This book grew out of an introductory lecture course on political philosophy that I have taught at Yale for many years. It was a pleasure for me to be able to edit and revise these lectures for Yale University Press’s book series.
I have written this book as an introduction to political philosophy rather than the more conventional history of political thought. What I understand by political philosophy is treated in the first chapter. Suffice it to say that political philosophy is a rare and distinctive form of thinking and is not to be confused either with the study of political language in general or with the dry and desiccated form of “concept analysis” so prominent in the 1950s and ’60s. Political philosophy is the investigation of the permanent problems of political life—problems like “Who ought to govern?” “How ought conflict to be managed?” “How should a citizen and a statesman be educated?”—that every society must confront.
The texts and authors considered here have been chosen because they help to illuminate the permanent problems of political life rather than the particular problems of the times in which they were written. I have not tried to adapt Plato or Machiavelli or Tocqueville to fit our concerns but have aimed to show how our concerns are intelligible only when viewed through the lenses of the most serious thinkers of the past. The problems we confront today, to the extent that they remain political problems, are precisely the same as those confronted in fifth-century Athens, fifteenth-century Florence, or seventeenth-century England. It would be a mistake to think otherwise.
This book is intended for readers who believe, as do I, that we still have something to learn from the great thinkers of the past. This may seem obvious, but it is hotly disputed within the current political science profession. There are those who believe that political science is or should aspire to be a discipline like physics or chemistry or certain precincts of economics and psychology that pay little attention to their own histories. It is to resist this kind of academic amnesia that I have devoted my teaching and writing. My ideal audience is a general readership with no other specialization than a desire to learn.
In writing this book I make no claim to novelty. Most of what I have said is but a reflection on some previous reflection or on a well-known text. Nevertheless, I have put these lectures together in my own way, and they bear my own stamp. I have tried to retain the informal, even conversational, style of the lecture and to avoid the minutiae of academic controversy. I have also kept footnotes and other scholarly references to a minimum, while at the same time I have freely acknowledged my debts to other scholars, teachers, and colleagues from whom I have learned so much over the years.
I have no doubt that I have learned more from writing and rewriting these lectures than have the undergraduates upon whom they have been inflicted. I can only say that it has been an honor and a privilege to have had so many wonderful students who have sat through these classes and expressed an interest in my subject. I would like to give special thanks to a former student, Justin Zaremby, for reading an earlier version of these lectures and for making many helpful comments.