This essay investigates Xenophon's claim in the Memorabilia that political ambition is a qualification for the study of political philosophy, through an examination of three conversations between Socrates and politically ambitious men. These conversations reveal that the basis for the ambition to serve the public welfare is a concern not only with one's political community but also with one's own character and its excellence or virtue. Politically ambitious men hold virtue to be the greatest good, but they may not know what virtue is. For someone who is conscious of his concern with virtue and of his ignorance of virtue, there is no more urgent task than to search for the knowledge of virtue through the study of political philosophy.

One of the most difficult features of the Declaration of Independence is the assertion within it that “we hold these truths to be self-evident.…” Careful examination of the text of the Declaration reveals, however, that the truths are not in fact said to be “self-evident” but are rather, as a matter of healthy political practice, to be treated as if self-evident. Appreciating the status of the so-called self-evident truths above all brings into focus the problem of politics as civic education in this regime, especially as seen by Jefferson. It also helps focus attention on the structure of the Declaration and clarifies some recent scholarly disputes over the meaning and sources of the Declaration.

Conceptualizing the state-society relationship in order to explain its byproduct underdevelopment in all peripheral countries presupposes agreement on the definition of underdevelopment. Such agreement is possible only by making the concept less abstract. Dominant paradigms which have conceptualized the state-society relationship and attempted to explain underdevelopment have not generally been successful because of their failure to make operational the concept of underdevelopment and the corollary of their excessive reliance on “regional or local differences.”

Methodological controversy and self-awareness have been endemic in international relations. Yet it is curious how little genuine debate this has engendered, if we understand by “debate” an arena in which arguments are joined rather than one in which assertions are juxtaposed. One has instead the sense of a number of separate guilds, each of which proceeds on the basis of its own indigenous premises, conscious of the work of other groups only as caricature. The various guilds, or intellectual groups, may be distinguished on the basis of their central notions as to the most important data in the field, the appropriate manner of investigating that data, and the character of the knowledge which can result. Occasionally exercises in critique or defense, ostensibly directed outward, are undertaken, but the effect of these sallies remains internal to the group of origin. One finds little evidence of essential change in major premises brought about in response to external criticism.

Almost thirty years ago Nicholas Mansergh concluded that the political parties in Northern Ireland did not fulfill the needs of the political system: that (to put his statement in more contemporary terms) the input functions, particularly that of political socialization, were enfeebled to the extent that one party constituted a permanent government while the other became an equally permanent opposition. What is more, underlying the party system and within the political society itself there existed no consensus on fundamentals: “There is no residue of political beliefs—as in Great Britain and the Free State—acceptable to both parties.”

Inequality is still with us. For all of the talk (and worry) about the appeal of egalitarianism in modern politics, the benefits which derive from living together in organized society continue to be distributed in highly unequal ways. The reports of the death of privilege are greatly exaggerated. Some people live in opulence while others live in squalor. From birth some have secure life prospects while others survive, much less flourish, against enormous odds. Some people live comfortably well into old age, while others suffer and die from curable diseases in childhood or youth. In certain respects and in certain societies there no doubt has been some progress toward more equality, but in numerous other respects inequality persists. Indeed, it has grown.

This study questions a prevalent view of the First Amendment religion clauses which maintains they were intended to establish neutrality of the federal government between religion and nonreligion and thereby to establish not merely governmental religious pluralism but governmental secularism. Since the Bill of Rights is said to have been adopted to satisfy anti-Federalist objections to the original Constitution, what they said about religion in the ratification debates is comprehensively examined. They turn out to have been primarily concerned that the unamended Constitution was particularly dangerous to and tilted against religion. Hence they wanted not simply to prevent the new government from infringing on “religious liberty” (of individuals or states) but to redress the unamended Constitution's actual or potential tilt against religion. The First Congress debates are then examined from this rather different perspective to see what effect this concern may have had on the First Amendment religion clauses. It is argued that this concern produced a more complex constitutional position on religion and religious liberty than is commonly maintained. This position is not simply Madison/Jefferson separationism but a compromise which to some extent redressed the original Constitution's tilt against religion.

On october 5, 1937, President Franklin D. Roosevelt aroused the democratic world by calling for a quarantine of the aggressor nations. Since that morning in Chicago there has always been uncertainty as to how the President meant to implement his speech. A review of the available documents concerning the aftermath of the quarantine speech provides four additional notes which help clear up this uncertainty. The first demonstrates that Roosevelt instead of backing down before seemingly overwhelming opposition from the American public, believed he could persuade not only his fellow countrymen but “90 percent of the population of the world” to quarantine the aggressor nations. The second shows that the President looked upon the Nine Power Conference which met in Brussels during November, 1937, as an opportunity to initiate positive action in the Far East. The third, by an analysis of the activities of Norman Davis, the American delegate to that conference, indicates the extent to which the President was willing to go in imposing a quarantine against Japan. The last note attempts to explain briefly why by mid November Roosevelt finally “pulled in his horns” and permitted the Nine Power Conference to disintegrate. From these notes comes further support for the conclusions that the man who met defeat at Brussels was President Roosevelt and the policy which failed to be adopted was that of a quarantine, of containment, of the aggressor nations.

With the dissolution of the Progressive Party in 1916, many of Theodore Roosevelt's followers parted company. Suddenly without a political home, they sought refuge in the two major parties that they had deserted four years before. Raymond Robins of Illinois and Edward P. Costigan of Colorado were key figures in that scattering of reformers as each attempted to lead Bull Moosers in a different direction. Searching for the party which could most effectively achieve the unfinished program which Roosevelt had launched in 1912, Costigan chose the Democratic party of Woodrow Wilson, while Robins argued that the Republican party best represented Progressive ideals. The purpose of this essay is to examine the manner in which these two leaders solved the Progressives' dilemma in 1916, and particularly the arguments they utilized in attempting to sway their former colleagues.

