The departments of political science in America's colleges and universities are now numbered in the hundreds, their students in the tens of thousands. The variety of these departments is bewildering, differing as they do in size, curriculum, teaching methods, political complexion, aspirations, and even in name. It is no easy matter to discover what the fifty-man faculty in political science at Columbia and the one-man department of government at a California junior college have in common; yet one thing in common they certainly do have: the introductory course, and the complex problem which it presents.

That the introductory course does present a major problem to departments of political science everywhere was clearly acknowledged by the program committee of the 1947 meeting of the American Political Science Association, when it scheduled a panel entitled “The Beginning Course in Political Science.” The problem was further acknowledged by the panel itself; hardly a person of the many who took part in its proceedings, whether seated at the round-table or holding forth extemporaneously from the audience, failed to show some degree of candid dissatisfaction with the introductory course as presently conducted at his institution. Rare indeed is the department of political science which is willing to let its introductory course ride along through 1948 in the exact shape it assumed through 1947. The urge for improvement is nation-wide, and several prominent departments have gone so far as to relieve instructors of part of their normal teaching burden and commission them to work out definite programs of radical revision.

Robert Penn Warren's All the King's Men is a political novel that deserves the serious study of political scientists interested in understanding the formative effects of American democracy. A careful reading of the novel that is informed by the classical approach to the analysis of regimes reveals the close connection between the politics of Willie Stark and the politics of modern American democracy. Furthermore, by viewing Stark's actions through the eyes of Jack Burden, a perceptive narrator who is moving toward self-knowledge, we can gain insight into both why modern democracies encourage the formation of a debilitating nihilism among their citizens and the prospects for countering these effects.

The main purpose of this paper is not so much to measure the impact of utilitarianism on American political thought as to explain why utilitarian influence was so slight. The question I am seeking to answer may be phrased as follows: How did it come about that utilitarianism, the main current in English thought for two or three generations, was little more than a series of ripples, or at most a weak cross-current, on this side of the Atlantic? The problem becomes more puzzling when one reflects that the period of the rise and growth of utilitarianism in England (the first three or four decades of the nineteenth century) was an era in which intellectual relations between the two countries were especially close and one in which movements of political and social reform ran parallel courses. Quite reasonably, too, one might suppose that the qualities of Bentham's thought which contributed to its spread in England would have insured its enthusiastic reception here. A doctrine which contemptuously rejected tradition, preached hard-headed, calculating practicality, conceived of the individual as an isolated atomistic unit, and which in all its aspects and phases appealed to the virtues and limitations of the middle-class man of affairs—such a doctrine, one might think, would have flourished on nineteenth-century American soil.

As preliminary to a direct attack on the problem, some definitions or distinctions are in order. “When I mention religion,” said Parson Thwackum, “I mean the Christian religion; and not only the Christian religion, but the Protestant religion; and not only the Protestant religion, but the Church of England.”

In 1942 the Democrats elected 222 candidates to the House of Representatives, while the Republicans elected 209. It was the most successful election for the Republicans since they lost control of the House in 1930, and marked a tremendous resurgence in their power from its nadir in the 1936 election. The change in the popular vote was not great; in 1936, 41.3 per cent of the major party vote went to Republican congressmen, while in 1942 they received 51.6 per cent of the major party popular vote. Yet clearly we have been witnessing a Republican trend; and the problem of this article is to discover the basis on which it rests.

I

It is well known that the majority of people in any election vote on party lines. Yet there are always a number of people not affiliated with either major party, and a number of “mavericks” who vote for the opposition candidate. If “issues” are involved in any election, their influence can be detected only in the votes of such people. Our first analysis will be directed to discovering what national issues, if any, were involved in the 1942 congressional elections.

To appreciate the political theories and institutions of Asia in the proper historical perspective, it is necessary to remember that, in spite of Switzerland, universal suffrage and the initiative and referendum are essentially young phenomena in Eur-America; and that republicanism cannot be pronounced to be a historic trait of the occidental mind.

On the other hand, it is apparent that the liberal political movements in Young Asia have, if at all, only very remote blood-relationship with the theories and institutions developed in its past history. The Japanese constitutional monarchy, the ideals of the Young Turk, the Chinese republic, as well as the nationalist activities in Egypt, Persia and India, are chiefly based on the modern Eur-American achievements. These sources can be briefly mentioned as: (1) the English parliament, (2) the American federation, (3) the “ideas of 1789,” (4) the idealism of Fichte and Schiller, (5) the socialism of Karl Marx and Louis Blanc, (6) the political mysticism of Joseph Mazzini, and, last but not least, (7) the philosophy and methodology of John Stuart Mill.

Within these limitations it should be possible to define the rightful place of the Asians in a scientific study of comparative politics.

