After the first world war, Paul Valéry spoke for the entire generation when he observed that Western civilization had learned that it was mortal, and that “a civilization is as fragile as a life.” Thoughtful people discussed Oswald Spengler's work, began to criticize the idea of progress, revived cyclical theories of cultural decline, and were deeply stirred by the idea that Western civilization was in a state of decay. Since that time there has been no end to jeremiads and diagnoses judging that the crisis of our time is caused by the loss of spiritual convictions, the eclipse of transcendental values, the decline of morality, or the breakdown of traditional belief systems.

Frequently, the writings in this genre have offered not sound diagnoses but merely truisms and dolorous representations of symptoms; nevertheless, concealed in them lurks a psychological truth. The breakdown in morality and traditional beliefs, stimulated by rapid social change, mass society and secularization, has helped to devitalize the psychological bearer of conscience and morality: the superego. Historically, the cultivation of the superego had propagated civilized men and a system of internal controls. Now the deterioration of the superego has brought crisis for political power and regression for civilization.

Two years ago, when an astute critic made a half-century appraisal of comparative politics in the United States, he reminded us that the American Political Science Association was founded in 1903 as an outgrowth of moves to establish a National Conference on Comparative Legislation. During the more than half-century that followed, the writings in comparative government and politics have reflected the influences which have made themselves felt in the discipline as a whole. The attention given by Charles E. Merriam after World War I to “informal government,” “underlying processes and relations,” and “social bases of political cohesion” is fully appreciated now by those who are projecting comparative studies of political socialization. In the 1930s, Carl J. Friedrich's writings pointed up the need for more adequate conceptualization when combined with appropriate appreciation of empirical research. Mention should also be made of the earlier works of Herman Finer. In their respective ways, albeit in varying degrees, all of these writers recognized the need for an increased emphasis upon the informal and extra-legal factors affecting the political process, and for more concern with generalization and theory.

Authority is a subject indispensable to politics. No other word carries its basic sense of legitimate power, power exercised over those who have willed its exercise. Cut off from the vocabulary of political theorists it comes back in other guises. Playing hide-and-seek with words would not in itself be so important were it not that it takes time merely to recognize that a game is being played and to realign the new words, each bearing a fraction of the old meaning, into the framework of facts and ideas with which the original concept was associated. It can be urged, on the positive side, that a re-shuffling of words, breaking them up and giving them slightly different connotations, might stir up not only clouds of dust but also some original thinking. This has not happened with the principle of authority. Rather it has been forgotten and is now remembered. The interval has seen little gain. Perhaps “power” has profited in attention, but at the expense of being confused with authority and thus of giving new life to the Thrasymachian conception of politics and its study. Instead, the subject matter of the political scientist is earthly authority and its relation to the divine.

For all the talk and all the public curiosity about the relations between business and politics, there is a remarkable dearth of studies on the subject. What is written is more likely to come from the pen of a sociologist, an historian, a lawyer, or an economist than from a political scientist. One would suppose that the role of business, particularly big business, in the political system would be a matter of central concern to political scientists. And so it may be. But those who write about it are men like Adolph Berle, a lawyer, C. Wright Mills, a sociologist, and Robert Brady, an economist; nor can political scientists legitimately lay claim to Peter Drucker, whose professional training and interests in business antedated his academic position as a teacher of political science.

It is well known that each age writes history anew to serve its own purposes and that the history of political ideas is no exception to this rule. The precise nature of these changes in perspective, however, bears investigation. For not only can their study help us to understand the past; it may also lead us to a better understanding of our own intellectual situation. In this quest the political theories of the 17th century and particularly of the English Civil War are especially rewarding. It was in those memorable years that all the major issues of modern political theory were first stated, and with the most perfect clarity. As we have come to reject the optimism of the eighteenth century, and the crude positivism of the nineteenth, we tend more and more to return to our origins in search of a new start. This involves a good deal of reinterpretation, as the intensity with which the writings of Hobbes and Locke, for instance, are being reexamined in England and America testify. These philosophical giants have, however, by the force of their ideas been able to limit the scope of interpretive license. A provocative minor writer, such as Harrington, may for this reason be more revealing. The present study is therefore not only an effort to explain more soundly Harrington's own ideas, but also to treat him as an illustration of the mutations that the art of interpreting political ideas has undergone, and, perhaps to make some suggestions about the problems of writing intellectual history in general.

