字幕表 動画を再生する 英語字幕をプリント Professor Steven Smith: Let me start today by asking the question, "what is political philosophy?" Custom dictates that I say something about the subject matter of this course at its outset. This in some ways might seem a case of putting the cart before the horse, or the cart before the course maybe, because how can you say, how can we say what political philosophy is in advance of doing it? Anyway, let me try to say something that might be useful. In one sense, you could say political philosophy is simply a branch or what we call a subfield of the field of political science. Yes, all right. It exists alongside of other areas of political inquiry like American government, comparative politics, and international relations. Yet in another sense, political philosophy is something much different than simply a subfield; it seems to be the oldest and most fundamental part of political science. Its purpose is to lay bare, as it were, the fundamental problems, the fundamental concepts and categories which frame the study of politics. In this respect it seems to me much less like just a branch of political science than the foundation of the entire discipline. The study of political philosophy often begins as this course will do also, with the study of the great books or some of the great books of our field. Political philosophy is the oldest of the social sciences, and it can boast a wealth of heavy hitters from Plato and Aristotle to Machiavelli, Hobbes, Hegel, Tocqueville, Nietzsche, and so on. You might say that the best way to learn what political philosophy is, is simply to study and read the works of those who have shaped the field--yes, right? But to do that is, I recognize, not without dangers, often severe dangers of its own. Why study just these thinkers and not others? Is not any so-called list of great thinkers or great texts likely to be simply arbitrary and tell us more about what such a list excludes than what it includes? Furthermore, it would seem that the study of the great books or great thinkers of the past can easily degenerate into a kind of antiquarianism, into a sort of pedantry. We find ourselves easily intimidated by a list of famous names and end up not thinking for ourselves. Furthermore, doesn't the study of old books, often very old books, risk overlooking the issues facing us today? What can Aristotle or Hobbes tells us about the world of globalization, of terrorism, of ethnic conflict and the like? Doesn't political science make any progress? After all, economists no longer read Adam Smith. I hesitate to... I don't hesitate to say that you will never read Adam Smith in an economics course here at Yale, and it is very unlikely that you will read Freud in your psychology classes. So why then does political science, apparently uniquely among the social sciences, continue to study Aristotle, Locke and other old books? These are all real questions, and I raise them now myself because they are questions I want you to be thinking about as you do your reading and work through this course. I want you to remain alive to them throughout the semester. Yes? Okay. One reason I want to suggest that we continue to read these books is not because political science makes no progress, or that we are somehow uniquely fixated on an ancient past, but because these works provide us with the most basic questions that continue to guide our field. We continue to ask the same questions that were asked by Plato, Machiavelli, Hobbes, and others. We may not accept their answers and it's very likely that we do not, but their questions are often put with a kind of unrivaled clarity and insight. The fact is that there are still people in the world, many people, who regard themselves as Aristotelians, Thomists, Lockeans, Kantians, even the occasional Marxist can still be found in Ivy League universities. These doctrines have not simply been refuted, or replaced, or historically superceded; they remain in many ways constitutive of our most basis outlooks and attitudes. They are very much alive with us today, right. So political philosophy is not just some kind of strange historical appendage attached to the trunk of political science; it is constitutive of its deepest problems. If you doubt the importance of the study of political ideas for politics, consider the works of a famous economist, John Maynard Keynes, everyone's heard of him. Keynes wrote in 1935. "The ideas of economists and political philosophers, both when they are right and when they are wrong, are more powerful than is commonly understood....Practical men," Keynes continues, practical men "who believe themselves to be quite exempt from any intellectual influences, are usually the slave of some defunct economist. Madmen in authority, who hear voices in the air, are distilling their frenzy from some academic scribbler of a few years back" . So this course will be devoted to the study of those "academic scribblers" who have written books that continue to impress and create the forms of authority with which we are familiar. But one thing we should not do, right, one thing we should not do is to approach these works as if they provide, somehow, answers, ready-made answers to the problems of today. Only we can provide answers to our problems. Rather, the great works provide us, so to speak, with a repository of fundamental or permanent questions that political scientists still continue to rely on in their work. The great thinkers are great not because they've created some set of museum pieces that can be catalogued, admired, and then safely ignored like a kind of antiquities gallery in the Metropolitan Museum of Art; but rather because they have defined the problems that all later thinkers and scholars have had to use in order to make sense of their world at all. Again, we still think in terms of the basic concepts and categories that were created for us long ago. Okay? So one thing you will quickly note is that there are no permanent answers in a study of political philosophy. A famous mathematician once said, "Every question must have a