Introductory Chapter
AMONGST the novel objects that attracted my attention during my stay
in the United States, nothing struck me more forcibly than the
general equality of conditions. I readily discovered the prodigious
influence which this primary fact exercises on the whole course of
society, by giving a certain direction to public opinion, and a
certain tenor to the laws; by imparting new maxims to the governing
powers, and peculiar habits to the governed. I speedily perceived
that the influence of this fact extends far beyond the political
character and the laws of the country, and that it has no less
empire over civil society than over the Government; it creates
opinions, engenders sentiments, suggests the ordinary practices of
life, and modifies whatever it does not produce. The more I advanced
in the study of American society, the more I perceived that the
equality of conditions is the fundamental fact from which all others
seem to be derived, and the central point at which all my
observations constantly terminated.
I then turned my thoughts to our own hemisphere, where I imagined
that I discerned something analogous to the spectacle which the New
World presented to me. I observed that the equality of conditions is
daily progressing towards those extreme limits which it seems to
have reached in the United States, and that the democracy which
governs the American communities appears to be rapidly rising into
power in Europe. I hence conceived the idea of the book which is now
before the reader.
It is evident to all alike that a great democratic revolution is
going on amongst us; but there are two opinions as to its nature and
consequences. To some it appears to be a novel accident, which as
such may still be checked; to others it seems irresistible, because
it is the most uniform, the most ancient, and the most permanent
tendency which is to be found in history. Let us recollect the
situation of France seven hundred years ago, when the territory was
divided amongst a small number of families, who were the owners of
the soil and the rulers of the inhabitants; the right of governing
descended with the family inheritance from generation to generation;
force was the only means by which man could act on man, and landed
property was the sole source of power. Soon, however, the political
power of the clergy was founded, and began to exert itself: the
clergy opened its ranks to all classes, to the poor and the rich,
the villein and the lord; equality penetrated into the Government
through the Church, and the being who as a serf must have vegetated
in perpetual bondage took his place as a priest in the midst of
nobles, and not infrequently above the heads of kings.
The different relations of men became more complicated and more
numerous as society gradually became more stable and more civilized.
Thence the want of civil laws was felt; and the order of legal
functionaries soon rose from the obscurity of the tribunals and
their dusty chambers, to appear at the court of the monarch, by the
side of the feudal barons in their ermine and their mail. Whilst the
kings were ruining themselves by their great enterprises, and the
nobles exhausting their resources by private wars, the lower orders
were enriching themselves by commerce. The influence of money began
to be perceptible in State affairs. The transactions of business
opened a new road to power, and the financier rose to a station of
political influence in which he was at once flattered and despised.
Gradually the spread of mental acquirements, and the increasing
taste for literature and art, opened chances of success to talent;
science became a means of government, intelligence led to social
power, and the man of letters took a part in the affairs of the
State. The value attached to the privileges of birth decreased in
the exact proportion in which new paths were struck out to
advancement. In the eleventh century nobility was beyond all price;
in the thirteenth it might be purchased; it was conferred for the
first time in 1270; and equality was thus introduced into the
Government by the aristocracy itself.
In the course of these seven hundred years it sometimes happened
that in order to resist the authority of the Crown, or to diminish
the power of their rivals, the nobles granted a certain share of
political rights to the people. Or, more frequently, the king
permitted the lower orders to enjoy a degree of power, with the
intention of repressing the aristocracy. In France the kings have
always been the most active and the most constant of levellers. When
they were strong and ambitious they spared no pains to raise the
people to the level of the nobles; when they were temperate or weak
they allowed the people to rise above themselves. Some assisted the
democracy by their talents, others by their vices. Louis XI and
Louis XIV reduced every rank beneath the throne to the same
subjection; Louis XV descended, himself and all his Court, into the
dust.
As soon as land was held on any other than a feudal tenure, and
personal property began in its turn to confer influence and power,
every improvement which was introduced in commerce or manufacture
was a fresh element of the equality of conditions. Henceforward
every new discovery, every new want which it engendered, and every
new desire which craved satisfaction, was a step towards the
universal level. The taste for luxury, the love of war, the sway of
fashion, and the most superficial as well as the deepest passions of
the human heart, co-operated to enrich the poor and to impoverish
the rich.
From the time when the exercise of the intellect became the source
of strength and of wealth, it is impossible not to consider every
addition to science, every fresh truth, and every new idea as a germ
of power placed within the reach of the people. Poetry, eloquence,
and memory, the grace of wit, the glow of imagination, the depth of
thought, and all the gifts which are bestowed by Providence with an
equal hand, turned to the advantage of the democracy; and even when
they were in the possession of its adversaries they still served its
cause by throwing into relief the natural greatness of man; its
conquests spread, therefore, with those of civilization and
knowledge, and literature became an arsenal where the poorest and
the weakest could always find weapons to their hand.
In perusing the pages of our history, we shall scarcely meet with a
single great event, in the lapse of seven hundred years, which has
not turned to the advantage of equality. The Crusades and the wars
of the English decimated the nobles and divided their possessions;
the erection of communities introduced an element of democratic
liberty into the bosom of feudal monarchy; the invention of
fire-arms equalized the villein and the noble on the field of
battle; printing opened the same resources to the minds of all
classes; the post was organized so as to bring the same information
to the door of the poor man's cottage and to the gate of the palace;
and Protestantism proclaimed that all men are alike able to find the
road to heaven. The discovery of America offered a thousand new
paths to fortune, and placed riches and power within the reach of
the adventurous and the obscure. If we examine what has happened in
France at intervals of fifty years, beginning with the eleventh
century, we shall invariably perceive that a twofold revolution has
taken place in the state of society. The noble has gone down on the
social ladder, and the roturier has gone up; the one descends as the
other rises. Every half century brings them nearer to each other,
and they will very shortly meet.
Nor is this phenomenon at all peculiar to France. Whithersoever we
turn our eyes we shall witness the same continual revolution
throughout the whole of Christendom. The various occurrences of
national existence have everywhere turned to the advantage of
democracy; all men have aided it by their exertions: those who have
intentionally labored in its cause, and those who have served it
unwittingly; those who have fought for it and those who have
declared themselves its opponents, have all been driven along in the
same track, have all labored to one end, some ignorantly and some
unwillingly; all have been blind instruments in the hands of God.
The gradual development of the equality of conditions is therefore a
providential fact, and it possesses all the characteristics of a
divine decree: it is universal, it is durable, it constantly eludes
all human interference, and all events as well as all men contribute
to its progress. Would it, then, be wise to imagine that a social
impulse which dates from so far back can be checked by the efforts
of a generation? Is it credible that the democracy which has
annihilated the feudal system and vanquished kings will respect the
citizen and the capitalist? Will it stop now that it has grown so
strong and its adversaries so weak? None can say which way we are
going, for all terms of comparison are wanting: the equality of
conditions is more complete in the Christian countries of the
present day than it has been at any time or in any part of the
world; so that the extent of what already exists prevents us from
foreseeing what may be yet to come.
The whole book which is here offered to the public has been written
under the impression of a kind of religious dread produced in the
author's mind by the contemplation of so irresistible a revolution,
which has advanced for centuries in spite of such amazing obstacles,
and which is still proceeding in the midst of the ruins it has made.
It is not necessary that God himself should speak in order to
disclose to us the unquestionable signs of His will; we can discern
them in the habitual course of nature, and in the invariable
tendency of events: I know, without a special revelation, that the
planets move in the orbits traced by the Creator's finger. If the
men of our time were led by attentive observation and by sincere
reflection to acknowledge that the gradual and progressive
development of social equality is at once the past and future of
their history, this solitary truth would confer the sacred character
of a Divine decree upon the change. To attempt to check democracy
would be in that case to resist the will of God; and the nations
would then be constrained to make the best of the social lot awarded
to them by Providence.
The Christian nations of our age seem to me to present a most
alarming spectacle; the impulse which is bearing them along is so
strong that it cannot be stopped, but it is not yet so rapid that it
cannot be guided: their fate is in their hands; yet a little while
and it may be so no longer. The first duty which is at this time
imposed upon those who direct our affairs is to educate the
democracy; to warm its faith, if that be possible; to purify its
morals; to direct its energies; to substitute a knowledge of
business for its inexperience, and an acquaintance with its true
interests for its blind propensities; to adapt its government to
time and place, and to modify it in compliance with the occurrences
and the actors of the age. A new science of politics is
indispensable to a new world. This, however, is what we think of
least; launched in the middle of a rapid stream, we obstinately fix
our eyes on the ruins which may still be described upon the shore we
have left, whilst the current sweeps us along, and drives us
backwards towards the gulf.
In no country in Europe has the great social revolution which I have
been describing made such rapid progress as in France; but it has
always been borne on by chance. The heads of the State have never
had any forethought for its exigencies, and its victories have been
obtained without their consent or without their knowledge. The most
powerful, the most intelligent, and the most moral classes of the
nation have never attempted to connect themselves with it in order
to guide it. The people has consequently been abandoned to its wild
propensities, and it has grown up like those outcasts who receive
their education in the public streets, and who are unacquainted with
aught but the vices and wretchedness of society. The existence of a
democracy was seemingly unknown, when on a sudden it took possession
of the supreme power. Everything was then submitted to its caprices;
it was worshipped as the idol of strength; until, when it was
enfeebled by its own excesses, the legislator conceived the rash
project of annihilating its power, instead of instructing it and
correcting its vices; no attempt was made to fit it to govern, but
all were bent on excluding it from the government.
The consequence of this has been that the democratic revolution has
been effected only in the material parts of society, without that
concomitant change in laws, ideas, customs, and manners which was
necessary to render such a revolution beneficial. We have gotten a
democracy, but without the conditions which lessen its vices and
render its natural advantages more prominent; and although we
already perceive the evils it brings, we are ignorant of the
benefits it may confer.
While the power of the Crown, supported by the aristocracy,
peaceably governed the nations of Europe, society possessed, in the
midst of its wretchedness, several different advantages can now
scarce or conceived. The power of a part of his subjects was an
insurmountable barrier to the tyranny of the prince; and the
monarch, who felt the almost divine character which he enjoyed in
the eyes of the multitude, derived a motive for the just use of his
power from the respect which he inspired. High as they were placed
above the people, the nobles could not but take that calm and
benevolent interest in its fate which the shepherd feels towards his
flock; and without acknowledging the poor as their equals, they
watched over the destiny of those whose welfare Providence had
entrusted to their care. The people never having conceived the idea
of a social condition from its own, and entertaining no expectation
of ever ranking with its chiefs, received benefits from them without
discussing their rights. It grew attached to them when they were
clement and just, and it submitted without resistance or servility
to their exactions, as to the inevitable visitations of the arm of
God. Custom, and the manners of the time, had moreover created a
species of law in the midst of violence, and established certain
limits to oppression. As the noble never suspected that anyone would
attempt to deprive him of the privileges which he believed to be
legitimate, and as the serf looked upon his own inferiority as a
consequence of the immutable order of nature, it is easy to imagine
that a mutual exchange of good-will took place between two classes
so differently gifted by fate. Inequality and wretchedness were then
to be found in society; but the souls of neither rank of men were
degraded. Men are not corrupted by the exercise of power or debased
by the habit of obedience, but by the exercise of a power which they
believe to be illegal and by obedience to a rule which they consider
to be usurped and oppressive. On one side was wealth, strength, and
leisure, accompanied by the refinements of luxury, the elegance of
taste, the pleasures of wit, and the religion of art. On the other
was labor and a rude ignorance; but in the midst of this coarse and
ignorant multitude it was not uncommon to meet with energetic
passions, generous sentiments, profound religious convictions, and
independent virtues. The body of a State thus organized might boast
of its stability, its power, and, above all, of its glory.
But the scene is now changed, and gradually the two ranks mingle;
the divisions which once severed mankind are lowered, property is
divided, power is held in common, the light of intelligence spreads,
and the capacities of all classes are equally cultivated; the State
becomes democratic, and the empire of democracy is slowly and
peaceably introduced into the institutions and the manners of the
nation. I can conceive a society in which all men would profess an
equal attachment and respect for the laws of which they are the
common authors; in which the authority of the State would be
respected as necessary, though not as divine; and the loyalty of the
subject to its chief magistrate would not be a passion, but a quiet
and rational persuasion. Every individual being in the possession of
rights which he is sure to retain, a kind of manly reliance and
reciprocal courtesy would arise between all classes, alike removed
from pride meanness. The people, well acquainted with true
interests, would allow that in order to profit by the advantages of
society it is necessary to satisfy its demands. In this state of
things the voluntary association of the citizens might supply the
individual exertions of the nobles, and the community would be alike
protected from anarchy and from oppression.
I admit that, in a democratic State thus constituted, society will
not be stationary; but the impulses of the social body may be
regulated and directed forwards; if there be less splendor than in
the halls of an aristocracy, the contrast of misery will be less
frequent also; the pleasures of enjoyment may be less excessive, but
those of comfort will be more general; the sciences may be less
perfectly cultivated, but ignorance will be less common; the
impetuosity of the feelings will be repressed, and the habits of the
nation softened; there will be more vices and fewer crimes. In the
absence of enthusiasm and of an ardent faith, great sacrifices may
be obtained from the members of a commonwealth by an appeal to their
understandings and their experience; each individual will feel the
same necessity for uniting with his fellow-citizens to protect his
own weakness; and as he knows that if they are to assist he must
co-operate, he will readily perceive that his personal interest is
identified with the interest of the community. The nation, taken as
a whole, will be less brilliant, less glorious, and perhaps less
strong; but the majority of the citizens will enjoy a greater degree
of prosperity, and the people will remain quiet, not because it
despairs of amelioration, but because it is conscious of the
advantages of its condition. If all the consequences of this state
of things were not good or useful, society would at least have
appropriated all such as were useful and good; and having once and
for ever renounced the social advantages of aristocracy, mankind
would enter into possession of all the benefits which democracy can
afford.
But here it may be asked what we have adopted in the place of those
institutions, those ideas, and those customs of our forefathers
which we have abandoned. The spell of royalty is broken, but it has
not been succeeded by the majesty of the laws; the people has
learned to despise all authority, but fear now extorts a larger
tribute of obedience than that which was formerly paid by reverence
and by love.
I perceive that we have destroyed those independent beings which
were able to cope with tyranny single-handed; but it is the
Government that has inherited the privileges of which families,
corporations, and individuals have been deprived; the weakness of
the whole community has therefore succeeded that influence of a
small body of citizens, which, if it was sometimes oppressive, was
often conservative. The division of property has lessened the
distance which separated the rich from the poor; but it would seem
that the nearer they draw to each other, the greater is their mutual
hatred, and the more vehement the envy and the dread with which they
resist each other's claims to power; the notion of Right is alike
insensible to both classes, and Force affords to both the only
argument for the present, and the only guarantee for the future. The
poor man retains the prejudices of his forefathers without their
faith, and their ignorance without their virtues; he has adopted the
doctrine of self-interest as the rule of his actions, without
understanding the science which controls it, and his egotism is no
less blind than his devotedness was formerly. If society is
tranquil, it is not because it relies upon its strength and its
well-being, but because it knows its weakness and its infirmities; a
single effort may cost it its life; everybody feels the evil, but no
one has courage or energy enough to seek the cure; the desires, the
regret, the sorrows, and the joys of the time produce nothing that
is visible or permanent, like the passions of old men which
terminate in impotence.
We have, then, abandoned whatever advantages the old state of things
afforded, without receiving any compensation from our present
condition; we have destroyed an aristocracy, and we seem inclined to
survey its ruins with complacency, and to fix our abode in the midst
of them.
The phenomena which the intellectual world presents are not less
deplorable. The democracy of France, checked in its course or
abandoned to its lawless passions, has overthrown whatever crossed
its path, and has shaken all that it has not destroyed. Its empire
on society has not been gradually introduced or peaceably
established, but it has constantly advanced in the midst of disorder
and the agitation of a conflict. In the heat of the struggle each
partisan is hurried beyond the limits of his opinions by the
opinions and the excesses of his opponents, until he loses sight of
the end of his exertions, and holds a language which disguises his
real sentiments or secret instincts. Hence arises the strange
confusion which we are witnessing. I cannot recall to my mind a
passage in history more worthy of sorrow and of pity than the scenes
which are happening under our eyes; it is as if the natural bond
which unites the opinions of man to his tastes and his actions to
his principles was now broken; the sympathy which has always been
acknowledged between the feelings and the ideas of mankind appears
to be dissolved, and all the laws of moral analogy to be abolished.
Zealous Christians may be found amongst us whose minds are nurtured
in the love and knowledge of a future life, and who readily espouse
the cause of human liberty as the source of all moral greatness.
Christianity, which has declared that all men are equal in the sight
of God, will not refuse to acknowledge that all citizens are equal
in the eye of the law. But, by a singular concourse of events,
religion is entangled in those institutions which democracy assails,
and it is not unfrequently brought to reject the equality it loves,
and to curse that cause of liberty as a foe which it might hallow by
its alliance.
By the side of these religious men I discern others whose looks are
turned to the earth more than to Heaven; they are the partisans of
liberty, not only as the source of the noblest virtues, but more
especially as the root of all solid advantages; and they sincerely
desire to extend its sway, and to impart its blessings to mankind.
It is natural that they should hasten to invoke the assistance of
religion, for they must know that liberty cannot be established
without morality, nor morality without faith; but they have seen
religion in the ranks of their adversaries, and they inquire no
further; some of them attack it openly, and the remainder are afraid
to defend it.
In former ages slavery has been advocated by the venal and
slavish-minded, whilst the independent and the warm-hearted were
struggling without hope to save the liberties of mankind. But men of
high and generous characters are now to be met with, whose opinions
are at variance with their inclinations, and who praise that
servility which they have themselves never known. Others, on the
contrary, speak in the name of liberty, as if they were able to feel
its sanctity and its majesty, and loudly claim for humanity those
rights which they have always disowned. There are virtuous and
peaceful individuals whose pure morality, quiet habits, affluence,
and talents fit them to be the leaders of the surrounding
population; their love of their country is sincere, and they are
prepared to make the greatest sacrifices to its welfare, but they
confound the abuses of civilization with its benefits, and the idea
of evil is inseparable in their minds from that of novelty.
Not far from this class is another party, whose object is to
materialize mankind, to hit upon what is expedient without heeding
what is just, to acquire knowledge without faith, and prosperity
apart from virtue; assuming the title of the champions of modern
civilization, and placing themselves in a station which they usurp
with insolence, and from which they are driven by their own
unworthiness. Where are we then? The religionists are the enemies of
liberty, and the friends of liberty attack religion; the high-minded
and the noble advocate subjection, and the meanest and most servile
minds preach independence; honest and enlightened citizens are
opposed to all progress, whilst men without patriotism and without
principles are the apostles of civilization and of intelligence. Has
such been the fate of the centuries which have preceded our own? and
has man always inhabited a world like the present, where nothing is
linked together, where virtue is without genius, and genius without
honor; where the love of order is confounded with a taste for
oppression, and the holy rites of freedom with a contempt of law;
where the light thrown by conscience on human actions is dim, and
where nothing seems to be any longer forbidden or allowed, honorable
or shameful, false or true? I cannot, however, believe that the
Creator made man to leave him in an endless struggle with the
intellectual miseries which surround us: God distines a calmer and a
more certain future to the communities of Europe; I am unaquainted
with His designs, but I shall not cease to believe in them because I
cannot fathom them, and I had rather mistrust my own capacity than
His justice.
There is a country in the world where the great revolution which I
am speaking of seems nearly to have reached its natural limits; it
has been effected with ease and simplicity, say rather that this
country has attained the consequences of the democratic revolution
which we are undergoing without having experienced the revolution
itself. The emigrants who fixed themselves on the shores of America
in the beginning of the seventeenth century severed the democratic
principle from all the principles which repressed it in the old
communities of Europe, and transplanted it unalloyed to the New
World. It has there been allowed to spread in perfect freedom, and
to put forth its consequences in the laws by influencing the manners
of the country.
It appears to me beyond a doubt that sooner or later we shall
arrive, like the Americans, at an almost complete equality of
conditions. But I do not conclude from this that we shall ever be
necessarily led to draw the same political consequences which the
Americans have derived from a similar social organization. I am far
from supposing that they have chosen the only form of government
which a democracy may adopt; but the identity of the efficient cause
of laws and manners in the two countries is sufficient to account
for the immense interest we have in becoming acquainted with its
effects in each of them.
It is not, then, merely to satisfy a legitimate curiosity that I
have examined America; my wish has been to find instruction by which
we may ourselves profit. Whoever should imagine that I have intended
to write a panegyric will perceive that suds was not my design; nor
has it been my object to advocate any form of government in
particular, for I am of opinion that absolute excellence is rarely
to be found in any legislation; I have not even affected to discuss
whether the social revolution, which I believe to be irresistible,
is advantageous or prejudicial to mankind; I have acknowledged this
revolution as a fact already accomplished or on the eve of its
accomplishment; and I have selected the nation, from amongst those
which have undergone it, in which its development has been the most
peaceful and flee most complete, in order to discern its natural
consequences, and, if it be possible, to distinguish the means by
which it may be rendered profitable. I confess that in America I saw
more than America; I sought the image of democracy itself, with its
inclinations, its character, its prejudices, and its passions, in
order to learn what we have to fear or to hope from its progress.
In the first part of this work I have attempted to show the tendency
given to the laws by the democracy of America, which is abandoned
almost without restraint to its instinctive propensities, and to
exhibit the course it prescribes to the Government and the influence
it exercises on affairs. I have sought to discover the evils and the
advantages which it produces. I have examined the precautions used
by the Americans to direct it, as well as those which they have not
adopted, and I have undertaken to point out the causes which enable
it to govern society. I do not know whether I have succeeded in
making known what I saw in America, but I am certain that such has
been my sincere desire, and that I have never, knowingly, moulded
facts to ideas, instead of ideas to facts.
Whenever a point could be established by the aid of written
documents, I have had recourse to the original text, and to the most
authentic and approved works. I have cited my authorities in the
notes, and anyone may refer to them. Whenever an opinion, a
political custom, or a remark on the manners of the country was
concerned, I endeavored to consult the most enlightened men I met
with. If the point in question was important or doubtful, I was not
satisfied with one testimony, but I formed my opinion on the
evidence of several witnesses. Here the reader must necessarily
believe me upon my word. I could frequently have quoted names which
are either known to him, or which deserve to be so, in proof of what
I advance; but I have carefully abstained from this practice. A
stranger frequently hears important truths at the fire-side of his
host, which the latter would perhaps conceal from the ear of
friendship; he consoles himself with his guest for the silence to
which he is restricted, and the shortness of the traveller's stay
takes away all fear of his indiscretion. I carefully noted every
conversation of this nature as soon as it occurred, but these notes
will never leave my writing-case; I had rather injure the success of
my statements than add my name to the list of those strangers who
repay the generous hospitality they have received by subsequent
chagrin and annoyance.
I am aware that, notwithstanding my care, nothing will be easier
than to criticise this book, if anyone ever chooses to criticise it.
Those readers who may examine it closely will discover the
fundamental idea which connects the several parts together. But the
diversity of the subjects I have had to treat is exceedingly great,
and it will not be difficult to oppose an isolated fact to the body
of facts which I quote, or an isolated idea to the body of ideas I
put forth. I hope to be read in the spirit which has guided my
labors, and that my book may be judged by the general impression it
leaves, as I have formed my own judgment not on any single reason,
but upon the mass of evidence. It must not be forgotten that the
author who wishes to be understood is obliged to push all his ideas
to their utmost theoretical consequences, and often to the verge of
what is false or impracticable; for if it be necessary sometimes to
quit the rules of logic in active life, such is not the case in
discourse, and a man finds that almost as many difficulties spring
from inconsistency of language as usually arise from inconsistency
of conduct.
I conclude by pointing out myself what many readers will consider
the principal defect of the work. This book is written to favor no
particular views, and in composing it I have entertained no designs
of serving or attacking any party; I have undertaken not to see
differently, but to look further than parties, and whilst they are
busied for the morrow I have turned my thoughts to the Future.
Chapter 1 Exterior Form of North America
North America divided into two vast regions, one inclining towards
the Pole, the other towards the Equator -- Valley of the Mississippi
-- Traces of the Revolutions of the Globe -- Shore of the Atlantic
Ocean where the English Colonies were founded -- Difference in the
appearance of North and of South America at the time of their
Discovery -- Forests of North America -- Prairies -- Wandering
Tribes of Natives -- Their outward appearance, manners, and language
-- Traces of an unknown people.
NORTH AMERICA presents in its external form certain general features
which it is easy to discriminate at the first glance. A sort of
methodical order seems to have regulated the separation of land and
water, mountains and valleys. A simple, but grand, arrangement is
discoverable amidst the confusion of objects and the prodigious
variety of scenes. This continent is divided, almost equally, into
two vast regions, one of which is bounded on the north by the Arctic
Pole, and by the two great oceans on the east and west. It stretches
towards the south, forming a triangle whose irregular sides meet at
length below the great lakes of Canada. The second region begins
where the other terminates, and includes all the remainder of the
continent. The one slopes gently towards the Pole, the other towards
the Equator.
The territory comprehended in the first region descends towards the
north with so imperceptible a slope that it may almost be said to
form a level plain. Within the bounds of this immense tract of
country there are neither high mountains nor deep valleys. Streams
meander through it irregularly: great rivers mix their currents,
separate and meet again, disperse and form vast marshes, losing all
trace of their channels in the labyrinth of waters they have
themselves created; and thus, at length, after innumerable windings,
fall into the Polar Seas. The great lakes which bound this first
region are not walled in, like most of those in the Old World,
between hills and rocks. Their banks are flat, and rise but a few
feet above the level of their waters; each of them thus forming a
vast bowl filled to the brim. The slightest change in the structure
of the globe would cause their waters to rush either towards the
Pole or to the tropical sea.
The second region is more varied on its surface, and better suited
for the habitation of man. Two long chains of mountains divide it
from one extreme to the other; the Alleghany ridge takes the form of
the shores of the Atlantic Ocean; the other is parallel with the
Pacific. The space which lies between these two chains of mountains
contains 1,341,649 square miles. Its surface is therefore about six
times as great as that of France. This vast territory, however,
forms a single valley, one side of which descends gradually from the
rounded summits of the Alleghanies, while the other rises in an
uninterrupted course towards the tops of the Rocky Mountains. At the
bottom of the valley flows an immense river, into which the various
`streams issuing from the mountains fall from all parts. In memory
of their native land, the French formerly called this river the St.
Louis. The Indians, in their pompous language, have named it the
Father of Waters, or the Mississippi.
The Mississippi takes its source above the limit of the two great
regions of which I have spoken, not far from the highest point of
the table-land where they unite. Near the same spot rises another
river, which empties itself into the Polar seas. The course of the
Mississippi is at first dubious: it winds several times towards the
north, from whence it rose; and at length, after having been delayed
in lakes and marshes, it flows slowly onwards to the south.
Sometimes quietly gliding along the argillaceous bed which nature
has assigned to it, sometimes swollen by storms, the Mississippi
waters 2,500 miles in its course. At the distance of 1,364 miles
from its mouth this river attains an average depth of fifteen feet;
and it is navigated by vessels of 300 tons burden for a course of
nearly 500 miles. Fifty-seven large navigable rivers contribute to
swell the waters of the Mississippi; amongst others, the Missouri,
which traverses a space of 2,500 miles; the Arkansas of 1,300 miles,
the Red River 1,000 miles, four whose course is from 800 to 1,000
miles in length, viz., the Illinois, the St. Peter's, the St.
Francis, and the Moingona; besides a countless multitude of rivulets
which unite from all parts their tributary streams.
The valley which is watered by the Mississippi seems formed to be
the bed of this mighty river, which, like a god of antiquity,
dispenses both good and evil in its course. On the shores of the
stream nature displays an inexhaustible fertility; in proportion as
you recede from its banks, the powers of vegetation languish, the
soil becomes poor, and the plants that survive have a sickly growth.
Nowhere have the great convulsions of the globe left more evident
traces than in the valley of the Mississippi; the whole aspect of
the country shows the powerful effects of water, both by its
fertility and by its barrenness. The waters of the primeval ocean
accumulated enormous beds of vegetable mould in the valley, which
they levelled as they retired. Upon the right shore of the river are
seen immense plains, as smooth as if the husbandman had passed over
them with his roller. As you approach the mountains the soil becomes
more and more unequal and sterile; the ground is, as it were,
pierced in a thousand places by primitive rocks, which appear like
the bones of a skeleton whose flesh is partly consumed. The surface
of the earth is covered with a granite sand and huge irregular
masses of stone, among which a few plants force their growth, and
give the appearance of a green field covered with the ruins of a
vast edifice. These stones and this sand discover, on examination, a
perfect analogy with those which compose the arid and broken summits
of the Rocky Mountains. The flood of waters which washed the soil to
the bottom of the valley afterwards carried away portions of the
rocks themselves; and these, dashed and bruised against the
neighboring cliffs, were left scattered like wrecks at their feet.
The valley of the Mississippi is, upon the whole, the most
magnificent dwelling-place prepared by God for man's abode; and yet
it may be said that at present it is but a mighty desert.
On the eastern side of the Alleghanies, between the base of these
mountains and the Atlantic Ocean, there lies a long ridge of rocks
and sand, which the sea appears to have left behind as it retired.
The mean breadth of this territory does not exceed one hundred
miles; but it is about nine hundred miles in length. This part of
the American continent has a soil which offers every obstacle to the
husbandman, and its vegetation is scanty and unvaried.
Upon this inhospitable coast the first united efforts of human
industry were made. The tongue of arid land was the cradle of those
English colonies which were destined one day to become the United
States of America. The centre of power still remains here; whilst in
the backwoods the true elements of the great people to whom the
future control of the continent belongs are gathering almost in
secrecy together.
When the Europeans first landed on the shores of the West Indies,
and afterwards on the coast of South America, they thought
themselves transported into those fabulous regions of which poets
had sung. The sea sparkled with phosphoric light, and the
extraordinary transparency of its waters discovered to the view of
the navigator all that had hitherto been hidden in the deep abyss.
Here and there appeared little islands perfumed with odoriferous
plants, and resembling baskets of flowers floating on the tranquil
surface of the ocean. Every object which met the sight, in this
enchanting region, seemed prepared to satisfy the wants or
contribute to the pleasures of man. Almost all the trees were loaded
with nourishing fruits, and those which were useless as food
delighted the eye by the brilliancy and variety of their colors. In
groves of fragrant lemon-trees, wild figs, flowering myrtles,
acacias, and oleanders, which were hung with festoons of various
climbing plants, covered with flowers, a multitude of birds unknown
in Europe displayed their bright plumage, glittering with purple and
azure, and mingled their warbling with the harmony of a world
teeming with life and motion. Underneath this brilliant exterior
death was concealed. But the air of these climates had so enervating
an influence that man, absorbed by present enjoyment, was rendered
regardless of the future.
North America appeared under a very different aspect; there
everything was grave, serious, and solemn: it seemed created to be
then domain of intelligence, as the south was that of sensual
delight. A turbulent and foggy ocean washed its shores. It was girt
round by a belt of granite rocks, or by wide tracts of sand. The
foliage of its woods was dark and gloomy, for they were composed of
firs, larches, evergreen oaks, wild olive-trees, and laurels. Beyond
this outer belt lay the thick shades of the central forest, where
the largest trees which are produced in the two hemispheres grow
side by side. The plane, the catalpa, the sugar-maple, and the
Virginian poplar mingled their branches with those of the oak, the
beech, and the lime. In these, as in the forests of the Old World,
destruction was perpetually going on. The ruins of vegetation were
heaped upon each other; but there was no laboring hand to remove
them, and their decay was not rapid enough to make room for the
continual work of reproduction. Climbing plants, grasses, and other
herbs forced their way through the mass of dying trees; they crept
along their bending trunks, found nourishment in their dusty
cavities, and a passage beneath the lifeless bark. Thus decay gave
its assistance to life, and their respective productions were
mingled together. The depths of these forests were gloomy and
obscure, and a thousand rivulets, undirected in their course by
human industry, preserved in them a constant moisture. It was rare
to meet with flowers, wild fruits, or birds beneath their shades.
The fall of a tree overthrown by age, the rushing torrent of a
cataract, the lowing of the buffalo, and the howling of the wind
were the only sounds which broke the silence of nature.
To the east of the great river, the woods almost disappeared; in
their stead were seen prairies of immense extent. Whether Nature in
her infinite variety had denied the germs of trees to these fertile
plains, or whether they had once been covered with forests,
subsequently destroyed by the hand of man, is a question which
neither tradition nor scientific research has been able to resolve.
These immense deserts were not, however, devoid of human
inhabitants. Some wandering tribes had been for ages scattered among
the forest shades or the green pastures of the prairie. From the
mouth of the St. Lawrence to the delta of the Mississippi, and from
the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean, these savages possessed certain
points of resemblance which bore witness of their common origin; but
at the same time they differed from all other known races of men:
they were neither white like the Europeans, nor yellow like most of
the Asiatics, nor black like the negroes. Their skin was reddish
brown, their hair long and shining, their lips thin, and their
cheekbones very prominent. The languages spoken by the North
American tribes are various as far as regarded their words, but they
were' subject to the same grammatical rules. These rules differed in
several points from such as had been observed to govern the origin
of language. The idiom of the Americans seemed to be the product of
new combinations, and bespoke an effort of the understanding of
which the Indians of our days would be incapable.
The social state of these tribes differed also in many respects from
all that was seen in the Old World. They seemed to have multiplied
freely in the midst of their deserts without coming in contact with
other races more civilized than their own. Accordingly, they
exhibited none of those indistinct, incoherent notions of right and
wrong, none of that deep corruption of manners, which is usually
joined with ignorance and rudeness among nations which, after
advancing to civilization, have relapsed into a state of barbarism.
The Indian was indebted to no one but himself; his virtues, his
vices, and his prejudices were his own work; he had grown up in the
wild independence of his nature.
If, in polished countries, the lowest of the people are rude and
uncivil, it is not merely because they are poor and ignorant, but
that, being so, they are in daily contact with rich and enlightened
men. The sight of their own hard lot and of their weakness, which is
daily contrasted with the happiness and power of some of their
fellow-creatures, excites in their hearts at the same time the
sentiments of anger and of fear: the consciousness of their
inferiority and of their dependence irritates while it humiliates
them. This state of mind displays itself in their manners and
language; they are at once insolent and servile. The truth of this
is easily proved by observation; the people are more rude in
aristocratic countries than elsewhere, in opulent cities than in
rural districts. In those places where the rich and powerful are
assembled together the weak and the indigent feel themselves
oppressed by their inferior condition. Unable to perceive a single
chance of regaining their equality, they give up to despair, and
allow themselves to fall below the dignity of human nature.
This unfortunate effect of the disparity of conditions is not
observable in savage life: the Indians, although they are ignorant
and poor, are equal and free. At the period when Europeans first
came among them the natives of North America were ignorant of the
value of riches, and indifferent to the enjoyments which civilized
man procures to himself by their means. Nevertheless there was
nothing coarse in their demeanor; they practised an habitual reserve
and a kind of aristocratic politeness. Mild and hospitable when at
peace, though merciless in war beyond any known degree of human
ferocity, the Indian would expose himself to die of hunger in order
to succor the stranger who asked admittance by night at the door of
his hut; yet he could tear in pieces with his hands the still
quivering limbs of his prisoner. The famous republics of antiquity
never gave examples of more unshaken courage, more haughty spirits,
or more intractable love of independence than were hidden in former
times among the wild forests of the New World. The Europeans
produced no great impression when they landed upon the shores of
North America; their presence engendered neither envy nor fear. What
influence could they possess over such men as we have described? The
Indian could live without wants, suffer without complaint, and pour
out his death-song at the stake. Like all the other members of the
great human family, these savages believed in the existence of a
better world, and adored, under different names, God the creator of
the universe. Their notions on the great intellectual truths were in
general simple and philosophical.
Although we have here traced the character of a primitive people ,
yet it cannot be doubted that another people, more civilized and
more advanced in all respects, had preceded it in the same regions.
An obscure tradition which prevailed among the Indians to the north
of the Atlantic informs us that these very tribes formerly dwelt on
the west side of the Mississippi. Along the banks of the Ohio, and
throughout the central valley, there are frequently found, at this
day, tumuli raised by the hands of men. On exploring these heaps of
earth to their centre, it is usual to meet with human bones, strange
instruments, arms and utensils of all kinds, made of metal, or
destined for purposes unknown to the present race. The Indians of
our time are unable to give any information relative to the history
of this unknown people. Neither did those who lived three hundred
years ago, when America was first discovered, leave any accounts
from which even an hypothesis could be formed. Tradition -- that
perishable, yet ever renewed monument of the pristine world --
throws no light upon the subject. It is an undoubted fact, however,
that in this part of the globe thousands of our fellow-beings had
lived. When they came hither, what was their origin, their destiny,
their history, and how they perished, no one can tell. How strange
does it appear that nations have existed, and afterwards so
completely disappeared from the earth that the remembrance of their
very names is effaced; their languages are lost; their glory is
vanished like a sound without an echo; though perhaps there is not
one which has not left behind it some tomb in memory of its passage!
The most durable monument of human labor is that which recalls the
wretchedness and nothingness of man.
Although the vast country which we have been describing was
inhabited by many indigenous tribes, it may justly be said at the
time of its discovery by Europeans to have formed one great desert.
The Indians occupied without possessing it. It is by agricultural
labor that man appropriates the soil, and the early inhabitants of
North America lived by the produce of the chase. Their implacable
prejudices, their uncontrolled passions, their vices, and still more
perhaps their savage virtues, consigned them to inevitable
destruction. The ruin of these nations began from the day when
Europeans landed on their shores; it has proceeded ever since, and
we are now witnessing the completion of it. They seem to have been
placed by Providence amidst the riches of the New World to enjoy
them for a season, and then surrender them. Those coasts, so
admirably adapted for commerce and industry; those wide and deep
rivers; that inexhaustible valley of the Mississippi; the whole
continent, in short, seemed prepared to be the abode of a great
nation, yet unborn.
In that land the great experiment was to be made, by civilized man,
of the attempt to construct society upon a new basis; and it was
there, for the first time, that theories hitherto unknown, or deemed
impracticable, were to exhibit a spectacle for which the world had
not been prepared by the history of the past.
Chapter 2 Origin of the Anglo-Americans, and its Importance in
Relation to Their Future Condition
Utility of knowing the origin of nations in order to understand
their social condition and their laws -- America the only country in
which the starting-point of a great people has been clearly
observable -- In what respects all who emigrated to British America
were similar -- In what they differed -- Remark applicable to all
Europeans who established themselves on the shores of the New World
-- Colonization of Virginia -- Colonization of New England --
Original character of the first inhabitants of New England -- their
arrival -- Their first laws -- Their social contract -- Penal code
borrowed from the Hebrew legislation -- Religious fervor --
Republican spirit -- Intimate union of the spirit of religion with
the spirit of liberty.
After the birth of a human being his early years are obscurely spent
in the toils or pleasures of childhood. As he grows up the world
receives him, when his manhood begins, and he enters into contact
with his fellows. He is then studied for the first time, and it is
imagined that the germ of the vices and the virtues of his maturer
years is then formed. This, if I am not mistaken, is a great error.
We must begin higher up; we must watch the infant in its mother's
arms; we must see the first images which the external world casts
upon the dark mirror of his mind; the first occurrences which he
witnesses; we must hear the first words which awaken the sleeping
powers of thought, and stand by his earliest efforts, if we would
understand the prejudices, the habits, and the passions which will
rule his life. The entire man is, so to speak, to be seen in the
cradle of the child.
The growth of nations presents something analogous to this: they all
bear some marks of their origin; and the circumstances which
accompanied their birth and contributed to their rise affect the
whole term of their being. If we were able to go back to the
elements of states, and to examine the oldest monuments of their
history, I doubt not that we should discover the primal cause of the
prejudices, the habits, the ruling passions, and, in short, of all
that constitutes what is called the national character; we should
then find the explanation of certain customs which now seem at
variance with the prevailing manners; of such laws as conflict with
established principles; and of such incoherent opinions as are here
and there to be met with in society, like those fragments of broken
chains which we sometimes see hanging from the vault of an edifice,
and supporting nothing. This might explain the destinies of certain
nations, which seem borne on by an unknown force to ends of which
they themselves are ignorant. But hitherto facts have been wanting
to researches of this kind: the spirit of inquiry has only come upon
communities in their latter days; and when they at length
contemplated their origin, time had already obscured it, or
ignorance and pride adorned it with truth-concealing fables.
America is the only country in which it has been possible to witness
the natural and tranquil growth of society, and where the influences
exercised on the future condition of states by their origin is
clearly distinguishable. At the period when the peoples of Europe
landed in the New World their national characteristics were already
completely formed; each of them had a physiognomy of its own; and as
they had already, attained that stage of civilization at which men
are led to study themselves, they have transmitted to us a faithful
picture of their opinions, their manners, and their laws. The men of
the sixteenth century are almost as well known to us as our
contemporaries. America, consequently, exhibits in the broad light
of day the phenomena which the ignorance or rudeness of earlier ages
conceals from our researches. Near enough to the time when the
states of America were founded, to be accurately acquainted with
their elements, and sufficiently removed from that period to judge
of some of their results, the men of our own day seem destined to
see further than their predecessors into the series of human events.
Providence has given us a torch which our forefathers did not
possess, and has allowed us to discern fundamental causes in the
history of the world which the obscurity of the past concealed from
them. If we carefully examine the social and political state of
America, after having studied its history, we shall remain perfectly
convinced that not an opinion, not a custom, not a law, I may even
say not an event, is upon record which the origin of that people
will not explain. The readers of this book will find the germ of all
that is to follow in the present chapter, and the key to almost the
whole work.
The emigrants who came, at different periods to occupy the territory
now covered by the American Union differed from each other in many
respects; their aim was not the same, and they governed themselves
on different principles. These men had, however, certain features in
common, and they were all placed in an analogous situation. The tie
of language is perhaps the strongest and the most durable that can
unite mankind. All the emigrants spoke the same tongue; they were
all offsets from the same people. Born in a country which had been
agitated for centuries by the struggles of faction, and in which all
parties had been obliged in their turn to place themselves under the
protection of the laws, their political education had been perfected
in this rude school, and they were more conversant with the notions
of right and the principles of true freedom than the greater part of
their European contemporaries. At the period of their first
emigrations the parish system, that fruitful germ of free
institutions, was deeply rooted in the habits of the English; and
with it the doctrine of the sovereignty of the people had been
introduced into the bosom of the monarchy of the House of Tudor.
The religious quarrels which have agitated the Christian world were
then rife. England had plunged into the new order of things with
headlong vehemence. The character of its inhabitants, which had
always been sedate and reflective, became argumentative and austere.
General information had been increased by intellectual debate, and
the mind had received a deeper cultivation. Whilst religion was the
topic of discussion, the morals of the people were reformed. All
these national features are more or less discoverable in the
physiognomy of those adventurers who came to seek a new home on the
opposite shores of the Atlantic.
Another remark, to which we shall hereafter have occasion to recur,
is applicable not only to the English, but to the French, the
Spaniards, and all the Europeans who successively established
themselves in the New World. All these European colonies contained
the elements, if not the development, of a complete democracy. Two
causes led to this result. It may safely be advanced, that on
leaving the mother-country the emigrants had in general no notion of
superiority over one another. The happy and the powerful do not go
into exile, and there are no surer guarantees of equality among men
than poverty and misfortune. It happened, however, on several
occasions, that persons of rank were driven to America by political
and religious quarrels. Laws were made to establish a gradation of
ranks; but it was soon found that the soil of America was opposed to
a territorial aristocracy. To bring that refractory land into
cultivation, the constant and interested exertions of the owner
himself were necessary; and when the ground was prepared, its
produce was found to be insufficient to enrich a master and a farmer
at the same time. The land was then naturally broken up into small
portions, which the proprietor cultivated for himself. Land is the
basis of an aristocracy, which clings to the soil that supports it;
for it is not by privileges alone, nor by birth, but by landed
property handed down from generation to generation, that an
aristocracy is constituted. A nation may present immense fortunes
and extreme wretchedness, but unless those fortunes are territorial
there is no aristocracy, but simply the class of the rich and that
of the poor.
All the British colonies had then a great degree of similarity at
the epoch of their settlement. All of them, from their first
beginning, seemed destined to witness the growth, not of the
aristocratic liberty of their mother-country, but of that freedom of
the middle and lower orders of which the history of the world had as
yet furnished no complete example.
In this general uniformity several striking differences were however
discernible, which it is necessary to point out. Two branches may be
distinguished in the Anglo-American family, which have hitherto
grown up without entirely commingling; the one in the South, the
other in the North.
Virginia received the first English colony; the emigrants took
possession of it in 1607. The idea that mines of gold and silver are
the sources of national wealth was at that time singularly prevalent
in Europe; a fatal delusion, which has done more to impoverish the
nations which adopted it, and has cost more lives in America, than
the united influence of war and bad laws. The men sent to Virginia
were seekers of gold, adventures, without resources and without
character, whose turbulent and restless spirit endangered the infant
colony, and rendered its progress uncertain. The artisans and
agriculturists arrived afterwards; and, alt ough they were a more
moral and orderly race of men, they were in nowise above the level
of the inferior classes in England. No lofty conceptions, no
intellectual system, directed the foundation of these new
settlements. The colony was scarcely established when slavery was
introduced, and this was the main circumstance which has exercised
so prodigious an influence on the character, the laws, and all the
future prospects of the South. Slavery, as we shall afterwards show,
dishonors labor; it introduces idleness into society, and with
idleness, ignorance and pride, luxury and distress. It enervates the
powers of the mind, and benumbs the activity of man. The influence
of slavery, united to the English character, explains the manners
and the social condition of the Southern States.
In the North, the same English foundation was modified by the most
opposite shades of character; and here I may be allowed to enter
into some details. The two or three main ideas which constitute the
basis of the social theory of the United States were first combined
in the Northern English colonies, more generally denominated the
States of New England. The principles of New England spread at first
to the neighboring states; they then passed successively to the more
distant ones; and at length they imbued the whole Confederation.
They now extend their influence beyond its limits over the whole
American world. The civilization of New England has been like a
beacon lit upon a hill, which, after it has diffused its warmth
around, tinges the distant horizon with its glow.
The foundation of New England was a novel spectacle, and all the
circumstances attending it were singular and original. The large
majority of colonies have been first inhabited either by men without
education and without resources, driven by their poverty and their
misconduct from the land which gave them birth, or by speculators
and adventurers greedy of gain. Some settlements cannot even boast
so honorable an origin; St. Domingo was founded by buccaneers; and
the criminal courts of England originally supplied the population of
Australia.
The settlers who established themselves on the shores of New England
all belonged to the more independent classes of their native
country. Their union on the soil of America at once presented the
singular phenomenon of a society containing neither lords nor common
people, neither rich nor poor. These men possessed, in proportion to
their number, a greater mass of intelligence than is to be found in
any European nation of our own time. All, without a single
exception, had received a good education, and many of them were
known in Europe for their talents and their acquirements. The other
colonies had been founded by adventurers without family; the
emigrants of New England brought with them the best elements of
order and morality -- they landed in the desert accompanied by their
wives and children. But what most especially distinguished them was
the aim of their undertaking. They had not been obliged by necessity
to leave their country; the social position they abandoned was one
to be regretted, and their means of subsistence were certain. Nor
did they cross the Atlantic to improve their situation or to
increase their wealth; the call which summoned them from the
comforts of their homes was purely intellectual; and in facing the
inevitable sufferings of exile their object was the triumph of an
idea.
The emigrants, or, as they deservedly styled themselves, the
Pilgrims, belonged to that English sect the austerity of whose
principles had acquired for them the name of Puritans. Puritanism
was not merely a religious doctrine, but it corresponded in many
points with the most absolute democratic and republican theories. It
was this tendency which had aroused its most dangerous adversaries.
Persecuted by the Government of the mother-country, and disgusted by
the habits of a society opposed to the rigor of their own
principles, the Puritans went forth to seek some rude and
unfrequented part of the world, where they could live according to
their Own opinions, and worship God in freedom.
A few quotations will throw more light upon the spirit of these
pious adventurers than all we can say of them. Nathaniel Morton, the
historian of the first years of the settlement, thus opens his
subject:
"Gentle Reader, -- I have for some length of time looked upon it as
a duty incumbent, especially on the immediate successors of those
that have had so large experience of those many memorable and signal
demonstrations of God's goodness, viz., the first beginners of this
Plantation in New England, to commit to writing his gracious
dispensations on that behalf; having so many inducements thereunto,
not onely otherwise but so plentifully in the Sacred Scriptures:
that so, what we have seen, and what our fathers have told us (Psalm
lxxviii. 3, 4), we may not hide from our children, showing to the
generations to come the praises of the Lord; that especially the
seed of Abraham his servant, and the children of Jacob his chosen
(Psalm cv. 5, 6), may remember his marvellous works in the beginning
and progress of the planting of New England, his wonders and the
judgments of his mouth; how that God brought a vine into this
wilderness; that he cast out the heathen, and planted it; that he
made room for it and caused it to take deep root; and it filled the
land (Psalm lxxx. 8, 9). And not onely so, but also that he hath
guided his people by his strength to his holy habitation and planted
them in the mountain of his inheritance in respect of precious
Gospel enjoyments: and that as especially God may have the glory of
all unto whom it is most due; so also some rays of glory may reach
the names of those blessed Saints that were the main instruments and
the beginning of this happy enterprise."
It is impossible to read this opening paragraph without an
involuntary feeling of religious awe; it breathes the very savor of
Gospel antiquity. The sincerity of the author heightens his power of
language. The band which to his eyes was a mere party of adventurers
gone forth to seek their fortune beyond seas appears to the reader
as the germ of a great nation wafted by Providence to a predestined
shore.
The author thus continues his narrative of the departure of the
first pilgrim: --
"So they left that goodly and pleasant city of Leyden, which had
been their resting-place for above eleven years; but they knew that
they were pilgrims and strangers here below, and looked not much on
these things, but lifted up their eyes to Heaven, their dearest
country, where God hath prepared for them a city (Heb. xi. 16), and
therein quieted their spirits. When they came to Delfs-Haven they
found the ship and all things ready; and such of their friends as
could not come with them followed after them, and sundry came from
Amsterdam to see them shipt, and to take their leaves of them. One
night was spent with little sleep with the most, but with friendly
entertainment and Christian discourse, and other real expressions of
true Christian love. The next day they went on board, and their
friends with them, where truly doleful was the sight of that sad and
mournful parting, to hear what sighs and sobs and prayers did sound
amongst them; what tears did gush from every eye, and pithy speeches
pierced each other's heart, that sundry of the Dutch strangers that
stood on the Key as spectators could not refrain from tears. But the
tide (which stays for no man) calling them away, that were thus loth
to depart, their Reverend Pastor falling down on his knees, and they
all with him, with watery cheeks commended them with most fervent
prayers unto the Lord and his blessing; and then, with mutual
embraces and many tears they took their leaves one of another, which
proved to be the last leave to many of them."
The emigrants were about 150 in number, including the women and the
children. Their object was to plant a colony on the shares of the
Hudson; but after having been driven about for some time in the
Atlantic Ocean, they were forced to land on that arid coast of New
England which is now the site of the town of Plymouth. The rock is
still shown on which the pilgrims disembarked.
"But before we pass on," continues our historian, "let the reader
with me make a pause and seriously consider this poor people's
present condition, the more to be raised up to admiration of God's
goodness towards them in their preservation: for being now passed
the vast ocean, and, a sea of troubles before them in expectation,
they had now no friends to welcome them, no inns to entertain or
refresh them, no houses, or much less towns to repair unto to seek
for succour: and for the season it was winter, and they that know
the winters of the country know them to be sharp and violent,
subject to cruel and fierce storms, dangerous to travel to known
places, much more to search unknown coasts. Besides, what could they
see but a hideous and desolate wilderness, full of wilde beasts, and
wilde men? and what multitudes of them there were, they then knew
not: for which way soever they turned their eyes (save upward to
Heaven) they could have but little solace or content in respect of
any outward object; for summer being ended, all things stand in
appearance with a weather-beaten face, and the whole country full of
woods and thickets, represented a wild and savage hew; if they
looked behind them, there was the mighty ocean which they had
passed, and was now as a main bar or gulph to separate them from all
the civil parts of the world."
It must not be imagined that the piety of the Puritans was of a
merely speculative kind, or that it took no cognizance of the course
of worldly affairs. Puritanism, as I have already remarked, was
scarcely less a political than a religious doctrine. No sooner had
the emigrants landed on the barren coast described by Nathaniel
Morton than it was their first care to constitute a society, by
passing the following Act:
"In the name of God. Amen. We, whose names are under-written, the
loyal subjects of our dread Sovereign Lord King James, etc., etc.,
Having undertaken for the glory of God, and advancement of the
Christian Faith, and the honour of our King and country, a voyage to
plant the first colony in the northern parts of Virginia; Do by
these presents solemnly and mutually, in the presence of God and one
another, covenant and combine ourselves together into a civil body
politick, for our better ordering and preservation, and furtherance
of the ends aforesaid: and by virtue hereof do enact, constitute and
frame such just and equal laws, ordinances, acts, constitutions, and
officers, from time to time, as shall be thought most meet and
convenient for the general good of the Colony: unto which we promise
all due submission and obedience," etc.
This happened in 1620, and from that time forwards the emigration
went on. The religious and political passions which ravaged the
British Empire during the whole reign of Charles I drove fresh
crowds of sectarians every year to the shores of America. In England
the stronghold of Puritanism was in the middle classes, and it was
from the middle classes that the majority of the emigrants came. The
population of New England increased rapidly; and whilst the
hierarchy of rank despotically classed the inhabitants of the
mother-country, the colony continued to present the novel spectacle
of a community homogeneous in all its parts. A democracy, more
perfect than any which antiquity had dreamt of, started in full size
and panoply from the midst of an ancient feudal society.
The English Government was not dissatisfied with an emigration which
removed the elements of fresh discord and of further revolutions. On
the contrary, everything was done to encourage it, and great
exertions were made to mitigate the hardships of those who sought a
shelter from the rigor of their country's laws on the soil of
America. It seemed as if New England was a region given up to the
dreams of fancy and the unrestrained experiments of innovators.
The English colonies (and this is one of the main causes of their
prosperity) have always enjoyed more internal freedom and more
political independence than the colonies of other nations; but this
principle of liberty was nowhere more extensively applied than in
the States of New England.
It was generally allowed at that period that the territories of the
New World belonged to that European nation which had been the first
to discover them. Nearly the whole coast of North America thus
became a British possession towards the end of the sixteenth
century. The means used by the English Government to people these
new domains were of several kinds; the King sometimes appointed a
governor of his own choice, who ruled a portion of the New World in
the name and under the immediate orders of the Crown; this is the
colonial system adopted by other countries of Europe. Sometimes
grants of certain tracts were made by the Crown to an individual or
to a company, in which case all the civil and political power fell
into the hands of one or more persons, who, under the inspection and
control of the Crown, sold the lands and governed the inhabitants.
Lastly, a third system consisted in allowing a certain number of
emigrants to constitute a political society under the protection of
the mother-country, and to govern themselves in whatever was not
contrary to her laws. This mode of colonization, so remarkably
favorable to liberty, was only adopted in New England.
