Only a decade or two ago, the Monroe Doctrine was in disfavor. The vitriolic pens of its critics denounced it as an “indisputable evidence of our overweening national conceit.” They condemned it as an “obsolete shibboleth,” “hoary with age”—a doctrine which the twentieth century would surely relegate to the dusty archives of diplomatic history. As late as 1937, no less a person than the chairman of the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations remarked in the course of an interview that the Monroe Doctrine was dead.

Time and circumstance, however, often bring remarkable changes. Since the beginning of World War II, the red blood corpuscles of Pan-American unity have instilled new life and vitality into the Doctrine. Curiously enough, after 120 years, the very threats which confronted President Monroe in 1823 have risen again to becloud the security of the Western Hemisphere. Historians may have argued (before the fall of France) that the Holy Alliance, with its determination “to put an end to the system of representative government,” constituted a greater danger to the New World than the Rome-Berlin-Tokyo Axis. It is clear, however, that the fascist concepts of the master race and of world domination are far more menacing to democracy than the avowed aims of the Holy Alliance ever were. The tremendous striking power which the Axis has so amply demonstrated in a world shrivelled by technology, coupled with the demoralizing effects of up-to-date fifth column techniques, makes the case even clearer.

Theories of the nature of the political community vary with conditions. Just as political pluralism was a phase of the late mellowness of liberalism, so the organic theory of the state is suited for more heroic moments. When integral nationalism was discovered in the United States after the defeat of the South, it was not inappropriate that organic theories should have been supported in order to explain the place of the American nation in history. Nor can it be surprising that today some of the leaders of the United States are looking at the nation as a kind of social organism.

If one reads with attention the words of President Lincoln during the early days of the Civil War, it can be seen that the Union was more than just a voluntary association of political communities. The states had their being within the Union, and the Union itself had given birth to the states. Even the history of Texas and its relation to the Union did not impress Lincoln as simply consensual, for if there was consent it was all on the side of Texas. Whatever liberty and authority the states possessed they derived from the Union, and not from any original powers of their own. When the Union became a symbol of organicity in the mind of the North, the earlier individualistic theory of the state was remote enough. The social contract, the consent of all to government, was suitable in the American Revolution, since protest was being made against the specific, arbitrary actions of the British government, animated it would seem by a total conception of Empire. To Lincoln, states, like individuals, were a part of the Union, and the Union might be broken neither by citizens nor by states.

Next to Hegel and Nietzsche, Fichte is the German philosopher most frequently blamed as one of the principal inspirers of the National Socialist ideologies of state despotism and the superiority of the German people. Indeed, it is not difficult to find in Fichte's work any number of passages which might be interpreted in such a way as to corroborate these views. In the writings of his middle period, around 1800, Fichte arrives at a despotism of reason which in its practical application might be even more consistently restraining than the rule of our modern dictators. In his programmatic speeches for the restoration of the German nation, he ascribes to his people a divine mission which has shocked many of his interpreters. Therefore we cannot be surprised that historians who, in accordance with the demands of their profession, lay more stress on the effects of thoughts and actions than on the intentions which motivate them, attribute to Fichte a good share of responsibility for the ideology of the National Socialist party and its hold on the German people. Yet these historians are right only with regard to the external form, while the intended aims of the two systems of thought are diametrically opposed to one another.

On the whole, Fichte is a moral idealist whose principal concerns are the political and inner freedom of the individual, the right and duty of the individual to contribute his best to the welfare and the cultural progress of his nation, the independence of all nationalities, social security, and an acceptable standard of living for every human being. These demands are based on a genuine respect for the dignity of man and the desire to contribute to the rule of humanitarian values in all human relations. The National Socialist, on the contrary, is fundamentally an egotistic materialist, a ruthless Herrenmensch, with a deep-rooted contempt for freedom, equality, and all humanitarian values.

In recent political literature, pressure groups have frequently been condemned as a deleterious element in American government. One scholar in the field of political parties writes: “In the economy of democratic government the pressure group is definitely a parasite on the wastage of power exercised by the sovereign majority.” Another scholar uses the following harsh language: “There exist socially created constraints which emanate from less sanctioned or less responsible sources, informal and opportunistic in their operation; they fluctuate incessantly in intensity and direction. These constraints may be called social pressures…. In R. E. Park's comment: ‘The pressure group is not an army which seeks to win battles by frontal attacks on hostile positions; it is, rather, a body of sharp-shooters which pick off its enemies one by one.’” Another student of politics, in a denunciation of pressure groups, says: “It is a testimonial to the faith, the tenacity, or the credulity of the American people that after 150 years they still cling to the forms—without the substance—of democratic government. Since the founding of the Republic the democratic process has been perverted to a greater or less degree by cunning and powerful minorities bent on serving their own interests. The ideal of rule by the majority for the good of the many has been illusory from the start.”

