In the progressive alienation of the modern world from Christianity and the Church, in what is described as intellectual secularization, the publicist plays a decisive role.* The mere mention of the name of Voltaire suggests what the significance of anti-Church publicist work may be. In the name of reason it appeals against the superstition of religion, in the name of justice it covers with contempt and ridicule the claims of tradition, it directs its attacks against existing institutions, and it contrasts the light of secular philosophy to the darkness of Church dogma. All that is done in a facile, universally understandable way. The enlightened publicist does not seek to make an impression on the learned. He does not try to astonish by the fullness of his knowledge. He tries to draw the public opinion of good society to his side and to gain it for his cause. With such assurance does he proceed that he seems to achieve his goal. An educated man who has been shaped by eighteenth century France cares to hear nothing more about the Church as a divine institution. Enlightenment and public opinion became the same thing. Public opinion simply coincided with what the Enlightened publicist prescribed for it. Indeed, it was already apparent in the eighteenth century that it is not a simple thing to decide what corresponds to reason, justice, and untutored human nature. In the name of a sentimental inner religion Rousseau fought against the negative Enlightenment of the Encyclopedists, the circle of Voltaire and Diderot. But this struggle changed nothing in the general situation. Public opinion remained decisive. It was selfevidently opposed to tradition generally and, thus, also to the Church. If the reader of Voltaire jeered and ridiculed religion, the reader of Rousseau shed tears over the Savoyard Vicar, who, in metamorphosing Church dogma into a religion of feeling and humanity, thus deprived religion of its substance. Both would hear nothing of that fosterer of superstition and that oppresser of knowledge, that Church against which they had set themselves up as priests of public opinion, as publicists.

Waldemar Gurian was a presence—physically, intellectually and spiritually—at Notre Dame. In the many years he was with us, a daily wonder of the campus was the sight of Dr. Gurian ponderously proceeding from his office to the library to the post office to the dining halls and back again, bearing with him as he passed—so it seemed to a number of us—all the light of the world as well as a large part of its darkness. He came to Notre Dame during a period—the middle and later thirties—when President O'Hara (now Archbishop of Philadelphia) was inviting to the university as visiting or regular faculty members a variety of scholars and writers from England, Ireland and the Continent: among others, Shane Leslie, Arnold Lunn, Christopher Hollis, Archbishop David Mathew, Robert Speaight, Desmond Fitzgerald, Charles Du Bos, Yves Simon, Karl Menger and Arthur Haas. Of all these Dr. Gurian, who was on friendly terms with most of them, remained; and his impact upon the life of the university has been the greatest and the most enduring. Among his achievements here, The Review of Politics is undoubtedly his most lasting. When he arrived at Notre Dame, a proper intellectual climate, created by not a few teachers and priests, existed, a climate which made possible the founding, the sustenance and the continuance of a broad cultural journal like the Review. Professors of philosophy, literature and history as well as of political philosophy and science—interested in generating what Professor Nef calls “the new scholarship of synthesis”—could understand the reasons for and the necessity of the Review's coming into existence at Notre Dame; and could and did cooperate in its founding, in its formation and in its growth to eminence. But the great and active form was provided by Waldemar Gurian. And the Review surely stands today as the embodiment of his genius and knowledge and immensity of spirit.

During the past fourteen years, since the entry of the United States into the Second World War, and especially since the end of the war (with its disillusioning peace blending into the so-called cold war), the United States has had thrust upon it the problems of the overwhelming difficulties of world leadership. Leadership in the true sense of the word cannot be totalitarian or authoritarian. It must be intellectual, moral and spiritual. This our leading statesmen have sometimes recognized, though not, I am inclined to think, often enough. In any event, it is in these spheres that our peoples have been perhaps the least prepared for our mission. Even in the natural sciences, one of the principal creative sources of American leadership has been individual scientists—such as Einstein, Fermi and Teller—bom and trained in Europe, who found asylum in the United States from Nazi or Fascist tyranny. In so far as the creative mind and its place in the national life are concerned, our main weakness has not been, however, in the natural sciences. During the first half of the twentieth century in the United States these have become distinguished in their own right. When it comes to the practical application of science we have led the world. In no other country have the results of new scientific knowledge been utilized technologically to produce as high a standard of living, measured in material quantity, as in the United States.

