Citizens do not choose sides on issues like busing or abortion whimsically. They have reasons for their preferences – certainly they can give reasons for them. But how is this possible? Citizens as a rule pay little attention to politics, indeed take only a modest interest in it even during election campaigns when their interest in politics is at its height. And since they pay little attention to politics, it is hardly surprising that they know little about it. Many, in fact, are quite ignorant of basic facts of political life – such as the identity of the party that controls Congress or indeed the name of the congressman who represents them. Which, of course, raises a question of some interest: how do citizens figure out what they think about political issues, given how little they commonly know about them?

The arrival of the Alliance on the British political scene has complicated the party system to an extent unknown for over half a century. Elections can no longer be counted upon to produce straightforward and immediate shifts in partisan control of the government. The next election could very well produce a hung Parliament.

Much political behaviour can be interpreted as the pursuit of more or less naked self-interest. Occasionally, though, individuals do apparently exhibit some concern for their fellow human beings. The result is a less cold and dismal world – and one in which moral philosophers can find a role. Our focus here, however, is more on practical problems than philosophical ones. We shall be less concerned with questions of what moralists should demand of people than with questions of how such demands could be enforced upon people. Specifically, we will be asking how it is possible to evoke from people support for policies aiding those less fortunate than themselves. We propose to address this question by exploring the sources of support for the most broadly-based institution presently available for promoting social justice, the welfare state.

Explaining the foreign policy behaviour of states has proved a particularly difficult task for theorists of international relations. For centuries it relied on an analogy between states and individuals in the state of nature, so that an endemic tendency to international anarchy resulted from states having ‘interests’; systemic, determinist theories could therefore explain foreign policy by appealing to such notions as national interest and power maximization. The elusive, contestable character of these notions later led many analysts to focus on the empirical decision-making process for explanations of foreign policy behaviour. Yet these attempts have run into a fundamental problem: the proper weight to be attached to the perceptions and reasons of the actors. Some of the literature takes the actors very seriously and relies either on a psychology of perception or on a decision-theoretic model of individual choice. Some of it, on the other hand, by-passes the actors altogether and concentrates on such structural features as bureaucratic position. In this article we shall argue the case for a concept of role, requiring a less mechanical view of action than the standard approaches allow, both separately and in combination.

Are Happy Days for government really here again? Recent polls suggest that the long slide in public confidence in America's political institutions and authorities has finally ended. Ronald Reagan, who came to Washington to bury government rather than praise it, ironically has presided over a restoration of trust in the competence of national leadership. We begin this article by charting the contours of the unanticipated improvement in the public's image of government, assessing the magnitude of the increase in confidence, identifying the social groups whose outlook has changed and specifying the institutions that have gained in popular esteem. Our main purpose, however, is to provide an explanation for the resurgence of trust in government that addresses persistent controversies about the theoretical and empirical status of this concept.

For almost a decade we have taken issue with the prevailing view of independent voters. We showed that Independents, as they were usually defined, had nothing in common, and in fact were more diverse than either Democrats or Republicans. Virtually no generalizations about Independents were correct, except by accident, because they comprise three very different kinds of people. Most Independents acknowledge that they are closer to one or the other party. The crux of our argument was that this ‘leaning’ should outweigh an initial claim of independence when deciding how to classify respondents. Our most striking finding was that leaners vote like outright partisans. We interpreted this as evidence that most professed Independents are not neutral between the parties, but are nearly as partisan as avowed Democrats and Republicans. This conclusion had major implications for both mainstream and revisionist views of American politics, all the more so because of the growing numbers of Independents, who accounted for 38 per cent of the adult population by 1978, thus matching the Democrats and leaving Republicans in a distant third place.

It is worthwhile debating the meaning of concepts only when they start to hinder the process of inquiry. This seems to be the case with Max Weber's concepts of legitimacy and legitimate authority. They are becoming increasingly popular among students of Soviet-type societies despite the numerous problems posed by their application in a socio-political context that is so different from the one Weber had in mind. This increased popularity results in a ‘conceptual stretch’. More importantly, it increases the danger of a serious misinterpretation of socio-political processes in Soviet-type societies because, as will be argued in this article, the concept of legitimacy is not appropriate for the analysis of mass compliance in such societies. Instead, the persistence of (relatively) stable social and political order in these societies, as well as the occurrences of mass dissent, may be better accounted for in terms of ‘conditional tolerance’. In order to demonstrate the utility of this concept, and to show the problematic nature of accounts in terms of legitimacy and legitimate authority, it is necessary to start with a brief reprise of Weber's conceptual scheme.

The current American debate about the relationship between business and government represents the most significant reopening of that issue since the New Deal. The debate is in part about government's role in the economy, but the issue of business's role in politics is being joined as well, joined in fact on several fronts. There are, of course, the polemics of corporations and their critics, in which business is cast alternately as victim and villain. The issue also divides more serious students of American politics and has fostered a wealth of theorizing about the role of the state. Finally, the issue of business influence pervades discussions about campaign finance.