As in previous lists, mention is here confined generally to units specifically authorized by law or established by the President by executive order or reorganization plans under general authority vested in him. Changes in units created by heads of departments or independent establishments are excluded unless of major importance.

Authority for General Reorganization. Public Law 354, 77th Congress, approved December 18, 1941, authorizes the President to make redistribution of functions among executive agencies; the authority is limited to “matters relating to the conduct of the present war” and excludes any part of the General Accounting Office and its functions. This act is to be in force during the continuance of the present war and for six months thereafter, or until such earlier time as Congress by concurrent resolution or the President may designate. At the termination of the act all agencies will exercise the same functions as heretofore or as hereafter by law may be provided, any authorization of the President to the contrary notwithstanding.

Town and city consolidation in Connecticut serves purposes similar to those of city and county consolidation. Duplicating corporate bodies and officials are eliminated, and one government provides those services that are required only in urban areas as well as those required by both rural and urban areas. In addition, by the use of separate taxing districts a method has been developed whereby the people of the entire area pay for the general services while the people in the urban area do, and the people in the rural area do not, pay for the special urban services. Thus, it is possible to bring together a farming area and a city area under one government.

In 1938, New Jersey established a State Department of Local Government which, although not as far-reaching in the scope of its authority as its name suggests, possesses extensive and, in some respects unusual, powers of control over municipal finance. The powers given to the Department then and subsequently include supervision of municipal accounting, fiscal administration, funding operations, budgeting, and auditing. Particular interest, however, in New Jersey and elsewhere has centered on the authority given the Department over municipalities in or approaching serious financial peril. Such municipalities were made subject to supervision administered with considerable discretion by the Department which, it was hoped, would not only check the course of localities headed for financial wreckage but also salvage and repair areas where the crash had already occurred. The experience of the Department thus far indicates that much has been accomplished on both scores, but also that there are clear limits to the possibility of restoring financial health to all of New Jersey's existing assortment of municipalities by virtue of the present treatments.

No state better represents a period of local government reorganization than North Dakota. The 1941 legislative session climaxed for that state a decade of reorganization attempts to make adjustments in the institution of county government. The 1941 legislature added to consolidation and disorganization laws enacted in previous legislative sessions three alternative forms of county government—the “County Manager Form,” the “Short Form of County Managership,” and the “County Consolidated Office Form.” As if these did not permit enough variation in reorganization, a Governmental Survey Commission has been created to recommend to the next legislature any changes in either state or local government that may seem necessary.

To refute the maxim silent leges inter arma is one of the modern challenges to a democracy at war. It is usually recognized that when a state is at war many of the rights of personal liberty normally enjoyed by its citizens must be limited to prevent interference with the prosecution of hostilities. In international conflicts having an ideological basis, such limitations, if too severe, produce a somewhat embarrassing dilemma for a democratic state. The requirements of total war may necessitate at home some of the very objectionable features of government which are to be overthrown elsewhere; yet to be too lenient with dissident groups can well be disastrous. At all events, the government hesitates so to act as to invite its citizens to ask: “To what purpose is a war in defense of democracy if it begins by ending the very liberties which a people are asked to defend against external aggression?” Nevertheless, war conditions are not alone responsible for altered conceptions of personal rights. Internal developments in peace-time may also create a need for changes in such rules; the law cannot remain constant when the conditions upon which it is based are being transformed. Within a twenty-five-year period in English history, two major wars, as well as a series of domestic emergencies, have produced conditions sufficiently serious to arouse substantial sentiment favoring restrictions on civil liberties. At the same time, however, other equally determined groups, whose position is strengthened by the increased popularity of democratic ideals, have sought to combat such restrictions. The events of the period examined show the nature and the result of this conflict.

“The cardinal factors of British democracy,” writes W. I. Jennings in The British Constitution, “are that the character of the British government depends essentially on the results of the last general election, that there must be a general election at least once every five years … and that the electors have a choice exercised freely and secretly between rival candidates advocating rival policies.” For more than two years the British government has had to meet the challenge of a war crisis which threatens the very existence of British democracy. And war, it is commonolace to say, changes everything. The mandate, whatever it was, of the last general election was given in 1935, in days which, though they may still be dear to some, are certainly dead days beyond recall. Like the Parliament of 1911, the present Parliament has had its life prolonged beyond the maximum of five years. There have been no by-elections, with major rival candidates advocating rival policies; for, soon after the declaration of war, the chief whips of the three major political parties in the House of Commons signed an agreement providing for an electoral truce covering by-elections.

In recent years, public opinion in the democratic countries has become increasingly aware of the dangers inherent in the unlimited competition of a host of rival nationalistic movements and sovereign nation-states. Having recognized it as a danger to be overcome, many liberal thinkers, like the experts of the Royal Institute of International Affairs, or Mr. Max Lerner, are prone to assume that the trend toward nationalistic disintegration has already reached its peak. Many consequent suggestions of policy are based on the assumption that nationalism is declining, or about to decline.