti-political regimes are forever preparing the individual to sacrifice his
freedom of action for the collectivity, or trying to persuade him that freedom is not the positive experience
of diversity, but is the euphoria that comes from making the right choice in good company. Yet people who
are reborn are seldom reborn free.
Some freedom in a negative sense may exist in autocracies, between the gaps of the laws, the
indifference of the ruler, and the inefficiency or corruption of the bureaucracy. But in totalitarian and
ideological societies not merely are fields of free activity hunted down, even in things irrelevant to the
mechanisms of control of traditional autocracies - like art and music, but, as is well known, free actions
are deemed to be impossible. Everything, in theory, is sociologically determined. But political societies
neither enshrine such fabulous theories, nor do they even imagine the need to claim that all human
actions should submit to the test of public policy.
Freedom depends both on some distinction and on some interplay between private and public actions, for
it is neither isolation from politics (as the liberal often wants to believe), nor is it loneliness (as the concept
of 'the intellectual' often involves). Freedom and privacy both thrive when government is conducted
publicly' ' in the manner called political. Freedom, then, is neither isolation nor loneliness: it is the privacy
of men who are committed to maintaining, even if not personally participating in, public politics.
Privacy is itself a social relationship and freedom is an activity . Men who cease either to identify or to
value politics lose or threaten freedom. Politics are the public actions of free men; free men are those who
do, not merely can, live both publicly and privately. Men who have lost the capacity for public action are
not free, they are simply isolated and ineffectual. Again Aristotle reminds us, in a terrible phrase for all
times, that the man who seeks to dwell outside the political relationship is either a beast or a god'.
Freedom, then, is the manner in which political action is conducted. 'To scour the universe for possibilities
of freedom other than those given by the organization of human groups for the carrying out of specific
purposes, and the production of desirable results,' wrote Malinowski, 'is an idle philosophic pastime.'
(k) THEORY AND THE POLITICAL SYSTEM. That political theory is an essential part of the political
system and is itself political - both descriptive and normative.
But to return to more academic preoccupations. Academics are often the first to say that the spell of
political theory has declined, indeed all but vanished. So it is not surprising that other people believe this
too. But political theory is, in practice, an essential part of any political system. There are no cases of
political systems which have not contained a tradition of political speculation. Such a tradition explains
rationally why power always exists in the form of authority. Quite simply, there is always need to explain
what we are doing, and also to provide some reasons (though they will never be conclusive) why we are
doing it in a particular way.
Political theory is itself political. If a political system is fundamentally a descriptive recognition of diversity
plus an ethical recognition that this should be normal, then a political doctrine will display the same
characteristics (a political doctrine is simply a more partial and specific, hence less general, theory).
A political theory will always assert both that something is the case and that something should be the
case (institutions and ideas?). And political theory has not in fact declined (its function is necessary to any
political system); it has simply been disguised as method. How has this come about, and what are its
consequences?
Philosophers have demonstrated to us the inherent linguistic ambiguity of most political terms, and, most
unsurprisingly, have shown that 'value' assumptions are contained in any attempt at descriptions of
political processes. Ageing, cross publicists, who make a profession of flattering youth, scold us that
positive ideals (for youth) are lacking in politics, praise every ignorant enthusiasm of the moment, and tell
us that any cause is better than no cause. Some professional students of politics in the universities indeed this is a malaise of the social sciences generally - react to the criticisms from the analytical
philosopher by redoubling their efforts to appear 'scientific' and purely factual, to purge themselves of
value assumptions, and to emasculate themselves politically. And intellectuals who would like to be
politically active (if only politics weren't politics) complain constantly that the student blocks the path to all
ideals by practical considerations.
However, if one asks why these views are held, one can come to see that political theory has not
declined, but has been disguised. It has been disguised precisely because it is an embarrassment to the
prudishness of academic philosophers, since it is committed to value statements; and because it is an
embarrassment to the promiscuity of amateur idealists, since it is also based on descriptive theories
which help to tell us what is possible. 'The ethically desirable must be the sociologically possible,' said
Hobhouse. Neither analyst nor idealist can live without it, even though it refutes their strange division of
the world between fact and value. The logic of master-science is not that of the natural sciences - the
observer is necessarily a part of his observations. Through politics men strive to realize public purposes
realistically. Political judgments subsume the theoretical distinction between 'fact' and 'value'; political
theories assert the unity of ethical and practical life. It is impossible to think of any political doctrine which
does not claim that something should be done, or not done; but which does not also contain a positive
description of the circumstances from which the policy arises.