He was a man of many friends and a friend to all of them, men and women, priests and laymen, people in many countries and from practically all walks of life. Friendship was what made him at home in this world and he felt at home wherever his friends were, regardless of country, language or social background. Knowing how sick he was, he made his last trip to Europe because, as he said, “I want to say farewell to my friends before I die.” He did the same when he came back and stayed a few days in New York, did it consciously and almost systematically, without a trace of fear or self-pity or sentimentality. He who throughout his life had never been able to express personal feeling without the greatest embarrassment could do this in a kind of impersonal manner, without feeling, and therefore without causing, embarrassment. Death must have been very familiar to him.

Ours was an old friendship: it was nearly thirty years ago that I met Waldemar Gurian for the first time in Bonn. At that time he was a brilliantly promising young man. He was expected to play an important role in the intellectual renovation which seemed to be underway in Germany. All that was stopped by the coming of the Nazis, which forced him to leave his country. Thanks to the facilities offered him by the University of Notre Dame, Waldemar Gurian resumed his activities as a scholar and a teacher with a courage that I admired. I would like to express also my admiration for his staunch dedication to the principles of freedom, and for his work as an historian of ideas, as a political philosopher and as an expert in international affairs—with regard to Russian bolshevism especially. He had many other interests. His understanding of spiritual life was remarkably broad. His profound Catholic faith made it possible for him to overcome many painful trials, and it was this background of anxiety and nostalgia which, from the very beginning of our association, aroused in me a feeling of affection for him. The founding of the Review of Politics, and its development into a most remarkable work of scholarship, of broad and living understanding of contemporary events, of human and philosophic value and of doctrinal soundness are also traceable to his Catholic faith, as well as to his very firm sense for intellectual and scientific rigor. The death of Waldemar Gurian means to me the loss of a faithful friend, and it is with deep emotion that I pay tribute to his memory

It was typical of Waldemar Gurian that, rich in philosophical thought and human understanding, he in turn enriched each field of studies which he touched, not least the field of Russian studies. Just because we, his colleagues and friends, have long grown accustomed to tum to him for creative and discriminating initiative and for the benefit of his wise judgment, and because he never failed with modesty and insight to meet these constant demands, it is difficult, now that he is gone from our midst, to measure precisely the manifold and essential contributions which he made to the strengthening of this important and difficult field of investigation. Yet it has clearly grown in strength and in usefulness to a free society because of his strength of mind and spirit.

In 1934 Waldemar Gurian had the wriest of pleasures, when he was forced to recognize that his very pessimistic analysis of the National-Socialist movement was correct. He fled from Germany to Switzerland where he was soon joined by his wife and daughter. In the extremely straitened circumstances of an emigré, soon to receive official notification that he was a stateless person, he had to face simultaneously the tasks of earning a living and of carrying on his work as a Catholic writer who combined scholarship and publicism. He was a profound student of Bolshevism. But his study, personal experience and the progress of events emphasized that Europe then faced a more dangerous threat than Russian Bolshevism. The threat stemmed from the control of Germany by the National-Socialists, who skilfully exploited a moral crisis in Germany and all of Europe, to gain and, then systematically and totally, to consolidate power in Germany. The menace to Europe was all the more dire, because the Nazis had disguised their totalitarian movement in the mask of anti-Bolshevism and so the danger went unrecognized.

