The strangely unreal debate on the feasibility of United Nations intervention in Rhodesia or South Africa (to overthrow “colonialist” regimes) or in Vietnam (to stop or deescalate a war) would benefit from a more serious examination of the largest and most daring U.N. experiment on record. The Congo peacekeeping operation was unique, controversial and costly. The growing body of empirical data about this four-year operation provides a solid basis for understanding the severe limits of the United Nations as an instrument for political reform and crisis management in the Third World, to say nothing of the more difficult tasks of state-building and nation-building.

Recently the Bishop of Bayeux in northern France ordered less ringing of church bells on Sunday afternoons. The public had been complaining that the electric mechanism used to ring the bells these days caused “snow” on their television screens. Clearly that public would have its television, even if this meant cutting back on a tradition of bell ringing that was at least a thousand years old.

In the 1964 New Hampshire Republican primary, with very little money, no political power base, and not even a genuine candidate, the “Draft Lodge” movement brought off a stunning victory over Goldwater and Rockefeller organizations which spent huge sums, between them controlled nearly all the sources of Republican power in New Hampshire, and had earnest candidates who tramped all over the snow-covered landscape shaking hands by the thousands and making speeches by the hundreds. How that victory was achieved is an instructive lesson in the vagaries of American presidential politics. It also happens to be a brilliant illustration of what has become known as the “public relations” campaign which, it turns out, works even better in primaries than in regular elections. Here then is the story of a political victory put together out of press releases and announcements, a couple of pieces of direct-mail advertising, a five-minute television film, and the mistakes of the other candidates. As for Lodge himself, he was 10,000 miles away in Saigon insisting he was not a candidate.

Pope Pius XII had been better known to the people of the United States than any other pontiff. He had visited the country before his election, had manifested a personal interest in the country, and had probably shaken the hands of more Americans than any previous pontiff. The image of Pope Pius XII in the American press was of an ascetical, scholarly, and noble man who had manifested an interest in almost every phase of human existence. The image of his successor, the former Cardinal Angelo Joseph Roncalli, a short squat man of peasant origins, was quite different. As nuncio in postwar Paris he had become known to some Americans as a friendly diplomat, but he did not speak English and had never been to the United States. He was seventy-six years old and according to some had been elected by compromise between the liberals and conservatives. He quickly became famous for his smiling humility and approachableness, his readiness to go anywhere, and his manifest intention to be a very active pope. Americans soon learned of this friendliness, above all of his openness to non-Catholics and of his special desire to bring the Greek Orthodox Catholics back to union with Rome.

As Chief of State and head of government, the President is the epicenter of the management of American external relations and the formulation of foreign policy. Not only does he welcome the leaders of other countries who come on summit visits, receive personally the diplomatic emissaries of foreign governments accredited to the United States, and participate in many other formal diplomatic functions, but he also is responsible for executing those segments of the law that pertain to international affairs, for appointing United States diplomats and communicating with other governments, for making treaties, and for initiating and enunciating foreign policy. Addressing himself to the last of these, President Truman cryptically declared: “The President makes foreign policy.” Dean Rusk later commented that this “is not the whole story,” but “it serves very well if one wishes to deal with the matter in five words.”

In The issues of the New York Times from February, 1965, to November, 1967, religious leaders and groups are reported 185 times commenting on one political issue: Vietnam. If a comparable search were done on an inclusive list of political topics, such as civil rights, the number of citations would be greatly multiplied. Most of these statements are on substantive issues — the United States should do this, do that — rather than on the theoretical questions about religion's role vis à vis politics. Most of these religious interventions presume some connection between religion and politics, whether articulated or not. A similar examination of some leading religious journals, for example, Chrisianity and Crisis, Commonweal, Christian Century, America, produces similar results: in articles and editorials, such publications are deeply immersed in direct commentary on political problems of our time.

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.

At a state dinner to mark Ghana’s independence in March, 1957, Kwame Nkrumah first invoked the dramatic device of asking the band to play Ghana’s new national anthem. He then made his point, saying:

One of the challenges which democracies face is to preserve the essential liberties of their citizenry while undergoing continual, even drastic, economic and technological development. Mario Einaudi has described the New Deal as an effort to translate eighteenth-century agrarian democracy into twentiethcentury industrial democracy without evacuating the unique values which the Founding Fathers wished to be transmitted. Since the days of FDR, the United States of America has created a distinct “social breakthrough” by being the first nation to enter the postindustrial age of nuclear energy, computers, television, rockets, missiles, wonder drugs, psychedelic techniques, fertility control techniques, and supersonic jet travel. That political processes cannot be divorced from the wider environmental matrix of sociotechnological innovations is a proposition which is gaining in acceptance. Acknowledging the incidence of technological invention on the political process, we have singled out for case study the history of the communications satellite technology, the creation of an unprecedented “chosen instrument” to establish a global system of communications satellites, and the subsequent formation of an international consortium whose members have codominion over the space segment of the global system. What interests us in this study is how technological leadership becomes converted into other forms of power such as economic, political, and commercial.

The past few years have seen a tremendous increase in the direct involvement of Africa's military men in political affairs. Between January, 1963, and early 1968 there were no less than nineteen successful military coups, military-led secessions, or military actions instrumental in bringing about changes of government in that continent. This total can be augmented by the numerous attempted military coups, mutinies, secessions, and plots that failed to gain power or that were foiled before launching. This increase in the political activities of the military in Africa calls for an assessment of the degree to which Africa's military men are accepted as legitimate national leadership material by Africa's masses and intellectuals.