correct answer, for every question one answer." That itself is an eminently contestable proposition. Among the great thinkers there is profound disagreement over the answers to even the most fundamental questions concerning justice, concerning rights, concerning liberty. In political philosophy, it is never a sufficient answer to answer a question with a statement "because Plato says so," or "because Nietzsche says so." There are no final authorities in that respect in philosophy because even the greatest thinkers disagree profoundly with one another over their answers, and it is precisely this disagreement with one another that makes it possible for us, the readers today, to enter into their conversation. We are called upon first to read and listen, and then to judge "who's right?" "how do we know?" The only way to decide is not to defer to authority, whoever's authority, but to rely on our own powers of reason and judgment, in other words the freedom of the human mind to determine for us what seems right or best. Okay? But what are these problems that I'm referring to? What are these problems that constitute the subject matter of the study of politics? What are the questions that political scientists try to answer? Such a list may be long, but not infinitely so. Among the oldest and still most fundamental questions are: what is justice? What are the goals of a decent society? How should a citizen be educated? Why should I obey the law, and what are the limits, if any, to my obligation? What constitutes the ground of human dignity? Is it freedom? Is it virtue? Is it love, is it friendship? And of course, the all important question, even though political philosophers and political scientists rarely pronounce it, namely, quid sit deus, what is God? Does he exist? And what does that imply for our obligations as human beings and citizens? Those are some of the most basic and fundamental problems of the study of politics, but you might say, where does one enter this debate? Which questions and which thinkers should one pick up for oneself? Perhaps the oldest and most fundamental question that I wish to examine in the course of this semester is the question: what is a regime? What are regimes? What are regime politics? The term "regime" is a familiar one. We often hear today about shaping regimes or about changing regimes, but what is a regime? How many kinds are there? How are they defined? What holds them together, and what causes them to fall apart? Is there a single best regime? Those are the questions I want us to consider. The concept of the regime is perhaps the oldest and most fundamental of political ideas. It goes back to Plato and even before him. In fact, the title of the book that you will be reading part of for this semester, Plato's Republic, is actually a translation of the Greek word politea that means constitution or regime. The Republic is a book about the regime and all later political philosophy is a series of footnotes to Plato, and that means that it must provide a series of variations, so to speak, on Plato's conception of the best regime. But what is a regime? Broadly speaking, a regime indicates a form of government, whether it is ruled by the one, a few, the many, or as more common, some mixture, a combination of these three ruling powers. The regime is defined in the first instance by how people are governed and how public offices are distributed by election, by birth, by lot, by outstanding personal qualities and achievements, and what constitutes a people's rights and responsibilities. The regime again refers above all to a form of government. The political world does not present itself as simply an infinite variety of different shapes. It is structured and ordered into a few basic regime types. In this, I take it to be one of the most important propositions and insights of political science. Right? So far? But there is a corollary to this insight. The regime is always something particular. It stands in a relation of opposition to other regime types, and as a consequence the possibility of conflict, of tension, and war is built in to the very structure of politics. Regimes are necessarily partisan, that is to say they instill certain loyalties and passions in the same way that one may feel partisanship to the New York Yankees or the Boston Red Sox, or to Yale over all rival colleges and institutions, right? Fierce loyalty, partisanship: it is inseparable from the character of regime politics. These passionate attachments are not merely something that take place, you might, say between different regimes, but even within them, as different parties and groups with loyalties and attachments contend for power, for honor, and for interest. Henry Adams once cynically reflected that politics is simply the "organization of hatreds," and there is more than a grain of truth to this, right, although he did not say that it was also an attempt to channel and redirect those hatreds and animosities towards something like a common good. This raises the question whether it is possible to transform politics, to replace enmity and factional conflict with friendship, to replace conflict with harmony? Today it is the hope of many people, both here and abroad, that we might even overcome, might even transcend the basic structure of regime politics altogether and organize our world around global norms of justice and international law. Is such a thing possible? It can't be ruled out, but such a world, I would note--let's just say a world administered by international courts of law, by judges and judicial tribunals--would no longer be a political world. Politics only takes place within the context of the particular. It is only possible within the structure of the regime itself. But a regime is more than simply a set of formal structures and institutions, okay? It consists of the entire way of life, the moral and religious practices, the habits, customs, and sentiments that make a people what they are. The regime constitutes an ethos, that is to say a distinctive character, that nurtures distinctive human types.