From its very beginnings political science has been a complex discipline torn in conflicting directions. Consider Aristotle's Politics, the first book that looks like a contemporary political science monograph. In the book, Aristotle presented two opposing strands of argument that he managed with tolerable success to hold together. On the one hand, Aristotle treated the study of politics as a branch of practical knowledge, its aim being action (praxis), not theory. Political action is always contextual or circumstantial, the action of particular agents faced with a particular set of circumstances. Therefore, the student of politics needs to be concerned above all with learning the art of political judgment, with how to think and deliberate well under specific circumstances. Aristotle wrote the Politics for men situated in popular assemblies, courts of law, and councils of war. He presented politics as inseparable from rhetoric, the art of public persuasion. Aristotle believed that the perspective of the political theorist should not depart too far from that of the citizen or statesman.

Yet, at the same time, Aristotle acknowledged that politics is a form of knowledge with its own distinctive subject matter and set of truth claims. Good student of Plato's that he was, Aristotle saw himself as turning the study of politics into a science (episteme) inasmuch as it constituted the search for a comprehensive or general explanation of some particular branch of knowledge.

What is the utility of classical political theory and modern writing about it for current-day positive (that is, explanatory) political science? By “classical,” I mean works from Plato through at least Weber.

In modern American political science, the conventional answer to this question has been that classical theory offers normative illumination. It helps out with certain “should” questions—that is, recommendations about how political systems should be constructed or how individuals acting as political beings should behave. Important as this line of thinking may be in its own terms, I believe that it has worked to marginalize or trivialize classical theory for many writers and teachers in the positive sectors. It has allowed the kind of dismissal that Ayer (1948), writing at the high tide of logical positivism, gave to normative concerns. Classical theory scholars made a tactical mistake a few generations back, if they had any choice in the matter, to let themselves become labeled “normative.”

It is much better to see classical theory as a source of ontological illumination—that is, as a window to the nature of political reality. What is the nature of the political reality that political scientists should be studying? If we members of the profession possessed a clear, singular answer to this question, we might not feel the need to keep classical theory alive. But we do not possess a clear, singular answer, or at least we do not agree on any.

Political philosophy as we know it blossomed with the arrival of European immigrants like Hannah Arendt, Leo Strauss, and Eric Vogelin after World War II. These refugee scholars challenged their American colleagues in at least three important ways. They dared political scientists to be more morally conscientious, to focus on matters of real importance, and to develop a more refined historical sensibility.

These authors suggested that the fact/value distinction at the center of the social scientific enterprise was indicative of a moral decay at the center of Western civilization. This decay paved the way for Nazism in the twenties and thirties, and possibly would contribute to Soviet victory in the Cold War if changes were not made. Less Cassandra-like was their charge that political scientists were primarily interested in refining the study of the insignificant. What they could measure through their dominant methods—public opinion, voting patterns, etc.—was trivial in comparison to the classical analysis of regime types, or the nature of man, or the purpose of the common life.

As a result, these philosophers offered history, unabashedly Western history, as a resource for studying these timeless questions of political inquiry. To their minds, questioning the nature of tyranny, or the status of authority, was still worthwhile; fundamental, in fact. They encouraged other political scientists to incorporate these themes into their practice. Indeed, Steven Smith's contribution to this colloquy represents a renewed effort in this vein.

For many years, Democrats have waited patiently to preside over good times. No Koreas, Vietnams, or Irans. No stagflation. Just nice, tranquil prosperity—the sort of happy circumstances that make not only for short-run electoral success, but also for the recruitment of tried-and-true Democrats. Since the early 1980s, the Democratic Party has been short on Democrats. In the 1970s, Democrats comprised roughly two-thirds of all party identifiers; at the close of the century, that figure stood at approximately 57%.

At long last, the Democrats seem to have their chance. By every measure, the economy has been booming. In particular, consumer confidence, which MacKuen, Erikson, and Stimson (1989) have hailed as one of the driving forces behind partisan realignment, has soared. During Ronald Reagan's “Morning in America,” the Michigan Index of Consumer Sentiment stood at 95. Clinton's mornings have been even rosier, given the 100+ scores that have been posted every quarter since the spring of 1997 (see http://www.fcnbd.com/cor/fccm/Research-Fixed/usdata/sentiment/sentiment.htm). Indeed, the Index of Consumer Sentiment has regularly achieved the highest levels ever recorded since 1953.

Another driving force behind partisan realignment, presidential popularity, has also soared. Say what you will about President Clinton's travails in office; his Gallup Poll approval ratings have always been respectable. No Nixon-, Carter-, or Bush-like scores in the 30s for him. Indeed, Bill Clinton has at times achieved Kennedyesque scores in the 60s, and his average rating easily surpasses that of Ronald Reagan.