In The Catholic Church in the United States one can detect with differences of proportion, almost all the elements which go to make up this great democracy of ours. There are rich Catholics and poor, educated Catholics and illiterate, native-born and immigrant, urban and rural, and in one sense, there are even practicing Catholics and fallen away. Yet, despite the formlessness of American Catholicism, there is a definite tangible unity among Catholics which has been baffling to many outside her fold. This unity is derived from the special purpose and the nature of the Catholic organization which transcend those accidental relationships.

Not Many years ago most political scientists accepted the proposition that it is the spirit and tradition of a political system rather than its structure that informs and governs its operation. We may regard such a proposition as a truism; yet its acceptance came in the wake of what might be called the “second era” of democratic reform in the United States. That era had seen the destruction of the old system of making nominations and the rise of party regulation, the adoption of direct primary elections, and of other devices for direct government, such as the initiative, referendum and recall. It had seen, likewise, the enactment of corrupt practice acts, the growth of the merit system in the choice of civil service personnel, the turn to the popular election of United States senators, attempts at administrative reorganization and other devices for increasing the voter's control over his government.

Political science is uncomfortable with collapse, given the discipline's reliance upon stable political institutions and the presumably thick soup of political culture in which they stand. Even after Barrington Moore's classic study of revolution, the lingering question of Why did the state collapse when it did? troubles those who failed to anticipate profound change; but this rarely inhibits the accusation that ideological opponents made an even poorer job of prediction. In this respect the last six years in the study of Russian politics have been very lively.

In recent decades the socialists have attracted more attention and historical study than other social reformers. The extreme positions, utopian socialism and Marxism, have been the subject of many studies, and indeed, have been investigated to the neglect of the intermediate and moderate forms of socalism. The concentration of study upon the extreme positions may perhaps be explained in that they are older movements and they have had an influence that certainly makes for quantitative importance. Moreover, those who take extreme positions are often the first to gain attention.

Publication of the Peace Pastoral, which has been extensively discussed in journals, has had little effect in persuading scholars or commentators on the ethics of nuclear deterrence. A review of the literature generated by The Challenge of Peace provides a survey of the current state of opinion on this question. The bishops, who seek to apply traditional just war categories to the novel situation of the nuclear era, are opposed by representatives of other traditional positions (the arms control community, which tolerates the targeting of civilians, and the “limited war” school, which eschews civilian targets). Two new approaches, likewise opposed to that of the pastoral, set more radical limits to nuclear targeting. All the critics regard the teaching of the pastoral letter, which condemns all militarily meaningful use of the nuclear arsenal, as an anachronistic exercise in the nuclear era.

The founding editors of The Review were at one in proclaiming that their journal was devoted to the philosophical and historical approach to political realities. The labors and fads of half a century have made the motto suspect for the arrogant simplicity of its common sense. One may, nevertheless, ask: what do you call that which is there? Or is reality like Gertrude Stein's Oakland, with no “there” there? And are our words the conveyances of nothing but emotional sounds?

In Plato's Republic, Glaucon tells a story about Gyges' ring that, on the surface, suggests a radical opposition between appearances and truth. We argue that, contrary to Glaucon's intentions, what his story actually reveals is that appearances are always and inevitably implicated in the attempt to tell the truth about justice or the soul. This mutual implication is confirmed by Glaucon's own commentary on his story as well as by Socrates' arguments about the city and the soul. We argue that knowing the soul “in itself” requires that one examine it not by itself, but as it is immersed in human life. It is a question of how the soul “looks” – meaning not simply how it seems or appears, but of where it is looking, or what it desires. Taking its looks into account, in this sense, is very different from being taken in by appearances. We explore the implications of this idea for the possibility of attaining philosophical knowledge about justice, and for the relationship between philosophy and politics.

The three years of struggle and attempted negotiations between Poland and the Soviet Union over the readjustment of their frontiers were concluded by a two-fold decision. Thanks to Moscow, Poland was given a government which readily consented to give up both the Western Ukraine and White Ruthenia, territories occupied by Poland after the First World War; now they become parts of the Soviet Union. On the motion of Viacheslav Molotov, the Soviet Commissar of Foreign Affairs, Ukraine was accepted as a member of the world organization, the United Nations.

The first event means that after six hundred years, Poland has withdrawn her claim to an extensive tract of land which she ruled at times as far east as the River Dnieper and beyond. Polish ambitions to control the Ukrainian and White Ruthenian lands and to assimilate these two peoples culturally in order to make them an ethnographic Polish entity, with some exceptions of course, failed.

A Radical who argues is an uncommon sight; even more uncommon is a radical who likes to argue with nonradicals. To participate in radical political dialogue, one usually has to be committed to a specific social cause and perhaps even to a “dialectical logic.” One of the fascinating and challenging aspects of Robert Paul Wolff's recent books is that he draws his radical, anarchosocialist conclusions from premises that are quite acceptable to the average nonradical, in a style that is free from flirtations with a higher logic. In this sense Marcuse and Wolff could not be further apart.