It is perhaps of the nature of wars that they should hasten developments endemic in a society and bring to pass in a few short years what would also have happened under conditions of peace, but in a much longer span of time. This at least has been in some measure the effect of the recent war on Great Britain's position in the world. It is now apparent and generally recognized that the situation of privilege if not domination which was the lot of the English people from the time before the Seven Years War—or from the middle of the eighteenth century onwards—has come to an end. Perhaps this change in England's position has been recognized for some while in the United States. On the other hand Americans have perhaps never realized the striking contrast in the past between the standard of living and the stability and security of this island and that of the larger continental countries and centers of force—France and Germany.

Historians are fond of looking back over the panorama of the past and writing about periods of cultural change that altered the continuity of history. The age of discovery and the rise of the city are phrases that describe such pivotal epochs. These are not Madison Avenue-inspired book titles, but legitimate interpretative descriptions of past ages that provide a key to understanding the development of American civilization. Although the history of American Catholicism does not lend itself to such epochal descriptions, interpretative concepts are applicable in this area of study as well and they can provide useful keys to the analysis of the past.

THE relations between the Church and State have been for many years the subject of interest to the political theorist, the student of contemporary totalitarian movements, and of particular concern to the student of comparative political institutions and systems. To the student of political theory it invokes the old conflict between the spiritual and the temporal authorities, between the papal authority and the claim of the emerging national states. For the student of modern totalitarianism it raises, without answering, the crucial question of the extent to which a totalitarian system can tolerate competing ideologies within the same national community. Finally, for the student of comparative institutions, in certain circumstances (for example, in Poland), it presents certain features of uniqueness that call for explanation.

In the 1820's and 1830's the romantic movement was at the height of its influence throughout Europe* In its origins, among the Lake poets in England and in the circle around the brothers Schlegel in Germany, romanticism opposed the libertarian and rationalist tendencies of the French Revolution. In its later stage romanticism presented a more complex attitude, its imagination turned simultaneously to the fascination of the past and the Middle Ages and to the appeal of the future happiness of free men. Under the quiet surface of the Biedermeier the unrest of the Napoleonic wars continued to arouse in the educated young generation a longing for change, for activity, for a new sense of self-fulfillment.

Emotional religion was embedded in the hearts of eighteenth-century Britons. The veneer of culture and moderation, so often considered the hallmark of the age of reason, was perilously thin. Conjure up an image of the Gordon Riots of June, 1780, to see the mob, rising in hysterical fear of popery, terrorizing the city of London for a week. From Charles Dickens' classic account in Barnaby Rudge to the recent King Mob of Christopher Hibbert, the saga of those savage days has fascinated historians and readers alike. Few of us remember that the Gordon Riots were merely the climax of organized agitation which had brewed for nearly two years and had already achieved singular success in Scotland. Victory there made possible the London disorders. In Glasgow and Edinburgh, in the intellectual capital of Britain, the heirs of John Knox had rejected the overtures of reason and moderation.

The relationship between philosophy, revelation, and politics is a basic intellectual theme, either at the forefront or in the background, of all political philosophy. The 1998 publication of John Paul II's encyclical Fides et Ratio occasioned much reflection on the relation of reason and revelation. Though not directly concerned with political philosophy, this encyclical provides a welcome opportunity to address many theologicalpolitical issues that have arisen in classic and contemporary political philosophy. The argument here states in straightforward terms how philosophy and theology, as understood in the Roman Catholic tradition, can be coherently related to fundamental questions that have legitimately recurred in the works of the political philosophers.

OUR understanding of any significant movement in human affairs can hardly be said to even approach completeness until the evidence from literature is in. Because writers of fiction and poetry tend to grope for meanings rather than superimpose them — Yeats called this process the “public dream” —literary criticism can bring to the surface what otherwise might lie buried in the culture's subconscious. And this is perhaps even more true for the history of the Negro in American literature than for other cultural phenomena — the Westering Movement or the Industrial Revolution, for example — since so much of that history has been an unconscious, or at least half-conscious, masking of issues that have been contorted by fear, guilt, and rage.

There is a wide measure of agreement among contemporary observers that something is seriously wrong in modern industrial society. As to the exact nature of the disorder there are differences of opinion: some denounce above all a vulgarization of culture which they see as stemming from the supremacy of mass taste; others view modern men as victims of the illnesses of overorganization, with all spontaneity and uniqueness increasingly compressed within the patterns of public and private bureaucracies; still others believe that the crucial failure of present civilization in the West is that beneath the various forms of mass and organizational “togetherness,” the individual lies stranded, as it were, on the shores of nothingness, deprived of true contact with his fellowmen, with the physical world, or even with himself. Thus there is little agreement as to how the dehumanization of contemporary man is best to be described. That such dehumanization is a fact, however, is the subject of profound and widespread consensus.

