Most people today mean not one but two things, when they speak of “Economic Policy”. Sometimes they mean the attainment of economic ends by means of political techniques: the “economic” concept of economic policy. Or again they mean the attainment of noneconomic, political ends by means of economic techniques: the “political” concept of economic policy. The first concept is the one the professional economist would be likely to use; and it is the only one current in economic theory. The other, the “political” concept, is that of practical politics today. It is not only war economics—whether of the Democracies or of the Nazis—that is based on a “political” economic policy but also many plans for the future such as, for instance, the Beveridge Report. For the “security” to which this and similar plans aspire, is not an economic concept but a political and social one; and it is “economic security” only because its realization is sought through economic means.

On may 8, 1940, some 24 hours before German panzers began their blitzkrieg through the Low Countries, a small group of middle-aged men gathered informally at the Harvard Club in New York City. These men, 9 in all, represented the “old Plattsburg crowd,” the same group which had cooperated with General Leonard Wood in 1915–1917 in organizing the famous Military Instruction Camps for Business and Professional Men at Plattsburg, New York. It was almost 25 years to the day that they had first met following the sinking of the Lusitania in May, 1915, and the present discussion concerned plans for a twenty-fifth anniversary celebration.

The development of nationalism during the past century and a half is increasingly recognized as one of the major phenomena calling for careful study by historians. To comprehend all the implications of this growth, the interrelations of the political, cultural and, in particular, linguistic forms of nationalism must be investigated. This is especially necessary in the case of separatist movements—the efforts of subject peoples to achieve political independence. The motives and aims of cultural and political nationalism are not always identical. The two may exist together or apart; they may develop coevally or one may precede the other. In parts of Switzerland and to some extent in Wales, cultural and linguistic distinctness and homogeneity endure without political separation. When separatist forces, both political and cultural, develop coincidentally, the question arises as to the relative strength of the two factors. In the case of the modern Irish state, now scarcely twenty years old, a common culture existed long before political statehood established itself. It was partly because of the reëmphasis early in this century upon Ireland's ancient civilization, a civilization which included a different language, that sympathy for her political aspirations was aroused. Ireland's consciousness of her Gaelic past, her golden age, survived six centuries of assault when she was deprived of political power. In the knowledge of distinctive speech of her own, in the remembrance of cultural preeminence during Europe's Dark Ages, and in the possession of tangible relics, the Irish people kept alive their sense of unity after repeated rebellions failed.

Despite considerable recent scholarly attention to the constitutional amending process, no contemporary work on the subject has analyzed the set of seven proposed amendments that Francis Lieber published in 1865, after circulating them in Congress the previous year. These proposals are important both because of Lieber's role in the founding of American political science and because of the manner in which Lieber justified change at a time when many had come to regard the Constitution as a sacred and untouchable document. Lieber was able to strike an appropriate balance between respect for the Constitution and a willingness to adapt it to change. Unlike some theorists who followed, Lieber further advocated an organic view of society, law, and Constitution, without undermining the importance of formal processes of change. There is circumstantial evidence that Lieber's proposals may have influenced the formation of the Thirteenth and Fourteenth, albeit not the Fifteenth, Amendment. As importantly, Lieber offered important justifications for formal amendment at a time when others were advocating extraconstitutional change. Because Lieber placed his proposals within a wider philosophical context, his justification for prudent use of the amending process continues to be relevant at a time when much different issues are on the national agenda.

In recent years the debate over the nature and extent of judicial power in the United States has been dominated by questions concerning moral theory, unwritten constitutions, and natural law. In a significant sense, the contemporary discussion is but the continuation of the theory of judicial review first put forth by Edward S. Corwin in 1910–1911; it was this theory that the “higher law background” of American constitutional law derived from the dicta of Sir Edward Coke's opinion in Bonham's Case (1610) that was given its most complete expression in Corwin's famous two-part article in the Harvard Law Review in 1928–29. The fact is, the influence of Coke's opinion in Bonham's Case came from within the scholarly world; its significance stems not from history but from the historians; it was largely Corwin's creation. This paper seeks to correct the record and to show the deficiencies of Corwin's understanding about the relationship of the “higher law” to the American Constitution.

Since the time that man first began recording his excursions into mortal combat with his fellow man, he has evidenced an acute need to justify destruction and killing. This justification has usually taken the form of condensing the reasons for the struggle to a few simple issues which again usually has served to reduce the contention to a straightforward and clear-cut duality between friend and enemy, the enemy being of course wrong, evil or obstructive, while the nonenemy was on the side of right or possessed a destiny which must be fulfilled even at the expense of an otherwise harmless and indifferent adversary. What justified violent action against another group was, therefore, a comparative evaluation in terms of value priorities or normative criteria which would lead to the conclusion that violent action ought to be taken against the other party. The criteria employed can normally be seen to be of two kinds: we might call them internal and external.

In September, 1939, the war caught the French in a state of political uncertainty and intellectual confusion. Considered generally, they were poorly prepared for the terrible trial awaiting them. The approaching war was less a national war with clearly defined territorial or economic objectives than a great ideological crusade. Now, ideologically, it found the French divided and uncertain.

From the political point of view, the normal operation of the governmental processes of the Republic had not functioned since February 6, 1934, the date of the Riots with their Fascist tendencies; the great élan for moral and political as well as social reconstruction, which in June, 1936, had carried the political parties of the Left to power, combined as they were in the Popular Front, soon bogged down into impotence and ended finally in a lamentable failure.

