Just when the equation of republican government with liberal representative democracy had finally taken hold in the academic community, a new group of scholars began to emphasize the differences between them. Drawing upon the writings of earlier republican theorists, they argued that republican government traditionally depended upon political participation and virtue to preserve freedom. In contrast, liberal democracy relied upon representation and self-interest, both of which undermined the civic spirit of the community.

Just a few years ago, it was estimated that 90 percent of all the scientists and engineers who had ever lived were still alive; and that more than half of them were resident in the United States. These numbers show the status of America as a major scientific nation, and the reason why this is a fact of critical importance for the historical analyst in 1976 is that only 40 years ago America could probably still be classed as an “undeveloped” (or “developing”) country on the highest scale of the international scientific community. Before addressing myself to the causes of this change and its consequences for American political and social thought and action, for the American conscience and for America's public image and self-image, let me indicate the kind of evidence that supports my assertion that America might be considered “underdeveloped” with respect to the sciences, prior to 1935. First of all, there was an almost wholly one-way direction of movement of graduate and postdoctoral students: eastward over the Atlantic to the great European centers of scientific teaching and research. Although there were some fields in which Americans had been making outstanding contributions, such as experimental and theoretical genetics, by and large the great overarching theories that either introduced order into one of the sciences, or brought diverse branches of science into an unexpected relationship, or revolutionized much of science, were produced by Europeans: Rutherford, the Curies, Einstein, Bohr, Pauli, Heisenberg, Schrödinger, Dirac. In 1963, in an address on the occasion of the centenary celebrations of our National Academy of Sciences, John F. Kennedy observed that of the 670 members of the Academy, 163 (or one out of every four) had been born in foreign lands—a figure that differed in order of magnitude from the condition in any other country, and that showed the degree to which the high estate that American science had gained was owing to the infusion of scientists from abroad.

Unu, in 1947, became the Prime Minister of the Provisional Government of Burma. He retained that post after independence in 1948 and, except for seven months in 1956–1957, he had been the duly elected Prime Minister until he gave up office in September, 1958, after the serious split in the ruling party, the Anti-Fascist Peoples' Freedom League (AFPFL). From then until the third national elections of February, 1960, General Ne Win, Chief of the Burma Defense Forces, held the reins of what was called a “caretaker government”, in which he proceeded strictly according to the constitution adopted in 1947. U Nu's Party won an overwhelming victory at the polls in 1960 and once again, with almost 80 per cent parliamentary backing in the 250-man Chamber of Deputies, the more powerful chamber in the bicameral parliament, he set about to govern Burma. On March 2, 1962, General Ne Win staged a coup. He took over the government in the name of a military Revolutionary Council, arrested the previous cabinet members, and set aside Burma's constitution.

This article examines the relation between John Locke's doctrine of prerogative and constitutional government. Scholars have shown increased interest in Locke's doctrine in recent years, yet there is disagreement about its precise character. The Two Treatises of Government can be read such that this power is the result of the social compact and, thus, is a constitutional means of addressing emergencies. This paper instead argues that prerogative as it appears in the Two Treatises must be understood to be a natural power and, consequently, beyond constitutional control. It stands outside of the constitution because its logic denies that a good constitution is sufficient for liberal government.

Anarchy is rarely or never upheld with consistency. In the pedagogy of Rousseau, there is a set purpose to let the child be guided by natural necessity rather than by human command, and to let him learn from the experience of physical facts rather than by obedience. “Keep the child solely dependent on things; you will have followed the order of Nature in the process of his upbringing. Never oppose to his unreasonable wishes any but physical obstacles or punishments resulting from the actions themselves — he will remember these punishments in similar situations. It is enough to prevent him from doing evil without forbidding him to do it …” (Emile, II). Remarkably, the theory that the method of authority is a poor substitute for the pedagogical power of nature has been accepted, in varying degree of enthusiasm or reluctance, by most schools of pedagogy and has demonstrated lasting power. Yet the authority of parents and tutors is present throughout pedagogical theories, even when it is passed over in silence. Childhood is the domain where the suppression of all authority is obviously impossible. The most radical constructs of anarchy, as soon as they rise above the level of idle rhetoric, admit of qualifications so far at least as the immature part of mankind is concerned. Anti-authoritarian theorists, with few exceptions if any, do not mean that authority should disappear or that it can ever cease to be a factor of major importance in human affairs. What thinkers opposed to authority generally mean is that authority can never be vindicated except by such deficiencies as are found in children, in the feeble-minded, the emotionally unstable, the criminally inclined, the illiterate, and the historically primitive.

