Scholarly debate in the West, and to a large extent also in the Soviet Union, concerning the fifteenth and early sixteenth-century Russian monk losif (né Sanin) Volotsky (Joseph Volotsky), 1439-1515, has generally centered on his political ideas and the interpretation of his Prosvetitel' (Enlightener, or Illuminator) . The monastic side of his activities is often played down or neglected, even though the most important aspect of his daily life for fifty-five years was his serious pursuit of the monastic and (for thirty-eight years) abbatial vocation. In the provincial Volokolamsk Monastery, which he founded, he not only entered into ecclesiastical politics and composed the didactic apologetics and inquisitional invectives that comprise his sixteen-discourse (originally eleven) Enlightener but also wrote two monastic Rules, which are very important sources for his life and for the religious and intellectual history of his time.

A notable characteristic of Solzhenitsyn's earlier works, from One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovichto Cancer Ward, was their apparent philosophical and aesthetic eclecticism. Their author seemed neither to reveal the intellectual origins of his work nor to articulate in his novels a coherent philosophy of history or theory of art. One critic was forced to conclude that artistically Solzhenitsyn was an “eclectic with conservative leanings” whose main concern was with truth and honesty in literature. The publication of August 1914 tended at first to allay this feeling. Parallels of both form and content could be drawn between the new novel and Tolstoy's War and Peace. Further reflection, however, suggests that the comparison with Tolstoy raises as many difficulties as it resolves. But this does not mean that the riddle of the origins of Solzhenitsyn's thought remains insoluble. When examined in conjunction with the Nobel Prize lecture and the programmatic letter of September 5, 1973, to the Kremlin leaders, August 1914 does reveal the sources of Solzhenitsyn's philosophical and aesthetic views.

During the initial years of her reign, Catherine II had to contend with political criticism and expectation of reform among nobles such as Denis Fonvizin and Ippolit Bogdanovich. Many Soviet scholars, particularly Makogonenko, Gukovskii and Pigarev, argue that the political writings of these critics can be interpreted as the initial evidence of a “constitutional” movement in Russia similar to those of mid-seventeenth century England and late eighteenth century France. The goal was to force Catherine to share political power by accepting “fundamental laws” or a “constitution.” Convinced of the need for such reforms, Fonvizin, Bogdanovich, and several other lesser known writers tried unsuccessfully in 1762 to win Catherine's approval of their projects. Failing to gain Catherine's support, the nobles became her political opponents —consistently and insistently advocating their political principles. This interpretation is valuable for its focus on the question of sovereignty and the individual's relation to the ruler as well as appealing for its attempt to integrate Russian events into a broader, European framework. Yet Soviet historians do not adequately specify and evaluate the theoretical origins of this “constitutional“ opposition. General references to contemporary European thinkers (British, French or German political philosophers) obscure their differences and assume the transfer of western European political ideas into Russia intact and unaltered in content or understanding. It is necessary, therefore, to investigate carefully the theoretical origins of the Russian writers' political ideals, their own version of these ideals, and the implications these opinions had for the writers' relationship to the ruler during the early 1760s.

In his pioneering article, Professor Holland Hunter set himself the limited but difficult task of checking the First Five-Year Plan approved in the spring of 1929 for its internal consistency. He did not attempt to find out whether the targets of the plan for production and investment, and for “qualitative” indicators such as the capital-output ratio, were feasible: he took these targets as given, and tried to find out whether they were mutually compatible. In Professor Hunter’s words, his test “confines itself to the question whether the targets for 1933 could have been achieved under the optimistic parameters embodied in the plan” (p. 239). This point seems to have been overlooked by some of the contributors to the discussion in Slavic Review.

Very few books and studies on Dostoevsky appeared in the first two decades after his death. The year 1900 may be chosen as the turning point, for after that date the number of publications, first in Russian, then in other languages, increased steadily. By the middle of our century the canon of Dostoevsky scholarship was well established, so that hardly any new departures seemed to be possible. Today, whether our attention is focused on Dostoevsky's opinions or on the stylistic devices and structures of his novels, we note that practically every method of approach has already been tried by at least one of our predecessors. Thus Dostoevsky, not unlike Nietzsche, was discovered and appropriated by the first half of the twentieth century. It was then that he grew to the stature he now possesses, and it was then that he was recognized as a forerunner of new trends in European literature and philosophy.