(I) METHOD AS DOCTRINE. That all methodologies are disguised doctrines, and doctrines only differ in
emphasis or degree from theories.
The true claim of the master science and the inevitability of political theory can be made clear if we study
the most flagrant case of the attempt to take politics out of politics - to avoid the purposive element in
political theory. The academic study of politics has tried to do just this in its aspirations to be neutral,
scientifically objective, and 'value-free'. Nothing illustrates the present malaise of true politics more vividly
than to see how some of those whose profession it is, one might naively think, to defend the authority of
the master-science, have in fact come near to destroying it. They have done this either by false scruples
about what is 'academic', or else by a sense of 'professional propriety' which can be plain political funk.
But these scruples and fears are unnecessary and the refuge they offer is, in any case, illusory.
Now in recent years the growing tendency in the university study of politics has been to make the criteria
for research and study not political importance, but various notions of methodological impeccability.
Political doctrines are felt to be biased, subjective, or purely relative things, therefore political theory must
be based on some methodology. But there is no absolute difference between theory and doctrine
(theories are simply the better doctrines), and every methodology is itself a political doctrine. It is a case
of Erst kommt die Politik: dann kommt die Methodologie. (Certainly this puts the study of politics on a
somewhat different footing from some other traditional subjects in universities; but this is n reason to think
it inappropriate as a study at all, unless in the name of some spinsterish concept of 'objectivity' one turns
one's back on the whole tendency of Western civilization to be an improving, reformist, ameliorative, not
simply a contemplative, culture - as a contemporary school would do !)
A methodology I take to be a set of rules and procedures for the discovery of knowledge. A political
doctrine I take to be a coherently related set of proposals for the conciliation of differing social interests in
a desirable manner. Probably there is no situation so simple that the number of possible resolutions will
not be infinite (though they all have in common their political character and their openness to change).
And a political doctrine is thus necessarily both evaluative and predictive. It will offer an account in terms
of anticipating the future; but other theories might also work, other policies might fit, so reasons are put
forward why a particular doctrine should be adopted. The holding of political doctrines, both as scientific
theories and as guides to action is thus at some level of explicitness, unavoidable."
Let us consider two types of methodology which claim simply to study, with pure lenses unground by any
doctrinal axes, what they call 'political behaviour' or 'political behavior'. There is the 'non-U' U.S. scientific
sort and the quite O.K. U.K. 'U' empiricist sort. (Students of literature and psychology might think that
behaviorism is a pretty dead wild duck, but they would be interested to see how it functions as a political
doctrine.)
The first type is that which is referred to, for instance, by David Butler in his The Study of Political
Behaviour: 'In America "political behavior" is used by some writers in a restrictive and technical sense to
cover studies designed to produce scientifically verifiable propositions about conduct in political
situations.' And political behaviour, in the O.K. U.K. sense, is then presumably everything that depends
upon, I quote from Butler again, 'what people actually do and say'. The idea of a value-free science of
politics has dominated the thought of American students of politics in this century. The Americans have
aspired to generalize and the British have remained content to describe, but they are as one in their
dislike and distrust of political theory.
I have discussed the American example at length in my American Science of Politics: its origins and
conditions. This sought to show not so much that the claim to be a true science was false, but that the
real meaning of the claim lay in the doctrinal assumptions made by the advocates of this science: a type
of specifically liberal and democratic political doctrine of far more limited applicability than the authors
supposed. Values were taken for granted amid the enervating unity of belief of American liberalism, so it
was believed that the mere discovery of facts would create a kind of spontaneous national therapy.
