The student who begins his study of international relations today is faced with a discipline that has changed greatly in the last decade. Some would say that it has matured to the point of being a true science. Others would argue that it has fallen into the abyss of data collection, technological quantrophobia and unenlightened description, never to return to the light of theoretical explanation. In part, such debates are healthy signs of growing pains in a young science; but there may be a disheartening aspect to them—one that is not immediately obvious. Let us begin by looking at the two sides in this argument.

One of the uncertainties of modern international relations is the degree of interdependence among states. Some theorists have asserted that interdependence is high and/or growing, and others have maintained that it is low and/or declining. Essentially, the debate about interdependence has proceeded in three separate phases, (i) In the aftermath of World War II, technology was heralded as the stimulus to an interrelationship among states: The world was shrinking; technological, military, and economic factors would produce interdependence even among erstwhile enemies. (2) Later this conventional wisdom was challenged by Karl Deutsch and his associates, who purported to show that various economic indicators of external reference were declining. International transactions were lessening relative to intranational transactions. More and more, citizens were turning to the nation-state for the satisfaction of their needs, and national economies were taking precedence over the previous international economy of the nineteenth century. This theme has recently been powerfully reinforced by Kenneth Waltz. (3) In reaction to the claims of the Deutsch group, which initially predicted stalemate in European unification efforts and a greater autarchy for industrial states, new presentations of the argument in favor of interdependence have been made. According to this view, interdependence among states is certainly increasing. A symposium on the international corporation partly reinforces Deutsch's view, while one on transnational processes argues against it. The resultant of these theoretical vectors remains uncertain. In this essay we hope to offer new data and to provide a modest reconciliation of the contending claims, drawing a trial balance between them.

After having suffered from the self-inflicted wounds of internal convulsions and diplomatic isolation during the Cultural Revolution, the People's Republic of China (PRC) has returned to the world diplomatic scene with a new, vigorous, and imaginative foreign policy. To appreciate its dimensions fully, one must recall that China's foreign policy was left largely unprotected from the disruptive spillovers of the domestic quarrels during the Cultural Revolution. The Red Guards not only sacked the British chancery in Peking, but also seized their own Ministry of Foreign Affairs in August 1967. By November 1967, forty-four out of forty-five ambassadors were called home for “rectification,” leaving the durable Huang Hua in Cairo as the PRC's sole representative abroad. China's trade also suffered; by the end of September 1967, Peking had been involved in disputes of varying intensity with some thirty-two nations. However, the transition from revolutionary turmoil to pragmatic reconstruction came through a series of decisions made by Mao Tse-tung and his close advisors beginning in late July 1968 and culminating at the First Plenum of the Ninth Party Congress held in April 1969, ushering in a new era in Chinese foreign policy. toward the United Nations may be characterized as one of “love me or leave me, but don't leave me alone,” evolving through the stages of naive optimism, frustration, disenchantment, anger, and lingering envy and hope, the PRC's support of the principles of the United Nations Charter had remained largely unaffected from 1945 to 1964. However, the Indonesian withdrawal on January 7, 1965, triggered off a process of negative polemics against the United Nations. Indeed, Peking's bill of complaints against the United Nations was broad and sweeping: that blind faith in the United Nations had to be stopped because the organization was by no means sacred and inviolable; that by committing sins of commission and omission, the United Nations had become an adjunct of the U.S. State Department; that the United Nations had become a channel for United States economic and cultural penetration into Asian, African, and Latin American countries; and that the United Nations in the final analysis was a paper tiger.

At least since Aristotle, theorists have believed that political dis-content and its consequents—protest, instability, violence, revolution—depend not only on the absolute level of economic well-being, but also on the distribution of wealth. Contemporary political analysts have tried to test this ancient assumption using modern statistical methods. Their results are distressingly confusing. One cross-national investigation finds the commonsensical positive linear relation: the more the inequality, the greater the instability. A second study purports to show the opposite relation in the important case of South Vietnam: the greater the inequality, the less the support for revolution. And a third analysis, also of South Vietnam, detects no relation at all between inequality and rebellion.

