A modern constitution is a man-made fundamental law, and it sets up a supreme government as agent of the people. What, however, of the commandments of the supreme God? How in face of Him can a man-made law and government be fundamental and supreme?

This is the political-theological problem, we will argue, at the deepest level of John Locke's First Treatise of Government. At that level the First Treatise chiefly undermines, although it also revises. It undermines the primacy of the biblical God, of both his providence and his law, and it also revises biblical fundamentals so as to permit a more rational and civil faith. These are the two leading contentions of this study. If they prove to be true, the First Treatise is much more important to Locke's liberalism than is commonly believed. It is the precondition for his works on toleration and Christianity, the writings setting forth the liberal religion that can abide the primacy of civil government and of “civil interests” generally. It is also, then, the precondition for the Second Treatise of Civil Government. The famous Second Treatise may be the seminal articulation of modern representative government, but the neglected First Treatise proves to be its necessary preface. So we will contend.

This article investigates an oft-alleged kinship between the political thought of Machiavelli and Thucydides concerning “virtue.” In the background is the current debate over whether or not Machiavelli initiates “modern” thought with (among other things) a radically new teaching on “virtue.” Machiavellian virtù is reprised; Thucydidean attributions of aretē, catalogued; observations proffered. Then Thucydides' assessment of the career of Nicias is discussed; this, to support the contention that when read in their proper contexts, contexts carefully crafted by Thucydides, Thucydidean attributions of aretē do not support the apparent kinship between Thucydides and Machiavelli: Thucydides is not a “Machiavellian.”

Leading liberal theorist Ronald Dworkin builds a case against paternalism, rooted in his liberal ethical theory, especially the requirement of ethical integrity. But his case is successful only against less sophisticated forms of paternalism. His argument focuses too much on profound ethical convictions, failing to recognize the frequency with which people hold relatively unreflective convictions and the inevitable role of the law in helping to shape convictions. He makes concessions regarding paternalistic actions that come to be endorsed by the persons who are subject to them, but then tries to impose arbitrary limits on such endorsement. Finally, he rests his case against paternalism on the denial of transcendent standards, but is unable to avoid employing such standards himself. Building a case for certain forms of paternalism in a pluralistic liberal democracy is a difficult but necessary task, that can only proceed after removing fallacious objections like Dworkin's.

Since 1918 the doctrine that the Arabs are a nation and that nationality is the basis of politics has come to be accepted by a very large majority of Arab political leaders and of at least the lay intellectuals. The espousal of this doctrine, by a people who are predominantly Moslem in religion, is a development of revolutionary significance, since for many centuries Moslems viewed the state in terms of religion and dynasty. Moslems have recognized the existence of distinct peoples, or nations, since the time of Mohammed. Indeed, Islam in its first century or so was the peculiar religion of the Arab nation, and to become a Moslem was to join the Arab nation as a dependent person. This system, however, proved unworkable, and in the end Islam became the supreme bond which superseded nationality.

In his Plan for a Constitution for Corsica, Rousseau recommends a series of institutional arrangements and psychological incentives designed to generate certain salutary opinions and behaviors on the part of the citizens. However, he also indicates in several ways that it is not only impossible to control such outcomes absolutely or permanently, but also undesirable insofar as a static people tends to be a languorous people. This essay argues that the model of citizenship that emerges in Corsica is more dynamic and less thoroughly choreographed than is often recognized. Rousseau suggests that what it takes to attach citizens to the collective good over the long term requires not only a specific form of socialization, but also that the people are capable, to some degree, of transcending their socialization. The goal of Rousseau's legislative art is not to form a people that can remain on “autopilot,” but rather to cultivate a form of reflection and judgment that is rooted in and animated by healthy attachments and proper conditioning of the passions. The puzzle becomes the relationship between these two sides of the legislative art.

Bureaucracy may mean many things. So may dictatorship. Until Sulla, the technique of dictatorial interludes provided the Roman republic with a convenient form of political catharsis to relieve the constitutional framework from the strain of military exigencies. Greek depotism was not the style of Caesar; Richelieu's gouvernement personnel was not an imperialist version of Cromwell's Commonwealth. Less compelling still are the parallels between Latin America's “strong man” regimes, Japan's “new structure” à la Konoye, and the one-party systems of National Socialist Germany, Fascist Italy and Soviet Russia. It is the totalitarian formula alone to which we intend to address ourselves —dictatorship built upon the masses.

