The second partof the Summa Theologica of the “Universal Doctor,” Thomas Aquinas, begins with the following sentence: Because man has been created in God's image, now after having spoken of God, the archetype, we must still deal with His image which is man. (Summa Theologica I, II, Prologus.) There is something peculiar about this sentence; its meaning must not be misunderstood. It is stated as a matter of fact but its meaning is not to be taken for granted. This first sentence of Moral Theology expresses a fact which has almost entirely disappeared from the knowledge of Christians of today; namely, die fact that moral doctrine is primarily and above all a doctrine about man; that moral doctrine must plainly reveal the conception of man, and that, therefore, the doctrine of Christian morals must concern the Christian model of man. This fact was a matter of course in' the Christianity of the high Middle Ages. This fundamental conception—which, to be sure, was not definitely taken for granted as the polemical wording shows—compelled Eckhart to say two generations after St. Thomas: people should not think about what they ought to do, they should rather think about what they ought to be.

The name Coeurderoy, of course, will mean nothing to the reader. It is that of a thoroughly forgotten French revolutionary writer. Nettlau, the bibliographer of anarchism in the nineteenth century, who devoted to him an enthusiastic article in the second issue of the Archives of the History of Socialism (1910) and reedited the three volumes of his diary, Days of Exile, with an extensive biographical introduction (1911), has literally rediscovered him for the reader of the twentieth century.

And yet Coeurderoy was a most unusual personality. Nettlau considers him an outstanding writer, a master of the written word worthy of a place in world literature next to Nietzsche. In the present study we propose to acquaint the reader only with the political aspect of Coeurderoy's thought—his militant social philosophy which, as will be seen, is of strikingly contemporary interest. Not only did his revolutionary vision foreshadow “Leninism,” not only did he discern through the mists of the future the Russian communist upheaval in its European aspect, but he was spiritually a contemporary, as it were, of our own period of history. “Outwardly,”—he wrote,—“I live in our century, but in spirit I belong to the future.”

The recent historical process in Eastern Europe has been the reverse of the evolution in colonial matters. In other parts of the world, former colonies reached a degree of complete independence. In East Europe, formerly independent states acquired the peculiar status of semi-dependent colonies. Nazi Germany applied colonial methods in her dealings with European states and invented various categories of protectorates and semi-dependencies. One of the new categories was that of the countries known as satellite states. This meant that some countries, remaining theoretically sovereign members of the family of nations, lost their independence and particularly their freedom of action in international and domestic affairs. The satellite states were never considered by Germany as equal partners but only as more or less reliable “Hilfs-völker.” Equality and cooperation in international relations was in conceivable to the Nazi mind.

With the restoration of the Bourbons to the throne of France, there began one of the most intellectually fruitful periods in French history. The French suddenly had a greater freedom than had been enjoyed for some time, and as Lamartine tells us, “scarcely was the Empire overturned, when people began to think, to write, and to sing again in France. … All that had been hitherto silent now began to speak.” In politics, all sides had powerful spokesmen. But the old regime, suddenly given a new lease on life, seldom before had been favored with such brilliant apologists as Chateaubriand, Bonald, Lamen-nais, and Joseph de Maistre, the prophète du passé. One thing should be made clear. That Maistre's political thought was superior to that of the others of this school, there can be little doubt. But that Maistre was the chief exponent of the reaction during the Restoration is a fact rather falsely assumed of at least open to exceeding doubt.

The flood of Roosevelt books sweeps on, bursting the dikes of literary convention. There is nothing to compare with it in all our intellectual history. Frances Perkins, Mike Reilly, Jay Franklin, Louis Adamic, Merriman Smith, Elliott Roosevelt, Henrietta Nesbitt, Robert E. Sherwood (vice Harry Hopkins), and Admiral Mclntire are some of the celebrated members of the inner and outer Roosevelt circle unable to resist the pleas of their consciences or agents to “write a book, just a little book” about the old master. Morgenthau, Byrnes, Farley, Hull, Garner, Ickes, and Stimson have likewise succumbed; the only authentic attraction of most of their Confessions is the author's version of “Life with Roosevelt.” Charles A. Beard, George Morgenstern, John T. Flynn, and others have filed their dissenting opinions. And still the high-water mark is not in sight. The day must surely come, if our forests hold out, when Roosevelt will have a, bibliography as long and detailed as Lincoln's, probably even longer, since the sources will be so much more plentiful and nearer to the surface. Fifty years from now our libraries will be choked with one, two, four, six, and twelve volume “definitive” biographies of Franklin D. Roosevelt, and with countless bright little books bearing transcribed Lincoln titles—The Hidden Roosevelt, The Real Roosevelt, Franklin D. Roosevelt as a Man of Letters, The Personal Finances of Franklin D. Roosevelt, They Knew Roosevelt, and The Women in Roosevelt's Life—all contributed by home-grown Roosevelt scholars. We may even have a Franklin D. Roosevelt Quarterly.