When and why people abandon their old institutions, patterns of behavior, and even places of residence in favor of new ones that are associated with sustained economic growth and development is a question of central importance to social science. Increasingly, political scientists have associated these processes of change with the occurrence of disintegration of particular political units, groups, and systems, and with the integration of others. The changing nature of social and cultural ties signals concomitant modifications in what people define as their community, where they place demands, and where they look for authoritative decisions to be made.

In recent years, as political scientists have witnessed the establishment of non-democratic governments in an ever-increasing number of countries, there has been renewed interest in the concept of an authoritarian regime. Despite its frequent use, however, the concept of an authoritarian regime rarely has been defined so that it could be applied in a comparative analysis. Furthermore, the theoretical utility of classifying a regime as “authoritarian” remains unclear. If the classification is to have some explanatory value, the way in which such a regime's defining characteristics produce distinctive political processes and behavior must be demonstrated.

In a period of search for politico-military détente between the major nuclear powers, one cannot avoid the question of whether the theories and categories for the analysis of international relations, especially those involving the role of military force, are appropriate and clarifying. Although they strive to make use of timeless categories, social scientists, especially when analyzing international relations, must take into consideration the changing historical context. In this paper I will attempt to reassess the well-known issue of the limits of military intervention in international relations by advanced industrial societies. I will seek to extend and formulate the ideas which, in The Professional Soldier: A Social and Political Portrait, were vaguely expressed in the notion of a constabulary.

Until recently, most of the literature on political development has centered primarily on nation building. Relatively little expenditure of time and energy has been directed toward some of the most gnawing political problems that confront leaders in industrializing societies: how to remain at the apex of power; what steps must be taken to create and then preserve public authority; and by what means leaders mobilize support and secure compliance with policy decisions when their brittle governmental structure is simultaneously confronted with crises of integration, mobilization, and distribution. The imperative need is to raise questions concerning (i) how authority is built and maintained, and (2) the means by which political leaders implement policy when they are confronted with a skeptical and volatile population. Those are the ends toward which this article is directed.

The contemporary arms-control community was born in the years 1958–1960, but now—thirteen years later—that community has still failed to confront its fundamental subject matter, arms competitions, in any systematic and rigorous fashion. Elsewhere, I have explored definitions, the ways in which an arms race could be analyzed, and arms-race strategies, outcomes, and dynamics. Here, the cartographic exercise is extended so as to provide a systematic discussion of the fundamental question: Why do states race (or renew a race) in armaments?

Before Mao Tse-tung joined the Communist Party, he had committed himself to the cause of Chinese women. His belief that women constitute one of the most downtrodden social groups persisted throughout the revolutionary struggle for power. He has continued to believe that the emancipation of Chinese women is an important policy issue.

In his pioneering essay, “The Element of Decision in the Pattern of of War,” Theodore Abel argues, on the basis of twenty-five sample studies, “The rational, calculating decision for war is reached far in advance of the actual outbreak of hostilities,” and “in no case is the decision precipitated by emotional tensions, sentimentality, crowd behavior, or other irrational motivation. In every case, the decision is based upon a careful weighing of chances and of anticipating consequences.” This thesis—that a state selects an action of war from a number of alternatives in a conscious decision to maximize its goals after a careful weighing of available means and of possible consequences—may be applied as a conceptual scheme which we could term the rational calculation model.

The Soviet-American strategic arms limitation discussions and agreements have been widely welcomed not only as important steps toward tighter arms control but as a symbol of die entire process of East-West détente. For die first time since 1945, the two superpowers have shown themselves willing to put agreed limitations on their central strategic armaments. The SALT I talks imposed rough numerical ceilings on deployment. One of die major difficulties in the attempt to extend these limitations in SALT II is die formulation of qualitative restraints. Each side is under pressure to create improved weapons systems. Each is concerned lest the odier should achieve a breakthrough which would render its own systems ineffectual. Each needs to hedge against the possibility that the other might design around any particular set of arms control arrangements. In this paper I will examine die desire for innovation and die difficulties of control, and suggest a general framework within which the question of limitations might be further examined. In the first part, I will discuss the meaning of innovation and the ways in which it is organized and promoted. In die second, the reasons are examined why the two great powers seek advantages over each other in the area of R & D. Finally, I will look at some of the difficulties of achieving restraint by agreement and under verifiable conditions.