The overthrow of the civilian government by the military in Greece on April 21, 1967, produced among its multiple consequences an intense foreign interest in that nation. Since that spring, over fifty books and more numerous articles on the Greek “junta” have been written to satisfy the curiosity of an international clientele. Included in this literary melange are the works of journalists, scholars, celebrities, persecuted prisoners of the regime, and politicians. Together these authors tend to fall into the two broad categories of apologists for the post-April regime or—the larger group—its opponents. One may thus select from a plethora of impressions, opinions, and interpretations, with the knowledge that the works of professional scholars compose only a small segment of the total bibliography.

Messrs. Davies and Wheatcroft add useful perspective to the discussion in the June 1973 issue of the Slavic Review. I am particularly impressed with their description of how initial enthusiasm among some staff technicians led after a year or two to overoptimism at higher levels that alarmed even the initial enthusiasts. The sorcerer’s apprentice in this case was not a junior underling but a determined major figure. Unfortunately, the sequential transmission of overoptimism upward in the political structure took place precisely during a period when the surrounding economic environment was becoming less, favorable. By the time the first plan was issued, its overoptimism embodied high-level desperation in the face of technically informed skepticism.

In the years after 1905, Social Democrats in Russia agonized over the form of struggle in which to engage. The defeats suffered in the revolution and the new legal possibilities offered after 1905 led to strains among the socialists and changed considerably the nature of their debates from the prerevolutionary years as each faction attempted to deal with the potential of a legal labor movement and the actuality of continued police repression. Paradoxically the years of “reaction” were also the seedbed of Russian trade unionism. Many Social Democrats, most notably the so-called likvidatory (“liquidators”), believed that the time had come to concentrate on the legal labor movement, to broaden its appeal and deepen its roots among the working class. Others, tied to the traditions of the underground party and the primacy of political work, opposed the new reliance on legal activity. All Social Democrats inside Russia were faced with the reality of economic depression, a decline in labor activism, and political repression. They faced together a strategic dilemma. The deeper they retreated into the underground, the more tenuous their ties with the workers became. Yet the more actively they engaged in trade unionist and other legal activities, the more vulnerable they were to police persecution.

Konstantin P. Pobedonostsev was long considered the real power behind the throne during the reigns of the last two emperors of Russia. He was said to have determined the reactionary policies of the 1880s and 1890s. Robert Byrnes has recently demonstrated that Pobedonostsev's influence was in fact considerably less than had been assumed. Byrnes quite properly maintains that Pobedonostsev had very little power under Nicholas II, that his importance for Alexander III began to decline after 1890, and that even at the height of his power Pobedonostsev could not always persuade Alexander to adopt his point of view. However, although Byrnes concludes that his influence was limited, he still attributes to Pobedonostsev considerable power in “his own special spheres of interest.“ Evidence exists, nevertheless, that even this assessment of Pobedonostsev's power needs to be reconsidered. An event occurred in March 1883 which demonstrates that he was not always in a position to determine policy at will even in matters of vital interest to him.

Throughout European history the aristocracy has been involved in reform movements which undermined either ecclesiastical or monarchical power structures. Thus the nobles of southern France in the twelfth century granted protection to the Cathars, and in fourteenth-century England lords and knights offered aid to the Lollards. The support of German princes and knights for Lutheranism is well known, as is the instrumental role played by the French aristocracy in initiating the constitutional reforms which gave birth to that nation's eighteenth-century revolution. The fifteenth-century Hussite reform movement in Bohemia similarly received aid from the noble class. Here, when the Hussites were under attack in 1417 from the authorities, especially the archbishop, sympathetic lords protected Hussite priests on their domains.

Professor Valk, the distinguished dean of Leningrad historians, died on February 5 of 1975 at the age of eighty-seven. To review his career is to recall the splendid historical training provided by the University of St. Petersburg on the eve of World War I and to retrace the course of Soviet historical study, many of its principal aims, priorities, methods, and achievements. Professor Valk’s scholarly legacy includes over two hundred printed works; generations of students who benefited from his erudition, prodigious memory, and generous spirit; and a lasting contribution to the development of Soviet archival science and source study.

During the last months of 1918 profound political and social changes took place throughout the Austro-Hungarian Empire. After the dissolution of Habsburg administrative authority in late October, Poles, Ukrainians, Czechs, Slovaks, Serbs, Croats, and Rumanians organized national councils that eventually were to determine the political future of these former subject peoples. Ruthenians living in the northeastern counties of Hungary also participated in this process, and from November 1918 to May 1919 they formed many councils which proposed various political alternatives: autonomy within Hungary, complete independence, or union with Russia, the Ukraine, or the new state of Czechoslovakia. Although these choices reflected the political and cultural allegiances that were traditionally attractive to Ruthenian leaders, the particular international situation in 1919 proved favorable to only one—union with Czechoslovakia.