Pleas and programs for party responsibility are not new. It is remarkable, however, how little the discussion has advanced. I do not mean that I am surprised that the path of reform has been hard but that knowledge of the subject has not grown in proportion to the length of the discussion. Proponents believe party responsibility introduces desired qualities into the policy process and makes possible rational organization of the electorate in terms of policy. Not much has been done to provide adequate support for either of these propositions. In fact, it is hard to discover a serious effort to put these propositions in some form which would permit a partial but rigorous test. Opponents on the other hand conjure up visions of polarized parties, downtrodden minorities, and multipartyism as the fruits of party responsibility. They are able to make these improbable inferences by working with an exceedingly simple model, by ignoring the functions of party competition and the complex of factors which seem to shape party systems. Some observers less involved in the argument allow that the debate may have some value since it leads to notice of important realities. But, for them, proposed reforms are not to be taken seriously because they are Utopian in two senses: (1) sweeping and incalculable; and (2) out of reach. This view seems to overlook the fact that party responsibility is a matter of degree and that incremental reform is, at least, possible in principle. Finally, very little attention has been paid to factors which may promote or inhibit party responsibility.

The purpose of this essay is to consider what kind of compromise is produced by party government. Its method is to discover what kind of compromise was produced by the socalled Settlement of 1688, the compromise which laid the foundation for party government in Britain. It will be suggested that the kind of compromise which laid the foundation for party government is the kind which party government, in turn, chiefly produces.

It is not uncommon for a major writer to be seen by his critics in widely divergent, even contradictory terms; Alexis de Tocqueville shares this fate. To the familiar causes of controversy, Tocqueville added his own—a veil of neutrality or objectivity concealing his deepest views. The publication in 1835 of the first part of Democracy in America thus gave rise to an effort, still continuing, to discover Tocqueville's true intent: behind the façade of neutrality does he favor one social system, aristocracy or democracy, over the other?

On the one hand, does he not reveal in his writings the ineradicable bias of his aristocratic origins? Was he not hostile to the openended, unformed, and unforeseeable consequences of the democratic revolution? Did he not intend by his criticisms of the democratic system to “carry the reader to the point of wishing for its destruction?” Was not the liberty he defended a “restricted liberty, protecting a small group of privileged people who were really independent so far as economic circumstances went?” Was it not “a liberty for believers, [a] liberty for owners…an aristocratic liberalism?” Did he not believe that “the mass of men should remain bereft of political power?”

The ancient Greeks rarely fail us when we turn to them in a receptive but cautious spirit for conceptual clarity, and their treatment of the abstraction “power” and terms related to it is relevant and suggestive. In Greek, a root contained in several words associated with political power has two meanings. The verb archein means both “to rule” and “to start”; the noun arché means both “sovereignty” and “beginning.” J. L. Myres, in his analysis of Greek political ideas, suggests:

It is now clear that in compounds the prefix arkhé (as in our words “architect” and “archbishop”) describes not merely the first or chief man of a company or organization, but the initiatory function of him who “starts” the others to work, and originates the design which they are to complete. And this appeal to Greek practical life confirms the view that what is essential in the notion of arkhé is just this initiatory “push” or “drive” with which the gifted man imposes his will-and-pleasure on the rest.

On February 18, 1963, in the cases of Francisco Mendoza-Martinez and Joseph Henry Cort, the Supreme Court struck down as unconstitutional a provision of the nationality code which said that “departing from or remaining outside of the jurisdiction of the United States” during wartime or a period of national emergency “for the purpose of evading or avoiding training and service in the land or naval forces of the United States” created in effect an irrebuttable presumption of a voluntary decision to expatriate, i.e., to extinguish one's American nationality. The reader who winces at this convoluted formulation should brace himself: worse is yet to come. Indeed, it would be hard to discover an area of American public law in which the premises and logic of action have been so absurdly attenuated, or in which the historical record has been so flagrantly distorted. (Unless it is in the similar area of denaturalization, which is excluded from discussion here.)

The emergence of political parties performing important functions in the political system has characterized the recent history of much of the African continent. The new party systems have taken various forms, including single parties with a narrow ruling elite, as in Liberia, or with mass support, as in Guinea; two-party systems where one mass party is dominant, as is the case in Kenya; and multi-party systems, as in Nigeria and Somalia. In two states, Libya and Sudan, once-flourishing political parties have been banned. Only in Ethiopia (Etritrea excluded) have there never been political parties. The Empire of the Conquering Lion of Judah can well be termed a no-party state. In Ethiopia today no organization exists that would or could describe itself as a political party.

The purpose of this paper is to explore the relationship between two concepts which have lately enjoyed an increasing popularity among students of the politics of the developing areas. A couple of arbitrary definitions might dispose of the problem in facile fashion, but our present interest is neither in systematic abstraction nor in generalizing the significance of narrow-gauge empirical research. The method pursued rests upon the assumption that both national integration and political development are situationally bound phenomena. Hence, the conclusions drawn from the present exploration are meant to have a temporary, but practical relevance. Because of this assumption, arriving at an appropriate understanding of the problem of national integration in relation to political development is the goal rather than the starting point of this paper.

