The heartbreaking plight in which a bipolarized and atom bomb-blessed world finds itself today is but the extreme manifestation of a dilemma with which human societies have had to grapple since the dawn of history. For it stems from a fundamental social constellation, one where a plurality of otherwise interconnected groups constitute ultimate units of political life, that is, where groups live alongside each other without being organized into a higher unity.

Wherever such anarchic society has existed—and it has existed in most periods of known history on some level—there has arisen what may be called the ‘security dilemma’ of men, or groups, or their leaders. Groups or individuals living in such a constellation must be, and usually are, concerned about their security from being attacked, subjected, dominated, or annihilated by other groups and individuals. Striving to attain security from such attack, they are driven to acquire more and more power in order to escape the impact of the power of others. This, in turn, renders the others more insecure and compels them to prepare for the worst. Since none can ever feel entirely secure in such a world of competing units, power competition ensues, and the vicious circle of security and power accumulation is on.

France's defeat in 1940 was one of those events that ‘shook the world.” Its swiftness and completeness amazed even the Germans. But the mere fact of the defeat is, in long range terms, perhaps less important than the factors that caused it and the reactions that followed it.

At the outset, it should be remarked that this whole subject, involving as it does the field of socio-psycho-politics, is still wide open, at least so far as France is concerned. Except for tendentious tracts, some technical military monographs, and the expected autobiographic apologias, there is little to go on. French scholars have not done much objective research on the causes and consequences of the tragedy of 1940.

The educated American of the middle nineteenth century who took an inventory of his knowledge of the world found himself much more poorly informed on Asia than on Europe. The reason for this is manifest. America's relations with Asia were fragmented and peripheral, trade alone being a major concern. Interaction with Europe proceeded on an entirely different plane: For the New World, Europe was an inexhaustible source of population increase and personal contacts, of monies for economic growth, and of technological, artistic, and educational inspiration.

Belief in the inevitability of World War III may well be a factor in bringing on that catastrophe. Certainly the way the crisis is expected to end will affect in some degree the course and outcome of the struggle between the Russian and non-Russian world. On the Soviet side there is dogmatic and unanimous assertion that world communism will “inevitably” triumph. The expectations prevailing in the other camp are strikingly different. In place of dogma and uniformity there are doubt, variety, and confusion. No single voice commands enough authority to speak for everyone, but there is extensive doubt of the “inevitable” spread and eventual triumph of the liberal outlook. Confidence in the inevitability of progress has been shaken, but the expectation of progress remains as a working hypothesis or at least as a declaration of faith, hope, and purpose. In other words, neither victory nor defeat of the liberal outlook is inevitable, and the shape of things to come depends in large measure on how the leaders of the liberal world shape them. Part of the shaping, if it is to be successful, will include the adoption of policies toward the Soviet Union which will modify Soviet expectations of inevitable progress through catastrophe. What are some of the practical means of accomplishing this end? If the non-Soviet world is to take practical steps, what modifications must be made in its own long-range expectations?

Both our idealists and our realists conceive patterns which are too logical for the tortuous course of human history. They both persist in confronting us with two horns of a dilemma and beg us to choose between them. All idealistic schemes of world peace insist that we must either achieve world government or resign ourselves to an inevitable war; we must find some way of reaching an understanding with the Russians or face the consequences of a world war. Our realists are convinced that neither world government nor a pragmatic understanding with the Russians is an attainable goal. They are therefore tempted to grasp the second horn of the dilemma. They accept the fact of an inevitable war. From the idea of an inevitable war it is only a short logical step to the concept of a preventive war. For if we must inevitably fight the Russians, why should we not have the right to choose the most opportune time for joining the issue?

Since the end of the first World War, a turn in the trade balance of the United States toward an import surplus has been prophesied or advocated repeatedly. According to these prognostications and beliefs, the United States has been moving into the position of an “old creditor nation” and therefore is likely, or will be obliged, to carry a passive trade balance financed by a net inflow of earnings on, or repayments of, capital from abroad.1 Fulfillment of such an obligation has often been regarded as a contribution to domestic welfare and international order.

H. G. Wells exercised an almost unique influence on the o generation which reached maturity during the decade 1910–20. Only Bernard Shaw among men of letters and Wood-row Wilson among men in public life approached Wells in capturing the imagination of that generation and winning it to a particular point of view. There was a flippancy and irresponsibility about Shaw, however, which debased his great abilities; to some, he was a cleverer Oscar Wilde—a court jester for the Fabians and other intellectuals, as Wilde previously had been for salon and café society. Wilson, almost a Messiah during the years 1917–18, was a tragic casualty of the postwar era of disillusion and cynicism. But Wells continued throughout the 'twenties to command its attention and respect.

I Believe that much historical data can be assembled to support the following propositions:

(1) The trend of power politics is toward a bipolar world, and such a world tends toward increasing rivalry, suspicion, and tension between the two leading states, making them develop into garrison states in a continuous relationship of cold or hot war.

(2) A state actively preparing for war in time of peace tends to become over-centralized, intolerant, and aggressive; to encourage other states to gang up against it; and, when war eventuates, to win the first battles but to lose the war.

The United States is at present creditor to the world. Since the war more than $25 billion has been put into various foreign aid programs. Government loans, military assistance, ECA assistance have combined in a great assault on world problems. Yet, great as has been the government-to-government assistance extended by the United States, and substantial as has been aid given by such organs of American policy as the Export-Import Bank not only to foreign governments but to private business, it is not only conceded but argued by government officials as well as private business that a job remains to be done which cannot be done in this way. For the doing of that job, private enterprise and private capital investment are needed. In testimony on various aspects of the Point IV program over the course of the last year, this necessity has been stressed no less by government than by business witnesses.

