Until more or less recently, few students of international affairs have been preoccupied with the theoretical aspects of their field. To the extent that theory is distinguished from history, law and science, this is especially true. Historians have sought to uncover the facts and recite them with the most fastidious regard for the circumstances of time and place. Lawyers have tried to detect in the case law of international agreements and treaties the normative structure of international society. Political scientists have increasingly turned to new scientific methods and statistical techniques designed to measure public opinion and its influence on foreign policy. Few scholars have concerned themselves with the fundamental characteristics of international society or of good or bad foreign policy. In this intellectual environment any explicit, systematic theory of international relations has had to await a threefold development. It has required a broader conception of the proper methods for studying international affairs, a clearer identification of basic concepts and “laws,” and a more serious discussion of fundamental theoretical problems like the relation of theory to concrete problems.

The Science, or as others prefer to call it, the study of international relations is one of the youngest members of the family of the social sciences. Its independent status has not yet been fully recognized by all academic circles and many historians and international lawyers would consider it to be trespassing on their respective fields of study. This is especially true for Europe.

Less than a year after Senator Taft died, a foundation was established for the preservation of his ideals. Men's ideals are sometimes confused with their ideas, as is probably the case in this instance, because it is often difficult to distinguish between them. This paper is concerned with both. More specifically, it is concerned with the ideas Senator Taft propagated about foreign policy and the ideals that fostered them.

An orderly and almost bloodless movement brought Guatemala independence from Spain in 1821. The tranquil inception of national existence contrasts vividly with the ensuing century and a quarter, a period marked by turbulence and a multitude of factors tending to retard political and economic development. The 1821 Revolution resulted only in the overthrow of Spanish rule; other traditions of colonial times were not so easily cast aside. Politics continued to be the exclusive domain of long-term, personalistic rulers, while economic policy remained under the control of a numerically small land-owning aristocracy. The political chiefs generally allied themselves with the conservative lords of land. Certainly this was true of Rafael Carrera, the uneducated mestizo who dominated the country for nearly twenty years in the mid-nineteenth century. The same pattern existed during the dictatorship of Manuel Estrada Cabrera, 1898–1920. In spite of a few concessions to liberalism, the construction of many roads, and the redistribution of a small amount of land, there is no doubt that the rule of Jorge Ubico, 1930–1944, relied for its main support upon the arch-conservative landed aristocrats.

In the intellectual history of Russia, Konstantin Leontiev (1831–1891) emerges as a singular and enigmatic figure. Generous and benevolent in his personal relations and a scintillating conversationalist, he encountered antagonism or indifference where his writings and theories were concerned. The extremely unique and even esoteric quality of his thought caused him to exert virtually no influence either in his own day or in more recent periods. He was not a representative member of the Russian intelligentsia; indeed, he beggars assignment to any particular school. Perhaps the best description one can make of him is that of heir to the emotional strain of German philosophical romanticism. His predilection for naturalism and aestheticism are typical of early nineteenth century German anti-rationalist philosophy, as is his emphasis on tradition and organic development. Leontiev lacked utterly the humanistic qualities of the earlier Slavophiles who first appropriated German philosophic influence, and this quality of severity divorces him from the Russian romantic tradition. At the same time, his idealism caused him to be wholly out of tune with the nihilist, revolutionary, and populist tendencies of his own day. A prophet without honour, he was not without merit; his views are most provocative and reward attention. Not the least interesting aspect of Leontiev lies in his attitude towards nationalism; and it is with this facet of his thought that we shall be concerned.