The belief that consensus is a prerequisite of democracy has, since deTocqueville, so often been taken for granted that it is refreshing to find the notion now being challenged. Prothro and Grigg, for example, have questioned whether agreement on “fundamentals” actually exists among the electorate, and have furnished data which indicate that it may not. Dahl, reviewing his study of community decision-makers, has inferred that political stability does not depend upon widespread belief in the superiority of democratic norms and procedures, but only upon their acceptance. From the findings turned up by Stouffer, and by Prothro and Grigg, he further conjectures that agreement on democratic norms is greater among the politically active and aware—the “political stratum” as he calls them—than among the voters in general.

Central to the problem of obtaining intelligent and effective management and policy direction in the federal government are the sources and procedures used in the selection of federal political executives. These executives, occupying positions usually subject to presidential appointment and senatorial confirmation, constitute the “key group in making representative government work within the executive branch.” Through them the President directs and controls his administration, creates political support, and establishes lines of defense for his political program. Increasing attention has been paid to the selection process in recent years because of frequent reports of extreme difficulty in recruiting able people, inability to retain their services, and allegations that those who have served have proven less than adequate. The problem as broadly stated by the (Jackson) subcommittee on National Policy Machinery of the Senate Committee on Government Operations is: “how to make the quality of appointments of private citizens to national services keep pace with the spiraling complexity and difficulty of foreign policy and defense problems.”

For centuries men have speculated about the human consequences of work. Slowly, a considerable body of information has begun to accumulate concerning the relationships between people's jobs and other aspects of their lives. Investigators have pointed out the connections between certain types of jobs and certain personality disorders, job satisfaction, productivity, attitudes toward union and management, social relations on the job, leisure activities, and other things. Extending such findings, this study concludes that a particular job situation can have important effects on a man's political outlook.

Political studies have long classified individuals according to occupation, yet there have been extremely few efforts to penetrate within specific occupational categories to discover the causal triggers of occupational attitude differences.

Whatever happened to the “radical,” “moderate,” and “conservative” African states we used to talk about not so long ago—say in early 1961? One wonders if the snapshot of African orientations, then in fair focus, has not become badly blurred.

President Sekou Touré, once the radical foe of neo-colonialist African regimes, has more recently offered assurances that his nation opposed intervention in the internal affairs of other states and thus tacitly acknowledged the legitimacy of the states he had formerly condemned. Touré helped to prepare the way for the reconciliation of “radical” and “conservative” states at Addis Ababa, in May 1963, where the Organization of African Unity was formed. At that conference, another stormy petrel of West African radicalism, President Modibo Keita of Mali, observed that though the colonial system divided Africa, “it permitted nations to be born.” “African unity,” he declared, “requires full respect for the frontiers we have inherited from the colonial system.”

Since the Chinese invasion of India a good deal of effort has been devoted to a reappraisal of the policy of neutralism which has long been considered to constitute a cornerstone of India's foreign policy. As that policy and reappraisal is by no means confined to India, it might be of more than local interest to examine the concept of neutralism itself on which that policy is grounded. Indeed, the reappraisal has not been sufficiently intense or agonizing because the examination has been too long delayed and “neutralism” has been allowed to slumber undisturbed, tacitly assumed to be an unassailable term in the vocabulary of the foreign office. We shall deal with the related concept of non-alignment at a later stage in the discussion. In order to put both these concepts in proper perspective it will be necessary to say a few words on the logic of foreign policy formulation.

Although there has been considerable work on voting patterns in the United Nations, almost none of it has contributed cumulatively to existing theories of international relations. Methodological problems or a descriptive intent have often stood in the way of such advancement. For example, the main findings of Thomas Hovet, Jr.'s Bloc Politics in the United Nations, the most comprehensive work to date, are based on trends in the voting cohesion of regional and caucusing groups in the Assembly and time-series data on how often these groups vote with the majority.

Among students of political philosophy, Montesquieu is chiefly honored as author of The Spirit of the Laws. His earlier important work, The Persian Letters, is more often cited than read and is considered primarily as a collection of fragments, some of which may be useful for clearing up some disputed point or other in the interpretation of the magnum opus. In these notes I propose to treat it as a meaningful whole—as a book which in fact has the theme which it purports to have, the theme of love and its relation to social institutions. This is not an altogether novel approach, even among political scientists. The late Franz Neumann, for example, has pointed out the importance of this theme in his introduction to the Hafner edition of The Spirit of the Laws. Nevertheless, I believe that Montesquieu's conception of love is sufficiently important and the implications of his conception sufficiently interesting, so that a closer analysis will not be redundant.