INTERNATIONAL relations, as a subject of instruction, has flourished more in the United States than elsewhere and more in recent years than ever before. What forces explain its growth and its present shape? How have methods of teaching it been affected by the goals of the teacher, by his relation to research, and by the formal organization of international studies in American colleges and universities? To what extent is the American experience so rooted in uniquely American conditions that it is unlikely to be repeated elsewhere? These questions will be considered in turn.

Despite the extensive government apparatus for policy-making on problems of national security, the American President in the postwar period has, from time to time, appointed groups of private citizens to investigate particular problems and report to the National Security Council. Some of these groups have performed their task without the public's ever becoming aware of their existence; others have in one way or another come to public attention. Among the latter are those which have become known under the names of their chairmen: Finletter, Gray, Paley, Sarnoff, Gaither, Draper, Boechenstein, and Killian. President Truman made use of such groups, and the variety of tasks for which they were appointed grew steadily during the Eisenhower Administration.

Several hours before his assassination in 1948, Mahatma Gandhi submitted his proposal for revisions in the party constitution of the Indian National Congress. He suggested that the Congress dissolve, since partisanship appeared to him wrong, and convert itself into a Lok Sevak Sangh, an apolitical people's service association. The Congress did not in the event obey the testament, but no one thought the proposal funny or outrageous. More recently, a General Secretary of the Congress reiterated the non-partisan point of view underlying this proposal when he questioned whether the role of an opposition party was meaningful in India, and when he supported the idea of “a common national programme acceptable to all political parties, on the basis of which the administration of the country could be carried on.” “The Panchayat system in India,” the Secretary said, “was essentially based on this very principle of synthesis rather than antithesis. Economically underdeveloped countries like ours can hardly afford the luxury of opposition only for the sake of opposition.”

The point of view from which this article is written is that the world-wide trend toward increased use of oil involves Western Europe in greater risks of interruption of supplies than it does the other major world consumers (the United States and the USSR), who produce most of their own oil; and that the implications of permitting the trend to continue to develop at its present rate should be seriously reconsidered. The trend toward increased use of oil in Western Europe has been clear for some years, as it was for the United States a bit earlier and has become for the USSR more recently. What is somewhat alarming at the present time is that the process is speeding up in Western Europe and that resistance to it is weakening.

American experience with the ill-fated governments of the newer nations—most recently Turkey, South Korea, and Cuba—raises the question whether we can ever select a policy generally suited to the growth of stable, effective government among the developing nations. In all three of the cases mentioned, the United States followed the canons of conventional diplomacy while contributing substantially to monumental economic and social changes. Our commitment meant reliance on and support for the regime in office, although our own actions were gradually creating forces and sentiments favoring radical change in the internal political system. Whenever the pressures for political change were sufficient, adjustments were made with an abruptness that may well have left the United States in a worse position than if we had done little or nothing to assist long-term development.

The student of World War II, even if he confines his study to a limited period or a narrow aspect of the purely military side of the war, is confronted with an enormous body of records and an imposing array of published works and official documents. The testimony, exhibits, and other data assembled by the Joint Congressional Committee investigating the Pearl Harbor attack, for example, filled 39 thick volumes; the published record of the Nürnberg Trials, 56 volumes. For the World War II years alone, the Army, it has been estimated, retained more than 17,000 tons of records, and also possesses an undetermined but large quantity of prewar records essential to an understanding of the wartime period. When to this total is added the extant records of the Navy, the Air Force, and the Marine Corps, the result is a truly staggering mass of paper calculated to dismay rather than hearten the historian.

A Practitioner of the social sciences may be forgiven his moments of Parkinsonian cynicism. At such times it seems that “research” in his field consists in the derivation of ponderous solutions to problems concocted solely to exhaust the time available from a growing body of print-minded confreres. Rare or plentiful as such moments may be—and in economics they are not unknown—they do inspire an enhanced appreciation of skillful applications of fundamental techniques to current and important social problems. In the case in point, Hitch and McKean have produced a work whose analytics are basic but imaginative and whose problem area is vital indeed.

A full understanding of political realism is needed, Kenneth Thompson writes in the preface of his recent study, “if American statesmen and scholars are to advance public understanding and awareness of the realities of international life and close the gap between what leaders feel and do and what the people imagine they do. Therefore the central aim I have had in mind is a careful explication, first, of the origins of political realism as an approach to American foreign policy, and, secondly, of its implications for the major unsolved problems of America's relations with the rest of the world” (p. vii).

Voting has become truly an interdisciplinary object of investigation in recent years. Historians, statisticians, social psychologists, sociologists, and political scientists have focused their attention on electoral behavior, individually or in teams. Such studies have been principally the work of scholars in the traditional Western democracies—Britain, France, Norway, Sweden, the United States—and fall roughly into three patterns. One approach has been to analyze trends in group voting behavior on the basis of census and election statistics, and frequently poll data as well, in a search for meaningful correlations between voting trends and socio-economic factors. The work of Siegfried and, more recently, Goguel in France, of Heberle in Germany, Tingsten in Sweden, and Gosnell and Key in the United States belongs in this category. A second approach has been descriptive, identified in recent years particularly with Nuffield College at Oxford. The Nuffield studies of elections in Britain, France, Ireland, Poland, Italy, and Africa have focused on the efforts of candidates and parties to influence voters in a particular electoral campaign. They are intended primarily to be contributions to contemporary history and works of reference for future historians. Lastly, we have the investigations associated, in particular, with the Bureau of Applied Social Research at Columbia University and the Survey Research Center at the University of Michigan. These have focused on the political images and electoral behavior of individual voters and, particularly, on changes in their attitudes during a campaign and the reasons for such changes. They have relied, almost exclusively, on survey research methods which involve questioning a panel of representative voters at length before and after an election and, lately, even over a period of several years and elections.

In 1943 a young American naval officer on duty in Moscow was sent to Murmansk to tend to the paper work involved in unloading a Lend–Lease convoy. Afterwards, a party was given by his Soviet counterparts, and by dawn, when it broke up, he was deep in an exchange of “basic fundamentals” with a congenial Red Navy lieutenant. Emerging into the street, they met a long line of men carrying supplies from the docks. The Soviet officer looked, and said with obvious sincerity, “See our happy workers.” The American officer looked—and he saw a line of convicts under the guard of police with machine guns. We see, it appears, what we are prepared to see in the USSR.