PRESIDENT DE GAULLE announced on September 9, 1965, that after 1969 France will no longer accept an integrated North Atlantic military defense system. He recognized that in many areas France has “the best reasons for associating with others,” but must retain her self-determination:

so long as the solidarity of the Western peoples appears to us necessary for the eventual defense of Europe, our country will remain the ally of her allies but, upon the expiration of the commitments formerly taken — that is, in 1969 by the latest — the subordination known as “integration” which is provided for by NATO and which hands our fate over to foreign authority shall cease, as far as we are concerned.

On the cold, clear morning of March 4, 1897, William McKinley took the oath of office as president of the United States. The very air seemed to promise better times. The newspapers called it “McKinley weather,” and all Americans hoped “The Advance Agent of Prosperity” would fulfill his title and restore political peace and economic prosperity to a nation that had passed through years of depression, social strife, and party turmoil.

NINETEENTH-CENTURY Europe produced two major concepts for the reorganization of society: those of Marxian socialism and liberal nationalism. Each was regarded by its exponents as a liberating force. Marxian socialists wished to free mankind from the economic exploitation of the capitalistic system, while liberal nationalists wished to free the peoples of Europe from the oppression of authoritarian empires. Both had a strong admixture of utopianism. The socialists envisioned a classless society in which men would work in equality and harmony for the common good, while liberal nationalists envisioned a world composed of nation-states based on democratic constitutions. Both sought to banish war. To the socialists war was a function of capitalism and would disappear with its abolition. To the liberal nationalists war was the product of autocratic monarchical governments, whose liquidation would introduce a new era of international peace.

OUR understanding of any significant movement in human affairs can hardly be said to even approach completeness until the evidence from literature is in. Because writers of fiction and poetry tend to grope for meanings rather than superimpose them — Yeats called this process the “public dream” —literary criticism can bring to the surface what otherwise might lie buried in the culture's subconscious. And this is perhaps even more true for the history of the Negro in American literature than for other cultural phenomena — the Westering Movement or the Industrial Revolution, for example — since so much of that history has been an unconscious, or at least half-conscious, masking of issues that have been contorted by fear, guilt, and rage.

UNTIL the time Alexis de Tocqueville wrote Democracy in America, the problem of tyranny of the majority had dominated the political thought of no other nation as it had that of America. In the half century before the appearance of Tocqueville's great work, Americans had maintained a virtual monopoly of concern over the question of how popular sovereignty and individual liberty could peacefully coexist. The French Revolution, it is true, raised similar questions abroad, and if we take Burke's concern as representative, we see that he too was seriously troubled over the prospect that democratic tyranny would become the inevitable offspring of popular sovereignty. But despite Burke's eloquent and penetrating analysis, majority tyranny did not become a major preoccupation of English political thought, and to the extent that there was concern with the problem, as in the debate over the Reform Bill of 1832, discussion was confined to the obvious and straightforward issue of whether the suffrage should be extended. In America, on the other hand, the majority problem continued to be a persistent political issue from the beginning and, even today, a host of public questions revolves around the scope of majority rule. Yet for all the attention Americans paid to the majority question before Tocqueville entered upon the scene, they had hardly scratched the surface, and the Frenchman, therefore, was able to suggest an approach that they had not even considered.

PROFESSOR PFLANZE's distinction between the state-nation and the nation-state of nineteenth-century Europe is also illuminating for the study of nationalism in recent Africa. The dominant force in recent African politics has obviously been the desire to build nations, and these nations are clearly of the statenation type.

Anthropologists, political scientists and sociologists have produced many excellent studies of political developments in modern Africa. Much, however, remains to be done; for work interpreting the meaning of modern African politics is barely under way. This essay seeks to contribute to that work. It analyzes African political thought and action in order to uncover the major premises that underlie African political phenomena, and it suggests that clarification of these premises is the necessary preliminary to an adequate theoretical interpretation of modern African politics.