This article is a comparative analysis of state income tax checkoff programs adopted between 1973 and 1979 that grew out of the Watergate era and were intended to reform methods of political finance in state elections. The descriptive characteristics of these programs are examined, their economic performance, factors contributing to economic success and program type, and the political behavior of taxpayers choosing whether to exercise the checkoff option and, if so, which suboptions they choose. Finally, a reform model based on recent works is offered as a basis for judging the performance of tax checkoffs. It is suggested that the performance of most checkoff programs falls considerably short of the expectations of the model.

Recent publications indicate a continuing interest among political scientists in both the aggregating of discrete acts of legislative behavior into underlying dimensions and the empirical specification of voting blocs. The latter interest is served by the former, as aggregation often producs sets of dimensions useful for descriptive purposes, as well as aiding other types of analysis. Recent studies include MacRae's work on the House of Representatives using various forms of scaling, Alker's paper on voting patterns in the sixteenth General Assembly of the United Nations using factor analysis, and Grumm's work on the Kansas legislature using another form of factor analysis (Q-technique).

As these papers have described in some detail, the technique of factor analysis is particularly useful in producing empirical dimensions which are unitary, stable, exhaustive and parsimonious.

A society of human individuals viewed as a politically organized unit is termed a state. The state, which, in its various activities and forms of organization, furnishes the material for political science, may be regarded from a number of standpoints. It may be studied sociologically as one of the factors as well as one of the results of communal life; it may be examined historically for the purpose of ascertaining the part which it has played in the life of humanity, its varying phases of development being traced and their several causes and results determined; it may be considered as an entity, to the existence and activities of which are to be applied the ethical criteria which the moralist and philosopher establish; it may be psychologically surveyed in order to make plain the manifestations of will, emotion and judgment which support and characterize its life; it may be regarded from the purely practical standpoint to determine how it may be most efficiently organized and operated; and, finally, it may be envisaged and studied simply as an instrumentality for the creation and enforcement of law. It is with the state, as viewed in this last aspect, that analytical political philosophy is concerned.

The point of departure of the analytical jurist is that in all communities which have reached any degree of definite political organization, public affairs, whether domestic or international, are not carried on in a haphazard manner, without system or fixed principles, but are governed by bodies of rules logically related to one another and all depending, as deductive conclusions, upon certain assumptions regarding the juristic nature of the state, of its sovereignty, of its law, and of the relations which it bears towards other bodies politic as similarly viewed.

When the laws of social dynamics are codified, surely the First will be that people see what they want to see. Given its universality, the First Law is no less applicable to scholars than anyone else. As political scientists, seeing what we want to see in a colleague's work, we find it “insightful,” “constructive,” and “important”; alternatively, not seeing in it what we want to see or, even worse, seeing what we don't want to see, we find it “turgid,” “misleading,” and “trivial.”

So it is with Hanrieder's formulation. Since it is only a bare outline and contains no data, no one is likely to regard his article as a definitive statement, but reactions to it are likely to be quite varied and conflicting. Some readers, especially those who worry about the prevalence of a malady they call “methodologism” in political science, will see in Hanrieder's effort to develop the concepts of compatibility and consensus yet another case of the quibbling over words that is the prime symptom of this affliction. After all, such critics will point out, compatibility and consensus are, respectively, only thirteen- and nine-letter words and to claim great explanatory power for them without elaboration is to substitute the form of language for the substance of thought. In a similar manner those long committed to a particular framework for examining foreign policy phenomena will preserve their commitment and wonder why Hanrieder makes so much fuss about the need for a new formulation when the available conceptual equipment seems capable of handling the convergence of national and international politics. After all, these analysts will conclude, Hanrieder himself says that researchers should be less inclined to create new schemes and more ready to build on existing ones; why, then, does he not follow his own advice?

On the other hand, analysts who are themselves perplexed by the convergence of national and international politics are likely to be more sympathetic to Hanrieder's effort, if not to its result. They may have doubts as to whether Hanrieder's unqualified claims for the concepts of compatibility and consensus are justified, but they will see his article as a serious attempt to confront a genuine and difficult problem.

“Political scientists … are … ex-post-facto entrail watchers … after-the-event sooth-sayers,” said the late Lucius Beebe. Similarly, much of the general public has long felt that social scientists are not scientists at all but deal in intuition and vague, unfounded generalizations, or are “proposition mongers,” a threat to policymakers.

These notions, together with the fact that social scientists work in sensitive, moral-charged subjects which frequently cause strong public reaction, are partly responsible for the relatively small support the Federal Government has given to research and scholarship in the social sciences.

In 1965 basic research of all types funded by the Federal Government amounted to $1.69 billion, of which the social sciences received only $37 million, or 2.2 per cent. The estimated obligations for 1966 and 1967 were about the same, 2.5 per cent and 2.8 per cent. Nor is there much difference when Federal support for applied research is considered. For 1965, Federal social science expenditures for applied research amounted to only 2.8 per cent of the $3.16 billion the Federal Government spent for all types of applied research, and for 1966 and 1967, estimated expenditures, are only 3.9 per cent and 4.8 per cent.