We move in equalitarian directions; the distribution of income flattens out; the floor beneath the poorest paid and least secure is raised and made more substantial. Since the demise of Newport and Tuxedo Park, the very rich have shunned ostentatious display. The equality of opportunity, the chance to rise in the world is at least as great today as it was thirty years ago. The likelihood of declining status is less. Where does the energy for this movement come from? Who is behind it?

Since 1848, it has been assumed that the drive for a more equalitarian society, its effective social force, would come from the stratum of society with the most to gain, the working classes. This was thought to be the revolutionary force in the world—the demand of workers for a classless society sparked by their hostility to the owning classes. It was to be the elite among the workers, not the lumpenproletariat, not the “scum,” who were to advance this movement. Just as “liberty” was the central slogan of the bourgeois revolution, so “equality” was the central concept in the working class movement. Hence it was natural to assume that whatever gains have been made in equalizing the income and status of men in our society came about largely from working class pressure.

Asylum for political refugees is an ancient practice, privilege and problem. It has shown a remarkable capacity for institutional survival, albeit with accommodations, in the vicissitudes of changing international relations. I propose here to review its recent performance and consider its continued utility in the contemporary world.

I. MASS INFLUX OF FUGITIVES

Cyrus, after the conquest of Sardes, had placed Pactyas, a native, in a position of trust in the occupied city; but no sooner was Cyrus gone than Pactyas organized a revolt against the new regime. When he learned that Cyrus's troops were on the march to quell the insurrection, he fled in terror to Cyme. Cyrus's military governor then demanded the rebel's surrender, on penalty of that city's destruction. The oracle of the Branchidae, where the Cymeans sought to learn the will of the gods, advised extradition, and the city made ready to abide by the decision. One Aristodicus, however, a citizen of distinction, balked, successfully; a second mission was dispatched to seek out the oracle. The oracle stood pat. Thereupon Aristodicus, who was one of the envoys, circled the temple, removing all birds' nests within reach. The oracle's voice interceded for the birds, bidding Aristodicus to state his case. How then, he said, are you in haste to protect supplicants whilst you command the Cymeans to give one up? Said the voice: Verily, I did so order the Cymeans that they may perish the sooner for their impiety nor ever return to seek my oracle's counsel on the surrender of supplicants.

The crucial feature of the period 1946–1958 in France, in many respects, has been the contrast between the changes which have occurred in French society and the performance of a political system which seemed to repeat and to magnify the vices of the Third Republic's last years. On the one hand, the image of a static France obstinately clinging to protectionism, to a pastoral or artisanal ideal, to the security afforded by restrictive practices and state favors, was becoming obsolete. On the other hand, the political system appeared unable either to deal with the tensions, economic growth and change created in society, or to define a coherent policy for overseas affairs.

It has been a common teaching among modern historians of the guiding ideas in the foundation of our government that the Constitution of the United States embodied a reaction against the democratic principles espoused in the Declaration of Independence. This view has largely been accepted by political scientists and has therefore had important consequences for the way American political development has been studied. I shall present here a contrary view of the political theory of the Framers and examine some of its consequences.

What is the relevance of the political thought of the Founding Fathers to an understanding of contemporary problems of liberty and justice? Four possible ways of looking at the Founding Fathers immediately suggest themselves. First, it may be that they possessed wisdom, a set of political principles still inherently adequate, and needing only to be supplemented by skill in their proper contemporary application. Second, it may be that, while the Founding Fathers' principles are still sound, they are applicable only to a part of our problems, but not to that part which is peculiarly modern; and thus new principles are needed to be joined together with the old ones. Third, it may be that the Founding Fathers have simply become; they dealt with bygone problems and their principles were relevant only to those old problems. Fourth, they may have been wrong or radically inadequate even for their own time.