THE “emergence of the Catholic layman” in the United States which has been heralded sofrequently since the opening of the Second Vatican Council has tended to do a grave injustice to the American Catholic layman of earlier generations. It is true that many of the leading American Catholiclaymen of the nineteenth century were converts from Protestantism, and there were few opportunities for the first generation immigrant Catholic to achieve higher education outside the seminaries. Nevertheless, the “Generation of the Third Eye” has not produced a philosopher of the depth or comprehension of Orestes A. Brownson, nor a defender of orthodoxy of the knowledge and capacity of James A. McMaster nor has it surpassed such men as Roger B. Taney, John Scott, and William J. Read who were called in to address the first Provincial Council of Baltimore, or Richard Clarke who tried to form the first Catholic union in the United States. The number of prominent Catholic laymen and laywomen of the nineteenth century is large as can be seen in the mere listing of the galaxy that participated in the two lay Catholic Congresses in Baltimore in 1889 and Chicago in 1893. Of all these, James McMaster has no equal in his influence on the religious and theological development of American Catholicism.

FOR many centuries the pattern of political leadership in India was two-tiered. At the top was “the Government” — what I will call macropolitical leadership — surrounded with pomp and magnificence and all the trappings of wealth and power. Macropolitical leadership changed hands with some frequency, and in modern times was often foreign, first Mughal and then British. In general the macropolitical leadership impinged little on the lives of the ordinary Indian. It was remote from the village and interfered seldom in village affairs, except to raise revenue and maintain a relative law and order. Village India had its own ancient pattern of leadership — what I will call micropolitical leadership. The village was a highly traditional and rigid social and political unit. The higher castes within the village combined social, economic, political, and ritual pre-eminence, and the lower castes tended to be dependent on them to a greater or lesser degree. The Indian village was a complicated network of precedence and relationship, but political authority was concentrated in the leaders of the dominant castes. These men were concerned with settling disputes between communities in the village, protecting the village and its lands from outsiders, and gaining concessions for the village from the macropolitical leadership.

THE election of Leo XIII on February 20, 1878, made a deep and rather favorable impression on the French statesman, Léon Gambetta. Quite inadvertently, he recorded it for posterity when, on the very day of Leo's election, he wrote to his mistress:

They have elected a new pope, the elegant and refined Cardinal Pecci, bishop of Perugia. … This Italian, more diplomat than priest, has overcome all the intrigues of the Jesuits and the foreign clergy; he is pope, and the name of Leo XIII which he has taken seems to me to be a most favorable omen. I hail this occasion so full of promise.

It is readily recognized that the basic relationship between church and state within Euro-American political systems is relatively stabilized. This recognition prevails, even though that stability may be disturbed slightly and intermittently when older norms are reexamined by responsible public authorities. The result of such a reexamination may give rise to public outcry, such as occurred in connection with the recent Supreme Court decision on school prayers. But what is essentially a “resolved” issue in Western politics remains a problematical dilemma in many other parts of the world. It has been widely assumed that the future of all political systems lies in the same direction: namely, that political systems the world over will be secularized as much as possible and that religion, as a normative system or as a set of institutional arrangements, will have only tangential influence in the determination of public policies and the shaping of future societies.

IT HAS often been correctly remarked that a pronounced aristocratic preference informed the political thought of David Hume. This paper will attempt to show: 1) the philosophical basis for an aristocratic approach to politics which Hume provided in his logic, ethics, and esthetics; 2) the manner in which this aristocratic preference influenced his political thought; 3) the fact that this preference represented, in its various manifestations, a normative intrusion upon his experimental method; and 4) the sources of this preference in Hume's personality and in the cultural and social values shared by “gentlemen” of Britain's Augustan Age.

SCHOLARS, theoreticians, and statesmen in the West and in the Communist world have propounded numerous explanations of the political, economic and social underdevelopment of Africa and Asia. But few have sought to determine exactly what the leaders of the underdeveloped countries themselves think about the problems of underdevelopment. To what do they attribute their retarded status? Answers to this question are important for at least three reasons. First, their views serve as basic theoretical and empirical foundations for domestic measures designed to ameliorate the relatively backward conditions. Second, their answers also temper and condition their attitudes and policies toward the West and the Communist world. Third, a comprehension of their views gives us an opportunity to assess their current ideological tendencies and thus it provides an added dimension in which to discuss future Western policy alternatives. This paper, therefore, attempts to describe and analyze the various explanations for underdevelopment advanced by the leaders of six West African states — Ghana, Guinea, Ivory Coast, Mali, Nigeria, and Senegal.

