If the past determines or in any way influences the present, the present invariably reverses the process. One of the more striking instances of this rule has been the recent apotheosis of Thomas Jefferson as a national hero equal in stature to Washington and Lincoln. In an atmosphere of industrialism, urban living, and strong, impersonal national government that tradition might lead us to suppose would kill it, the Jefferson legend has blossomed and put forth new shoots. As Mr. Douglass Adair has pointed out, the pioneer democrat and agrarian liberal “discovered” by Frederick Jackson Turner and Charles A. Beard and celebrated by Parrington, Nock, and Bowers, has lately found more complicated, more interesting, and incidentally more timely, portrayal at the hands of Carl Becker, Gilbert Chinard, and Adrienne Koch. These writers, whose company is now joined by Mr. Joseph Dorfman, have been at pains to show the range and diversity of Jefferson's thought, and above all how he moved with his times to espouse the cause of commerce, industry, and national power. Mr. Dorfman crowds all these qualities together under the label, “Thomas Jefferson: Commercial Agrarian Democrat” which, if the trend continues, may have to be stretched to “Commercial Industrial Agrarian Democratic Federalist.”

Does the label fit? The legendary Jefferson was an agrarian; and even as modern scholars were finding in his writings political precepts for an industrial age, the farmers of the United States were recognizing him as the founder of American agriculture and adopting him as their patron saint.

When the third edition of Otto Mayer's famous treatise on German administrative law appeared in 1924, this dean of the science of German administration remarked, ironically and almost contemptuously, in his preface: “No important additions have been necessary since the editions of 1914 and 1917…. While constitutions wane, administrative structures remain.” This statement being made at a time when the structure of German government seemed to have been changed fundamentally by a world war and a revolution, many considered it a somewhat sour reaction of a conservative and a “specialist,” who closed his eyes to the great changes which had taken place in Germany and sought solace in the apparent stability of the more technical administrative machine.

Today we see that the remark almost perfectly fitted a situation where, under what proved to be a rather fragile constitutional roof, essential bureaucratic forces and governmental structures remained the same as before and were able eventually to thwart the implementation of the new political tendencies. Upon further reflection, Mayer's somewhat casual statement seems to fit the more general relation between the constitutional-political form and the underlying administrative structure which has prevailed in. Continental countries since the French Revolution.

The end of the momentous year symbolized by the physical scientists' entrance into national politics and political scientists' introduction to nuclear physics finds state appellate courts focusing on problems of business and reconversion; professionally critical, if not apprehensive, of the course taken by their superior in Washington; dubious of the behavior of organized labor, yet divided upon both the desirability of judicial discipline and the proper means of administering it; maintaining their separate, often irreconcilable, views on regulation of business and agriculture; above all, enjoying, like their superiors and predecessors, the historic, self-imposed duty of fitting constitutional garments to institutional girth.

How to constrict the swollen national waistline without risking grave internal pressures taxes ingenuity to the utmost. On the whole, a prudent realism still is evident in dealing with problems of price control. The restlessness and doubts noted last year, however, have persisted and find freer expression. Paradoxically, state enforcement of federal penalties is generally sustained, despite ancient but dissolving dogmas to the contrary; whereas coöperative state or municipal action designed to reinforce and supplement the Emergency Price Control Act has suffered serious reverses.

There have been several recent attempts to change the Constitution by dispensing with the necessity for the advice and consent of two-thirds of the Senate in the making of treaties. The two-thirds rule is undoubtedly a handicap to the freedom of the Executive in concluding arrangements with foreign countries. It was intended to have such effect; but the check proves to be irksome. It is the author's belief that the check is exceedingly valuable to a democratic government, and while it unquestionably slows up the process of making international commitments, it insures a popular control over treaties and it safeguards the small states in a manner which an easier method of approval might escape.

The first method of eliminating the Senate was suggested in 1941 when Mr. Wallace McClure, of the Department of State, wrote his book advocating the interchangeability of the treaty and executive agreement, concluding that anything that could be done by treaty could also be done by executive agreement, with the approval of Congress if necessary, without the approval of Congress if possible. In his support, he invoked what purported to be a growing usage to this effect, as proof of which he cited numerous agreements. These statistics have doubtless been aided by the supposedly unlimited power over foreign affairs assigned to the federal government by Justice Sutherland in the Curtiss-Wright case, a case which has been much misunderstood and the dictum of which has been vigorously criticized. I ventured to review Mr. McClure's book, and came to the conclusion that the dilapidation of the Constitution which he foreshadowed was unjustified by the facts and harmful to the United States. While Mr. McClure's views met a somewhat mixed reception in the Department of State, there is some evidence that his proposals appealed to certain groups.