In 1628 a charter of this kind was granted by Charles I to the
emigrants who went to form the colony of Massachusetts. But, in
general, charters were not given to the colonies of New England till
they had acquired a certain existence. Plymouth, Providence, New
Haven, the State of Connecticut, and that of Rhode Island were
founded without the co-operation and almost without the knowledge of
the mother-country. The new settlers did not derive their
incorporation from the seat of the empire, although they did not
deny its supremacy; they constituted a society of their own accord,
and it was not till thirty or forty years afterwards, under Charles
II that their existence was legally recognized by a royal charter.
This frequently renders it difficult to detect the link which
connected the emigrants with the land of their forefathers in
studying the earliest historical and legislative records of New
England. They exercised the rights of sovereignty; they named their
magistrates, concluded peace or declared war, made police
regulations, and enacted laws as if their allegiance was due only to
God. Nothing can be more curious and, at the same time more
instructive, than the legislation of that period; it is there that
the solution of the great social problem which the United States now
present to the world is to be found.
Amongst these documents we shall notice, as especially
characteristic, the code of laws promulgated by the little State of
Connecticut in 1650. The legislators of Connecticut begin with the
penal laws, and, strange to say, they borrow their provisions from
the text of Holy Writ. "Whosoever shall worship any other God than
the Lord," says the preamble of the Code, "shall surely be put to
death." This is followed by ten or twelve enactments of the same
kind, copied verbatim from the books of Exodus, Leviticus, and
Deuteronomy. Blasphemy, sorcery, adultery, and rape were punished
with death; an outrage offered by a son to his parents was to be
expiated by the same penalty. The legislation of a rude and
half-civilized people was thus applied to an enlightened and moral
community. The consequence was that the punishment of death was
never more frequently prescribed by the statute, and never more
rarely enforced towards the guilty.
The chief care of the legislators, in this body of penal laws, was
the maintenance of orderly conduct and good morals in the community:
they constantly invaded the domain of conscience, and there was
scarcely a sin which was not subject to magisterial censure. The
reader is aware of the rigor with which these laws punished rape and
adultery; intercourse between unmarried persons was likewise
severely repressed. The judge was empowered to inflict a pecuniary
penalty, a whipping, or marriage on the misdemeanants; and if the
records of the old courts of New Haven may be believed, prosecutions
of this kind were not unfrequent. We find a sentence bearing date
the first of May, 1660, inflicting a fine and reprimand on a young
woman who was accused of using improper language, and of allowing
herself to be kissed. The Code of 1650 abounds in preventive
measures. It punishes idleness and drunkenness with severity.
Innkeepers are forbidden to furnish more than a certain quantity of
liquor to each consumer; and simple lying, whenever it may be
injurious, is checked by a fine or a flogging. In other places, the
legislator, entirely forgetting the great principles of religious
toleration which he had himself upheld in Europe, renders attendance
on divine service compulsory, and goes so far as to visit with
severe punishment, and even with death, the Christians who chose to
worship God according to a ritual differing from his own. Sometimes
indeed the zeal of his enactments induces him to descend to the most
frivolous particulars: thus a law is to be found in the same Code
which prohibits the use of tobacco. It must not be forgotten that
these fantastical and vexatious laws were not imposed by authority,
but that they were freely voted by all the persons interested, and
that the manners of the community were even more austere and more
puritanical than the laws. In 1649 a solemn association was formed
in Boston to check the worldly luxury of long hair.
These errors are no doubt discreditable to human reason; they attest
the inferiority of our nature, which is incapable of laying firm
hold upon what is true and just, and is often reduced to the
alternative of two excesses. In strict connection with this penal
legislation, which bears such striking marks of a narrow sectarian
spirit, and of those religious passions which had been warmed by
persecution and were still fermenting among the people, a body of
political laws is to be found, which, though written two hundred
years ago, is still ahead of the liberties of our age. The general
principles which are the groundwork of modern constitutions --
principles which were imperfectly known in Europe, and not
completely triumphant even in Great Britain, in the seventeenth
century -- were all recognized and determined by the laws of New
England: the intervention of the people in public affairs, the free
voting of taxes, the responsibility of authorities, personal
liberty, and trial by jury, were all positively established without
discussion. From these fruitful principles consequences have been
derived and applications have been made such as no nation in Europe
has yet ventured to attempt.
In Connecticut the electoral body consisted, from its origin, of the
whole number of citizens; and this is readily to be understood, when
we recollect that this people enjoyed an almost perfect equality of
fortune, and a still greater uniformity of opinions. In Connecticut,
at this period, all the executive functionaries were elected,
including the Governor of the State. The citizens above the age of
sixteen were obliged to bear arms; they formed a national militia,
which appointed its own officers, and was to hold itself at all
times in readiness to march for the defence of the country.
In the laws of Connecticut, as well as in all those of New England,
we find the germ and gradual development of that township
independence which is the life and mainspring of American liberty at
the present day. The political existence of the majority of the
nations of Europe commenced in the Superior ranks of society, and
was gradually and imperfectly communicated to the different members
of the social body. In America, on the other hand, it may be said
that the township was organized before the county, the county before
the State, the State before the Union. In New England townships were
completely and definitively constituted as early as 1650. The
independence of the township was the nucleus round which the local
interests, passions, rights, and duties collected and clung. It gave
scope to the activity of a real political life most thoroughly who
democratic and republican. The colonies still recognized the
supremacy of the mother-country; monarchy was still the law of the
State; but the republic was already established in every township.
The towns named their own magistrates of every kind, rated
themselves, and levied their own taxes. In the parish of New England
the law of representation was not adopted, but the affairs of the
community were discussed, as at Athens, in the market-place, by a
general assembly of the citizens.
In studying the laws which were promulgated at this first era of the
American republics, it is impossible not to be struck by the
remarkable acquaintance with the science of government and the
advanced theory of legislation which they display. The ideas there
formed of the duties of society towards its members are evidently
much loftier and more comprehensive than those of the European
legislators at that time: obligations were there imposed which were
elsewhere slighted. In the States of New England, from the first,
the condition of the poor was provided for; strict measures were
taken for the maintenance of roads, and surveyors were appointed to
attend to them; registers were established in every parish, in which
the results of public deliberations, and the births, deaths, and
marriages of the citizens were entered; clerks were directed to keep
these registers; officers were charged with the administration of
vacant inheritances, and with the arbitration of litigated
landmarks; and many others were created whose chief functions were
the maintenance of public order in the community. The law enters
into a thousand useful provisions for a number of social wants which
are at present very inadequately felt in France.
But it is by the attention it pays to Public Education that the
original character of American civilization is at once placed in the
clearest light. "It being," says the law, "one chief project of
Satan to keep men from the knowledge of the Scripture by persuading
from the use of tongues, to the end that learning may not be buried
in the graves of our forefathers, in church and commonwealth, the
Lord assisting our endeavors..." Here follow clauses establishing
schools in every township, and obliging the inhabitants, under pain
of heavy fines, to support them. Schools of a superior kind were
founded in the same manner in the more populous districts. The
municipal authorities were bound to enforce the sending of children
to school by their parents; they were empowered to inflict fines
upon all who refused compliance; and in case of continued resistance
society assumed the place of the parent, took possession of the
child, and deprived the father of those natural rights which he used
to so bad a purpose. The reader will undoubtedly have remarked the
preamble of these enactments: in America religion is the road to
knowledge, and the observance of the divine laws leads man to civil
freedom.
If, after having cast a rapid glance over the state of American
society in 1650, we turn to the condition of Europe, and more
especially to that of the Continent, at the same period, we cannot
fail to be struck with astonishment. On the Continent of Europe, at
the beginning of the seventeenth century, absolute monarchy had
everywhere triumphed over the ruins of the oligarchical and feudal
liberties of the Middle Ages. Never were the notions of right more
completely confounded than in the midst of the splendor and
literature of Europe; never was there less political activity among
the people; never were the principles of true freedom less widely
circulated; and at that very time those principles, which were
scorned or unknown by the nations of Europe, were proclaimed in the
deserts of the New World, and were accepted as the future creed of a
great people. The boldest theories of the human reason were put into
practice by a community so humble that not a statesman condescended
to attend to it; and a legislation without a precedent was produced
offhand by the imagination of the citizens. In the bosom of this
obscure democracy, which had as yet brought forth neither generals,
nor philosophers, nor authors, a man might stand up in the face of a
free people and pronounce the following fine definition of liberty.
"Nor would I have you to mistake in the point of your own liberty.
There is a liberty of a corrupt nature which is effected both by men
and beasts to do what they list, and this liberty is inconsistent
with authority, impatient of all restraint; by this liberty `summus
omnes deteriores': `tis the grand enemy of truth and peace, and all
the ordinances of God are bent against it. But there is a civil, a
moral, a federal liberty which is the proper end and object of
authority; it is a liberty for that only which is lust and good: for
this liberty you are to stand with the hazard of your very lives and
whatsoever crosses it is not authority, but a distemper thereof.
This liberty is maintained in a way of subjection to authority; and
the authority set over you will, in all administrations for your
good, be quietly submitted unto by all but such as have a
disposition to shake off the yoke and lose their true liberty, by
their murmuring at the honor and power of authority."
The remarks I have made will suffice to display the character of
Anglo-American civilization in its true light. It is the result and
this should be constantly present to the mind of two distinct
elements, which in other places have been in frequent hostility, but
which in America have been admirably incorporated and combined with
one another. I allude to the spirit of Religion and flee spirit of
Liberty.
The settlers of New England were at the same time ardent sectarians
and daring innovators. Narrow as the limits of some of their
religious opinions were, they were entirely free from political
prejudices. Hence arose two tendencies, distinct but not opposite,
which are constantly discernible in the manners as well as in the
laws of the country.
It might be imagined that men who sacrificed their friends, their
family, and their native land to a religious conviction were
absorbed in the pursuit of the intellectual advantages which they
purchased at so dear a rate. The energy, however, with which they
strove for the acquirement of wealth, moral enjoyment, and the
comforts as well as liberties of the world, is scarcely inferior to
that with which they devoted themselves to Heaven.
Political principles and all human laws and institutions were
moulded and altered at their pleasure; the barriers of the society
in which they were born were broken down before them; the old
principles which had governed the world for ages were no more; a
path without a turn and a field without an horizon were opened to
the exploring and ardent curiosity of man: but at the limits of the
political world he checks his researches, he discreetly lays aside
the use of his most formidable faculties, he no longer consents to
doubt or to innovate, but carefully abstaining from raising the
curtain of the sanctuary, he yields with submissive respect to
truths which he will not discuss. Thus, in the moral world
everything is classed, adapted, decided, and foreseen; in the
political world everything is agitated, uncertain, and disputed: in
the one is a passive, though a voluntary, obedience; in the other an
independence scornful of experience and jealous of authority.
These two tendencies, apparently so discrepant, are far from
conflicting; they advance together, and mutually support each other.
Religion perceives that civil liberty affords a noble exercise to
the faculties of man, and that the political world is a field
prepared by the Creator for the efforts of the intelligence.
Contented with the freedom and the power which it enjoys in its own
sphere, and with the place which it occupies, the empire of religion
is never more surely established than when it reigns in the hearts
of men unsupported by aught beside its native strength. Religion is
no less the companion of liberty in all its battles and its
triumphs; the cradle of its infancy, and the divine source of its
claims. The safeguard of morality is religion, and morality is the
best security of law and the surest pledge of freedom.
Reasons of Certain Anomalies Which the Laws and Customs of the
Anglo-Americans Present
Remains of aristocratic institutions in the midst of a complete
democracy -- Why? -- Distinction carefully to be drawn between what
is of Puritanical and what is of English origin.
The reader is cautioned not to draw too general or too absolute an
inference from what has been said. The social condition, the
religion, and the manners of the first emigrants undoubtedly
exercised an immense influence on the destiny of their new country.
Nevertheless they were not in a situation to found a state of things
solely dependent on themselves: no man can entirely shake off the
influence of the past, and the settlers, intentionally or
involuntarily, mingled habits and notions derived from their
education and from the traditions of their country with those habits
and notions which were exclusively their own. To form a judgment on
the Anglo-Americans of the present day it is therefore necessary to
distinguish what is of Puritanical and what is of English origin.
Laws and customs are frequently to be met with in the United States
which contrast strongly with all that surrounds them. These laws
seem to be drawn up in a spirit contrary to the prevailing tenor of
the American legislation; and these customs are no less opposed to
the tone of society. If the English colonies had been founded in an
age of darkness, or if their origin was already lost in the lapse of
years, the problem would be insoluble.
I shall quote a single example to illustrate what I advance. The
civil and criminal procedure of the Americans has only two means of
action -- committal and bail. The first measure taken by the
magistrate is to exact security from the defendant, or, in case of
refusal, to incarcerate him: the ground of the accusation and the
importance of the charges against him are then discussed. It is
evident that a legislation of this kind is hostile to the poor man,
and favorable only to the rich. The poor man has not always a
security to produce, even in a civil cause; and if he is obliged to
wait for justice in prison, he is speedily reduced to distress. The
wealthy individual, on the contrary, always escapes imprisonment in
civil causes; nay, more, he may readily elude the punishment which
awaits him for a delinquency by breaking his bail. So that all the
penalties of the law are, for him, reducible to fines. Nothing can
be more aristocratic than this system of legislation. Yet in America
it is the poor who make the law, and they usually reserve the
greatest social advantages to themselves. The explanation of the
phenomenon is to be found in England; the laws of which I speak are
English, and the Americans have retained them, however repugnant
they may be to the tenor of their legislation and the mass of their
ideas. Next to its habits, the thing which a nation is least apt to
change is its civil legislation. Civil laws are only familiarly
known to legal men, whose direct interest it is to maintain them as
they are, whether good or bad, simply because they themselves are
conversant with them. The body of the nation is scarcely acquainted
with them; it merely perceives their action in particular cases; but
it has some difficulty in seizing their tendency, and obeys them
without premeditation. I have quoted one instance where it would
have been easy to adduce a great number of others. The surface of
American society is, if I may use the expression, covered with a
layer of democracy, from beneath which the old aristocratic colors
sometimes peep.
Chapter 3 Social Condition of the Anglo-Americans
SOCIAL condition is commonly the result of circumstances, sometimes
of laws, oftener still of these two causes united; but wherever it
exists, it may justly be considered as the source of almost all the
laws, the usages, and the ideas which regulate the conduct of
nations; whatever it does not produce it modifies. It is therefore
necessary, if we would become acquainted with the legislation and
the manners of a nation, to begin by the study of its social
condition.
The Striking Characteristic of the Social Condition of the
Anglo-Americans in its Essential Democracy
The first emigrants of New England -- Their equality -- Aristocratic
laws introduced in the South -- Period of the Revolution -- Change
in the law of descent -- Effects produced by this change --
Democracy carried to its utmost limits in the new States of the West
-- Equality of education.
Many important observations suggest themselves upon the social
condition of the Anglo-Americans, but there is one which takes
precedence of all the rest. The social condition of the Americans is
eminently democratic; this was its character at the foundation of
the Colonies, and is still more strongly marked at the present day.
I have stated in the preceding chapter that great equality existed
among the emigrants who settled on the shores of New England. The
germ of aristocracy was never planted in that part of the Union. The
only influence which obtained there was that of intellect; the
people were used to reverence certain names as the emblems of
knowledge and virtue. Some of their fellow-citizens acquired a power
over the rest which might truly have been called aristocratic, if it
had been capable of transmission from father to son.
This was the state of things to the east of the Hudson: to the
south-west of that river, and in the direction of the Floridas, the
case was different. In most of the States situated to the south-west
of the Hudson some great English proprietors had settled, who had
imported with them aristocratic principles and the English law of
descent. I have explained the reasons why it was impossible ever to
establish a powerful aristocracy in America; these reasons existed
with less force to the south-west of the Hudson. In the South, one
man, aided by slaves, could cultivate a great extent of country: it
was therefore common to see rich landed proprietors. But their
influence was not altogether aristocratic as that term is understood
in Europe, since they possessed no privileges; and the cultivation
of their estates being carried on by slaves, they had no tenants
depending on them, and consequently no patronage. Still, the great
proprietors south of the Hudson constituted a superior class, having
ideas and tastes of its own, and forming the centre of political
action. This kind of aristocracy sympathized with the body of the
people, whose passions and interests it easily embraced; but it was
too weak and too short-lived to excite either love or hatred for
itself. This was the class which headed the insurrection in the
South, and furnished the best leaders of the American revolution.
At the period of which we are now speaking society was shaken to its
centre: the people, in whose name the struggle had taken place,
conceived the desire of exercising the authority which it had
acquired; its democratic tendencies were awakened; and having thrown
off the yoke of the mother-country, it aspired to independence of
every kind. The influence of individuals gradually ceased to be
felt, and custom and law united together to produce the same result.
But the law of descent was the last step to equality. I am surprised
that ancient and modern jurists have not attributed to this law a
greater influence on human affairs. It is true that these laws
belong to civil affairs; but they ought nevertheless to be placed at
the head of all political institutions; for, whilst political laws
are only the symbol of a nation's condition, they exercise an
incredible influence upon its social state. They have, moreover, a
sure and uniform manner of operating upon society, affecting, as it
were, generations yet unborn.
Through their means man acquires a kind of preternatural power over
the future lot of his fellow-creatures. When the legislator has
regulated the law of inheritance, he may rest from his labor. The
machine once put in motion will go on for ages, and advance, as if
self-guided, towards a given point. When framed in a particular
manner, this law unites, draws together, and vests property and
power in a few hands: its tendency is clearly aristocratic. On
opposite principles its action is still more rapid; it divides,
distributes, and disperses both property and power. Alarmed by the
rapidity of its progress, those who despair of arresting its motion
endeavor to obstruct it by difficulties and impediments; they vainly
seek to counteract its effect by contrary efforts; but it gradually
reduces or destroys every obstacle, until by its incessant activity
the bulwarks of the influence of wealth are ground down to the fine
and shifting sand which is the basis of democracy. When the law of
inheritance permits, still more when it decrees, the equal division
of a father's property amongst all his children, its effects are of
two kinds: it is important to distinguish them from each other,
although they tend to the same end.
In virtue of the law of partible inheritance, the death of every
proprietor brings about a kind of revolution in property; not only
do his possessions change hands, but their very nature is altered,
since they are parcelled into shares, which become smaller and
smaller at each division. This is the direct and, as it were, the
physical effect of the law. It follows, then, that in countries
where equality of inheritance is established by law, property, and
especially landed property, must have a tendency to perpetual
diminution. The effects, however, of such legislation would only be
perceptible after a lapse of time, if the law was abandoned to its
own working; for supposing the family to consist of two children
(and in a country peopled as France is the average number is not
above three), these children, sharing amongst them the fortune of
both parents, would not be poorer than their father or mother.
But the law of equal division exercises its influence not merely
upon the property itself, but it affects the minds of the heirs, and
brings their passions into play. These indirect consequences tend
powerfully to the destruction of large fortunes, and especially of
large domains. Among nations whose law of descent is founded upon
the right of primogeniture landed estates often pass from generation
to generation without undergoing division, the consequence of which
is that family feeling is to a certain degree incorporated with the
estate. The family represents the estate, the estate the family;
whose name, together with its origin, its glory, its power, and its
virtues, is thus perpetuated in an imperishable memorial of the past
and a sure pledge of the future.
When the equal partition of property is established by law, the
intimate connection is destroyed between family feeling and the
preservation of the paternal estate; the property ceases to
represent the family; for as it must inevitably be divided after one
or two generations, it has evidently a constant tendency to
diminish, and must in the end be completely dispersed. The sons of
the great landed proprietor, if they are few in number, or if
fortune befriends them, may indeed entertain the hope of being as
wealthy as their father, but not that of possessing the same
property as he did; the riches must necessarily be composed of
elements different from his.
Now, from the moment that you divest the landowner of that interest
in the preservation of his estate which he derives from association,
from tradition, and from family pride, you may be certain that
sooner or later he will dispose of it; for there is a strong
pecuniary interest in favor of selling, as floating capital produces
higher interest than real property, and is more readily available to
gratify the passions of the moment.
Great landed estates which have once been divided never come
together again; for the small proprietor draws from his land a
better revenue, in proportion, than the large owner does from his,
and of course he sells it at a higher rate. The calculations of
gain, therefore, which decide the rich man to sell his domain will
still more powerfully influence him against buying small estates to
unite them into a large one.
What is called family pride is often founded upon an illusion of
self-love. A man wishes to perpetuate and immortalize himself, as it
were, in his great-grandchildren. Where the esprit de famille ceases
to act individual selfishness comes into play. When the idea of
family becomes vague, indeterminate, and uncertain, a man thinks of
his present convenience; he provides for the establishment of his
succeeding generation, and no more. Either a man gives up the idea
of perpetuating his family, or at any rate he seeks to accomplish it
by other means than that of a landed estate. Thus not only does the
law of partible inheritance render it difficult for families to
preserve their ancestral domains entire, but it deprives them of the
inclination to attempt it, and compels them in some measure to
co-operate with the law in their own extinction.
The law of equal distribution proceeds by two methods: by acting
upon things, it acts upon persons; by influencing persons, it
affects things. By these means the law succeeds in striking at the
root of landed property, and dispersing rapidly both families and
fortunes.
Most certainly it is not for us Frenchmen of the nineteenth century,
who daily witness the political and social changes which the law of
partition is bringing to pass, to question its influence. It is
perpetually conspicuous in our country, overthrowing the walls of
our dwellings and removing the landmarks of our fields. But although
it has produced great effects in France, much still remains for it
to do. Our recollections, opinions, and habits present powerful
obstacles to its progress.
In the United States it has nearly completed its work of
destruction, and there we can best study its results. The English
laws concerning the transmission of property were abolished in
almost all the States at the time of the Revolution. The law of
entail was so modified as not to interrupt the free circulation of
property. The first generation having passed away, estates began to
be parcelled out, and the change became more and more rapid with the
progress of time. At this moment, after a lapse of a little more
than sixty years, the aspect of society is totally altered; the
families of the great landed proprietors are almost all commingled
with the general mass. In the State of New York, which formerly
contained many of these, there are but two who still keep their
heads above the stream, and they must shortly disappear. The sons of
these opulent citizens are become merchants, lawyers, or physicians.
Most of them have lapsed into obscurity. The last trace of
hereditary ranks and distinctions is destroyed -- the law of
partition has reduced all to one level.
I do not mean that there is any deficiency of wealthy individuals in
the United States; I know of no country, indeed, where the love of
money has taken stronger hold on the affections of men, and where
the profounder contempt is expressed for the theory of the permanent
equality of property. But wealth circulates with inconceivable
rapidity, and experience shows that it is rare to find two
succeeding generations in the full enjoyment of it.
This picture, which may perhaps be thought to be over-charged, still
gives a very imperfect idea of what is taking place in the new
States of the West and South-west. At the end of the last century a
few bold adventurers began to penetrate into the valleys of the
Mississippi, and the mass of the population very soon began to move
in that direction: communities unheard of till then were seen to
emerge from the wilds: States whose names were not in existence a
few years before claimed their place in the American Union; and in
the Western settlements we may behold democracy arrived at its
utmost extreme. In these States, founded off-hand, and, as it were,
by chance, the inhabitants are but of yesterday. Scarcely known to
one another, the nearest neighbors are ignorant of each other's
history. In this part of the American continent, therefore, the
population has not experienced the influence of great names and
great wealth, nor even that of the natural aristocracy of knowledge
and virtue. None are there to wield that respectable power which men
willingly grant to the remembrance of a life spent in doing good
before their eyes. The new States of the West are already inhabited,
but society has no existence among them.
It is not only the fortunes of men which are equal in America; even
their requirements partake in some degree of the same uniformity. I
do not believe that there is a country in the world where, in
proportion to the population, there are so few uninstructed and at
the same time so few learned individuals. Primary instruction is
within the reach of everybody; superior instruction is scarcely to
be obtained by any. This is not surprising; it is in fact the
necessary consequence of what we have advanced above. Almost all the
Americans are in easy circumstances, and can therefore obtain the
first elements of human knowledge.
In America there are comparatively few who are rich enough to live
without a profession. Every profession requires an apprenticeship,
which limits the time of instruction to the early years of life. At
fifteen they enter upon their calling, and thus their education ends
at the age when ours begins. Whatever is done afterwards is with a
view to some special and lucrative object; a science is taken up as
a matter of business, and the only branch of it which is attended to
is such as admits of an immediate practical application. In America
most of the rich men were formerly poor; most of those who now enjoy
leisure were absorbed in business during their youth; the
consequence of which is, that when they might have had a taste for
study they had no time for it, and when time is at their disposal
they have no longer the inclination.
There is no class, then, in America, in which the taste for
intellectual pleasures is transmitted with hereditary fortune and
leisure, and by which the labors of the intellect are held in honor.
Accordingly there is an equal want of the desire and the power of
application to these objects.
A middle standard is fixed in America for human knowledge. All
approach as near to it as they can; some as they rise, others as
they descend. Of course, an immense multitude of persons are to be
found who entertain the same number of ideas on religion, history,
science, political economy, legislation, and government. The gifts
of intellect proceed directly from God, and man cannot prevent their
unequal distribution. But in consequence of the state of things
which we have here represented it happens that, although the
capacities of men are widely different, as the Creator has doubtless
intended they should be, they are submitted to the same method of
treatment.
In America the aristocratic element has always been feeble from its
birth; and if at the present day it is not actually destroyed, it is
at any rate so completely disabled that we can scarcely assign to it
any degree of influence in the course of affairs. The democratic
principle, on the contrary, has gained so much strength by time, by
events, and by legislation, as to have become not only predominant
but all-powerful. There is no family or corporate authority, and it
is rare to find even the influence of individual character enjoy any
durability.
America, then, exhibits in her social state a most extraordinary
phenomenon. Men are there seen on a greater equality in point of
fortune and intellect, or, in other words, more equal in their
strength, than in any other country of the world, or in any age of
which history has preserved the remembrance.
Political Consequences of the Social Condition of the
Anglo-Americans
The political consequences of such a social condition as this are
easily deducible. It is impossible to believe that equality will not
eventually find its way into the political world as it does
everywhere else. To conceive of men remaining forever unequal upon
one single point, yet equal on all others, is impossible; they must
come in the end to be equal upon all. Now I know of only two methods
of establishing equality in the political world; every citizen must
be put in possession of his rights, or rights must be granted to no
one. For nations which are arrived at the same stage of social
existence as the Anglo-Americans, it is therefore very difficult to
discover a medium between the sovereignty of all and the absolute
power of one man: and it would be vain to deny that the social
condition which I have been describing is equally liable to each of
these consequences.
There is, in fact, a manly and lawful passion for equality which
excites men to wish all to be powerful and honored. This passion
tends to elevate the humble to the rank of the great; but there
exists also in the human heart a depraved taste for equality, which
impels the weak to attempt to lower the powerful to their own level,
and reduces men to prefer equality in slavery to inequality with
freedom. Not that those nations whose social condition is democratic
naturally despise liberty; on the contrary, they have an instinctive
love of it. But liberty is not the chief and constant object of
their desires; equality is their idol: they make rapid and sudden
efforts to obtain liberty, and if they miss their aim resign
themselves to their disappointment; but nothing can satisfy them
except equality, and rather than lose it they resolve to perish.
On the other hand, in a State where the citizens are nearly on an
equality, it becomes difficult for them to preserve their
independence against the aggressions of power. No one among them
being strong enough to engage in the struggle with advantage,
nothing but a general combination can protect their liberty. And
such a union is not always to be found.
From the same social position, then, nations may derive one or the
other of two great political results; these results are extremely
different from each other, but they may both proceed from the same
cause.
The Anglo-Americans are the first nations who, having been exposed
to this formidable alternative, have been happy enough to escape the
dominion of absolute power. They have been allowed by their
circumstances, their origin, their intelligence, and especially by
their moral feeling, to establish and maintain the sovereignty of
the people.
Chapter 4 The Principle of the Sovereignty of the People in America
It predominates over the whole of society in America -- Application
made of this principle by the Americans even before their Revolution
-- Development given to it by that Revolution -- Gradual and
irresistible extension of the elective qualification.
WHENEVER the political laws of the United States are be discussed,
it is with the doctrine of the sovereignty of the people that we
must begin. The principle of the sovereignty of the people, which is
to be found, more or less, at the bottom of almost all human
institutions, generally remains concealed from view. It is obeyed
without being recognized, or if for a moment it be brought to light,
it is hastily cast back into the gloom of the sanctuary. "The will
of the nation" is one of those expressions which have been most
profusely abused by the wily and the despotic of every age. To the
eyes of some it has been represented by the venal suffrages of a few
of the satellites of power; to others by the votes of a timid or an
interested minority; and some have even discovered it in the silence
of a people, on the supposition that the fact of submission
established the right of command.
In America the principle of the sovereignty of the people is not
either barren or concealed, as it is with some other nations; It is
recognized by the customs and proclaimed by the laws; it spreads
freely, and arrives without impediment at its most remote
consequences. If there be a country in the world where the doctrine
of the sovereignty of the people can be fairly appreciated, where it
can be studied in its application to the affairs of society, and
where its dangers and its advantages may be foreseen, that country
is assuredly America.
I have already observed that, from their origin, the sovereignty of
the people was the fundamental principle of the greater number of
British colonies in America. It was far, however, from then
exercising as much influence on the government of society as it now
does. Two obstacles, the one external, the other internal, checked
its invasive progress. It could not ostensibly disclose itself in
the laws of colonies which were still constrained to obey the
mother-country: it was therefore obliged to spread secretly, and to
gain ground in the provincial assemblies, and especially in the
townships.
American society was not yet prepared to adopt it with all its
consequences. The intelligence of New England, and the wealth of the
country to the south of the Hudson (as I have shown in the preceding
chapter), long exercised a sort of aristocratic influence, which
tended to retain the exercise of social authority in the hands of a
few. The public functionaries were not universally elected, and the
citizens were not all of them electors. The electoral franchise was
everywhere placed within certain limits, and made dependent on a
certain qualification, which was exceedingly low in the North and
more considerable in the South.
The American revolution broke out, and the doctrine of the
sovereignty of the people, which had been nurtured in the townships
and municipalities, took possession of the State: every class was
enlisted in its cause; battles were fought, and victories obtained
for it, until it became the law of laws.
A no less rapid change was effected in the interior of society,
where the law of descent completed the abolition of local
influences.
At the very time when this consequence of the laws and of the
revolution was apparent to every eye, victory was irrevocably
pronounced in favor of the democratic cause. All power was, in fact,
in its hands, and resistance was no longer possible. The higher
orders submitted without a murmur and without a struggle to an evil
which was thenceforth inevitable. The ordinary fate of falling
powers awaited them; each of their several members followed his own
interests; and as it was impossible to wring the power from the
hands of a people which they did not detest sufficiently to brave,
their only aim was to secure its good-will at any price. The most
democratic laws were consequently voted by the very men whose
interests they impaired; and thus, although the higher classes did
not excite the passions of the people against their order, they
accelerated the triumph of the new state of things; so that by a
singular change the democratic impulse was found to be most
irresistible in the very States where the aristocracy had the
firmest hold. The State of Maryland, which had been founded by men
of rank, was the first to proclaim universal suffrage, and to
introduce the most democratic forms into the conduct of its
government.
When a nation modifies the elective qualification, it may easily be
foreseen that sooner or later that qualification will be entirely
abolished. There is no more invariable rule in the history of
society: the further electoral rights are extended, the greater is
the need of extending them; for after each concession the strength
of the democracy increases, and its demands increase with its
strength. The ambition of those who are below the appointed rate is
irritated in exact proportion to the great number of those who are
above it. The exception at last becomes the rule, concession follows
concession, and no stop can be made short of universal suffrage.
At the present day the principle of the sovereignty of the people
has acquired, in the United States, all the practical development
which the imagination can conceive. It is unencumbered by those
fictions which have been thrown over it in other countries, and it
appears in every possible form according to the exigency of the
occasion. Sometimes the laws are made by the people in a body, as at
Athens; and sometimes its representatives, chosen by universal
suffrage, transact business in its name, and almost under its
immediate control.
In some countries a power exists which, though it is in a degree
foreign to the social body, directs it, and forces it to pursue a
certain track. In others the ruling force is divided, being partly
within and partly without the ranks of the people. But nothing of
the kind is to be seen in the United States; there society governs
itself for itself. All power centres in its bosom; and scarcely an
individual is to be meet with who would venture to conceive, or,
still less, to express, the idea of seeking it elsewhere. The nation
participates in the making of its laws by the choice of its
legislators, and in the execution of them by the choice of the
agents of the executive government; it may almost be said to govern
itself, so feeble and so restricted is the share left to the
administration, so little do the authorities forget their popular
origin and the power from which they emanate.
Chapter 5 Necessity of Examining the Condition of the States Before
That of the Union at Large
IT is proposed to examine in the following chapter what is form of
government established in America on the principle of the
sovereignty of the people; what are its resources, its hindrances,
its advantages, and its dangers. The first difficulty which presents
itself arises from the complex nature of the constitution of the
United States, which consists of two distinct social structures,
connected and, as it were, encased one within the other; two
governments, completely separate and almost independent, the one
fulfilling the ordinary duties and responding to the daily and
indefinite calls of a community, the other circumscribed within
certain limits, and only exercising an exceptional authority over
the general interests of the country. In short, there are
twenty-four small sovereign nations, whose agglomeration constitutes
the body of the Union. To examine the Union before we have studied
the States would be to adopt a method filled with obstacles. The
form of the Federal Government of the United States was the last
which was adopted; and it is in fact nothing more than a
modification or a summary of those republican principles which were
current in the whole community before it existed, and independently
of its existence. Moreover, the Federal Government is, as I have
just observed, the exception; the Government of the States is the
rule. The author who should attempt to exhibit the picture as a
whole before he had explained its details would necessarily fall
into obscurity and repetition.
The great political principles which govern American society at this
day undoubtedly took their origin and their growth in the State. It
is therefore necessary to become acquainted with the State in order
to possess a clue to the remainder. The States which at present
compose the American Union all present the same features, as far as
regards the external aspect of their institutions. Their political
or administrative existence is centred in three focuses of action,
which may not inaptly be compared to the different nervous centres
which convey motion to the human body. The township is the lowest in
order, then the county, and lastly the State; and I propose to
devote the following chapter to the examination of these three
divisions.
The American System of Townships and Municipal Bodies
Why the Author begins the examination of the political institutions
with the township -- Its existence in all nations -- Difficulty of
establishing and preserving municipal independence -- Its importance
-- Why the Author has selected the township system of New England as
the main topic of his discussion.
It is not undesignedly that I begin this subject with the Township.
The village or township is the only association which is so
perfectly natural that wherever a number of men are collected it
seems to constitute itself.
The town, or tithing, as the smallest division of a community, must
necessarily exist in all nations, whatever their laws and customs
may be: if man makes monarchies and establishes republics, the first
association of mankind seems constituted by the hand of God. But
although the existence of the township is coeval with that of man,
its liberties are not the less rarely respected and easily
destroyed. A nation is always able to establish great political
assemblies, because it habitually contains a certain number of
individuals fitted by their talents, if not by their habits, for the
direction of affairs. The township is, on the contrary, composed of
coarser materials, which are less easily fashioned by the
legislator. The difficulties which attend the consolidation of its
independence rather augment than diminish with the increasing
enlightenment of the people. A highly civilized community spurns the
attempts of a local in dependence, is disgusted at its numerous
blunders, and is apt to despair of success before the experiment is
completed. Again, no immunities are so ill protected from the
encroachments of the supreme power as those of municipal bodies in
general: they are unable to struggle, single-handed, against a
strong or an enterprising government, and they cannot defend their
cause with success unless it be identified with the customs of the
nation and supported by public opinion. Thus until the independence
of townships is amalgamated with the manners of a people it is
easily destroyed, and it is only after a long existence in the laws
that it can be thus amalgamated. Municipal freedom is not the fruit
of human device; it is rarely created; but it is, as it were,
secretly and spontaneously engendered in the midst of a
semi-barbarous state of society. The constant action of the laws and
the national habits, peculiar circumstances, and above all time, may
consolidate it; but there is certainly no nation on the continent of
Europe which has experienced its advantages. Nevertheless local
assemblies of citizens constitute the strength of free nations.
Town-meetings are to liberty what primary schools are to science;
they bring it within the people's reach, they teach men how to use
and how to enjoy it. A nation may establish a system of free
government, but without the spirit of municipal institutions it
cannot have the spirit of liberty. The transient passions and the
interests of an hour, or the chance of circumstances, may have
created the external forms of independence; but the despotic
tendency which has been repelled will, sooner or later, inevitably
reappear on the surface.
In order to explain to the reader the general principles on which
the political organization of the counties and townships of the
United States rests, I have thought it expedient to choose one of
the States of New England as an example, to examine the mechanism of
its constitution, and then to cast a general glance over the
country. The township and the county are not organized in the same
manner in every part of the Union; it is, however, easy to perceive
that the same principles have guided the formation of both of them
throughout the Union. I am inclined to believe that these principles
have been carried further in New England than elsewhere, and
consequently that they offer greater facilities to the observations
of a stranger. The institutions of New England form a complete and
regular whole; they have received the sanction of time, they have
the support of the laws, and the still stronger support of the
manners of the community, over which they exercise the most
prodigious influence; they consequently deserve our attention on
every account.
Limits of the Township
The township of New England is a division which stands between the
commune and the canton of France, and which corresponds in general
to the English tithing, or town. Its average population is from two
to three thousand; so that, on the one hand, the interests of its
inhabitants are not likely to conflict, and, on the other, men
capable of conducting its affairs are always to be found among its
citizens.
Authorities of the Township in New England
The people the source of all power here as elsewhere -- Manages its
own affairs -- No corporation -- The greater part of the authority
vested in the hands of the Selectmen -- How the Selectmen act --
Town-meeting -- Enumeration of the public officers of the township
-- Obligatory and remunerated functions.
In the township, as well as everywhere else, the people is the only
source of power; but in no stage of government does the body of
citizens exercise a more immediate influence. In America the people
is a master whose exigencies demand obedience to the utmost limits
of possibility.
In New England the majority acts by representatives in the conduct
of the public business of the State; but if such an arrangement be
necessary in general affairs, in the townships, where the
legislative and administrative action of the government is in more
immediate contact with the subject, the system of representation is
not adopted. There is no corporation; but the body of electors,
after having designated its magistrates, directs them in everything
that exceeds the simple and ordinary executive business of the
State.
This state of things is so contrary to our ideas, and so different
from our customs, that it is necessary for me to adduce some
examples to explain it thoroughly.
The public duties in the township are extremely numerous and
minutely divided, as we shall see further on; but the larger
proportion of administrative power is vested in the hands of a small
number of individuals, called "the Selectmen." The general laws of
the State impose a certain number of obligations on the selectmen,
which they may fulfil without the authorization of the body they
represent, but which they can only neglect on their own
responsibility. The law of the State obliges them, for instance, to
draw up the list of electors in their townships; and if they omit
this part of their functions, they are guilty of a misdemeanor. In
all the affairs, however, which are determined by the town-meeting,
the selectmen are the organs of the popular mandate, as in France
the Maire executes the decree of the municipal council. They usually
act upon their own responsibility, and merely put in practice
principles which have been previously recognized by the majority.
But if any change is to be introduced in the existing state of
things, or if they wish to undertake any new enterprise, they are
obliged to refer to the source of their power. If, for instance, a
school is to be established, the selectmen convoke the whole body of
the electors on a certain day at an appointed place; they explain
the urgency of the case; they give their opinion on the means of
satisfying it, on the probable expense, and the site which seems to
be most favorable. The meeting is consulted on these several points;
it adopts the principle, marks out the site, votes the rate, and
confides the execution of its resolution to the selectmen.
The selectmen have alone the right of calling a town-meeting, but
they may be requested to do so: if ten citizens are desirous of
submitting a new project to the assent of the township, they may
demand a general convocation of the inhabitants; the selectmen are
obliged to comply, but they have only the right of presiding at the
meeting.
The selectmen are elected every year in the month of April or of
May. The town-meeting chooses at the same time a number of other
municipal magistrates, who are entrusted with important
administrative functions. The assessors rate the township; the
collectors receive the rate. A constable is appointed to keep the
peace, to watch the streets, and to forward the execution of the
laws; the town-clerk records all the town votes, orders, grants,
births, deaths, and marriages; the treasurer keeps the funds; the
overseer of the poor performs the difficult task of superintending
the action of the poor-laws; committee-men are appointed to attend
to the schools and to public instruction; and the road-surveyors,
who take care of the greater and lesser thoroughfares of the
township, complete the list of the principal functionaries. They
are, however, still further subdivided; and amongst the municipal
officers are to be found parish commissioners, who audit the
expenses of public worship; different classes of inspectors, some of
whom are to direct the citizens in case of fire; tithing-men,
listers, haywards, chimney-viewers, fence-viewers to maintain the
bounds of property, timber-measurers, and sealers of weights and
measures.
There are nineteen principal officers in a township. Every
inhabitant is constrained, on the pain of being fined, to undertake
these different functions; which, however, are almost all paid, in
order that the poorer citizens may be able to give up their time
without loss. In general the American system is not to grant a fixed
salary to its functionaries. Every service has its price, and they
are remunerated in proportion to what they have done.
Existence of the Township
Every one the best judge of his own interest -- Corollary of the
principle of the sovereignty of the people -- Application of those
doctrines in the townships of America -- The township of New England
is sovereign in all that concerns itself alone: subject to the State
in all other matters -- Bond of the township and the State -- In
France the Government lends its agent to the Commune -- In America
the reverse occurs.
I have already observed that the principle of the sovereignty of the
people governs the whole political system of the Anglo-Americans.
Every page of this book will afford new instances of the same
doctrine. In the nations by which the sovereignty of the people is
recognized every individual possesses an equal share of power, and
participates alike in the government of the State. Every individual
is, therefore, supposed to be as well informed, as virtuous, and as
strong as any of his fellow-citizens. He obeys the government, not
because he is inferior to the authorities which conduct it, or that
he is less capable than his neighbor of governing himself, but
because he acknowledges the utility of an association with his
fellow-men, and because he knows that no such association can exist
without a regulating force. If he be a subject in all that concerns
the mutual relations of citizens, he is free and responsible to God
alone for all that concerns himself. Hence arises the maxim that
every one is the best and the sole judge of his own private
interest, and that society has no right to control a man's actions,
unless they are prejudicial to the common weal, or unless the common
weal demands his co-operation. This doctrine is universally admitted
in the United States. I shall hereafter examine the general
influence which it exercises on the ordinary actions of life; I am
now speaking of the nature of municipal bodies.
The township, taken as a whole, and in relation to the government of
the country, may be looked upon as an individual to whom the theory
I have just alluded to is applied. Municipal independence is
therefore a natural consequence of the principle of the sovereignty
of the people in the United States: all the American republics
recognize it more or less; but circumstances have peculiarly favored
its growth in New England.
In this part of the Union the impulsion of political activity was
given in the townships; and it may almost be said that each of them
originally formed an independent nation. When the Kings of England
asserted their supremacy, they were contented to assume the central
power of the State. The townships of New England remained as they
were before; and although they are now subject to the State, they
were at first scarcely dependent upon it. It is important to
remember that they have not been invested with privileges, but that
they have, on the contrary, forfeited a portion of their
independence to the State. The townships are only subordinate to the
State in those interests which I shall term social, as they are
common to all the citizens. They are independent in all that
concerns themselves; and amongst the inhabitants of New England I
believe that not a man is to be found who would acknowledge that the
State has any right to interfere in their local interests. The towns
of New England buy and sell, sue or are sued, augment or diminish
their rates, without the slightest opposition on the part of the
administrative authority of the State.
They are bound, however, to comply with the demands of the
community. If the State is in need of money, a town can neither give
nor withhold the supplies. If the State projects a road, the
township cannot refuse to let it cross its territory; if a police
regulation is made by the State, it must be enforced by the town. A
uniform system of instruction is organized all over the country, and
every town is bound to establish the schools which the law ordains.
In speaking of the administration of the United States I shall have
occasion to point out the means by which the townships are compelled
to obey in these different cases: I here merely show the existence
of the obligation. Strict as this obligation is, the government of
the State imposes it in principle only, and in its performance the
township resumes all its independent rights. Thus, taxes are voted
by the State, but they are levied and collected by the township; the
existence of a school is obligatory, but the township builds, pays,
and superintends it. In France the State-collector receives the
local imposts; in America the town-collector receives the taxes of
the State. Thus the French Government lends its agents to the
commune; in America the township is the agent of the Government.
This fact alone shows the extent of the differences which exist
between the two nations.
Public Spirit of the Townships of New England
How the township of New England wins the affections of its
inhabitants -- Difficulty of creating local public spirit in Europe
-- The rights and duties of the American township favorable to it --
Characteristics of home in the United States -- Manifestations of
public spirit in New England -- Its happy effects.
In America, not only do municipal bodies exist, but they are kept
alive and supported by public spirit. The township of New England
possesses two advantages which infallibly secure the attentive
interest of mankind, namely, independence and authority. Its sphere
is indeed small and limited, but within that sphere its action is
unrestrained; and its independence gives to it a real importance
which its extent and population may not always ensure.
It is to be remembered that the affections of men generally lie on
the side of authority. Patriotism is not durable in a conquered
nation. The New Englander is attached to his township, not only
because he was born in it, but because it constitutes a social body
of which he is a member, and whose government claims and deserves
the exercise of his sagacity. In Europe the absence of local public
spirit is a frequent subject of regret to those who are in power;
everyone agrees that there is no surer guarantee of order and
tranquillity, and yet nothing is more difficult to create. If the
municipal bodies were made powerful and independent, the authorities
of the nation might be disunited and the peace of the country
endangered. Yet, without power and independence, a town may contain
good subjects, but it can have no active citizens. Another important
fact is that the township of New England is so constituted as to
excite the warmest of human affections, without arousing the
ambitious passions of the heart of man. The officers of the county
are not elected, and their authority is very limited. Even the State
is only a second-rate community, whose tranquil and obscure
administration offers no inducement sufficient to draw men away from
the circle of their interests into the turmoil of public affairs.
The federal government confers power and honor on the men who
conduct it; but these individuals can never be very numerous. The
high station of the Presidency can only be reached at an advanced
period of life, and the other federal functionaries are generally
men who have been favored by fortune, or distinguished in some other
career. Such cannot be the permanent aim of the ambitious. But the
township serves as a centre for the desire of public esteem, the
want of exciting interests, and the taste for authority and
popularity, in the midst of the ordinary relations of life; and the
passions which commonly embroil society change their character when
they find a vent so near the domestic hearth and the family circle.
In the American States power has been disseminated with admirable
skill for the purpose of interesting the greatest possible number of
persons in the common weal. Independently of the electors who are
from time to time called into action, the body politic is divided
into innumerable functionaries and officers, who all, in their
several spheres, represent the same powerful whole in whose name
they act. The local administration thus affords an unfailing source
of profit and interest to a vast number of individuals.
The American system, which divides the local authority among so many
citizens, does not scruple to multiply the functions of the town
officers. For in the United States it is believed, and with truth,
that patriotism is a kind of devotion which is strengthened by
ritual observance. In this manner the activity of the township is
continually perceptible; it is daily manifested in the fulfilment of
a duty or the exercise of a right, and a constant though gentle
motion is thus kept up in society which animates without disturbing
it.
The American attaches himself to his home as the mountaineer clings
to his hills, because the characteristic features of his country are
there more distinctly marked than elsewhere. The existence of the
townships of New England is in general a happy one. Their government
is suited to their tastes, and chosen by themselves. In the midst of
the profound peace and general comfort which reign in America the
commotions of municipal discord are unfrequent. The conduct of local
business is easy. The political education of the people has long
been complete; say rather that it was complete when the people first
set foot upon the soil. In New England no tradition exists of a
distinction of ranks; no portion of the community is tempted to
oppress the remainder; and the abuses which may injure isolated
individuals are forgotten in the general contentment which prevails.
If the government is defective (and it would no doubt be easy to
point out its deficiencies), the fact that it really emanates from
those it governs, and that it acts, either ill or well, casts the
protecting spell of a parental pride over its faults. No term of
comparison disturbs the satisfaction of the citizen: England
formerly governed the mass of the colonies, but the people was
always sovereign in the township where its rule is not only an
ancient but a primitive state.
The native of New England is attached to his township because it is
independent and free: his co-operation in its affairs ensures his
attachment to its interest; the well-being it affords him secures
his affection; and its welfare is the aim of his ambition and of his
future exertions: he takes a part in every occurrence in the place;
he practises the art of government in the small sphere within his
reach; he accustoms himself to those forms which can alone ensure
the steady progress of liberty; he imbibes their spirit; he acquires
a taste for order, comprehends the union or the balance of powers,
and collects clear practical notions on the nature of his duties and
the extent of his rights.
The Counties of New England
The division of the counties in America has considerable analogy
with that of the arrondissements of France. The limits of the
counties are arbitrarily laid down, and the various districts which
they contain have no necessary connection, no common tradition or
natural sympathy; their object is simply to facilitate the
administration of justice.
The extent of the township was too small to contain a system of
judicial institutions; each county has, however, a court of justice,
a sheriff to execute its decrees, and a prison for criminals. There
are certain wants which are felt alike by all the townships of a
county; it is therefore natural that they should be satisfied by a
central authority. In the State of Massachusetts this authority is
vested in the hands of several magistrates, who are appointed by the
Governor of the State, with the advice of his council. The officers
of the county have only a limited and occasional authority, which is
applicable to certain predetermined cases. The State and the
townships possess all the power requisite to conduct public
business. The budget of the county is drawn up by its officers, and
is voted by the legislature, but there is no assembly which directly
or indirectly represents the county. It has, therefore, properly
speaking, no political existence.
A twofold tendency may be discerned in the American constitutions,
which impels the legislator to centralize the legislative and to
disperse the executive power. The township of New England has in
itself an indestructible element of in dependence; and this distinct
existence could only be fictitiously introduced into the county,
where its utility has not been felt. But all the townships united
have but one representation, which is the State, the centre of the
national authority: beyond the action of the township and that of
the nation, nothing can be said to exist but the influence of
individual exertion.
Administration in New England
Administration not perceived in America -- Why? -- The Europeans
believe that liberty is promoted by depriving the social authority
of some of its rights; the Americans, by dividing its exercise --
Almost all the administration confined to the township, and divided
amongst the town-officers -- No trace of an administrative body to
be perceived, either in the township or above it -- The reason of
this -- How it happens that the administration of the State is
uniform -- Who is empowered to enforce the obedience of the township
and the county to the law-The introduction of judicial power into
the administration -- Consequence of the extension of the elective
principle to all functionaries -- The Justice of the Peace in New
England -- By whom appointed -- County officer: ensures the
administration of the townships -- Court of Sessions -- Its action
-- Right of inspection and indictment disseminated like the other
administrative functions -- Informers encouraged by the division of
fines.
Nothing is more striking to an European traveller in the United
States than the absence of what we term the Government, or the
Administration. Written laws exist in America, and one sees that
they are daily executed; but although everything is in motion, the
hand which gives the impulse to the social machine can nowhere be
discovered. Nevertheless, as all peoples are obliged to have
recourse to certain grammatical forms, which are the foundation of
human language, in order to express their thoughts; so all
communities are obliged to secure their existence by submitting to a
certain dose of authority, without which they fall a prey to
anarchy. This authority may be distributed in several ways, but it
must always exist somewhere.
There are two methods of diminishing the force of authority in a
nation: The first is to weaken the supreme power in its very
principle, by forbidding or preventing society from acting in its
own defence under certain circumstances. To weaken authority in this
manner is what is generally termed in Europe to lay the foundations
of freedom. The second manner of diminishing the influence of
authority does not consist in stripping society of any of its
rights, nor in paralyzing its effort, but in distributing the
exercise of its privileges in various hands, and in multiplying
functionaries, to each of whom the degree of power necessary for him
to perform his duty is entrusted. There may be nations whom this
distribution of social powers might lead to anarchy; but in itself
it is not anarchical. The action of authority is indeed thus
rendered less irresistible and less perilous, but it is not totally
suppressed.
The revolution of the United States was the result of a mature and
dignified taste for freedom, and not of a vague or ill-defined
craving for independence. It contracted no alliance with the
turbulent passions of anarchy; but its course was marked, on the
contrary, by an attachment to whatever was lawful and orderly.
It was never assumed in the United States that the citizen of a free
country has a right to do whatever he pleases; on the contrary,
social obligations were there imposed upon him more various than
anywhere else. No idea was ever entertained of attacking the
principles or of contesting the rights of society; but the exercise
of its authority was divided, to the end that the office might be
powerful and the officer insignificant, and that the community
should be at once regulated and free. In no country in the world
does the law hold so absolute a language as in America, and in no
country is the right of applying it vested in so many hands. The
administrative power in the United States presents nothing either
central or hierarchical in its constitution, which accounts for its
passing, unperceived. The power exists, but its representative is
not to be perceived.
We have already seen that the independent townships of New England
protect their own private interests; and the municipal magistrates
are the persons to whom the execution of the laws of the State is
most frequently entrusted. Besides the general laws, the State
sometimes passes general police regulations; but more commonly the
townships and town-officers, conjointly with the justices of the
peace, regulate the minor details of social life, according to the
necessities of the different localities, and promulgate such
enactments as concern the health of the community, and the peace as
well as morality of the citizens. Lastly, these municipal
magistrates provide, of their own accord and without any delegated
powers, for those unforeseen emergencies which frequently occur in
society.
It results from what we have said that in the State of Massachusetts
the administrative authority is almost entirely restricted to the
township, but that it is distributed among a great number of
individuals. In the French commune there is properly but one
official functionary, namely, the Maire; and in New England we have
seen that there are nineteen. These nineteen functionaries do not in
general depend upon one another. The law carefully prescribes a
circle of action to each of these magistrates; and within that
circle they have an entire right to perform their functions
independently of any other authority. Above the township scarcely
any trace of a series of official dignitaries is to be found. It
sometimes happens that the county officers alter a decision of the
townships or town magistrates, but in general the authorities of the
county have no right to interfere with the authorities of the
township, except in such matters as concern the county.
The magistrates of the township, as well as those of the county, are
bound to communicate their acts to the central government in a very
small number of predetermined cases. But the central government is
not represented by an individual whose business it is to publish
police regulations and ordinances enforcing the execution of the
laws; to keep up a regular communication with the officers of the
township and the county; to inspect their conduct, to direct their
actions, or to reprimand their faults. There is no point which
serves as a centre to the radii of the administration.
What, then, is the uniform plan on which the government is
conducted, and how is the compliance of the counties and their
magistrates or the townships and their officers enforced? In the
States of New England the legislative authority embraces more
subjects than it does in France; the legislator penetrates to the
very core of the administration; the law descends to the most minute
details; the same enactment prescribes the principle and the method
of its application, and thus imposes a multitude of strict and
rigorously defined obligations on the secondary functionaries of the
State. The consequence of this is that if all the secondary
functionaries of the administration conform to the law, society in
all its branches proceeds with the greatest uniformity: the
difficulty remains of compelling the secondary functionaries of the
administration to conform to the law. It may be affirmed that, in
general, society has only two methods of enforcing the execution of
the laws at its disposal: a discretionary power may be entrusted to
a superior functionary of directing all the others, and of
cashiering them in case of disobedience; or the courts of justice
may be authorized to inflict judicial penalties on the offender: but
these two methods are not always available.
