In recent years various theories of “democratic administration” have been developed. These theories differ in their origins, their motivation, their sophistication. Some have been crudely forged in the heat of administration; some are finely-machined products of scholarship. Some pertain especially to private administration, others have been developed for public administration, while still others cut across this conventional division.

These theories of democratic administration constitute a significant development in political thought. However crude and limited some of them may be, they open new areas to be explored in the development of democratic ideology; whatever their limitations, they are constructive efforts to adapt an ethic in which we believe to the contemporary world. If administration is indeed “the core of modern government,” then a theory of democracy in the twentieth century must embrace administration. I wish to sketch the background of administrative thought and history against which theories of democratic administration are seen in perspective; to review briefly some of these theories; and to comment upon the prospects and problems of the further development of theory of democratic administration.

This article is a critical description of developments in the governmental machinery for taking economic decisions in Britain between the end of the war in 1945 and October, 1951. The changes known to have been made by the Conservative Government between October, 1951, and May, 1952, are indicated near the end. The word “planning,” is used in the title for the sake of convenience only; there will be no discussion of whether or not the degree of state economic intervention in Britain has been sufficient to qualify as “planning” in a strict sense. The term has now become too much the subject of British party wrangles to have any generally accepted single meaning. However, to use neutral terms, we may say that the machinery to be investigated is that for taking high policy decisions on economic matters in which the Government has decided to intervene, including machinery for seeing that these decisions are compatible with each other.

The problem of inconstancy in party affiliation has generated occasional research interest for a half-century now. We still know very little about the political behavior of that segment of the electorate which presumably is highly irregular in party allegiance. We have a penchant, however, for generalizing about the extent of independent voting, the characteristics of the independents, and, particularly, the significance of the independent vote for campaign strategy and the political system. Today, with another national election approaching, a summary of the status of our research and the presentation of new findings may be in order.

To any observer the French party system is bewildering. On the one hand, he sees that ten parliamentary groups are officially established in the National Assembly (not including the Overseas Independents); and, at the same time, he notes that only five of them are really organized throughout the country, and so entitled to be considered “parties” in the true sense of the word: the RPF, the Radicals, the MRP, the Socialists, and the Communists. On the other hand, he observes that the ablest French specialists in electoral sociology—particularly André Siegfried and his disciple, François Goguel—consider that, behind the apparent profusion of political groups, two basic divisions are always found, the continuing opposition of which has supplied for more than a century the essential dynamics of French politics. These two divisions are, of course, the Right and the Left, traditionally called “Order” and “Movement.” Nevertheless, the brief history of the Fourth Republic reveals an attempt to break down these two blocs, and to build a “Third Force” from smaller units. Under various names, such a Third Force has governed France from March, 1947, to March, 1952; and if our hypothetical observer will look back and analyze the political life of the Third Republic, he will find the same tendency there, not so marked and not so strong, but always present.

About the American tradition of individualism much has been said and written—so much, indeed, that this country has come to be regarded as the stronghold of individualism. That the ideal of the free individual has long pervaded American thought cannot, of course, be denied. Yet while it is true that this tradition is clearly discernible throughout American political development, its role has been grossly exaggerated. Along with individualism there has existed in America, from the earliest days of colonization, an equally strong and an equally significant collectivist tradition. The New Deal and its presumptive successor, the Fair Deal, regarded by so many as new and dangerous departures, actually are like their predecessors, the Square Deal and the New Freedom, the Granger and the Populist movements, merely episodes in the development of a venerable American tradition of collectivism.

The twenty-second Amendment to the Constitution of the United States, which became effective February 26, 1951, would seem to ensure that the election of Franklin D. Roosevelt to a third presidential term will long remain unique in American history. Yet ratification of the amendment was achieved so quietly as almost to suggest a conspiracy of inattention. Even in political science literature the wisdom of so specific a limitation on popular choice has been little explored. Given the periodicity and tempo of professional journals, indeed, there was scant opportunity for such consideration concurrent with legislative consideration of the amendment.