Parliamentary democracy in Britain has once again to face and solve a problem which in itself is by no means new. It has to find the means of preserving, under the conditions of today and tomorrow, two principles, each of which is fundamental to democratic government, but which tend in times of major change to come into conflict. The one is that Parliament, as the supreme power in the state, shall retain its full and unchallenged control over public policy, both in legislation and in administration; the other, that the public business shall be efficiently conducted—that the right things shall be done at the right time. For in so far as the system fails on the former count, it ceases to be democratic; and to the extent that it fails on the latter count, its repute, and even its very existence, may be endangered.

It is commonly admitted that the British parliamentary machine has at times—and in recent years with increasing frequency—been overworked. Changes in the law called for by new situations, by public demand, or by administrative expediency are liable to be postponed from session to session for lack of parliamentary time, until the right moment for decision has passed. Matters which deserved full discussion are liable to be decided in haste under some form of closure of debate. The choice of subjects for legislative projects in any particular session tends, at times, to be determined as much by sectional pressures of one kind or another, public or departmental, as by a considered weighing of the public interest or a general plan of policy.

Recent reports on political events in Germany have frequently given the impression that the political parties organized there during the last few months are mass movements, based on the solid support of considerable numbers of citizens. Such a concept would, however, hardly fit the present picture. The lost war and its aftermath have left the German people stunned and discouraged. The presence of great armies of occupation and the obvious impotency of all native officials do not encourage political activities. Moreover, the German people have just passed through a period of twelve years during which every human endeavor—even of the most personal nature—was fraught with alleged or real political implications. A natural reaction set in, and even the word “politics,” once hallowed by generations of German intellectuals, is frequently met with revulsion. Only a few Germans understand that political life need not necessarily conform to the Nazi pattern. The vast majority, as far as can be ascertained, still see in “politics” only blatant, showy demonstrations, incessant harangues, and the complete negation of privacy. The memory of the Weimar Republic is dim, and where it exists an often exaggerated picture is retained of the multitude of parties and the squabbles in the Reichstag, but no memory of the fine and hopeful features of the ill-fated Republic. In this respect, the spirit of Goebbels is still very much alive. But, above all, the tremendous destruction, the insufficient diet, and the never-ending and never quite successful search for the most primitive means of existence leave the people exhausted and in the main without other interests. This state of apathy is furthered, too, by the well-known readiness, if not desire, of many Germans to submit to authority. Particularly when the occupation of their country was still new, most observers found the conviction among all classes of the population that the future of Germany was entirely an Allied matter and that the exclusion of Germans from all important decisions was a foregone conclusion. Few believed that political initiative by the Germans themselves would in any way ease the situation, and many considered that such action would end only in further confusion and consequently in a harder life for all. Since the unconditional surrender, this feeling of apathy has subsided only slowly and to but a slight extent. The majority of people went to the recent communal elections without much interest and in a spirit of obedience, rather than with the idea that they were performing an act of self-government.

The great problem of Canadian federalism is to be found in the sectionalism which is a standing challenge to national unity. Superficial conclusions drawn from the response to national recruitment, war bond drives, and such evidences, which form the stock in trade of the professional patriot, do not stand up against the realities of political behavior. This is revealed at many levels, in the parliaments (provincial and dominion), in federal-provincial relations, and finally at the grass roots as demonstrated at the polls. Geography, history, and economic considerations are woven into this pattern.

Geographically, there are four main regions—Maritimes, St. Lawrence and Great Lakes, Prairies, West Coast. Historically and culturally, the St. Lawrence-Great Lakes region is sub-divided into the former political subdivisions of Lower and Upper Canada, now the provinces of Quebec and Ontario, respectively. In terms of economics, each area presents individual problems, and as contrasting as the wheat-growing prairies and the financial-urban eastern provinces. To the sociologist, there is the complexity of peoples as diverse in background as the French Canadian of Quebec and the Central European immigrant in the West. With these factors in mind, the voting pattern of the people may be discerned, at least in part. And the 1945 general election offers an interesting case study.