of a telephone directory. The chapters below concentrate on his two major works,
Man, the State and War (1959) and Theory of International Politics (1979). Hidemi
Suganami’s chapter discusses some of the links between them; nonetheless, Waltz’s
other writing is not entirely ignored. Nor should it be, for it has often been con-
troversial and controversialist, as well as addressing major issues. In particular, in
what follows, there is some discussion of his work on democracy and foreign policy
(see the chapters by Michael Foley and Michael Williams), and on the significance
of nuclear weapons (see the chapters by Daniel Deudney and Nicholas Wheeler).
It is his classic books, however, which receive and deserve most detailed attention
(see Suganami for example on Man, the State and Warand Ole Wæver on Theory of
International Politics).
To have written one classic in one’s chosen field – let alone two as Waltz has –
merits the accolade of ‘pre-eminent’ thinker by any standards. But how are classics
to be read? There is a persistent argument that all works should be understood strictly
in context (as is explained in the chapter by Chris Brown). At one level there can
beno quibbling with the spirit of such an approach, for context can deliver insight:
but there are some books for which a contextualist reading can never be enough.
A classic might indeed be defined as a work that transcends context, enabling lucky
readers to have what the philosopher W.B Gallie used to call ‘a time-transcending
dialogue’ with the great mind behind it. Whether it is a dialogue about ‘human
nature’ (see the chapters by Neta Crawford and Jean Bethke Elshtain), or the
meanings of ‘theory’ (see the chapter by Wæver), or causation (see Suganami’s
chapter), Waltz’s books give us the opportunity to engage in a dialogue with an
indispensable theorist of the international. All the chapters show that there remains
a great deal left to discuss in Waltz’s books – another test of their being classics.
Waltz is known for his rigour as a social scientist, but what is often overlooked
by his friends as well as his detractors, is that he is also a gifted writer. There is a
richness in his work (not always evident in that of all his followers) which has been
missed by those who have focused narrowly on the most abstract and rationalistic
aspects of Waltzian theory, especially in the wake of his 1979 book. This has led to
the common image of the ‘poverty of neorealism’.^8 Proof, to the contrary, of the
richness of Waltz’s writing is evident in his ability to encapsulate a complex
argument in a beguilingly simple formulation (‘Human nature may in some sense
have been the cause of war in 1914, but by the same token it was the cause of peace
in 1910’);^9 in the way his books offer more provocative examination questions for
students, page for page, than any others in the field (for example, ‘If everyone’s
strategy depends upon everyone else’s, then the Hitlers determine in part the action,
or better, reaction, of those whose ends are worthy and whose means are fas-
tidious.’^10 Discuss!); and in his facility to offer a quip that sometimes recalls Bierce’s
Devil’s Dictionary(as with ‘Interdependence, one might think, is a euphemism used
to obscure the dependence of most countries’).^11 To ask readers to recognise the
richness of Waltz’s work must be accompanied by a request – too often ignored in
today’s fast-food approach to learning and teaching – that there is no substitute for
chewing Waltz, slowly, in the original.
4 Realism redux