Quick and easy approval of the amendment probably came incident to a subsidence in Roosevelt's popularity, which in turn constituted in determining part, a belated slap at him while attention was turned to later problems and personalities. Almost any recent attempt at objective discussion of the issue would have been suspect, presumed to reflect chiefly a disguised personal or party affection or hate. Perhaps more thorough consideration of the important matters involved will come much later, when an acute national desire for the retention of some leader is frustrated.

Less than six years have passed since the Constitution of the Fourth Republic was put into operation, yet every political group in France with the exception of the Communist Party, which has its own special plans for France's future, is currently participating in a movement for constitutional revision. Since July, 1950, no candidate for the post of Prime Minister has neglected to assert in his ministerial declaration the need for constitutional reform. The parties of the Third Force majority of the first legislature of the Fourth Republic set into motion for the first time, in November, 1950, the machinery for the amendment of the Constitution. The momentum which the revisionist movement had already gathered was given greater impetus by the elections of June, 1951, which reinforced markedly the political groups opposed to the Constitution at its inception. These groups had been able to muster only 106 votes in the Second Constituent Assembly of 1946. Later, in the first legislature but after the formation of a Gaullist parliamentary group, their strength rose to approximately 160 seats. And as a result of the elections of June, 1951, the same groups now command 300 seats in the second legislature.

The problem of guarding the constitution is fundamental in any political system. If the term “constitution” is given a very broad definition, such dictatorial devices as powerful secret police and special tribunals for the safety of the state may be regarded as means for the protection of the “constitution” of a totalitarian regime. However, western democracy does not rely upon repressive means for safeguarding the constitution, except in times of crisis when use is made of martial law, the state of siege, and constitutional dictatorship. For normal times, western democracy has developed constitutional means of protection that essentially resemble ordinary legal and political processes, such as the amending process, special deliberative bodies, and judicial review.

This study is concerned with judicial review as a means of guarding against legislative encroachments on the constitution. The acceptance of judicial review in national constitutional systems will be traced historically, with emphasis upon twentieth-century developments. Some attention will be given to the historical background of judicial review and to its theory and practice under various modern constitutions, but no systematic treatment of these subjects is attempted.

Out of the middle-class businessman's “Efficiency and Economy Movement” that reached full strength in the second decade of the twentieth century came a series of innovations designed to place government “on a business basis” and to weaken the power of the political parties. The movement was inspired both by the example of the success of the corporate structure in trade and industry and by revulsion against the low standards of morality to be found in many sectors of political party activity around the turn of the century. The contemporary brand of politician had recently been exposed by the “muck-rakers” and the prestige of the parties had reached a very low level.

Of the numerous ideas and mechanisms adopted as a result of the reform movement, one of the most unusual was that of election without party designation. Early in the twentieth century, under the theory that judges are neutral referees, not political officers, and that political activities should therefore be discouraged in the choosing of them, many communities initiated “nonpartisan” elections (the term that is usually applied) in the balloting for judicial posts.

World War II left Europe economically bankrupt, politically paralyzed, and spiritually sick. In contrast, we find today—thanks to the leaven of the Marshall Plan and other U. S. assistance, and the self-help and mutual-help measures of Western European countries—a vastly improved Continent of Europe.

First, economic collapse has been avoided. The mills, plants, and shops in most countries are humming as they never did before. The current output of industry in Western Europe is roughly forty per cent larger than in 1938, and sixty per cent above that of 1947. Agriculture has likewise shown encouraging improvement. The volume of intra-European trade which had come to a virtual standstill in 1947 has sharply increased until it is now over one-third higher than that of the pre-war era. The dollar deficit in Europe has been substantially reduced from a peak of $7 billion and, except for the special requirements of the post-Korean rearmament program, it would probably have been brought into manageable proportions by 1951.