An effective political ideology is invariably the result of the intersection of a number of discrete influences. In the first instance, a political leader is almost always possessed of some set of philosophic and political convictions that he has, for one reason or another, made his own. The ideas of the Epicureans and of John Locke regularly surface in the political thought of Thomas Jefferson, and elements of the thought of Karl Marx, G. W. F. Hegel and N. G. Chernyshevski are mixed inextricably in the political ideology of V. I. Lenin. As much might be said of almost every political leader who makes any pretense at ideological sophistication.

The essay examines Shakespeare's Rape of Lucrece, which portrays the love of honor animating political life in early Rome. Demonstrating the relation of the soul and the city, the poem depicts the psychology of honor, envy, and shame; the near identity of moral worth and public reputation; the close connection between deeds and truth, action and speech; the insufficiency of moral intention; the city as an association of fathers; the relation between the inner and the outer man, soul and body; manly courage as proof of feminine chastity; the private effects of a fully public life; and, generally, the simultaneously self-denying, self-affirming core of Rome's political life. The essay concludes by considering why Shakespeare, in presenting a historically accurate portrait of early Rome, puts it in the mouth not of a Roman, but of a medieval or Renaissance narrator.

In his response to the fictitious “sensible knave” in the Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals, Hume argues that the practice of justice is always in our own interest. This article provides the first comprehensive interpretation of Hume's response, incorporating his discussion of virtue and happiness in his essay “The Sceptic.” It will be seen that this argument is a hedonistic one, resting on the superior pleasure and security of a life of modest wealth and intellectual cultivation. Hume's argument ultimately fails, and he knows it. He offers it nonetheless because it is generally true and socially beneficial.

Many important scholars have seen significant similarities in the political thought of Alexander Hamilton and Niccolo Machiavelli, but the only two references to Machiavelli in Hamilton's papers suggest deep misgivings about the kinds of politics we now call Machiavellian. This essay attempts to clarify Hamilton's ambiguous relation to the sage Florentine by focussing on the problem of waging war effectively and remaining free at the same time in the thought of both statesmen. Although Hamilton understood at least as well as Machiavelli the necessity of dynamic virtù in princes and civic virtue in free citizens, he sought to establish a new order of the ages, a republican empire, which would supply an effectual moral alternative to the genuine Machiavellian regimes of his day.

This paper deals with Zuckert's book Machiavelli's Politics. It takes as its point of departure Zuckert's remark that Machiavelli is “surprisingly like Socrates.” The paper begins with a brief discussion of what makes a Socratic philosopher and then charts out the many similarities between Socrates and Machiavelli. Responses are offered to some of the key reservations against terming Machiavelli a Socratic. In particular, the paper points to a less activist and more meditative mode in Machiavelli's writings that allows one to make a more convincing case for a Socratic Machiavelli.

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.

This paper analyzes Aristotle's discussion of courage, the first and paradigmatic virtue in his account of moral virtue, as the perfection of human beings’ natures as both political and rational. It identifies unrecognized complexities in his definition of courage as “a mean with respect to fear and confidence,” in his subtle analysis of political courage, and especially in what he reveals to be the conflict-riddled reasons people find courage noble and good. While working to moderate the excessive fieriness of traditional heroism and to render citizens’ courage more sober and moderate, Aristotle shows why political courage can in fact never be made perfectly rational, pointing to a key limit to human rationality altogether.

As the late Patrick Wolfe phrased it, “settler colonizers come to stay: invasion is a structure not an event.” Settler colonialism as a “structure not an event” captures the idea that settler colonial invasion of Indigenous lands should not be contained as a phenomenon of the past, but rather is continually reproduced throughout the history and present of settler societies such as the United States, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and Israel. To say this is also to raise the question of how to trace and analyze the development, legitimization, and maintenance of the colonial structures in these societies: those built on the dispossession and occupation of stolen lands. To this end, Rita Dhamoon's definition of settler colonialism helps in thinking of it as “not only a structure but also a process, an activity for assigning political meanings, and organizing material structures driven by forces of power.” Dhamoon points us toward attending rigorously to this process in ideological, institutional, structural, and historical terms.

The Charter of San Francisco is the modest end-product of the mightiest collective literary effort in history. Fifty delegations, comprising literally thousands of principal and subordinate personnel, labored feverishly for two months to achieve agreement on a constitution for the new world security organization.1 In contrast, the Covenant of the League of Nations was drafted by one of the commissions of the Peace Conference of Paris, on which there sat two representatives of each of the five major powers and one representative from each of nine of the secondary powers. This group of nineteen men met fifteen times.2

The very broad participation of the smaller powers in the San Francisco Conference is obviously not to be explained in terms of their growing influence in world politics. Although the number of prospective permanent seat-holders in die Council of the proposed world organization was the same at Paris and at San Francisco, there had been in the intervening quarter-century a reduction rather than an increase in the number of powers of greatest influence.

The concepts of class struggle and the leadership of the proletariat figure high among the tenets of Marxist-Leninist ideology and strategy that Soviet theoreticians deem applicable to the developing areas of the world. “A new contingent of the world proletariat — young working class movement of the newly free, independent and colonial countries of Asia, Africa and Latin America — has entered the world arena,” asserted the 1961 Program of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. It is this newly emerging proletariat that hopefully is expected to convert the nationaldemocratic revolutions of Asia, Africa, and Latin America into genuine socialist revolutions of the Marxist-Leninist variety. Hence, the advancement of the working class and the promotion of class struggle have become major concerns of Soviet strategy and tactics in the Third World.