Historians have long argued that an intimate connection exists between the failure of Europe's liberal and, in France at least, radical agitation of 1848 and the spread of pessimistic values during the following two decades. György Lukacs, in The Destruction of Reason, has treated this point at some length. He ascribes the rising popularity throughout the 1850's of Arthur Schopenhauer, the most systematic and erudite interpreter of pessimistic thought, to “a purely bourgeois form of irrationalism.” The defeat of the revolutions of 1848 had left many Germans politically frustrated. What resulted was an “ideologically altered situation” in which Schopenhauer “suddenly grew famous and supplanted Feuerbach as the ideological leader of the (German) bourgeoisie.” Moreover, French capitalists, frightened by the workers' revolt that took place in Paris during June, 1848, helped to give pessimism its “international effect.” Indeed they knew its world despair for what it actually was, “an indirect apology” for their own economic interests.

It has been said of Alexis de Tocqueville that he is the most frequently quoted and least read author of all, rivaling and surpassing even William Shakespeare for this dubious honor. Virtually every American social scientist who as much as pays lip service to tradition manages to quote Tocqueville at least once. But this deference is to the author of Democracy in America, not of The Old Regime and the Revolution, for the latter book is, with the exception of one passage, neither read nor quoted. The Old Regime is neglected today because it is a political history, and today political history is not appreciated. What is “political history”?

Tocqueville's “political history” belongs to a genre of which he considered Montesquieu's “Sur la grandeur et la decadence des Romains” to be the finest example. Tocqueville thought that the nature and habits of his intellect suited him to evaluating modern societies and foreseeing their probable futures, but at the same time he believed he could do this most effectively in historical studies. While flatly denying that one can learn lessons from history in any simple sense, he did nonetheless hold that from an examination of historical particulars one can grasp the universal principles of social existence. His intention in writing The Old Regime was to enable his reader to achieve this same grasp. He, like Montesquieu, would not merely recount facts, but make known their causes and consequences and judge them. He would have to choose his facts well, so that they supported his theses. He would have to present them without making “the character of the work … visible” in the hope that “the reader would be conducted naturally from one reflection to another by the interest of the narrative.” Thus what I have called political history is understood by Tocqueville to be a selective, but not necessarily incorrect, use of the facts of history for the purposes of shedding light on the present and of teaching others to see and judge the present for themselves. Given Tocqueville's stated intention, we cannot read his work as either scientific history or political polemic.

Transition to a war economy is, in its very essence, a shift of economic responsibilities from business to government. This shift covers almost all activities: initiative, planning, execution, coordination. Still the change in our capitalistic structure brought about by governmental leadership and numerous diversified controls should not be overstated. The new frontiers drawn between the private and the public sector do not alter the dualistic character of our economy. It is not “the opposite of free enterprise” since successful entrepreneurs are still allowed to reap the profit of their venture, restricted only by taxation and by some of its efficient supplements, particularly renegotiation of contracts and war bond drives. War profits, moreover, have been so substantial in almost all social groups that the stream of private capital-formation flows broader and deeper than it did in peace time, broader and deeper at any rate than in the public sector where the government has been burdened with an unprecedented federal debt. Broadly speaking, our economy is a hybrid with a collectivistic head and an individualistic heart.

As early as November 1943, in conversations with German refugees at Istanbul, I encountered again and again the question, asked with amazement: how was it possible in Hitler's Germany for me to publish such independent views on historical-political questions, as I had expressed in my writings and addresses, without suffering political persecution? After I was released from prison by the Russians at the end of April 1945, foreigners frequently asked me the same question. I shall attempt to give an answer, based simply on my own personal experience.

In November, 1944, I had been arrested by the Gestapo, not because of any statement I had made in my addresses, university lectures, or writings, but because of my friendship with Dr. Gördeler and my participation in conferences about a political-theological memoir dealing with the future reorganization of German and European politics. The Gestapo officials who arrested me all wore an SD (Security Service) on the sleeves of their uniforms.

The series of purges that began last summer in the USSR have again aroused speculation concerning the stability of the Soviet regime. Do the purges indicate that serious popular discontent exists? Do they reflect, as some have observed, a state of fright among the Communist elite? In this essay an effort will be made to ascertain the connection between the recent purges in the fields of political, economic and intellectual life and certain continuing strains and stresses in the structure of Soviet society. Our general thesis is that recent developments merely reveal the continuation of certain long-standing but not serious weaknesses in the Soviet system. The purges are only part of the general effort of the Party to strengthen its control and to deal with these strains.

The integrity with which a thinker, a political decision-maker, or a society can claim to hold to the just war tradition depends upon the readiness to draw and to implement the consistent negative conclusion, when the honest application of the classical “just war” criteria renders a negative reading on the justifiability of a given (or contemplated) military enterprise. The most qualified just war thinkers stated this conclusion firmly in the 1950's, but others have not pursued the theme with equal consistency.

Liberals and communitarians differ most basically on the justification of values, a disagreement that leads to alternative approaches to social criticism. Liberals insist on cosmopolitan justification, which has universalistic criteria, while communitarians are committed to local justification based on the shared values of particular societies. Although communitarians correctly believe that justification cannot be foundationalist, the universalism of cosmopolitan justification is essential to the defense of values like freedom that are supported by both communitarians and liberals. Moreover, cosmopolitan justification is possible when understood in contextual terms. An exploration of the political implications of the human capacities of rationality and moral agency can derive universal principles as criteria for social criticism.