American foreign policy has recently become a favorite target-area for attacks upon an alleged moralizing and legalistic habit which ignores or condemns national interest. The criticism runs the whole gamut of our relations with the world outside, focusing with final virulence upon our effort to find peace in the United Nations. It covers most of the nation's history, tracing the decline from “realism” to moralistic fantasy back to the moment when the genius of the Federalists began to be corrupted by Jeffersonian sentimentalism. The vast complex of today's foreign relations furnishes innumerable points of assault. A folly of self-righteousness has led us—so the indictment reads—into tragic error in China, in Korea, in the Near and Middle East, even (though here some of the accusers desert) in Europe. We give quixotically where we should sell; but our purse-strings are tied with moral scruples where we should be lavish. Shrinking from the open use of power, we enter into wasteful and entangling alliances where we should keep a free hand. Crusading in the name of democracy and disregarding the limits of our resources, we undertake to assist peoples anywhere to establish free governments in the face of intervention from Moscow. We take up arms for the utopian aims of an international organization set up in postwar zeal for a new era and maintained at our expense. A course in this literature of calamity leaves us wondering how the nation has survived. It sounds like the dirge for a fallen empire.

Three recent texts on international relations, chosen out of the welter of new books and revisions that have appeared in the last few years, are the subject of this review. They have been picked because in some ways each is an excellent and important work. They are also books which in their strengths and weaknesses complement each other. Each author or set of authors has a distinct emphasis in outlook and in method, but at the same time the books exhibit a core of agreement about certain fundamental aspects of world politics today that indicates a growing consensus among contemporary analysts and scholars. A comparative review of this type can thus be used not only to evaluate the suitability of these books as texts and their contributions to international relations theory, but also to assess this consensus and to indicate its main outlines.

Social science writings have one thing in common with products of the artistic spirit—they readily lend themselves to dating by their “stylistic” traits. This is not a preferred manner for dating scientific products. Science, like technology, is generally regarded as cumulative in its development. To the extent that this is so, it is possible to place a scientific work in its historical position by examining the stage of knowledge that it reveals. However, the store of social science knowledge grows very slowly indeed. The result is that much of social science impresses one as being modern more by virtue of various stylistic traits than by demonstrable additions to, or modifications of, our stock of substantive (or methodological) knowledge.

The first general strike in the history of England, with its mass labor action, was bound to attract strong interest from the workers' state which proclaimed as its rallying cry: “Workers of All Countries, Unite!” Soviet concern for the British working class followed logically from the active participation of Marx and Engels in the movement, and the continued attention shown by Lenin to this important “section” of the “world proletariat.”

On November 17, 1969, after a three-year delay, the United States and the Soviet Union initiated Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT). Involving strategic systems and policies vital to the security of both superpowers, their allies, and the world, these talks have the potential of becoming the most important series of United States-Soviet negotiations since World War II. They can affect not only the military-technical aspects of the strategic balance but United States-Soviet political relations and the future role of nuclear weapons. Given the complexity and sensitivity of the subject, it is not surprising that negotiations are still continuing. Even if an early, limited agreement is reached, SALT meetings can be expected to span a period of many years.

The contrast between brave American words in support of colonial aspirations and United States military aid in support of colonial powers putting down native insurrection is painfully sharp. Checking the spread of Soviet imperialism and liquidating the remnants of old-style European imperialism are objectives which seem to stand in the way of each other. Military security can apparently be purchased only at the price of popular hostility in the colonial world. And friendship may prove unpurchasable at any price.

Foreign policy making always involves a reconciliation of not wholly compatible goals, but the dilemma which United States colonial policy poses in Asia is peculiarly distasteful. What we face there today we might tomorrow face in Africa or the Pacific islands. Some action has to be improvised in the Far East at once. But this crisis also requires the United States to remove the conditions which will present similar predicaments elsewhere in the future.

The determination of military policy can be generally conceived as a matter of answering, in order, two questions: for what purposes is military power required, and how much is required? Unfortunately, these questions are more easily asked than answered. The first—military power for what and against whom?—is complicated by the fact that the government is usually confronted with a variety of foreign policy contingencies, many of which seem to call for different kinds of military establishments. The second question—how much military power?—is complicated by the fact that the government must usually allocate its resources among many national values, of which military security is only one. These complicating factors, one a condition of international politics and the other a condition of domestic politics, appear to be as inescapable as the two questions themselves. Consequently, some insight into present and future problems of civil-military relations may be gained by examining the influence of these conditions in the past.

Since Stalin's death in 1953, Russia's leaders have every four or five years convened the nominally supreme body of the Soviet Communist Party, its Congress, to ratify policy guidelines and power shifts. Khrushchev lent excitement to the Congresses he presided over, launching surprise attacks on domestic and foreign Communists who were critical of his unorthodox traits. At the 20th Congress in 1956, the Party First Secretary went beyond the text of an anti-Stalin report that had earlier been agreed upon in the Kremlin and he implicated rival associates in cases of Stalinist misrule. The same foes, eliminated from high places in 1957, were just as suddenly brought under heavy criticism by Khrushchev's group at the extraordinary 21st Congress in 1959 and the 22nd Congress in 1961. A delegation of observers from Communist China headed by Premier Chou En-lai walked out of the 22nd Congress after their Albanian clients were unexpectedly assailed for heretical beliefs close to those held in Peking. In contrast, dramatic challenges and disclosures were missing from the 23rd Congress, which the successors of Khrushchev organized in 1966. The flat nature of the proceedings underlined the fact that a cycle of renewal in post-Stalin politics had been superseded by what was essentially a cycle of consolidation.