The right of directing a civil officer presupposes that of
cashiering him if he does not obey orders, and of rewarding him by
promotion if he fulfils his duties with propriety. But an elected
magistrate can neither be cashiered nor promoted. All elective
functions are inalienable until their term is expired. In fact, the
elected magistrate has nothing either to expect or to fear from his
constituents; and when all public offices are filled by ballot there
can be no series of official dignities, because the double right of
commanding and of enforcing obedience can never be vested in the
same individual, and because the power of issuing an order can never
be joined to that of inflicting a punishment or bestowing a reward.
The communities therefore in which the secondary functionaries of
the government are elected are perforce obliged to make great use of
judicial penalties as a means of administration. This is not evident
at first sight; for those in power are apt to look upon the
institution of elective functionaries as one concession, and the
subjection of the elected magistrate to the judges of the land as
another. They are equally averse to both these innovations; and as
they are more pressingly solicited to grant the former than the
latter, they accede to the election of the magistrate, and leave him
independent of the judicial power. Nevertheless, the second of these
measures is the only thing that can possibly counterbalance the
first; and it will be found that an elective authority which is not
subject to judicial power will, sooner or later, either elude all
control or be destroyed. The courts of justice are the only possible
medium between the central power and the administrative bodies; they
alone can compel the elected functionary to obey, without violating
the rights of the elector. The extension of judicial power in the
political world ought therefore to be in the exact ratio of the
extension of elective offices: if these two institutions do not go
hand in hand, the State must fall into anarchy or into subjection.
It has always been remarked that habits of legal business do not
render men apt to the exercise of administrative authority. The
Americans have borrowed from the English, their fathers, the idea of
an institution which is unknown upon the continent of Europe: I
allude to that of the Justices of the Peace. The Justice of the
Peace is a sort of mezzo termine between the magistrate and the man
of the world, between the civil officer and the judge. A justice of
the peace is a well-informed citizen, though he is not necessarily
versed in the knowledge of the laws. His office simply obliges him
to execute the police regulations of society; a task in which good
sense and integrity are of more avail than legal science. The
justice introduces into the administration a certain taste for
established forms and publicity, which renders him a most
unserviceable instrument of despotism; and, on the other hand, he is
not blinded by those superstitions which render legal officers unfit
members of a government. The Americans have adopted the system of
the English justices of the peace, but they have deprived it of that
aristocratic character which is discernible in the mother-country.
The Governor of Massachusetts appoints a certain number of justices
of the peace in every county, whose functions last seven years. He
further designates three individuals from amongst the whole body of
justices who form in each county what is called the Court of
Sessions. The justices take a personal share in public business;
they are sometimes entrusted with administrative functions in
conjunction with elected officers, they sometimes constitute a
tribunal, before which the magistrates summarily prosecute a
refractory citizen, or the citizens inform against the abuses of the
magistrate. But it is in the Court of Sessions that they exercise
their most important functions. This court meets twice a year in the
county town; in Massachusetts it is empowered to enforce the
obedience of the greater number of public officers. It must be
observed, that in the State of Massachusetts the Court of Sessions
is at the same time an administrative body, properly so called, and
a political tribunal. It has been asserted that the county is a
purely administrative division. The Court of Sessions presides over
that small number of affairs which, as they concern several
townships, or all the townships of the county in common, cannot be
entrusted to any one of them in particular. In all that concerns
county business the duties of the Court of Sessions are purely
administrative; and if in its investigations it occasionally borrows
the forms of judicial procedure, it is only with a view to its own
information, or as a guarantee to the community over which it
presides. But when the administration of the township is brought
before it, it always acts as a judicial body, and in some few cases
as an official assembly.
The first difficulty is to procure the obedience of an authority as
entirely independent of the general laws of the State as the
township is. We have stated that assessors are annually named by the
town-meetings to levy the taxes. If a township attempts to evade the
payment of the taxes by neglecting to name its assessors, the Court
of Sessions condemns it to a heavy penalty. The fine is levied on
each of the inhabitants; and the sheriff of the county, who is the
officer of justice, executes the mandate. Thus it is that in the
United States the authority of the Government is mysteriously
concealed under the forms of a judicial sentence; and its influence
is at the same time fortified by that irresistible power with which
men have invested the formalities of law.
These proceedings are easy to follow and to understand. The demands
made upon a township are in general plain and accurately defined;
they consist in a simple fact without any Complication, or in a
principle without its application in detail. But the difficulty
increases when it is not the obedience of the township, but that of
the town officers which is to be enforced. All the reprehensible
actions of which a public functionary may be guilty are reducible to
the following heads:
He may execute the law without energy or zeal;
He may neglect to execute the law;
He may do what the law enjoins him not to do.
The last two violations of duty can alone come under the cognizance
of a tribunal; a positive and appreciable fact is the indispensable
foundation of an action at law. Thus, if the selectmen omit to
fulfil the legal formalities usual at town elections, they may be
condemned to pay a fine; but when the public officer performs his
duty without ability, and when he obeys the letter of the law
without zeal or energy, he is at least beyond the reach of judicial
interference. The Court of Sessions, even when it is invested with
its official powers, is in this case unable to compel him to a more
satisfactory obedience. The fear of removal is the only check to
these quasi-offences; and as the Court of Sessions does not
originate the town authorities, it cannot remove functionaries whom
it does not appoint. Moreover, a perpetual investigation would be
necessary to convict the officer of negligence or lukewarmness; and
the Court of Sessions sits but twice a year and then only judges
such offences as are brought before its notice. The only security of
that active and enlightened obedience which a court of justice
cannot impose upon public officers lies in the possibility of their
arbitrary removal. In France this security is sought for in powers
exercised by the heads of the administration; in America it is
sought for in the principle of election.
Thus, to recapitulate in a few words what I have been showing: If a
public officer in New England commits a crime in the exercise of his
functions, the ordinary courts of justice are always called upon to
pass sentence upon him. If he commits a fault in his official
capacity, a purely administrative tribunal is empowered to punish
him; and, if the affair is important or urgent, the judge supplies
the omission of the functionary. Lastly, if the same individual is
guilty of one of those intangible offences of which human justice
has no cognizance, he annually appears before a tribunal from which
there is no appeal, which can at once reduce him to insignificance
and deprive him of his charge. This system undoubtedly possesses
great advantages, but its execution is attended with a practical
difficulty which it is important to point out.
I have already observed that the administrative tribunal, which is
called the Court of Sessions, has no right of inspection over the
town officers. It can only interfere when the conduct of a
magistrate is specially brought under its notice; and this is the
delicate part of the system. The Americans of New England are
unacquainted with the office of public prosecutor in the Court of
Sessions, and it may readily be perceived that it could not have
been established without difficulty. If an accusing magistrate had
merely been appointed in the chief town of each county, and if he
had been unassisted by agents in the townships, he would not have
been better acquainted with what was going on in the county than the
members of the Court of Sessions. But to appoint agents in each
township would have been to centre in his person the most formidable
of powers, that of a judicial administration. Moreover, laws are the
children of habit, and nothing of the kind exists in the legislation
of England. The Americans have therefore divided the offices of
inspection and of prosecution, as well as all the other functions of
the administration. Grand jurors are bound by the law to apprise the
court to which they belong of all the misdemeanors which may have
been committed in their county. There are certain great offences
which are officially prosecuted by the States; but more frequently
the task of punishing delinquents devolves upon the fiscal officer,
whose province it is to receive the fine: thus the treasurer of the
township is charged with the prosecution of such administrative
offences as fall under his notice. But a more special appeal is made
by American legislation to the private interest of the citizen; and
this great principle is constantly to be met with in studying the
laws of the United States. American legislators are more apt to give
men credit for intelligence than for honesty, and they rely not a
little on personal cupidity for the execution of the laws. When an
individual is really and sensibly injured by an administrative
abuse, it is natural that his personal interest should induce him to
prosecute. But if a legal formality be required, which, however
advantageous to the community, is of small importance to
individuals, plaintiffs may be less easily found; and thus, by a
tacit agreement, the laws may fall into disuse. Reduced by their
system to this extremity, the Americans are obliged to encourage
informers by bestowing on them a portion of the penalty in certain
cases, and to insure the execution of the laws by the dangerous
expedient of degrading the morals of the people. The only
administrative authority above the county magistrates is, properly
speaking, that of the Government.
General Remarks on the Administration of the United States
Differences of the States of the Union in their system of
administration -- Activity and perfection of the local authorities
decrease towards the South -- Power of the magistrate increases;
that of the elector diminishes -- Administration passes from the
township to the county -- States of New York, Ohio, Pennsylvania --
Principles of administration applicable to the whole Union --
Election of public officers, and inalienability of their functions
-- Absence of gradation of ranks -- Introduction of judicial
resources into the administration.
I have already premised that, after having examined the constitution
of the township and the county of New England in detail, I should
take a general view of the remainder of the Union. Townships and a
local activity exist in every State; but in no part of the
confederation is a township to be met with precisely similar to
those of New England. The more we descend towards the South, the
less active does the business of the township or parish become; the
number of magistrates, of functions, and of rights decreases; the
population exercises a less immediate influence on affairs; town
meetings are less frequent, and the subjects of debate less
numerous. The power of the elected magistrate is augmented and that
of the elector diminished, whilst the public spirit of the local
communities is less awakened and less influential. These differences
may be perceived to a certain extent in the State of New York; they
are very sensible in Pennsylvania; but they become less striking as
we advance to the northwest. The majority of the emigrants who
settle in the northwestern States are natives of New England, and
they carry the habits of their mother country with them into that
which they adopt. A township in Ohio is by no means dissimilar from
a township in Massachusetts.
We have seen that in Massachusetts the mainspring of public
administration lies in the township. It forms the common centre of
the interests and affections of the citizens. But this ceases to be
the case as we descend to States in which knowledge is less
generally diffused, and where the township consequently offers fewer
guarantees of a wise and active administration. As we leave New
England, therefore, we find that the importance of the town is
gradually transferred to the county, which becomes the centre of
administration, and the intermediate power between the Government
and the citizen. In Massachusetts the business of the county is
conducted by the Court of Sessions, which is composed of a quorum
named by the Governor and his council; but the county has no
representative assembly, and its expenditure is voted by the
national legislature. In the great State of New York, on the
contrary, and in those of Ohio and Pennsylvania, the inhabitants of
each county choose a certain number of representatives, who
constitute the assembly of the county. The county assembly has the
right of taxing the inhabitants to a certain extent; and in this
respect it enjoys the privileges of a real legislative body: at the
same time it exercises an executive power in the county, frequently
directs the administration of the townships, and restricts their
authority within much narrower bounds than in Massachusetts.
Such are the principal differences which the systems of county and
town administration present in the Federal States. Were it my
intention to examine the provisions of American law minutely, I
should have to point out still further differences in the executive
details of the several communities. But what I have already said may
suffice to show the general principles on which the administration
of the United States rests. These principles are differently
applied; their consequences are more or less numerous in various
localities; but they are always substantially the same. The laws
differ, and their outward features change, but their character does
not vary. If the township and the county are not everywhere
constituted in the same manner, it is at least true that in the
United States the county and the township are always based upon the
same principle, namely, that everyone is the best judge of what
concerns himself alone, and the most proper person to supply his
private wants. The township and the county are therefore bound to
take care of their special interests: the State governs, but it does
not interfere with their administration. Exceptions to this rule may
be met with, but not a contrary principle.
The first consequence of this doctrine has been to cause all the
magistrates to be chosen either by or at least from amongst the
citizens. As the officers are everywhere elected or appointed for a
certain period, it has been impossible to establish the rules of a
dependent series of authorities; there are almost as many
independent functionaries as there are functions, and the executive
power is disseminated in a multitude of hands. Hence arose the
indispensable necessity of introducing the control of the courts of
justice over the administration, and the system of pecuniary
penalties, by which the secondary bodies and their representatives
are constrained to obey the laws. This system obtains from one end
of the Union to the other. The power of punishing the misconduct of
public officers, or of performing the part of the executive in
urgent cases, has not, however, been bestowed on the same judges in
all the States. The Anglo-Americans derived the institution of
justices of the peace from a common source; but although it exists
in all the States, it is not always turned to the same use. The
justices of the peace everywhere participate in the administration
of the townships and the counties, either as public officers or as
the judges of public misdemeanors, but in most of the States the
more important classes of public offences come under the cognizance
of the ordinary tribunals.
The election of public officers, or the inalienability of their
functions, the absence of a gradation of powers, and the
introduction of a judicial control over the secondary branches of
the administration, are the universal characteristics of the
American system from Maine to the Floridas. In some States (and that
of New York has advanced most in this direction) traces of a
centralized administration begin to be discernible. In the State of
New York the officers of the central government exercise, in certain
cases, a sort of inspection or control over the secondary bodies.
At other times they constitute a court of appeal for the decision of
affairs. In the State of New York judicial penalties are less used
than in other parts as a means of administration, and the right of
prosecuting the offences of public officers is vested in fewer
hands. The same tendency is faintly observable in some other States;
but in general the prominent feature of the administration in the
United States is its excessive local independence.
Of the State
I have described the townships and the administration; it now
remains for me to speak of the State and the Government. This is
ground I may pass over rapidly, without fear of being misunderstood;
for all I have to say is to be found in written forms of the various
constitutions, which are easily to be procured. These constitutions
rest upon a simple and rational theory; their forms have been
adopted by all constitutional nations, and are become familiar to
us. In this place, therefore, it is only necessary for me to give a
short analysis; I shall endeavor afterwards to pass judgment upon
what I now describe.
Legislative Power of the State
Division of the Legislative Body into two Houses -- Senate -- House
of Representatives -- Different functions of these two Bodies.
The legislative power of the State is vested in two assemblies, the
first of which generally bears the name of the Senate. The Senate is
commonly a legislative body; but it sometimes becomes an executive
and judicial one. It takes a part in the government in several ways,
according to the constitution of the different States; but it is in
the nomination of public functionaries that it most commonly assumes
an executive power. It partakes of judicial power in the trial of
certain political offences, and sometimes also in the decision of
certain civil cases. The number of its members is always small. The
other branch of the legislature, which is usually called the House
of Representatives, has no share whatever in the administration, and
only takes a part in the judicial power inasmuch as it impeaches
public functionaries before the Senate. The members of the two
Houses are nearly everywhere subject to the same conditions of
election. They are chosen in the same manner, and by the same
citizens. The only difference which exists between them is, that the
term for which the Senate is chosen is in general longer than that
of the House of Representatives. The latter seldom remain in office
longer than a year; the former usually sit two or three years. By
granting to the senators the privilege of being chosen for several
years, and being renewed seriatim, the law takes care to preserve in
the legislative body a nucleus of men already accustomed to public
business, and capable of exercising a salutary influence upon the
junior members.
The Americans, plainly, did not desire, by this separation of the
legislative body into two branches, to make one house hereditary and
the other elective; one aristocratic and the other democratic. It
was not their object to create in the one a bulwark to power, whilst
the other represented the interests and passions of the people. The
only advantages which result from the present constitution of the
United States are the division of the legislative power and the
consequent check upon political assemblies; with the creation of a
tribunal of appeal for the revision of the laws.
Time and experience, however, have convinced the Americans that if
these are its only advantages, the division of the legislative power
is still a principle of the greatest necessity. Pennsylvania was the
only one of the United States which at first attempted to establish
a single House of Assembly, and Franklin himself was so far carried
away by the necessary consequences of the principle of the
sovereignty of the people as to have concurred in the measure; but
the Pennsylvanians were soon obliged to change the law, and to
create two Houses. Thus the principle of the division of the
legislative power was finally established, and its necessity may
henceforward be regarded as a demonstrated truth. This theory, which
was nearly unknown to the republics of antiquity -- which was
introduced into the world almost by accident, like so many other
great truths -- and misunderstood by several modern nations, is at
length become an axiom in the political science of the present age.
The Execuitve Power of the State
Office of Governor in an American State -- The place he occupies in
relation to the Legislature -- His rights and his duties -- His
dependence on the people.
The executive power of the State may with truth be said to be
represented by the Governor, although he enjoys but a portion of its
rights. The supreme magistrate, under the title of Governor, is the
official moderator and counsellor of the legislature. He is armed
with a veto or suspensive power, which allows him to stop, or at
least to retard, its movements at pleasure. He lays the wants of the
country before the legislative body, and points out the means which
he thinks may be usefully employed in providing for them; he is the
natural executor of its decrees in all the undertakings which
interest the nation at large. In the absence of the legislature, the
Governor is bound to take all necessary steps to guard the State
against violent shocks and unforeseen dangers. The whole military
power of the State is at the disposal of the Governor. He is the
commander of the militia, and head of the armed force. When the
authority, which is by general consent awarded to the laws, is
disregarded, the Governor puts himself at the head of the armed
force of the State, to quell resistance, and to restore order.
Lastly, the Governor takes no share in the administration of
townships and counties, except it be indirectly in the nomination of
Justices of the Peace, which nomination he has not the power to
cancel. The Governor is an elected magistrate, and is generally
chosen for one or two years only; so that he always continues to be
strictly dependent upon the majority who returned him.
Political Effects of the System of Local Administration in the
United States
Necessary distinction between the general centralization of
Government and the centralization of the local administration --
Local administration not centralized in the United States: great
general centralization of the Government -- Some bad consequences
resulting to the United States from the local administration --
Administrative advantages attending this order of things -- The
power which conducts the Government is less regular, less
enlightened, less learned, but much greater than in Europe --
Political advantages of this order of things -- In the United States
the interests of the country are everywhere kept in view -- Support
given to the Government by the community -- Provincial institutions
more necessary in proportion as the social condition becomes more
democratic -- Reason of this.
Centralization is become a word of general and daily use, without
any precise meaning being attached to it. Nevertheless, there exist
two distinct kinds of centralization, which it is necessary to
discriminate with accuracy. Certain interests are common to all
parts of a nation, such as the enactment of its general laws and the
maintenance of its foreign relations. Other interests are peculiar
to certain parts of flee nation; such, for instance, as the business
of different townships. When the power which directs the general
interests is centred in one place, or vested in the same persons, it
constitutes a central government. In like manner the power of
directing partial or local interests, when brought together into one
place, constitutes what may be termed a central administration.
Upon some points these two kinds of centralization coalesce; but by
classifying the objects which fall more particularly within the
province of each of them, they may easily be distinguished. It is
evident that a central government acquires immense power when united
to administrative centralization. Thus combined, it accustoms men to
set their own will habitually and completely aside; to submit, not
only for once, or upon one point, but in every respect, and at all
times. Not only, therefore, does this union of power subdue them
compulsorily, but it affects them in the ordinary habits of life,
and influences each individual, first separately and then
collectively.
These two kinds of centralization mutually assist and attract each
other; but they must not be supposed to be inseparable. It is
impossible to imagine a more completely central government than that
which existed in France under Louis XIV.; when the same individual
was the author and the interpreter of the laws, and the
representative of France at home and abroad, he was justified in
asserting that the State was identified with his person.
Nevertheless, the administration was much less centralized under
Louis XIV than it is at the present day.
In England the centralization of the government is carried to great
perfection; the State has the compact vigor of a man, and by the
sole act of its will it puts immense engines in motion, and wields
or collects the efforts of its authority. Indeed, I cannot conceive
that a nation can enjoy a secure or prosperous existence without a
powerful centralization of government. But I am of opinion that a
central administration enervates the nations in which it exists by
incessantly diminishing their public spirit. If such an
administration succeeds in condensing at a given moment, on a given
point, all the disposable resources of a people, it impairs at least
the renewal of those resources. It may ensure a victory in the hour
of strife, but it gradually relaxes the sinews of strength. It may
contribute admirably to the transient greatness of a man, but it
cannot ensure the durable prosperity of a nation.
If we pay proper attention, we shall find that whenever it is said
that a State cannot act because it has no central point, it is the
centralization of the government in which it is deficient. It is
frequently asserted, and we are prepared to assent to the
proposition, that the German empire was never able to bring all its
powers into action. But the reason was, that the State was never
able to enforce obedience to its general laws, because the several
members of that great body always claimed the right, or found the
means, of refusing their co-operation to the representatives of the
common authority, even in the affairs which concerned the mass of
the people; in other words, because there was no centralization of
government. The same remark is applicable to the Middle Ages; the
cause of all the confusion of feudal society was that the control,
not only of local but of general interests, was divided amongst a
thousand hands, and broken up in a thousand different ways; the
absence of a central government prevented the nations of Europe from
advancing with energy in any straightforward course.
We have shown that in the United States no central administration
and no dependent series of public functionaries exist. Local
authority has been carried to lengths which no European nation could
endure without great inconvenience, and which has even produced some
disadvantageous consequences in America. But in the United States
the centralization of the Government is complete; and it would be
easy to prove that the national power is more compact than it has
ever been in the old nations of Europe. Not only is there but one
legislative body in each State; not only does there exist but one
source of political authority; but district assemblies and county
courts have not in general been multiplied, lest they should be
tempted to exceed their administrative duties, and interfere with
the Government. In America the legislature of each State is supreme;
nothing can impede its authority; neither privileges, nor local
immunities, nor personal influence, nor even the empire of reason,
since it represents that majority which claims to be the sole organ
of reason. Its own determination is, therefore, the only limit to
this action. In juxtaposition to it, and under its immediate
control, is the representative of the executive power, whose duty it
is to constrain the refractory to submit by superior force. The only
symptom of weakness lies in certain details of the action of the
Government. The American republics have no standing armies to
intimidate a discontented minority; but as no minority has as yet
been reduced to declare open war, the necessity of an army has not
been felt. The State usually employs the officers of the township or
the county to deal with the citizens. Thus, for instance, in New
England, the assessor fixes the rate of taxes; the collector
receives them; the town-treasurer transmits the amount to the public
treasury; and the disputes which may arise are brought before the
ordinary courts of justice. This method of collecting taxes is slow
as well as inconvenient, and it would prove a perpetual hindrance to
a Government whose pecuniary demands were large. It is desirable
that, in whatever materially affects its existence, the Government
should be served by officers of its own, appointed by itself,
removable at pleasure, and accustomed to rapid methods of
proceeding. But it will always be easy for the central government,
organized as it is in America, to introduce new and more efficacious
modes of action, proportioned to its wants.
The absence of a central government will not, then, as has often
been asserted, prove the destruction of the republics of the New
World; far from supposing that the American governments are not
sufficiently centralized, I shall prove hereafter that they are too
much so. The legislative bodies daily encroach upon the authority of
the Government, and their tendency, like that of the French
Convention, is to appropriate it entirely to themselves. Under these
circumstances the social power is constantly changing hands, because
it is subordinate to the power of the people, which is too apt to
forget the maxims of wisdom and of foresight in the consciousness of
its strength: hence arises its danger; and thus its vigor, and not
its impotence, will probably be the cause of its ultimate
destruction.
The system of local administration produces several different
effects in America. The Americans seem to me to have out-stepped the
limits of sound policy in isolating the administration of the
Government; for order, even in second-rate affairs, is a matter of
national importance. As the State has no administrative
functionaries of its own, stationed on different points of its
territory, to whom it can give a common impulse, the consequence is
that it rarely attempts to issue any general police regulations. The
want of these regulations is severely felt, and is frequently
observed by Europeans. The appearance of disorder which prevails on
the surface leads him at first to imagine that society is in a state
of anarchy; nor does he perceive his mistake till he has gone deeper
into the subject. Certain undertakings are of importance to the
whole State; but they cannot be put in execution, because there is
no national administration to direct them. Abandoned to the
exertions of the towns or counties, under the care of elected or
temporary agents, they lead to no result, or at least to no durable
benefit.
The partisans of centralization in Europe are wont to maintain that
the Government directs the affairs of each locality better than the
citizens could do it for themselves; this may be true when the
central power is enlightened, and when the local districts are
ignorant; when it is as alert as they are slow; when it is
accustomed to act, and they to obey. Indeed, it is evident that this
double tendency must augment with the increase of centralization,
and that the readiness of the one and the incapacity of the others
must become more and more prominent. But I deny that such is the
case when the people is as enlightened, as awake to its interests,
and as accustomed to reflect on them, as the Americans are. I am
persuaded, on the contrary, that in this case the collective
strength of the citizens will always conduce more efficaciously to
the public welfare than the authority of the Government. It is
difficult to point out with certainty the means of arousing a
sleeping population, and of giving it passions and knowledge which
it does not possess; it is, I am well aware, an arduous task to
persuade men to busy themselves about their own affairs; and it
would frequently be easier to interest them in the punctilios of
court etiquette than in the repairs of their common dwelling. But
whenever a central administration affects to supersede the persons
most interested, I am inclined to suppose that it is either misled
or desirous to mislead. However enlightened and however skilful a
central power may be, it cannot of itself embrace all the details of
flee existence of a great nation. Such vigilance exceeds the powers
of man. And when it attempts to create and set in motion so many
complicated springs, it must submit to a very imperfect result, or
consume itself in bootless efforts.
Centralization succeeds more easily, indeed, in subjecting the
external actions of men to a certain uniformity, which at least
commands our regard, independently of the objects to which it is
applied, like those devotees who worship the statue and forget the
deity it represents. Centralization imparts without difficulty an
admirable regularity to the routine of business; provides for the
details of the social police with sagacity; represses the smallest
disorder and the most petty misdemeanors; maintains society in a
status quo alike secure from improvement and decline; and
perpetuates a drowsy precision in the conduct of affairs, which is
hailed by the heads of the administration as a sign of perfect order
and public tranquillity: in short, it excels more in prevention than
in action. Its force deserts it when society is to be disturbed or
accelerated in its course; and if once the co-operation of private
citizens is necessary to the furtherance of its measures, the secret
of its impotence is disclosed. Even whilst it invokes their
assistance, it is on the condition that they shall act exactly as
much as the Government chooses, and exactly in the manner it
appoints. They are to take charge of the details, without aspiring
to guide the system; they are to work in a dark and subordinate
sphere, and only to judge the acts in which they have themselves
co-operated by their results. These, however, are not conditions on
which the alliance of the human will is to be obtained; its carriage
must be free and its actions responsible, or (such is the
constitution of man) the citizen had rather remain a passive
spectator than a dependent actor in schemes with which he is
unacquainted.
It is undeniable that the want of those uniform regulations which
control the conduct of every inhabitant of France is not
unfrequently felt in the United States. Gross instances of social
indifference and neglect are to be met with, and from time to time
disgraceful blemishes are seen in complete contrast with the
surrounding civilization. Useful undertakings which cannot succeed
without perpetual attention and rigorous exactitude are very
frequently abandoned in the end; for in America, as well as in other
countries, the people is subject to sudden impulses and momentary
exertions. The European who is accustomed to find a functionary
always at hand to interfere with all he undertakes has some
difficulty in accustoming himself to the complex mechanism of the
administration of the townships. In general it may be affirmed that
the lesser details of the police, which render life easy and
comfortable, are neglected in America; but that the essential
guarantees of man in society are as strong there as elsewhere. In
America the power which conducts the Government is far less regular,
less enlightened, and less learned, but an hundredfold more
authoritative than in Europe. In no country in the world do the
citizens make such exertions for the common weal; and I am
acquainted with no people which has established schools as numerous
and as efficacious, places of public worship better suited to the
wants of the inhabitants, or roads kept in better repair. Uniformity
or permanence of design, the minute arrangement of details, and the
perfection of an ingenious administration, must not be sought for in
the United States; but it will be easy to find, on the other hand,
the symptoms of a power which, if it is somewhat barbarous, is at
least robust; and of an existence which is checkered with accidents
indeed, but cheered at the same time by animation and effort.
Granting for an instant that the villages and counties of the United
States would be more usefully governed by a remote authority which
they had never seen than by functionaries taken from the midst of
them -- admitting, for the sake of argument, that the country would
be more secure, and the resources of society better employed, if the
whole administration centred in a single arm -- still the political
advantages which the Americans derive from their system would induce
me to prefer it to the contrary plan. It profits me but little,
after all, that a vigilant authority should protect the tranquillity
of my pleasures and constantly avert all dangers from my path,
without my care or my concern, if this same authority is the
absolute mistress of my liberty and of my life, and if it so
monopolizes all the energy of existence that when it languishes
everything languishes around it, that when it sleeps everything must
sleep, that when it dies the State itself must perish.
In certain countries of Europe the natives consider themselves as a
kind of settlers, indifferent to the fate of the spot upon which
they live. The greatest changes are effected without their
concurrence and (unless chance may have apprised them of the event)
without their knowledge; nay more, the citizen is unconcerned as to
the condition of his village, the police of his street, the repairs
of the church or of the parsonage; for he looks upon all these
things as unconnected with himself, and as the property of a
powerful stranger whom he calls the Government. He has only a
life-interest in these possessions, and he entertains no notions of
ownership or of improvement. This want of interest in his own
affairs goes so far that, if his own safety or that of his children
is endangered, instead of trying to avert the peril, he will fold
his arms, and wait till the nation comes to his assistance. This
same individual, who has so completely sacrificed his own free will,
has no natural propensity to obedience; he cowers, it is true,
before the pettiest officer; but he braves the law with the spirit
of a conquered foe as soon as its superior force is removed: his
oscillations between servitude and license are perpetual. When a
nation has arrived at this state it must either change its customs
and its laws or perish: the source of public virtue is dry, and,
though it may contain subjects, the race of citizens is extinct.
Such communities are a natural prey to foreign conquests, and if
they do not disappear from the scene of life, it is because they are
surrounded by other nations similar or inferior to themselves: it is
because the instinctive feeling of their country's claims still
exists in their hearts; and because an involuntary pride in the name
it bears, or a vague reminiscence of its bygone fame, suffices to
give them the impulse of self-preservation.
Nor can the prodigious exertions made by tribes in the defence of a
country to which they did not belong be adduced in favor of such a
system; for it will be found that in these cases their main
incitement was religion. The permanence, the glory, or the
prosperity of the nation were become parts of their faith, and in
defending the country they inhabited they defended that Holy City of
which they were all citizens. The Turkish tribes have never taken an
active share in the conduct of the affairs of society, but they
accomplished stupendous enterprises as long as the victories of the
Sultan were the triumphs of the Mohammedan faith. In the present age
they are in rapid decay, because their religion is departing, and
despotism only remains. Montesquieu, who attributed to absolute
power an authority peculiar to itself, did it, as I conceive, an
undeserved honor; for despotism, taken by itself, can produce no
durable results. On close inspection we shall find that religion,
and not fear, has ever been the cause of the long-lived prosperity
of an absolute government. Whatever exertions may be made, no true
power can be founded among men which does not depend upon the free
union of their inclinations; and patriotism and religion are the
only two motives in the world which can permanently direct the whole
of a body politic to one end.
Laws cannot succeed in rekindling the ardor of an extinguished
faith, but men may be interested in the fate of their country by the
laws. By this influence the vague impulse of patriotism, which never
abandons the human heart, may be directed and revived; and if it be
connected with the thoughts, the passions, and the daily habits of
life, it may be consolidated into a durable and rational sentiment.
Let it not be said that the time for the experiment is already past;
for the old age of nations is not like the old age of men, and every
fresh generation is a new people ready for the care of the
legislator.
It is not the administrative but the political effects of the local
system that I most admire in America. In the United States the
interests of the country are everywhere kept in view; they are an
object of solicitude to the people of the whole Union, and every
citizen is as warmly attached to them as if they were his own. He
takes pride in the glory of his nation; he boasts of its success, to
which he conceives himself to have contributed, and he rejoices in
the general prosperity by which he profits. The feeling he
entertains towards the State is analogous to that which unites him
to his family, and it is by a kind of egotism that he interests
himself in the welfare of his country.
The European generally submits to a public officer because he
represents a superior force; but to an American he represents a
right. In America it may be said that no one renders obedience to
man, but to justice and to law. If the opinion which the citizen
entertains of himself is exaggerated, it is at least salutary; he
unhesitatingly confides in his own powers, which appear to him to be
all-sufficient. When a private individual meditates an undertaking,
however directly connected it may be with the welfare of society, he
never thinks of soliciting the co-operation of the Government, but
he publishes his plan, offers to execute it himself, courts the
assistance of other individuals, and struggles manfully against all
obstacles Undoubtedly he is often less successful than the State
might have been in his position; but in the end the sum of these
private undertakings far exceeds all that the Government could have
done.
As the administrative authority is within the reach of the citizens,
whom it in some degree represents, it excites neither their jealousy
nor their hatred; as its resources are limited, every one feels that
he must not rely solely on its assistance. Thus, when the
administration thinks fit to interfere, it is not abandoned to
itself as in Europe; the duties of the private citizens are not
supposed to have lapsed because the State assists in their
fulfilment, but every one is ready, on the contrary, to guide and to
support it. This action of individual exertions, joined to that of
the public authorities, frequently performs what the most energetic
central administration would be unable to execute. It would be easy
to adduce several facts in proof of what I advance, but I had rather
give only one, with which I am more thoroughly acquainted. In
America the means which the authorities have at their disposal for
the discovery of crimes and the arrest of criminals are few. The
State police does not exist, and passports are unknown. The criminal
police of the United States cannot be compared to that of France;
the magistrates and public prosecutors are not numerous, and the
examinations of prisoners are rapid and oral. Nevertheless in no
country does crime more rarely elude punishment. The reason is, that
every one conceives himself to be interested in furnishing evidence
of the act committed, and in stopping the delinquent. During my stay
in the United States I witnessed the spontaneous formation of
committees for the pursuit and prosecution of a man who had
committed a great crime in a certain county. In Europe a criminal is
an unhappy being who is struggling for his life against the
ministers of justice, whilst the population is merely a spectator of
the conflict; in America he is looked upon as an enemy of the human
race, and the whole of mankind is against him.
I believe that provincial institutions are useful to all nations,
but nowhere do they appear to me to be more indispensable than
amongst a democratic people. In an aristocracy order can always be
maintained in the midst of liberty, and as the rulers have a great
deal to lose order is to them a first-rate consideration. In like
manner an aristocracy protects the people from the excesses of
despotism, because it always possesses an organized power ready to
resist a despot. But a democracy without provincial institutions has
no security against these evils. How can a populace, unaccustomed to
freedom in small concerns, learn to use it temperately in great
affairs? What resistance can be offered to tyranny in a country
where every private individual is impotent, and where the citizens
are united by no common tie? Those who dread the license of the mob,
and those who fear the rule of absolute power, ought alike to desire
the progressive growth of provincial liberties.
On the other hand, I am convinced that democratic nations are most
exposed to fall beneath the yoke of a central administration, for
several reasons, amongst which is the following. The constant
tendency of these nations is to concentrate all the strength of the
Government in the hands of the only power which directly represents
the people, because beyond the people nothing is to be perceived but
a mass of equal individuals confounded together. But when the same
power is already in possession of all the attributes of the
Government, it can scarcely refrain from penetrating into the
details of the administration, and an opportunity of doing so is
sure to present itself in the end, as was the case in France. In the
French Revolution there were two impulses in opposite directions,
which must never be confounded -- the one was favorable to liberty,
the other to despotism. Under the ancient monarchy the King was the
sole author of the laws, and below the power of the sovereign
certain vestiges of provincial institutions, half destroyed, were
still distinguishable. These provincial institutions were
incoherent, ill compacted, and frequently absurd; in the hands of
the aristocracy they had sometimes been converted into instruments
of oppression. The Revolution declared itself the enemy of royalty
and of provincial institutions at the same time; it confounded all
that had preceded it -- despotic power and the checks to its abuses
-- in indiscriminate hatred, and its tendency was at once to
overthrow and to centralize. This double character of the French
Revolution is a fact which has been adroitly handled by the friends
of absolute power. Can they be accused of laboring in the cause of
despotism when they are defending that central administration which
was one of the great innovations of the Revolution? In this manner
popularity may be conciliated with hostility to the rights of the
people, and the secret slave of tyranny may be the professed admirer
of freedom.
I have visited the two nations in which the system of provincial
liberty has been most perfectly established, and I have listened to
the opinions of different parties in those countries. In America I
met with men who secretly aspired to destroy the democratic
institutions of the Union; in England I found others who attacked
the aristocracy openly, but I know of no one who does not regard
provincial independence as a great benefit. In both countries I have
heard a thousand different causes assigned for the evils of the
State, but the local system was never mentioned amongst them. I have
heard citizens attribute the power and prosperity of their country
to a multitude of reasons, but they all placed the advantages of
local institutions in the foremost rank. Am I to suppose that when
men who are naturally so divided on religious opinions and on
political theories agree on one point (and that one of which they
have daily experience), they are all in error? The only nations
which deny the utility of provincial liberties are those which have
fewest of them; in other words, those who are unacquainted with the
institution are the only persons who pass a censure upon it.
Chapter 6 Judicial Power in the United States and its Influence on
Political Society
The Anglo-Americans have retained the characteristics of judicial
power which are common to all nations -- They have, however, made it
a powerful political organ -- How -- In what the judicial system of
the Anglo-Americans differs from that of all other nations -- Why
the American judges have the right of declaring the laws to be
unconstitutional -- How they use this right -- Precautions taken by
the legislator to prevent its abuse.
I HAVE thought it essential to devote a separate chapter to the
judicial authorities of the United States, lest their great
political importance should be lessened in the reader's eyes by a
merely incidental mention of them. Confederations have existed in
other countries beside America, and republics have not been
established upon the shores of the New World alone; the
representative system of government has been adopted in several
States of Europe, but I am not aware that any nation of the globe
has hitherto organized a judicial power on the principle now adopted
by the Americans. The judicial organization of the United States is
the institution which a stranger has the greatest difficulty in
understanding. He hears the authority of a judge invoked in the
political occurrences of every day, and he naturally concludes that
in the United States the judges are important political
functionaries; nevertheless, when he examines the nature of the
tribunals, they offer nothing which is contrary to the usual habits
and privileges of those bodies, and the magistrates seem to him to
interfere in public affairs of chance, but by a chance which recurs
every day.
When the Parliament of Paris remonstrated, or refused to enregister
an edict, or when it summoned a functionary accused of malversation
to its bar, its political influence as a judicial body was clearly
visible; but nothing of the kind is to be seen in the United States.
The Americans have retained all the ordinary characteristics of
judicial authority, and have carefully restricted its action to the
ordinary circle of its functions.
The first characteristic of judicial power in all nations is the
duty of arbitration. But rights must be contested in order to
warrant the interference of a tribunal; and an action must be
brought to obtain the decision of a judge. As long, therefore, as
the law is uncontested, the judicial authority is not called upon to
discuss it, and it may exist without being perceived. When a judge
in a given case attacks a law relating to that case, he extends the
circle of his customary duties, without however stepping beyond it;
since he is in some measure obliged to decide upon the law in order
to decide the case. But if he pronounces upon a law without resting
upon a case, he clearly steps beyond his sphere, and invades that of
the legislative authority.
The second characteristic of judicial power is that it pronounces on
special cases, and not upon general principles. If a judge in
deciding a particular point destroys a general principle, by passing
a judgment which tends to reject all the inferences from that
principle, and consequently to annul it, he remains within the
ordinary limits of his functions. But if he directly attacks a
general principle without having a particular case' in view, he
leaves the circle in which all nations have agreed to confine his
authority, he assumes a more important, and perhaps a more useful,
influence than that of the magistrate, but he ceases to be a
representative of the judicial power.
The third characteristic of the judicial power is its inability to
act unless it is appealed to, or until it has taken cognizance of an
affair. This characteristic is less general than the other two; but,
notwithstanding the exceptions, I think it may be regarded as
essential. The judicial power is by its nature devoid of action; it
must be put in motion in order to produce a result. When it is
called upon to repress a crime, it punishes the criminal; when a
wrong is to be redressed, it is ready to redress it; when an act
requires interpretation, it is prepared to interpret it; but it does
not pursue criminals, hunt out wrongs, or examine into evidence of
its own accord. A judicial functionary who should open proceedings,
and usurp the censorship of the laws, would in some measure do
violence to the passive nature of his authority.
The Americans have retained these three distinguishing
characteristics of the judicial power; an American judge can only
pronounce a decision when litigation has arisen, he is only
conversant with special cases, and he cannot act until the cause has
been duly brought before the court. His position is therefore
perfectly similar to that of the magistrate of other nations; and he
is nevertheless invested with immense political power. If the sphere
of his authority and his means of action are the same as those of
other judges, it may be asked whence he derives a power which they
do not possess. The cause of this difference lies in the simple fact
that the Americans have acknowledged the right of the judges to
found their decisions on the constitution rather than on the laws.
In other words, they have left them at liberty not to apply such
laws as may appear to them to be unconstitutional.
I am aware that a similar right has been claimed -- but claimed in
vain -- by courts of justice in other countries; but in America it
is recognized by all authorities; and not a party, nor so much as an
individual, is found to contest it. This fact can only be explained
by the principles of the American constitution. In France the
constitution is (or at least is supposed to be) immutable; and the
received theory is that no power has the right of changing any part
of it. In England the Parliament has an acknowledged right to modify
the constitution; as, therefore, the constitution may undergo
perpetual changes, it does not in reality exist; the Parliament is
at once a legislative and a constituent assembly. The political
theories of America are more simple and more rational. An American
constitution is not supposed to be immutable as in France, nor is it
susceptible of modification by the ordinary powers of society as in
England. It constitutes a detached whole, which, as it represents
the determination of the whole people, is no less binding on the
legislator than on the private citizen, but which may be altered by
the will of the people in predetermined cases, according to
established rules. In America the constitution may therefore vary,
but as long as it exists it is the origin of all authority, and the
sole vehicle of the predominating force.
It is easy to perceive in what manner these differences must act
upon the position and the rights of the judicial bodies in the three
countries I have cited. If in France the tribunals were authorized
to disobey the laws on the ground of their being opposed to the
constitution, the supreme power would in fact be placed in their
hands, since they alone would have the right of interpreting a
constitution, the clauses of which can be modified by no authority.
They would therefore take the place of the nation, and exercise as
absolute a sway over society as the inherent weakness of judicial
power would allow them to do. Undoubtedly, as the French judges are
incompetent to declare a law to be unconstitutional, the power of
changing the constitution is indirectly given to the legislative
body, since no legal barrier would oppose the alterations which it
might prescribe. But it is better to grant the power of changing the
constitution of the people to men who represent (however
imperfectly) the will of the people, than to men who represent no
one but themselves.
It would be still more unreasonable to invest the English judges
with the right of resisting the decisions of the legislative body,
since the Parliament which makes the laws also makes the
constitution; and consequently a law emanating from the three powers
of the State can in no case be unconstitutional. But neither of
these remarks is applicable to America.
In the United States the constitution governs the legislator as much
as the private citizen; as it is the first of laws it cannot be
modified by a law, and it is therefore just that the tribunals
should obey the constitution in preference to any law. This
condition is essential to the power of the judicature, for to select
that legal obligation by which he is most strictly bound is the
natural right of every magistrate.
In France the constitution is also the first of laws, and the judges
have the same right to take it as the ground of their decisions, but
were they to exercise this right they must perforce encroach on
rights more sacred than their own, namely, on those of society, in
whose name they are acting. In this case the State-motive clearly
prevails over the motives of an individual. In America, where the
nation can always reduce its magistrates to obedience by changing
its constitution, no danger of this kind is to be feared. Upon this
point, therefore, the political and the logical reasons agree, and
the people as well as the judges preserve their privileges.
Whenever a law which the judge holds to be unconstitutional is
argued in a tribunal of the United States he may refuse to admit it
as a rule; this power is the only one which is peculiar to the
American magistrate, but it gives rise to immense political
influence. Few laws can escape the searching analysis of the
judicial power for any length of time, for there are few which are
not prejudicial to some private interest or other, and none which
may not be brought before a court of justice by the choice of
parties, or by the necessity of the case. But from the time that a
judge has refused to apply any given law in a case, that law loses a
portion of its moral cogency. The persons to whose interests it is
prejudicial learn that means exist of evading its authority, and
similar suits are multiplied, until it becomes powerless. One of two
alternatives must then be resorted to: the people must alter the
constitution, or the legislature must repeal the law. The political
power which the Americans have intrusted to their courts of justice
is therefore immense, hut the evils of this power are considerably
diminished by the obligation which has been imposed of attacking the
laws through the courts of justice alone. If the judge had been
empowered to contest the laws on the ground of theoretical
generalities, if he had been enabled to open an attack or to pass a
censure on the legislator, he would have played a prominent part in
the political sphere; and as the champion or the antagonist of a
party, he would have arrayed the hostile passions of the nation in
the conflict. But when a judge contests a law applied to some
particular case in an obscure proceeding, the importance of his
attack is concealed from the public gaze, his decision bears upon
the interest of an individual, and if the law is slighted it is only
collaterally. Moreover, although it is censured, it is not
abolished; its moral force may be diminished, but its cogency is by
no means suspended, and its final destruction can only by
accomplished by the reiterated attacks of judicial functionaries. It
will readily be understood that by connecting the censorship of the
laws with the private interests of members of the community, and by
intimately uniting the prosecution of the law with the prosecution
of an individual, legislation is protected from wanton assailants,
and from the daily aggressions of party spirit. The errors of the
legislator are exposed whenever their evil consequences are most
felt, and it is always a positive and appreciable fact which serves
as the basis of a prosecution.
I am inclined to believe this practice of the American courts to be
at once the most favorable to liberty as well as to public order. If
the judge could only attack the legislator openly and directly, he
would sometimes be afraid to oppose any resistance to his will; and
at other moments party spirit might encourage him to brave it at
every turn. The laws would consequently be attacked when the power
from which they emanate is weak, and obeyed when it is strong. That
is to say, when it would be useful to respect them they would be
contested, and when it would be easy to convert them into an
instrument of oppression they would be respected. But the American
judge is brought into the political arena independently of his own
will. He only judges the law because he is obliged to judge a case.
The political question which he is called upon to resolve is
connected with the interest of the suitors, and he cannot refuse to
decide it without abdicating the duties of his post. He performs his
functions as a citizen by fulfilling the precise duties which belong
to his profession as a magistrate. It is true that upon this system
the judicial censorship which is exercised by the courts of justice
over the legislation cannot extend to all laws indiscriminately,
inasmuch as some of them can never give rise to that exact species
of contestation which is termed a lawsuit; and even when such a
contestation is possible, it may happen that no one cares to bring
it before a court of justice. The Americans have often felt this
disadvantage, but they have left the remedy incomplete, lest they
should give it an efficacy which might in some cases prove
dangerous. Within these limits the power vested in the American
courts of justice of pronouncing a statute to be unconstitutional
forms one of the most powerful barriers which has ever been devised
against the tyranny of political assemblies.
Other Powers Granted to American Judges
In the United States all the citizens have the right of indicting
public functionaries before the ordinary tribunals -- How they use
this right -- Art. 75 of the French Constitution of the An VIII --
The Americans and the English cannot understand the purport of this
clause.
It is perfectly natural that in a free country like America all the
citizens should have the right of indicting public functionaries
before the ordinary tribunals, and that all the judges should have
the power of punishing public offences. The right granted to the
courts of justice of judging the agents of the executive government,
when they have violated the laws, is so natural a one that it cannot
be looked upon as an extraordinary privilege. Nor do the springs of
government appear to me to be weakened in the United States by the
custom which renders all public officers responsible to the judges
of the land. The Americans seem, on the contrary, to have increased
by this means that respect which is due to the authorities, and at
the same time to have rendered those who are in power more
scrupulous of offending public opinion. I was struck by the small
number of political trials which occur in the United States, but I
had no difficulty in accounting for this circumstance. A law-suit,
of whatever nature it may be, is always a difficult and expensive
undertaking. It is easy to attack a public man in a journal, but the
motives which can warrant an action at law must be serious. A solid
ground of complaint must therefore exist to induce an individual to
prosecute a public officer, and public officers are careful not to
furnish these grounds of complaint when they are afraid of being
prosecuted.
This does not depend upon the republican form of American
institutions, for the same facts present themselves in England.
These two nations do not regard the impeachment of the principal
officers of State as a sufficient guarantee of their independence.
But they hold that the right of minor prosecutions, which are within
the reach of the whole community, is a better pledge of freedom than
those great judicial actions which are rarely employed until it is
too late.
In the Middle Ages, when it was very difficult to overtake
offenders, the judges inflicted the most dreadful tortures on the
few who were arrested, which by no means diminished the number of
crimes. It has since been discovered that when justice is more
certain and more mild, it is at the same time more efficacious. The
English and the Americans hold that tyranny and oppression are to be
treated like any other crime, by lessening the penalty and
facilitating conviction.
In the year VIII of the French Republic a constitution was drawn up
in which the following clause was introduced: "Art. 75. All the
agents of the government below the rank of ministers can only be
prosecuted for offences relating to their several functions by
virtue of a decree of the Conseil d'Etat; in which case the
prosecution takes place before the ordinary tribunals." This clause
survived the "Constitution de l'An VIII," and it is still maintained
in spite of the just complaints of the nation. I have always found
the utmost difficulty in explaining its meaning to Englishmen or
Americans. They were at once led to conclude that the Conseil d'Etat
in France was a great tribunal, established in the centre of the
kingdom, which exercised a preliminary and somewhat tyrannical
jurisdiction in all political causes. But when I told them that the
Conseil d'Etat was not a judicial body, in the common sense of the
term, but an administrative council composed of men dependent on the
Crown, so that the king, after having ordered one of his servants,
called a Prefect, to commit an injustice, has the power of
commanding another of his servants, called a Councillor of State, to
prevent the former from being punished; when I demonstrated to them
that the citizen who has been injured by the order of the sovereign
is obliged to solicit from the sovereign permission to obtain
redress, they refused to credit so flagrant an abuse, and were
tempted to accuse me of falsehood or of ignorance. It frequently
happened before the Revolution that a Parliament issued a warrant
against a public officer who had committed an offence, and sometimes
the proceedings were stopped by the authority of the Crown, which
enforced compliance with its absolute and despotic will. It is
painful to perceive how much lower we are sunk than our forefathers,
since we allow things to pass under the color of justice and the
sanction of the law which violence alone could impose upon them.
Chapter 7 Political Jurisdiction in the United States
Definition of political jurisdiction -- What is understood by
political jurisdiction in France, in England, and in the United
States -- In America the political judge can only pass sentence on
public officers -- He more frequently passes a sentence of removal
from office than a penalty -- Political jurisdiction as it exists in
the United States is, notwithstanding its mildness, and perhaps in
consequence of that mildness, a most powerful instrument in the
hands of the majority.
I UNDERSTAND, by political jurisdiction, that temporary right of
pronouncing a legal decision with which a political body may be
invested.
In absolute governments no utility can accrue from the introduction
of extraordinary forms of procedure; the prince in whose name an
offender is prosecuted is as much the sovereign of the courts of
justice as of everything else, and the idea which is entertained of
his power is of itself a sufficient security. The only thing he has
to fear is, that the external formalities of justice should be
neglected, and that his authority should be dishonored from a wish
to render it more absolute. But in most free countries, in which the
majority can never exercise the same influence upon the tribunals as
an absolute monarch, the judicial power has occasionally been vested
for a time in the representatives of the nation. It has been thought
better to introduce a temporary confusion between the functions of
the different authorities than to violate the necessary principle of
the unity of government.
England, France, and the United States have established this
political jurisdiction by law; and it is curious to examine the
different adaptations which these three great nations have made of
the principle. In England and in France the House of Lords and the
Chambre des Paris constitute the highest criminal court of their
respective nations, and although they do not habitually try all
political offences, they are competent to try them all. Another
political body enjoys the right of impeachment before the House of
Lords: the only difference which exists between the two countries in
this respect is, that in England the Commons may impeach whomsoever
they please before the Lords, whilst in France the Deputies can only
employ this mode of prosecution against the ministers of the Crown.
In both countries the Upper House may make use of all the existing
penal laws of the nation to punish the delinquents.
In the United States, as well as in Europe, one branch of the
legislature is authorized to impeach and another to judge: the House
of Representatives arraigns the offender, and the Senate awards his
sentence. But the Senate can only try such persons as are brought
before it by the House of Representatives, and those persons must
belong to the class of public functionaries. Thus the jurisdiction
of the Senate is less extensive than that of the Peers of France,
whilst the right of impeachment by the Representatives is more
general than that of the Deputies. But the great difference which
exists between Europe and America is, that in Europe political
tribunals are empowered to inflict all the dispositions of the penal
code, while in America, when they have deprived the offender of his
official rank, and have declared him incapable of filling any
political office for the future, their jurisdiction terminates and
that of the ordinary tribunals begins.
Suppose, for instance, that the President of the United States has
committed the crime of high treason; the House of Representatives
impeaches him, and the Senate degrades him; he must then be tried by
a jury, which alone can deprive him of his liberty or his life. This
accurately illustrates the subject we are treating. The political
jurisdiction which is established by the laws of Europe is intended
to try great offenders, whatever may be their birth, their rank, or
their powers in the State; and to this end all the privileges of the
courts of justice are temporarily extended to a great political
assembly. The legislator is then transformed into the magistrate; he
is called upon to admit, to distinguish, and to punish the offence;
and as he exercises all the authority of a judge, the law restricts
him to the observance of all the duties of that high office, and of
all the formalities of justice. When a public functionary is
impeached before an English or a French political tribunal, andis
found guilty, the sentence deprives him ipso facto of his functions,
and it may pronounce him to be incapable of resuming them or any
others for the future. But in this case the political interdict is a
consequence of the sentence, and not the sentence itself. In Europe
the sentence of a political tribunal is to be regarded as a judicial
verdict rather than as an administrative measure. In the United
States the Contrary takes place; and although the decision of the
Senate is judicial in its form, since the Senators are obliged to
comply with the practices and formalities of a court of justice;
although it is judicial in respect to the motives on which it is
founded, since the Senate is in general obliged to take an offence
at common law as the basis of its sentence; nevertheless the object
of the proceeding is purely administrative. If it had been the
intention of the American legislator to invest a political body with
great judicial authority, its action would not have been limited to
the circle of public functionaries, since the most dangerous enemies
of the State may be in the possession of no functions at all; and
this is especially true in republics, where party influence is the
first of authorities, and where the strength of many a leader is
increased by his exercising no legal power.
If it had been the intention of the American legislator to give
society the means of repressing State offences by exemplary
punishment, according to the practice of ordinary justice, the
resources of the penal code would all have been placed at the
disposal of the political tribunals. But the weapon with which they
are intrusted is an imperfect one, and it can never reach the most
dangerous offenders, since men who aim at the entire subversion of
the laws are not likely to murmur at a political interdict.
The main object of the political jurisdiction which obtains in the
United States is, therefore, to deprive the ill-disposed citizen of
an authority which he has used amiss, and to prevent him from ever
acquiring it again. This is evidently an administrative measure
sanctioned by the formalities of a judicial decision. In this matter
the Americans have created a mixed system; they have surrounded the
act which removes a public functionary with the securities of a
political trial; and they have deprived all political condemnations
of their severest penalties. Every link of the system may easily be
traced from this point; we at once perceive why the American
constitutions subject all the civil functionaries to the
jurisdiction of the Senate, whilst the military, whose crimes are
nevertheless more formidable, are exempted from that tribunal. In
the civil service none of the American functionaries can be said to
be removable; the places which some of them occupy are inalienable,
and the others are chosen for a term which cannot be shortened. It
is therefore necessary to try them all in order to deprive them of
their authority. But military officers are dependent on the chief
magistrate of the State, who is himself a civil functionary, and the
decision which condemns him is a blow upon them all.