At the present time it is not easy to say anything on the German problem which is startlingly new to the initiate in this field. It is all the more difficult for anyone who has written a book on this subject.1 The best I can do here is to draw attention once more to some central aspects of the German problem on which, incidentally, world public opinion still seems to be generally wrong and where it is particularly difficult to pierce the thick crust of preconceived, though by no means incomprehensible, ideas. Passions the world" over have not yet abated; wounds opened by the Nazi monster are, at best, just beginning to close. The memory of our fears is still fresh, so fresh indeed, that only the more far-sighted men understand the senselessness of looking transfixed into this gigantic shell-hole which still goes under the name of Germany while, just behind it, another of the terribles simplificateurs is heaping up the dynamite for a new experiment of this kind.

In 1815 Friedrich Gentz noted: “Napoleon's downfall was a pure and unqualified advantage for Russia; for the rest of Europe, and especially for the states bordering on Russia, it was largely balanced by the increased strength that she secured for herself at the expense of the general equilibrium. For this great power there is virtually no further real danger; if she attacks her neighbors her greatest risk is merely diat she may fail in her purpose and have to postpone her venture to a more favorable time. The difficulty of penetrating Russia's interior is now so generally recognized that only lunacy and despair could prompt an attempt to conquer this great empire. While the other states of Europe exhausted themselves in the struggle against Napoleon, Russia who allied herself with him understood well how to extract the most solid benefits from the ephemeral union. It would be easy for her to fall upon her neighbors, for she has so many greedy ambitious reasons for trying it, and, if the expression be allowed, such substantially centrifugal habits, that war, which others regard as a necessary evil, will always be to the Russians a matter of choice, of emotion, and of speculation.“

Adam Ferguson was one of several moral philosophers who contributed to the Scottish Enlightenment, a period aptly described as one of “remarkable efflorescence.” The works of Ferguson and his fellow Scotsmen — Adam Smith, David Hume, Dugald Stewart, Lord Kames, Francis Hutcheson and Thomas Reid — were widely distributed, seriously read, and vigorously debated during the last quarter of the eighteenth century. The greatest contribution of this Scottish school to the history of political thinking was the refinement of the idea of commercial republicanism, the synthesis of modern notions of polity and economy.

The article reflects on the place of building (both as an activity and as an object) in modern, organic nationalism. In particular, it studies the role of building in the movement that epitomizes the Promethean aspect of modernity—Zionism. In this Jewish national movement metaphors ofbuilding are used very often to connote belonging on three different levels: in the material world produced by human beings, in a historically meaningful and humanized space, and in a community of constructors that willfully reshapes both space and matter. But by conceptualizing their collective project as a building, and by envisioning themselves as builders, many Zionists espoused a problematic understanding of democratic politics: the practical skills required by builders do not foster the critical thought, independence, and moral judgment required of the citizen, and the nonverbal solidarity among builders is essentially different from the solidarity required by a plurality of citizens. In other words, the ethos of builders that was essential for establishing a commonwealth from scratch is fundamentally at odds with the ethos required from an ongoing, democratic polity.

International relations have been the object of widespread study and review in the United States since World War I. Attention has focussed alternately on the flow of events, the goals and standards, and the underlying principles of world affairs. Primary emphasis has been directed to empirical, normative and theoretical problems. Along the way, scholars, statesmen and observers have singled out certain factors from the myriad dimensions of international society. Students have looked for concepts and methodologies by which order and meaning could be derived in this as in other complex fields.

Historically many political theorists have closely associated the practice of politics with the disposition of courage. During the past two centuries or so, however, some theorists—particularly liberals—have striven to tame the concept of politics, emphasizing the importance of gentler qualities such as toleration, civility, compassion, and reasonableness over the more bellicose quality of courage. But liberals are far from unanimous on this point. Judith Shklar, for instance, is more ambivalent about courage, recognizing both the continued relevance of moral courage for liberalism's long, difficult struggle against cruelty and fear and, at the same time, acknowledging the dangers of endowing the concept of politics with a heroic quality. Taking Shklar's ambivalence as a starting place, this article explores the current relevance of courage for politics.

Several significant works on post-1945 American politics have dealt with the career of Henry A. Wallace. These studies have tended to depict Wallace as a one-dimensional character, either a fuzzy-minded idealist influenced and manipulated by Communists and fellow travelers or a wise and dedicated apostle of peace fighting a losing battle to prevent the Cold War. Both views have in common the assumption that Wallace stood for the same thing in foreign policy from the end of World War II through his Progressive Party campaign for the presidency. It is true that there were important continuities; there were also significant transformations in the content and quality of his thinking.

