Politics as a Vocation is based on a lecture Weber gave in 1919 (the eighth year of Taisho in Japan), in Germany, shaken by defeat in the First World War and by revolution. The word “vocation” here means not only a job by which one earns a living but also a “calling” to which one devotes oneself as a mission. Analyzing how politics works, Weber asks what qualities and what ethics are required of those who carry it out.

First, politics is the activity of directing the management of a state, or of seeking to influence that direction. The state cannot be defined by its purposes, such as education or welfare, because in history there have been groups other than the state that performed those functions. What is peculiar to the state is that, within a given territory, it holds a monopoly on the use of physical force recognized as legitimate. This is not a claim that state violence is unconditionally right; it is an analysis showing that rule holds only when that authority is accepted as legitimate.

Weber divides the grounds of legitimacy on which people obey authority into three: “traditional authority,” obedience to long-standing custom; “charismatic authority,” belief in a leader’s heroism or extraordinary qualities; and “legal authority” (the rule of law, as we would say), obedience to law and to the powers grounded in it. In real politics these are mixed together. In the modern state, rule by law and by a specialized bureaucracy develops especially strongly.

Among those involved in politics, some take part only occasionally, through voting and the like, while others make politics their occupation. What matters for professional politicians is the distinction between living “for” politics and living “off” politics. The former means finding meaning in life in politics; the latter means earning a continuing income from it. (This is the difference between a statesman and a mere political operator, one might say.) The two are compatible. Earning income from politics is not in itself ignoble. If politics were left only to those who can devote themselves to it unpaid, it could become the monopoly of the wealthy. The problem is whether politics is made a means of private gain or a service to the cause one pursues.

Modern politics requires party organizations, election campaigns, newspapers, political funds, and the like. Hence there appear specialists who organize supporters, and politicians who sustain their organizations by distributing posts and positions. Democratic politics, too, is not simply a mechanism by which the will of the people is realized as it stands; it needs leaders and organizations. Politicians are therefore required to have the ability to win mass support, together with the judgment not to be buried in the interests of the organization.

Weber also distinguishes the duties of officials from those of politicians. Officials need expertise, accuracy, and impartiality in the performance of their duties. If an order is maintained in the end even after they have voiced objections, it is a point of professional honor to carry it out faithfully as the judgment of the person responsible. A politician, by contrast, chooses a course and must personally bear responsibility for the result. Having been ordered from above is no excuse. Being an excellent official is not the same as being an excellent political leader.

The qualities listed as necessary for a politician are passion, a sense of responsibility, and judgment. Passion means not excitement or self-intoxication but devotion to a cause. A sense of responsibility means bearing the consequences of the actions that realize that cause. Judgment means the ability to keep a distance from people and from reality and to assess them calmly. Neither zeal alone nor cold calculation alone is enough. Vanity in particular turns power from a means of achieving one’s aims into a tool of self-display, and leads judgment astray.

The core of the book lies in the distinction between the “ethic of conviction” and the “ethic of responsibility.” The ethic of conviction values staying true to one’s beliefs. The ethic of responsibility, by contrast, takes responsibility for the foreseeable consequences of one’s actions. Even a policy that starts from good intentions can lead to a terrible outcome. Politicians must factor human weakness and conflicts of interest into the conditions of reality, and must not blame the results solely on the ill will of others.

But the ethic of responsibility is not a license to do anything for the sake of a goal. In politics, even the pursuit of a worthy end may entail dangerous means and undesirable side effects. Because they handle power backed by violence, politicians cannot escape this ethical tension. Weber does not end by treating the ethic of conviction and the ethic of responsibility as a simple opposition; he calls for a maturity that holds both conviction and responsibility for consequences.

The politics portrayed in the conclusion is work like slowly and tenaciously boring through hard boards, using passion and judgment. Without the will to attempt the impossible, even what is possible cannot be achieved. Yet one needs the strength to keep working even when the world does not respond to one’s ideals and one meets setbacks and disappointment. Aptitude for politics cannot be measured by the strength to crave power alone. Can one face reality, hold to one’s convictions, and bear responsibility for the results, and still keep at it? Therein lies the condition for those who make politics their calling.

Chaplain Kagao Shunin

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　When I had finished writing this letter, I wanted to pray to the Buddha in a spacious place. I left my room and climbed to the cliff edge beside the grave of former Director of Prisons Misa, on a small rise nearby.

　Looking out, to the east, beyond a dark green forest stretching left and right like a belt, Laguna Lake lay calm, just like the Seto Inland Sea. To the northeast, the mountains of Montalban, where the spirits of thousands of Japanese soldiers fell, now lay quiet as if nothing had ever happened, and beyond them the view faded into thin, light-filled clouds.

　Ever since I came to Muntinlupa and learned that the direction of those mountains was the direction of my homeland, I had felt them to be a dear and special presence. Today was no exception. I faced that way, closed my eyes for a while, and prayed for the prosperity of the homeland and for the happiness of the families of all the people here at Muntinlupa, myself included.

　Because the prison is such an abnormal environment, we are often looked down upon by the Filipinos. Although I ought to feel drawn to their simplicity, I could not help treating them with feelings of pity. Toward this vast natural scenery, however, I could feel only unconditional affection. The rows of mango trees and the groves along the roads near Muntinlupa in particular had an appearance worthy of the rich taste of their fruit, enough to stir the painter in me.

　Above this beautiful seat of great nature, the deep-blue sky spread like a canopy. Why must human beings quarrel and kill one another? — I was once again lost in such thoughts when, since it was New Year, the families of the Filipino prisoners began arriving at the prison one after another by bus, car and horse-drawn carriage.

　Inside the gate, there was already a great tide of people. On the concrete in front of the chapel, on the bare ground, or in the shade of the buildings, the families sat down close beside the prisoners and, as all tropical people do, ate the lunches they had brought, picking up the food with five fingers, chatting and laughing happily as if at a picnic.

　Seeing this, I felt sorry for the war criminals in their cells — men who had no visitors, and who, unlike me, could not even see the scenery outside freely. Avoiding the crowd, I went to comfort them.

　The war criminals had gone to bed only after two o’clock that morning because of last night’s entertainment and the seeing-out of the old year, and today they gathered in twos and threes and kept repeating stories of how enjoyable the events had been since Christmas.