In Britain political behaviour research has blossomed less luxuriantly as pseudo-science than in the
United States because empiricism or 'descriptivism' was already a long-established attitude in British
historical and political writings. There was a rich, broad, often vague but much-tilled middle-ground of
'common sense', sir, from which we could 'refuse to be torn' to the excesses of either positivism and
scientism, or of academic and vulgar idealism. But descriptivism or 'common sense' always reflected as
calm and unthinking an acceptance of certain peculiar things as 'natural' as ever did American political
science. How often is Lord Bryce's notorious dislike of 'theory' still taken at its own faceless value, as if
the fact that he was not consciously theoretical could protect him against theoretical assumptions. (His
complacent claim, in the Introduction to his American Commonwealth, that he would 'simply present the
facts of the case ... letting them speak for themselves', might have been more impressive had it not been
in the context of criticizing Tocqueville for simply advocating 'somewhat speculative views of democracy'.)
Bryce, in every sense, was a liberal. His methodology is perfectly attuned to the assumptions of politics
from 1860-1914, but put his kind of questions - and apply, for instance, his rational treatment of public
opinion - to European politics in the 1930s, and the result is sadly inadequate. Such men cannot sensibly
be blamed for not predicting the rise of totalitarianism in this island. (A. J. P. Taylor can claim to have reread Mein Kampf, to have heard of the concentration camps, and yet still write of Hitler as a normal,
appeasable politician.)
No 'simple' Bryce-like descriptions of facts come near to lasting scientific stature. To take only one
example: permeating his writings is the assumption that free government depends not merely upon the
existence of active opposition, but also upon some natural (i.e. mysterious) process by which parties
alternate in power. If Michels argued explicitly an 'iron law of oligarchy', Bryce assumed an equally rigid,
and far less plausible, iron law of alternation. This simple theory, which A. J. Lowell of Harvard tried to
demonstrate statistically, had had great and largely unfortunate influence, not merely upon AngloAmerican political writings, but upon politics as weIl.
Britain lacks many elementary parliamentary and legal devices of control over the executive, especially
when compared with the United States, because it is believed that a regular alternation of governments
(which does not exist) acts as a natural restraint, etc., etc. And constitution-makers for such oligarchic
societies as Ghana and Nigeria almost ludicrously attempted to ensure freedom by means of a quite
idealistic hope for a naturally alternating, naturally two-party system. The simple doctrinal assumptions of
the old British' descriptivist school' turn out to be like the assumptions of most simple, non-theoretical
men: vast, important, influential, and closed to all argument because unconscious. Political theory cannot
be avoided; it can only be repressed.
Consider a more close-to-hand example of the dangers of a descriptivism or empiricism which lacks selfconsciousness about its own assumptions: Robert McKenzie's famous British Political Parties. Its
purpose, he said, in the Preface to the First Edition, 'is not concerned with party ideologies' but only with
the distribution of power. (By 'ideology' he plainly meant what is here called a 'doctrine'.) But the book in
fact develops into a strong and very plausible case against attaching much importance to doctrinal
factors. He does not simply make an author's division of convenience between 'doctrine' and 'power
structure'; he tries to show how little can be attributed to the mere words of a doctrine. This may, perhaps,
in some circumstances be true (though there is no reason to see why it should be true at all), but it is at
least interesting that, in the time of Hugh Gaitskell's leadership McKenzie was among the leading
advocates of the view that the future success of the Labour Party depended on its being able to shed
from its formal constitution some words about 'nationalization'. This was not the kind of methodological
importance that he attached to ideas in the book. Might not one think that the book, then, was to be seen
not simply as an attack on doctrine in politics, but as an attack on a particular doctrine by another? And
why not? He may be all the more important for that reason. Political doctrines may mean something even
to the most austere sceptic, at least in the sense that one doctrine often excludes another - thank God.
Britain has the distinction at the moment of possessing some doctrinaire anti-doctrinaires to whom all
theoretical knowledge of society is either a fallacy - 'rationalism', or else a threat to the working of those
unconscious intimations and habits on which true political order depends, etc., etc. Even when they
choose to earn their living as students of politics they spend their time, in fact mixing frivolity with malice,
trying to retard or sabotage the advance of knowledge. For they are quite sure - and quite right that
knowledge leads to reform (though reformers should know that no reform is ever total or final- if its
manner is political at all). "Thus the U.K. is a very underdeveloped territory in the social sciences
compared to the U.S.