Despite his statements that the fear of damnation is greater than the fear of violent death, scholars have generally overlooked Hobbes's vision of hell. Hobbes's reinterpretation of hell is meant to redirect peoples' anxiety about whether they will get into heaven or hell into anxiety about whether there is a hell and if so, what it will be like. He did not expect that citizens of his state would accept his theology or that they would become secularists or atheists. He hoped that they would be left with an indeterminate belief they would be averse to examining. This becomes clear when Hobbes's theology is seen in light of his epistemology and his complex rhetorical strategy. Hobbes's theology has been rejected, but there is an affinity between his hopes for indeterminate belief and the religious attitudes of many in the West.

In order to defend participatory democracy in large-member voluntary organizations, Michels's challenge to traditional democratic theory must be answered. By arguing that the technical, sociological, and psychological processes of modern organizations invariably result in leaders dominating members, Michels questioned democratic theorists' assertions that participation is self-reinforcing and that participation produces popular control. Defending participatory democracy, then, involves showing how the problems of participation and popular control can be overcome in formally representative organizations. The answer proposed is that collective solidarity or community formed by those reacting to injustice and committed to egalitarian social relations provides the motivation for mass participation and the basis for popular control in modern union and party organizations.

“The national interest” is frequently criticized in the contemporary study of international relations as an ambiguous term that lends itself to the support of unethical state policies by justifying single-minded national selfishness. This article argues that much of the criticism of the national interest on normative grounds in fact derives from confusion over the meaning of the concept. It separates two meanings — national interest as the common good of the national society, set off from the international environment, and national interests as the concrete objects of value over which states bargain, within that international setting. It surveys six views of the link among the national interest, the international society that legitimates various state interests, and the demands of ethical action, and concludes that statesmanship which relies on both definitions of national interest can provide the best guide to ethical state conduct within the “anarchical society” of international politics.

Critics of liberalism and even some liberal theorists themselves have criticized a liberal emphasis on autonomy, because they associate autonomy with self sufficiency. That association reinforces the worst aspects of atomistic individualism: social isolation, insulation from the views of others, and a rejection of society's values and interests. But the association of autonomy with self-sufficiency is uncalled for; those who see that association are mistaken, for self-sufficiency represents not a fulfillment of autonomy but the abandonment of it. Autonomy, it is argued, has a social nature: It not only develops through sociality, but it also requires sociality for its exercise. In short, to be autonomous one must know one is autonomous; to know one is autonomous requires giving an account to others of the reasons for a decision or action. The social nature of autonomy may incline theorists to see persons as communitarian or socially situated selves. But communitarians such as Charles Taylor find the self defined in part by communal boundaries and thus see them as context-dependent. Autonomy is bounded by language, not community. It is both context-free and context-related, but not context-dependent. Liberal theorists who champion autonomy should therefore abandon any notions of selves as social atoms or isolates and build liberalism on the implications of autonomy's social nature. Part of those implications is that social institutions that foster and exercise autonomy must involve dialogue or communicative exchange. The most important and effective institutions of that kind are those of direct democracy.

The relevance of Arendt's reflections on evil is analyzed in three respects. She warns that the appeal to absolutes (good or evil) destroys politics; her claim that radical evil involves making human beings as human beings superfluous is relevant to contemporary concerns with the vast refugee and stateless populations; and her idea of the banality of evil focuses our attention on the evil deeds that persons commit even when they do not have evil motives or intentions.

This paper aims to illuminate the ongoing significance of Locke's political philosophy. It argues that the legitimacy of political authority lies, according to Locke, in the extent to which it collaborates with individuals so as to allow them to be themselves more effectively, and in its answerability to the consent such individuals should thereby give it. The first section discusses how the free will inevitably asserts its authority; the second shows the inevitability of the will's incorporation of authority as a kind of prosthesis, which in turn transforms the operation of the will; and the third treats the issue of consent, arguing that Locke is less interested in explicit acts of consent than in the norm of consent, in answerability to which structures of authority should be shaped so as to honor the beings whose capacity to consent is definitive for them.

Is statesmanship still compatible with democracy? Democratic theorists once viewed democracy as a partnership between citizens and statesmen, to which each brought complementary virtues. Statesmanship has come to be condemned by many contemporary democratic theorists, however, as inimical to democracy. By turning statesmen into “facilitators,” they seek to displace statesmanship with an expanded concept of citizenship. In response, and stung by charges of elitism, embattled liberal defenders of statesmanship have begun to recast it in light of this line of attack. Most notably, the liberal Bruce Ackerman has sought to advance a new concept of nonelitist, “neutral” liberal statesmanship that is compatible with democracy. This study examines both the criticisms that led to this rethinking of statesmanship—especially in the thought of Benjamin R. Barber, liberal statesmanship's leading critic—and Ackerman's success in meeting them. Our study tries to demonstrate that Ackerman actually reconstructs liberal statesmanship on the basis of Barber's arguments and thereby further undermines the statesmanship he purports to defend. I conclude with an effort to rehabilitatean older understanding of liberal statesmanship.