If we now compare the American and the European systems, we shall
meet with differences no less striking in the different effects
which each of them produces or may produce. In France and in England
the jurisdiction of political bodies is looked upon as an
extraordinary resource, which is only to be employed in order to
rescue society from unwonted dangers. It is not to be denied that
these tribunals, as they are constituted in Europe, are apt to
violate the conservative principle of the balance of power in the
State, and to threaten incessantly the lives and liberties of the
subject. The same political jurisdiction in the United States is
only indirectly hostile to the balance of power; it cannot menace
the lives of the citizens, and it does not hover, as in Europe, over
the heads of the community, since those only who have submitted to
its authority on accepting office are exposed to the severity of its
investigations. It is at the same time less formidable and less
efficacious; indeed, it had not been considered by the legislators
of the United States as a remedy for the more violent evils of
society, but as an ordinary means of conducting the government. In
this respect it probably exercises more real influence on the social
body in America than in Europe. We must not be misled by the
apparent mildness of the American legislation in all that relates to
political jurisdiction. It is to be observed, in the first place,
that in the United States the tribunal which passes sentence is
composed of the same elements, and subject to the same influences,
as the body which impeaches the offender, and that this uniformity
gives an almost irresistible impulse to the vindictive passions of
parties. If political judges in the United States cannot inflict
such heavy penalties as those of Europe, there is the less chance of
their acquitting a prisoner; and the conviction, if it is less
formidable, is more certain. The principal object of the political
tribunals of Europe is to punish the offender; the purpose of those
in America is to deprive him of his authority. A political
condemnation in the United States may, therefore, be looked upon as
a preventive measure; and there is no reason for restricting the
judges to the exact definitions of criminal law. Nothing can be more
alarming than the excessive latitude with which political offences
are described in the laws of America. Article II., Section 4, of the
Constitution of the United States runs thus: -- "The President,
Vice- President, and all civil officers of the United States shall
be removed from office on impeachment for, and conviction of,
treason, bribery, or other high crimes and misdemeanors." Many of
the Constitutions of the States are even less explicit. "Public
officers," says the Constitution of Massachusetts, "shall be
impeached for misconduct or maladministration;" the Constitution of
Virginia declares that all the civil officers who shall have
offended against the State, by maladministration, corruption, or
other high crimes, may be impeached by the House of Delegates; in
some constitutions no offences are specified, in order to subject
the public functionaries to an unlimited responsibility. But I will
venture to affirm that it is precisely their mildness which renders
the American laws most formidable in this respect. We have shown
that in Europe the removal of a functionary and his political
interdiction are the consequences of the penalty he is to undergo,
and that in America they constitute the penalty itself. The
consequence is that in Europe political tribunals are invested with
rights which they are afraid to use, and that the fear of punishing
too much hinders them from punishing at all. But in America no one
hesitates to inflict a penalty from which humanity does not recoil.
To condemn a political opponent to death, in order to deprive him of
his power, is to commit what all the world would execrate as a
horrible assassination; but to declare that opponent unworthy to
exercise that authority, to deprive him of it, and to leave him
uninjured in life and limb, may be judged to be the fair issue of
the struggle. But this sentence, which it is so easy to pronounce,
is not the less fatally severe to the majority of those upon whom it
is inflicted. Great criminals may undoubtedly brave its intangible
rigor, but ordinary offenders will dread it as a condemnation which
destroys their position in the world, casts a blight upon their
honor, and condemns them to a shameful inactivity worse than death.
The influence exercised in the United States upon the progress of
society by the jurisdiction of political bodies may not appear to be
formidable, but it is only the more immense. It does not directly
coerce the subject, but it renders the majority more absolute over
those in power; it does not confer an unbounded authority on the
legislator which can only be exerted at some momentous crisis, but
it establishes a temperate and regular influence, which is at all
times available. If the power is decreased, it can, on the other
hand, be more conveniently employed and more easily abused. By
preventing political tribunals from inflicting judicial punishments
the Americans seem to have eluded the worst consequences of
legislative tyranny, rather than tyranny itself; and I am not sure
that political jurisdiction, as it is constituted in the United
States, is not the most formidable weapon which has ever been placed
in the rude grasp of a popular majority. When the American republics
begin to degenerate it will be easy to verify the truth of this
observation, by remarking whether the number of political
impeachments augments.
Chapter 8 The Federal Constitution
I HAVE hitherto considered each State as a separate whole, and I
have explained the different springs which the people sets in
motion, and the different means of action which it employs. But all
the States which I have considered as independent are forced to
submit, in certain cases, to the supreme authority of the Union. The
time is now come for me to examine separately the supremacy with
which the Union has been invested, and to cast a rapid glance over
the Federal Constitution.
History of the Federal Constitution
Origin of the first Union -- Its weakness -- Congress appeals to the
constituent authority -- Interval of two years between this appeal
and the promulgation of the new Constitution.
The thirteen colonies which simultaneously threw off the yoke of
England towards the end of the last century professed, as I have
already observed, the same religion, the same language, the same
customs, and almost the same laws; they were struggling against a
common enemy; and these reasons were sufficiently strong to unite
them one to another, and to consolidate them into one nation. But as
each of them had enjoyed a separate existence and a government
within its own control, the peculiar interests and customs which
resulted from this system were opposed to a compact and intimate
union which would have absorbed the individual importance of each in
the general importance of all. Hence arose two opposite tendencies,
the one prompting the Anglo-Americans to unite, the other to divide
their strength. As long as the war with the mother-country lasted
the principle of union was kept alive by necessity; and although the
laws which constituted it were defective, the common tie subsisted
in spite of their imperfections. But no sooner was peace concluded
than the faults of the legislation became manifest, and the State
seemed to be suddenly dissolved. Each colony became an independent
republic, and assumed an absolute sovereignty. The federal
government, condemned to impotence by its constitution, and no
longer sustained by the presence of a common danger, witnessed the
outrages offered to its flag by the great nations of Europe, whilst
it was scarcely able to maintain its ground against the Indian
tribes, and to pay the interest of the debt which had been
contracted during the war of independence. It was already on the
verge of destruction, when it officially proclaimed its inability to
conduct the government, and appealed to the constituent authority of
the nation. If America ever approached (for however brief a time)
that lofty pinnacle of glory to which the fancy of its inhabitants
is wont to point, it was at the solemn moment at which the power of
the nation abdicated, as it were, the empire of the land. All ages
have furnished the spectacle of a people struggling with energy to
win its independence; and the efforts of the Americans in throwing
off the English yoke have been considerably exaggerated. Separated
from their enemies by three thousand miles of ocean, and backed by a
powerful ally, the success of the United States may be more justly
attributed to their geographical position than to the valor of their
armies or the patriotism of their citizens. It would be ridiculous
to compare the American war to the wars of the French Revolution, or
the efforts of the Americans to those of the French when they were
attacked by the whole of Europe, without credit and without allies,
yet capable of opposing a twentieth part of their population to the
world, and of bearing the torch of revolution beyond their frontiers
whilst they stifled its devouring flame within the bosom of their
country. But it is a novelty in the history of society to see a
great people turn a calm and scrutinizing eye upon itself, when
apprised by the legislature that the wheels of government are
stopped; to see it carefully examine the extent of the evil, and
patiently wait for two whole years until a remedy was discovered,
which it voluntarily adopted without having wrung a tear or a drop
of blood from mankind. At the time when the inadequacy of the first
constitution was discovered America possessed the double advantage
of that calm which had succeeded the effervescence of the
revolution, and of those great men who had led the revolution to a
successful issue. The assembly which accepted the task of composing
the second constitution was small; but George Washington was its
President, and it contained the choicest talents and the noblest
hearts which had ever appeared in the New World. This national
commission, after long and mature deliberation, offered to the
acceptance of the people the body of general laws which still rules
the Union. All the States adopted it successively. The new Federal
Government commenced its functions in 1789, after an interregnum of
two years. The Revolution of America terminated when that of France
began.
Summary of the Federal Constitution
Division of authority between the Federal Government and the States
-- The Government of the States is the rule, the Federal Government
the exception.
The first question which awaited the Americans was intricate, and by
no means easy of solution: the object was so to divide the authority
of the different States which composed the Union that each of them
should continue to govern itself in all that concerned its internal
prosperity, whilst the entire nation, represented by the Union,
should continue to form a compact body, and to provide for the
general exigencies of the people. It was as impossible to determine
beforehand, with any degree of accuracy, the share of authority
which each of two governments was to enjoy, as to foresee all the
incidents in the existence of a nation.
The obligations and the claims of the Federal Government were simple
and easily definable, because the Union had been formed with the
express purpose of meeting the general exigencies of the people; but
the claims and obligations of the states were, on the other hand,
complicated and various, because those Governments had penetrated
into all the details of social life. The attributes of the Federal
Government were therefore carefully enumerated and all that was not
included amongst them was declared to constitute a part of the
privileges of the several Governments of the States. Thus the
government of the States remained the rule, and that of the
Confederation became the exception.
But as it was foreseen that, in practice, questions might arise as
to the exact limits of this exceptional authority, and that it would
be dangerous to submit these questions to the decision of the
ordinary courts of justice, established in the States by the States
themselves, a high Federal court was created, which was destined,
amongst other functions, to maintain the balance of power which had
been established by the Constitution between the two rival
Governments.
Prerogative of the Federal Government
Power of declaring war, making peace, and levying general taxes
vested in the Federal Government -- What part of the internal policy
of the country it may direct -- The Government of the Union in some
respects more central than the King's Government in the old French
monarchy.
The external relations of a people may be compared to those of
private individuals, and they cannot be advantageously maintained
without the agency of a single head of a Government. The exclusive
right of making peace and war, of concluding treaties of commerce,
of raising armies, and equipping fleets, was granted to the Union.
The necessity of a national Government was less imperiously felt in
the conduct of the internal policy of society; but there are certain
general interests which can only be attended to with advantage by a
general authority. The Union was invested with the power of
controlling the monetary system, of directing the post office, and
of opening the great roads which were to establish a communication
between the different parts of the country. The independence of the
Government of each State was formally recognized in its sphere;
nevertheless, the Federal Government was authorized to interfere in
the internal affairs of the States in a few predetermined cases, in
which an indiscreet abuse of their independence might compromise the
security of the Union at large. Thus, whilst the power of modifying
and changing their legislation at pleasure was preserved in all the
republics, they were forbidden to enact ex post facto laws, or to
create a class of nobles in their community. Lastly, as it was
necessary that the Federal Government should be able to fulfil its
engagements, it was endowed with an unlimited power of levying
taxes.
In examining the balance of power as established by the Federal
Constitution; in remarking on the one hand the portion of
sovereignty which has been reserved to the several States, and on
the other the share of power which the Union has assumed, it is
evident that the Federal legislators entertained the clearest and
most accurate notions on the nature of the centralization of
government. The United States form not only a republic, but a
confederation; nevertheless the authority of the nation is more
central than it was in several of the monarchies of Europe when the
American Constitution was formed. Take, for instance, the two
following examples.
Thirteen supreme courts of justice existed in France, which,
generally speaking, had the right of interpreting the law without
appeal; and those provinces which were styled pays d'etats were
authorized to refuse their assent to an impost which had been levied
by the sovereign who represented the nation. In the Union there is
but one tribunal to interpret, as there is one legislature to make
the laws; and an impost voted by the representatives of the nation
is binding upon all the citizens. In these two essential points,
therefore, the Union exercises more central authority than the
French monarchy possessed, although the Union is only an assemblage
of confederate republics.
In Spain certain provinces had the right of establishing a system of
custom-house duties peculiar to themselves, although that privilege
belongs, by its very nature, to the national sovereignty. In America
the Congress alone has the right of regulating the commercial
relations of the States. The government of the Confederation is
therefore more centralized in this respect than the kingdom of
Spain. It is true that the power of the Crown in France or in Spain
was always able to obtain by force whatever the Constitution of the
country denied, and that the ultimate result was consequently the
same; but I am here discussing the theory of the Constitution.
Federal Powers
After having settled the limits within which the Federal Government
was to act, the next point was to determine the powers which it was
to exert.
Legislative Powers
Division of the Legislative Body into two branches -- Difference in
the manner of forming the two Houses -- The principle of the
independence of the States predominates in the formation of the
Senate -- The principle of the sovereignty of the nation in the
composition of the House of Representatives -- Singular effects of
the fact that a Constitution can only be logical in the early stages
of a nation.
The plan which had been laid down beforehand for the Constitutions
of the several States was followed, in many points, in the
organization of the powers of the Union. The Federal legislature of
the Union was composed of a Senate and a House of Representatives. A
spirit of conciliation prescribed the observance of distinct
principles in the formation of these two assemblies. I have already
shown that two contrary interests were opposed to each other in the
establishment of the Federal Constitution. These two interests had
given rise to two opinions. It was the wish of one party to convert
the Union into a league of independent States, or a sort of
congress, at which the representatives of the several peoples would
meet to discuss certain points of their common interests. The other
party desired to unite the inhabitants of the American colonies into
one sole nation, and to establish a Government which should act as
the sole representative of the nation, as far as the limited sphere
of its authority would permit. The practical consequences of these
two theories were exceedingly different.
The question was, whether a league was to be established instead of
a national Government; whether the majority of the States, instead
of the majority of the inhabitants of the Union, was to give the
law: for every State, the small as well as the great, would then
remain in the full enjoyment of its independence, and enter the
Union upon a footing of perfect equality. If, however, the
inhabitants of the United States were to be considered as belonging
to one and the same nation, it would be just that the majority of
the citizens of the Union should prescribe the law. Of course the
lesser States could not subscribe to the application of this
doctrine without, in fact, abdicating their existence in relation to
the sovereignty of the Confederation; since they would have passed
from the condition of a co-equal and co-legislative authority to
that of an insignificant fraction of a great people. But if the
former system would have invested them with an excessive authority,
the latter would have annulled their influence altogether. Under
these circumstances the result was, that the strict rules of logic
were evaded, as is usually the case when interests are opposed to
arguments. A middle course was hit upon by the legislators, which
brought together by force two systems theoretically irreconcilable.
The principle of the independence of the States prevailed in the
formation of the Senate, and that of the sovereignty of the nation
predominated in the composition of the House of Representatives. It
was decided that each State should send two senators to Congress,
and a number of representatives proportioned to its population. It
results from this arrangement that the State of New York has at the
present day forty representatives and only two senators; the State
of Delaware has two senators and only one representative; the State
of Delaware is therefore equal to the State of New York in the
Senate, whilst the latter has forty times the influence of the
former in the House of Representatives. Thus, if the minority of the
nation preponderates in the Senate, it may paralyze the decisions of
the majority represented in the other House, which is contrary to
the spirit of constitutional government.
These facts show how rare and how difficult it is rationally and
logically to combine all the several parts of legislation. In the
course of time different interests arise, and different principles
are sanctioned by the same people; and when a general constitution
is to be established, these interests and principles are so many
natural obstacles to the rigorous application of any political
system, with all its consequences. The early stages of national
existence are the only periods at which it is possible to maintain
the complete logic of legislation; and when we perceive a nation in
the enjoyment of this advantage, before we hasten to conclude that
it is wise, we should do well to remember that it is young. When the
Federal Constitution was formed, the interests of independence for
the separate States, and the interest of union for the whole people,
were the only two conflicting interests which existed amongst the
Anglo-Americans, and a compromise was necessarily made between them.
It is, however, just to acknowledge that this part of the
Constitution has not hitherto produced those evils which might have
been feared. All the States are young and contiguous; their customs,
their ideas, and their exigencies are not dissimilar; and the
differences which result from their size or inferiority do not
suffice to set their interests at variance. The small States have
consequently never been induced to league themselves together in the
Senate to oppose the designs of the larger ones; and indeed there is
so irresistible an authority in the legitimate expression of the
will of a people that the Senate could offer but a feeble opposition
to the vote of the majority of the House of Representatives.
It must not be forgotten, on the other hand, that it was not in the
power of the American legislators to reduce to a single nation the
people for whom they were making laws. The object of the Federal
Constitution was not to destroy the independence of the States, but
to restrain it. By acknowledging the real authority of these
secondary communities (and it was impossible to deprive them of it),
they disavowed beforehand the habitual use of constraint in
enforcing the decisions of the majority. Upon this principle the
introduction of the influence of the States into the mechanism of
the Federal Government was by no means to be wondered at, since it
only attested the existence of an acknowledged power, which was to
be humored and not forcibly checked.
A Further Difference Between the Senate and the House of
Representatives
The Senate named by the provincial legislators, the Representatives
by the people -- Double election of the former; single election of
the latter -- Term of the different offices -- Peculiar functions of
each House.
The Senate not only differs from the other House in the principle
which it represents, but also in the mode of its election, in the
term for which it is chosen, and in the nature of its functions. The
House of Representatives is named by the people, the Senate by the
legislators of each State; the former is directly elected, the
latter is elected by an elected body; the term for which the
representatives are chosen is only two years, that of the senators
is six. The functions of the House of Representatives are purely
legislative, and the only share it takes in the judicial power is in
the impeachment of public officers. The Senate co-operates in the
work of legislation, and tries those political offences which the
House of Representatives submits to its decision. It also acts as
the great executive council of the nation; the treaties which are
concluded by the President must be ratified by the Senate, and the
appointments he may make must be definitely approved by the same
body.
The Executive Power
Dependence of the President -- He is elective and responsible -- He
is free to act in his own sphere under the inspection, but not under
the direction, of the Senate -- His salary fixed at his entry into
office -- Suspensive veto.
The American legislators undertook a difficult task in attempting to
create an executive power dependent on the majority of the people,
and nevertheless sufficiently strong to act without restraint in its
own sphere. It was indispensable to the maintenance of the
republican form of government that the representative of the
executive power should be subject to the will of the nation.
The President is an elective magistrate. His honor, his property,
his liberty, and his life are the securities which the people has
for the temperate use of his power. But in the exercise of his
authority he cannot be said to be perfectly independent; the Senate
takes cognizance of his relations with foreign powers, and of the
distribution of public appointments, so that he can neither be
bribed nor can he employ the means of corruption. The legislators of
the Union acknowledged that the executive power would be incompetent
to fulfil its task with dignity and utility, unless it enjoyed a
greater degree of stability and of strength than had been granted to
it in the separate States.
The President is chosen for four years, and he may be re-elected; so
that the chances of a prolonged administration may inspire him with
hopeful undertakings for the public good, and with the means of
carrying them into execution. The President was made the sole
representative of the executive power of the Union, and care was
taken not to render his decisions subordinate to the vote of a
council -- a dangerous measure, which tends at the same time to clog
the action of the Government and to diminish its responsibility. The
Senate has the right of annulling certain acts of the President; but
it cannot compel him to take any steps, nor does it participate in
the exercise of the executive power.
The action of the legislature on the executive power may be direct;
and we have lust shown that the Americans carefully obviated this
influence; but it may, on the other hand, be indirect. Public
assemblies which have the power of depriving an officer of state of
his salary encroach upon his independence; and as they are free to
make the laws, it is to be feared lest they should gradually
appropriate to themselves a portion of that authority which the
Constitution had vested in his hands. This dependence of the
executive power is one of the defects inherent in republican
constitutions. The Americans have not been able to counteract the
tendency which legislative assemblies have to get possession of the
government, but they have rendered this propensity less
irresistible. The salary of the President is fixed, at the time of
his entering upon office, for the whole period of his magistracy.
The President is, moreover, provided with a suspensive veto, which
allows him to oppose the passing of such laws as might destroy the
portion of independence which the Constitution awards him. The
struggle between the President and the legislature must always be an
unequal one, since the latter is certain of bearing down all
resistance by persevering in its plans; but the suspensive veto
forces it at least to reconsider the matter, and, if the motion be
persisted in, it must then be backed by a majority of two-thirds of
the whole house. The veto is, in fact, a sort of appeal to the
people. The executive power, which, without this security, might
have been secretly oppressed, adopts this means of pleading its
cause and stating its motives. But if the legislature is certain of
overpowering all resistance by persevering in its plans, I reply,
that in the constitutions of all nations, of whatever kind they may
be, a certain point exists at which the legislator is obliged to
have recourse to the good sense and the virtue of his
fellow-citizens. This point is more prominent and more discoverable
in republics, whilst it is more remote and more carefully concealed
in monarchies, but it always exists somewhere. There is no country
in the world in which everything can be provided for by the laws, or
in which political institutions can prove a substitute for common
sense and public morality.
Differences Between the Position of the President of the United
States and that of a Constitutional King of France
Executive power in the Northern States as limited and as partial as
the supremacy which it represents -- Executive power in France as
universal as the supremacy it represents -- The King a branch of the
legislature -- The President the mere executor of the law -- Other
differences resulting from the duration of the two powers -- The
President checked in the exercise of the executive authority -- The
King independent in its exercise -- Notwithstanding these
discrepancies France is more akin to a republic than the Union to a
monarchy -- Comparison of the number of public officers depending
upon the executive power in the two countries.
The executive power has so important an influence on the destinies
of nations that I am inclined to pause for an instant at this
portion of my subject, in order more clearly to explain the part it
sustains in America. In order to form an accurate idea of the
position of the President of the United States, it may not be
irrelevant to compare it to that of one of the constitutional kings
of Europe. In this comparison I shall pay but little attention to
the external signs of power, which are more apt to deceive the eye
of the observer than to guide his researches. When a monarchy is
being gradually transformed into a republic, the executive power
retains the titles, the honors, the etiquette, and even the funds of
royalty long after its authority has disappeared. The English, after
having cut off the head of one king and expelled another from his
throne, were accustomed to accost the successor of those princes
upon their knees. On the other hand, when a republic falls under the
sway of a single individual, the demeanor of the sovereign is simple
and unpretending, as if his authority was not yet paramount. When
the emperors exercised an unlimited control over the fortunes and
the lives of their fellow-citizens, it was customary to call them
Caesar in conversation, and they were in the habit of supping
without formality at their friends' houses. It is therefore
necessary to look below the surface.
The sovereignty of the United States is shared between the Union and
the States, whilst in France it is undivided and compact: hence
arises the first and the most notable difference which exists
between the President of the United States and the King of France.
In the United States the executive power is as limited and partial
as the sovereignty of the Union in whose name it acts; in France it
is as universal as the authority of the State. The Americans have a
federal and the French a national Government.
This cause of inferiority results from the nature of things, but it
is not the only one; the second in importance is as follows:
Sovereignty may be defined to be the right of making laws: in
France, the King really exercises a portion of the sovereign power,
since the laws have no weight till he has given his assent to them;
he is, moreover, the executor of all they ordain. The President is
also the executor of the laws, but he does not really co-operate in
their formation, since the refusal of his assent does not annul
them. He is therefore merely to be considered as the agent of the
sovereign power. But not only does the King of France exercise a
portion of the sovereign power, he also contributes to the
nomination of the legislature, which exercises the other portion. He
has the privilege of appointing the members of one chamber, and of
dissolving the other at his pleasure; whereas the President of the
United States has no share in the formation of the legislative body,
and cannot dissolve any part of it. The King has the same right of
bringing forward measures as the Chambers; a right which the
President does not possess. The King is represented in each assembly
by his ministers, who explain his intentions, Support his opinions,
and maintain the principles of the Government. The President and his
ministers are alike excluded from Congress; so that his influence
and his opinions can only penetrate indirectly into that great body.
The King of France is therefore on an equal footing with the
legislature, which can no more act without him than he can without
it. The President exercises an authority inferior to, and depending
upon, that of the legislature.
Even in the exercise of the executive power, properly so called --
the point upon which his position seems to be most analogous to that
of the King of France -- the President labors under several causes
of inferiority. The authority of the King, in France, has, in the
first place, the advantage of duration over that of the President,
and durability is one of the chief elements of strength; nothing is
either loved or feared but what is likely to endure. The President
of the United States is a magistrate elected for four years; the
King, in France, is an hereditary sovereign. In the exercise of the
executive power the President of the United States is constantly
subject to a jealous scrutiny. He may make, but he cannot conclude,
a treaty; he may designate, but he cannot appoint, a public officer.
The King of France is absolute within the limits of his authority.
The President of the United States is responsible for his actions;
but the person of the King is declared inviolable by the French
Charter.
Nevertheless, the supremacy of public opinion is no less above the
head of the one than of the other. This power is less definite, less
evident, and less sanctioned by the laws in France than in America,
but in fact it exists. In America, it acts by elections and decrees;
in France it proceeds by revolutions; but notwithstanding the
different constitutions of these two countries, public opinion is
the predominant authority in both of them. The fundamental principle
of legislation -- a principle essentially republican -- is the same
in both countries, although its consequences may be different, and
its results more or less extensive. Whence I am led to conclude that
France with its King is nearer akin to a republic than the Union
with its President is to a monarchy.
In what I have been saying I have only touched upon the main points
of distinction; and if I could have entered into details, the
contrast would have been rendered still more striking.
I have remarked that the authority of the President in the United
States is only exercised within the limits of a partial sovereignty,
whilst that of the King in France is undivided. I might have gone on
to show that the power of the King's government in France exceeds
its natural limits, however extensive they may be, and penetrates in
a thousand different ways into the administration of private
interests. Amongst the examples of this influence may be quoted that
which results from the great number of public functionaries, who all
derive their appointments from the Government. This number now
exceeds all previous limits; it amounts to 138,000 nominations, each
of which may be considered as an element of power. The President of
the United States has not the exclusive right of making any public
appointments, and their whole number scarcely exceeds 12,000.
Accidental Causes Which May Increase the Influence of the Executive
Government
External security of the Union -- Army of six thousand men -- Few
ships -- The President has no opportunity of exercising his great
prerogatives -- In the prerogatives he exercises he is weak.
If the executive government is feebler in America than in France,
the cause is more attributable to the circumstances than to the laws
of the country.
It is chiefly in its foreign relations that the executive power of a
nation is called upon to exert its skill and its vigor. If the
existence of the Union were perpetually threatened, and if its chief
interests were in daily connection with those of other powerful
nations, the executive government would assume an increased
importance in proportion to the measures expected of it, and those
which it would carry into effect. The President of the United States
is the commander-in-chief of the army, but of an army composed of
only six thousand men; he commands the fleet, but the fleet reckons
but few sail; he conducts the foreign relations of the Union, but
the United States are a nation without neighbors. Separated from the
rest of the world by the ocean, and too weak as yet to aim at the
dominion of the seas, they have no enemies, and their interests
rarely come into contact with those of any other nation of the
globe.
The practical part of a Government must not be judged by the theory
of its constitution. The President of the United States is in the
possession of almost royal prerogatives, which he has no opportunity
of exercising; and those privileges which he can at present use are
very circumscribed. The laws allow him to possess a degree of
influence which circumstances do not permit him to employ.
On the other hand, the great strength of the royal prerogative in
France arises from circumstances far more than from the laws. There
the executive government is constantly struggling against prodigious
obstacles, and exerting all its energies to repress them; so that it
increases by the extent of its achievements, and by the importance
of the events it controls, without modifying its constitution. If
the laws had made it as feeble and as circumscribed as it is in the
Union, its influence would very soon become still more preponderant.
Why the President of the United States Does Not Require the Majority
of the Two Houses in Order to Carry on the Government
It is an established axiom in Europe that a constitutional King
cannot persevere in a system of government which is opposed by the
two other branches of the legislature. But several Presidents of the
United States have been known to lose the majority in the
legislative body without being obliged to abandon the supreme power,
and without inflicting a serious evil upon society. I have heard
this fact quoted as an instance of the independence and the power of
the executive government in America: a moment's reflection will
convince us, On the contrary, that it is a proof of its extreme
weakness.
A King in Europe requires the support of the legislature to enable
him to perform the duties imposed upon him by the Constitution,
because those duties are enormous. A constitutional King in Europe
is not merely the executor of the law, but the execution of its
provisions devolves so completely upon him that he has the power of
paralyzing its influence if it opposes his designs. He requires the
assistance of the legislative assemblies to make the law, but those
assemblies stand in need of his aid to execute it: these two
authorities cannot subsist without each other, and the mechanism of
government is stopped as soon as they are at variance.
In America the President cannot prevent any law from being passed,
nor can he evade the obligation of enforcing it. His sincere and
zealous co-operation is no doubt useful, but it is not
indispensable, in the carrying on of public affairs. All his
important acts are or indirectly submitted to the legislature, and
of his own free authority he can do little. It is therefore his
weakness and not his power, which enables him to remain in
opposition to Congress. In Europe, harmony must reign between the
Crown and the other branches of the legislature, because a collision
between them may prove serious; in America, this harmony is not
indispensable, because such a collision is impossible.
Election of the President
Dangers of the elective system increase in proportion to the extent
of the prerogative -- This system possible in America because no
powerful executive authority is required -- What circumstances are
favorable to the elective system -- Why the election of the
President does not cause a deviation from the principles of the
Government -- Influence of the election of the President on
secondary functionaries.
The dangers of the system of election applied to the head of the
executive government of a great people have been sufficiently
exemplified by experience and by history, and the remarks I am about
to make refer to America alone. These dangers may be more or less
formidable in proportion to the place which the executive power
occupies, and to the importance it possesses in the State; and they
may vary according to the mode of election and the circumstances in
which the electors are placed. The most weighty argument against the
election of a chief magistrate is, that it offers so splendid a lure
to private ambition, and is so apt to inflame men in the pursuit of
power, that when legitimate means are wanting force may not
unfrequently seize what right denied.
It is clear that the greater the privileges of the executive
authority are, the greater is the temptation; the more the ambition
of the candidates is excited, the more warmly are their interests
espoused by a throng of partisans who hope to share the power when
their patron has won the prize. The dangers of the elective system
increase, therefore, in the exact ratio of the influence exercised
by the executive power in the affairs of State. The revolutions of
Poland were not solely attributable to the elective system in
general, but to the fact that the elected monarch was the sovereign
of a powerful kingdom. Before we can discuss the absolute advantages
of the elective system we must make preliminary inquiries as to
whether the geographical position, the laws, the habits, the
manners, and the opinions of the people amongst whom it is to be
introduced will admit of the establishment of a weak and dependent
executive government; for to attempt to render the representative of
the State a powerful sovereign, and at the same time elective, is,
in my Opinion, to entertain two incompatible designs. To reduce
hereditary royalty to the condition of an elective authority, the
only means that I am acquainted with are to circumscribe its sphere
of action beforehand, gradually to diminish its prerogatives, and to
accustom the people to live without its protection. Nothing,
however, is further from the designs of the republicans of Europe
than this course: as many of them owe their hatred of tyranny to the
sufferings which they have personally undergone, it is Oppression,
and not the extent of the executive power, which excites their
hostility, and they attack the former without perceiving how nearly
it is connected with the latter.
Hitherto no citizen has shown any disposition to expose his honor
and his life in order to become the President of the United States;
because the power of that office is temporary, limited, and
subordinate. The prize of fortune must be great to encourage
adventurers in so desperate a game. No candidate has as yet been
able to arouse the dangerous enthusiasm or the passionate sympathies
of the people in his favor, for the very simple reason that when he
is at the head of the Government he has but little power, but little
wealth, and but little glory to share amongst his friends; and his
influence in the State is too small for the success or the ruin of a
faction to depend upon the elevation of an individual to power.
The great advantage of hereditary monarchies is, that as the private
interest of a family is always intimately connected with the
interests of the State, the executive government is never suspended
for a single instant; and if the affairs of a monarchy are not
better conducted than those of a republic, at least there is always
some one to conduct them, well or ill, according to his capacity. In
elective States, on the contrary, the wheels of government cease to
act, as it were, of their own accord at the approach of an election,
and even for some time previous to that event. The laws may indeed
accelerate the operation of the election, which may be conducted
with such simplicity and rapidity that the seat of power will never
be left vacant; but, notwithstanding these precautions, a break
necessarily occurs in the minds of the people.
At the approach of an election the head of the executive government
is wholly occupied by the coming struggle; his future plans are
doubtful; he can undertake nothing new, and he will only prosecute
with indifference those designs which another will perhaps
terminate. " I am so near the time of my retirement from office,"
said President Jefferson on the 2st of January, 1809 (six weeks
before the election), "that I feel no passion, I take no part, I
express no sentiment. It appears to me just to leave to my successor
the commencement of those measures which he will have to prosecute,
and for which he will be responsible."
On the other hand, the eyes of the nation are centred on a single
point; all are watching the gradual birth of so important an event.
The wider the influence of the executive power extends, the greater
and the more necessary is its constant action, the more fatal is the
term of suspense; and a nation which is accustomed to the
government, or, still more, one used to the administrative
protection of a powerful executive authority would be infallibly
convulsed by an election of this kind. In the United States the
action of the Government may be slackened with impunity, because it
is always weak and circumscribed.
One of the principal vices of the elective system is that it always
introduces a certain degree of instability into the internal and
external policy of the State. But this disadvantage is less sensibly
felt if the share of power vested in the elected magistrate is
small. In Rome the principles of the Government underwent no
variation, although the Consuls were changed every year, because the
Senate, which was an hereditary assembly, possessed the directing
authority. If flee elective system were adopted in Europe, the
condition of most of the monarchical States would be changed at
every new election. In America the President exercises a certain
influence on State affairs, but he does not conduct them; the
preponderating power is vested in the representatives of the whole
nation. The political maxims of the country depend therefore on the
mass of the people, not on the President alone; and consequently in
America the elective system has no very prejudicial influence on the
fixed principles of the Government. But the want of fixed principles
is an evil so inherent in the elective system that it is still
extremely perceptible in the narrow sphere to which the authority of
the President extends.
The Americans have admitted that the head of the executive power,
who has to bear the whole responsibility of the duties he is called
upon to fulfil, ought to be empowered to choose his own agents, and
to remove them at pleasure: the legislative bodies watch the conduct
of the President more than they direct it. The consequence of this
arrangement is, that at every new election the fate of all the
Federal public officers is in suspense. Mr. Quincy Adams, on his
entry into office, discharged the majority of the individuals who
had been appointed by his predecessor: and I am not aware that
General Jackson allowed a single removable functionary employed in
the Federal service to retain his place beyond the first year which
succeeded his election. It is sometimes made a subject of complaint
that in the constitutional monarchies of Europe the fate of the
humbler servants of an Administration depends upon that of the
Ministers. But in elective Governments this evil is far greater. In
a constitutional monarchy successive ministries are rapidly formed;
but as the principal representative of the executive power does not
change, the spirit of innovation is kept within bounds; the changes
which take place are in the details rather than in the principles of
the administrative system; but to substitute one system for another,
as is done in America every four years, by law, is to cause a sort
of revolution. As to the misfortunes which may fall upon individuals
in consequence of this state of things, it must be allowed that the
uncertain situation of the public officers is less fraught with evil
consequences in America than elsewhere. It is so easy to acquire an
independent position in the United States that the public officer
who loses his place may be deprived of the comforts of life, but not
of the means of subsistence.
I remarked at the beginning of this chapter that the dangers of the
elective system applied to the head of the State are augmented or
decreased by the peculiar circumstances of the people which adopts
it. However the functions of the executive power may be restricted,
it must always exercise a great influence upon the foreign policy of
the country, for a negotiation cannot be opened or successfully
carried on otherwise than by a single agent. The more precarious and
the more perilous the position of a people becomes, the more
absolute is the want of a fixed and consistent external policy, and
the more dangerous does the elective system of the Chief Magistrate
become. The policy of the Americans in relation to the whole world
is exceedingly simple; for it may almost be said that no country
stands in need of them, nor do they require the co-operation of any
other people. Their independence is never threatened. In their
present condition, therefore, the functions of the executive power
are no less limited by circumstances than by the laws; and the
President may frequently change his line of policy without involving
the State in difficulty or destruction.
Whatever the prerogatives of the executive power may be, the period
which immediately precedes an election and the moment of its
duration must always be considered as a national crisis, which is
perilous in proportion to the internal embarrassments and the
external dangers of the country. Few of the nations of Europe could
escape the calamities of anarchy or of conquest every time they
might have to elect a new sovereign. In America society is so
constituted that it can stand without assistance upon its own basis;
nothing is to be feared from the pressure of external dangers, and
the election of the President is a cause of agitation, but not of
ruin.
Mode of Election
Skill of the American legislators shown in the mode of election
adopted by them -- Creation of a special electoral body -- Separate
votes of these electors -- Case in which the House of
Representatives is called upon to choose the President -- Results of
the twelve elections which have taken place since the Constitution
has been established.
Besides the dangers which are inherent in the system, many other
difficulties may arise from the mode of election, which may be
obviated by the precaution of the legislator. When a people met in
arms on some public spot to choose its head, it was exposed to all
the chances of civil war resulting from so martial a mode of
proceeding, besides the dangers of the elective system in itself.
The Polish laws, which subjected the election of the sovereign to
the veto of a single individual, suggested the murder of that
individual or prepared the way to anarchy.
In the examination of the institutions and the political as well as
social condition of the United States, we are struck by the
admirable harmony of the gifts of fortune and the efforts of man.
The nation possessed two of the main causes of internal peace; it
was a new country, but it was inhabited by a people grown old in the
exercise of freedom. America had no hostile neighbors to dread; and
the American legislators, profiting by these favorable
circumstances, created a weak and subordinate executive power which
could without danger be made elective.
It then only remained for them to choose the least dangerous of the
various modes of election; and the rules which they laid down upon
this point admirably correspond to the securities which the physical
and political constitution of the country already afforded. Their
object was to find the mode of election which would best express the
choice of the people with the least possible excitement and
suspense. It was admitted in the first place that the simple
majority should be decisive; but the difficulty was to obtain this
majority without an interval of delay which it was most important to
avoid. It rarely happens that an individual can at once collect the
majority of the suffrages of a great people; and this difficulty is
enhanced in a republic of confederate States, where local influences
are apt to preponderate. The means by which it was proposed to
obviate this second obstacle was to delegate the electoral powers of
the nation to a body of representatives. This mode of election
rendered a majority more probable; for the fewer the electors are,
the greater is the chance of their coming to a final decision. It
also offered an additional probability of a judicious choice. It
then remained to be decided whether this right of election was to be
entrusted to a legislative body, the habitual representative
assembly of the nation, or whether an electoral assembly should be
formed for the express purpose of proceeding to the nomination of a
President. The Americans chose the latter alternative, from a belief
that the individuals who were returned to make the laws were
incompetent to represent the wishes of the nation in the election of
its chief magistrate; and that, as they are chosen for more than a
year, the constituency they represent might have changed its opinion
in that time. It was thought that if the legislature was empowered
to elect the head of the executive power, its members would, for
some time before the election, be exposed to the manoeuvres of
corruption and the tricks of intrigue; whereas the special electors
would, like a jury, remain mixed up with the crowd till the day of
action, when they would appear for the sole purpose of giving their
votes.
It was therefore established that every State should name a certain
number of electors, who in their turn should elect the President;
and as it had been observed that the assemblies to which the choice
of a chief magistrate had been entrusted in elective countries
inevitably became the centres of passion and of cabal; that they
sometimes usurped an authority which did not belong to them; and
that their proceedings, or the uncertainty which resulted from them,
were sometimes prolonged so much as to endanger the welfare of the
State, it was determined that the electors should all vote upon the
same day, without being convoked to the same place. This double
election rendered a majority probable, though not certain; for it
was possible that as many differences might exist between the
electors as between their constituents. In this case it was
necessary to have recourse to one of three measures; either to
appoint new electors, or to consult a second time those already
appointed, or to defer the election to another authority. The first
two of these alternatives, independently of the uncertainty of their
results, were likely to delay the final decision, and to perpetuate
an agitation which must always be accompanied with danger. The third
expedient was therefore adopted, and it was agreed that the votes
should be transmitted sealed to the President of the Senate, and
that they should be opened and counted in the presence of the Senate
and the House of Representatives. If none of the candidates has a
majority, the House of Representatives then proceeds immediately to
elect a President, but with the condition that it must fix upon one
of the three candidates who have the highest numbers.
Thus it is only in case of an event which cannot often happen, and
which can never be foreseen, that the election is entrusted to the
ordinary representatives of the nation; and even then they are
obliged to choose a citizen who has already been designated by a
powerful minority of the special electors. It is by this happy
expedient that the respect which is due to the popular voice is
combined with the utmost celerity of execution and those precautions
which the peace of the country demands. But the decision of the
question by the House of Representatives does not necessarily offer
an immediate solution of the difficulty, for the majority of that
assembly may still be doubtful, and in this case the Constitution
prescribes no remedy. Nevertheless, by restricting the number of
candidates to three, and by referring the matter to the judgment of
an enlightened public body, it has smoothed all the obstacles which
are not inherent in the elective system.
In the forty-four years which have elapsed since the promulgation of
the Federal Constitution the United States have twelve times chosen
a President. Ten of these elections took place simultaneously by the
votes of the special electors in the different States. The House of
Representatives has only twice exercised its conditional privilege
of deciding in cases of uncertainty; the first time was at the
election of Mr. Jefferson in 1801; the second was in 1825, when Mr.
Quincy Adams was named.
Crisis of the Election
The Election may be considered as a national crisis -- Why? --
Passions of the people -- Anxiety of the President -- Calm which
succeeds the agitation of the election.
I have shown what the circumstances are which favored the adoption
of the elective system in the United States, and what precautions
were taken by the legislators to obviate its dangers. The Americans
are habitually accustomed to all kinds of elections, and they know
by experience the utmost degree of excitement which is compatible
with security. The vast extent of the country and the dissemination
of the inhabitants render a collision between parties less probable
and less dangerous there than elsewhere. The political circumstances
under which the elections have hitherto been carried On have
presented no real embarrassments to the nation.
Nevertheless, the epoch of the election of a President of the United
States may be considered as a crisis in the affairs of the nation.
The influence which he exercises on public business is no doubt
feeble and indirect; but the choice of the President, which is of
small importance to each individual citizen, concerns the citizens
collectively; and however trifling an interest may be, it assumes a
great degree of importance as soon as it becomes general. The
President possesses but few means of rewarding his supporters in
comparison to the kings of Europe, but the places which are at his
disposal are sufficiently numerous to interest, directly or
indirectly, several thousand electors in his success. Political
parties in the United States are led to rally round an individual,
in order to acquire a more tangible shape in the eyes of the crowd,
and the name of the candidate for the Presidency is put forward as
the symbol and personification of their theories. For these reasons
parties are strongly interested in gaining the election, not so much
with a view to the triumph of their principles under the auspices of
the President-elect as to show by the majority which returned him,
the strength of the supporters of those principles.
For a long while before the appointed time is at hand the election
becomes the most important and the all-engrossing topic of
discussion. The ardor of faction is redoubled; and all the
artificial passions which the imagination can create in the bosom of
a happy and peaceful land are agitated and brought to light. The
President, on the other hand, is absorbed by the cares of
self-defence. He no longer governs for the interest of the State,
but for that of his re-election; he does homage to the majority, and
instead of checking its passions, as his duty commands him to do, he
frequently courts its worst caprices. As the election draws near,
the activity of intrigue and the agitation of the populace increase;
the citizens are divided into hostile camps, each of which assumes
the name of its favorite candidate; the whole nation glows with
feverish excitement; the election is the daily theme of the public
papers, the subject of private conversation, the end of every
thought and every action, the sole interest of the present. As soon
as the choice is determined, this ardor is dispelled; and as a
calmer season returns, the current of the State, which had nearly
broken its banks, sinks to its usual level a but who can refrain
from astonishment at the causes of the storm.
Re-election of the President
When the head of the executive power is re-eligible, it is the State
which is the source of intrigue and corruption -- The desire of
being re-elected the chief aim of a President of the United States
-- Disadvantage of the system peculiar to America -- The natural
evil of democracy is that it subordinates all authority to the
slightest desires of the majority -- The re-election of the
President encourages this evil.
It may be asked whether the legislators of the United States did
right or wrong in allowing the re-election of the President. It
seems at first sight contrary to all reason to prevent the head of
the executive power from being elected a second time. The influence
which the talents and the character of a single individual may
exercise upon the fate of a whole people, in critical circumstances
or arduous times, is well known: a law preventing the re-election of
the chief magistrate would deprive the citizens of the surest pledge
of the prosperity and the security of the commonwealth; and, by a
singular inconsistency, a man would be excluded from the government
at the very time when he had shown his ability in conducting its
affairs.
But if these arguments are strong, perhaps still more powerful
reasons may be advanced against them. Intrigue and corruption are
the natural defects of elective government; but when the head of the
State can be re-elected these evils rise to a great height, and
compromise the very existence of the country. When a simple
candidate seeks to rise by intrigue, his manoeuvres must necessarily
be limited to a narrow sphere; but when the chief magistrate enters
the lists, he borrows the strength of the government for his own
purposes. In the former case the feeble resources of an individual
are in action; in the latter, the State itself, with all its immense
influence, is busied in the work of corruption and cabal. The
private citizen, who employs the most immoral practices to acquire
power, can only act in a manner indirectly prejudicial to the public
prosperity. But if the representative of the executive descends into
the combat, the cares of government dwindle into second-rate
importance, and the success of his election is his first concern.
All laws and all the negotiations he undertakes are to him nothing
more than electioneering schemes; places become the reward of
services rendered, not to the nation, but to its chief; and the
influence of the government, if not injurious to the country, is at
least no longer beneficial to the community for which it was
created.
It is impossible to consider the ordinary course of affairs in the
United States without perceiving that the desire of being re-elected
is the chief aim of the President; that his whole administration,
and even his most indifferent measures, tend to this object; and
that, as the crisis approaches, his personal interest takes the
place of his interest in the public good. The principle of
re-eligibility renders the corrupt influence of elective government
still more extensive and pernicious.
In America it exercises a peculiarly fatal influence on the sources
of national existence. Every government seems to be afflicted by
some evil which is inherent in its nature, and the genius of the
legislator is shown in eluding its attacks. A State may survive the
influence of a host of bad laws, and the mischief they cause is
frequently exaggerated; but a law which encourages the growth of the
canker within must prove fatal in the end, although its bad
consequences may not be immediately perceived.
The principle of destruction in absolute monarchies lies in the
excessive and unreasonable extension of the prerogative of the
crown; and a measure tending to remove the constitutional provisions
which counterbalance this influence would be radically bad, even if
its immediate consequences were unattended with evil. By a parity of
reasoning, in countries governed by a democracy, where the people is
perpetually drawing all authority to itself, the laws which increase
or accelerate its action are the direct assailants of the very
principle of the government.
The greatest proof of the ability of the American legislators is,
that they clearly discerned this truth, and that they had the
courage to act up to it. They conceived that a certain authority
above the body of the people was necessary, which should enjoy a
degree of independence, without, however, being entirely beyond the
popular control; an authority which would be forced to comply with
the permanent determinations of the majority, but which would be
able to resist its caprices, and to refuse its most dangerous
demands. To this end they centred the whole executive power of the
nation in a single arm; they granted extensive prerogatives to the
President, and they armed him with the veto to resist the
encroachments of the legislature.
But by introducing the principle of re-election they partly
destroyed their work; and they rendered the President but little
inclined to exert the great power they had vested in his hands. If
ineligible a second time, the President would be far from
independent of the people, for his responsibility would not be
lessened; but the favor of the people would not be so necessary to
him as to induce him to court it by humoring its desires. If
re-eligible (and this is more especially true at the present day,
when political morality is relaxed, and when great men are rare),
the President of the United States becomes an easy tool in the hands
of the majority. He adopts its likings and its animosities, he
hastens to anticipate its wishes, he forestalls its complaints, he
yields to its idlest cravings, and instead of guiding it, as the
legislature intended that he should do, he is ever ready to follow
its bidding. Thus, in order not to deprive the State of the talents
of an individual, those talents have been rendered almost useless;
and to reserve an expedient for extraordinary perils, the country
has been exposed to daily dangers.
Federal Courts
Political importance of the judiciary in the United States --
Difficulty of treating this subject -- Utility of judicial power in
confederations -- What tribunals could be introduced into the Union
-- Necessity of establishing federal courts of justice --
Organization of the national judiciary -- The Supreme Court -- In
what it differs from all known tribunals.
I have inquired into the legislative and executive power of the
Union, and the judicial power now remains to be examined; but in
this place I cannot conceal my fears from the reader. Their judicial
institutions exercise a great influence on the condition of the
Anglo-Americans, and they occupy a prominent place amongst what are
probably called political institutions: in this respect they are
peculiarly deserving of our attention. But I am at a loss to explain
the political action of the American tribunals without entering into
some technical details of their constitution and their forms of
proceeding; and I know not how to descend to these minutiae without
wearying the curiosity of the reader by the natural aridity of the
subject, or without risking to fall into obscurity through a desire
to be succinct. I can scarcely hope to escape these various evils;
for if I appear too lengthy to a man of the world, a lawyer may on
the other hand complain of my brevity. But these are the natural
disadvantages of my subject, and more especially of the point which
I am about to discuss.
The great difficulty was, not to devise the Constitution to the
Federal Government, but to find out a method of enforcing its laws.
Governments have in general but two means of overcoming the
opposition of the people they govern, viz., the physical force which
is at their own disposal, and the moral force which they derive from
the decisions of the courts of justice.
A government which should have no other means of exacting obedience
than open war must be very near its ruin, for one of two
alternatives would then probably occur: if its authority was small
and its character temperate, it would not resort to violence till
the last extremity, and it would connive at a number of partial acts
of insubordination, in which case the State would gradually fall
into anarchy; if it was enterprising and powerful, it would
perpetually have recourse to its physical strength, and would
speedily degenerate into a military despotism. So that its activity
would not be less prejudicial to the community than its inaction.
The great end of justice is to substitute the notion of right for
that of violence, and to place a legal barrier between the power of
the government and the use of physical force. The authority which is
awarded to the intervention of a court of justice by the general
opinion of mankind is so surprisingly great that it clings to the
mere formalities of justice, and gives a bodily influence to the
shadow of the law. The moral force which courts of justice possess
renders the introduction of physical force exceedingly rare, and is
very frequently substituted for it; but if the latter proves to be
indispensable, its power is doubled by the association of the idea
of law.
A federal government stands in greater need of the support of
judicial institutions than any other, because it is naturally weak
and exposed to formidable opposition. If it were always obliged to
resort to violence in the first instance, it could not fulfil its
task. The Union, therefore, required a national judiciary to enforce
the obedience of the citizens to the laws, and to repeal the attacks
which might be directed against them. The question then remained as
to what tribunals were to exercise these privileges; were they to be
entrusted to the courts of justice which were already organized in
every State? or was it necessary to create federal courts? It may
easily be proved that the Union could not adapt the judicial power
of the States to its wants. The separation of the judiciary from the
administrative power of the State no doubt affects the security of
every citizen and the liberty of all. But it is no less important to
the existence of the nation that these several powers should have
the same origin, should follow the same principles, and act in the
same sphere; in a word, that they should be correlative and
homogeneous. No one, I presume, ever suggested the advantage of
trying offences committed in France by a foreign court of justice,
in order to secure the impartiality of the judges. The Americans
form one people in relation to their Federal Government; but in the
bosom of this people divers political bodies have been allowed to
subsist which are dependent on the national Government in a few
points, and independent in all the rest; which have all a distinct
origin, maxims peculiar to themselves, and special means of carrying
on their affairs. To entrust the execution of the laws of the Union
to tribunals instituted by these political bodies would be to allow
foreign judges to preside over the nation. Nay, more; not only is
each State foreign to the Union at large, but it is in perpetual
opposition to the common interests, since whatever authority the
Union loses turns to the advantage of the States. Thus to enforce
the laws of the Union by means of the tribunals of the States would
be to allow not only foreign but partial judges to preside over the
nation.
But the number, Still more than the mere character, of the tribunals
of the States rendered them unfit for the service of the nation.
When the Federal Constitution was formed there were already thirteen
courts of justice in the United States which decided causes without
appeal. That number is now increased to twenty-four. To suppose that
a State can subsist when its fundamental laws may be subjected to
four-and-twenty different interpretations at the same time is to
advance a proposition alike contrary to reason and to experience.
The American legislators therefore agreed to create a federal
judiciary power to apply the laws of the Union, and to determine
certain questions affecting general interests, which were carefully
determined beforehand. The entire judicial power of the Union was
centred in one tribunal, which was denominated the Supreme Court of
the United States. But, to facilitate the expedition of business,
inferior courts were appended to it, which were empowered to decide
causes of small importance without appeal, and with appeal causes of
more magnitude. The members of the Supreme Court are named neither
by the people nor the legislature, but by the President of the
United States, acting with the advice of the Senate. In order to
render them independent of the other authorities, their office was
made inalienable; and it was determined that their salary, when once
fixed, should not be altered by the legislature. It was easy to
proclaim the principle of a Federal judiciary, but difficulties
multiplied when the extent of its jurisdiction was to be determined.
Means of Determining the Jurisdiction of the Federal Courts
Difficulty of determining the jurisdiction of separate courts of
justice in confederations -- The courts of the Union obtained the
right of fixing their own jurisdiction -- In what respect this rule
attacks the portion of sovereignty reserved to the several States --
The sovereignty of these States restricted by the laws, and the
interpretation of the laws -- Consequently, the danger of the
several States is more apparent than real.
As the Constitution of the United States recognized two distinct
powers in presence of each other, represented in a judicial point of
view by two distinct classes of courts of justice, the utmost care
which could be taken in defining their separate jurisdictions would
have been insufficient to prevent frequent collisions between those
tribunals. The question then arose to whom the right of deciding the
competency of each court was to be referred.
In nations which constitute a single body politic, when a question
is debated between two courts relating to their mutual jurisdiction,
a third tribunal is generally within reach to decide the difference;
and this is effected without difficulty, because in these nations
the questions of judicial competency have no connection with the
privileges of the national supremacy. But it was impossible to
create an arbiter between a superior court of the Union and the
superior court of a separate State which would not belong to one of
these two classes. It was, therefore, necessary to allow one of
these courts to judge its own cause, and to take or to retain
cognizance of the point which was contested. To grant this privilege
to the different courts of the States would have been to destroy the
sovereignty of the Union de facto after having established it de
jure; for the interpretation of the Constitution would soon have
restored that portion of independence to the States of which the
terms of that act deprived them. The object of the creation of a
Federal tribunal was to prevent the courts of the States from
deciding questions affecting the national interests in their own
department, and so to form a uniform body of jurisprudence for the
interpretation of the laws of the Union. This end would not have
been accomplished if the courts of the several States had been
competent to decide upon cases in their separate capacities from
which they were obliged to abstain as Federal tribunals. The Supreme
Court of the United States was therefore invested with the right of
determining all questions of jurisdiction.
This was a severe blow upon the independence of the States, which
was thus restricted not only by the laws, but by the interpretation
of them; by one limit which was known, and by another which was
dubious; by a rule which was certain, and a rule which was
arbitrary. It is true the Constitution had laid down the precise
limits of the Federal supremacy, but whenever this supremacy is
contested by one of the States, a Federal tribunal decides the
question. Nevertheless, the dangers with which the independence of
the States was threatened by this mode of proceeding are less
serious than they appeared to be. We shall see hereafter that in
America the real strength of the country is vested in the provincial
far more than in the Federal Government. The Federal judges are
conscious of the relative weakness of the power in whose name they
act, and they are more inclined to abandon a right of jurisdiction
in cases where it is justly their own than to assert a privilege to
which they have no legal claim.
Different Cases of Jurisdiction
The matter and the party are the first conditions of the Federal
jurisdiction -- Suits in which ambassadors are engaged -- Suits of
the Union -- Of a separate State -- By whom tried -- Causes
resulting from the laws of the Union -- Why judged by the Federal
tribunals -- Causes relating to the performance of contracts tried
by the Federal courts -- Consequence of this arrangement.