Now the most common self-characterization of British political scientists is, of course, 'empirical' or
'empiricist' - one is not always quite sure what this means, but this is what people say. 'Those who make a
cult of 'empiricism' may appear to be of two quite different schools - but in fact doctrinaIIy they are the
same: the working empiricists' and the' literary empiricists'. There is an almost mass-produceable kind of
research which simply gets stuck to the facts - whether of parties, pressure groups, public administration,
or electoral behaviour. There is a corresponding type of more esoteric factory - writing which relates the
abstract views of some foreign theorist (or literary traitor), taking every silliness seriously and concealing
or disparaging every empirical element, and then ends up by demanding yet another healthy dose of
good old British empiricism. And empiricism is clearly meant to be, not a substantive doctrine, but though some empiricists have an inhibition about the word - a methodology. One hardly dares to offer a
formulation of it, for however one does so it will seem to be identifying it with a particular political doctrine.
'Caution', habit', 'the virtues of experience', 'being anti-doctrinaire', 'a respect for tradition', 'facts as one
finds them', these are the kind of characteristics usually given. Politically they unite even an anarchist like
Michael Oakeshott to a scientific-philosopher like the late T. E. Weldon. Weldon's Vocabulary of Politics
facilely reduced all political disputes to linguistic muddles, and ended by conjuring - once again - the spirit
of an empiricist Burke (i.e. not one of the other ones). Oakeshott has actually claimed that his famous
polemical inaugural lecture at L.S.E., Political Education, was simply an essay in 'the indicative mood',
something purely descriptive, and he affects dismay at those who see it as a brilliant restatement of
conservative doctrine.
Conservatism is, as it were, the affair of the politicians ('poor fellows - someone has to do the donkey work we praise as the only reality'); whereas empiricism is the affair of the philosophers. Such
philosophers talk of the virtues of 'experience' or tradition but they are usuaIIy extremely ignorant about
actual politics; they.,. never write from or about actual political experience (or even make use of historical
writings); they always write logical critiques of other books which equally don't. They praise 'concrete
actions and 'actual situations' rather than abstract ideas; but they do so themselves in a purely abstract
manner. They make a banal cult of the actual but they distrust social science. Thus there is, as it were,
among the students of politics, a 'British school' of preposterous a priori empiricism. Students of political
behaviour, on the other hand, while sharing the assumptions of philosophical empiricism, are at least
curious about the present world and are energetic.
Two historical points must be made. First, empiricism and behaviourism both assume a very high degree
of contentment with an established order. Second, more disputably, they assume a scepticism about the
effect of general ideas on politics, which is empirically false (and if true at all, then only for short periods,
and then only as a parochial factor, itself the temporary patchwork effect on English politics of people
espousing the conservative doctrine or tradition).
Let me take a dangerous example, since history and politics in England are so closely related: the
behavioural or empiricist approach to history, even the methods associated with the school of the late Sir
Lewis Namier. This is an almost ludicrously clear case. General doctrines for reform originate outside
Parliament; therefore, write the history of England solely in terms of the social history of Parliament itself.
Pamphlets and newspapers apply general criteria to politics; therefore study only manuscript letters which
reveal, surprisingly, only personal and administrative factors (and beware of published books like the
plague: books on political questions are all doctrinaire). An opposition was forming in the 1770s which
was trying to create consistent political action against certain categories of government measures;
therefore demonstrate that every government measure was unique, and that every separate measure is
to be always supported (on different grounds, though, each time - no generalizations), as apparently it
always must. The business of the historian is to demonstrate that the government must always govern
and be given the benefit of the doubt whatever happens (poor Lord North! alas Sir Anthony!). If there
comes a time when the government actually fails to govern its own capital city in the middle of a
desperate war, as in the Gordon riots, then, as in Ian Christie's book on Lord North's Administration in
Namier's great series, ignore it. Indeed the fact that the American Revolution was squeezed out of this
series, titled 'English Politics in the Age of the American Revolution may possibly be because of the total
failure of English policy in America, the total failure of the government actually to govern. While this failure
might, presumably, be studied by Namierite 'behaviourist' methodology, yet it does not fit the doctrine. The
doctrine blames revolutions on the impractical, theoretical ones of this world. But revolutions usually take
place because governments break down, not for the ideal reasons put out subsequently by whoever is
best able to take advantage of the chaos. The Conservative should know that; the truth in his doctrine
should lead us always to look at factors of social history, not of mere rhetoric. There is too often an
element of mutual flattery between the Tory and the Jacobin.