THE individual in the twentieth century finds himself dwarfed by two giant institutions which decide his political destiny: the state, with its efficient bureaucrat methodically signing papers that may mean success or failure, life or death, for everyman and his world; the other is the political party, which aspires to control the state by mobilizing the masses. Nineteenth-century bureaucracy tended to be rigid and authoritarian, yet unrelated to popular support and limited in its impact on daily life. The nineteenth- century liberal, suspicious of the state, attempted to protect the individual by further limiting the bureaucrat; the twentiethcentury liberal hopes to use the bureaucrat to limit the privately powerful, whereas the totalitarian party hopes to dominate the state and therewith to dominate everyman. When a monopolistic party controls a monolithic state, the individual seems to have no choice but to flee, to obey or to disappear into a concentration camp. Overt individual resistance appears senseless; overt group resistance extremely dangerous and almost certainly doomed to failure.

The beginnings of Japanese liberalism date from the middle of the nineteenth century and appear as a product of the enlightenment movement during the Meiji Restoration. But the term Jiyushugi, today understood as equivalent to liberalism in English, has quite a different meaning in traditional Japanese usage. Jiyu consists of two Chinese characters Ji and yu meaning “to follow oneself” or “to use self as the only source of judgment for one's behavior”; shugi is translated as “principle” or “doctrine”. Thus, the word has traditionally been used, with very rare exceptions, to mean egoistic and selfish behavior that deviates from social norms and is specifically heedless of others.

AMINOR consequence of the war of 1914 was that the Turks evacuated the south Arabian country of Yemen which they had occupied since the latter part of the nineteenth century. Yahia Hamid al-Din, heir to the throne of the thirteenhundred-year-old Imamate (Muslim theocratic monarchy) was able to reestablish the power of his dynasty. During his long reign he devoted himself to four principal tasks: the restoration of internal order which had collapsed altogether during the era of Turkish domination; keeping foreigners out of Yemen which came to bear the title of “the Tibet of the Middle East”; building up his treasury which also was that of the country at large; and buying surplus World War I weapons. The last he resold to the Ethiopians and others, or he stored in caves. The locations of these supplies were known only to members of his dynasty and trusted servitors.

THE Sino-Soviet dispute entered its present phase at the time of the 1962–1963 Congresses of the national Communist Parties. Then the esoteric struggle among the international parties was replaced by direct confrontation, referred to by Communists as the “open polemics.” The present article will examine some of the causal factors in the changing relationships between the Communist Party of the Soviet Union and the Communist Party of China, as these have found expression in the Sino-Soviet dispute.

The relations between Lord Acton and his ecclesiastical leaders did not pass without comment in his own lifetime, nor have they been neglected since. Yet the picture remains somewhat blurred. It is not that there are important items of information still missing; we may not yet know everything, but we do know a great deal, and have known it for several decades. The picture is not incomplete; rather, it is out of focus. Nor will this necessarily be cured by more research, for history does not write itself. A more detailed picture might still be out of focus.

A. M. SCHLESINGER, JR., in the second volume of The Age of Roosevelt, contends that what was generally considered a vice in New Deal administration was actually a virtue. Speaking of the many new federal agencies created at that time, he remarks that while each one “had its own distinct mission,” nevertheless,

in many cases jurisdictions overlapped each other and even spilled into cabinet departments. This was sloppy and caused much trouble. Yet this very looseness around the joints, this sense of give and possibility which Henry Stimson once called the “inherently disorderly nature” of Roosevelt's administration, made public service attractive to men of a certain boldness and imagination. It also spurred them on to better achievement. Roosevelt liked the competitive approach to administration, not just because it reserved the big decisions for the President, but perhaps even more because it enabled him to test and develop the abilities of his subordinates. How to tell which man, which approach was better? One answer was to let them fight it out. This solution might cause waste but would guarantee against stagnation …

THE relations between the Church and State have been for many years the subject of interest to the political theorist, the student of contemporary totalitarian movements, and of particular concern to the student of comparative political institutions and systems. To the student of political theory it invokes the old conflict between the spiritual and the temporal authorities, between the papal authority and the claim of the emerging national states. For the student of modern totalitarianism it raises, without answering, the crucial question of the extent to which a totalitarian system can tolerate competing ideologies within the same national community. Finally, for the student of comparative institutions, in certain circumstances (for example, in Poland), it presents certain features of uniqueness that call for explanation.