After having appointed the means of fixing the competency of the
Federal courts, the legislators of the Union defined the cases which
should come within their jurisdiction. It was established, on the
one hand, that certain parties must always be brought before the
Federal courts, without any regard to the special nature of the
cause; and, on the other, that certain causes must always be brought
before the same courts, without any regard to the quality of the
parties in the suit. These distinctions were therefore admitted to
be the basis of the Federal jurisdiction.
Ambassadors are the representatives of nations in a state of amity
with the Union, and whatever concerns these personages concerns in
some degree the whole Union. When an ambassador is a party in a
suit, that suit affects the welfare of the nation, and a Federal
tribunal is naturally called upon to decide it.
The Union itself may be invoked in legal proceedings, and in this
case it would be alike contrary to the customs of all nations and to
common sense to appeal to a tribunal representing any other
sovereignty than its own; the Federal courts, therefore, take
cognizance of these affairs.
When two parties belonging to two different States are engaged in a
suit, the case cannot with propriety be brought before a court of
either State. The surest expedient is to select a tribunal like that
of the Union, which can excite the suspicions of neither party, and
which offers the most natural as well as the most certain remedy.
When the two parties are not private individuals, but States, an
important political consideration is added to the same motive of
equity. The quality of the parties in this case gives a national
importance to all their disputes; and the most trifling litigation
of the States may be said to involve the peace of the whole Union.
The nature of the cause frequently prescribes the rule of
competency. Thus all the questions which concern maritime commerce
evidently fall under the cognizance of the Federal tribunals. Almost
all these questions are connected with the interpretation of the law
of nations, and in this respect they essentially interest the Union
in relation to foreign powers. Moreover, as the sea is not included
within the limits of any peculiar jurisdiction, the national courts
can only hear causes which originate in maritime affairs.
The Constitution comprises under one head almost all the cases which
by their very nature come within the limits of the Federal courts.
The rule which it lays down is simple, but pregnant with an entire
system of ideas, and with a vast multitude of facts. It declares
that the judicial power of the Supreme Court shall extend to all
cases in law and equity arising under the laws of the United States.
Two examples will put the intention of the legislator in the
clearest light:
The Constitution prohibits the States from making laws on the value
and circulation of money: If, notwithstanding this prohibition, a
State passes a law of this kind, with which the interested parties
refuse to comply because it is contrary to the Constitution, the
case must come before a Federal court, because it arises under the
laws of the United States. Again, if difficulties arise in the
levying of import duties which have been voted by Congress, the
Federal court must decide the case, because it arises under the
interpretation of a law of the United States.
This rule is in perfect accordance with the fundamental principles
of the Federal Constitution. The Union, as it was established in
1789, possesses, it is true, a limited supremacy; but it was
intended that within its limits it should form one and the same
people. Within those limits the Union is sovereign. When this point
is established and admitted, the inference is easy; for if it be
acknowledged that the United States constitute one and the same
people within the bounds prescribed by their Constitution, it is
impossible to refuse them the rights which belong to other nations.
But it has been allowed, from the origin of society, that every
nation has the right of deciding by its own courts those questions
which concern the execution of its own laws. To this it is answered
that the Union is in so singular a position that in relation to some
matters it constitutes a people, and that in relation to all the
rest it is a nonentity. But the inference to be drawn is, that in
the laws relating to these matters the Union possesses all the
rights of absolute sovereignty. The difficulty is to know what these
matters are; and when once it is resolved (and we have shown how it
was resolved, in speaking of the means of determining the
jurisdiction of the Federal courts) no further doubt can arise; for
as soon as it is established that a suit is Federal -- that is to
say, that it belongs to the share of sovereignty reserved by the
Constitution of the Union -- the natural consequence is that it
should come within the jurisdiction of a Federal court.
Whenever the laws of the United States are attacked, or whenever
they are resorted to in self-defence, the Federal courts must be
appealed to. Thus the jurisdiction of the tribunals of the Union
extends and narrows its limits exactly in the same ratio as the
sovereignty of the Union augments or decreases. We have shown that
the principal aim of the legislators of 1789 was to divide the
sovereign authority into two parts. In the one they placed the
control of all the general interests of the Union, in the other the
control of the special interests of its component States. Their
chief solicitude was to arm the Federal Government with sufficient
power to enable it to resist, within its sphere, the encroachments
of the several States. As for these communities, the principle of
independence within certain limits of their own was adopted in their
behalf; and they were concealed from the inspection, and protected
from the control, of the central Government. In speaking of the
division of authority, I observed that this latter principle had not
always been held sacred, since the States are prevented from passing
certain laws which apparently belong to their own particular sphere
of interest. When a State of the Union passes a law of this kind,
the citizens who are injured by its execution can appeal to the
Federal courts.
Thus the jurisdiction of the Federal courts extends not only to all
the cases which arise under the laws of the Union, but also to those
which arise under laws made by the several States in opposition to
the Constitution. The States are prohibited from making ex post
facto laws in criminal cases, and any person condemned by virtue of
a law of this kind can appeal to the judicial power of the Union.
The States are likewise prohibited from making laws which may have a
tendency to impair the obligations of contracts. If a citizen thinks
that an obligation of this kind is impaired by a law passed in his
State, he may refuse to obey it, and may appeal to the Federal
courts.
This provision appears to me to be the most serious attack upon the
independence of the States. The rights awarded to the Federal
Government for purposes of obvious national importance are definite
and easily comprehensible; but those with which this last clause
invests it are not either clearly appreciable or accurately defined.
For there are vast numbers of political laws which influence the
existence of obligations of contracts, which may thus furnish an
easy pretext for the aggressions of the central authority.
Procedure of the Federal Courts
Natural weakness of the judiciary power in confederations --
Legislators ought to strive as much as possible to bring private
individuals, and not States, before the Federal Courts -- How the
Americans have succeeded in this -- Direct prosecution of private
individuals in the Federal Courts -- Indirect prosecution of the
States which violate the laws of the Union -- The decrees of the
Supreme Court enervate but do not destroy the provincial laws.
I have shown what the privileges of the Federal courts are, and it
is no less important to point out the manner in which they are
exercised. The irresistible authority of justice in countries in
which the sovereignty in undivided is derived from the fact that the
tribunals of those countries represent the entire nation at issue
with the individual against whom their decree is directed, and the
idea of power is thus introduced to corroborate the idea of right.
But this is not always the case in countries in which the
sovereignty is divided; in them the judicial power is more
frequently opposed to a fraction of the nation than to an isolated
individual, and its moral authority and physical strength are
consequently diminished. In federal States the power of the judge is
naturally decreased, and that of the justiciable parties is
augmented. The aim of the legislator in confederate States ought
therefore to be to render the position of the courts of justice
analogous to that which they occupy in countries where the
sovereignty is undivided; in other words, his efforts ought
constantly to tend to maintain the judicial power of the
confederation as the representative of the nation, and the
justiciable party as the representative of an individual interest.
Every government, whatever may be its constitution, requires the
means of constraining its subjects to discharge their obligations,
and of protecting its privileges from their assaults. As far as the
direct action of the Government on the community is concerned, the
Constitution of the United States contrived, by a master-stroke of
policy, that the federal courts, acting in the name of the laws,
should only take cognizance of parties in an individual capacity.
For, as it had been declared that the Union consisted of one and the
same people within the limits laid down by the Constitution, the
inference was that the Government created by this Constitution, and
acting within these limits, was invested with all the privileges of
a national government, one of the principal of which is the right of
transmitting its injunctions directly to the private citizen. When,
for instance, the Union votes an impost, it does not apply to the
States for the levying of it, but to every American citizen in
proportion to his assessment. The Supreme Court, which is empowered
to enforce the execution of this law of the Union, exerts its
influence not upon a refractory State, but upon the private
taxpayer; and, like the judicial power of other nations, it is
opposed to the person of an individual. It is to be observed that
the Union chose its own antagonist; and as that antagonist is
feeble, he is naturally worsted.
But the difficulty increases when the proceedings are not brought
forward by but against the Union. The Constitution recognizes the
legislative power of the States; and a law so enacted may impair the
privileges of the Union, in which case a collision is unavoidable
between that body and the State which has passed the law: and it
only remains to select the least dangerous remedy, which is very
clearly deducible from the general principles I have before
established.
It may be conceived that, in the case under consideration, the Union
might have used the State before a Federal court, which would have
annulled the act: and by this means it would have adopted a natural
course of proceeding; but the judicial power would have been placed
in open hostility to the State, and it was desirable to avoid this
predicament as much as possible. The Americans hold that it is
nearly impossible that a new law should not impair the interests of
some private individual by its provisions: these private interests
are assumed by the American legislators as the ground of attack
against such measures as may be prejudicial to the Union, and it is
to these cases that the protection of the Supreme Court is extended.
Suppose a State vends a certain portion of its territory to a
company, and that a year afterwards it passes a law by which the
territory is otherwise disposed of, and that clause of the
Constitution which prohibits laws impairing the obligation of
contracts violated. When the purchaser under the second act appears
to take possession, the possessor under the first act brings his
action before the tribunals of the Union, and causes the title of
the claimant to be pronounced null and void! Thus, in point of fact,
the judicial power of the Union is contesting the claims of the
sovereignty of a State; but it only acts indirectly and upon a
special application of detail: it attacks the law in its
consequences, not in its principle, and it rather weakens than
destroys it.
The last hypothesis that remained was that each State formed a
corporation enjoying a separate existence and distinct civil rights,
and that it could therefore sue or be sued before a tribunal. Thus a
State could bring an action against another State. In this instance
the Union was not called upon to contest a provincial law, but to
try a suit in which a State was a party. This suit was perfectly
similar to any other cause, except that the quality of the parties
was different; and here the danger pointed out at the beginning of
this chapter exists with less chance of being avoided. The inherent
disadvantage of the very essence of Federal constitutions is that
they engender parties in the bosom of the nation which present
powerful obstacles to the free course of justice.
High Rank of the Supreme Court Amongst the Great Powers of State
No nation ever constituted so great a judicial power as the
Americans -- Extent of its prerogative -- Its political influence --
The tranquillity and the very existence of the Union depend on the
discretion of the seven Federal Judges.
When we have successively examined in detail the organization of the
Supreme Court, and the entire prerogatives which it exercises, we
shall readily admit that a more imposing judicial power was never
constituted by any people. The Supreme Court is placed at the head
of all known tribunals, both by the nature of its rights and the
class of justiciable parties which it controls.
In all the civilized countries of Europe the Government has always
shown the greatest repugnance to allow the cases to which it was
itself a party to be decided by the ordinary course of justice. This
repugnance naturally attains its utmost height in an absolute
Government; and, on the other hand, the privileges of the courts of
justice are extended with the increasing liberties of the people:
but no European nation has at present held that all judicial
controversies, without regard to their origin, can be decided by the
judges of common law.
In America this theory has been actually put in practice, and the
Supreme Court of the United States is the sole tribunal of the
nation. Its power extends to all the cases arising under laws and
treaties made by the executive and legislative authorities, to all
cases of admiralty and maritime jurisdiction, and in general to all
points which affect the law of nations. It may even be affirmed
that, although its constitution is essentially judicial, its
prerogatives are almost entirely political. Its sole object is to
enforce the execution of the laws of the Union; and the Union only
regulates the relations of the Government with the citizens, and of
the nation with Foreign Powers: the relations of citizens amongst
themselves are almost exclusively regulated by the sovereignty of
the States.
A second and still greater cause of the preponderance of this court
may be adduced. In the nations of Europe the courts of justice are
only called upon to try the controversies of private individuals;
but the Supreme Court of the United States summons sovereign powers
to its bar. When the clerk of the court advances on the steps of the
tribunal, and simply says, "The State of New York versus the State
of Ohio," it is impossible not to feel that the Court which he
addresses is no ordinary body; and when it is recollected that one
of these parties represents one million, and the other two millions
of men, one IS struck by the responsibility of the seven judges
whose decision is about to satisfy or to disappoint so large a
number of their fellow-citizens.
The peace, the prosperity, and the very existence of the Union are
vested in the hands of the seven judges. Without their active
co-operation the Constitution would be a dead letter: the Executive
appeals to them for assistance against the encroachments of the
legislative powers; the Legislature demands their protection from
the designs of the Executive; they defend the Union from the
disobedience of the States, the States from the exaggerated claims
of the Union, the public interest against the interests of private
citizens, and the conservative spirit of order against the fleeting
innovations of democracy. Their power is enormous, but it is clothed
in the authority of public opinion. They are the all-powerful
guardians of a people which respects law, but they would be impotent
against popular neglect or popular contempt. The force of public
opinion is the most intractable of agents, because its exact limits
cannot be defined; and it is not less dangerous to exceed than to
remain below the boundary prescribed.
The Federal judges must not only be good citizens, and men possessed
of that information and integrity which are indispensable to
magistrates, but they must be statesmen -- politicians, not unread
in the signs of the times, not afraid to brave the obstacles which
can be subdued, nor slow to turn aside such encroaching elements as
may threaten the supremacy of the Union and the obedience which is
due to the laws.
The President, who exercises a limited power, may err without
causing great mischief in the State. Congress may decide amiss
without destroying the Union, because the electoral body in which
Congress originates may cause it to retract its decision by changing
its members. But if the Supreme Court is ever composed of imprudent
men or bad citizens, the Union may be plunged into anarchy or civil
war.
The real cause of this danger, however, does not lie in the
constitution of the tribunal, but in the very nature of Federal
Governments. We have observed that in confederate peoples it is
especially necessary to consolidate the judicial authority, because
in no other nations do those independent persons who are able to
cope with the social body exist in greater power or in a better
condition to resist the physical strength of the Government. But the
more a power requires to be strengthened, the more extensive and
independent it must be made; and the dangers which its abuse may
create are heightened by its independence and its strength. The
source of the evil is not, therefore, in the constitution of the
power, but in the constitution of those States which render its
existence necessary.
In What Respects the Federal Constitution is Superior to that of the
States
In what respects the Constitution of the Union can be compared to
that of the States -- Superiority of the Constitution of the Union
attributable to the wisdom of the Federal legislators -- Legislature
of the Union less dependent on the people than that of the States --
Executive power more independent in its sphere -- Judicial power
less subjected to the inclinations of the majority -- Practical
consequence of these facts -- The dangers inherent in a democratic
government eluded by the Federal legislators, and increased by the
legislators of the States.
The Federal Constitution differs essentially from that of the States
in the ends which it is intended to accomplish, but in the means by
which these ends are promoted a greater analogy exists between them.
The objects of the Governments are different, but their forms are
the same; and in this special point of view there is some advantage
in comparing them together.
I am of opinion that the Federal Constitution is superior to all the
Constitutions of the States, for several reasons.
The present Constitution of the Union was formed at a later period
than those of the majority of the States, and it may have derived
some ameliorations from past experience. But we shall be led to
acknowledge that this is only a secondary cause of its superiority,
when we recollect that eleven new States have been added to the
American Confederation since the promulgation of the Federal
Constitution, and that these new republics have always rather
exaggerated than avoided the defects which existed in the former
Constitutions.
The chief cause of the superiority of the Federal Constitution lay
in the character of the legislators who composed it. At the time
when it was formed the dangers of the Confederation were imminent,
and its ruin seemed inevitable. In this extremity the people chose
the men who most deserved the esteem, rather than those who had
gained the affections, of the country. I have already observed that
distinguished as almost all the legislators of the Union were for
their intelligence, they were still more so for their patriotism.
They had all been nurtured at a time when the spirit of liberty was
braced by a continual struggle against a powerful and predominant
authority. When the contest was terminated, whilst the excited
passions of the populace persisted in warring with dangers which had
ceased to threaten them, these men stopped short in their career;
they cast a calmer and more penetrating look upon the country which
was now their own; they perceived that the war of independence was
definitely ended, and that the only dangers which America had to
fear were those which might result from the abuse of the freedom she
had won. They had the courage to say what they believed to be true,
because they were animated by a warm and sincere love of liberty;
and they ventured to propose restrictions, because they were
resolutely opposed to destruction.
The greater number of the Constitutions of the States assign one
year for the duration of the House of Representatives, and two years
for that of the Senate; so that members of the legislative body are
constantly and narrowly tied down by the slightest desires of their
constituents. The legislators of the Union were of opinion that this
excessive dependence of the Legislature tended to alter the nature
of the main consequences of the representative system, since it
vested the source, not only of authority, but of government, in the
people. They increased the length of the time for which the
representatives were returned, in order to give them freer scope for
the exercise of their own judgment.
The Federal Constitution, as well as the Constitutions of the
different States, divided the legislative body into two branches.
But in the States these two branches were composed of the same
elements, and elected in the same manner. The consequence was that
the passions and inclinations of the populace were as rapidly and as
energetically represented in one chamber as in the other, and that
laws were made with all the characteristics of violence and
precipitation. By the Federal Constitution the two houses originate
in like manner in the choice of the people; but the conditions of
eligibility and the mode of election were changed, to the end that,
if, as is the case in certain nations, one branch of the Legislature
represents the same interests as the other, it may at least
represent a superior degree of intelligence and discretion. A mature
age was made one of the conditions of the senatorial dignity, and
the Upper House was chosen by an elected assembly of a limited
number of members.
To concentrate the whole social force in the hands of the
legislative body is the natural tendency of democracies; for as this
is the power which emanates the most directly from the people, it is
made to participate most fully in the preponderating authority of
the multitude, and it is naturally led to monopolize every species
of influence. This concentration is at once prejudicial to a
well-conducted administration, and favorable to the despotism of the
majority. The legislators of the States frequently yielded to these
democratic propensities, which were invariably and courageously
resisted by the founders of the Union.
In the States the executive power is vested in the hands of a
magistrate, who is apparently placed upon a level with the
Legislature, but who is in reality nothing more than the blind agent
and the passive instrument of its decisions. He can derive no
influence from the duration of his functions, which terminate with
the revolving year, or from the exercise of prerogatives which can
scarcely be said to exist. The Legislature can condemn him to
inaction by intrusting the execution of the laws to special
committees of its own members, and can annul his temporary dignity
by depriving him of his salary. The Federal Constitution vests all
the privileges and all the responsibility of the executive power in
a single individual. The duration of the Presidency is fixed at four
years; the salary of the individual who fills that office cannot be
altered during the term of his functions; he is protected by a body
of official dependents, and armed with a suspensive veto. In short,
every effort was made to confer a strong and independent position
upon the executive authority within the limits which had been
prescribed to it.
In the Constitutions of all the States the judicial power is that
which remains the most independent of the legislative authority;
nevertheless, in all the States the Legislature has reserved to
itself the right of regulating the emoluments of the judges, a
practice which necessarily subjects these magistrates to its
immediate influence. In some States the judges are only temporarily
appointed, which deprives them of a great portion of their power and
their freedom. In others the legislative and judicial powers are
entirely confounded; thus the Senate of New York, for instance,
constitutes in certain cases the Superior Court of the State. The
Federal Constitution, on the other hand, carefully separates the
judicial authority from all external influences; and it provides for
the independence of the judges, by declaring that their salary shall
not be altered, and that their functions shall be inalienable.
The practical consequences of these different systems may easily be
perceived. An attentive observer will soon remark that the business
of the Union is incomparably better conducted than that of any
individual State. The conduct of the Federal Government is more fair
and more temperate than that of the States, its designs are more
fraught with wisdom, its projects are more durable and more
skilfully combined, its measures are put into execution with more
vigor and consistency.
I recapitulate the substance of this chapter in a few words: The
existence of democracies is threatened by two dangers, viz., the
complete subjection of the legislative body to the caprices of the
electoral body, and the concentration of all the powers of the
Government in the legislative authority. The growth of these evils
has been encouraged by the policy of the legislators of the States,
but it has been resisted by the legislators of the Union by every
means which lay within their control.
Characteristics Which Distinguish the Federal Constitution of the
United States of America from all Other Federal Constitutions
American Union appears to resemble all other confederations --
Nevertheless its effects are different -- Reason of this --
Distinctions between the Union and all other confederations -- The
American Government not a federal but an imperfect national
Government.
The United States of America do not afford either the first or the
only instance of confederate States, several of which have existed
in modern Europe, without adverting to those of antiquity.
Switzerland, the Germanic Empire, and the Republic of the United
Provinces either have been or still are confederations. In studying
the constitutions of these different countries, the politician is
surprised to observe that the powers with which they invested the
Federal Government are nearly identical with the privileges awarded
by the American Constitution to the Government of the United States.
They confer upon the central power the same rights of making peace
and war, of raising money and troops, and of providing for the
general exigencies and the common interests of the nation.
Nevertheless the Federal Government of these different peoples has
always been as remarkable for its weakness and inefficiency as that
of the Union is for its vigorous and enterprising spirit. Again, the
first American Confederation perished through the excessive weakness
of its Government; and this weak Government was, notwithstanding, in
possession of rights even more extensive than those of the Federal
Government of the present day. But the more recent Constitution of
the United States contains certain principles which exercise a most
important influence, although they do not at once strike the
observer.
This Constitution, which may at first sight be confounded with the
federal constitutions which preceded it, rests upon a novel theory,
which may be considered as a great invention in modern political
science. In all the confederations which had been formed before the
American Constitution of 1789 the allied States agreed to obey the
injunctions of a Federal Government; but they reserved to themselves
the right of ordaining and enforcing the execution of the laws of
the Union. The American States which combined in 1789 agreed that
the Federal Government should not only dictate the laws, but that it
should execute it own enactments. In both cases the right is the
same, but the exercise of the right is different; and this
alteration produced the most momentous consequences.
In all the confederations which had been formed before the American
Union the Federal Government demanded its supplies at the hands of
the separate Governments; and if the measure it prescribed was
onerous to any one of those bodies means were found to evade its
claims: if the State was powerful, it had recourse to arms; if it
was weak, it connived at the resistance which the law of the Union,
its sovereign, met with, and resorted to inaction under the plea of
inability. Under these circumstances one of the two alternatives has
invariably occurred; either the most preponderant of the allied
peoples has assumed the privileges of the Federal authority and
ruled all the States in its name, or the Federal Government has been
abandoned by its natural supporters, anarchy has arisen between the
confederates, and the Union has lost all powers of action.
In America the subjects of the Union are not States, but private
citizens: the national Government levies a tax, not upon the State
of Massachusetts, but upon each inhabitant of Massachusetts. All
former confederate governments presided over communities, but that
of the Union rules individuals; its force is not borrowed, but
self-derived; and it is served by its own civil and military
officers, by its own army, and its own courts of justice. It cannot
be doubted that the spirit of the nation, the passions of the
multitude, and the provincial prejudices of each State tend
singularly to diminish the authority of a Federal authority thus
constituted, and to facilitate the means of resistance to its
mandates; but the comparative weakness of a restricted sovereignty
is an evil inherent in the Federal system. In America, each State
has fewer opportunities of resistance and fewer temptations to
non-compliance; nor can such a design be put in execution (if indeed
it be entertained) without an open violation of the laws of the
Union, a direct interruption of the ordinary course of justice, and
a bold declaration of revolt; in a word, without taking a decisive
step which men hesitate to adopt.
In all former confederations the privileges of the Union furnished
more elements of discord than of power, since they multiplied the
claims of the nation without augmenting the means of enforcing them:
and in accordance with this fact it may be remarked that the real
weakness of federal governments has almost always been in the exact
ratio of their nominal power. Such is not the case in the American
Union, in which, as in ordinary governments, the Federal Government
has the means of enforcing all it is empowered to demand.
The human understanding more easily invents new things than new
words, and we are thence constrained to employ a multitude of
improper and inadequate expressions. When several nations form a
permanent league and establish a supreme authority, which, although
it has not the same influence over the members of the community as a
national government, acts upon each of the Confederate States in a
body, this Government, which is so essentially different from all
others, is denominated a Federal one. Another form of society is
afterwards discovered, in which several peoples are fused into one
and the same nation with regard to certain common interests,
although they remain distinct, or at least only confederate, with
regard to all their other concerns. In this case the central power
acts directly upon those whom it governs, whom it rules, and whom it
judges, in the same manner, as, but in a more limited circle than, a
national government. Here the term Federal Government is clearly no
longer applicable to a state of things which must be styled an
incomplete national Government: a form of government has been found
out which is neither exactly national nor federal; but no further
progress has been made, and the new word which will one day
designate this novel invention does not yet exist.
The absence of this new species of confederation has been the cause
which has brought all Unions to Civil War, to subjection, or to a
stagnant apathy, and the peoples which formed these leagues have
been either too dull to discern, or too pusillanimous to apply this
great remedy. The American Confederation perished by the same
defects.
But the Confederate States of America had been long accustomed to
form a portion of one empire before they had won their independence;
they had not contracted the habit of governing themselves, and their
national prejudices had not taken deep root in their minds. Superior
to the rest of the world in political knowledge, and sharing that
knowledge equally amongst themselves, they were little agitated by
the passions which generally oppose the extension of federal
authority in a nation, and those passions were checked by the wisdom
of the chief citizens. The Americans applied the remedy with prudent
firmness as soon as they were conscious of the evil; they amended
their laws, and they saved their country.
Advantages of the Federal System in General, and its Special Utility
in America
Happiness and freedom of small nations -- Power of great nations --
Great empires favorable to the growth of civilization -- Strength
often the first element of national prosperity -- Aim of the Federal
system to unite the twofold advantages resulting from a small and
from a large territory -- Advantages derived by the United States
from this system -- The law adapts itself to the exigencies of the
population; population does not conform to the exigencies of the law
-- Activity, amelioration, love and enjoyment of freedom in the
American communities -- Public spirit of the Union the abstract of
provincial patriotism -- Principles and things circulate freely over
the territory of the United States -- The Union is happy and free as
a little nation, and respected as a great empire.
In small nations the scrutiny of society penetrates into every part,
and the spirit of improvement enters into the most trifling details;
as the ambition of the people is necessarily checked by its
weakness, all the efforts and resources of the citizens are turned
to the internal benefit of the community, and are not likely to
evaporate in the fleeting breath of glory. The desires of every
individual are limited, because extraordinary faculties are rarely
to be met with. The gifts of an equal fortune render the various
conditions of life uniform, and the manners of the inhabitants are
orderly and simple. Thus, if one estimate the gradations of popular
morality and enlightenment, we shall generally find that in small
nations there are more persons in easy circumstances, a more
numerous population, and a more tranquil state of society, than in
great empires.
When tyranny is established in the bosom of a small nation, it is
more galling than elsewhere, because, as it acts within a narrow
circle, every point of that circle is subject to its direct
influence. It supplies the place of those great designs which it
cannot entertain by a violent or an exasperating interference in a
multitude of minute details; and it leaves the political world, to
which it properly belongs, to meddle with the arrangements of
domestic life. Tastes as well as actions are to be regulated at its
pleasure; and the families of the citizens as well as the affairs of
the State are to be governed by its decisions. This invasion of
rights occurs, however, but seldom, and freedom is in truth the
natural state of small communities The temptations which the
Government offers to ambition are too weak, and the resources of
private individuals are too slender, for the sovereign power easily
to fall within the grasp of a single citizen; and should such an
event have occurred, the subjects of the State can without
difficulty overthrow the tyrant and his oppression by a simultaneous
effort.
Small nations have therefore ever been the cradle of political
liberty; and the fact that many of them have lost their immunities
by extending their dominion shows that the freedom they enjoyed was
more a consequence of the inferior size than of the character of the
people.
The history of the world affords no instance of a great nation
retaining the form of republican government for a long series of
years, and this has led to the conclusion that such a state of
things is impracticable. For my own part, I cannot but censure the
imprudence of attempting to limit the possible and to judge the
future on the part of a being who is hourly deceived by the most
palpable realities of life, and who is constantly taken by surprise
in the circumstances with which he is most familiar. But it may be
advanced with confidence that the existence of a great republic will
always be exposed to far greater perils than that of a small one.
All the passions which are most fatal to republican institutions
spread with an increasing territory, whilst the virtues which
maintain their dignity do not augment in the same proportion. The
ambition of the citizens increases with the power of the State; the
strength of parties with the importance of the ends they have in
view; but that devotion to the common weal which is the surest check
on destructive passions is not stronger in a large than in a small
republic. It might, indeed, be proved without difficulty that it is
less powerful and less sincere. The arrogance of wealth and the
dejection of wretchedness, capital cities of unwonted extent, a lax
morality, a vulgar egotism, and a great confusion of interests, are
the dangers which almost invariably arise from the magnitude of
States. But several of these evils are scarcely prejudicial to a
monarchy, and some of them contribute to maintain its existence. In
monarchical States the strength of the government is its own; it may
use, but it does not depend on, the community, and the authority of
the prince is proportioned to the prosperity of the nation; but the
only security which a republican government possesses against these
evils lies in the support of the majority. This support is not,
however, proportionably greater in a large republic than it is in a
small one; and thus, whilst the means of attack perpetually increase
both in number and in influence, the power of resistance remains the
same, or it may rather be said to diminish, since the propensities
and interests of the people are diversified by the increase of the
population, and the difficulty of forming a compact majority is
constantly augmented. It has been observed, moreover, that the
intensity of human passions is heightened, not only by the
importance of the end which they propose to attain, but by the
multitude of individuals who are animated by them at the same time.
Every one has had occasion to remark that his emotions in the midst
of a sympathizing crowd are far greater than those which he would
have felt in solitude. In great republics the impetus of political
passion is irresistible, not only because it aims at gigantic
purposes, but because it is felt and shared by millions of men at
the same time.
It may therefore be asserted as a general proposition that nothing
is more opposed to the well-being and the freedom of man than vast
empires. Nevertheless it is important to acknowledge the peculiar
advantages of great States. For the very reason which renders the
desire of power more intense in these communities than amongst
ordinary men, the love of glory is also more prominent in the hearts
of a class of citizens, who regard the applause of a great people as
a reward worthy of their exertions, and an elevating encouragement
to man. If we would learn why it is that great nations contribute
more powerfully to the spread of human improvement than small
States, we shall discover an adequate cause in the rapid and
energetic circulation of ideas, and in those great cities which are
the intellectual centres where all the rays of human genius are
reflected and combined. To this it may be added that most important
discoveries demand a display of national power which the Government
of a small State is unable to make; in great nations the Government
entertains a greater number of general notions, and is more
completely disengaged from the routine of precedent and the egotism
of local prejudice; its designs are conceived with more talent, and
executed with more boldness.
In time of peace the well-being of small nations is undoubtedly more
general and more complete, but they are apt to suffer more acutely
from the calamities of war than those great empires whose distant
frontiers may for ages avert the presence of the danger from the
mass of the people, which is therefore more frequently afflicted
than ruined by the evil.
But in this matter, as in many others, the argument derived from the
necessity of the case predominates over all others. If none but
small nations existed, I do not doubt that mankind would be more
happy and more free; but the existence of great nations is
unavoidable.
This consideration introduces the element of physical strength as a
condition of national prosperity. It profits a people but little to
be affluent and free if it is perpetually exposed to be pillaged or
subjugated; the number of its manufactures and the extent of its
commerce are of small advantage if another nation has the empire of
the seas and gives the law in all the markets of the globe. Small
nations are often impoverished, not because they are small, but
because they are weak; the great empires prosper less because they
are great than because they are strong. Physical strength is
therefore one of the first conditions of the happiness and even of
the existence of nations. Hence it occurs that, unless very peculiar
circumstances intervene, small nations are always united to large
empires in the end, either by force or by their own consent: yet I
am unacquainted with a more deplorable spectacle than that of a
people unable either to defend or to maintain its independence.
The Federal system was created with the intention of combining the
different advantages which result from the greater and the lesser
extent of nations; and a single glance over the United States of
America suffices to discover the advantages which they have derived
from its adoption.
In great centralized nations the legislator is obliged to impart a
character of uniformity to the laws which does not always suit the
diversity of customs and of districts; as he takes no cognizance of
special cases, he can only proceed upon general principles; and the
population is obliged to conform to the exigencies of the
legislation, since the legislation cannot adapt itself to the
exigencies and the customs of the population, which is the cause of
endless trouble and misery. This disadvantage does not exist in
confederations. Congress regulates the principal measures of the
national Government, and all the details of the administration are
reserved to the provincial legislatures. It is impossible to imagine
how much this division of sovereignty contributes to the well-being
of each of the States which compose the Union. In these small
communities, which are never agitated by the desire of
aggrandizement or the cares of self-defence, all public authority
and private energy is employed in internal amelioration. The central
government of each State, which is in immediate juxtaposition to the
citizens, is daily apprised of the wants which arise in society; and
new projects are proposed every year, which are discussed either at
town meetings or by the legislature of the State, and which are
transmitted by the press to stimulate the zeal and to excite the
interest of the citizens. This spirit of amelioration is constantly
alive in the American republics, without compromising their
tranquillity; the ambition of power yields to the less refined and
less dangerous love of comfort. It is generally believed in America
that the existence and the permanence of the republican form of
government in the New World depend upon the existence and the
permanence of the Federal system; and it is not unusual to attribute
a large share of the misfortunes which have befallen the new States
of South America to the injudicious erection of great republics,
instead of a divided and confederate sovereignty.
It is incontestably true that the love and the habits of republican
government in the United States were engendered in the townships and
in the provincial assemblies. In a small State, like that of
Connecticut for instance, where cutting a canal or laying down a
road is a momentous political question, where the State has no army
to pay and no wars to carry on, and where much wealth and much honor
cannot be bestowed upon the chief citizens, no form of government
can be more natural or more appropriate than that of a republic. But
it is this same republican spirit, it is these manners and customs
of a free people, which are engendered and nurtured in the different
States, to be afterwards applied to the country at large. The public
spirit of the Union is, so to speak, nothing more than an abstract
of the patriotic zeal of the provinces. Every citizen of the United
States transfuses his attachment to his little republic in the
common store of American patriotism. In defending the Union he
defends the increasing prosperity of his own district, the right of
conducting its affairs, and the hope of causing measures of
improvement to be adopted which may be favorable to his own
interest; and these are motives which are wont to stir men more
readily than the general interests of the country and the glory of
the nation.
On the other hand, if the temper and the manners of the inhabitants
especially fitted them to promote the welfare of a great republic,
the Federal system smoothed the obstacles which they might have
encountered. The confederation of all the American States presents
none of the ordinary disadvantages resulting from great
agglomerations of men. The Union is a great republic in extent, but
the paucity of objects for which its Government provides assimilates
it to a small State. Its acts are important, but they are rare. As
the sovereignty of the Union is limited and incomplete, its exercise
is not incompatible with liberty; for it does not excite those
insatiable desires of fame and power which have proved so fatal to
great republics. As there is no common centre to the country, vast
capital cities, colossal wealth, abject poverty, and sudden
revolutions are alike unknown; and political passion, instead of
spreading over the land like a torrent of desolation, spends its
strength against the interests and the individual passions of every
State.
Nevertheless, all commodities and ideas circulate throughout the
Union as freely as in a country inhabited by one people. Nothing
checks the spirit of enterprise. Government avails itself of the
assistance of all who have talents or knowledge to serve it. Within
the frontiers of the Union the profoundest peace prevails, as within
the heart of some great empire; abroad, it ranks with the most
powerful nations of the earth; two thousand miles of coast are open
to the commerce of the world; and as it possesses the keys of the
globe, its flags is respected in the most remote seas. The Union is
as happy and as free as a small people, and as glorious and as
strong as a great nation.
Why the Federal System is Not Adapted to All Peoples, and How the
Anglo-Americans Were Enabled to Adopt It
Every Federal system contains defects which baffle the efforts of
the legislator -- The Federal system is complex -- It demands a
daily exercise of discretion on the part of the citizens --
Practical knowledge of government common amongst the Americans --
Relative weakness of the Government of the Union, another defect
inherent in the Federal system -- The Americans have diminished
without remedying it -- The sovereignty of the separate States
apparently weaker, but really stronger, than that of the Union --
Why? -- Natural causes of union must exist between confederate
peoples besides the laws -- What these causes are amongst the
Anglo-Americans -- Maine and Georgia, separated by a distance of a
thousand miles, more naturally united than Normandy and Brittany --
War, the main peril of confederations -- This proved even by the
example of the United States -- The Union has no great wars to fear
-- Why? -- Dangers to which Europeans would be exposed if they
adopted the Federal system of the Americans.
When a legislator succeeds, after persevering efforts, in exercising
an indirect influence upon the destiny of nations, his genius is
lauded by mankind, whilst, in point of fact, the geographical
position of the country which he is unable to change, a social
condition which arose without his co-operation, manners and opinions
which he cannot trace to their source, and an origin with which he
is unacquainted, exercise so irresistible an influence over the
courses of society that he is himself borne away by the current,
after an ineffectual resistance. Like the navigator, he may direct
the vessel which bears him along, but he can neither change its
structure, nor raise the winds, nor lull the waters which swell
beneath him.
I have shown the advantages which the Americans derive from their
federal System; it remains for me to point out the circumstances
which rendered that system practicable, as its benefits are not to
be enjoyed by all nations. The incidental defects of the Federal
system which originate in the laws may be corrected by the skill of
the legislator, but there are further evils inherent in the system
which cannot be counteracted by the peoples which adopt it. These
nations must therefore find the strength necessary to support the
natural imperfections of their Government.
The most prominent evil of all Federal systems is the very complex
nature of the means they employ. Two sovereignties are necessarily
in presence of each other. The legislator may simplify and equalize
the action of these two sovereignties, by limiting each of them to a
sphere of authority accurately defined; but he cannot combine them
into one, or prevent them from coming into collision at certain
points. The Federal system therefore rests upon a theory which is
necessarily complicated, and which demands the daily exercise of a
considerable share of discretion on the part of those it governs.
A proposition must be plain to be adopted by the understanding of a
people. A false notion which is clear and precise will always meet
with a greater number of adherents in the world than a true
principle which is obscure or involved. Hence it arises that
parties, which are like small communities in the heart of the
nation, invariably adopt some principle or some name as a symbol,
which very inadequately represents the end they have in view and the
means which are at their disposal, but without which they could
neither act nor subsist. The governments which are founded upon a
single principle or a single feeling which is easily defined are
perhaps not the best, but they are unquestionably the strongest and
the most durable in the world.
In examining the Constitution of the United States, which is the
most perfect federal constitution that ever existed, one is
startled, on the other hand, at the variety of information and the
excellence of discretion which it presupposes in the people whom it
is meant to govern. The government of the Union depends entirely
upon legal fictions; the Union is an ideal nation which only exists
in the mind, and whose limits and extent can only be discerned by
the understanding.
When once the general theory is comprehended, numberless
difficulties remain to be solved in its application; for the
sovereignity of the Union is so involved in that of the States that
is it impossible to distinguish its boundaries at the first glance.
The whole structure of the Government is artificial and conventional
and it would be ill adapted to a people which has not been long
accustomed to conduct its own affairs, or to one in which the
science of politics has not descended to the humblest classes of
society. I have never been more struck by the good sense and the
practical judgment of the Americans than in the ingenious devices by
which they elude the numberless difficulties resulting from their
Federal Constitution. I scarcely ever met with a plain American
citizen who could not distinguish, with surprising facility, the
obligations created by the laws of Congress from those created by
the laws of his own State; and who, after having discriminated
between the matters which come under the cognizance of the Union and
those which the local legislature is competent to regulate, could
not point out the exact limit of the several jurisdictions of the
Federal courts and the tribunals of the State.
The Constitution of the United States is like those exquisite
productions of human industry which ensure wealth and renown to
their inventors, but which are profitless in any other hands. This
truth is exemplified by the condition of Mexico at the present time.
The Mexicans were desirous of establishing a federal system, and
they took the Federal Constitution of their neighbors, the
Anglo-Americans, as their model, and copied it with considerable
accuracy. But although they had borrowed the letter of the law, they
were unable to create or to introduce the spirit and the sense which
give it life. They were involved in ceaseless embarrassments between
the mechanism of their double government; the sovereignty of the
States and that of the Union perpetually exceeded their respective
privileges, and entered into collision; and to the present day
Mexico is alternately the victim of anarchy and the slave of
military despotism.
The second and the most fatal of all the defects I have alluded to,
and that which I believe to be inherent in the federal system, is
the relative weakness of the government of the Union. The principle
upon which all confederations rest is that of a divided sovereignty.
The legislator may render this partition less perceptible, he may
even conceal it for a time from the public eye, but he cannot
prevent it from existing, and a divided sovereignty must always be
less powerful than an entire supremacy. The reader has seen in the
remarks I have made on the Constitution of the United States that
the Americans have displayed singular ingenuity in combining the
restriction of the power of the Union within the narrow limits of a
federal government with the semblance and, to a certain extent, with
the force of a national government. By this means the legislators of
the Union have succeeded in diminishing, though not in counteracting
the natural danger of confederations.
It has been remarked that the American Government does not apply
itself to the States, but that it immediately transmits its
injunctions to the citizens, and compels them as isolated
individuals to comply with its demands. But if the Federal law were
to clash with the interests and the prejudices of a State, it might
be feared that all the citizens of that State would conceive
themselves to be interested in the cause of a single in dividual who
should refuse to obey. If all the citizens of the State were
aggrieved at the same time and in the same manner by the authority
of the Union, the Federal Government would vainly attempt to subdue
them individually; they would instinctively unite in a common
defence, and they would derive a ready-prepared organization from
the share of sovereignty which the institution of their State allows
them to enjoy. Fiction would give way to reality, and an organized
portion of the territory might then contest the central authority.
The same observation holds good with regard to the Federal
jurisdiction. If the courts of the Union violated an important law
of a State in a private case, the real, if not the apparent, contest
would arise between the aggrieved State represented by a citizen and
the Union represented by its courts of justice.
He would have but a partial knowledge of the world who should
imagine that it is possible, by the aid of legal fictions, to
prevent men from finding out and employing those means of gratifying
their passions which have been left open to them and it may be
doubted whether the American legislators, when they rendered a
collision between the two sovereigns less probable, destroyed the
cause of such a misfortune. But it may even be affirmed that they
were unable to ensure the preponderance of the Federal element in a
case of this kind. The Union is possessed of money and of troops,
but the affections and the prejudices of the people are in the bosom
of the States. The sovereignty of the Union is an abstract being,
which is connected with but few external objects; the sovereignty of
the States is hourly perceptible, easily understood, constantly
active; and if the former is of recent creation, the latter is
coeval with the people itself. The sovereignty of the Union is
factitious, that of the States is natural, and derives its existence
from its own simple influence, like the authority of a parent. The
supreme power of the nation only affects a few of the chief
interests of society; it represents an immense but remote country,
and claims a feeling of patriotism which is vague and ill defined;
but the authority of the States controls every individual citizen at
every hour and in all circumstances; it protects his property, his
freedom, and his life; and when we recollect the traditions, the
customs, the prejudices of local and familiar attachment with which
it is connected, we cannot doubt of the superiority of a power which
is interwoven with every circumstance that renders the love of one's
native country instinctive in the human heart.
Since legislators are unable to obviate such dangerous collisions as
occur between the two sovereignties which coexist in the federal
system, their first object must be, not only to dissuade the
confederate States from warfare, but to encourage such institutions
as may promote the maintenance of peace. Hence it results that the
Federal compact cannot be lasting unless there exists in the
communities which are leagued together a certain number of
inducements to union which render their common dependence agreeable,
and the task of the Government light, and that system cannot succeed
without the presence of favorable circumstances added to the
influence of good laws. All the peoples which have ever formed a
confederation have been held together by a certain number of common
interests, which served as the intellectual ties of association.
But the sentiments and the principles of man must be taken into
consideration as well as his immediate interests. A certain
uniformity of civilization is not less necessary to the durability
of a confederation than a uniformity of interests in the States
which compose it. In Switzerland the difference which exists between
the Canton of Uri and the Canton of Vaud is equal to that between
the fifteenth and the nineteenth centuries; and, properly speaking,
Switzerland has never possessed a federal government. The union
between these two cantons only subsists upon the map, and their
discrepancies would soon be perceived if an attempt were made by a
central authority to prescribe the same laws to the whole territory.
One of the circumstances which most powerfully contribute to support
the Federal Government in America is that the States have not only
similar interests, a common origin, and a common tongue, but that
they are also arrived at the same stage of civilization; which
almost always renders a union feasible. I do not know of any
European nation, how small soever it may be, which does not present
less uniformity in its different provinces than the American people,
which occupies a territory as extensive as one-half of Europe. The
distance from the State of Maine to that of Georgia is reckoned at
about one thousand miles; but the difference between the
civilization of Maine and that of Georgia is slighter than the
difference between the habits of Normandy and those of Brittany.
Maine and Georgia, which are placed at the opposite extremities of a
great empire, are consequently in the natural possession of more
real inducements to form a confederation than Normandy and Brittany,
which are only separated by a bridge.
The geographical position of the country contributed to increase the
facilities which the American legislators derived from the manners
and customs of the inhabitants; and it is to this circumstance that
the adoption and the maintenance of the Federal system are mainly
attributable.
The most important occurrence which can mark the annals of a people
is the breaking out of a war. In war a people struggles with the
energy of a single man against foreign nations in the defence of its
very existence. The skill of a government, the good sense of the
community, and the natural fondness which men entertain for their
country, may suffice to maintain peace in the interior of a
district, and to favor its internal prosperity; but a nation can
only carry on a great war at the cost of more numerous and more
painful sacrifices; and to suppose that a great number of men will
of their own accord comply with these exigencies of the State is to
betray an ignorance of mankind. All the peoples which have been
obliged to sustain a long and serious warfare have consequently been
led to augment the power of their government. Those which have not
succeeded in this attempt have been subjugated. A long war almost
always places nations in the wretched alternative of being abandoned
to ruin by defeat or to despotism by success. War therefore renders
the symptoms of the weakness of a government most palpable and most
alarming; and I have shown that the inherent defeat of federal
governments is that of being weak.
The Federal system is not only deficient in every kind of
centralized administration, but the central government itself is
imperfectly organized, which is invariably an influential cause of
inferiority when the nation is opposed to other countries which are
themselves governed by a single authority. In the Federal
Constitution of the United States, by which the central government
possesses more real force, this evil is still extremely sensible. An
example will illustrate the case to the reader.
The Constitution confers upon Congress the right of calling forth
militia to execute the laws of the Union, suppress insurrections,
and repel invasions; and another article declares that the President
of the United States is the commander-in-chief of the militia. In
the war of 1812 the President ordered the militia of the Northern
States to march to the frontiers; but Connecticut and Massachusetts,
whose interests were impaired by the war, refused to obey the
command. They argued that the Constitution authorizes the Federal
Government to call forth the militia in case of insurrection or
invasion, but that in the present instance there was neither
invasion nor insurrection. They added, that the same Constitution
which conferred upon the Union the right of calling forth the
militia reserved to the States that of naming the officers; and that
consequently (as they understood the clause) no officer of the Union
had any right to command the militia, even during war, except the
President in person; and in this case they were ordered to loin an
army commanded by another individual. These absurd and pernicious
doctrines received the sanction not only of the governors and the
legislative bodies, but also of the courts of justice in both
States; and the Federal Government was constrained to raise
elsewhere the troops which it required.
The only safeguard which the American Union, with all the relative
perfection of its laws, possesses against the dissolution which
would be produced by a great war, lies in its probable exemption
from that calamity. Placed in the centre of an immense continent,
which offers a boundless field for human industry, the Union is
almost as much insulated from the world as if its frontiers were
girt by the ocean. Canada contains only a million of inhabitants,
and its population is divided into two inimical nations. The rigor
of the climate limits the extension of its territory, and shuts up
its ports during the six months of winter. From Canada to the Gulf
of Mexico a few savage tribes are to be met with, which retire,
perishing in their retreat, before six thousand soldiers. To the
South, the Union has a point of contact with the empire of Mexico;
and it is thence that serious hostilities may one day be expected to
arise. But for a long while to come the uncivilized state of the
Mexican community, the depravity of its morals, and its extreme
poverty, will prevent that country from ranking high amongst
nations. As for the Powers of Europe, they are too distant to be
formidable.
The great advantage of the United States does not, then, consist in
a Federal Constitution which allows them to carry on great wars, but
in a geographical position which renders such enterprises extremely
improbable.
No one can be more inclined than I am myself to appreciate the
advantages of the federal system, which I hold to be one of the
combinations most favorable to the prosperity and freedom of man. I
envy the lot of those nations which have been enabled to adopt it;
but I cannot believe that any confederate peoples could maintain a
long or an equal contest with a nation of similar strength in which
the government should be centralized. A people which should divide
its sovereignty into fractional powers, in the presence of the great
military monarchies of Europe, would, in my opinion, by that very
act, abdicate its power, and perhaps its existence and its name. But
such is the admirable position of the New World that man has no
other enemy than himself; and that, in order to be happy and to be
free, it suffices to seek the gifts of prosperity and the knowledge
of freedom.
Chapter 9
I HAVE hitherto examined the institutions of the United States; I
have passed their legislation in review, and I have depicted the
present characteristics of political society in that Country. But a
sovereign power exists above these institutions and beyond these
characteristic features which may destroy or modify them at its
pleasure -- I mean that of the people. It remains to be shown in
what manner this power, which regulates the laws, acts: its
propensities and its passions remain to be pointed out, as well as
the secret springs which retard, accelerate, or direct its
irresistible course; and the effects of its unbounded authority,
with the destiny which is probably reserved for it.
Why the People May Strictly Be Said to Govern in the United States
In America the people appoints the legislative and the executive
power, and furnishes the jurors who punish all offences against the
laws. The American institutions are democratic, not only in their
principle but in all their consequences; and the people elects its
representatives directly, and for the most part annually, in order
to ensure their dependence. The people is therefore the real
directing power; and although the form of government is
representative, it is evident that the opinions, the prejudices, the
interests, and even the passions of the community are hindered by no
durable obstacles from exercising a perpetual influence on society.
In the United States the majority governs in the name of the people,
as is the case in all the countries in which the people is supreme.
The majority is principally composed of peaceful citizens who,
either by inclination or by interest, are sincerely desirous of the
welfare of their country. But they are surrounded by the incessant
agitation of parties, which attempt to gain their co-operation and
to avail themselves of their support.
Chapter 10 Parties in the United States
Great distinction to be made between parties -- Parties which are to
each other as rival nations -- Parties properly so called --
Difference between great and small parties -- Epochs which produce
them -- Their characteristics -- America has had great parties --
They are extinct -- Federalists -- Republicans -- Defeat of the
Federalists -- Difficulty of creating parties in the United States
-- What is done with this intention -- Aristocratic or democratic
character to be met with in all parties -- Struggle of General
Jackson against the Bank.
A GREAT distinction must be made between parties. Some countries are
so large that the different populations which inhabit them have
contradictory interests, although they are the subjects of the same
Government, and they may thence be in a perpetual state of
opposition. In this case the different fractions of the people may
more properly be considered as distinct nations than as mere
parties; and if a civil war breaks out, the struggle is carried on
by rival peoples rather than by factions in the State.
But when the citizens entertain different opinions upon subjects
which affect the whole country alike, such, for instance, as the
principles upon which the government is to be conducted, then
distinctions arise which may correctly be styled parties. Parties
are a necessary evil in free governments; but they have not at all
times the same character and the same propensities.
At certain periods a nation may be oppressed by such insupportable
evils as to conceive the design of effecting a total change in its
political constitution; at other times the mischief lies still
deeper, and the existence of society itself is endangered. Such are
the times of great revolutions and of great parties. But between
these epochs of misery and of confusion there are periods during
which human society seems to rest, and mankind to make a pause. This
pause is, indeed, only apparent, for time does not stop its course
for nations any more than for men; they are all advancing towards a
goal with which they are unacquainted; and we only imagine them to
be stationary when their progress escapes our observation, as men
who are going at a foot-pace seem to be standing still to those who
run.
But however this may be, there are certain epochs at which the
changes that take place in the social and political constitution of
nations are so slow and so insensible that men imagine their present
condition to be a final state; and the human mind, believing itself
to be firmly based upon certain foundations, does not extend its
researches beyond the horizon which it descries. These are the times
of small parties and of intrigue.
The political parties which I style great are those which cling to
principles more than to their consequences; to general, and not to
especial cases; to ideas, and not to men. These parties are usually
distinguished by a nobler character, by more generous passions, more
genuine convictions, and a more bold and open conduct than the
others. In them private interest, which always plays the chief part
in political passions, is more studiously veiled under the pretext
of the public good; and it may even be sometimes concealed from the
eyes of the very persons whom it excites and impels.
Minor parties are, on the other hand, generally deficient in
political faith. As they are not sustained or dignified by a lofty
purpose, they ostensibly display the egotism of their character in
their actions. They glow with a factitious zeal; their language is
vehement, but their conduct is timid and irresolute. The means they
employ are as wretched as the end at which they aim. Hence it arises
that when a calm state of things succeeds a violent revolution, the
leaders of society seem suddenly to disappear, and the powers of the
human mind to lie concealed. Society is convulsed by great parties,
by minor ones it is agitated; it is torn by the former, by the
latter it is degraded; and if these sometimes save it by a salutary
perturbation, those invariably disturb it to no good end.
America has already lost the great parties which once divided the
nation; and if her happiness is considerably increased, her morality
has suffered by their extinction. When the War of Independence was
terminated, and the foundations of the new Government were to be
laid down, the nation was divided between two opinions -- two
opinions which are as old as the world, and which are perpetually to
be met with under all the forms and all the names which have ever
obtained in free communities -- the one tending to limit, the other
to extend indefinitely, the power of the people. The conflict of
these two opinions never assumed that degree of violence in America
which it has frequently displayed elsewhere. Both parties of the
Americans were, in fact, agreed upon the most essential points; and
neither of them had to destroy a traditionary constitution, or to
overthrow the structure of society, in order to ensure its own
triumph. In neither of them, consequently, were a great number of
private interests affected by success or by defeat; but moral
principles of a high order, such as the love of equality and of
independence, were concerned in the struggle, and they sufficed to
kindle violent passions.
The party which desired to limit the power of the people endeavored
to apply its doctrines more especially to the Constitution of the
Union, whence it derived its name of Federal. The other party, which
affected to be more exclusively attached to the cause of liberty,
took that of Republican. America is a land of democracy, and the
Federalists were always in a minority; but they reckoned on their
side almost all the great men who had been called forth by the War
of Independence, and their moral influence was very considerable.
Their cause was, moreover, favored by circumstances. The ruin of the
Confederation had impressed the people with a dread of anarchy, and
the Federalists did not fail to profit by this transient disposition
of the multitude. For ten or twelve years they were at the head of
affairs, and they were able to apply some, though not all, of their
principles; for the hostile current was becoming from day to day too
violent to be checked or stemmed. In 1801 the Republicans got
possession of the Government; Thomas Jefferson was named President;
and he increased the influence of their party by the weight of his
celebrity, the greatness of his talents, and the immense extent of
his popularity.
The means by which the Federalists had maintained their position
were artificial, and their resources were temporary; it was by the
virtues or the talents of their leaders that they had risen to
power. When the Republicans attained to that lofty station, their
opponents were overwhelmed by utter defeat. An immense majority
declared itself against the retiring party, and the Federalists
found themselves in so small a minority that they at once despaired
of their future success. From that moment the Republican or
Democratic party a has proceeded from conquest to conquest, until it
has acquired absolute supremacy in the country. The Federalists,
perceiving that they were vanquished without resource, and isolated
in the midst of the nation, fell into two divisions, of which one
joined the victorious Republicans, and the other abandoned its
rallying-point and its name. Many years have already elapsed since
they ceased to exist as a party.