On March 1, 1951, the Administrator of General Services certified that the proposed presidential tenure amendment submitted to the states by Congress in 1947 had been ratified by thirty-six states, thus making it a part of the United States Constitution. Adoption of this proposal, which becomes the Twenty-second Amendment to the United States Constitution, disposes of an issue that has agitated American politics periodically since the establishment of the Presidency. Hereafter no person will be eligible for a third term as President if he has served two full elective terms or one full elective term plus more than one-half of another term through succession to the office. President Truman, who would otherwise be rendered ineligible for reëlection following completion of his current term, is exempted from the ban by a qualifying clause which excludes from coverage “any person holding the office of President when this Article was proposed by the Congress.”

Hostility to long continuance in office, particularly for executive officers, has been a prominent feature of American political thinking since Revolutionary times. Seven of the original state constitutions, all of which were formulated prior to adoption of the federal Constitution, carried clauses limiting reeligibility of the state chief executive.

In a study of recent political thought in the South, it is necessary to delimit the area called “The South.” Howard Odum included fourteen states in his practical design for the “southern regions.” The President's Committee which reported in 1938 on economic conditions in the South covered thirteen states. The southern governors of fifteen states joined in the regional educational compact. The Manufacturers' Record, published in Baltimore as the industrial organ of the South, reaches out to sixteen states. V. O. Key limits his study, Southern Politics, to those eleven states which have consistently stayed with the national Democratic party. This author in the main refers to the eleven states which once seceded to form the Confederacy; coincidentally, these are the same eleven states that Key found to be “solid” in national politics.

The Natural Gas Act of 1938, as amended in 1942, requires natural-gas companies subject to the act to obtain certificates of public convenience and necessity from the Federal Power Commission before transporting or selling natural gas in interstate commerce, as well as before acquiring, constructing, or extending facilities for those purposes. The issuance of such certificates is a conventional function of public-utility regulatory bodies, and the Commission has administered it in a conventional manner. The tests developed by the Commission to determine the “public convenience and necessity,” relating primarily to the adequacy of natural gas reserves, physical facilities, financial resources, and market demand, are commonplace standards, framed in the public-utility tradition to fit the economic and physical characteristics of the natural-gas industry. The real importance of the certificate power under the Natural Gas Act lies in the fact that issues raised in proceedings pursuant to it have transcended the scope of these standards, involving no less than an attempt to redefine in the broadest terms the public interest in respect to natural gas.

By a turn of legal fate, the first case between two American states to be decided by either the International Court of Justice or its predecessor, the Permanent Court of International Justice, is one which involves the controversial practice of diplomatic asylum. One can choose to regard diplomatic asylum as a principle of American international law or as a “permissive local custom,” though in no sense a principle of international law, or one can agree that “the fact that asylum is not exercised in the territory of the leading states, and is mainly resorted to in the ‘backward’ countries of the Near and Far East and of Latin America, suggests that it is a practice followed only in relation to states who are not fully civilized in the Western sense of the term, and that as such it is a temporary exception to the system of international law which obtains in the community of civilized nations.” Whatever the viewpoint, the fact remains that the practice has been indulged in for a long time, with and without formal legal sanction, and in more places than Latin America. The Colombian-Peruvian Asylum Case brings to attention the issues of the validity in international law of diplomatic asylum and of its desirability in international relations. A short sketch of the origin and development of diplomatic asylum will indicate something of its nature.

Political problems, domestic or international, always involve us in psychological and philosophical issues; but they tend to develop whatever psychology or philosophy they need for their own purposes rather than to borrow from the formidable and not always luminous stock pile of professional literature in these subjects. This tendency to be one's own philosopher is entirely justified, for the simple reason that philosophy is always arising from experience, showing an inductive as well as a deductive side—and that the political experience of mankind is prolific in comment on the nature of man and of the world man lives in. Thomas Hobbes, for example, is a political writer whose contributions to psychology have not yet been fully appreciated.

At the same time, there are recent advances in both psychology and philosophy of which political science ought to enjoy the consequences. If any light is thrown on the nature of the human individual, that light is directly pertinent to political science. Enquiries into the nature of human association are similarly relevant.