Since the 1960s, successive protest movements have challenged public policies, established modes of political participation and socio-economic institutions in advanced industrial democracies. Social scientists have responded by conducting case studies of such movements. Comparative analyses, particularly cross-national comparisons of social movements, however, remain rare, although opportunities abound to observe movements with similar objectives or forms of mobilization in diverse settings.

Local government borrowing is often referred to as a highly technical, not to say arcane, activity of local government. It should not be dismissed so easily. In reality, such borrowing illuminates broader relations between government and market by highlighting interdependencies which exist between central government, local government and financial markets.

The conservative revival that has taken place on both sides of the Atlantic in recent years has been an intellectual as well as a practical accomplishment. That this remarkable fact has received scant attention from political theorists can be attributed to two main causes. First, and less important, there has been an understandable tendency to focus on personalities and party politics where expediency blurs the sharp outlines of doctrine. As President Reagan confronts the problems of a second-term presidency, as Mrs Thatcher's iron grip on her party seems to weaken and as Chancellor Kohl or Mr Mulroney make their inevitable compromises and evasions, the conservative politician in office is revealed to be not dissimilar to his liberal or socialist predecessor. Now – as Elie Kedourie noted when asking the question ‘Is neo-conservatism viable?’ back in 1982 – this is only to be expected. The constraints of democratic politics will inevitably narrow ideological differences until they appear to be little more than rhetoric. If there has been a conservative revival, its significant and enduring features must be sought elsewhere.

Modern British government is government by party leaders in Cabinet. It is still the ‘Crown in Parliament’ which formally takes or authorizes every legislative or administrative action, but of the three major components of the Crown in Parliament – the Commons, the Lords, and the Sovereign – the first is now virtually unchecked. The House of Lords can only minimally delay acts of the Commons, and both the Lords and the Monarch have long since lost their ability to veto (much less initiate) legislation. Since those in the Cabinet control the agenda of the House of Commons, since the Cabinet almost invariably consists solely of the leaders of the party with a majority of seats in the Commons, and since the influence of party on voting in Parliament is very strong, the Commons itself has in essence only retained a veto over the legislative proposals of the majority party's leaders who sit in the Cabinet. As a recent essay on legislation in Britain notes, ‘today's conventional wisdom is that … Parliament has relinquished any capacity for legislative initiative it may once have possessed to the executive in its midst’.

When streams of research are isolated from one another by methodological style and ideological character, the fact that they share similar explanatory principles is easily overlooked. Thus, since the 1950s many quantitative and ‘pluralistic’ American studies have argued that political leaders are more likely than the public to support procedural rules of the game. And since at least the 1930s, many qualitative and ‘left-wing’ European commentaries have argued that, in matters of socio-economic policy, members of parliaments become more moderate than their parties' activists. These important claims are embedded in two partial theories which have previously been treated as unrelated, the theories of institutional support and of deradicalization. And yet, different as these theories may be in many respects, they are driven by similar socialization principles which accompany movement from one role in the political system to another. Such socialization principles are a conservative force inculcating both institutional support in procedural rules of the game and deradicalization in orientations towards public policy.

For most of the seventeenth century, natural philosophers in Europe were confronted with two opposing views of the universe: the traditional Ptolemaic view and the emerging Copernican view. The former was slow to give way to the latter because it could be adequately supported by evidence, and its adherents, for reasons of professional status, had a vested interest in maintaining its theoretical integrity. Initially, the Copernican view possessed only the advantage of elegance. After much heated and ‘incommensurable’ discussion, the argument was only resolved finally when the older generation of scientists died out and the growing volume of observational anomalies overwhelmed the capacity of the traditional approach to explain them away.

‘The Irish party system is unique. In no other European polity does a small number of programmatically indistinguishable parties, each commanding heterogeneous electoral support, constitute the entire party system.’ This bold statement is merely a particularly forthright expression of a commonly held view about political parties in the Republic of Ireland. This view is understandable given that the formal casus belli between the two major parties was the Anglo-Irish Treaty of 1921; surely this issue must at some stage have been overtaken by events. In the revised edition of his standard text on Irish politics, Chubb points to the year 1948 as the date by which the ‘issues which had split Sinn Fein were either resolved or increasingly irrelevant’. He goes on to argue that from the 1950s ‘all parties were to a great extent drained of ideology; they overlapped considerably in the policies they proposed; and they competed for the votes of a public increasingly concerned with welfare and consumer politics and less and less with national issues’. What we may call ‘the no-differences thesis’ has far-reaching implications for our understanding of the Irish party system and of the role it plays in policy formulation and the wider political process.

The standard explanation of collective action in modern political economy can be outlined as follows: a collective (or public) good is only an incentive for a joint contribution to its provision, if those who benefit from the good at least perceive some influence arising from their contribution, the costs of contributing being otherwise greater than the benefits derived from it; otherwise joint efforts for the provision of the collective good will not ensue. If the good itself does not stimulate collective action, contributions will nevertheless occur when selective incentives become effective. These are benefits arising from contributing and/or costs resulting from no contribution being made.