Reforms usually spring from felt or threatened grievances, not from abstract considerations of institutional perfection. It is understandable then that Presidential election years regularly bring a renewal of more than ordinary interest in reforming the way the President is elected. Interest in reform of this kind was more widespread and intense than usual before and after the 1968 election. Changes have already been made in certain phases of the nomination processes of the major political parties. Nevertheless, the constitutional provisions and the laws governing the Presidential election itself remain unchanged. In 1969 and 1970, these provisions and laws were almost swept aside by a proposed constitutional amendment providing for direct popular election of the President.

A Radical who argues is an uncommon sight; even more uncommon is a radical who likes to argue with nonradicals. To participate in radical political dialogue, one usually has to be committed to a specific social cause and perhaps even to a “dialectical logic.” One of the fascinating and challenging aspects of Robert Paul Wolff's recent books is that he draws his radical, anarchosocialist conclusions from premises that are quite acceptable to the average nonradical, in a style that is free from flirtations with a higher logic. In this sense Marcuse and Wolff could not be further apart.

The study of international relations has passed through a series of intellectual controversies. These have included the debate between political realism and political idealism and the debate as to whether international relations is a distinct discipline or the subject matter of several other disciplines. Now the discipline is debating appropriate methodology. Proponents of a traditional approach and proponents of a scientific approach both contend for their particular methodology.

The conferences, the spectaculars of European diplomacy between the First and Second World Wars, have contributed some interesting myths to the folk history of the twentieth century. The Munich Conference of 1938, for example, has come to represent to some an act of betrayal, surrender and defeat—an effort to have one's own skin by selling out a small country in a vainattempt to satisfy a dictator's unlimited appetite. The Locarno Conference of October, 1925, has been regarded as an event which brought an end to the conflict between Germany and the Western powers during the World War and its aftermath. Supposedly, at Locarno enemies were reconciled after years of hostility, and a new era dawned: the following four years were a period of harmony between Germany and the West, as foreign ministers from each side conducted personal diplomacy in an atmosphere of good will. These assertions about Locarno have received less scholarly attention than the myth of Munich and deserve critical reexamination. As part of that reconsideration, some measurement might be taken of the level of misunderstanding and malevolence and hope — either genuine or illusory.

This work is the issue of love and egoism. In 34 years of teaching at Notre Dame I have fallen in love with learning, teaching and that place and fellowship of learning and teaching, the University.

Its permanence seemed so evidently desirable that the Notre Dame Foundation's epic fund-raising successes appeared to be the laborious fulfillment of a historical necessity.