The principal aim of this paper is to relate the normative structure of international law to the underlying patterns of political behavior that have characterized the modern state system. The political constraint upon the normative structure of the law is only one of many; there are also economic, social, and ethical constraints, among others. Nonetheless, it provides many insights into the changing substantive content of the law and also illustrates the way in which theory helps to provide an understanding of subject matter.

A systematic study of the structure of the international society has been attempted elsewhere by one of the authors. Two different models of international systems delineated there have particular relevance to the present topic. These are the “balance of power” system, a model of the international politics of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and the “loose bipolar” system, a model of present-day international politics. The two models, though no doubt less complex than the actual patterns of action, suffice to demonstrate important differences in system structure and behavior that can be related to normative standards.

Practicing politicians as well as students of politics have long recognized the check on presidential power imposed by the federal administrative machinery. High policy must be interpreted; it can sometimes be changed or even frustrated by the bureaucrats who apply laws and executive orders. Officials down the line have interests, loyalties, and ambitions which go beyond and often clash with the allegiance accorded a given tenant of the White House. Each bureaucrat has his own ideas about proper public policy, particularly in his field of special competence. If a career civil servant, he may identify only partially, if at all, the good of the governmental service, not to say the good of the public, with the ends sought by the Administration. And if he owes his appointment or promotion to other sources than the merit system, he may find a positive conflict between his loyalties to the President and to other politicians or political groups.

This conflict can occur at all administrative levels. Cabinet members may make up the President's official family, but some of them are at times his chief rivals for power within his own political party, or, more often, representatives of those rivals. Or the department heads may be so split with sibling political rivalry among themselves that common loyalty to their nominal leader may be subordinated to other values. An observer has lately written: “The conditions which a system of fragmented power sets for the success and the survival of a Cabinet officer encourage him to consolidate his own nexus of power and compel him to operate with a degree of independence from the President.”

Like any important institutional change, the new French constitution owes its parentage to an established doctrinal tradition, the particular ideas and experiences of its authors, and the combination of immediate political circumstances. The complexity of this process in the summer of 1958 and the failure of the French government to publish the records of the drafting, make it difficult even a year later to describe the birth of the document. Yet the fact that the drafting closely followed a short though dangerous crise du régime, and that it was primarily the work of the new Ministry rather than a constituent assembly, presents a meager advantage to the student of the new constitution. For the haste with which General de Gaulle's government prepared the initial draft—while at the same time preoccupied with many other pressing matters— strongly suggests that the drafters simply cast into legal text the program of the familiar opposition movement, formed by the General over a decade before, specifically to accomplish constitutional reform.

Mounting concern over the aims and achievements of American public schools emphasizes the need for continuing analysis of how the schools are run and who runs them. The general theory is simple enough: schools are objects of local control, the people of a local school district exercise that control through an elected school board, and the board appoints a superintendent to act as the chief executive of the district. There are variations from this pattern—in some places school boards are appointed rather than elected, in others the school system is formally a part of the city government, and in a few districts other officials, such as a business manager or building superintendent, share the top executive authority—but it is by far the most common arrangement among the nation's approximately 50,000 school districts.

The conditions associated with the existence and stability of democratic society have been a leading concern of political philosophy. In this paper the problem is attacked from a sociological and behavioral standpoint, by presenting a number of hypotheses concerning some social requisites for democracy, and by discussing some of the data available to test these hypotheses. In its concern with conditions—values, social institutions, historical events—external to the political system itself which sustain different general types of political systems, the paper moves outside the generally recognized province of political sociology. This growing field has dealt largely with the internal analysis of organizations with political goals, or with the determinants of action within various political institutions, such as parties, government agencies, or the electoral process. It has in the main left to the political philosopher the larger concern with the relations of the total political system to society as a whole.

