Public Opinion opens with the gap between the world and our knowledge of it. Lippmann describes islanders who went on treating their German neighbors as friends for weeks after war had been declared, because the news had not reached them. The episode is a parable: each of us lives by a picture of an environment we cannot directly inspect, and we act on that picture as if it were the thing itself. The world is known, he insists, only indirectly, through reports, symbols, and the imagination that fills the gaps.
He gives this picture a name. Between a person and the surrounding reality stands a pseudo-environment, built from the scene of action, the human image of that scene, and the response that the image provokes. Behavior is a reaction to the picture, but the results of behavior fall in the real world, which is how illusions eventually collide with facts. Lippmann then catalogs why the picture is bound to be partial: censorship and privacy hide things, distance and limited contact restrict access, scarce time and attention compress events into a few minutes a day, and the work of squeezing the world into short words and clear stories strips away detail.
The middle of the book studies stereotypes, the patterns we carry that let us recognize the world quickly. For the most part, Lippmann argues, we do not first see and then define, we define first and then see, picking out what our culture has already marked and perceiving it in the stereotyped form. Stereotypes economize attention and defend a person's values and standing, which is why they are guarded so fiercely and why a fact that disturbs them feels like an attack. He examines their blind spots, the moral codes built into them, and the discipline required to detect and correct them.
From perception he moves to power. Symbols and slogans can fuse scattered, conflicting interests into a single common will, often by transferring private feeling onto a public emblem and by letting leaders supply the unifying image. Because every official controls some access to facts and every leader is to some degree a propagandist, opinion can be shaped at the point where it is formed. Lippmann calls this the manufacture of consent, an old art now improved by psychological analysis and modern communication into a deliberate instrument of government. He then turns on the inherited theory of democracy, the self-centered and self-contained community whose omnicompetent citizen was supposed to hold all needed knowledge in his own head, and argues that this image fit only the small township, not the Great Society.
The closing parts examine the press and propose a remedy. Newspapers are a business serving a buying public and a hurried reader, and the function of news, to signalize events, is not the same as the function of truth, to bring hidden facts into a workable picture of reality. Expecting the daily paper to supply that truth, Lippmann says, overloads an instrument never built for it. His answer is organized intelligence: independent bureaus of experts, accountants, statisticians, and analysts who make the unseen facts of a complex society intelligible to those who decide. Better information at the source, not exhortation of an already overburdened public, is where he locates the hope for self-government.