The assumption that the general public reacts rationally to its changing political and economic environment is basic to democratic theory; for if rational reaction to the complex of events having broad political significance is not general but is limited to a minority of the public, then the rational few must govern the irrational many. Yet this democratic assumption has been little explored empirically. Protagonists of government responsible to the general public assert it; antagonists deny it—both groups basing their judgment on the common sense of everyday observation or on the rigorous a priori requirements of their own political theories, values, and ideologies or of those of such theorists as Plato, Machiavelli, Hobbes, Locke, Rousseau, and Thomas Jefferson.

The assumption cannot be examined indirectly and inferentially from analysis of reactions to nonpolitical stimuli. It is of no political consequence that an individual sensibly responds to a sharp object that touches his body by getting out of the way. It is of no political consequence as such that the hungry individual responds by seeking or fantasying food. It is of political consequence when individuals respond to high prices of food or to the threat of war or the prospect of peace by forming attitudes which are or may become the basis for political action.

This report is based upon a survey of research in progress in political science departments of American universities in the spring of 1950. Undertaken jointly by the Committee on Research of the American Political Science Association and the Division of Higher Education of the United States Office of Education, the survey was essentially an analysis of questionnaires sent to the chairmen of 112 departments of political science believed to be in a position that would enable them particularly to emphasize research. Seventy-five of the 112 chairmen replied to the questionnaire, fourteen merely to state that no research was being conducted in their departments. Although several leading institutions did not reply, it is a fair guess that at least seventy-five per cent of the research being conducted by or in departments of political science was reported and subsequently analyzed.

While the personnel of the Court remained unchanged during the 1950 term, it became abundantly clear that the Roosevelt Court was being supplanted by the Truman Court. Certainly the voting behavior of President Truman's last two appointees bore little resemblance to that of the men they replaced, the late Justices Murphy and Rutledge. Students of the Court were glad to note, during the period covered by the term under review, the publication of a number of biographical and analytical studies of different justices, particularly a first full-length history of Chief Justice Hughes. The increasing productivity of scholars in the field of judicial biography promises much in the way of an enhanced understanding of one of our most interesting, complex and powerful national institutions. In addition, attention should be drawn to the publication of a number of books dealing with important aspects of the Constitution.

Following the pattern of the previous year, the Court disposed of an unusually small number of cases during the 1950 term, and exercised its power of denying certiorari in a larger number of cases than has been customary in recent times.

This is an attempt to sketch in very rough form what seem to me some of the central concepts and problems of organization theory. In the first section I have tried to define the field of organization theory and to indicate with some care what justification there is for regarding it as a distinct area of theory, related to, but by no means identical with, the theory of small groups and the theory of social institutions. The comments in the second section on subject-matter areas simply spell out the implications, many of them perhaps obvious, of the central argument of the first section.

This paper is concerned with all kinds of organizations, and not simply with those that fall within the area of public administration. This definition of the scope of organization theory reflects my own conviction that there are a great many things that can be said about organizations in general, without specification of the particular kind of organization under consideration. Moreover, even if we were interested solely in governmental organizations, I believe that a great deal can be learned from the comparison of their characteristics with those of other kinds of organizations, and from attempts to explain the similarities and differences that are found. Neither of these statements denies the existence of numerous and important phenomena that are peculiar to governmental organizations or the need for theory in public administration to deal with these phenomena.

“Responsiveness,” “responsibility,” and “majority rule” comprise a trio of terms that are basic to the discipline of political science, and particularly to the analysis of democratic political institutions; yet so undeveloped is our science that they represent apples of discord rather than areas of agreement. Where we should have clear concepts for scientific analysis, we are confronted rather with thought receptacles whose unexplored ambiguities constitute standing solicitations to fallacy—solicitations, it may be added, that receive a bountiful response. In view of this situation, it is little wonder that, when we go beyond description to evaluation, we find the doctors in violent disagreement.

This article is not limited to definitions. The writer takes a stand on more than one of the issues that plague and divide students of the democratic political process. It is written, therefore, not only in the firm belief that terms ought to be defined, but also with the conviction that in this case an analysis of meanings will lead almost automatically to a resolution of some of the mooted issues, while contributing substantially to a rational appraisal of others.