Western observers remain fundamentally divided on the motives behind Soviet policy toward the West. An examination of these motives must be based on understanding elite opinion in the U.S.S.R. on East-West issues, as well as the scope of political conflict and consensus. The writings and public comments of prominent Soviet foreign policy officials over the last decade reveal a broad spectrum of views and persisting signs of political tension on issues of arms control policy, foreign trade and economic ties, and competition with the West in the Third World. Reform-minded officials have pressed for expansion of cooperation with the West as a matter of practical self-interest in the age of nuclear weapons and advanced technology. More conservative officials have resisted efforts to mute competition and have sought to preserve more insular policies. Proponents of expanded ties to the West openly pressed their case when détente flourished in the early 1970s, and many of their arguments found reflection in statements by the Soviet leadership. The arguments of conservative spokesmen have resonated anew, however, as East-West tensions have mounted since the late 1970s.

The basis of NATO deterrence strategy is the manipulation of the nuclear "threshold." When NATO's conventional component is strong and the exact nature of its nuclear threshold is uncertain to Warsaw Pact countries, NATO's deterrent will be strong. Attempts to improve the “quality” of the nuclear arsenal by making the outcome of nuclear conflict more predictable weaken NATO's deterrent power. It is the possibility that NATO may use nuclear weapons, as well as the uncertainty of the consequences of such use, that strengthens the deterrent. The number of nuclear weapons in the NATO arsenal could be reduced with no appreciable damage to the deterrent posture. Qualitative improvements in the conventional component, while increasing deterrent strength, also serve as safeguards in case of deterrence failures. To the extent that political unity within NATO increases the predictability of a NATO response to Warsaw Pact aggression, it is possible that political disunity actually adds to deterrent strength.

The United States is at present creditor to the world. Since the war more than $25 billion has been put into various foreign aid programs. Government loans, military assistance, ECA assistance have combined in a great assault on world problems. Yet, great as has been the government-to-government assistance extended by the United States, and substantial as has been aid given by such organs of American policy as the Export-Import Bank not only to foreign governments but to private business, it is not only conceded but argued by government officials as well as private business that a job remains to be done which cannot be done in this way. For the doing of that job, private enterprise and private capital investment are needed. In testimony on various aspects of the Point IV program over the course of the last year, this necessity has been stressed no less by government than by business witnesses.

POOR old Trotsky,” Prime Minister S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike once remarked, “his unhappy ghost seems to have found its only refuge in this country.” While Ceylon is not the only refuge of Trotsky, it is certainly the most hospitable, for nowhere else has his image inspired so successful a following. On two occasions since Ceylon has become independent, one or another of the Trotskyite parties has acted as the principal opposition to the government, and in one instance one of them governed Ceylon in coalition with a party of the Center. Ambitious, dedicated, expressive of the needs of the people, and possessing perhaps the most astute and distinguished leadership of any of the parties in Ceylon now that Bandaranaike has unfortunately been assassinated, the Trotskyite movement seems to have installed itself as a permanent part of Ceylonese politics.

The Russian Research Center was established February 1, 1948. It is supported by the Carnegie Corporation on a grant covering the period until July 1, 1953. The Research Center is an integral part of Harvard University and the senior members of its staff are all members of the Harvard faculty. Although the Center is not directly concerned with instruction, there is close cooperation with the Soviet Program of the Committee on International and Regional Studies, and a number of members of the Center staff teach in this program.

Although tactical nuclear weapons have been extensively integrated into NATO, there appears to be no clear doctrine for using them to control a battlefield or hold a defense perimeter. Even the possibility of a limited tactical nuclear war has been questioned. Disenchantment with tactical nuclear defense has stimulated an increased interest in the controlled use of strategic weapons and a demand for stronger conventional forces. But these alternatives also present problems.

Foreign policy decision making is the result of a complex political process in which the political values and style of the chief executive play a large part. The case of Canada's decision, in 1963, to acquire nuclear weapons illustrates that external events and pressures generated by Canada's international obligations were processed through complex political interactions. The Government of Prime Minister Diefenbaker was unable to take the nuclear weapons decision because of two splits in the Cabinet, only one of which was pertinent to nuclear weapons policy. The decision was taken by Leader of the Opposition Pearson alone and in conformity with his personal values, because of his political style which commanded deference. The approach used combines historical detail with political analysis.

AS the revived study of the politics of tropical Africa by Americans enters its second decade,1 scholars have on the whole tempered youthful enthusiasm with an adolescent awareness of the complexity of their subject.

WHEN men define the future as radically unprecedented, how can they prepare to cope with it? Statesmen have traditionally been students of history, on the assumption that history is full of precedents for the future. But even when statesmen are ready to agree that reading history may be useless, it is not easy to find substitutes. Statesmen are not likely to prefer learning from science fiction. Many of them are now prepared to accept at one level of consciousness that thermonuclear weapons have made history obsolete as a guide to action; but there is no agreement on whether adequate substitutes for history have been created.

There is every likelihood that future historians of the Russian novel will praise the Soviet period for the record number of volumes produced and blame it for an equally unprecedented decline in artistic standards. Yet one may hope that the twenty-first-century critic, in fairness to an unhappy past, will not overlook a redeeming feature of the Soviet novel, i.e., its considerable anthropological value. The present reflections about a few recent or fairly recent Soviet novels do not deal with their literary qualities. They are concerned exclusively with the light these novels cast upon various aspects of everyday life in Soviet Russia, including, it may be added, the life of the novel makers themselves.