Personal and historical fate put Waldemar Gurian in his short but full and fulfilled life into the center of the vortex of the twentieth century. Born in Russia, educated in Germany, deeply familiar with France, he witnessed the intellectual, moral and social transformations produced by the First World War in the principal countries of continental Europe. While he was still in his twenties and early thirties, he wrote a number of outstanding books analyzing these transformations and probing their core with an understanding deepened by the ability and opportunity of comparing them, of seeing the wealth of their differences and yet the essential similarity of the mental and moral climate out of which they grew. He wrote penetrating studies about Russian Bolshevism and German nationalism, about the political and social ideas of French Catholicism and about the integral nationalism in France. The changing mental and moral climate in continental Europe which Gurian observed after the First World War was one of the principal causes of the Second World War. Its approach caused Gurian to leave continental Europe for the United States. Here began the second and in many ways more fruitful period of his life. Not many immigrants of the troubled thirties had so much to give to their new fatherland in the breadth and objectivity of their understanding of the Old World and in the humaneness and liberality of their personality; few, indeed, put their whole life and soul into untiring constructive activity as he did in Notre Dame, which afforded him the generous opportunity, an activity which helped to prepare American scholarship and public opinion to meet with a better understanding the new responsibilities in the wake of the Second World War.

This bibliography contains the most important works of the late Professor Gurian and provides a picture of his scholarly achievements and his contribution to political and cultural thought. Dr. Gurian published a great number of articles and reviews in many English and foreign periodicals, encyclopaedias and journals. Some were signed with his pseudonyms: Hoplites, Walter Gerhart, Stefan Kirchmann. Some were only initialled or even anonymous. It would require long research to compile the complete bibliographical list of so distinguished a scholar, educator, journalist and editor. His valiant concern for justice and for an Aristotelian approach to culture and politics is thoroughly represented in The Review of Politics (abbreviated in the list as RP). Here he manifested the ripeness and power of his thought in many reviews of books, however short, and in articles dealing mainly with the problem of totalitarianism.

We are all aware that the teaching of history today has become a very problematical affair—due as much to the subject as to our times. For centuries and up to a few generations ago the situation was different. In former days the center of gravity of instruction was in ancient history; and this proved itself a magnificent medium for the education of youth. For the history of the Greek-Roman world is understandable to young people as no other area of history; and the ancient historians dispense with the details which preoccupy the moderns. Ancient history is constricted. It can be surveyed completely from its impenetrable dark beginnings to its definitive expiration. We look across the stage from the required distance. The extant source material is limited and of high intellectual content, not loaded up with state proceedings of kingdoms and principalities; the entire development culminates in the two high points—Athens and Rome—and unites them in magnificent harmony. As peers to their subject, the ancient historians have a taste for grand scenes, a taste for the wide contours of world history, for the simplicity and good proportions of form. They do not give too much criticism. They write as moralists and have their firm point of view. They present the universally human, the typical, man and his emotions, not mayhap the individual and his local surroundings; thus as depicted their people remain allied to us; everything can be surveyed and is even accessible to youth without further ado. Ancient history is less fertile than modern, but it is also less full of underbrush. Mighty strides have been made in historical studies since the last century; yet the newer kind is bought with sacrifices. The spirit of criticism has developed the finest methods. Every event of the past has become thoroughly complicated, burdened with controversies; in addition the results shift constantly. Nothing seems to be secure in history. And the spirit of individualization, without which a consideration of historical life can no longer exist, forces us to busy ourselves with the most diverse objects, so that the large outlines are obscured thereby and the integrity of events remains ambiguous.

The essence of the “new look” in the national security policy of the United States has been expressed by Administration spokesmen, Democratic critics, and analysts in key phrases which have heaped confusion upon ambiguity. The “new look” has been characterized as a policy of “instant retaliation,” of “massive retaliation,” of relying on the ability to “retaliate with great force by mobile means.” It has been described as a “strategy of detachment,” as an attempt to “hedge our strategic bets,” as preparing for the “long pull,” as “a reassessment of our strategic and logistic capabilities,” as preparing to take “whatever steps our national interest requires,” and as “an attempt by intelligent people to keep abreast of the times.” It has been called “less a policy than an idea,” “a misnomer,” “no ‘new look’ at all,” “merely an acceptance of the Old Look,” “a bluff to a certain extent,” a “gradual shift in emphasis,” and “revolutionary.” The “new look” has been distinguished from the “interim look,” but there has been some doubt as to whether the “interim look” referred to fiscal 1954 or fiscal 1955 or both. The term became so contagiously popular that even the alleged clean-up of the “security risks” in the Department of State was supposed to have brought about a “new look” there.