In the history of wars and diplomacy in the Western state system of the past several centuries, the most important single boundary is surely that of northeastern France. Since the unification of both Germany and Italy in the last century, the one territorial problem within western Europe that has most seriously endangered the peace of Europe and the world is that of Alsace-Lorraine. While the Germans regarded the annexation of 1871 as a restoration of areas once a part of Germany, they did not return to any previously established boundary, but rather created one that was newly drawn for the purpose. What factors influenced them to place the boundary—the international boundary from 1871 to 1919—precisely where they did place it?

Between 1944 and 1948, six European countries experienced Communist seizures of power. Three were enemies and three friends and allies of Soviet Russia during the war; four were Slav countries; five were predominantly peasant with some remnants of feudalism; with the exception of industrial Czechoslovakia, their prewar record in democratic government was far from exemplary. In all of them, however, the Communists were successful.

What were the components of Communist success and democratic defeat? The case of Czechoslovakia shows clearly that the active interest and impressive display of Soviet power in contrast to the West's hesitant policy not only formed the background but were the chief bases for Communist successes in Eastern Europe. Careful, professional infiltration of democratic institutions and the wishful thinking of the democrats did the rest.

What is today in the United States conventionally known as international relations is a subject different in content and emphasis from its counterpart of even two decades ago. Much of what seemed important in 1929 seems irrelevant, and some of it even trivial, in 1949. Another twenty years may perhaps bring a similar judgment on work now being done. But we ought at least to be aware of the direction in which we have been moving if we are to control the future development of the field.

In 1930 the following statement passed unchallenged in a discussion among some of Ameria's leading social scientists: “The emotional drive is so highly developed in the kind of person who goes into the international relations field that it often leads to unclear thinking.” The implication that no one without this drive could conceivably be persuaded to enter the field is a commentary on the disesteem with which international relations research was then regarded.

Superficial observers of relations between the United States and the other American republics customarily deplore the decline of amity which has assertedly taken place since World War II and lay the blame to deficiencies in our diplomacy. Infrequently does one analyze the factors contributing to the high degree of cooperation that existed during the war itself. Only by such an analysis, it is submitted, can present practices of American policy be seen in their proper perspective. Answers in concrete terms should be suggested to the following specific questions: What did the United States seek from the other American republics? What techniques were employed to reach its objectives? To what extent were those objectives attained? Answers to these questions will help to clarify the place of Latin America in postwar United States policy.

This is a good time to ask what are the important emerging trends in research in international relations. In the first place, the problems of world politics today are as arresting in their implications for the security and well-being of peoples everywhere as they have ever been; at the same time, they seem less subject to human control. Secondly, a generation of experimenting and high-level groping with international problems has produced, or ought to have produced, some valuable conclusions about how to proceed in carrying out fruitful research in the field. Finally, the impressive advances made in various branches of the social sciences in the last few years have provided some interesting new tools and skills that ought to be of great help to the political analyst working on the international level.

The Stalinists consider parliaments to be only schools for extra-parliamentary means of struggle. Were the Czechoslovak democratic leaders aware of this attitude while cooperating with the Communists both in the Parliament and Government of Czechoslovakia after 1945? If they were, what countermeasures did they devise? Even if the daily political fight over party or local issues necessarily narrowed their horizon, responsible democratic leaders had a fairly accurate picture of the situation even in 1945, when the Communists, thanks to the presence of the Red Army, could have seized power. The democrats' awareness of danger and their decision as to countermeasures were, however, influenced by many hopes and illusions, some justifiable in view of the international situation at the end of the war.

Dependent areas under American administration have always been a heavy financial burden on the American taxpayer. The Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands, comprising the whole of Micronesia except Guam, will certainly prove no exception. That Micronesia will prove an economic liability is, however, less important than the possibility that it will also be a heavy political liability.

The humanitarian conscience of the Western world would in any case be quick to enforce its highest standard upon a rich government like that of the United States. A country striving to assert leadership in the development of backward areas all over the world will itself wish to meet these standards in its sole trust territory. However, the material well-being of the Micronesians when under Japanese rule, the great devastation wrought by the war, and the predominantly strategic interests so far dominant in the United States policy in the area—all will make it difficult even for a benevolent American administration to win the approval of the Micronesians. For it to make a record there which will help it in its struggle to win the confidence of colonial peoples elsewhere will be even more difficult.

There have been repeated generalizations that support of the United Nations is a cornerstone of United States foreign policy. On February 22, 1950, the President, in a major address dealing with foreign policy, indicated that the United Nations was the proper forum in which to seek an international agreement for the control of atomic weapons. In so doing he reaffirmed a previous statement of policy of “unfaltering support to the United Nations and related agencies,” the first of the “four points” of his inaugural address of January 1949. The President in this fashion sought to reassure the public that he had confidence in the United Nations and that he proposed to utilize its machinery to the full in the conduct of United States foreign relations.

In a recent article in Le Monde, a military writer remarked that ‘A country has the army it merits.”1 The expression is an old one. For a hundred years at least, French politicians and French military personnel have been quoting one another to the effect that the army is but the reflection of the state. But in a democracy, the strength of an army is not so much a question of merit as one of desire, desire as expressed by the people through the votes of their representatives. Certainly, it has little or nothing to do with international necessity.