James Madison believed that political institutions are not the effects of conflicts among private groups in society. He traced political authority to human nature. It is the ultimate source of both public opinion and the motives which impel some individuals to hold government offices. Prudently contrived governmental institutions can moderate the countervailing tendencies arising from these two sources of authority, although they are necessarily in a state of continuing tension. Strict accountability of representatives to the whole range of diverse opinion in society is in conflict with the tendency of government to become autonomous. The latter tendency follows from government's using its power to establish the fiscal and military institutions required to wage war. By doing so a government may Creole a new political equilibrium which is masked by apparent adherence to established constitutional balance and is then independent of the balance of private property.

Isolationism, a persistent refrain in the history of American foreign policy, has received its full share of recent investigation. These investigations have followed a number of approaches, varying from historical research into the interaction of isolationist and interventionist groups and individuals in the pre-World War II period to studies of the underlying causes of isolationist thinking. It is the purpose of this paper to consider one of the ambiguities that still remain; that is, the commonly accepted assumption that in recent decades the Midwest has been the hard core of isolationism.

Midwestern isolationism is actually only one part of the larger question concerning the existence of a regional or geographic isolationist sentiment. On the untested assumption that isolationism is regional has rested the geographic explanation that isolationism is strongest in interior states because of the sense of insulation from international affairs that such location fosters. In this paper certain non-regional factors will be examined for their possible relationship to geographical centers of isolationist strength. Non-regional, socio-political factors might actually form the basis for several separate studies, and their consideration here is only intended to be suggestive of the further limitations these factors impose on a simple geographic explanation of isolationism.

This article elucidates and critically evaluates the Marxian ideas of justice and alienation by distinguishing between the class structure of capitalism and the use of the market as a mode of allocation. The argument is that the social relations of production, not the market mechanism, are primarily responsible for exploitation and alienated labor under capitalism. It follows from this that both the labor theory of value and the marginal theory of productivity, as theories of the market, are consistent with the Marxian theory of exploitation. An additional implication is that market socialism, the use of market arrangements against the background of socialist productive relations, is not only compatible with, but required by, the values that define a socialist society.

While it is true that every writer on politics has been to some degree an observer of psychological facts, the significance of this has never been so apparent to systematic students as it is today; otherwise, writings of considerable merit in political psychology could scarcely have suffered the fate of the two books referred to in the present study and have disappeared from sight. Dr. J. G. Zimmerman's Essay on National Pride, published at Zürich in 1758, might very well have been the point of departure for extended research into the nature of patriotism and international attitudes; Gottfried Duden's inquiry, Concerning the Essential Differences of States and the Motives of Human Nature, published at Cologne in 1822, stated problems and suggested methods for the examination of the realities of political power which ought to have inspired a century of minute research. Both books fell flat, and it is only in this day of numerous soundings in psychological politics that it has become worthwhile to disinter them.

That a book about national pride should have been published two years after the beginning of the Seven Years' War is a sharp reminder that European politics had undergone a transformation. The Reformation was undoubtedly a nationalist movement in many of its phases, but it introduced a series of sectional and party disturbances which intercepted the progress of nationalism. These had subsided, and by the eighteenth century the clash of competing imperialisms became not only a basic fact but a fact of which the men of the age were aware.

The study of developing areas has, in recent years, caused political science and theory to be increasingly aware of realities of non-Western government and politics. Comparative politics and its theory no longer, therefore, can avoid utilizing the results of the research of anthropologists and ethnologists in a way comparable to the use of historical data if they wish to be comprehensively empirical. Since the political theorist will not, as a rule, be able to become a practising anthropologist, the basic problem of such cooperation turns upon whether the investigating anthropologist asks the crucial, the basic questions in the first place. A broad survey of their reports and writings, such as the Human Relations Area Files afford, shows that this is by no means generally the case. Nor is this easy to achieve, for political scientists and anthropologists differ in their objectives. It has been suggested that the anthropologist is primarily interested in diversity, in how many ways something could be done, whereas for the political scientist and theorist such divergencies are important mainly as they lead to political insight and verifiable generalization.

The utility of the writings of anthropologists for the political scientist is seriously impeded by the over-simplified and misleading understanding of the nature of power and authority held by many of them.

Perhaps no single individual has had as much impact on the discipline of political science during the past several years as has Leo Strauss of the University of Chicago. Both he and his disciples (and they are disciples in the “classical” sense) have engaged in a full scale attack upon the premises underlying the contemporary study of politics.

Strauss argues that these premises are illfounded and self-contradictory, and, if taken seriously, lead to moral nihilism. He contends, further, that another set of premises, those of “classical natural right,” which treat man in terms of his natural end and his relation to the “mysterious whole,” are capable of providing a more adequate foundation for the study of politics.