Jogging along the road to a dinner party one evening, Balfour's sister said she thought that the coachman had taken a wrong turn. “Well, that is his business,” remarked the politician laconically, “not ours.” The lady was quite in order to speculate about the matter, but interference was forbidden. Likewise, academic philosophers and sociologists have a perfect right to speculate about politics, but they must not, as academics, interfere with the political process; that is the job of the practical politician. Balfour himself theorized about politics and about the nature of human society, and also took a hand in directing the course of political events; but he saw the two as quite distinct activities. “Knowledge,” he maintained, is seldom power. And a sociologist so coldly independent of the social forces among which he lived as thoroughly to understand them, would, in all probability, be as impotent to guide the evolution of a community as an astonomer to modify the orbit of a comet.

Part of the Heritage bequeathed by the Habsburg Empire to the First and Second Austrian Republics was German ethnic nationalism. The movement was a response to what its adherents considered the difficulty of preserving German cultural practices and institutional patterns within a state composed of diverse nationalities. Challenged by the growth of nationalism among the other linguistic and ethnic groups of the Habsburg lands during the latter half of the nineteenth century and stimulated by the appearance of a German national state after 1871, Austro-Germanism grew in size and diversity until 1914. In its more moderate form, the persuasion went no further than stubborn resistance of German Austrians to any cultural or political concessions to non-Germans in the Empire. In the hands of the rabid Pan-Germanist Georg von Schonerer, it was a frankly subversive ideology dedicated to the detachment of the German sections of Austria from the Danubian monarchy and their fusion with imperial Germany.

This is a political world of power and competition for power, together with, hopefully, the legitimate authority that goes with such power; a world where ability to dominate the will of others is prized either in itself or for other ends. Politics is associated with the quest for power, as an end or means. It is not surprising, therefore, that in looking at those thinkers in the past who have focused on human relationships and organized associations, commentators should be facinated with how they looked at domination, and also, secondarily, how they viewed freedom from such domination (for example, the limits of power). In the measure that these thinkers dealt with politics, one might say, they concerned themselves with power, authority, leadership, and, coincidentally, with freedom. put another way, what is typically “political” about their views about the “political system”; that is, how they looked at the process whereby valued goods are allocated authoritatively. This “system” includes formal, publlic institutional arrangements, such as the “State”, and processes within these institutions, such as “conflict” and“conciliation”.

There is a striking similarity between the Italy of the cinquecento and today's developing nations. In both worlds, the chief characteristics are internal fragmentations with little or no community of interest, the all-too-frequent rise and fall of political regimes, a disharmonious relationship between government and governed, and the absence of meaningful direction. Flux and volatility are the all-pervasive features.

The latest plan making its appearance on the American public scene as a solution to the problems of “big government” and the decline of state government in our federal system is that of revenue sharing between the federal government and the states. This proposal has met with a wide and uncritical acceptance by state legislators, members of Congress, and the public. A Gallup Poll taken on January 1, 1967, indicated that seventy percent of the American public favored the idea of revenue sharing. The sponsors of revenue sharing regard it as a means of revitalizing state governments; yet, an examination of this new plan of distributing state aid suggests that its results may be quite different from what its proponents expect. Most likely, revenue sharing will weaken the self-governing capacities of our states rather than strengthen them. This undesirable consequence may follow because revenue sharing would encourage those interests presently controlling most state governments to increase their activities. The point simply stated is that revenue sharing will not make reform of state governments any easier.

The aspect of China's current “Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution” that has provoked, perhaps, the greatest amount of speculation and controversy has been that of the 1966 purges. The purge is not new to totalitarianism in general, or to the Chinese brand of communism in particular. On the contrary, it has always been used in totalitarian states as a device by which leadership might strengthen itself in the face of internal dissent or new tasks.

Machiavelli's Prince has been interpreted and appraised from a wide range of points of view. Attitudes have run all the way from unqualified admiration for the Princes compelling frankness and republican patriotism to shock and hatred for its obvious moral relativism. The Prince has been condemned as a piece of political opportunism, an expression of the philosophy of the antichrist, and a contributing factor to the political morality of both Napoleon and Hitler. On the other hand, it has in modern times been praised as a forthright assessment of the morality of sixteenth-century Italian political life and/or the first manifestation of a new science of politics.

An Economist and a political scientist studying the postwar world cannot fail to be impressed by two outstanding features of postwar development: the expansion of the military and economic power of the Soviet Union and the acceleration of economic growth throughout the world, particularly in the advanced capitalist countries. In this article I propose to investigate possible interrelations of these phenomena.

The existence of core ideas, ideas which are never altered during a person's lifetime, are overlooked by historians who exclusively concentrate on the relativity of thought. Ideas of this unchanging nature are called atomic concepts. A study of Gerhard Ritter's major themes demonstrates that ideas can be either relative or atomic. Although they received different illuminations in different historical environments, Ritter possessed a group of atomic concepts. They were the material for a basic Weltanschauung, which survived seventy-nine years of history in fluid, but unmistakable form.

The extent to which American businessmen have shed the rhetoric of the 192O's — in particular, the suspicion of or opposition to government and labor — has been a subject of no little significance to recent business historians. Although few analysts take exception to James W. Prothro's contention that business thinking in the twenties reflected a too narrow or selfinterested view of the roles of government and labor and granted that researchers recognize the problems of assessing business thought in any era, an examination of the interpretations of the rationale of contemporary businessmen has revealed imprecision in definition and resultant lack of synthesis. The summary results of this historiographical examination are set forth below.