Eleven years after his death, economists (strangely enough, the only ones who seem to care) still ponder the paradoxes of Joseph A. Schumpeter. While the contributions of the late Lord Keynes, not without intriguing paradoxes of their own, are being rapidly assimilated into the “common sense” of statesmen, Schumpeter, the only other truly great economist the twentieth century has produced, exerted no appreciable influence over public policy. Apart from a few misunderstood cliches, such as “creative destruction,” “obsolescence of entrepreneurial function,” and so on, his ideas have generated no “school” among young intellectuals. Indeed, it is doubtful that they ever will, even though Schumpeter is a profound and honest thinker in the tradition of Marx, Weber, and Tawney grappling with one of the crucial problems of our age: the innovating and growth capacities of various social systems under an advanced industrial technology.

The appraisal of national conventions as mechanisms for nominating presidents involves many problems of political theory. Who should be entrusted with the task of nomination? Can we reconcile the desirability of popular participation with the need for maintaining a strong party leadership? To what extent does the nominating convention contribute to the maintenance of the political system in which it is imbedded? Does the apparent lack of decorum in this high political body adversely affect the kinds of decisions it makes? What are the implications of increasing the visibility of convention nominations? Any attempt to deal with these and similar questions necessarily involves an admixture of normative and descriptive theory. Postulation of what ought to be can hardly be separated from consideration of the actual or likely consequences of alternative courses of action. The merits of existing party platforms, for example, cannot be fruitfully discussed apart from knowledge of the relevance of issues to voters. In this context, I propose to evaluate national conventions and the various proposals for altering or abolishing them in the light of the degree to which they meet widely shared goals for the American political system.

Any inquiry into the values of a thinker, and particularly a thinker like Marx, such a large proportion of whose thought was political, must include a discussion of the kind of society that he considers desirable. With an individualist thinker this might only involve a discussion of his idea of what was basic to individual human nature, as in Hobbes or Locke, but for Marx human nature was inconceivable outside society and, when considering possible future developments, it was always man-in-society that Marx had in mind.

John Dewey was both a devoted student of politics and an eminent philosopher. He constructed his theory of political democracy according to his own philosophical orientation. At the same time, he believed that political science should be pursued independently of political philosophy on the assumption that the “scientific method” alone is meaningful in resolving political questions. It is through his philosophy of “experience,” instrumentalism, that Dewey resolved the potential antithesis between philosophy and experimental science as he understood it. It is the scientific method alone, Dewey insists, that can do justice to the integrity of “experience.” Moreover, through its application to political democracy, the scientific method is the link connecting philosophical instrumentalism and democracy. Accordingly, this essay will attempt to show: 1) the threefold relationship among philosophy, science, and democracy provides the key to an understanding of Dewey's political thought; 2) the philosophical antecedents of instrumentalism, being inseparable from Dewey's “scientific method,” provide normative content for his democratic theory; and 3) the purpose of Dewey's application of the scientific method to political democracy is to reshape traditional values in accordance with the philosophical — and not necessarily scientific — antecedents of instrumentalism.

Locke's doctrine of toleration is best understood in the context of his larger argument about the political significance of Christ. Christ, Locke argues, separated the spiritual and political realm. His argument for separating the two realms, his basis for insisting that magistrates be tolerant of religious heterodoxy, is essentially theological. This claim is further developed by exploring Locke's thoughts of the unconcealment of foundation of moral duty which Christ was purported to have brought about. The bearing this unconcealment has on Locke's thoughts of the necessity of toleration is also explored. Finally, some comparisons between Locke and Hobbes's understanding of the significance of Christ are made, with a view to providing a new theoretical approach to their thought.

Constructivist political theory, championed most prominently by John Rawls, builds up a conception of justice from the minimal requirements of political life. It has two powerful attractions. It promises a kind of civic unity in the face of irresolvable differences about the good life. It also offers a foundation for human rights that is secure in the face of those same differences. The very parsimony that is its strength, however, deprives it of the resources to condemn some atrocities. Because it focuses on the political aspect of persons, it has difficulty cognizing violence done to those aspects of the person that are not political, preeminently the body. Constructivism thus can be only a part of an acceptable theory of justice.

Abul Aʿla Maududi (1903–1979), the influential Indo-Pakistani Islamist thinker, proposed a detailed vision of what he called “theodemocracy.” This has been seen widely as a theocracy despite Maududi's explicit rejection of the term and its philosophical underpinnings. I suggest here that Maududi's vision of theodemocracy opens up a productive space for reflection on the relationship between popular and state sovereignty. Maududi saw popular sovereignty as an ethical problem; it corrupted the potential for individual moral development that the institutional mechanism of the state could otherwise allow for. Highlighting the complicated relationship of his ideas with colonial rule, and showing that he used the colonial liberal state as both a foil and model for his analysis, I argue here that “theodemocracy” was his attempt at divorcing sovereignty from the state. This endeavor generated creative tensions, and forms an important contribution to the global discussion about sovereignty and the state.