1.1 What’s the point of it all?
We start here with a question. If you ask a political philosopher what the point is of their subject, what do you think they would say? The truth is, you wouldn’t get an answer at all, given the way that they – or indeed we – normally carry on. Instead, you would probably end up being asked a question yourself, and normally one along the lines of ‘Well, what do you mean by point?’ To this you should say nothing, because, if you are lucky, they might elaborate by saying something like: ‘Well, do you mean the motive of the person doing it?’ For example, I do it to make me happy. Do you mean their intention? For example, I do it to change the world. Or do you mean the immediate objective of whatever it is they are working on? For example, I’m currently analysing the concept of freedom in order better to understand what freedom is, despite fearing this won’t change the world, and despite getting rather unhappy about that very fear. After such elaboration, their demeanour will vary according to age. If they are old, they will lean back, pleased with their efforts, as smug as a swan. If they are young, they will lean in, unintendedly aggressive, ready to defend their uses of terms such as motive and intention and impatient for the next chance to hear themselves think.
What can one learn from this almost imaginary exchange? First, we learn straight away that there are clearly going to be many points to political philosophy in the sense of the various ends it serves, each of which could animate, alone or in combination, whoever it is that is doing or reading it. As with most things in life, we need not pursue it for just one reason. Think here, for example, of marriage. Is it about love, sex, family, public celebration and affirmation, companionship, security, or something else altogether? Naturally, for different individuals, and different marriages, all sorts of reasons, and various combinations of reasons, will apply. Second, we learn a little less quickly that part of the point of political philosophy, and a part that has very much to do with the ‘philosophy’ half of it, is of course to think about its very point. ‘What is the point of political philosophy?’, after all, is a very philosophical question, as is ‘What is a point?’, ‘What is the point of thinking about points?’, and, naturally, ‘What is the point of thinking about thinking about points?’
Before we indulge ourselves, however, let’s now get much more to the point and focus specifically on this book and political philosophy. What, exactly, are my key claims here? What precisely is – or are – the point – or points – of this subject? Well, as explained by chapter 2, at one level the point of political philosophy is to tell us not how politics worked in the past, or how it works in the present, but how it should work in the future. If somebody asked you what political philosophy is, you could answer with that mission. Then, at a second level, and as explained by chapter 3, its point is to analyse our key political ideas, critique them, and figure out how they could be ordered into some ideal and organising vision. If somebody asked you how to do political philosophy, you could answer with that list of three tasks. Then, at a third level, as shown by chapter 4, its point is to guide individuals and societies, helping them to figure out what they should think about both the status quo and its alternatives. If somebody asked you why you teach, publish, and discuss political philosophy, as opposed to just keeping it to yourself, you could answer with that ambition. And again, at a fourth level, and as shown by all three of these chapters, a further point of political philosophy is also to reflect upon these very points, if only in order to check that we got those first three levels right. If, therefore, somebody asks you why you’re writing a book called ‘What’s the Point of Political Philosophy?’, then that point, I would suggest, should be part of your answer.
Now, in order to be as clear as possible, we can also put these same points in a different order. Let’s say, for example, that you ask a political philosopher what they are thinking about, and they say ‘the nature of freedom (or justice, or legitimacy, or whatever)’. To this you might say, especially if you are rude, ‘But what’s the point of that?’ They then reply that it’s important to analyse, critique, and order our key political ideas. You then say: ‘But what’s the point of that?’ They then reply that we need to get a handle on such things in order to know how politics should be organised, as opposed to just how it’s organised right now. You then say: ‘But what’s the point of that?’ They then reply that when they publish such work, and their colleagues publish similar work, and when we all talk about it and teach it, then together we weave a tapestry that society can draw upon when faced with inevitable and difficult choices about how to organise itself. And then? At this point, I would hope, you let them get on with what they were doing.
There is, though, a further question here regarding what exactly I am trying to achieve with this book by explaining these various ‘points’ to political philosophy. The answer to that is simple. My aim is to provide an original but accessible account of our subject – my subject – political philosophy. Or, more precisely, I want to tell readers what political philosophy is, how you can do it, and why you might want to do it. Yet what, you might say – for that is the kind of person you’ve become – is the real point of that?
We can think about that question from the point of view of three groups of readers. First, for scholars, the point of this book is to push forward our understanding of the nature, methods, and purposes of our field, thus giving them something new, and hopefully nutritious, into which to dig their critical teeth. There are many of us today interested in the practice and purpose of our subject, whether working on ‘realism’ vs. ‘moralism’,1 ‘ideal’ vs. ‘non-ideal’ theory,2 ‘transcendental’ vs. ‘comparative’ theory,3 ‘political political theory’,4 or something else altogether,5 and for such people I hope the book will be a welcome, and short, addition to their reading lists. Second, for students, the point is to guide them through a subject to which they might be new or in which they now need more detailed methodological advice, perhaps in the pursuit of an essay, a dissertation, or a doctoral thesis. Third, for members of the gen eral public, assuming any such wonderful creatures ever read this book, the point is to tell them not just what our subject involves but also why it matters, in the various ways that it does. Yet presumably, if you’ve paid for this book, you already have some inkling of this, unless of course you’re just skim-reading via Google, in which case you certainly haven’t paid for anything.
At this point I imagine you have just one final and fundamental question to ask, namely: Who exactly am I to be writing this? I would expect you to ask that question, given your form so far, although you might, to be fair, phrase it somewhat more precisely and politely. You might, for example, say something like this: How exactly does what I’ve been working on for the last decade or so feed into this book? Surely, though, the answer is clear? Obviously I’m a fox who’s turning into a hedgehog. Or, if that’s not so clear, let me explain. In philosophical circles these days, a hedgehog is someone who knows one big thing, while a fox knows lots of little things.6 That is, a hedgehog is someone who, at least over time, ends up sitting on one big and important truth, while foxes run around sniffing out and digging up all sorts of smaller ones. Why then am I becoming a hedgehog? Well, because initially in my career I was interested in all sorts of things. I was interested in what, if anything, political philosophy needed to take on board from history.7 I was interested in whether political philosophy needs to be more realistic and less utopian.8 I was interested in the dense systems of thought built up by the likes of John Rawls and Joseph Raz.9 All of which, you might think, is very fox-like behaviour. Yet really I was a hedgehog on the make, because all of this work, in essence, was focused on the key points discussed so far – regarding what political philosophy is, how it can be done, and why we might want to do it. At all times, you might say, I was interested in the nature, methods, and purposes of our subject. This is why, a couple of years ago, I wrote a long book called Is Political Philosophy Impossible?,10 but also why, today, I’m writing this rather shorter one. This, after all, is a book designed for both the new and the established and for both the methodologically minded – interested in the same meta-issues as me – and those more conventionally inclined – interested in the kind of analysis, critique, and ordering touched on above, as well as the political guidance to which it can lead.