The accession of the Federalists to power was, in my opinion, one of
the most fortunate incidents which accompanied the formation of the
great American Union; they resisted the inevitable propensities of
their age and of the country. But whether their theories were good
or bad, they had the effect of being inapplicable, as a system, to
the society which they professed to govern, and that which occurred
under the auspices of Jefferson must therefore have taken place
sooner or later. But their Government gave the new republic time to
acquire a certain stability, and afterwards to support the rapid
growth of the very doctrines which they had combated. A considerable
number of their principles were in point of fact embodied in the
political creed of their opponents; and the Federal Constitution
which subsists at the present day is a lasting monument of their
patriotism and their wisdom.
Great political parties are not, then, to be met with in the United
States at the present time. Parties, indeed, may be found which
threaten the future tranquillity of the Union; but there are none
which seem to contest the present form of Government or the present
course of society. The parties by which the Union is menaced do not
rest upon abstract principles, but upon temporal interests. These
interests, disseminated in the provinces of so vast an empire, may
be said to constitute rival nations rather than parties. Thus, upon
a recent occasion, the North contended for the system of commercial
prohibition, and the South took up arms in favor of free trade,
simply because the North is a manufacturing and the South an
agricultural district; and that the restrictive system which was
profitable to the one was prejudicial to the other.
In the absence of great parties, the United States abound with
lesser controversies; and public opinion is divided into a thousand
minute shades of difference upon questions of very little moment.
The pains which are taken to create parties are inconceivable, and
at the present day it is no easy task. In the United States there is
no religious animosity, because all religion is respected, and no
sect is predominant; there is no jealousy of rank, because the
people is everything, and none can contest its authority; lastly,
there is no public indigence to supply the means of agitation,
because the physical position of the country opens so wide a field
to industry that man is able to accomplish the most surprising
undertakings with his own native resources. Nevertheless, ambitious
men are interested in the creation of parties, since it is difficult
to eject a person from authority upon the mere ground that his place
is coveted by others. The skill of the actors in the political world
lies therefore in the art of creating parties. A political aspirant
in the United States begins by discriminating his own interest, and
by calculating upon those interests which may be collected around
and amalgamated with it; he then contrives to discover some doctrine
or some principle which may suit the purposes of this new
association, and which he adopts in order to bring forward his party
and to secure his popularity; just as the imprimatur of a King was
in former days incorporated with the volume which it authorized, but
to which it nowise belonged. When these preliminaries are
terminated, the new party is ushered into the political world.
All the domestic controversies of the Americans at first appear to a
stranger to be so incomprehensible and so puerile that he is at a
loss whether to pity a people which takes such arrant trifles in
good earnest, or to envy the happiness which enables it to discuss
them. But when he comes to study, the secret propensities which
govern the factions of America, he easily perceives that the greater
part of them are more or less connected with one or the other of
those two divisions which have always existed in free communities.
The deeper we penetrate into the working of these parties, the more
do we perceive that the object of the one is to limit, and that of
the other to extend, the popular authority. I do not assert that the
ostensible end, or even that the secret aim, of American parties is
to promote the rule of aristocracy or democracy in the country; but
I affirm that aristocratic or democratic passions may easily be
detected at the bottom of all parties, and that, although they
escape a superficial observation, they are the main point and the
very soul of every faction in the United States.
To quote a recent example. When the President attacked the Bank, the
country was excited and parties were formed; the well-informed
classes rallied round the Bank, the common people round the
President. But it must not be imagined that the people had formed a
rational opinion upon a question which offers so many difficulties
to the most experienced statesmen. The Bank is a great establishment
which enjoys an independent existence, and the people, accustomed to
make and unmake whatsoever it pleases, is startled to meet with this
obstacle to its authority. In the midst of the perpetual fluctuation
of society the community is irritated by so permanent an
institution, and is led to attack it in order to see whether it can
be shaken and controlled, like all the other institutions of the
country.
Remains of the Aristocratic Party in the United States
Secret opposition of wealthy individuals to democracy -- Their
retirement -- Their taste for exclusive pleasures and for luxury at
home -- Their simplicity abroad -- Their affected condescension
towards the people.
It sometimes happens in a people amongst which various opinions
prevail that the balance of the several parties is lost, and one of
them obtains an irresistible preponderance, overpowers all
obstacles, harasses its opponents, and appropriates all the
resources of society to its own purposes. The vanquished citizens
despair of success and they conceal their dissatisfaction in silence
and in general apathy. The nation seems to be governed by a single
principle, and the prevailing party assumes the credit of having
restored peace and unanimity to the country. But this apparent
unanimity is merely a cloak to alarming dissensions and perpetual
opposition.
This is precisely what occurred in America; when the democratic
party got the upper hand, it took exclusive possession of the
conduct of affairs, and from that time the laws and the customs of
society have been adapted to its caprices. At the present day the
more affluent classes of society are so entirely removed from the
direction of political affairs in the United States that wealth, far
from conferring a right to the exercise of power, is rather an
obstacle than a means of attaining to it. The wealthy members of the
community abandon the lists, through unwillingness to contend, and
frequently to contend in vain, against the poorest classes of their
fellow citizens. They concentrate all their enjoyments in the
privacy of their homes, where they occupy a rank which cannot be
assumed in public; and they constitute a private society in the
State, which has its own tastes and its own pleasures. They submit
to this state of things as an irremediable evil, but they are
careful not to show that they are galled by its continuance; it is
even not uncommon to hear them laud the delights of a republican
government, and the advantages of democratic institutions when they
are in public. Next to hating their enemies, men are most inclined
to flatter them.
Mark, for instance, that opulent citizen, who is as anxious as a Jew
of the Middle Ages to conceal his wealth. His dress is plain, his
demeanor unassuming; but the interior of his dwelling glitters with
luxury, and none but a few chosen guests whom he haughtily styles
his equals are allowed to penetrate into this sanctuary. No European
noble is more exclusive in his pleasures, or more jealous of the
smallest advantages which his privileged station confers upon him.
But the very same individual crosses the city to reach a dark
counting-house in the centre of traffic, where every one may accost
him who pleases. If he meets his cobbler upon the way, they stop and
converse; the two citizens discuss the affairs of the State in which
they have an equal interest, and they shake hands before they part.
But beneath this artificial enthusiasm, and these obsequious
attentions to the preponderating power, it is easy to perceive that
the wealthy members of the community entertain a hearty distaste to
the democratic institutions of their country. The populace is at
once the object of their scorn and of their fears. If the
maladministration of the democracy ever brings about a revolutionary
crisis, and if monarchical institutions ever become practicable in
the United States, the truth of what I advance will become obvious.
The two chief weapons which parties use in order to ensure success
are the public press and the formation of associations.
Chapter 11 Liberty of the Press in the United States
Difficulty of restraining the liberty of the press -- Particular
reasons which some nations have to cherish this liberty -- The
liberty of the press a necessary consequence of the sovereignty of
the people as it is understood in America -- Violent language of the
periodical press in the United States -- Propensities of the
periodical press -- Illustrated by the United States -- Opinion of
the Americans upon the repression of the abuse of the liberty of the
press by judicial prosecutions -- Reasons for which the press is
less powerful in America than in France.
The influence of the liberty of the press does not affect political
opinions alone, but it extends to all the Opinions of men, and it
modifies customs as well as laws. In another part of this work I
shall attempt to determinate the degree of influence which the
liberty of the press has exercised upon civil society in the United
States, and to point out the direction which it has given to the
ideas, as well as the tone which it has imparted to the character
and the feelings, of the Anglo-Americans, but at present I purpose
simply to examine the effects produced by the liberty of the press
in the political world.
I confess that I do not entertain that firm and complete attachment
to the liberty of the press which things that are supremely good in
their very nature are wont to excite in the mind; and I approve of
it more from a recollection of the evils it prevents than from a
consideration of the advantages it ensures.
If any one could point out an intermediate and yet a tenable
position between the complete independence and the entire subjection
of the public expression of Opinion, I should perhaps be inclined to
adopt it; but the difficulty is to discover this position. If it is
your intention to correct the abuses of unlicensed printing and to
restore the use of orderly language, you may in the first instance
try the offender by a jury; but if the jury acquits him, the opinion
which was that of a single individual becomes the opinion of the
country at large. Too much and too little has therefore hitherto
been done. If you proceed, you must bring the delinquent before a
court of permanent judges. But even here the cause must be heard
before it can be decided; and the very principles which no book
would have ventured to avow are blazoned forth in the pleadings, and
what was obscurely hinted at in a single composition is then
repeated in a multitude of other publications. The language in which
a thought is embodied is the mere carcass of the thought, and not
the idea itself; tribunals may condemn the form, but the sense and
spirit of the work is too subtle for their authority. Too much has
still been done to recede, too little to attain your end; you must
therefore proceed. If you establish a censorship of the press, the
tongue of the public speaker will still make itself heard, and you
have only increased the mischief. The powers of thought do not rely,
like the powers of physical strength, upon the number of their
mechanical agents, nor can a host of authors be reckoned like the
troops which compose an army; on the contrary, the authority of a
principle is often increased by the smallness of the number of men
by whom it is expressed. The words of a strong-minded man, which
penetrate amidst the passions of a listening assembly, have more
power than the vociferations of a thousand orators; and if it be
allowed to speak freely in any public place, the consequence is the
same as if free speaking was allowed in every village. The liberty
of discourse must therefore be destroyed as well as the liberty of
the press; this is the necessary term of your efforts; but if your
object was to repress the abuses of liberty, they have brought you
to the feet of a despot. You have been led from the extreme of
independence to the extreme of subjection without meeting with a
single tenable position for shelter or repose.
There are certain nations which have peculiar reasons for cherishing
the liberty of the press, independently of the general motives which
I have just pointed out. For in certain countries which profess to
enjoy the privileges of freedom every individual agent of the
Government may violate the laws with impunity, since those whom he
oppresses cannot prosecute him before the courts of justice. In this
case the liberty of the press is not merely a guarantee, but it is
the only guarantee, of their liberty and their security which the
citizens possess. If the rulers of these nations propose to abolish
the independence of the press, the people would be justified in
saying: Give us the right of prosecuting your offences before the
ordinary tribunals, and perhaps we may then waive our right of
appeal to the tribunal of public opinion.
But in the countries in which the doctrine of the sovereignty of the
people ostensibly prevails, the censorship of the press is not only
dangerous, but it is absurd. When the right of every citizen to
co-operate in the government of society is acknowledged, every
citizen must be presumed to possess the power of discriminating
between the different opinions of his contemporaries, and of
appreciating the different facts from which inferences may be drawn.
The sovereignty of the people and the liberty of the press may
therefore be looked upon as correlative institutions; just as the
censorship of the press and universal suffrage are two things which
are irreconcilably opposed, and which cannot long be retained among
the institutions of the same people. Not a single individual of the
twelve millions who inhabit the territory of the United States has
as yet dared to propose any restrictions to the liberty of the
press. The first newspaper over which I cast my eyes, upon my
arrival in America, contained the following article:
In all this affair the language of Jackson has been that of a
heartless despot, solely occupied with the preservation of his own
authority. Ambition is his crime, and it will be his punishment too:
intrigue is his native element, and intrigue will confound his
tricks, and will deprive him of his power: he governs by means of
corruption, and his immoral practices will redound to his shame and
confusion. His conduct in the political arena has been that of a
shameless and lawless gamester. He succeeded at the time, but the
hour of retribution approaches, and he will be obliged to disgorge
his winnings, to throw aside his false dice, and to end his days in
some retirement, where he may curse his madness at his leisure; for
repentance is a virtue with which his heart is likely to remain
forever
It is not uncommonly imagined in France that the virulence of the
press originates in the uncertain social condition, in the political
excitement, and the general sense of consequent evil which prevail
in that country; and it is therefore supposed that as soon as
society has resumed a certain degree of composure the press will
abandon its present vehemence. I am inclined to think that the above
causes explain the reason of the extraordinary ascendency it has
acquired over the nation, but that they do not exercise much
influence upon the tone of its language. The periodical press
appears to me to be actuated by passions and propensities
independent of the circumstances in which it is placed, and the
present position of America corroborates this Opinion.
America is perhaps, at this moment, the country of the whole world
which contains the fewest germs of revolution; but the press is not
less destructive in its principles than in France, and it displays
the same violence without the same reasons for indignation. In
America, as in France, it constitutes a singular power, so strangely
composed of mingled good and evil that it is at the same time
indispensable to the existence of freedom, and nearly incompatible
with the maintenance of public order. Its power is certainly much
greater in France than in the United States; though nothing is more
rare in the latter country than to hear of a prosecution having been
instituted against it. The reason of this is perfectly simple: the
Americans, having once admitted the doctrine of the sovereignty of
the people, apply it with perfect consistency. It was never their
intention to found a permanent state of things with elements which
undergo daily modifications; and there is consequently nothing
criminal in an attack upon the existing laws, provided it be not
attended with a violent infraction of them. They are moreover of
opinion that courts of justice are unable to check the abuses of the
press; and that as the subtilty of human language perpetually eludes
the severity of judicial analysis, offences of this nature are apt
to escape the hand which attempts to apprehend them. They hold that
to act with efficacy upon the press it would be necessary to find a
tribunal, not only devoted to the existing order of things, but
capable of surmounting the influence of public opinion; a tribunal
which should conduct its proceedings without publicity, which should
pronounce its decrees without assigning its motives, and punish the
intentions even more than the language of an author. Whosoever
should have the power of creating and maintaining a tribunal of this
kind would waste his time in prosecuting the liberty of the press;
for he would be the supreme master of the whole community, and he
would be as free to rid himself of the authors as of their writings.
In this question, therefore, there is no medium between servitude
and extreme license; in order to enjoy the inestimable benefits
which the liberty of the press ensures, it is necessary to submit to
the inevitable evils which it engenders. To expect to acquire the
former and to escape the latter is to cherish one of those illusions
which commonly mislead nations in their times of sickness, when,
tired with faction and exhausted by effort, they attempt to combine
hostile opinions and contrary principles upon the same soil.
The small influence of the American journals is attributable to
several reasons, amongst which are the following:
The liberty of writing, like all other liberty, is most formidable
when it is a novelty; for a people which has never been accustomed
to co-operate in the conduct of State affairs places implicit
confidence in the first tribune who arouses its attention. The
Anglo-Americans have enjoyed this liberty ever since the foundation
of the settlements; moreover, the press cannot create human passions
by its own power, however skilfully it may kindle them where they
exist. In America politics are discussed with animation and a varied
activity, but they rarely touch those deep passions which are
excited whenever the positive interest of a part of the community is
impaired: but in the United States the interests of the community
are in a most prosperous condition. A single glance upon a French
and an American newspaper is sufficient to show the difference which
exists between the two nations on this head. In France the space
allotted to commercial advertisements is very limited, and the
intelligence is not considerable, but the most essential part of the
journal is that which contains the discussion of the politics of the
day. In America three-quarters of the enormous sheet which is set
before the reader are filled with advertisements, and the remainder
is frequently occupied by political intelligence or trivial
anecdotes: it is only from time to time that one finds a corner
devoted to passionate discussions like those with which the
journalists of France are wont to indulge their readers.
It has been demonstrated by observation, and discovered by the
innate sagacity of the pettiest as well as the greatest of despots,
that the influence of a power is increased in proportion as its
direction is rendered more central. In France the press combines a
twofold centralization; almost all its power is centred in the same
spot, and vested in the same hands, for its organs are far from
numerous. The influence of a public press thus constituted, upon a
sceptical nation, must be unbounded. It is an enemy with which a
Government may sign an occasional truce, but which it is difficult
to resist for any length of time.
Neither of these kinds of centralization exists in America. The
United States have no metropolis; the intelligence as well as the
power of the country are dispersed abroad, and instead of radiating
from a point, they cross each other in every direction; the
Americans have established no central control over the expression of
opinion, any more than over the conduct of business. These are
circumstances which do not depend on human foresight; but it is
owing to the laws of the Union that there are no licenses to be
granted to printers, no securities demanded from editors as in
France, and no stamp duty as in France and formerly in England. The
consequence of this is that nothing is easier than to set up a
newspaper, and a small number of readers suffices to defray the
expenses of the editor.
The number of periodical and occasional publications which appears
in the United States actually surpasses belief. The most enlightened
Americans attribute the subordinate influence of the press to this
excessive dissemination; and it is adopted as an axiom of political
science in that country that the only way to neutralize the effect
of public journals is to multiply them indefinitely. I cannot
conceive that a truth which is so self-evident should not already
have been more generally admitted in Europe; it is comprehensible
that the persons who hope to bring about revolutions by means of
flee press should be desirous of confining its action to a few
powerful organs, but it is perfectly incredible that the partisans
of the existing state of things, and the natural supporters of the
law, should attempt to diminish the influence of the press by
concentrating its authority. The Governments of Europe seem to treat
the press with the courtesy of the knights of old; they are anxious
to furnish it with the same central power which they have found to
be so trusty a weapon, in order to enhance the glory of their
resistance to its attacks.
In America there is scarcely a hamlet which has not its own
newspaper. It may readily be imagined that neither discipline nor
unity of design can be communicated to so multifarious a host, and
each one is consequently led to fight under his own standard. All
the political journals of the United States are indeed arrayed on
the side of the administration or against it; but they attack and
defend in a thousand different ways. They cannot succeed in forming
those great currents of opinion which overwhelm the most solid
obstacles. This division of the influence of the press produces a
variety of other consequences which are scarcely less remarkable.
The facility with which journals can be established induces a
multitude of individuals to take a part in them; but as the extent
of competition precludes the possibility of considerable profit, the
most distinguished classes of society are rarely led to engage in
these undertakings. But such is the number of the public prints
that, even if they were a source of wealth, writers of ability could
not be found to direct them all. The journalists of the United
States are usually placed in a very humble position, with a scanty
education and a vulgar turn of mind. The will of the majority is the
most general of laws, and it establishes certain habits which form
the characteristics of each peculiar class of society; thus it
dictates the etiquette practised at courts and the etiquette of the
bar. The characteristics of the French journalist consist in a
violent, but frequently an eloquent and lofty, manner of discussing
the politics of the day; and the exceptions to this habitual
practice are only occasional. The characteristics of the American
journalist consist in an open and coarse appeal to the passions of
the populace; and he habitually abandons the principles of political
science to assail the characters of individuals, to track them into
private life, and disclose all their weaknesses and errors.
Nothing can be more deplorable than this abuse of the powers of
thought; I shall have occasion to point out hereafter the influence
of the newspapers upon the taste and the morality of the American
people, but my present subject exclusively concerns the political
world. It cannot be denied that the effects of this extreme license
of the press tend indirectly to the maintenance of public order. The
individuals who are already in the possession of a high station in
the esteem of their fellow-citizens are afraid to write in the
newspapers, and they are thus deprived of the most powerful
instrument which they can use to excite the passions of the
multitude to their own advantage.
The personal opinions of the editors have no kind of weight in the
eyes of the public: the only use of a journal is, that it imparts
the knowledge of certain facts, and it is only by altering or
distorting those facts that a journalist can contribute to the
support of his own views.
But although the press is limited to these resources, its influence
in America is immense. It is the power which impels the circulation
of political life through all the districts of that vast territory.
Its eye is constantly open to detect the secret springs of political
designs, and to summon the leaders of all parties to the bar of
public opinion. It rallies the interests of the community round
certain principles, and it draws up the creed which factions adopt;
for it affords a means of intercourse between parties which hear,
and which address each other without ever having been in immediate
contact. When a great number of the organs of the press adopt the
same line of conduct, their influence becomes irresistible; and
public opinion, when it is perpetually assailed from the same side,
eventually yields to the attack. In the United States each separate
journal exercises but little authority, but the power of the
periodical press is only second to that of the people.
The opinions established in the United States under the empire of
the liberty of the press are frequently more firmly rooted than
those which are formed elsewhere under the sanction of a censor.
In the United States the democracy perpetually raises fresh
individuals to the conduct of public affairs; and the measures of
the administration are consequently seldom regulated by the strict
rules of consistency or of order. But the general principles of the
Government are more stable, and the opinions most prevalent in
society are generally more durable than in many other countries.
When once the Americans have taken up an idea, whether it be well or
ill founded, nothing is more difficult than to eradicate it from
their minds. The same tenacity of opinion has been observed in
England, where, for the last century, greater freedom of conscience
and more invincible prejudices have existed than in all the other
countries of Europe. I attribute this consequence to a cause which
may at first sight appear to have a very opposite tendency, namely,
to the liberty of the press. The nations amongst which this liberty
exists are as apt to cling to their opinions from pride as from
conviction. They cherish them because they hold them to be just, and
because they exercised their own free-will in choosing them; and
they maintain them not only because they are true, but because they
are their own. Several other reasons conduce to the same end.
It was remarked by a man of genius that "ignorance lies at the two
ends of knowledge." Perhaps it would have been more correct to have
said, that absolute convictions are to be met with at the two
extremities, and that doubt lies in the middle; for the human
intellect may be considered in three distinct states, which
frequently succeed one another. A man believes implicitly, because
he adopts a proposition without inquiry. He doubts as soon as he is
assailed by the objections which his inquiries may have aroused. But
he frequently succeeds in satisfying these doubts, and then he
begins to believe afresh: he no longer lays hold on a truth in its
most shadowy and uncertain form, but he sees it clearly before him,
and he advances onwards by the light it gives him.
When the liberty of the press acts upon men who are in the first of
these three states, it does not immediately disturb their habit of
believing implicitly without investigation, but it constantly
modifies the objects of their intuitive convictions. The human mind
continues to discern but one point upon the whole intellectual
horizon, and that point is in continual motion. Such are the
symptoms of sudden revolutions, and of the misfortunes which are
sure to befall those generations which abruptly adopt the
unconditional freedom of the press.
The circle of novel ideas is, however, soon terminated; the touch of
experience is upon them, and the doubt and mistrust which their
uncertainty produces become universal. We may rest assured that the
majority of mankind will either believe they know not wherefore, or
will not know what to believe. Few are the beings who can ever hope
to attain to that state of rational and independent conviction which
true knowledge can beget in defiance of the attacks of doubt.
It has been remarked that in times of great religious fervor men
sometimes change their religious opinions; whereas in times of
general scepticism everyone clings to his own persuasion. The same
thing takes place in politics under the liberty of the press. In
countries where all the theories of social science have been
contested in their turn, the citizens who have adopted one of them
stick to it, not so much because they are assured of its excellence,
as because they are not convinced of the superiority of any other.
In the present age men are not very ready to die in defence of their
Opinions, but they are rarely inclined to change them; and there are
fewer martyrs as well as fewer apostates.
certain, men cling to the mere propensities and external interests
of their position, which are naturally more tangible and more
permanent than any opinions in the world.
It is not a question of easy solution whether aristocracy or
democracy is most fit to govern a country. But it is certain that
democracy annoys one part of the community, and that aristocracy
oppresses another part. When the question is reduced to the simple
expression of the struggle between poverty and wealth, the tendency
of each side of the dispute becomes perfectly evident without
further controversy.
Chapter 12 Political Associations in the United States
Daily use which the Anglo-Americans make of the right of association
-- Three kinds of political associations -- In what manner the
Americans apply the representative system to associations -- Dangers
resulting to the State -- Great Convention of 1831 relative to the
Tariff -- Legislative character of this Convention -- Why the
unlimited exercise of the right of association is less dangerous in
the United States than elsewhere -- Why it may be looked upon as
necessary -- Utility of associations in a democratic people.
IN no country in the world has the principle of association been
more successfully used, or more unsparingly applied to a multitude
of different objects, than in America. Besides the permanent
associations which are established by law under the names of
townships, cities, and counties, a vast number of others are formed
and maintained by the agency of private individuals.
The citizen of the United States is taught from his earliest infancy
to rely upon his own exertions in order to resist the evils and the
difficulties of life; he looks upon social authority with an eye of
mistrust and anxiety, and he only claims its assistance when he is
quite unable to shift without it. This habit may even be traced in
the schools of the rising generation, where the children in their
games are wont to submit to rules which they have themselves
established, and to punish misdemeanors which they have themselves
defined. The same spirit pervades every act of social life. If a
stoppage occurs in a thoroughfare, and the circulation of the public
is hindered, the neighbors immediately constitute a deliberative
body; and this extemporaneous assembly gives rise to an executive
power which remedies the inconvenience before anybody has thought of
recurring to an authority superior to that of the persons
immediately concerned. If the public pleasures are concerned, an
association is formed to provide for the splendor and the regularity
of the entertainment. Societies are formed to resist enemies which
are exclusively of a moral nature, and to diminish the vice of
intemperance: in the United States associations are established to
promote public order, commerce, industry, morality, and religion;
for there is no end which the human will, seconded by the collective
exertions of individuals, despairs of attaining.
I shall hereafter have occasion to show the effects of association
upon the course of society, and I must confine myself for the
present to the political world. When once the right of association
is recognized, the citizens may employ it in several different ways.
An association consists simply in the public assent which a number
of individuals give to certain doctrines, and in the engagement
which they contract to promote the spread of those doctrines by
their exertions. The right of association with these views is very
analogous to the liberty of unlicensed writing; but societies thus
formed possess more authority than the press. When an opinion is
represented by a society, it necessarily assumes a more exact and
explicit form. It numbers its partisans, and compromises their
welfare in its cause: they, on the other hand, become acquainted
with each other, and their zeal is increased by their number. An
association unites the efforts of minds which have a tendency to
diverge in one single channel, and urges them vigorously towards one
single end which it points out.
The second degree in the right of association is the power of
meeting. When an association is allowed to establish centres of
action at certain important points in the country, its activity is
increased and its influence extended. Men have the opportunity of
seeing each other; means of execution are more readily combined, and
opinions are maintained with a degree of warmth and energy which
written language cannot approach.
Lastly, in the exercise of the right of political association, there
is a third degree: the partisans of an opinion may unite in
electoral bodies, and choose delegates to represent them in a
central assembly. This is, properly speaking, the application of the
representative system to a party.
Thus, in the first instance, a society is formed between individuals
professing the same Opinion, and the tie which keeps it together is
of a purely intellectual nature; in the second case, small
assemblies are formed which only represent a fraction of the party.
Lastly, in the third case, they constitute a separate nation in the
midst of the nation, a government within the Government. Their
delegates, like the real delegates of the majority, represent the
entire collective force of their party; and they enjoy a certain
degree of that national dignity and great influence which belong to
the chosen representatives of the people. It is true that they have
not the right of making the laws, but they have the power of
attacking those which are in being, and of drawing up beforehand
those which they may afterwards cause to be adopted.
If, in a people which is imperfectly accustomed to the exercise of
freedom, or which is exposed to violent political passions, a
deliberating minority, which confines itself to the contemplation of
future laws, be placed in juxtaposition to the legislative majority,
I cannot but believe that public tranquillity incurs very great
risks in that nation. There is doubtless a very wide difference
between proving that one law is in itself better than another and
proving that the former ought to be substituted for the latter. But
the imagination of the populace is very apt to overlook this
difference, which is so apparent to the minds of thinking men. It
sometimes happens that a nation is divided into two nearly equal
parties, each of which affects to represent the majority. If, in
immediate contiguity to the directing power, another power be
established, which exercises almost as much moral authority as the
former, it is not to be believed that it will long be content to
speak without acting; or that it will always be restrained by the
abstract consideration of the nature of associations which are meant
to direct but not to enforce opinions, to suggest but not to make
the laws.
The more we consider the independence of the press in its principal
consequences, the more are we convinced that it is the chief and, so
to speak, the constitutive element of freedom in the modern world. A
nation which is determined to remain free is therefore right in
demanding the unrestrained exercise of this independence. But the
unrestrained liberty of political association cannot be entirely
assimilated to the liberty of the press. The one is at the same time
less necessary and more dangerous than the other. A nation may
confine it within certain limits without forfeiting any part of its
self-control; and it may sometimes be obliged to do so in order to
maintain its own authority.
In America the liberty of association for political purposes is
unbounded. An example will show in the clearest light to what an
extent this privilege is tolerated.
The question of the tariff, or of free trade, produced a great
manifestation of party feeling in America; the tariff was not only a
subject of debate as a matter of opinion, but it exercised a
favorable or a prejudicial influence upon several very powerful
interests of the States. The North attributed a great portion of its
prosperity, and the South all its sufferings, to this system;
insomuch that for a long time the tariff was the sole source of the
political animosities which agitated the Union.
In 1831, when the dispute was raging with the utmost virulence, a
private citizen of Massachusetts proposed to all the enemies of the
tariff, by means of the public prints, to send delegates to
Philadelphia in order to consult together upon the means which were
most fitted to promote freedom of trade. This proposal circulated in
a few days from Maine to New Orleans by the power of the
printing-press: the opponents of the tariff adopted it with
enthusiasm; meetings were formed on all sides, and delegates were
named. The majority of these individuals were well known, and some
of them had earned a considerable degree of celebrity. South
Carolina alone, which afterwards took up arms in the same cause,
sent sixty-three delegates. On October I, 1831, this assembly, which
according to the American custom had taken the name of a Convention,
met at Philadelphia; it consisted of more than two hundred members.
Its debates were public, and they at once assumed a legislative
character; the extent of the powers of Congress, the theories of
free trade, and the different clauses of the tariff, were discussed
in turn. At the end of ten days' deliberation the Convention broke
up, after having published an address to the American people, in
which it declared:
I. That Congress had not the right of making a tariff, and that the
existing tariff was unconstitutional;
II. That the prohibition of free trade was prejudicial to the
interests of all nations, and to that of the American people in
particular.
It must be acknowledged that the unrestrained liberty of political
association has not hitherto produced, in the United States, those
fatal consequences which might perhaps be expected from it
elsewhere. The right of association was imported from England, and
it has always existed in America; so that the exercise of this
privilege is now amalgamated with the manners and customs of the
people. At the present time the liberty of association is become a
necessary guarantee against the tyranny of the majority. In the
United States, as soon as a party is become preponderant, all public
authority passes under its control; its private supporters occupy
all the places, and have all the force of the administration at
their disposal. As the most distinguished partisans of the other
side of the question are unable to surmount the obstacles which
exclude them from power, they require some means of establishing
themselves upon their own basis, and of opposing the moral authority
of the minority to the physical power which domineers over it. Thus
a dangerous expedient is used to obviate a still more formidable
danger.
The omnipotence of the majority appears to me to present such
extreme perils to the American Republics that the dangerous measure
which is used to repress it seems to be more advantageous than
prejudicial. And here I am about to advance a proposition which may
remind the reader of what I said before in speaking of municipal
freedom: There are no countries in which associations are more
needed, to prevent the despotism of faction or the arbitrary power
of a prince, than those which are democratically constituted. In
aristocratic nations the body of the nobles and the more opulent
part of the community are in themselves natural associations, which
act as checks upon the abuses of power. In countries in which these
associations do not exist, if private individuals are unable to
create an artificial and a temporary substitute for them, I can
imagine no permanent protection against the most galling tyranny;
and a great people may be oppressed by a small faction, or by a
single individual, with impunity.
The meeting of a great political Convention (for there are
Conventions of all kinds), which may frequently become a necessary
measure, is always a serious occurrence, even in America, and one
which is never looked forward to, by the judicious friends of the
country, without alarm. This was very perceptible in the Convention
of 1831, at which the exertions of all the most distinguished
members of the Assembly tended to moderate its language, and to
restrain the subjects which it treated within certain limits. It is
probable, in fact, that the Convention of 1831 exercised a very
great influence upon the minds of the malcontents, and prepared them
for the open revolt against the commercial laws of the Union which
took place in 1832.
It cannot be denied that the unrestrained liberty of association for
political purposes is the privilege which a people is longest in
learning how to exercise. If it does not throw the nation into
anarchy, it perpetually augments the chances of that calamity. On
one point, however, this perilous liberty offers a security against
dangers of another kind; in countries where associations are free,
secret societies are unknown. In America there are numerous
factions, but no conspiracies.
Different ways in which the right of association is understood in
Europe and in the United States -- Different use which is made of
it.
The most natural privilege of man, next to the right of acting for
himself, is that of combining his exertions with those of his
fellow-creatures, and of acting in common with them. I am therefore
led to conclude that the right of association is almost as
inalienable as the right of personal liberty. No legislator can
attack it without impairing the very foundations of society.
Nevertheless, if the liberty of association is a fruitful source of
advantages and prosperity to some nations, it may be perverted or
carried to excess by others, and the element of life may be changed
into an element of destruction. A comparison of the different
methods which associations pursue in those countries in which they
are managed with discretion, as well as in those where liberty
degenerates into license, may perhaps be thought useful both to
governments and to parties.
The greater part of Europeans look upon an association as a weapon
which is to be hastily fashioned, and immediately tried in the
conflict. A society is formed for discussion, but the idea of
impending action prevails in the minds of those who constitute it:
it is, in fact, an army; and the time given to parley serves to
reckon up the strength and to animate the courage of the host, after
which they direct their march against the enemy. Resources which lie
within the bounds of the law may suggest themselves to the persons
who compose it as means, but never as the only means, of success.
Such, however, is not the manner in which the right of association
is understood in the United States. In America the citizens who form
the minority associate, in order, in the first place, to show their
numerical strength, and so to diminish the moral authority of the
majority; and, in the second place, to stimulate competition, and to
discover those arguments which are most fitted to act upon the
majority; for they always entertain hopes of drawing over their
opponents to their own side, and of afterwards disposing of the
supreme power in their name. Political associations in the United
States are therefore peaceable in their intentions, and strictly
legal in the means which they employ; and they assert with perfect
truth that they only aim at success by lawful expedients.
The difference which exists between the Americans and ourselves
depends on several causes. In Europe there are numerous parties so
diametrically opposed to the majority that they can never hope to
acquire its support, and at the same time they think that they are
sufficiently strong in themselves to struggle and to defend their
cause. When a party of this kind forms an association, its object
is, not to conquer, but to fight. In America the individuals who
hold opinions very much opposed to those of the majority are no sort
of impediment to its power, and all other parties hope to win it
over to their own principles in the end. The exercise of the right
of association becomes dangerous in proportion to the impossibility
which excludes great parties from acquiring the majority. In a
country like the United States, in which the differences of opinion
are mere differences of hue, the right of association may remain
unrestrained without evil consequences. The inexperience of many of
the European nations in the enjoyment of liberty leads them only to
look upon the liberty of association as a right of attacking the
Government. The first notion which presents itself to a party, as
well as to an individual, when it has acquired a consciousness of
its own strength, is that of violence: the notion of persuasion
arises at a later period and is only derived from experience. The
English, who are divided into parties which differ most essentially
from each other, rarely abuse the right of association, because they
have long been accustomed to exercise it. In France the passion for
war is so intense that there is no undertaking so mad, or so
injurious to the welfare of the State, that a man does not consider
himself honored in defending it, at the risk of his life.
But perhaps the most powerful of the causes which tend to mitigate
the excesses of political association in the United States is
Universal Suffrage. In countries in which universal suffrage exists
the majority is never doubtful, because neither party can pretend to
represent that portion of the community which has not voted. The
associations which are formed are aware, as well as the nation at
large, that they do not represent the majority: this is, indeed, a
condition inseparable from their existence; for if they did
represent the preponderating power, they would change the law
instead of soliciting its reform. The consequence of this is that
the moral influence of the Government which they attack is very much
increased, and their own power is very much enfeebled.
In Europe there are few associations which do not affect to
represent the majority, or which do not believe that they represent
it. This conviction or this pretension tends to augment their force
amazingly, and contributes no less to legalize their measures.
Violence may seem to be excusable in defence of the cause of
oppressed right. Thus it is, in the vast labyrinth of human laws,
that extreme liberty sometimes corrects the abuses of license, and
that extreme democracy obviates the dangers of democratic
government. In Europe, associations consider themselves, in some
degree, as the legislative and executive councils of the people,
which is unable to speak for itself. In America, where they only
represent a minority of the nation, they argue and they petition.
The means which the associations of Europe employ are in accordance
with the end which they propose to obtain. As the principal aim of
these bodies is to act, and not to debate, to fight rather than to
persuade, they are naturally led to adopt a form of organization
which differs from the ordinary customs of civil bodies, and which
assumes the habits and the maxims of military life. They centralize
the direction of their resources as much as possible, and they
intrust the power of the whole party to a very small number of
leaders.
The members of these associations respond to a watchword, like
soldiers on duty; they profess the doctrine of passive obedience;
say rather, that in uniting together they at once abjure the
exercise of their own judgment and free will; and the tyrannical
control which these societies exercise is often far more
insupportable than the authority possessed over society by the
Government which they attack. Their moral force is much diminished
by these excesses, and they lose the powerful interest which is
always excited by a struggle between oppressors and the oppressed.
The man who in given cases consents to obey his fellows with
servility, and who submits his activity and even his opinions to
their control, can have no claim to rank as a free citizen.
The Americans have also established certain forms of government
which are applied to their associations, but these are invariably
borrowed from the forms of the civil administration. The
independence of each individual is formally recognized; the tendency
of the members of the association points, as it does in the body of
the community, towards the same end, but they are not obliged to
follow the same track. No one abjures the exercise of his reason and
his free will; but every one exerts that reason and that will for
the benefit of a common undertaking.
Chapter 13 Government of the Democracy in America
I AM well aware of the difficulties which attend this part of my
subject, but although every expression which I am about to make use
of may clash, upon some one point, with the feelings of the
different parties which divide my country, I shall speak my opinion
with the most perfect openness.
In Europe we are at a loss how to judge the true character and the
more permanent propensities of democracy, because in Europe two
conflicting principles exist, and we do not know what to attribute
to the principles themselves, and what to refer to the passions
which they bring into collision. Such, however, is not the case in
America; there the people reigns without any obstacle, and it has no
perils to dread and no injuries to avenge. In America, democracy is
swayed by its own free propensities; its course is natural and its
activity is unrestrained; the United States consequently afford the
most favorable opportunity of studying its real character. And to no
people can this inquiry be more vitally interesting than to the
French nation, which is blindly driven onwards by a daily and
irresistible impulse towards a state of things which may prove
either despotic or republican, but which will assuredly be
democratic.
Universal Suffrage
I have already observed that universal suffrage has been adopted in
all the States of the Union; it consequently occurs a mongst
different populations which occupy very different positions in the
scale of society. I have had opportunities of observing its effects
in different localities, and amongst races of men who are nearly
strangers to each other by their language, their religion, and their
manner of life; in Louisiana as well as in New England, in Georgia
and in Canada. I have remarked that Universal Suffrage is far from
producing in America either all the good or all the evil
consequences which are assigned to it in Europe, and that its
effects differ very widely from those which are usually attributed
to it.
Choice of the People, and Instinctive Preferences of the American
Democracy
In the United States the most able men are rarely placed at the head
of affairs -- Reason of this peculiarity -- The envy which prevails
in the lower orders of France against the higher classes is not a
French, but a purely democratic sentiment -- For what reason the
most distinguished men in America frequently seclude themselves from
public affairs.
Many people in Europe are apt to believe without saying it, or to
say without believing it, that one of the great advantages of
universal suffrage is, that it entrusts the direction of public
affairs to men who are worthy of the public confidence. They admit
that the people is unable to govern for itself, but they aver that
it is always sincerely disposed to promote the welfare of the State,
and that it instinctively designates those persons who are animated
by the same good wishes, and who are the most fit to wield the
supreme authority. I confess that the observations I made in America
by no means coincide with these opinions. On my arrival in the
United States I was surprised to find so much distinguished talent
among the subjects, and so little among the heads of the Government.
It is a well-authenticated fact, that at the present day the most
able men in the United States are very rarely placed at the head of
affairs; and it must be acknowledged that such has been the result
in proportion as democracy has out-stepped all its former limits.
The race of American statesmen has evidently dwindled most
remarkably in the course of the last fifty years.
Several causes may be assigned to this phenomenon. It is impossible,
notwithstanding the most strenuous exertions, to raise the
intelligence of the people above a certain level. Whatever may be
the facilities of acquiring information, whatever may be the
profusion of easy methods and of cheap science, the human mind can
never be instructed and educated without devoting a considerable
space of time to those objects.
The greater or the lesser possibility of subsisting without labor is
therefore the necessary boundary of intellectual improvement. This
boundary is more remote in some countries and more restricted in
others; but it must exist somewhere as long as the people is
constrained to work in order to procure the means of physical
subsistence, that is to say, as long as it retains its popular
character. It is therefore quite as difficult to imagine a State in
which all the citizens should be very well informed as a State in
which they should all be wealthy; these two difficulties may be
looked upon as correlative. It may very readily he admitted that the
mass of the citizens are sincerely disposed to promote the welfare
of their country; nay more, it may even be allowed that the lower
classes are less apt to be swayed by considerations of personal
interest than the higher orders: but it is always more or less
impossible for them to discern the best means of attaining the end
which they desire with sincerity. Long and patient observation,
joined to a multitude of different notions, is required to form a
just estimate of the character of a single individual; and can it be
supposed that the vulgar have the power of succeeding in an inquiry
which misleads the penetration of genius itself? The people has
neither the time nor the means which are essential to the
prosecution of an investigation of this kind: its conclusions are
hastily formed from a superficial inspection of the more prominent
features of a question. Hence it often assents to the clamor of a
mountebank who knows the secret of stimulating its tastes, while its
truest friends frequently fail in their exertions.
Moreover, the democracy is not only deficient in that soundness of
judgment which is necessary to select men really deserving of its
confidence, but it has neither the desire nor the inclination to
find them out. It cannot be denied that democratic institutions have
a very strong tendency to promote the feeling of envy in the human
heart; not so much because they afford to every one the means of
rising to the level of any of his fellow-citizens, as because those
means perpetually disappoint the persons who employ them. Democratic
institutions awaken and foster a passion for equality which they can
never entirely satisfy. This complete equality eludes the grasp of
the people at the very moment at which it thinks to hold it fast,
and "flies," as Pascal says, "with eternal flight"; the people is
excited in the pursuit of an advantage, which is more precious
because it is not sufficiently remote to be unknown, or sufficiently
near to be enjoyed. The lower orders are agitated by the chance of
success, they are irritated by its uncertainty; and they pass from
the enthusiasm of pursuit to the exhaustion of ill-success, and
lastly to the acrimony of disappointment. Whatever transcends their
own limits appears to be an obstacle to their desires, and there is
no kind of superiority, however legitimate it may be, which is not
irksome in their sight.
It has been supposed that the secret instinct which leads the lower
orders to remove their superiors as much as possible from the
direction of public affairs is peculiar to France. This, however, is
an error; the propensity to which I allude is not inherent in any
particular nation, but in democratic institutions in general; and
although it may have been heightened by peculiar political
circumstances, it owes its origin to a higher cause.
In the United States the people is not disposed to hate the superior
classes of society; but it is not very favorably inclined towards
them, and it carefully excludes them from the exercise of authority.
It does not entertain any dread of distinguished talents, but it is
rarely captivated by them; and it awards its approbation very
sparingly to such as have risen without the popular support.
Whilst the natural propensities of democracy induce the people to
reject the most distinguished citizens as its rulers, these
individuals are no less apt to retire from a political career in
which it is almost impossible to retain their independence, or to
advance without degrading themselves. This opinion has been very
candidly set forth by Chancellor Kent, who says, in speaking with
great eulogiums of that part of the Constitution which empowers the
Executive to nominate the judges: "It is indeed probable that the
men who are best fitted to discharge the duties of this high office
would have too much reserve in their manners, and too much austerity
in their principles, for them to be returned by the majority at an
election where universal suffrage is adopted." Such were the
Opinions which were printed without contradiction in America in the
year 1830!
I hold it to be sufficiently demonstrated that universal suffrage is
by no means a guarantee of the wisdom of the popular choice, and
that, whatever its advantages may be, this is not one of them.
Causes Which May Partly Correct These Tendencies of the Democracy
Contrary effects produced on peoples as well as on individuals by
great dangers -- Why so many distinguished men stood at the head of
affairs in America fifty years ago -- Influence which the
intelligence and the manners of the people exercise upon its choice
-- Example of New England -- States of the Southwest -- Influence of
certain laws upon the choice of the people -- Election by an elected
body -- Its effects upon the composition of the Senate.
When a State is threatened by serious dangers, the people frequently
succeeds in selecting the citizens who are the most able to save it.
It has been observed that man rarely retains his customary level in
presence of very critical circumstances; he rises above or he sinks
below his usual condition, and the same thing occurs in nations at
large. Extreme perils sometimes quench the energy of a people
instead of stimulating it; they excite without directing its
passions, and instead of clearing they confuse its powers of
perception. The Jews deluged the smoking ruins of their temple with
the carnage of the remnant of their host. But it is more common,
both in the case of nations and in that of individuals, to find
extraordinary virtues arising from the very imminence of the danger.
Great characters are then thrown into relief, as edifices which are
concealed by the gloom of night are illuminated by the glare of a
conflagration. At those dangerous times genius no longer abstains
from presenting itself in the arena; and the people, alarmed by the
perils of its situation, buries its envious passions in a short
oblivion. Great names may then be drawn from the balloting-box.
I have already observed that the American statesmen of the present
day are very inferior to those who stood at the head of affairs
fifty years ago. This is as much a consequence of the circumstances
as of the laws of the country. When America was struggling in the
high cause of independence to throw off the yoke of another country,
and when it was about to usher a new nation into the world, the
spirits of its inhabitants were roused to the height which their
great efforts required. In this general excitement the most
distinguished men were ready to forestall the wants of the
community, and the people clung to them for support, and placed them
at its head. But events of this magnitude are rare, and it is from
an inspection of the ordinary course of affairs that our judgment
must be formed.
If passing occurrences sometimes act as checks upon the passions of
democracy, the intelligence and the manners of the community
exercise an influence which is not less powerful and far more
permanent. This is extremely perceptible in the United States.
In New England the education and the liberties of the communities
were engendered by the moral and religious principles of their
founders. Where society has acquired a sufficient degree of
stability to enable it to hold certain maxims and to retain fixed
habits, the lower orders are accustomed to respect intellectual
superiority and to submit to it without complaint, although they set
at naught all those privileges which wealth and birth have
introduced among mankind. The democracy in New England consequently
makes a more judicious choice than it does elsewhere.
But as we descend towards the South, to those States in which the
constitution of society is more modern and less strong, where
instruction is less general, and where the principles of morality,
of religion, and of liberty are less happily combined, we perceive
that the talents and the virtues of those who are in authority
become more and more rare.
Lastly, when we arrive at the new South-western States, in which the
constitution of society dates but from yesterday, and presents an
agglomeration of adventurers and speculators, we are amazed at the
persons who are invested with public authority, and we are led to
ask by what force, independent of the legislation and of the men who
direct it, the State can be protected, and society be made to
flourish.
There are certain laws of a democratic nature which contribute,
nevertheless, to correct, in some measure, the dangerous tendencies
of democracy. On entering the House of Representatives of Washington
one is struck by the vulgar demeanor of that great assembly. The eye
frequently does not discover a man of celebrity within its walls.
Its members are almost all obscure individuals whose names present
no associations to the mind: they are mostly village lawyers, men in
trade, or even persons belonging to the lower classes of society. In
a country in which education is very general, it is said that the
representatives of the people do not always know how to write
correctly.
At a few yards' distance from this spot is the door of the Senate,
which contains within a small space a large proportion of the
celebrated men of America. Scarcely an individual is to be perceived
in it who does not recall the idea of an active and illustrious
career: the Senate is composed of eloquent advocates, distinguished
generals, wise magistrates, and statesmen of note, whose language
would at all times do honor to the most remarkable parliamentary
debates of Europe.
What then is the cause of this strange contrast, and why are the
most able citizens to be found in one assembly rather than in the
other? Why is the former body remarkable for its vulgarity and its
poverty of talent, whilst the latter seems to enjoy a monopoly of
intelligence and of sound judgment? Both of these assemblies emanate
from the people; both of them are chosen by universal suffrage; and
no voice has hitherto been heard to assert in America that the
Senate is hostile to the interests of the people. From what cause,
then, does so startling a difference arise? The only reason which
appears to me adequately to account for it is, that the House of
Representatives is elected by the populace directly, and that the
Senate is elected by elected bodies. The whole body of the citizens
names the legislature of each State, and the Federal Constitution
converts these legislatures into so many electoral bodies, which
return the members of the Senate. The senators are elected by an
indirect application of universal suffrage; for the legislatures
which name them are not aristocratic or privileged bodies which
exercise the electoral franchise in their own right; but they are
chosen by the totality of the citizens; they are generally elected
every year, and new members may constantly be chosen who will employ
their electoral rights in conformity with the wishes of the public.
But this transmission of the popular authority through an assembly
of chosen men operates an important change in it, by refining its
discretion and improving the forms which it adopts. Men who are
chosen in this manner accurately represent the majority of the
nation which governs them; but they represent the elevated thoughts
which are current in the community, the propensities which prompt
its nobler actions, rather than the petty passions which disturb or
the vices which disgrace it.
The time may be already anticipated at which the American Republics
will be obliged to introduce the plan of election by an elected body
more frequently into their system of representation, or they will
incur no small risk of perishing miserably amongst the shoals of
democracy.
And here I have no scruple in confessing that I look upon this
peculiar system of election as the only means of bringing the
exercise of political power to the level of all classes of the
people. Those thinkers who regard this institution as the exclusive
weapon of a party, and those who fear, on the other hand, to make
use of it, seem to me to fall into as great an error in the one case
as in the other.
Influence Which the American Democracy has Exercised on the Laws
Relating to Elections
When elections are rare, they expose the State to a violent crisis
-- When they are frequent, they keep up a degree of feverish
excitement -- The Americans have preferred the second of these two
evils Mutability of the laws -- Opinions of Hamilton and Jefferson
on this subject.
When elections recur at long intervals the State is exposed to
violent agitation every time they take place. Parties exert
themselves to the utmost in order to gain a prize which is so rarely
within their reach; and as the evil is almost irremediable for the
candidates who fail, the consequences of their disappointed ambition
may prove most disastrous; if, on the other hand, the legal struggle
can be repeated within a short space of time, the defeated parties
take patience. When elections occur frequently, their recurrence
keeps society in a perpetual state of feverish excitement, and
imparts a continual instability to public affairs.
Thus, on the one hand the State is exposed to the perils of a
revolution, on the other to perpetual mutability; the former system
threatens the very existence of the Government, the latter is an
obstacle to all steady and consistent policy. The Americans have
preferred the second of these evils to the first; but they were led
to this conclusion by their instinct much more than by their reason;
for a taste for variety is one of the characteristic passions of
democracy. An extraordinary mutability has, by this means, been
introduced into their legislation. Many of the Americans consider
the instability of their laws as a necessary consequence of a system
whose general results are beneficial. But no one in the United
States affects to deny the fact of this instability, or to contend
that it is not a great evil.
Hamilton, after having demonstrated the utility of a power which
might prevent, or which might at least impede, the promulgation of
bad laws, adds: "It might perhaps be said that the power of
preventing bad laws includes that of preventing good ones, and may
be used to the one purpose as well as to the other. But this
objection will have little weight with those who can properly
estimate the mischiefs of that inconstancy and mutability in the
laws which form the greatest blemish in the character and genius of
our governments." (Federalist, No. 73.) And again in No. 62 of the
same work he observes: "The facility and excess of law-making seem
to be the diseases to which our governments are most liable. . . The
mischievous effects of the mutability in the public councils arising
from a rapid succession of new members would fill a volume: every
new election in the States is found to change one-half of the
representatives. From this change of men must proceed a change of
opinions'and of measures, which forfeits the respect and confidence
of other nations, poisons the blessings of liberty itself, and
diminishes the attachment and reverence of the people toward a
political system which betrays so many marks of infirmity."
Jefferson himself, the greatest Democrat whom the democracy of
America has yet produced, pointed out the same evils. "The
instability of our laws," said he in a letter to Madison, "is really
a very serious inconvenience. I think that we ought to have obviated
it by deciding that a whole year should always be allowed to elapse
between the bringing in of a bill and the final passing of it. It
should afterward be discussed and put to the vote without the
possibility of making any alteration in it; and if the circumstances
of the case required a more speedy decision, the question should not
be decided by a simple majority, but by a majority of at least
two-thirds of both houses."
Public Officers Under the Control of the Democracy in America
Simple exterior of the American public officers -- No official
costume -- All public officers are remunerated -- Political
consequences of this system -- No public career exists in America --
Result of this.
Public officers in the United States are commingled with the crowd
of citizens; they have neither palaces, nor guards, nor ceremonial
costumes. This simple exterior of the persons in authority is
connected not only with the peculiarities of the American character,
but with the fundamental principles of that society. In the
estimation of the democracy a government is not a benefit, but a
necessary evil. A certain degree of power must be granted to public
officers, for they would be of no use without it. But the ostensible
semblance of authority is by no means indispensable to the conduct
of affairs, and it is needlessly offensive to the susceptibility of
the public. The public officers themselves are well aware that they
only enjoy the superiority over their fellow-citizens which they
derive from their authority upon condition of putting themselves on
a level with the whole community by their manners. A public officer
in the United States is uniformly civil, accessible to all the
world, attentive to all requests, and obliging in his replies. I was
pleased by these characteristics of a democratic government; and I
was struck by the manly independence of the citizens, who respect
the office more than the officer, and who are less attached to the
emblems of authority than to the man who bears them.
I am inclined to believe that the influence which costumes really
exercise, in an age like that in which we live, has been a good deal
exaggerated. I never perceived that a public officer in America was
the less respected whilst he was in the discharge of his duties
because his own merit was set off by no adventitious signs. On the
other hand, it is very doubtful whether a peculiar dress contributes
to the respect which public characters ought to have for their own
position, at least when they are not otherwise inclined to respect
it. When a magistrate (and in France such instances are not rare)
indulges his trivial wit at the expense of the prisoner, or derides
the predicament in which a culprit is placed, it would be well to
deprive him of his robes of office, to see whether he would recall
some portion of the natural dignity of mankind when he is reduced to
the apparel of a private citizen.
A democracy may, however, allow a certain show of magisterial pomp,
and clothe its officers in silks and gold, without seriously
compromising its principles. Privileges of this kind are transitory;
they belong to the place, and are distinct from the individual: but
if public officers are not uniformly remunerated by the State, the
public charges must be entrusted to men of opulence and
independence, who constitute the basis of an aristocracy; and if the
people still retains its right of election, that election can only
be made from a certain class of citizens. When a democratic republic
renders offices which had formerly been remunerated gratuitous, it
may safely be believed that the State is advancing to monarchical
institutions; and when a monarchy begins to remunerate such officers
as had hitherto been unpaid, it is a sure sign that it is
approaching toward a despotic or a republican form of government.
The substitution of paid for unpaid functionaries is of itself, in
my opinion, sufficient to constitute a serious revolution.
I look upon the entire absence of gratuitous functionaries in
America as one of the most prominent signs of the absolute dominion
which democracy exercises in that country. All public services, of
whatsoever nature they may be, are paid; so that every one has not
merely the right, but also the means of performing them. Although,
in democratic States, all the citizens are qualified to occupy
stations in the Government, all are not tempted to try for them. The
number and the capacities of the candidates are more apt to restrict
the choice of electors than the conditions of the candidateship.