The High Tory theory of the constitution, a doctrine which stresses the need for continuity in politics and,
as factors of interpretation, the concrete, the unique, the personal, this theory finds its strongest defence
in the school of Namier. And, after all, why not? It does explain many historical circumstances and has an
element of truth in all. But let us always simply be aware of what we are doing. Tout comprendre est tout
pardonner? Alas, in politics never quite.
One last, more gentle, example, not of a misuse, but of a half- recognition of the dilemma inherent in
behaviourism. I quote once again from David Butler's The Study of Political Behaviour: ' in order to give
a realistic picture of where power actually resides in a society and how it is or should be exercised, it is
necessary to depend overwhelmingly upon observation of what people actually say and do. Who would
dare to differ? For clearly one means by 'in a society' what one is taking as given. But then: ' ... the
accumulation of facts is, of course, not an end in itself, they are significant only as the foundation for
explanations .... Any attempt at description must depend upon the constant ordering and classification,
consciously or unconsciously, of the material that is being collected' (p. 15). There's the rub. How could
one better this clear caveat, except perhaps, while agreeing that things are always in fact prejudged
unconsciously, to insist that they should be prejudged consciously - and that this should in fact be done;
otherwise political behaviour is to be itself classified as an unconscious ideology, not even a conscious
political doctrine.
(m) THE INEVITABILITY OF DOCTRINE . That the holding of theories or doctrines is inevitable and that
most doctrines, even, contain a high empirical element.
So here we have it. In political systems that take their politics too much for granted, the' master-science'
can only be disguised, put in some mask of method, one still cannot live without it. Anyone who attempts
the most simple description of society is in fact involved in, as Butler says, 'constant ordering and
classification' .. The principles of such selectivity are those of some political doctrine, whether half-baked
or well-baked. The most down-to earth, practical politician will in fact act according to some
understanding of what he is doing and what effect his actions or inactions will have on other things. These
prejudices will be summed up or described in some political doctrine. Much of the study of politics is, in
fact, the uncovering of, in Justice Holmes's words, 'the inarticulate major promises' both of the nominally
unreflective (whether they are infamous statesmen or famous historians) and of institutional procedures.
The empiricist dwelt. on the surface-level of how people reacted to and tried to resolve those real
problems which are seldom stated - what R. G. Collingwood called the 'presuppositions' of practical
activity; political theory is concerned both to clarify and to resolve such presuppositions and problems.
There is no absolute distinction between the study and the practice of politics. All politicians hold some
doctrine consciously, or act according to them unconsciously; all academics find their researches or very
words used or torn to some purpose, so it is only responsible for them to make their purposes explicit and
reasonable. The element of untestable evaluation in political theory need worry only those who dislike the
diversity of political life itself. But the scientific should in fact be heartened to see that even such commonor-garden political doctrines as liberalism, conservatism, and socialism contain a strong empirical
element. They all contain a certain picture of society; and to act according to these pictures may plainly
be more or less reasonable and successful in different circumstances, times, and societies. To expose
much pseudo-scientific methodology as in fact types of liberalism or conservatism, as one could also
show that much sociology is, indeed, socialism, is not to invite despair at the subjectivity of these
doctrines, but rather to show how inevitable it is that they should be held and how strong an objective
element they each contain. Each is scientific enough to make it plausible, but false to try to elevate it
above politics. Politics is freedom. And for the same reasons there is no real distinction between the
study of political ideas and the study of political institutions except that of a conventional
misleading pedagogy. All ideas seek institutional realization; all institutions embody purposes. There is
no fact which is not pointed to for some purpose. Even this is an intellectual abstraction of what is in fact a
unity: the experience and activity of the political system.

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