We tend to think of politics as bad, full of dirty tricks

The words of Eric Liu—“We tend to think of politics as bad, full of dirty tricks, negative ads, big campaigns, but I am here to explore the original meaning of politics, which is positive and has to do with balancing competing interests and looking for solutions”—call us back to a truth long buried under the noise of cynicism. In our age, the very word politics tastes bitter upon the tongue. Yet in its origin, it was not poison but nourishment, not corruption but the art of living together. To understand this is to remember that the affairs of the polis, the city, are not the domain of tricksters alone but the sacred duty of all who dwell within it.

The origin of politics lies in ancient Greece. The word springs from polis, meaning “city” or “community.” For the Greeks, politics was not a game of power alone but the noble practice of finding harmony among competing voices. In the marketplace and in the assembly, citizens gathered not merely to quarrel, but to deliberate on the good life. They knew that no one man could hold the whole truth, but that through debate, through compromise, through the weaving together of interests, a higher truth might emerge. Thus the original spirit of politics was not decay, but creation.

Consider the story of Pericles, leader of Athens during its golden age. His vision of politics was not limited to conquest or cunning. He expanded democracy, allowed the common man to have a voice, and guided the city to great achievements in art, philosophy, and architecture. The Parthenon was not the work of a single hand, but of a people whose competing interests were balanced under the guidance of wise leadership. Though Athens was not without flaws, its greatness lay in its attempt to use politics as a tool for solutions, not simply as a battlefield for power.

In more recent times, think of Abraham Lincoln. The United States was torn in two, divided by the great moral wound of slavery. The air was thick with hatred, and politics seemed nothing but strife. Yet Lincoln, with patience and vision, sought not merely to defeat an enemy but to preserve a union. His politics was not the art of trickery, but of balancing freedom and unity, justice and mercy. In his Second Inaugural Address, he spoke of binding wounds, “with malice toward none, with charity for all.” That spirit reveals what Liu speaks of: politics as the pursuit of solution, not simply the perpetuation of conflict.

The lesson is this: when we think of politics only as corruption, we abandon it to those who corrupt it. When we scorn the public square, we leave it empty for the loudest and the cruelest voices to dominate. But when we reclaim the original meaning, when we approach it as the art of balancing differences, then politics becomes what it was meant to be: a shared search for the common good.

Practical wisdom demands action. Do not retreat into silence when faced with civic life. Speak, but also listen. Stand firm in your convictions, but seek always the place where your truth and another’s may coexist. Reject the seduction of bitterness and mockery; instead, engage with patience, with empathy, and with the belief that solutions are possible. Begin with small circles—your family, your workplace, your community—so that you may practice the ancient art of politics in daily life.

For in the end, Liu’s words remind us that politics is not an enemy to flee but a field to cultivate. It is the weaving of diverse threads into a single garment, the balancing of stones into a bridge that all may cross. To abandon it is to leave the bridge broken; to embrace it is to carry forward the wisdom of ages. And if we do so, then perhaps the word politics will no longer ring hollow, but once again carry its original light: the promise of people, together, seeking solutions.