In nations in which the principle of election extends to every place
in the State no political career can, properly speaking, be said to
exist. Men are promoted as if by chance to the rank which they
enjoy, and they are by no means sure of retaining it. The
consequence is that in tranquil times public functions offer but few
lures to ambition. In the United States the persons who engage in
the perplexities of political life are individuals of very moderate
pretensions. The pursuit of wealth generally diverts men of great
talents and of great passions from the pursuit of power, and it very
frequently happens that a man does not undertake to direct the
fortune of the State until he has discovered his incompetence to
conduct his own affairs. The vast number of very ordinary men who
occupy public stations is quite as attributable to these causes as
to the bad choice of the democracy. In the United States, I am not
sure that the people would return the men of superior abilities who
might solicit its support, but it is certain that men of this
description do not come forward.
Arbitrary Power of Magistrates Under the Rule of the American
Democracy
For what reason the arbitrary power of Magistrates is greater in
absolute monarchies and in democratic republics than it is in
limited monarchies -- Arbitrary power of the Magistrates in New
England.
In two different kinds of government the magistrates a exercise a
considerable degree of arbitrary power; namely, under the absolute
government of a single individual, and under that of a democracy.
This identical result proceeds from causes which are nearly
analogous.
In despotic States the fortune of no citizen is secure; and public
officers are not more safe than private individuals. The sovereign,
who has under his control the lives, the property, and sometimes the
honor of the men whom he employs, does not scruple to allow them a
great latitude of action, because he is convinced that they will not
use it to his prejudice. In despotic States the sovereign is so
attached to the exercise of his power, that he dislikes the
constraint even of his own regulations; and he is well pleased that
his agents should follow a somewhat fortuitous line of conduct,
provided he be certain that their actions will never counteract his
desires.
In democracies, as the majority has every year the right of
depriving the officers whom it has appointed of their power, it has
no reason to fear any abuse of their authority. As the people is
always able to signify its wishes to those who conduct the
Government, it prefers leaving them to make their own exertions to
prescribing an invariable rule of conduct which would at once fetter
their activity and the popular authority.
It may even be observed, on attentive consideration, that under the
rule of a democracy the arbitrary power of the magistrate must be
still greater than in despotic States. In the latter the sovereign
has the power of punishing all the faults with which he becomes
acquainted, but it would be vain for him to hope to become
acquainted with all those which are committed. In the former the
sovereign power is not only supreme, but it is universally present.
The American functionaries are, in point of fact, much more
independent in the sphere of action which the law traces out for
them than any public officer in Europe. Very frequently the object
which they are to accomplish is simply pointed out to them, and the
choice of the means is left to their own discretion.
In New England, for instance, the selectmen of each township are
bound to draw up the list of persons who are to serve on the jury;
the only rule which is laid down to guide them in their choice is
that they are to select citizens possessing the elective franchise
and enjoying a fair reputation. In France the lives and liberties of
the subjects would be thought to be in danger if a public officer of
any kind was entrusted with so formidable a right. In New England
the same magistrates are empowered to post the names of habitual
drunkards in public-houses, and to prohibit the inhabitants of a
town from supplying them with liquor. A censorial power of this
excessive kind would be revolting to the population of the most
absolute monarchies; here, however, it is submitted to without
difficulty.
Nowhere has so much been left by the law to the arbitrary
determination of the magistrate as in democratic republics, because
this arbitrary power is unattended by any alarming consequences. It
may even be asserted that the freedom of the magistrate increases as
the elective franchise is extended, and as the duration of the time
of office is shortened. Hence arises the great difficulty which
attends the conversion of a democratic republic into a monarchy. The
magistrate ceases to be elective, but he retains the rights and the
habits of an elected officer, which lead directly to despotism.
It is only in limited monarchies that the law, which prescribes the
sphere in which public officers are to act, superintends all their
measures. The cause of this may be easily detected. In limited
monarchies the power is divided between the King does not venture to
place the public officers under the control of the people, lest they
should be tempted to betray his interests; on the other hand, the
people fears lest the magistrates should serve to oppress the
liberties of the country, if they were entirely dependent upon the
Crown; they cannot therefore be said to depend on either one or the
other. The same cause which induces the king and the people to
render public officers independent suggests the necessity of such
securities as may prevent their independence from encroaching upon
the authority of the former and the liberties of the latter. They
consequently agree as to the necessity of restricting the
functionary to a line of conduct laid down beforehand, and they are
interested in confining him by certain regulations which he cannot
evade.
Instability of the Administration in the United States
In America the public acts of a community frequently leave fewer
traces than the occurrences of a family -- Newspapers the only
historical remains -- Instability of the administration prejudicial
to the art of government.
The authority which public men possess in America is so brief, and
they are so soon commingled with the ever-changing population of the
country, that the acts of a community frequently leave fewer traces
than the occurrences of a private family. The public administration
is, so to speak, oral and traditionary. But little is committed to
writing, and that little is wafted away forever, like the leaves of
the Sibyl, by the smallest breeze.
The only historical remains in the United States are the newspapers;
but if a number be wanting, the chain of time is broken, and the
present is severed from the past. I am convinced that in fifty years
it will be more difficult to collect authentic documents concerning
the social condition of the Americans at the present day than it is
to find remains of the administration of France during the Middle
Ages; and if the United States were ever invaded by barbarians, it
would be necessary to have recourse to the history of other nations
in order to learn anything of the people which now inhabits them.
The instability of the administration has penetrated into the habits
of the people: it even appears to suit the general taste, and no one
cares for what occurred before his time. No methodical system is
pursued; no archives are formed; and no documents are brought
together when it would be very easy to do so. Where they exist,
little store is set upon them; and I have amongst my papers several
original public documents which were given to me in answer to some
of my inquiries. In America society seems to live from hand to
mouth, like an army in the field. Nevertheless, the art of
administration may undoubtedly be ranked as a science, and no
sciences can be improved if the discoveries and observations of
successive generations are not connected together in the order in
which they occur. One man, in the short space of his life remarks a
fact; another conceives an idea; the former invents a means of
execution, the latter reduces a truth to a fixed proposition; and
mankind gathers the fruits of individual experience upon its way and
gradually forms the sciences. But the persons who conduct the
administration in America can seldom afford any instruction to each
other; and when they assume the direction of society, they simply
possess those attainments which are most widely disseminated in the
community, and no experience peculiar to themselves. Democracy,
carried to its furthest limits, is therefore prejudicial to the art
of government; and for this reason it is better adapted to a people
already versed in the conduct of an administration than to a nation
which is uninitiated in public affairs.
This remark, indeed, is not exclusively applicable to the science of
administration. Although a democratic government is founded upon a
very simple and natural principle, it always presupposes the
existence of a high degree of culture and enlightenment in society.
At the first glance it may be imagined to belong to the earliest
ages of the world; but maturer observation will convince us that it
could only come last in the succession of human history.
Charges Levied by the State Under the Rule of the American Democracy
In all communities citizens divisible into three classes -- Habits
of each of these classes in the direction of public finances -- Why
public expenditure must tend to increase when the people governs --
What renders the extravagance of a democracy less to be feared in
America -- Public expenditure under a democracy.
Before we can affirm whether a democratic form of government is
economical or not, we must establish a suitable standard of
comparison. The question would be one of easy solution if we were to
attempt to draw a parallel between a democratic republic and an
absolute monarchy. The public expenditure would be found to be more
considerable under the former than under the latter; such is the
case with all free States compared to those which are not so. It is
certain that despotism ruins individuals by preventing them from
producing wealth, much more than by depriving them of the wealth
they have produced; it dries up the source of riches, whilst it
usually respects acquired property. Freedom, on the contrary,
engenders far more benefits than it destroys; and the nations which
are favored by free institutions invariably find that their
resources increase even more rapidly than their taxes.
My present object is to compare free nations to each other, and to
point out the influence of democracy upon the finances of a State.
Communities, as well as organic bodies, are subject to certain fixed
rules in their formation which they cannot evade. They are composed
of certain elements which are common to them at all times and under
all circumstances. The people may always be mentally divided into
three distinct classes. The first of these classes consists of the
wealthy; the second, of those who are in easy circumstances; and the
third is composed of those who have little or no property, and who
subsist more especially the work which they perform for the two
superior orders. The proportion of the individuals who are included
in these three divisions may vary according to the condition of
society, but the divisions themselves can never be obliterated.
It is evident that each of these classes will exercise an influence
peculiar to its own propensities upon the administration of the
finances of the State. If the first of the three exclusively
possesses the legislative power, it is probable that it will not be
sparing of the public funds, because the taxes which are levied on a
large fortune only tend to diminish the sum of superfluous
enjoyment, and are, in point of fact, but little felt. If the second
class has the power of making the laws, it will certainly not be
lavish of taxes, because nothing is so onerous as a large impost
which is levied upon a small income. The government of the middle
classes appears to me to be the most economical, though perhaps not
the most enlightened, and certainly not the most generous, of free
governments.
But let us now suppose that the legislative authority is vested in
the lowest orders: there are two striking reasons which show that
the tendency of the expenditure will be to increase, not to
diminish. As the great majority of those who create the laws are
possessed of no property upon which taxes can be imposed, all the
money which is spent for the community appears to be spent to their
advantage, at no cost of their own; and those who are possessed of
some little property readily find means of regulating the taxes so
that they are burdensome to the wealthy and profitable to the poor,
although the rich are unable to take the same advantage when they
are in possession of the Government.
In countries in which the poor should be exclusively invested with
the power of making the laws no great economy of public expenditure
ought to be expected: that expenditure will always be considerable;
either because the taxes do not weigh upon those who levy them, or
because they are levied in such a manner as not to weigh upon those
classes. In other words, the government of the democracy is the only
one under which the power which lays on taxes escapes the payment of
them.
It may be objected (but the argument has no real weight) that the
true interest of the people is indissolubly connected with that of
the wealthier portion of the community, since it cannot but suffer
by the severe measures to which it resorts. But is it not the true
interest of kings to render their subjects happy, and the true
interest of nobles to admit recruits into their order on suitable
grounds? If remote advantages had power to prevail over the passions
and the exigencies of the moment, no such thing as a tyrannical
sovereign or an exclusive aristocracy could ever exist.
Again, it may be objected that the poor are never invested with the
sole power of making the laws; but I reply, that wherever universal
suffrage has been established the majority of the community
unquestionably exercises the legislative authority; and if it be
proved that the poor always constitute the majority, it may be
added, with perfect truth, that in the countries in which they
possess the elective franchise they possess the sole power of making
laws. But it is certain that in all the nations of the world the
greater number has always consisted of those persons who hold no
property, or of those whose property is insufficient to exempt them
from the necessity of working in order to procure an easy
subsistence. Universal suffrage does therefore, in point of fact,
invest the poor with the government of society.
The disastrous influence which popular authority may sometimes
exercise upon the finances of a State was very clearly seen in some
of the democratic republics of antiquity, in which the public
treasure was exhausted in order to relieve indigent citizens, or to
supply the games and theatrical amusements of the populace. It is
true that the representative system was then very imperfectly known,
and that, at the present time, the influence of popular passion is
less felt in the conduct of public affairs; but it may be believed
that the delegate will in the end conform to the principles of his
constituents, and favor their propensities as much as their
interests.
The extravagance of democracy is, however, less to be dreaded in
proportion as the people acquires a share of property, because on
the one hand the contributions of the rich are then less needed,
and, on the other, it is more difficult to lay on taxes which do not
affect the interests of the lower classes. On this account universal
suffrage would be less dangerous in France than in England, because
in the latter country the property on which taxes may be levied is
vested in fewer hands. America, where the great majority of the
citizens possess some fortune, is in a still more favorable position
than France.
There are still further causes which may increase the sum of public
expenditure in democratic countries. When the aristocracy governs,
the individuals who conduct the affairs of State are exempted by
their own station in society from every kind of privation; they are
contented with their position; power and renown are the objects for
which they strive; and, as they are placed far above the obscurer
throng of citizens, they do not always distinctly perceive how the
well-being of the mass of the people ought to redound to their own
honor. They are not indeed callous to the sufferings of the poor,
but they cannot feel those miseries as acutely as if they were
themselves partakers of them. Provided that the people appear to
submit to its lot, the rulers are satisfied, and they demand nothing
further from the Government. An aristocracy is more intent upon the
means of maintaining its influence than upon the means of improving
its condition.
When, on the contrary, the people is invested with the supreme
authority, the perpetual sense of their own miseries impels the
rulers of society to seek for perpetual ameliorations. A thousand
different objects are subjected to improvement; the most trivial
details are sought out as susceptible of amendment; and those
changes which are accompanied with considerable expense are more
especially advocated, since the object is to render the condition of
the poor more tolerable, who cannot pay for themselves.
Moreover, all democratic communities are agitated by an ill-defined
excitement and by a kind of feverish impatience, that engender a
multitude of innovations, almost all of which are attended with
expense.
In monarchies and aristocracies the natural taste which the rulers
have for power and for renown is stimulated by the promptings of
ambition, and they are frequently incited by these temptations to
very costly undertakings. In democracies, where the rulers labor
under privations, they can only be courted by such means as improve
their well-being, and these improvements cannot take place without a
sacrifice of money. When a people begins to reflect upon its
situation, it discovers a multitude of wants to which it had not
before been subject, and to satisfy these exigencies recourse must
be had to the coffers of the State. Hence it arises that the public
charges increase in proportion as civilization spreads, and that
imposts are augmented as knowledge pervades the community.
The last cause which frequently renders a democratic government
dearer than any other is, that a democracy does not succeed in
moderating its expenditure, because it does not understand the art
of being economical. As the designs which it entertains are
frequently changed, and the agents of those designs are still more
frequently removed, its undertakings are often ill conducted or left
unfinished: in the former case the State spends sums out of all
proportion to the end which it proposes to accomplish; in the
second, the expense itself is unprofitable.
Tendencies of the American Democracy as Regards the Salaries of
Public Officers
In democracies those who establish high salaries have no chance of
profiting by them -- Tendency of the American democracy to increase
the salaries of subordinate officers and to lower those of the more
important functionaries -- Reason of this -- Comparative statement
of the salaries of public officers in the United States and in
France.
There is a powerful reason which usually induces democracies to
economize upon the salaries of public officers. As the number of
citizens who dispense the remuneration is extremely large in
democratic countries, so the number of persons who can hope to be
benefited by the receipt of it is comparatively small. In
aristocratic countries, on the contrary, the individuals who fix
high salaries have almost always a vague hope of profiting by them.
These appointments may be looked upon as a capital which they create
for their own use, or at least as a resource for their children.
It must, however, be allowed that a democratic State is most
parsimonious towards its principal agents. In America the secondary
officers are much better paid, and the dignitaries of the
administration much worse, than they are elsewhere.
These opposite effects result from the same cause; the people fixes
the salaries of the public officers in both cases; and the scale of
remuneration is determined by the consideration of its own wants. It
is held to be fair that the servants of the public should be placed
in the same easy circumstances as the public itself; but when the
question turns upon the salaries of the great officers of State,
this rule fails, and chance alone can guide the popular decision.
The poor have no adequate conception of the wants which the higher
classes of society may feel. The sum which is scanty to the rich
appears enormous to the poor man whose wants do not extend beyond
the necessaries of life; and in his estimation the Governor of a
State, with his twelve or fifteen hundred dollars a year, is a very
fortunate and enviable being. If you undertake to convince him that
the representative of a great people ought to be able to maintain
some show of splendor in the eyes of foreign nations, he will
perhaps assent to your meaning; but when he reflects on his own
humble dwelling, and on the hard-earned produce of his wearisome
toil, he remembers all that he could do with a salary which you say
is insufficient, and he is startled or almost frightened at the
sight of such uncommon wealth. Besides, the secondary public officer
is almost on a level with the people, whilst the others are raised
above it. The former may therefore excite his interest, but the
latter begins to arouse his envy.
This is very clearly seen in the United States, where the salaries
seem to decrease as the authority of those who receive them
augments.
Under the rule of an aristocracy it frequently happens, on the
contrary, that whilst the high officers are receiving munificent
salaries, the inferior ones have not more than enough to procure the
necessaries of life. The reason of this fact is easily discoverable
from causes very analogous to those to which I have just alluded. If
a democracy is unable to Conceive the pleasures of the rich or to
witness them without envy, an aristocracy is slow to understand, or,
to speak more correctly, is unacquainted with, the privations of the
poor. The poor man is not (if we use the term aright) the fellow of
the rich one; but he is a being of another species. An aristocracy
is therefore apt to care but little for the fate of its subordinate
agents; and their salaries are only raised when they refuse to
perform their service for too scanty a remuneration.
It is the parsimonious conduct of democracy towards its principal
officers which has countenanced a supposition of far more economical
propensities than any which it really possesses. It is true that it
scarcely allows the means of honorable subsistence to the
individuals who conduct its affairs; but enormous sums are lavished
to meet the exigencies or to facilitate the enjoyments of the
people. The money raised by taxation may be better employed, but it
is not saved. In general, democracy gives largely to the community,
and very sparingly to those who govern it. The reverse is the case
in aristocratic countries, where the money of the State is expended
to the profit of the persons who are at the head of affairs.
Difficulty of Distinguishing the Causes Which Contribute to the
Economy of the American Government
We are liable to frequent errors in the research of those facts
which exercise a serious influence upon the fate of mankind, since
nothing is more difficult than to appreciate their real value. One
people is naturally inconsistent and enthusiastic; another is sober
and calculating; and these characteristics originate in their
physical constitution or in remote causes with which we are
unacquainted.
There are nations which are fond of parade and the bustle of
festivity, and which do not regret the costly gaieties of an hour.
Others, on the contrary, are attached to more retiring pleasures,
and seem almost ashamed of appearing to be pleased. In some
countries the highest value is set upon the beauty of public
edifices; in others the productions of art are treated with
indifference, and everything which is unproductive is looked down
upon with contempt. In some renown, in others money, is the ruling
passion.
Independently of the laws, all these causes concur to exercise a
very powerful influence upon the conduct of the finances of the
State. If the Americans never spend the money of the people in
galas, it is not only because the imposition of taxes is under the
control of the people, but because the people takes no delight in
public rejoicings. If they repudiate all ornament from their
architecture, and set no store on any but the more practical and
homely advantages, it is not only because they live under democratic
institutions, but because they are a commercial nation. The habits
of private life are continued in public; and we ought carefully to
distinguish that economy which depends upon their institutions from
that which is the natural result of their manners and customs.
Whether the Expenditure of the United States Can Be Compared to That
of France
Two points to be established in order to estimate the extent of the
public charges, viz., the national wealth and the rate of taxation
-- The wealth and the charges of France not accurately known -- Why
the wealth and charges of the Union cannot be accurately known --
Researches of the author with a view to discover the amount of
taxation of Pennsylvania -- General symptoms which may serve to
indicate the amount of the public charges in a given nation --
Result of this investigation for the Union.
Many attempts have recently been made in France to compare the
public expenditure of that country with the expenditure of the
United States; all these attempts have, however, been unattended by
success, and a few words will suffice to show that they could not
have had a satisfactory result.
In order to estimate the amount of the public charges of a people
two preliminaries are indispensable: it is necessary, in the first
place, to know the wealth of that people; and in the second, to
learn what portion of that wealth is devoted to the expenditure of
the State. To show the amount of taxation without showing the
resources which are destined to meet the demand, is to undertake a
futile labor; for it is not the expenditure, but the relation of the
expenditure to the revenue, which it is desirable to know.
The same rate of taxation which may easily be supported by a wealthy
contributor will reduce a poor one to extreme misery. The wealth of
nations is composed of several distinct elements, of which
population is the first, real property the second, and personal
property the third. The first of these three elements may be
discovered without difficulty. Amongst civilized nations it is easy
to obtain an accurate census of the inhabitants; but the two others
cannot be determined with so much facility. It is difficult to take
an exact account of all the lands in a country which are under
cultivation, with their natural or their acquired value; and it is
still more impossible to estimate the entire personal property which
is at the disposal of a nation, and which eludes the strictest
analysis by the diversity and the number of shapes under which it
may occur. And, indeed, we find that the most ancient civilized
nations of Europe, including even those in which the administration
is most central, have not succeeded, as yet, in determining the
exact condition of their wealth.
In America the attempt has never been made; for how would such an
investigation be possible in a country where society has not yet
settled into habits of regularity and tranquillity; where the
national Government is not assisted by a multitude of agents whose
exertions it can command and direct to one sole end; and where
statistics are not studied, because no one is able to collect the
necessary documents, or to find time to peruse them? Thus the
primary elements of the calculations which have been made in France
cannot be obtained in the Union; the relative wealth of the two
countries is unknown; the property of the former is not accurately
determined, and no means exist of Computing that of the latter.
I consent, therefore, for the sake of the discussion, to abandon
this necessary term of the comparison, and I confine myself to a
computation of the actual amount of taxation, without investigating
the relation which subsists between the taxation and the revenue.
But the reader will perceive that my task has not been facilitated
by the limits which I here lay down for my researches.
It cannot be doubted that the central administration of France,
assisted by all the public officers who are at its disposal, might
determine with exactitude the amount of the direct and indirect
taxes levied upon the citizens. But this investigation, which no
private individual can undertake, has not hitherto been completed by
the French Government, or, at least, its results have not been made
public. We are acquainted with the sum total of the charges of the
State; we know the amount of the departmental expenditure; but the
expenses of the communal divisions have not been computed, and the
amount of the public expenses of France is consequently unknown.
If we now turn to America, we shall perceive float the difficulties
are multiplied and enhanced. The Union publishes an exact return of
the amount of its expenditure; the budgets of the four and twenty
States furnish similar returns of their revenues; but the expenses
incident to the affairs of the counties and the townships are
unknown.
The authority of the Federal government cannot oblige the provincial
governments to throw any light upon this point; and even if these
governments were inclined to afford their simultaneous co-operation,
it may be doubted whether they possess the means of procuring a
satisfactory answer. Independently of the natural difficulties of
the task, the political organization of the country would act as a
hindrance to the success of their efforts. The county and town
magistrates are not appointed by the authorities of the State, and
they are not subjected to their control. It is therefore very
allowable to suppose that, if the State was desirous of obtaining
the returns which we require, its design would be counteracted by
the neglect of those subordinate officers whom it would be obliged
to employ.? It is, in point of fact, useless to inquire what the
Americans might do to forward this inquiry, since it is certain that
they have hitherto done nothing at all. There does not exist a
single individual at the present day, in America or in Europe, who
can inform us what each citizen of the Union annually contributes to
the public charges of the nation.
Hence we must conclude that it is no less difficult to compare the
social expenditure than it is to estimate the relative wealth of
France and America. I will even add that it would be dangerous to
attempt this comparison; for when statistics are not based upon
computations which are strictly accurate, they mislead instead of
guiding aright. The mind is easily imposed upon by the false
affectation of exactness, which prevails even in the misstatements
of science, and it adopts with confidence errors which are dressed
in the forms of mathematical truth.
We abandon, therefore, our numerical investigation, with the hope of
meeting with data of another kind. In the absence of positive
documents, we may form an opinion as to the proportion which the
taxation of a people bears to its real prosperity, by observing
whether its external appearance is flourishing; whether, after
having discharged the calls of the State, the poor man retains the
means of subsistence, and the rich the means of enjoyment; and
whether both classes are contented with their position, seeking,
however, to ameliorate it by perpetual exertions, so that industry
is never in want of capital, nor capital unemployed by industry. The
observer who draws his inferences from these signs will,
undoubtedly, be led to the conclusion that the American of the
United States contributes a much smaller portion of his income to
the State than the citizen of France. Nor, indeed, can the result be
otherwise.
A portion of the French debt is the consequence of two successive
invasions; and the Union has no similar calamity to fear. A nation
placed upon the continent of Europe is obliged to maintain a large
standing army; the isolated position of the Union enables it to have
only 6,000 soldiers. The French have a fleet of 300 sail; the
Americans have 52 vessels. How, then, can the inhabitants of the
Union be called upon to contribute as largely as the inhabitants of
France? No parallel can be drawn between the finances of two
countries so differently situated.
It is by examining what actually takes place in the Union, and not
by comparing the Union with France, that we may discover whether the
American Government is really economical. On casting my eyes over
the different republics which form the confederation, I perceive
that their Governments lack perseverance in their undertakings, and
that they exercise no steady control over the men whom they employ.
Whence I naturally infer that they must often spend the money of the
people to no purpose, or consume more of it than is really necessary
to their undertakings. Great efforts are made, in accordance with
the democratic origin of society, to satisfy the exigencies of the
lower orders, to open the career of power to their endeavors, and to
diffuse knowledge and comfort amongst them. The poor are maintained,
immense sums are annually devoted to public instruction, all
services whatsoever are remunerated, and the most subordinate agents
are liberally paid. If this kind of government appears to me to be
useful and rational, I am nevertheless constrained to admit that it
is expensive.
Wherever the poor direct public affairs and dispose of the national
resources, it appears certain that, as they profit by the
expenditure of the State, they are apt to augment that expenditure.
I conclude, therefore, without having recourse to inaccurate
computations, and without hazarding a comparison which might prove
incorrect, that the democratic government of the Americans is not a
cheap government, as is sometimes asserted; and I have no hesitation
in predicting that, if the people of the United States is ever
involved in serious difficulties, its taxation will speedily be
increased to the rate of that which prevails in the greater part of
the aristocracies and the monarchies of Europe.
Corruption and Vices of the Rulers in a Democracy, and Consequent
Effects Upon Public Morality
In aristocracies rulers sometimes endeavor to corrupt the people --
In democracies rulers frequently show themselves to be corrupt -- In
the former their vices are directly prejudicial to the morality of
the people -- In the latter their indirect influence is still more
pernicious.
A distinction must be made, when the aristocratic and the democratic
principles mutually inveigh against each other, as tending to
facilitate corruption. In aristocratic governments the individuals
who are placed at the head of affairs are rich men, who are solely
desirous of power. In democracies statesmen are poor, and they have
their fortunes to make. The consequence is that in aristocratic
States the rulers are rarely accessible to corruption, and have very
little craving for money; whilst the reverse is the case in
democratic nations.
But in aristocracies, as those who are desirous of arriving a (That
is precisely what has since occurred.) at the head of affairs are
possessed of considerable wealth, and as the number of persons by
whose assistance they may rise is comparatively small, the
government is, if I may use the expression, put up to a sort of
auction. In democracies, on the contrary, those who are covetous of
power are very seldom wealthy, and the number of citizens who confer
that power is extremely great. Perhaps in democracies the number of
men who might be bought is by no means smaller, but buyers are
rarely to be met with; and, besides, it would be necessary to buy so
many persons at once that the attempt is rendered nugatory.
Many of the men who have been in the administration in France during
the last forty years have been accused of making their fortunes at
the expense of the State or of its allies; a reproach which was
rarely addressed to the public characters of the ancient monarchy.
But in France the practice of bribing electors is almost unknown,
whilst it is notoriously and publicly carried on in England. In the
United States I never heard a man accused of spending his wealth in
corrupting the populace; but I have often heard the probity of
public officers questioned; still more frequently have heard their
success attributed to low intrigues and immoral practices.
If, then, the men who conduct the government of an aristocracy
sometimes endeavor to corrupt the people, the heads of a democracy
are themselves corrupt. In the former case the morality of the
people is directly assailed; in the latter an indirect influence is
exercised upon the people which is still more to be dreaded.
As the rulers of democratic nations are almost always exposed to the
suspicion of dishonorable conduct, they in some measure lend the
authority of the Government to the base practices of which they are
accused. They thus afford an example which must prove discouraging
to the struggles of virtuous independence, and must foster the
secret calculations of a vicious ambition. If it be asserted that
evil passions are displayed in all ranks of society, that they
ascend the throne by hereditary right, and that despicable
characters are to be met with at the head of aristocratic nations as
well as in the sphere of a democracy, this objection has but little
weight in my estimation. The corruption of men who have casually
risen to power has a coarse and vulgar infection in it which renders
it contagious to the multitude. On the contrary, there is a kind of
aristocratic refinement and an air of grandeur in the depravity of
the great, which frequently prevent it from spreading abroad.
The people can never penetrate into the perplexing labyrinth of
court intrigue, and it will always have difficulty in detecting the
turpitude which lurks under elegant manners, refined tastes, and
graceful language. But to pillage the public purse, and to vend the
favors of the State, are arts which the meanest villain may
comprehend, and hope to practice in his turn.
In reality it is far less prejudicial to witness the immorality of
the great than to witness that immorality which leads to greatness.
In a democracy private citizens see a man of their own rank in life,
who rises from that obscure position, and who becomes possessed of
riches and of power in a few years; the spectacle excites their
surprise and their envy, and they are led to inquire how the person
who was yesterday their equal is today their ruler. To attribute his
rise to his talents or his virtues is unpleasant; for it is tacitly
to acknowledge that they are themselves less virtuous and less
talented than he was. They are therefore led (and not unfrequently
their conjecture is a correct one) to impute his success mainly to
some one of his defects; and an odious mixture is thus formed of the
ideas of turpitude and power, unworthiness and success, utility and
dishonor.
Efforts of Which a Democracy is Capable
The Union has only had one struggle hitherto for its existence --
Enthusiasm at the commencement of the war -- Indifference towards
its close -- Difficulty of establishing military conscription or
impressment of seamen in America -- Why a democratic people is less
capable of sustained effort than another.
I here warn the reader that I speak of a government which implicitly
follows the real desires of a people, and not of a government which
simply commands in its name. Nothing is so irresistible as a
tyrannical power commanding in the name of the people, because,
whilst it exercises that moral influence which belongs to the
decision of the majority, it acts at the same time with the
promptitude and the tenacity of a single man.
It is difficult to say what degree of exertion a democratic
government may be capable of making a crisis in the history of the
nation. But no great democratic republic has hitherto existed in the
world. To style the oligarchy which ruled over France in 1793 by
that name would be to offer an insult to the republican form of
government. The United States afford the first example of the kind.
The American Union has now subsisted for half a century, in the
course of which time its existence has only once been attacked,
namely, during the War of Independence. At the commencement of that
long war, various occurrences took place which betokened an
extraordinary zeal for the service of the country. But as the
contest was prolonged, symptoms of private egotism began to show
themselves. No money was poured into the public treasury; few
recruits could be raised to join the army; the people wished to
acquire independence, but was very ill-disposed to undergo the
privations by which alone it could be obtained. "Tax laws," says
Hamilton in the Federalist" (No. 12), "have in vain been multiplied;
new methods to enforce the collection have in vain been tried; the
public expectation has been uniformly disappointed and the
treasuries of the States have remained empty. The popular system of
administration inherent in the nature of popular government,
coinciding with the real scarcity of money incident to a languid and
mutilated state of trade, has hitherto defeated every experiment for
extensive collections, and has at length taught the different
legislatures the folly of attempting them."
The United States have not had any serious war to carry on ever
since that period. In order, therefore, to appreciate the sacrifices
which democratic nations may impose upon themselves, we must wait
until the American people is obliged to put half its entire income
at the disposal of the Government, as was done by the English; or
until it sends forth a twentieth part of its population to the field
of battle, as was done by France.
In America the use of conscription is unknown, and men are induced
to enlist by bounties. The notions and habits of the people of the
United States are so opposed to compulsory enlistment that I do not
imagine it can ever be sanctioned by the laws. What is termed the
conscription in France is assuredly the heaviest tax upon the
population of that country; yet how could a great continental war be
carried on without it? The Americans have not adopted the British
impressment of seamen, and they have nothing which corresponds to
the French system of maritime conscription; the navy, as well as the
merchant service, is supplied by voluntary service. But it is not
easy to conceive how a people can sustain a great maritime war
without having recourse to one or the other of these two systems.
Indeed, the Union, which has fought with some honor upon the seas,
has never possessed a very numerous fleet, and the equipment of the
small number of American vessels has always been excessively
expensive.
I have heard American statesmen confess that the Union will have
great difficulty in maintaining its rank on the seas without
adopting the system of impressment or of maritime conscription; but
the difficulty is to induce the people, which exercises the supreme
authority, to submit to impressment or any compulsory system.
It is incontestable that in times of danger a free people displays
far more energy than one which is not so. But I incline to believe
that this is more especially the case in those free nations in which
the democratic element preponderates. Democracy appears to me to be
much better adapted for the peaceful conduct of society, or for an
occasional effort of remarkable vigor, than for the hardy and
prolonged endurance of the storms which beset the political
existence of nations. The reason is very evident; it is enthusiasm
which prompts men to expose themselves to dangers and privations,
but they will not support them long without reflection. There is
more calculation, even in the impulses of bravery, than is generally
attributed to them; and although the first efforts are suggested by
passion, perseverance is maintained by a distinct regard of the
purpose in view. A portion of what we value is exposed, in order to
save the remainder.
But it is this distinct perception of the future, founded upon a
sound judgment and an enlightened experience, which is most
frequently wanting in democracies. The populace is more apt to feel
than to reason; and if its present sufferings are great, it is to be
feared that the still greater sufferings attendant upon defeat will
be forgotten.
Another cause tends to render the efforts of a democratic government
less persevering than those of an aristocracy. Not only are the
lower classes less awakened than the higher orders to the good or
evil chances of the future, but they are liable to suffer far more
acutely from present privations. The noble exposes his life, indeed,
but the chance of glory is equal to the chance of harm. If he
sacrifices a large portion of his income to the State, he deprives
himself for a time of the pleasures of affluence; but to the poor
man death is embellished by no pomp or renown, and the imposts which
are irksome to the rich are fatal to him.
This relative impotence of democratic republics is, perhaps, the
greatest obstacle to the foundation of a republic of this kind in
Europe. In order that such a State should subsist in one country of
the Old World, it would be necessary that similar institutions
should be introduced into all the other nations.
I am of opinion that a democratic government tends in the end to
increase the real strength of society; but it can never combine,
upon a single point and at a given time, so much power as an
aristocracy or a monarchy. If a democratic country remained during a
whole century subject to a republican government, it would probably
at the end of that period be more populous and more prosperous than
the neighboring despotic States. But it would have incurred the risk
of being conquered much oftener than they would in that lapse of
years.
Self-Control of the American Democracy
The American people acquiesces slowly, or frequently does not
acquiesce, in what is beneficial to its interests -- The faults of
the American democracy are for the most part reparable.
The difficulty which a democracy has in conquering the passions and
in subduing the exigencies of the moment, with a view to the future,
is conspicuous in the most trivial occurrences of the United States.
The people, which is surrounded by flatterers, has great difficulty
in surmounting its inclinations, and whenever it is solicited to
undergo a privation or any kind of inconvenience, even to attain an
end which is sanctioned by its own rational conviction, it almost
always refuses to comply at first. The deference of the Americans to
the laws has been very justly applauded; but it must be added that
in America the legislation is made by the people and for the people.
Consequently, in the United States the law favors those classes
which are most interested in evading it elsewhere. It may therefore
be supposed that an offensive law, which should not be acknowledged
to be one of immediate utility, would either not be enacted or would
not be obeyed.
In America there is no law against fraudulent bankruptcies; not
because they are few, but because there are a great number of
bankruptcies. The dread of being prosecuted as a bankrupt acts with
more intensity upon the mind of the majority of the people than the
fear of being involved in losses or ruin by the failure of other
parties, and a sort of guilty tolerance is extended by the public
conscience to an offence which everyone condemns in his individual
capacity. In the new States of the Southwest the citizens generally
take justice into their own hands, and murders are of very frequent
occurrence. This arises from the rude manners and the ignorance of
the inhabitants of those deserts, who do not perceive the utility of
investing the law with adequate force, and who prefer duels to
prosecutions.
Someone observed to me one day, in Philadelphia, that almost all
crimes in America are caused by the abuse of intoxicating liquors,
which the lower classes can procure in great abundance, from their
excessive cheapness. " How comes it," said I, "that you do not put a
duty upon brandy?" "Our legislators," rejoined my informant, "have
frequently thought of this expedient; but the task of putting it in
operation is a difficult one; a revolt might be apprehended, and the
members who should vote for a law of this kind would be sure of
losing their seats." " Whence I am to infer," replied I, " that the
drinking population constitutes the majority in your country, and
that temperance is somewhat unpopular."
When these things are pointed out to the American statesmen, they
content themselves with assuring you that time will operate the
necessary change, and that the experience of evil will teach the
people its true interests. This is frequently true, although a
democracy is more liable to error than a monarch or a body of
nobles; the chances of its regaining the right path when once it has
acknowledged its mistake, are greater also; because it is rarely
embarrassed by internal interests, which conflict with those of the
majority, and resist the authority of reason. But a democracy can
only obtain truth as the result of experience, and many nations may
forfeit their existence whilst they are awaiting the consequences of
their errors.
The great privilege of the Americans does not simply consist in
their being more enlightened than `other nations, but in their being
able to repair the faults they may commit. To which it must be
added, that a democracy cannot derive substantial benefit from past
experience, unless it be arrived at a certain pitch of knowledge and
civilization. There are tribes and peoples whose education has been
so vicious, and whose character presents so strange a mixture of
passion, of ignorance, and of erroneous notions upon all subjects,
that they are unable to discern the causes of their own
wretchedness, and they fall a sacrifice to ills with which they are
unacquainted.
I have crossed vast tracts of country that were formerly inhabited
by powerful Indian nations which are now extinct; I have myself
passed some time in the midst of mutilated tribes, which witness the
daily decline of their numerical strength and of the glory of their
independence; and I have heard these Indians themselves anticipate
the impending doom of their race. Every European can perceive means
which would rescue these unfortunate beings from inevitable
destruction. They alone are insensible to the expedient; they feel
the woe which year after year heaps upon their heads, but they will
perish to a man without accepting the remedy. It would be necessary
to employ force to induce them to submit to the protection and the
constraint of civilization.
The incessant revolutions which have convulsed the South American
provinces for the last quarter of a century have frequently been
adverted to with astonishment, and expectations have been expressed
that those nations would speedily return to their natural state. But
can it be affirmed that the turmoil of revolution is not actually
the most natural state of the South American Spaniards at the
present time? In that country society is plunged into difficulties
from which all its efforts are insufficient to rescue it. The
inhabitants of that fair portion of the Western Hemisphere seem
obstinately bent on pursuing the work of inward havoc. If they fall
into a momentary repose from the effects of exhaustion, that repose
prepares them for a fresh state of frenzy. When I consider their
condition, which alternates between misery and crime, I should be
inclined to believe that despotism itself would be a benefit to
them, if it were possible that the words despotism and benefit could
ever be united in my mind.
Conduct of Foreign Affairs by the American Democracy
Direction given to the foreign policy of the United States by
Washington and Jefferson -- Almost all the defects inherent in
democratic institutions are brought to light in the conduct of
foreign affairs -- Their advantages are less perceptible.
We have seen that the Federal Constitution entrusts the permanent
direction of the external interests of the nation to the President
and the Senate, which tends in some degree to detach the general
foreign policy of the Union from the control of the people. It
cannot therefore be asserted with truth that the external affairs of
State are conducted by the democracy.
The policy of America owes its rise to Washington, and after him to
Jefferson, who established those principles which it observes at the
present day. Washington said in the admirable letter which he
addressed to his fellow-citizens, and which may be looked upon as
his political bequest to the country: "The great rule of conduct for
us in regard to foreign nations is, in extending our commercial
relations, to have with them as little political connection as
possible. So far as we have already formed engagements, let them be
fulfilled with perfect good faith. Here let us stop. Europe has a
set of primary interests which to us have none, or a very remote
relation. Hence, she must be engaged in frequent controversies, the
causes of which are essentially foreign to our concerns. Hence,
therefore, it must be unwise in us to implicate ourselves, by
artificial ties, in the ordinary vicissitudes of her politics, or
the ordinary combinations and collisions of her friendships or
enmities. Our detached and distant situation invites and enables us
to pursue a different course. If we remain one people, under an
efficient government, the period is not far off when we may defy
material injury from external annoyance; when we may take such an
attitude as will cause the neutrality we may at any time resolve
upon to be scrupulously respected; when belligerent nations, under
the impossibility of making acquisitions upon us, will not lightly
hazard the giving us provocation; when we may choose peace or war,
as our interest, guided by justice, shall counsel. Why forego the
advantages of so peculiar a situation? Why quit our own to stand
upon foreign ground? Why, by interweaving our destiny with that of
any part of Europe, entangle our peace and prosperity in the toils
of European ambition, rivalship, interest, humor, or caprice? It is
our true policy to steer clear of permanent alliances with any
portion of the foreign world; so far, I mean, as we are now at
liberty to do it; for let me not be understood as capable of
patronizing infidelity to existing engagements. I hold the maxim no
less applicable to public than to private affairs, that honesty is
always the best policy. I repeat it; therefore, let those
engagements be observed in their genuine sense; but in my opinion it
is unnecessary, and would be unwise, to extend them. Taking care
always to keep ourselves, by suitable establishments, in a
respectable defensive posture, we may safely trust to temporary
alliances for extraordinary emergencies." In a previous part of the
same letter Washington makes the following admirable and just
remark: "The nation which indulges towards another an habitual
hatred or an habitual fondness is in some degree a slave. It is a
slave to its animosity or to its affection, either of which is
sufficient to lead it astray from its duty and its interest."
The political conduct of Washington was always guided by these
maxims. He succeeded in maintaining his country in a state of peace
whilst all the other nations of the globe were at War; and he laid
it down as a fundamental doctrine, that the true interest of the
Americans consisted in a perfect neutrality with regard to the
internal dissensions of the European Powers.
Jefferson went still further, and he introduced a maxim into the
policy of the Union, which affirms that "the Americans ought never
to solicit any privileges from foreign nations, in order not to be
obliged to grant similar privileges themselves."
These two principles, which were so plain and so just as to be
adapted to the capacity of the populace, have greatly simplified the
foreign policy of the United States. As the Union takes no part in
the affairs of Europe, it has, properly speaking, no foreign
interests to discuss, since it has at present no powerful neighbors
on the American continent. The country is as much removed from the
passions of the Old World by its position as by the line of policy
which it has chosen, and it is neither called upon to repudiate nor
to espouse the conflicting interests of Europe; whilst the
dissensions of the New World are still concealed within the bosom of
the future.
The Union is free from all pre-existing obligations, and it is
consequently enabled to profit by the experience of the old nations
of Europe, without being obliged, as they are, to make the best of
the past, and to adapt it to their present circumstances; or to
accept that immense inheritance which they derive from their
forefathers -- an inheritance of glory mingled with calamities, and
of alliances conflicting with national antipathies. The foreign
policy of the United States is reduced by its very nature to await
the chances of the future history of the nation, and for the present
it consists more in abstaining from interference than in exerting
its activity.
It is therefore very difficult to ascertain, at present, what degree
of sagacity the American democracy will display in the conduct of
the foreign policy of the country; and upon this point its
adversaries, as well as its advocates, must suspend their judgment.
As for myself I have no hesitation in avowing my conviction, that it
is most especially in the conduct of foreign relations that
democratic governments appear to me to be decidedly inferior to
governments carried on upon different principles. Experience,
instruction, and habit may almost always succeed in creating a
species of practical discretion in democracies, and that science of
the daily occurrences of life which is called good sense. Good sense
may suffice to direct the ordinary course of society; and amongst a
people whose education has been provided for, the advantages of
democratic liberty in the internal affairs of the country may more
than compensate for the evils inherent in a democratic government.
But such is not always the case in the mutual relations of foreign
nations.
Foreign politics demand scarcely any of those qualities which a
democracy possesses; and they require, on the contrary, the perfect
use of almost all those faculties in which it is deficient.
Democracy is favorable to the increase of the internal resources of
the State; it tends to diffuse a moderate independence; it promotes
the growth of public spirit, and fortifies the respect which is
entertained for law in all classes of society; and these are
advantages which only exercise an indirect influence over the
relations which one people bears to another. But a democracy is
unable to regulate the details of an important undertaking, to
persevere in a design, and to work out its execution in the presence
of serious obstacles. It cannot combine its measures with secrecy,
and it will not await their consequences with patience. These are
qualities which more especially belong to an individual or to an
aristocracy; and they are precisely the means by which an individual
people attains to a predominant position.
If, on the contrary, we observe the natural defects of aristocracy,
we shall find that their influence is comparatively innoxious in the
direction of the external affairs of a State. The capital fault of
which aristocratic bodies may be accused is that they are more apt
to contrive their own advantage than that of the mass of the people.
In foreign politics it is rare for the interest of the aristocracy
to be in any way distinct from that of the people.
The propensity which democracies have to obey the impulse of passion
rather than the suggestions of prudence, and to abandon a mature
design for the gratification of a momentary caprice, was very
clearly seen in America on the breaking out of the French
Revolution. It was then as evident to the simplest capacity as it is
at the present time that the interest of the Americans forbade them
to take any part in the contest which was about to deluge Europe
with blood, but which could by no means injure the welfare of their
own country. Nevertheless the sympathies of the people declared
themselves with so much violence in behalf of France that nothing
but the inflexible character of Washington, and the immense
popularity which he enjoyed, could have prevented the Americans from
declaring war against England. And even then, the exertions which
the austere reason of that great man made to repress the generous
but imprudent passions of his fellow-citizens, very nearly deprived
him of the sole recompense which he had ever claimed -- that of his
country's love. The majority then reprobated the line of policy
which he adopted, and which has since been unanimously approved by
the nation. If the Constitution and the favor of the public had not
entrusted the direction of the foreign affairs of the country to
Washington, it is certain that the American nation would at that
time have taken the very measures which it now condemns.
Almost all the nations which have ever exercised a powerful
influence upon the destinies of the world by conceiving, following
up, and executing vast designs -- from the Romans to the English --
have been governed by aristocratic institutions. Nor will this be a
subject of wonder when we recollect that nothing in the world has so
absolute a fixity of purpose as an aristocracy. The mass of the
people may be led astray by ignorance or passion; the mind of a king
may be biased, and his perseverance in his designs may be shaken --
besides which a king is not immortal -- but an aristocratic body is
too numerous to be led astray by the blandishments of intrigue, and
yet not numerous enough to yield readily to the intoxicating
influence of unreflecting passion: it has the energy of a firm and
enlightened individual, added to the power which it derives from
perpetuity.
Chapter 14 What the Real Advantages are Which American Society
Derives From the Government of the Democracy
BEFORE I enter upon the subject of the present chapter I am induced
to remind the reader of what I have more than once adverted to in
the course of this book. The political institutions of the United
States appear to me to be one of the forms of government which a
democracy may adopt; but I do not regard the American Constitution
as the best, or as the only one, which a democratic people may
establish. In showing the advantages which the Americans derive from
the government of democracy, I am therefore very far from meaning,
or from believing, that similar advantages can only be obtained from
the same laws.
General Tendency of the Laws Under the Rule of the American
Democracy, and Habits of Those Who Apply Them
Defects of a democratic government easy to be discovered -- Its
advantages only to be discerned by long observation -- Democracy in
America often inexpert, but the general tendency of the laws
advantageous -- In the American democracy public officers have no
permanent interests distinct from those of the majority -- Result of
this state of things.
The defects and the weaknesses of a democratic government may very
readily be discovered; they are demonstrated by the most flagrant
instances, whilst its beneficial influence is less perceptibly
exercised. A single glance suffices to detect its evil consequences,
but its good qualities can only be discerned by long observation.
The laws of the American democracy are frequently defective or
incomplete; they sometimes attack vested rights, or give a sanction
to others which are dangerous to the community; but even if they
were good, the frequent changes which they undergo would be an evil.
How comes it, then, that the American republics prosper and maintain
their position?
In the consideration of laws a distinction must be carefully
observed between the end at which they aim and the means by which
they are directed to that end, between their absolute and their
relative excellence. If it be the intention of the legislator to
favor the interests of the minority at the expense of the majority,
and if the measures he takes are so combined as to accomplish the
object he has in view with the least possible expense of time and
exertion, the law may be well drawn up, although its purpose be bad;
and the more efficacious it is, the greater is the mischief which it
causes.
Democratic laws generally tend to promote the welfare of the
greatest possible number; for they emanate from the majority of the
citizens, who are subject to error, but who cannot have an interest
opposed to their own advantage. The laws of an aristocracy tend, on
the contrary, to concentrate wealth and power in the hands of the
minority, because an aristocracy, by its very nature, constitutes a
minority. It may therefore be asserted, as a general proposition,
that the purpose of a democracy in the conduct of its legislation is
useful to a greater number of citizens than that of an aristocracy.
This is, however, the sum total of its advantages.
Aristocracies are infinitely more expert in the science of
legislation than democracies ever can be. They are possessed of a
self-control which protects them from the errors of temporary
excitement, and they form lasting designs which they mature with the
assistance of favorable opportunities. Aristocratic government
proceeds with the dexterity of art; it understands how to make the
collective force of all its laws converge at the same time to a
given point. Such is not the case with democracies, whose laws are
almost always ineffective or inopportune. The means of democracy are
therefore more imperfect than those of aristocracy, and the measures
which it unwittingly adopts are frequently opposed to its own cause;
but the object it has in view is more useful.
Let us now imagine a community so organized by nature, or by its
constitution, that it can support the transitory action of bad laws,
and that it can await, without destruction, the general tendency of
the legislation: we shall then be able to conceive that a democratic
government, notwithstanding its defects, will be most fitted to
conduce to the prosperity of this community. This is precisely what
has occurred in the United States; and I repeat, what I have before
remarked, that the great advantage of the Americans consists in
their being able to commit faults which they may afterward repair.
An analogous observation may be made respecting public officers. It
is easy to perceive that the American democracy frequently errs in
the choice of the individuals to whom it entrusts the power of the
administration; but it is more difficult to say why the State
prospers under their rule. In the first place it is to be remarked,
that if in a democratic State the governors have less honesty and
less capacity than elsewhere, the governed, on the other hand, are
more enlightened and more attentive to their interests. As the
people in democracies is more incessantly vigilant in its affairs
and more jealous of its rights, it prevents its representatives from
abandoning that general line of conduct which its own interest
prescribes. In the second place, it must be remembered that if the
democratic magistrate is more apt to misuse his power, he possesses
it for a shorter period of time. But there is yet another reason
which is still more general and conclusive. It is no doubt of
importance to the welfare of nations that they should be governed by
men of talents and virtue; but it is perhaps still more important
that the interests of those men should not differ from the interests
of the community at large; for, if such were the case, virtues of a
high order might become useless, and talents might be turned to a
bad account. I say that it is important that the interests of the
persons in authority should not conflict with or oppose the
interests of the community at large; but I do not insist upon their
having the same interests as the whole population, because I am not
aware that such a state of things ever existed in any country.
No political form has hitherto been discovered which is equally
favorable to the prosperity and the development of all the classes
into which society is divided. These classes continue to form, as it
were, a certain number of distinct nations in the same nation; and
experience has shown that it is no less dangerous to place the fate
of these classes exclusively in the hands of any one of them than it
is to make one people the arbiter of the destiny of another. When
the rich alone govern, the interest of the poor is always
endangered; and when the poor make the laws, that of the rich incurs
very serious risks. The advantage of democracy does not consist,
therefore, as has sometimes been asserted, in favoring the
prosperity of all, but simply in contributing to the well-being of
the greatest possible number.
The men who are entrusted with the direction of public affairs in
the United States are frequently inferior, both in point of capacity
and of morality, to those whom aristocratic institutions would raise
to power. But their interest is identified and confounded with that
of the majority of their fellow-citizens. They may frequently be
faithless and frequently mistaken, but they will never
systematically adopt a line of conduct opposed to the will of the
majority; and it is impossible that they should give a dangerous or
an exclusive tendency to the government.
The mal-administration of a democratic magistrate is a mere isolated
fact, which only occurs during the short period for which he is
elected. Corruption and incapacity do not act as common interests,
which may connect men permanently with one another. A corrupt or an
incapable magistrate will not concert his measures with another
magistrate, simply because that individual is as corrupt and as
incapable as himself; and these two men will never unite their
endeavors to promote the corruption and inaptitude of their remote
posterity. The ambition and the manoeuvres of the one will serve, on
the contrary, to unmask the other. The vices of a magistrate, in
democratic states, are usually peculiar to his own person.
But under aristocratic governments public men are swayed by the
interest of their order, which, if it is sometimes confounded with
the interests of the majority, is very frequently distinct from
them. This interest is the common and lasting bond which unites them
together; it induces them to coalesce, and to combine their efforts
in order to attain an end which does not always ensure the greatest
happiness of the greatest number; and it serves not only to connect
the persons in authority, but to unite them to a considerable
portion of the community, since a numerous body of citizens belongs
to the aristocracy, without being invested with official functions.
The aristocratic magistrate is therefore constantly supported by a
portion of the community, as well as by the Government of which he
is a member.
The common purpose which connects the interest of the magistrates in
aristocracies with that of a portion of their contemporaries
identifies it with that of future generations; their influence
belongs to the future as much as to the present. The aristocratic
magistrate is urged at the same time toward the same point by the
passions of the community, by his own, and I may almost add by those
of his posterity. Is it, then, wonderful that he does not resist
such repeated impulses? And indeed aristocracies are often carried
away by the spirit of their order without being corrupted by it; and
they unconsciously fashion society to their own ends, and prepare it
for their own descendants.
The English aristocracy is perhaps the most liberal which ever
existed, and no body of men has ever, uninterruptedly, furnished so
many honorable and enlightened individuals to the government of a
country. It cannot, however, escape observation that in the
legislation of England the good of the poor has been sacrificed to
the advantage of the rich, and the rights of the majority to the
privileges of the few. The consequence is, that England, at the
present day, combines the extremes of fortune in the bosom of her
society, and her perils and calamities are almost equal to her power
and her renown.
In the United States, where the public officers have no interests to
promote connected with their caste, the general and constant
influence of the Government is beneficial, although the individuals
who conduct it are frequently unskilful and sometimes contemptible.
There is indeed a secret tendency in democratic institutions to
render the exertions of the citizens subservient to the prosperity
of the community, notwithstanding their private vices and mistakes;
whilst in aristocratic institutions there is a secret propensity
which, notwithstanding the talents and the virtues of those who
conduct the government, leads them to contribute to the evils which
oppress their fellow-creatures. In aristocratic governments public
men may frequently do injuries which they do not intend, and in
democratic states they produce advantages which they never thought
of.
Public Spirit in the United States
Patriotism of instinct -- Patriotism of reflection -- Their
different characteristics -- Nations ought to strive to acquire the
second when the first has disappeared -- Efforts of the Americans to
acquire it -- Interest of the individual intimately connected with
that of the country.
There is one sort of patriotic attachment which principally arises
from that instinctive, disinterested, and undefinable feeling which
connects the affections of man with his birthplace. This natural
fondness is united to a taste for ancient customs, and to a
reverence for ancestral traditions of the past; those who cherish it
love their country as they love the mansions of their fathers. They
enjoy the tranquillity which it affords them; they cling to the
peaceful habits which they have contracted within its bosom; they
are attached to the reminiscences which it awakens, and they are
even pleased by the state of obedience in which they are placed.
This patriotism is sometimes stimulated by religious enthusiasm, and
then it is capable of making the most prodigious efforts. It is in
itself a kind of religion; it does not reason, but it acts from the
impulse of faith and of sentiment. By some nations the monarch has
been regarded as a personification of the country; and the fervor of
patriotism being converted into the fervor of loyalty, they took a
sympathetic pride in his conquests, and gloried in his power. At one
time, under the ancient monarchy, the French felt a sort of
satisfaction in the sense of their dependence upon the arbitrary
pleasure of their king, and they were wont to say with pride, "We
are the subjects of the most powerful king in the world."