Throughout history, the control of public funds has been considered a cornerstone of political power. If it is true that all societies, from die dawn of civilizations to the present, have been divided into two classes, one that rules and the other that is ruled, it may be expected that the methods of raising and spending government money have been determined by one social group, generally a minority, to the complete or almost complete exclusion of the rest of the population. Such control would be intended to kill two birds with one stone, serving the direct purpose of administering the state and the indirect purpose of strengthening the privileged position of the governing group and thus prolonging their predominance. Yet studies in fiscal sociology are still in tlieir infancy. Because of their casual and hapo hazard character, they are not as yet a match for political sociology. Only during recent decades has a broader and more systematic approach been attempted.

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.

Despite the Supreme Court's repeated invocations of America's Founding Fathers for First Amendment religion jurisprudence, George Washington's political thought regarding religious freedom has received almost no scholarly attention. This is unfortunate, for Washington's words and actions speak to contemporary Establishment Clause and Free Exercise issues. Washington, moreover, offers an alternative to Jefferson's and Madison's approach to church-state matters. The scholarly exclusion of Washington thus has led to a narrow view of the Founders' thought on religious liberty. This article sets forth Washington's understanding of the right to religious liberty. It pays particular attention to Washington's disagreement with Madison on the propriety of government support of religion. It also draws attention to the limits Washington placed on an individual's right to religious free exercise by focusing on how Washington dealt with Quaker claims for religious exemptions from military service.

Individuals entering into society, must give up a share of liberty to preserve the rest. The magnitude of the sacrifice must depend as well on situation and circumstance, as on the object to be obtained. It is at all times difficult to draw with precision the line between those rights which must be surrendered, and those which may be reserved. —G. Washington, Letter submitting the proposed constitution to the President of Congress 17 September 1787

It has become commonplace in the 1960's to talk about the alienated American, the disinherited American, the culturally different American. Most people talk in general terms but they almost always mean the Negro American. For the Negro is an alienated American of the largest minority group in the United States. In its historical quest for a unified society, the nation has called upon the public schools to live up to their traditional socializing responsibilities. At the present time, however, the focus is not upon the European immigrant coming from foreign shores but rather upon the segregated black man living in the most alienated ghettos of America. Martin Luther King spoke about educating the minds and hearts of white Americans in a concerted attempt to usher in the true kingdom of an integrated and just society. And what better place to begin this process than in the schools! Yet many Negroes have begun to lose faith in the schools as they have come to view them as an unreconstructed part of a basically racist society. A few are calling for the total rejection of the white man's society including his inflexible school structure. Others are demanding community — and this often means black — control of the schools in order to make them more responsive to the total needs of their youngsters. They want schools that will nurture the self-identity of the Negro child, deepen his pride in his color and heritage, and develop his capabilities to help create a truly democratic society which is “worthy, lovely, and harmonious.” That grand old lady of the social settlement movement in America, Jane Addams, once stated these desires in another way — indeed quite a contemporary way — when she concluded “that unless all men and all classes contribute to a good, we cannot even be sure that it is worth having.”

Throughout most of the nineteenth century, British imperial policy developed from two antithetical and mutually exclusive concepts. It aimed simultaneously at extending British trade and culture under the paternal authoritarianism of crown-colony rule, and it sought the progressive realization of colonial self-government through the spread and adaptation of British institutions. The first concept sprang from the utilitarian criterion of “the greatest happiness for the greatest number,” and emphasized law rather than liberty as the great instrument of human improvement. The second derived from the utilitarian doctrine of liberty, the claim for a sphere of activity within which the individual was sovereign and free from external interference. In practice, the first was deemed appropriate for the tropical parts of Britain's mercantile empire, the second for colonies of British settlers overseas. With the outbreak of war in South Africa in 1899 these two concepts came into signal opposition, and the Fabians, intellectual heirs of utilitarianism, encountered difficulty in reconciling them. One faction, led by Ramsay MacDonald, held the issue to be one of freedom and maintained that good government was no substitute for self-government. The majority, under the influence of Sidney Webb and George Bernard Shaw, rejected the idea that Britain must educate subject peoples towards self-government and advanced an intellectual justification for autocratic control in the dependent empire. So far as the empire was concerned, Webb and Shaw aimed less at reconstructing political institutions than at making existing institutions work more effectively. In its Fabian metamorphosis, the utilitarian idea of empire thus displayed a zeal for order and centralization, and its dominant theme was greater efficiency.

During the Commercial Revolution, as European powers became deeply involved in Atlantic and Indian Ocean trade, there developed a lively debate about whether a country could claim and exercise legal sovereignty over the sea. The great Dutch jurist Hugo Grotius (1583–1645), in his work Mare Liberum (1609), argued against such notions. An English lawyer and polymath John Selden (1584–1654), espousing British interests, took the affirmative side of the debate in Mare Clausum (1936). The issues had been discussed long before Grotius and Selden had written their works, but the debate intensified as the competition both for worldwide markets and for access to offshore fishing banks became sharper.