As a political component of the contemporary world, the Catholic il Church plays an important if ambivalent role in international affairs. On February 25, 1971, in Moscow, Archbishop Agostino Casaroli, head of the Vatican's bureau of Public Affairs, affixed die signature of die Holy See to the ratification of die International Treaty Limiting die Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons. That same day, in London and Washington, die respective Apostolic Delegates to England and the United States signed identical documents. The participation of papal representatives in this international agreement raises a number of queries in the political order, not the least of which is the fundamental problem regarding die nature of the papacy as a sovereignty. No other religious institution in the modern world functions as bodi a church and a political organization that exchanges diplomatic representatives and claims total recognition as an independent member of die community of nations.

Henry Ashby Turner's recent suggestions concerning the analysis of fascism in terms of its relationship to the processes we have come to understand as “modernization” are too important and interesting to pass without critical comment. So much of what Turner says is persuasive that we run the risk of uncritically accepting what might be the chaff of his discussion along with its welcome substance.

There are at least two types of reservations with respect to Turner's account. One type turns on the general thesis he entertains; the second deals with the specifics of his argument.

Shortly after James Forrestal resigned as Secretary of Defense in late March 1949, the nation was shocked to learn that he was under treatment for a severe mental illness. Within a few months Forrestal committed suicide. This tragic occurrence, coming after Forrestal's highly successful career in government, directly challenged the long-standing mental-health mythology prevalent in Washington. The essence of the myth, as noted by Albert Deutsch at the time, was the belief that “no Very Important Person, under any circumstances, can possibly suffer from a psychosis.” The denial of this possibility in official Washington was of a piece with widely shared beliefs that to suffer a mental illness was a disgrace that automatically and permanently rendered one unfit for public office.

The single-party system of Nasser's Egypt belongs to a political genre widespread in Africa. It is a collaboration movement in which a nationally dominant leader enters into an “alliance” with regionally and locally influential persons; the party organization serves as a kind of “formal contract” between them. As a rule, the alliance is tacit in nature, based on each side's reading of political realities, and therefore tending both to be ad hoc and to involve a limited degree of direct interaction. The collaboration movement may be described as a transcendental organization with which individuals willing to deal with and support the regime may affiliate without necessarily making a total commitment to the movement.

Until recently, our best studies ofpoint of departure the systemicthe developinglevel of analysis—theareas tookna- as tional parties,1 the state institutions,2 the cosmopolitan central elites,3the overarching economic and communications networks4—but the particular assumptions and inevitable shortcomings of this approach led to a call for more attention to subsystem levels of analysis. By now it has become commonplace to note the need for studies of politics at the local level to gain a more intimate understanding of the way in which processes such as political development and political integration take place in the villages and small towns of the Third World's agrarian hinterland.

Negotiation is one of the basic political or decision-making processes, but if processes in general have been sorely neglected in political analysis, negotiation has been neglected more than most. Legislation as an institutional function has a respectable literature; as a process wherein goal values are constant and decisions are made by aggregating a sufficient number of parties to constitute a numerically superior side, it has become the subject of coalition theory. Adjudication has also given rise to a large quantity of institutional literature, although a theory explaining the process wherein a single party combines events and values to produce a decision is less well established. Similarly, diplomacy—and more recently, collective bargaining—has been thoroughly described, and economists and mathematicians using game and utility theories have developed some complex models of bargaining. But negotiation as a political process, specifically explained in terms of power, is an underdeveloped area of theory.

Political science “area studies,” or what the American Political Science Association calls “foreign and comparative government and politics” in order to insure that they not be confused with the biggest area study of them all, United States government and politics, have always posed difficulties for the Emily Posts of the discipline. Not a year goes by without a guardian of die methodological flame writing an article bemoaning the “ameoretical” quality of area studies or issuing a warning mat “The immersion in local materials may cast the researcher adrift far from any theoretical shore.”