In June, 1974, the two Germanys completed the official “normalization of relations” between them. In the annals of diplomatic history this final act was unique. The two states exchanged, not ambassadors, but “permanent representatives.” Of these, the West German envoy was accredited to East Berlin's foreign ministry as the representative of a foreign country. His East German counterpart, on the other hand, was to deal with the Federal Chancellery in Bonn, in accordance with West Germany's view of the special nature of the East-West German relationship. The West Germans insisted that while there was no longer one German state, there still existed one German nation; this precluded the treatment of the two Germanys as foreign countries. The German Democratic Republic (GDR), however, maintained that not only had the one German state come to an end, but that there existed now, along with the two states, two different nations, one socialist, the other bourgeoiscapitalist. Because of the wholly different systems on which they were based, East and West Germany had nothing in common anymore and constituted two entirely separate, hence foreign, countries. As such, they could establish contact with each other only by means of the customary diplomatic relations. The complex procedure by which relations were in the end established was a compromise between these differing views.

A medieval schoolman, in a disputation with an opponent, would sometimes pause and say distingue. The making of proper distinctions, however, is no easy task. Man is impatient; he wants to arrive at a conclusion immediately, and he frequently decides with a troubled heart before having given the brain its chance to clarify the issue. On the other hand, if we do take the time “to distinguish,” usually half of the battle is won.

When President Soekamo of Indonesia on July 5, 1959, dissolved the Constituent Assembly and promulgated the reinstatement of the first Constitution (1945) discarded in 1950, he initiated a new revolution in Indonesia's modern history. This revolution will have far-reaching social and cultural consequences for the nation. The purpose of this paper is to focus upon some of the most significant social and cultural changes which have occurred in Indonesian society in recent years and in the wake of the eight-year development plan for 1961 to 1969.

AtAbout the time I received my first faculty assignment at Swarthmore College, an obituary notice of an old and admired professor made a deep impression on me. The subject was L. T. Hobhouse, the distinguished English sociologist and lifelong liberal. He had been one of the intellectual pillars upon which the Webbs and a few others had constructed the London School of Economics. I did not know Hobhouse well. But his obituary notice was written by a man I much admired, who was in a way my intellectual father: R. H. Tawney. You perhaps know him as the author of Religion and the Rise of Capitalism, but he was much better known then as a moral force in the British Labour party. To some of its members Tawney's Acquisitive Society, first published in 1921, seemed to offer a fresh charter of liberty, giving a kind of spiritual sanction, missing in Marxian philosophy, to the struggle to overcome misery and poverty with the help of political action.

This article deals with the introduction of strongly fundamental views into the theory and practice of politics. It also concerns the transformation of religion from a concern with religious faith to the creation of political religions. Thus forces have been at work in the past two decades seeking to make a religion of politics and transforming religion into a holy political crusade in the form of a particular version of partisan politics.

WithRespect to its international prospects the leadership of the Soviet Union entered this decade with enthusiasm; it is ending the decade on a note of disillusionment. And there is no area in which this phenomenon is more striking than that of the triangular relationship among the Soviet Union, the United Nations and the emerging “third world.” Both the “ups” and the “downs” of this relationship are to some extent attributable to the remarkable influence (and abrupt departure) of a single dynamic and quixotic personality, Nikita Khrushchev. Associated with his rise and fall, however, were objective historical factors which had a significant impact on the course of Soviet foreign relations. Read in the context of the origins and development of Soviet attitudes on international organization and on the role expected of nations liberated by the downfall of imperialism, this decade may well have marked a turning point in history. The outcome is not yet clear, but it is evident that Soviet policy has gone through another of those remarkable shifts from optimistic certainty to pragmatic reassessment which have marked historic moments in the past. The transition is both interesting and instructive.

In the “metaphysical squabbles” that Bertrand de Jouvenel has said characterize much of American political science, none has been more bitter and perplexing than the controversy surrounding the work of Leo Strauss. To the extent that one can speak of a revival of classical political philosophy in this country, the credit for it assuredly belongs to the influence of Strauss's profound scholarship. Nonetheless there is common agreement among fairminded reviewers of Strauss's writings that a “calculated obscurity” hides his message. “He does not wish to tell us, in bold propositional terms, what is on his mind,” says Robert McShea. Granted that “Strauss indulges in the … game of esoteric silences,” that his real views are often “camouflaged,” we must see these devices for what Lee McDonald suggests they are: devices to persuade the reader to “a special way of reading the ‘classics’”; they are not primarily concerned with “specific details of interpretation.”

When Lenin, the leader of the Bolshevik party, was appointed by the second all-Russian Soviet Congress as chairman of the Council of People's Commissars in November 1917, neither he nor his adversaries believed that the new regime would last very long. Trotski tells how a conservative Russian officer helped to defend Petrograd against the advancing troops of the counter-revolution because he hated liberals and democrats and did not believe that the Bolsheviks could stay in power. And Lenin was very proud when he could announce that the Bolshevik regime had lasted longer than the abortive Parisian Commune of 1871.