The creation of the Bundesrat, when the Federal Republic was launched a decade ago, has brought into being a new variant among the several examples of second chambers in the lengthening history of federal governments. The purpose of this study is to investigate the working of that new model—in contrast to the expectations of its originators—and its relations to the other parts of a democratic system; and to assess its present merits and future utility.

Ever since the constitutional improvisations of February 1, 1944, one of the enigmatic and obscure aspects of Soviet diplomacy has been the precise role of the Union Republics in its execution, administration and procedures. Aside from the participation of the Ukraine and Byelorussia in the work of the United Nations and its affiliated bodies and conferences, little attention has been paid to the role or potential of the Union Republics in Soviet foreign policy. Their apparent diplomatic inertia, however, is misleading, for in marked contrast to their meager formal participation in external affairs is their increasing implication in the quasi-diplomatic maneuvers of the Soviet Government. Furthermore, the juridical capacity of the Republics to embark on diplomatic adventures meets the formal canons of internal and international law, and remains intact in spite of the past dormancy of their diplomatic organs. At opportune moments it may be transmuted into concrete diplomatic benefits.

I feel it necessary to begin with an attempt to define the term “political group” as used in this paper: it is a system of patterned or regular interaction among a number of individuals. The interaction is sufficiently patterned to permit the system to be viewed as a unit, and the action of the unit is directed toward some phase of the operation of government. Every political group has an interest. This is simply the central and continuing type of activity that gives the group its property as a system or a unit. Interest, then, is consistent with the observed pattern of interaction, and not contrary to it. “The interest and the group are the same phenomenon observed from slightly different positions, and an ‘interest group’ is a tautological expression. The interest is not a thing that exists apart from the activity or that controls activity.”

The purpose of this article is to analyze the relationships between partisan and nonpartisan voting patterns in four cities using nonpartisan municipal elections. It is part of a larger comparative study on the process of policy formation in middle-sized cities. The data have been used to test the nonpartisan rationale which states that the removal of party labels from the ballot insulates local elections from state and national political party influences.

The “insulation” argument states that national political parties do not and cannot adequately serve the needs of the local political unit. Their intrusion into the local scene invariably represents the introduction of irrelevancies which confuse the voters and prevent them from dwelling on local issues in city elections. Thus, the nonpartisan idea is partially based on the belief that local democracy will be improved through rationalizing its political universe. Citizens will choose well if specific, pertinent, and familiar questions are posed to them.

The seniority system ordinarily rates no more than two or three pages in books devoted to Congress. There is likely to be a brief description and a weighing of the arguments, pro and con, followed generally by the conclusion that the system is a poor one; occasionally an author will defend it stoutly. Regardless of the conclusions, the analyses are rarely thorough. This article attempts to fill a gap in the literature on Congress by describing and analyzing various aspects of its seniority system.

It is well to remember at the outset that very few human institutions ignore seniority entirely. Champ Clark, in his autobiography, noted that it is observed in all the affairs of life:

No sane man would for one moment think of making a graduate from West Point a full general, or one from Annapolis an admiral, or one from any university or college chief of a great newspaper, magazine or business house. A priest or a preacher who has just taken orders is not immediately made a bishop, archbishop or cardinal. In every walk of life “men must tarry at Jericho till their beards are grown.”

The form of government which we call federalism can readily be illustrated with examples from history. Its institutional structure and constitutional intricacies, however, still present real difficulties of definition by logical construction and have given rise to many conflicting interpretations of the term. Kenneth C. Wheare, in one of the more recent attempts at general definition, describes the federal principle as the “coordinate division of powers” between the central and regional governments, which in their respective spheres are “mutually independent” and “coequally supreme.” Such language envisions a system in which both central and regional governments have a complete set of the three branches of government with full powers in their respective spheres of jurisdiction, and a minimum of institutional overlap or interdependence.