But, like all instinctive passions, this kind of patriotism is more
apt to prompt transient exertion than to supply the motives of
continuous endeavor. It may save the State in critical
circumstances, but it will not unfrequently allow the nation to
decline in the midst of peace. Whilst the manners of a people are
simple and its faith unshaken, whilst society is steadily based upon
traditional institutions whose legitimacy has never been contested,
this instinctive patriotism is wont to endure.
But there is another species of attachment to a country which is
more rational than the one we have been describing. It is perhaps
less generous and less ardent, but it is more fruitful and more
lasting; it is coeval with the spread of knowledge, it is nurtured
by the laws, it grows by the exercise of civil rights, and, in the
end, it is confounded with the personal interest of the citizen. A
man comprehends the influence which the prosperity of his country
has upon his own welfare; he is aware that the laws authorize him to
contribute his assistance to that prosperity, and he labors to
promote it as a portion of his interest in the first place, and as a
portion of his right in the second.
But epochs sometimes occur, in the course of the existence of a
nation, at which the ancient customs of a people are changed, public
morality destroyed, religious belief disturbed, and the spell of
tradition broken, whilst the diffusion of knowledge is yet
imperfect, and the civil rights of the community are ill secured, or
confined within very narrow limits. The country then assumes a dim
and dubious shape in the eyes of the citizens; they no longer behold
it in the soil which they inhabit, for that soil is to them a dull
inanimate clod; nor in the usages of their forefathers, which they
have been taught to look upon as a debasing yoke; nor in religion,
for of that they doubt; nor in the laws, which do not originate in
their own authority; nor in the legislator, whom they fear and
despise. The country is lost to their senses, they can neither
discover it under its own nor under borrowed features, and they
entrench themselves within the dull precincts of a narrow egotism.
They are emancipated from prejudice without having acknowledged the
empire of reason; they are neither animated by the instinctive
patriotism of monarchical subjects nor by the thinking patriotism of
republican citizens; but they have stopped halfway between the two,
in the midst of confusion and of distress.
In this predicament, to retreat is impossible; for a people cannot
restore the vivacity of its earlier times, any more than a man can
return to the innocence and the bloom of childhood; such things may
be regretted, but they cannot be renewed. The only thing, then,
which remains to be done is to proceed, and to accelerate the union
of private with public interests, since the period of disinterested
patriotism is gone by forever.
I am certainly very far from averring that, in order to obtain this
result, the exercise of political rights should be immediately
granted to all the members of the community. But I maintain that the
most powerful, and perhaps the only, means of interesting men in the
welfare of their country which we still possess is to make them
partakers in the Government. At the present time civic zeal seems to
me to be inseparable from the exercise of political rights; and I
hold that the number of citizens will be found to augment or to
decrease in Europe in proportion as those rights are extended.
In the United States the inhabitants were thrown but as yesterday
upon the soil which they now occupy, and they brought neither
customs nor traditions with them there; they meet each other for the
first time with no previous acquaintance; in short, the instinctive
love of their country can scarcely exist in their minds; but
everyone takes as zealous an interest in the affairs of his
township, his county, and of the whole State, as if they were his
own, because everyone, in his sphere, takes an active part in the
government of society.
The lower orders in the United States are alive to the perception of
the influence exercised by the general prosperity upon their own
welfare; and simple as this observation is, it is one which is but
too rarely made by the people. But in America the people regards
this prosperity as the result of its own exertions; the citizen
looks upon the fortune of the public as his private interest, and he
co-operates in its success, not so much from a sense of pride or of
duty, as from what I shall venture to term cupidity.
It is unnecessary to study the institutions and the history of the
Americans in order to discover the truth of this remark, for their
manners render it sufficiently evident. As the American participates
in all that is done in his country, he thinks himself obliged to
defend whatever may be censured; for it is not only his country
which is attacked upon these occasions, but it is himself. The
consequence is, that his national pride resorts to a thousand
artifices, and to all the petty tricks of individual vanity.
Nothing is more embarrassing in the ordinary intercourse of life
than this irritable patriotism of the Americans. A stranger may be
very well inclined to praise many of the institutions of `their
country, but he begs permission to blame some of the peculiarities
which he observes -- a permission which is, however, inexorably
refused. America is therefore a free country, in which, lest anybody
should be hurt by your remarks, you are not allowed to speak freely
of private individuals, or of the State, of the citizens or of the
authorities, of public or of private undertakings, or, in short, of
anything at all, except it be of the climate and the soil; and even
then Americans will be found ready to defend either the one or the
other, as if they had been contrived by the inhabitants of the
country.
In our times option must be made between the patriotism of all and
the government of a few; for the force and activity which the first
confers are irreconcilable with the guarantees of tranquillity which
the second furnishes.
Notion of Rights in the United States
No great people without a notion of rights -- How the notion of
rights can be given to people -- Respect of rights in the United
States -- Whence it arises.
After the idea of virtue, I know no higher principle than that of
right; or, to speak more accurately, these two ideas are commingled
in one. The idea of right is simply that of virtue introduced into
the political world. It is the idea of right which enabled men to
define anarchy and tyranny; and which taught them to remain
independent without arrogance, as well as to obey without servility.
The man who submits to violence is debased by his compliance; but
when he obeys the mandate of one who possesses that right of
authority which he acknowledges in a fellow-creature, he rises in
some measure above the person who delivers the command. There are no
great men without virtue, and there are no great nations -- it may
almost be added that there would be no society -- without the notion
of rights; for what is the condition of a mass of rational and
intelligent beings who are only united together by the bond of
force?
I am persuaded that the only means which we possess at the present
time of inculcating the notion of rights, and of rendering it, as it
were, palpable to the senses, is to invest all the members of the
community with the peaceful exercise of certain rights: this is very
clearly seen in children, who are men without the strength and the
experience of manhood. When a child begins to move in the midst of
the objects which surround him, he is instinctively led to turn
everything which he can lay his hands upon to his own purposes; he
has no notion of the property of others; but as he gradually learns
the value of things, and begins to perceive that he may in his turn
be deprived of his possessions, he becomes more circumspect, and he
observes those rights in others which he wishes to have respected in
himself. The principle which the child derives from the possession
of his toys is taught to the man by the objects which he may call
his own. In America those complaints against property in general
which are so frequent in Europe are never heard, because in America
there are no paupers; and as everyone has property of his own to
defend, everyone recognizes the principle upon which he holds it.
The same thing occurs in the political world. In America the lowest
classes have conceived a very high notion of political rights,
because they exercise those rights; and they refrain from attacking
those of other people, in order to ensure their own from attack.
Whilst in Europe the same classes sometimes recalcitrate even
against the supreme power, the American submits without a murmur to
the authority of the pettiest magistrate.
pleasures are exclusively reserved for the higher classes; the poor
are admitted wherever the rich are received, and they consequently
behave with propriety, and respect whatever contributes to the
enjoyments in which they themselves participate. In England, where
wealth has a monopoly of amusement as well as of power, complaints
are made that whenever the poor happen to steal into the enclosures
which are reserved for the pleasures of the rich, they commit acts
of wanton mischief: can this be wondered at, since care has been
taken that they should have nothing to lose?
The government of democracy brings the notion of political rights to
the level of the humblest citizens, just as the dissemination of
wealth brings the notion of property within the reach of all the
members of the community; and I confess that, to my mind, this is
one of its greatest advantages. I do not assert that it is easy to
teach men to exercise political rights; but I maintain that, when it
is possible, the effects which result from it are highly important;
and I add that, if there ever was a time at which such an attempt
ought to be made, that time is our own. It is clear that the
influence of religious belief is shaken, and that the notion of
divine rights is declining; it is evident that public morality is
vitiated, and the notion of moral rights is also disappearing: theme
are general symptoms of the substitution of argument for faith, and
of calculation for the impulses of sentiment. If, in the midst of
this general disruption, you do not succeed in connecting the notion
of rights with that of personal interest, which is the only
immutable point in the human heart, what means will you have of
governing the world except by fear? When I am told that, since the
laws are weak and the populace is wild, since passions are excited
and the authority of virtue is paralyzed, no measures must be taken
to increase the rights of the democracy, I reply, that it is for
these very reasons that some measures of the kind must be taken; and
I am persuaded that governments are still more interested in taking
them than society at large, because governments are liable to be
destroyed and society cannot perish.
I am not, however, inclined to exaggerate the example which America
furnishes. In those States the people are invested with political
rights at a time when they could scarcely be abused, for the
citizens were few in number and simple in their manners As they have
increased, the Americans have not augmented the power of the
democracy, but they have, if I may use the expression, extended its
dominions.
It cannot be doubted that the moment at which political rights are
granted to a people that had before been without them is a very
critical, though it be a necessary one. A child may kill before he
is aware of the value of life; and he may deprive another person of
his property before he is aware that his own may be taken away from
him. The lower orders, when first they are invested with political
rights, stand, in relation to those rights, in the same position as
the child does to the whole of nature, and the celebrated adage may
then be applied to them, Homo puer robustus. This truth may even be
perceived in America. The States in which the citizens have enjoyed
their rights longest are those in which they make the best use of
them.
It cannot be repeated too often that nothing is more fertile in
prodigies than the art of being free; but there is nothing more
arduous than the apprenticeship of liberty. Such is not the case
with despotic institutions: despotism often promises to make am ends
for a thousand previous ills; it supports the right, it protects the
oppressed, and it maintains public order. The nation is lulled by
the temporary prosperity which accrues to it, until it is roused to
a sense of its own misery. Liberty, on the contrary, is generally
established in the midst of agitation, it is perfected by civil
discord, and its benefits cannot be appreciated until it is already
old.
Respect For the Law in the United States
Respect of the Americans for the law -- Parental affection which
they entertain for it -- Personal interest of everyone to increase
the authority of the law.
It is not always feasible to consult the whole people, either
directly or indirectly, in the formation of the law; but it cannot
be denied that, when such a measure is possible the authority of the
law is very much augmented. This popular origin, which impairs the
excellence and the wisdom of legislation, contributes prodigiously
to increase its power. There is an amazing strength in the
expression of the determination of a whole people, and when it
declares itself the imagination of those who are most inclined to
contest it is overawed by its authority. The truth of this fact is
very well known by parties, and they consequently strive to make out
a majority whenever they can. If they have not the greater number of
voters on their side, they assert that the true majority abstained
from voting; and if they are foiled even there, they have recourse
to the body of those persons who had no votes to give.
In the United States, except slaves, servants, and paupers in the
receipt of relief from the townships, there is no class of persons
who do not exercise the elective franchise, and who do not
indirectly contribute to make the laws. Those who design to attack
the laws must consequently either modify the opinion of the nation
or trample upon its decision.
A second reason, which is still more weighty, may be further
adduced; in the United States everyone is personally interested in
enforcing the obedience of the whole community to the law; for as
the minority may shortly rally the majority to its principles, it is
interested in professing that respect for the decrees of the
legislator which it may soon have occasion to claim for its own.
However irksome an enactment may be, the citizen of the United
States complies with it, not only because it is the work of the
majority, but because it Originates in his own authority, and he
regards it as a contract to which he is himself a party.
In the United States, then, that numerous and turbulent multitude
does not exist which always looks upon the law as its natural enemy,
and accordingly surveys it with fear and with distrust. It is
impossible, on the other hand, not to perceive that all classes
display the utmost reliance upon the legislation of their country,
and that they are attached to it by a kind of parental affection.
I am wrong, however, in saying all classes; for as in America the
European scale of authority is inverted, the wealthy are there
placed in a position analogous to that of the poor in the Old World,
and it is the opulent classes which frequently look upon the law
with suspicion. I have already observed that the advantage of
democracy is not, as has been sometimes asserted, that it protects
the interests of the whole community, but simply that it protects
those of the majority. In the United States, where the poor rule,
the rich have always some reason to dread the abuses of their power.
This natural anxiety of the rich may produce a sullen
dissatisfaction, but society is not disturbed by it; for the same
reason which induces the rich to withhold their confidence in the
legislative authority makes them obey its mandates; their wealth,
which prevents them from making the law, prevents them from
withstanding it. Amongst civilized nations revolts are rarely
excited, except by such persons as have nothing to lose by them and
if the laws of a democracy are not always worthy of respect, at
least they always obtain it; for those who usually infringe the laws
have no excuse for not complying with the enactments they have
themselves made, and by which they are themselves benefited, whilst
the citizens whose interests might be promoted by the infraction of
them are induced, by their character and their stations, to submit
to the decisions of the legislature, whatever they may be. Besides
which, the people in America obeys the law not only because it
emanates from the popular authority, but because that authority may
modify it in any points which may prove vexatory; a law is observed
because it is a self-imposed evil in the first place, and an evil of
transient duration in the second.
Activity Which Pervades all the Branches of the Body Politic in the
United States; Influence Which It Exercises Upon Society
More difficult to conceive the political activity which pervades the
United States than the freedom and equality which reign there -- The
great activity which perpetually agitates the legislative bodies is
only an episode to the general activity -- Difficult for an American
to confine himself to his own business -- Political agitation
extends to all social intercourse -- Commercial activity of the
Americans partly attributable to this cause -- Indirect advantages
which society derives from a democratic government.
On passing from a country in which free institutions are established
to one where they do not exist, the traveller is struck by the
change; in the former all is bustle and activity, in the latter
everything is calm and motionless. In the one, amelioration and
progress are the general topics of inquiry; in the other, it seems
as if the community only aspired to repose in the enjoyment of the
advantages which it has acquired. Nevertheless, the country which
exerts itself so strenuously to promote its welfare is generally
more wealthy and more prosperous than that which appears to be so
contented with its lot; and when we compare them together, we can
scarcely conceive how so many new wants are daily felt in the
former, whilst so few seem to occur in the latter.
If this remark is applicable to those free countries in which
monarchical and aristocratic institutions subsist, it is still more
striking with regard to democratic republics. In these States it is
not only a portion of the people which is busied with the
amelioration of its social condition, but the whole community is
engaged in the task; and it is not the exigencies and the
convenience of a single class for which a provision is to be made,
but the exigencies and the convenience of all ranks of life.
It is not impossible to conceive the surpassing liberty which the
Americans enjoy; some idea may likewise be formed of the extreme
equality which subsists amongst them, but the political activity
which pervades the United States must be seen in order to be
understood. No sooner do you set foot upon the American soil than
you are stunned by a kind of tumult; a confused clamor is heard on
every side; and a thousand simultaneous voices demand the immediate
satisfaction of their social wants. Everything is in motion around
you; here, the people of one quarter of a town are met to decide
upon the building of a church; there, the election of a
representative is going on; a little further the delegates of a
district are posting to the town in order to consult upon some local
improvements; or in another place the laborers of a village quit
their ploughs to deliberate upon the project of a road or a public
school. Meetings are called for the sole purpose of declaring their
disapprobation of the line of conduct pursued by the Government;
whilst in other assemblies the citizens salute the authorities of
the day as the fathers of their country. Societies are formed which
regard drunkenness as the principal cause of the evils under which
the State labors, and which solemnly bind themselves to give a
constant example of temperance.
The great political agitation of the American legislative bodies,
which is the only kind of excitement that attracts the attention of
foreign countries, is a mere episode or a sort of continuation of
that universal movement which originates in the lowest classes of
the people and extends successively to all the ranks of society. It
is impossible to spend more efforts in the pursuit of enjoyment.
The cares of political life engross a most prominent place in the
occupation of a citizen in the United States, and almost the only
pleasure of which an American has any idea is to take a part in the
Government, and to discuss the part he has taken. This feeling
pervades the most trifling habits of life; even the women frequently
attend public meetings and listen to political harangues as a
recreation after their household labors. Debating clubs are to a
certain extent a substitute for theatrical entertainments: an
American cannot converse, but he can discuss; and when he attempts
to talk he falls into a dissertation. He speaks to you as if he was
addressing a meeting; and if he should chance to warm in the course
of the discussion, he will infallibly say, "Gentlemen," to the
person with whom he is conversing.
In some countries the inhabitants display a certain repugnance to
avail themselves of the political privileges with which the law
invests them; it would seem that they set too high a value upon
their time to spend it on the interests of the community; and they
prefer to withdraw within the exact limits of a wholesome egotism,
marked out by four sunk fences and a quickset hedge. But if an
American were condemned to confine his activity to his own affairs,
he would be robbed of one-half of his existence; he would feel an
immense void in the life which he is accustomed to lead, and his
wretchedness would be unbearable. I am persuaded that, if ever a
despotic government is established in America, it will find it more
difficult to surmount the habits which free institutions have
engendered than to conquer the attachment of the citizens to
freedom.
This ceaseless agitation which democratic government has introduced
into the political world influences all social intercourse. I am not
sure that upon the whole this is not the greatest advantage of
democracy. And I am much less inclined to applaud it for what it
does than for what it causes to be done.
It is incontestable that the people frequently conducts public
business very ill; but it is impossible that the lower orders should
take a part in public business without extending the circle of their
ideas, and without quitting the ordinary routine of their mental
acquirements. The humblest individual who is called upon to
co-operate in the government of society acquires a certain degree of
self-respect; and as he possesses authority, he can command the
services of minds much more enlightened than his own. He is
canvassed by a multitude of applicants, who seek to deceive him in a
thousand different ways, but who instruct him by their deceit. He
takes a part in political undertakings which did not originate in
his own conception, but which give him a taste for undertakings of
the kind. New ameliorations are daily pointed out in the property
which he holds in common with others, and this gives him the desire
of improving that property which is more peculiarly his own. He is
perhaps neither happier nor better than those who came before him,
but he is better informed and more active. I have no doubt that the
democratic institutions of the United States, joined to the physical
constitution of the country, are the cause (not the direct, as is so
often asserted, but the indirect cause) of the prodigious commercial
activity of the inhabitants. It is not engendered by the laws, but
the people learns how to promote it by the experience derived from
legislation.
When the opponents of democracy assert that a single individual
performs the duties which he undertakes much better than the
government of the community, it appears to me that they are
perfectly right. The government of an individual, supposing an
equality of instruction on either side, is more consistent, more
persevering, and more accurate than that of a multitude, and it is
much better qualified judiciously to discriminate the characters of
the men it employs. If any deny what I advance, they have certainly
never seen a democratic government, or have formed' their opinion
upon very partial evidence. It is true that even when local
circumstances and the disposition of the people allow democratic
institutions to subsist, they never display a regular and methodical
system of government. Democratic liberty is far from accomplishing
all the projects it undertakes, with the skill of an adroit
despotism. It frequently abandons them before they have borne their
fruits, or risks them when the consequences may prove dangerous; but
in the end it produces more than any absolute government, and if it
do fewer things well, it does a greater number of things. Under its
sway the transactions of the public administration are not nearly so
important as what is done by private exertion. Democracy does not
confer the most skilful kind of government upon the people, but it
produces that which the most skilful governments are frequently
unable to awaken, namely, an all-pervading and restless activity, a
superabundant force, and an energy which is inseparable from it, and
which may, under favorable circumstances, beget the most amazing
benefits. These are the true advantages of democracy.
In the present age, when the destinies of Christendom seem to be in
suspense, some hasten to assail democracy as its foe whilst it is
yet in its early growth; and others are ready with their vows of
adoration for this new deity which is springing forth from chaos:
but both parties are very imperfectly acquainted with the object of
their hatred or of their desires; they strike in the dark, and
distribute their blows by mere chance.
We must first understand what the purport of society and the aim of
government is held to be. If it be your intention to confer a
certain elevation upon the human mind, and to teach it to regard the
things of this world with generous feelings, to inspire men with a
scorn of mere temporal advantage, to give birth to living
convictions, and to keep alive the spirit of honorable devotedness;
if you hold it to be a good thing to refine the habits, to embellish
the manners, to cultivate the arts of a nation, and to promote the
love of poetry, of beauty, and of renown; if you would constitute a
people not unfitted to act with power upon all other nations, nor
unprepared for those high enterprises which, whatever be the result
of its efforts, will leave a name forever famous in time -- if you
believe such to be the principal object of society, you must avoid
the government of democracy, which would be a very uncertain guide
to the end you have in view.
But if you hold it to be expedient to divert the moral and
intellectual activity of man to the production of comfort, and to
the acquirement of the necessaries of life; if a clear understanding
be more profitable to man than genius; if your object be not to
stimulate the virtues of heroism, but to create habits of peace; if
you had rather witness vices than crimes and are content to meet
with fewer noble deeds, provided offences be diminished in the same
proportion; if, instead of living in the midst of a brilliant state
of society, you are contented to have prosperity around you; if, in
short, you are of opinion that the principal object of a Government
is not to confer the greatest possible share of power and of glory
upon the body of the nation, but to ensure the greatest degree of
enjoyment and the least degree of misery to each of the individuals
who compose it -- if such be your desires, you can have no surer
means of satisfying them than by equalizing the conditions of men,
and establishing democratic institutions.
But if the time be passed at which such a choice was possible, and
if some superhuman power impel us towards one or the other of these
two governments without consulting our wishes, let us at least
endeavor to make the best of that which is allotted to us; and let
us so inquire into its good and its evil propensities as to be able
to foster the former and repress the latter to the utmost.
Chapter 15 Unlimited Power of the Majority in the United States, and
Its Consequences
Natural strength of the majority in democracies -- Most of the
American Constitutions have increased this strength by artificial
means -- How this has been done -- Pledged delegates -- Moral power
of the majority -- Opinion as to its infallibility -- Respect for
its rights, how augmented in the United States.
THE very essence of democratic government consists in the absolute
sovereignty of the majority; for there is nothing in democratic
States which is capable of resisting it. Most of the American
Constitutions have sought to increase this natural strength of the
majority by artificial means.
The legislature is, of all political institutions, the one which is
most easily swayed by the wishes of the majority. The Americans
determined that the members of the legislature should be elected by
the people immediately, and for a very brief term, in order to
subject them, not only to the general convictions, but even to the
daily passions, of their constituents. The members of both houses
are taken from the same class in society, and are nominated in the
same manner; so that the modifications of the legislative bodies are
almost as rapid and quite as irresistible as those of a single
assembly. It is to a legislature thus constituted that almost all
the authority of the government has been entrusted.
But whilst the law increased the strength of those authorities which
of themselves were strong, it enfeebled more and more those which
were naturally weak. It deprived the representatives of the
executive of all stability and independence, and by subjecting them
completely to the caprices of the legislature, it robbed them of the
slender influence which the nature of a democratic government might
have allowed them to retain. In several States the judicial power
was also submitted to the elective discretion of the majority, and
in all of them its existence was made to depend on the pleasure of
the legislative authority, since the representatives were empowered
annually to regulate the stipend of the judges.
Custom, however, has done even more than law. A proceeding which
will in the end set all the guarantees of representative government
at naught is becoming more and more general in the United States; it
frequently happens that the electors, who choose a delegate, point
out a certain line of conduct to him, and impose upon him a certain
number of positive obligations which he is pledged to fulfil. With
the exception of the tumult, this comes to the same thing as if the
majority of the populace held its deliberations in the market-place.
Several other circumstances concur in rendering the power of the
majority in America not only preponderant, but irresistible. The
`moral authority of the majority is partly based upon the notion
that there is more intelligence and more wisdom in a great number of
men collected together than in a single individual, and that the
quantity of legislators is more important than their quality. The
theory of equality is in fact applied to the intellect of man: and
human pride is thus assailed in its last retreat by a doctrine which
the minority hesitate to admit, and in which they very slowly
concur. Like all other powers, and perhaps more than all other
powers, the authority of the many requires the sanction of time; at
first it enforces obedience by constraint, but its laws are not
respected until they have long been maintained.
The right of governing society, which the majority supposes itself
to derive from its superior intelligence, was introduced into the
United States by the first settlers, and this idea, which would be
sufficient of itself to create a free nation, has now been
amalgamated with the manners of the people and the minor incidents
of social intercourse.
The French, under the old monarchy, held it for a maxim (which is
still a fundamental principle of the English Constitution) that the
King could do no wrong; and if he did do wrong, the blame was
imputed to his advisers. This notion was highly favorable to habits
of obedience, and it enabled the subject to complain of the law
without ceasing to love and honor the lawgiver. The Americans
entertain the same opinion with respect to the majority.
The moral power of the majority is founded upon yet another
principle, which is, that the interests of the many are to be
preferred to those of flee few. It will readily be perceived that
the respect here professed for the rights of the majority must
naturally increase or diminish according to the state of parties.
When a nation is divided into several irreconcilable factions, the
privilege of the majority is often overlooked, because it is
intolerable to comply with its demands.
If there existed in America a class of citizens whom the legislating
majority sought to deprive of exclusive privileges which they had
possessed for ages, and to bring down from an elevated station to
the level of the ranks of the multitude, it is probable that the
minority would be less ready to comply with its laws. But as the
United States were colonized by men holding equal rank amongst
themselves, there is as yet no natural or permanent source of
dissension between the interests of its different inhabitants.
There are certain communities in which the persons who constitute
the minority can never hope to draw over the majority to their side,
because they must then give up the very point which is at issue
between them. Thus, an aristocracy can never become a majority
whilst it retains its exclusive privileges, and it cannot cede its
privileges without ceasing to be an aristocracy.
In the United States political questions cannot be taken up in so
general and absolute a manner, and all parties are willing to
recognize the rights of the majority, because they all hope to turn
those rights to their own advantage at some future time. The
majority therefore in that country exercises a prodigious actual
authority, and a moral influence which is scarcely less
preponderant; no obstacles exist which can impede or so much as
retard its progress, or which can induce it to heed the complaints
of those whom it crushes upon its path. This state of things is
fatal in itself and dangerous for the future.
How the Unlimited Power of the Majority Increases in America the
Instability of Legislation and Administration Inherent in Democracy
The Americans increase the mutability of the laws which is inherent
in democracy by changing the legislature every year, and by
investing it with unbounded authority -- The same effect is produced
upon the administration -- In America social amelioration is
conducted more energetically but less perseveringly than in Europe.
I have already spoken of the natural defects of democratic
institutions, and they all of them increase at the exact ratio of
the power of the majority. To begin with the most evident of them
all; the mutability of the laws is an evil inherent in democratic
government, because it is natural to democracies to raise men to
power in very rapid succession. But this evil is more or less
sensible in proportion to the authority and the means of action
which the legislature possesses.
In America the authority exercised by the legislative bodies is
supreme; nothing prevents them from accomplishing their wishes with
celerity, and with irresistible power, whilst they are supplied by
new representatives every year. That is to say, the circumstances
which contribute most powerfully to democratic instability, and
which admit of the free application of caprice to every object in
the State, are here in full operation. In conformity with this
principle, America is, at the present day, the country in the world
where laws last the shortest time. Almost all the American
constitutions have been amended within the course of thirty years:
there is therefore not a single American State which has not
modified the principles of its legislation in that lapse of time. As
for the laws themselves, a single glance upon the archives of the
different States of the Union suffices to convince one that in
America the activity of the legislator never slackens. Not that the
American democracy is naturally less stable than any other, but that
it is allowed to follow its capricious propensities in the formation
of the laws.
The omnipotence of the majority, and the rapid as well as absolute
manner in which its decisions are executed in the United States, has
not only the effect of rendering the law unstable, but it exercises
the same influence upon the execution of the law and the conduct of
the public administration. As the majority is the only power which
it is important to court, all its projects are taken up with the
greatest ardor, but no sooner is its attention distracted than all
this ardor ceases whilst in the free States of Europe the
administration is at once independent and secure, so that the
projects of the legislature are put into execution, although its
immediate attention may be directed to other objects.
In America certain ameliorations are undertaken with much more zeal
and activity than elsewhere; in Europe the same ends are promoted by
much less social effort, more continuously applied.
Some years ago several pious individuals undertook to ameliorate the
condition of the prisons. The public was excited by the statements
which they put forward, and flee regeneration of criminals became a
very popular undertaking. New prisons were built, and for the first
time the idea of reforming as well as of punishing the delinquent
formed a part of prison discipline. But this happy alteration, in
which the public had taken so hearty an interest, and which the
exertions of the citizens had irresistibly accelerated, could not be
completed in a moment. Whilst the new penitentiaries were being
erected (and it was the pleasure of the majority that they should be
terminated with all possible celerity), the old prisons existed,
which still contained a great number of offenders. These jails
became more unwholesome and more corrupt in proportion as the new
establishments were beautified and improved, forming a contrast
which may readily be understood. The majority was so eagerly
employed in founding the new prisons that those which already
existed were forgotten; and as the general attention was diverted to
a novel object, the care which had hitherto been bestowed upon the
others ceased. The salutary regulations of discipline were first
relaxed, and afterwards broken; so that in the immediate
neighborhood of a prison which bore witness to the mild and
enlightened spirit of our time, dungeons might be mat with which
reminded the visitor of the barbarity of the Middle Ages.
Tyranny of the Majority
How the principle of the sovereignty of the people is to be
understood -- Impossibility of conceiving a mixed government -- The
sovereign power must centre somewhere -- Precautions to be taken to
control its action -- These precautions have not been taken in the
United States -- Consequences.
I hold it to be an impious and an execrable maxim that, politically
speaking, a people has a right to do whatsoever it pleases, and yet
I have asserted that all authority originates in the will of the
majority. Am I then, in contradiction with myself?
A general law -- which bears the name of Justice -- has been made
and sanctioned, not only by a majority of this or that people, but
by a majority of mankind. The rights of every people are
consequently confined within the limits of what is just. A nation
may be considered in the light of a jury which is empowered to
represent society at large, and to apply the great and general law
of justice. Ought such a jury, which represents society, to have
more power than the society in which the laws it applies originate?
When I refuse to obey an unjust law, I do not contest the right
which the majority has of commanding, but I simply appeal from the
sovereignty of the people to the sovereignty of mankind. It has been
asserted that a people can never entirely outstep the boundaries of
justice and of reason in those affairs which are more peculiarly its
own, and that consequently full power may fearlessly be given to the
majority by which it is represented. But this language is that of a
slave.
A majority taken collectively may be regarded as a being whose
opinions, and most frequently whose interests, are opposed to those
of another being, which is styled a minority. If it be admitted that
a man, possessing absolute power, may misuse that power by wronging
his adversaries, why should a majority not be liable to the same
reproach? Men are not apt to change their characters by
agglomeration; nor does their patience in the presence of obstacles
increase with the consciousness of their strength. And for these
reasons I can never willingly invest any number of my
fellow-creatures with that unlimited authority which I should refuse
to any one of them.
I do not think that it is possible to combine several principles in
the same government, so as at the same time to maintain freedom, and
really to oppose them to one another. The form of government which
is usually termed mixed has always appeared to me to be a mere
chimera. Accurately speaking there is no such thing as a mixed
government (with the meaning usually given to that word), because in
all communities some one principle of action may be discovered which
preponderates over the others. England in the last century, which
has been more especially cited as an example of this form of
Government, was in point of fact an essentially aristocratic State,
although it comprised very powerful elements of democracy; for the
laws and customs of the country were such that the aristocracy could
not but preponderate in the end, and subject the direction of public
affairs to its own will. The error arose from too much attention
being paid to the actual struggle which was going on between the
nobles and the people, without considering the probable issue of the
contest, which was in reality the important point. When a community
really has a mixed government, that is to say, when it is equally
divided between two adverse principles, it must either pass through
a revolution or fall into complete dissolution.
I am therefore of opinion that some one social power must always be
made to predominate over the others; but I think that liberty is
endangered when this power is checked by no obstacles which may
retard its course, and force it to moderate its own vehemence.
Unlimited power is in itself a bad and dangerous thing; human beings
are not competent to exercise it with discretion, and God alone can
be omnipotent, because His wisdom and His justice are always equal
to His power. But no power upon earth is so worthy of honor for
itself, or of reverential obedience to the rights which it
represents, that I would consent to admit its uncontrolled and
all-predominant authority. When I see that the right and the means
of absolute command are conferred on a people or upon a king, upon
an aristocracy or a democracy, a monarchy or a republic, I recognize
the germ of tyranny, and I journey onward to a land of more hopeful
institutions.
In my opinion the main evil of the present democratic institutions
of the United States does not arise, as is often asserted in Europe,
from their weakness, but from their overpowering strength; and I am
not so much alarmed at the excessive liberty which reigns in that
country as at the very inadequate securities which exist against
tyranny.
When an individual or a party is wronged in the United States, to
whom can he apply for redress? If to public opinion, public opinion
constitutes the majority; if to the legislature, it represents the
majority, and implicitly obeys its injunctions; if to the executive
power, it is appointed by the majority, and remains a passive tool
in its hands; the public troops consist of the majority under arms;
the jury is the majority invested with the right of hearing judicial
cases; and in certain States even the judges are elected by the
majority. However iniquitous or absurd the evil of which you
complain may be, you must submit to it as well as you can.
If, on the other hand, a legislative power could be so constituted
as to represent the majority without necessarily being the slave of
its passions; an executive, so as to retain a certain degree of
uncontrolled authority; and a judiciary, so as to remain independent
of the two other powers; a government would be formed which would
still be democratic without incurring any risk of tyrannical abuse.
I do not say that tyrannical abuses frequently occur in America at
the present day, but I maintain that no sure barrier is established
against them, and that the causes which mitigate the government are
to be found in the circumstances and the manners of the country more
than in its laws.
Effects of the Unlimited Power of the Majority Upon the Arbitrary
Authority of the American Public Officers
Liberty left by the American laws to public officers within a
certain sphere -- Their power.
A distinction must be drawn between tyranny and arbitrary power.
Tyranny may be exercised by means of the law, and in that case it is
not arbitrary; arbitrary power may be exercised for the good of the
community at large, in which case it is not tyrannical. Tyranny
usually employs arbitrary means, but, if necessary, it can rule
without them.
In the United States the unbounded power of the majority, which is
favorable to the legal despotism of the legislature, is likewise
favorable to the arbitrary authority of the magistrate. The majority
has an entire control over the law when it is made and when it is
executed; and as it possesses an equal authority over those who are
in power and the community at large, it considers public officers as
its passive agents, and readily confides the task of serving its
designs to their vigilance. The details of their office and the
privileges which they are to enjoy are rarely defined beforehand;
but the majority treats them as a master does his servants when they
are always at work in his sight, and he has the power of directing
or reprimanding them at every instant.
In general the American functionaries are far more independent than
the French civil officers within the sphere which is prescribed to
them. Sometimes, even, they are allowed by the popular authority to
exceed those bounds; and as they are protected by the opinion, and
backed by the co-operation, of the majority, they venture upon such
manifestations of their power as astonish a European. By this means
habits are formed in the heart of a free country which may some day
prove fatal to its liberties.
Power Exercised by the Majority in America Upon Opinion
In America, when the majority has once irrevocably decided a
question, all discussion ceases -- Reason of this -- Moral power
exercised by the majority upon opinion -- Democratic republics have
deprived despotism of its physical instruments -- Their despotism
sways the minds of men.
It is in the examination of the display of public opinion in the
United States that we clearly perceive how far the power of the
majority surpasses all the powers with which we are acquainted in
Europe. Intellectual principles exercise an influence which is so
invisible, and often so inappreciable, that they baffle the toils of
oppression. At the present time the most absolute monarchs in Europe
are unable to prevent certain notions, which are opposed to their
authority, from circulating in secret throughout their dominions,
and even in their courts. Such is not the case in America; as long
as the majority is still undecided, discussion is carried on; but as
soon as its decision is irrevocably pronounced, a submissive silence
is observed, and the friends, as well as the opponents, of the
measure unite in assenting to its propriety. The reason of this is
perfectly clear: no monarch is so absolute as to combine all the
powers of society in his own hands, and to conquer all opposition
with the energy of a majority which is invested with the right of
making and of executing the laws.
The authority of a king is purely physical, and it controls the
actions of the subject without subduing his private will; but the
majority possesses a power which is physical and moral at the same
time; it acts upon the will as well as upon the actions of men, and
it represses not only all contest, but all controversy.
I know no country in which there is so little true in dependence of
mind and freedom of discussion as in America. In any constitutional
state in Europe every sort of religious and political theory may be
advocated and propagated abroad; for there is no country in Europe
so subdued by any single authority as not to contain citizens who
are ready to protect the man who raises his voice in the cause of
truth from the consequences of his hardihood. If he is unfortunate
enough to live under an absolute government, the people is upon his
side; if he inhabits a free country, he may find a shelter behind
the authority of the throne, if he require one. The aristocratic
part of society supports him in some countries, and the democracy in
others. But in a nation where democratic institutions exist,
organized like those of the United States, there is but one sole
authority, one single element of strength and of success, with
nothing beyond it.
In America the majority raises very formidable barriers to the
liberty of opinion: within these barriers an author may write
whatever he pleases, but he will repent it if he ever step beyond
them. Not that he is exposed to the terrors of an auto-da-fe, but he
is tormented by the slights and persecutions of daily obloquy. His
political career is closed forever, since he has offended the only
authority which is able to promote his success. Every sort of
compensation, even that of celebrity, is refused to him. Before he
published his opinions he imagined that he held them in common with
many others; but no sooner has he declared them openly than he is
loudly censured by his overbearing opponents, whilst those who think
without having the courage to speak, like him, abandon him in
silence. He yields at length, oppressed by the daily efforts he has
been making, and he subsides into silence, as if he was tormented by
remorse for having spoken the truth.
Fetters and headsmen were the coarse instruments which tyranny
formerly employed; but the civilization of our age has refined the
arts of depotism which seemed, however, to have been sufficiently
perfected before. The excesses of monarchical power had devised a
variety of physical means of oppression: the democratic republics of
the present day have rendered it as entirely an affair of the mind
as that will which it is intended to coerce. Under the absolute sway
of an individual despot the body was attacked in order to subdue the
soul, and the soul escaped the blows which were directed against it
and rose superior to the attempt; but such is not the course adopted
by tyranny in democratic republics; there the body is left free, and
the soul is enslaved. The sovereign can no longer Say, " You shall
think as I do on pain of death;" but he says, "You are free to think
differently from me, and to retain your life, your property, and all
that you possess; but if such be your determination, you are
henceforth an alien among your people. You may retain your civil
rights, but they will be useless to you, for you will never be
chosen by your fellow-citizens if you solicit their suffrages, and
they will affect to scorn you if you solicit their esteem. You will
remain among men, but you will be deprived of the rights of mankind.
Your fellow-creatures will shun you like an impure being, and those
who are most persuaded of your innocence will abandon you too, lest
they should be shunned in their turn. Go in peace! I have given you
your life, but it is an existence incomparably worse than death."
Monarchical institutions have thrown an odium upon despotism; let us
beware lest democratic republics should restore oppression, and
should render it less odious and less degrading in the eyes of the
many, by making it still more onerous to the few.
Works have been published in the proudest nations of the Old World
expressly intended to censure the vices and deride the follies of
the times: Labruyere inhabited the palace of Louis XIV when he
composed his chapter upon the Great, and Moliere criticised the
courtiers in the very pieces which were acted before the Court. But
the ruling power in the United States is not to be made game of; the
smallest reproach irritates its sensibility, and the slightest joke
which has any foundation in truth renders it indignant; from the
style of its language to the more solid virtues of its character,
everything must be made the subject of encomium. No writer, whatever
be his eminence, can escape from this tribute of adulation to his
fellow-citizens. The majority lives in the perpetual practice of
self-applause, and there are certain truths which the Americans can
only learn from strangers or from experience.
If great writers have not at present existed in America, the reason
is very simply given in these facts; there can be no literary genius
without freedom of opinion, and freedom of opinion does not exist in
America. The Inquisition has never been able to prevent a vast
number of anti-religious books from circulating in Spain. The empire
of the majority succeeds much better in the United States, since it
actually removes the wish of publishing them. Unbelievers are to be
met with in America, but, to say the truth, there is no public organ
of infidelity. Attempts have been made by some governments to
protect the morality of nations by prohibiting licentious books. In
the United States no one is punished for this sort of works, but no
one is induced to write them; not because all the citizens are
immaculate in their manners, but because the majority of the
community is decent and orderly.
In these cases the advantages derived from the exercise of this
power are unquestionable, and I am simply discussing the nature of
the power itself. This irresistible authority is a constant fact,
and its judicious exercise is an accidental occurrence.
Effects of the Tyranny of the Majority Upon the National Character
of the Americans
Effects of the tyranny of the majority more sensibly felt hitherto
in the manners than in the conduct of society -- They check the
development of leading characters -- Democratic republics organized
like the United States bring the practice of courting favor within
the reach of the many -- Proofs of this spirit in the United States
-- Why there is more patriotism in the people than in those who
govern in its name.
The tendencies which I have just alluded to are as yet very slightly
perceptible in political society, but they already begin to exercise
an unfavorable influence upon the national character of the
Americans. I am inclined to attribute the singular paucity of
distinguished political characters to the ever-increasing activity
of the despotism of the majority in the United States. When the
American Revolution broke out they arose in great numbers, for
public opinion then served, not to tyrannize over, but to direct the
exertions of individuals. Those celebrated men took a full part in
the general agitation of mind common at that period, and they
attained a high degree of personal fame, which was reflected back
upon the nation, but which was by no means borrowed from it.
In absolute governments the great nobles who are nearest to the
throne flatter the passions of the Sovereign, and voluntarily
truckle to his caprices. But the mass of the nation does not degrade
itself by servitude: it often submits from weakness, from habit, or
from ignorance, and sometimes from loyalty. Some nations have been
known to sacrifice their own desires to those of the sovereign with
pleasure and with pride, thus exhibiting a sort of independence in
the very act of submission. These peoples are miserable, but they
are not degraded. There is a great difference between doing what one
does not approve and feigning to approve what one does; the one is
the necessary case of a weak person, the other befits the temper of
a lackey.
In free countries, where everyone is more or less called upon to
give his opinion in the affairs of state; in democratic republics,
where public life is incessantly commingled with domestic affairs,
where the sovereign authority is accessible on every side, and where
its attention can almost always be attracted by vociferation, more
persons are to be met with who speculate upon its foibles and live
at the cost of its passions than in absolute monarchies. Not because
men are naturally worse in these States than elsewhere, but the
temptation is stronger, and of easier access at the same time. The
result is a far more extensive debasement of the characters of
citizens.
Democratic republics extend the practice of currying favor with the
many, and they introduce it into a greater number of classes at
once: this is one of the most serious reproaches that can be
addressed to them. In democratic States organized on the principles
of the American republics, this is more especially the case, where
the authority of the majority is so absolute and so irresistible
that a man must give up his rights as a citizen, and almost abjure
his quality as a human being, if he intends to stray from the track
which it lays down.
In that immense crowd which throngs the avenues to power in the
United States I found very few men who displayed any of that manly
candor and that masculine independence of opinion which frequently
distinguished the Americans in former times, and which constitutes
the leading feature in distinguished characters, wheresoever they
may be found. It seems, at first sight, as if all the minds of the
Americans were formed upon one model, so accurately do they
correspond in their manner of judging. A stranger does, indeed,
sometimes meet with Americans who dissent from these rigorous
formularies; with men who deplore the defects of the laws, the
mutability and the ignorance of democracy; who even go so far as to
observe the evil tendencies which impair the national character, and
to point out such remedies as it might be possible to apply; but no
one is there to hear these things besides yourself, and you, to whom
these secret reflections are confided, are a stranger and a bird of
passage. They are very ready to communicate truths which are useless
to you, but they continue to hold a different language in public.
If ever these lines are read in America, I am well assured of two
things: in the first place, that all who peruse them will raise
their voices to condemn me; and in the second place, that very many
of them will acquit me at the bottom of their conscience.
I have heard of patriotism in the United States, and it is a virtue
which may be found among the people, but never among the leaders of
the people. This may be explained by analogy; despotism debases the
oppressed much more than the oppressor: in absolute monarchies the
king has often great virtues, but the courtiers are invariably
servile. It is true that the American courtiers do not say "Sire,"
or "Your Majesty" -- a distinction without a difference. They are
forever talking of the natural intelligence of the populace they
serve; they do not debate the question as to which of the virtues of
their master is pre-eminently worthy of admiration, for they assure
him that he possesses all the virtues under heaven without having
acquired them, or without caring to acquire them; they do not give
him their daughters and their wives to be raised at his pleasure to
the rank of his concubines, but, by sacrificing their opinions, they
prostitute themselves. Moralists and philosophers in America are not
obliged to conceal their opinions under the veil of allegory; but,
before they venture upon a harsh truth, they say, "We are aware that
the people which we are addressing is too superior to all the
weaknesses of human nature to lose the command of its temper for an
instant; and we should not hold this language if we were not
speaking to men whom their virtues and their intelligence render
more worthy of freedom than all the rest of the world." It would
have been impossible for the sycophants of Louis XIV to flatter more
dexterously. For my part, I am persuaded that in all governments,
whatever their nature may be, servility will cower to force, and
adulation will cling to power. The only means of preventing men from
degrading themselves is to invest no one with that unlimited
authority which is the surest method of debasing them.
The Greatest Dangers of the American Republics Proceed From the
Unlimited Power of the Majority
Democratic republics liable to perish from a misuse of their power,
and not by impotence -- The Governments of the American republics
are more centralized and more energetic than those of the monarchies
of Europe -- Dangers resulting from this -- Opinions of Hamilton and
Jefferson upon this point.
Governments usually fall a sacrifice to impotence or to tyranny. In
the former case their power escapes from them; it is wrested from
their grasp in the latter. Many observers, who have witnessed the
anarchy of democratic States, have imagined that the government of
those States was naturally weak and impotent. The truth is, that
when once hostilities are begun between parties, the government
loses its control over society. But I do not think that a democratic
power is naturally without force or without resources: say, rather,
that it is almost always by the abuse of its force and the
misemployment of its resources that a democratic government fails.
Anarchy is almost always produced by its tyranny or its mistakes,
but not by its want of strength.
It is important not to confound stability with force, or the
greatness of a thing with its duration. In democratic republics, the
power which directs the society is not stable; for it often changes
hands and assumes a new direction. But whichever way it turns, its
force is almost irresistible. The Governments of the American
republics appear to me to be as much centralized as those of the
absolute monarchies of Europe, and more energetic than they are. I
do not, therefore, imagine that they will perish from weakness.
If ever the free institutions of America are destroyed, that event
may be attributed to the unlimited authority of the majority, which
may at some future time urge the minorities to desperation, and
oblige them to have recourse to physical force. Anarchy will then be
the result, but it will have been brought about by despotism.
Mr. Hamilton expresses the same opinion in the "Federalist," No. 51.
"It is of great importance in a republic not only to guard the
society against the oppression of its rulers, but to guard one part
of the society against the injustice of the other part. Justice is
the end of government. It is the end of civil society. It ever has
been, and ever will be, pursued until it be obtained, or until
liberty be lost in the pursuit. In a society, under the forms of
which the stronger faction can readily unite and oppress the weaker,
anarchy may as truly be said to reign as in a state of nature, where
the weaker individual is not secured against the violence of the
stronger: and as in the latter state even the stronger individuals
are prompted by the uncertainty of their condition to submit to a
government which may protect the weak as well as themselves, so in
the former state will the more powerful factions be gradually
induced by a like motive to wish for a government which will protect
all parties, the weaker as well as the more powerful. It can be
little doubted that, if the State of Rhode Island was separated from
the Confederacy and left to itself, the insecurity of right under
the popular form of government within such narrow limits would be
displayed by such reiterated oppressions of the factious majorities,
that some power altogether independent of the people would soon be
called for by the voice of the very factions whose misrule had
proved the necessity of it."
Jefferson has also thus expressed himself in a letter to Madison:
"The executive power in our Government is not the only, perhaps not
even the principal, abject of my solicitude. The tyranny of the
Legislature is really the danger most to be feared, and will
continue to be so for many years to come. The tyranny of the
executive power will come in its turn, but at a more distant
period." I am glad to cite the opinion of Jefferson upon this
subject rather than that of another, because I consider him to be
the most powerful advocate democracy has ever sent forth.
Chapter 16 Causes Which Mitigate the Tyranny of the Majority in the
United States
Absence of Central Administration
The national majority does not pretend to conduct all business -- Is
obliged to employ the town and county magistrates to execute its
supreme decisions.
I HAVE already pointed out the distinction which is to be made
between a centralized government and a centralized administration.
The former exists in America, but the latter is nearly unknown
there. If the directing power of the American communities had both
these instruments of government at its disposal, and united the
habit of executing its own commands to the right of commanding; if,
after having established the general principles of government, it
descended to the details of public business; and if, having
regulated the great interests of the country, it could penetrate
into the privacy of individual interests, freedom would soon be
banished from the New World.
But in the United States the majority, which so frequently displays
the tastes and the propensities of a de spot, is still destitute of
the more perfect instruments of tyranny. In the American republics
the activity of the central Government has never as yet been
extended beyond a limited number of objects sufficiently prominent
to call forth its attention. The secondary affairs of society have
never been regulated by its authority, and nothing has hitherto
betrayed its desire of interfering in them. The majority is become
more and more absolute, but it has not increased the prerogatives of
the central government; those great prerogatives have been confined
to a certain sphere; and although the despotism of the majority may
be galling upon one point, it cannot be said to extend to all.
However the predominant party in the nation may be carried away by
its passions, however ardent it may be in the pursuit of its
projects, it cannot oblige all the citizens to comply with its
desires in the same manner and at the same time throughout the
country. When the central Government which represents that majority
has issued a decree, it must entrust the execution of its will to
agents, over whom it frequently has no control, and whom it cannot
perpetually direct. The townships, municipal bodies, and counties
may therefore be looked upon as concealed break-waters, which check
or part the tide of popular excitement. If an oppressive law were
passed, the liberties of the people would still be protected by the
means by which that law would be put in execution: the majority
cannot descend to the details and (as I will venture to style them)
the puerilities of administrative tyranny. Nor does the people
entertain that full consciousness of its authority which would
prompt it to interfere in these matters; it knows the extent of its
natural powers, but it is unacquainted with the increased resources
which the art of government might furnish.
This point deserves attention, for if a democratic republic similar
to that of the United States were ever founded in a country where
the power of a single individual had previously subsisted, and the
effects of a centralized administration had sunk deep into the
habits and the laws of the people, I do not hesitate to assert, that
in that country a more insufferable despotism would prevail than any
which now exists in the monarchical States of Europe, or indeed than
any which could be found on this side of the confines of Asia.
The Profession of the Law in the United States Serves to
Counterpoise the Democracy
Utility of discriminating the natural propensities of the members of
the legal profession -- These men called upon to act a prominent
part in future society -- In what manner the peculiar pursuits of
lawyers give an aristocratic turn to their ideas -- Accidental
causes which may check this tendency -- Ease with which the
aristocracy coalesces with legal men -- Use of lawyers to a despot
-- The profession of the law constitutes the only aristocratic
element with which the natural elements of democracy will combine --
Peculiar causes which tend to give an aristocratic turn of mind to
the English and American lawyers -- The aristocracy of America is on
the bench and at the bar -- Influence of lawyers upon American
society -- Their peculiar magisterial habits affect the legislature,
the administration, and even the people.
In visiting the Americans and in studying their laws we perceive
that the authority they have entrusted to members of the legal
profession, and the influence which these individuals exercise in
the Government, is the most powerful existing security against the
excesses of democracy. This effect seems to me to result from a
general cause which it is useful to investigate, since it may
produce analogous consequences elsewhere.
The members of the legal profession have taken an important part in
all the vicissitudes of political society in Europe during the last
five hundred years. At one time they have been the instruments of
those who were invested with political authority, and at another
they have succeeded in converting political authorities into their
instrument. In the Middle Ages they afforded a powerful support to
the Crown, and since that period they have exerted themselves to the
utmost to limit the royal prerogative. In England they have
contracted a close alliance with the aristocracy; in France they
have proved to be the most dangerous enemies of that class. It is my
object to inquire whether, under all these circumstances, the
members of the legal profession have been swayed by sudden and
momentary impulses; or whether they have been impelled by principles
which are inherent in their pursuits, and which will always recur in
history. I am incited to this investigation by reflecting that this
particular class of men will most likely play a prominent part in
that order of things to which the events of our time are giving
birth.
Men who have more especially devoted themselves to legal pursuits
derive from those occupations certain habits of order, a taste for
formalities, and a kind of instinctive regard for the regular
connection of ideas, which naturally render them very hostile to the
revolutionary spirit and the unreflecting passions of the multitude.
The special information which lawyers derive from their studies
ensures them a separate station in society, and they constitute a
sort of privileged body in the scale of intelligence. This notion of
their superiority perpetually recurs to them in the practice of
their profession: they are the masters of a science which is
necessary, but which is not very generally known; they serve as
arbiters between the citizens; and the habit of directing the blind
passions of parties in litigation to their purpose inspires them
with a certain contempt for the judgment of the multitude. To this
it may be added that they naturally constitute a body, not by any
previous understanding, or by an agreement which directs them to a
common end; but the analogy of their studies and the uniformity of
their proceedings connect their minds together, as much as a common
interest could combine their endeavors.
A portion of the tastes and of the habits of the aristocracy may
consequently be discovered in the characters of men in the
profession of the law. They participate in the same instinctive love
of order and of formalities; and they entertain the same repugnance
to the actions of the multitude, and the same secret contempt of the
government of the people. I do not mean to say that the natural
propensities of lawyers are sufficiently strong to sway them
irresistibly; for they, like most other men, are governed by their
private interests and the advantages of the moment.
In a state of society in which the members of the legal profession
are prevented from holding that rank in the political world which
they enjoy in private life, we may rest assured that they will be
the foremost agents of revolution. But it must then be inquired
whether the cause which induces them to innovate and to destroy is
accidental, or whether it belongs to some lasting purpose which they
entertain. It is true that lawyers mainly contributed to the
overthrow of the French monarchy in 1789; but it remains to be seen
whether they acted thus because they had studied the laws, or
because they were prohibited from co-operating in the work of
legislation.
Five hundred years ago the English nobles headed the people, and
spoke in its name; at the present time the aristocracy supports the
throne, and defends the royal prerogative. But aristocracy has,
notwithstanding this, its peculiar instincts and propensities. We
must be careful not to confound isolated members of a body with the
body itself. In all free governments, of whatsoever form they may
be, members of the legal profession will be found at the head of all
parties. The same remark is also applicable to the aristocracy; for
almost all the democratic convulsions which have agitated the world
have been directed by nobles.
A privileged body can never satisfy the ambition of all its members;
it has always more talents and more passions to content and to
employ than it can find places; so that a considerable number of
individuals are usually to be met with who are inclined to attack
those very privileges which they find it impossible to turn to their
own account.
I do not, then, assert that all the members of the legal profession
are at all times the friends of order and the opponents of
innovation, but merely that most of them usually are so. In a
Community in which lawyers are allowed to occupy, without
opposition, that high station which naturally belongs to them, their
general spirit will be eminently conservative and antidemocratic.
When an aristocracy excludes the leaders of that profession from its
ranks, it excites enemies which are the more formidable to its
security as they are independent of the nobility by their
industrious pursuits; and they feel themselves to be its equal in
point of intelligence, although they enjoy less opulence and less
power. But whenever an aristocracy consents to impart some of its
privileges to these same individuals, the two classes coalesce very
readily, and assume, as it were, the consistency of a single order
of family interests.
I am, in like manner, inclined to believe that a monarch will always
be able to convert legal practitioners into the most serviceable
instruments of his authority. There is a far greater affinity
between this class of individuals and the executive power than there
is between them and the people; just as there is a greater natural
affinity between the nobles and the monarch than between the nobles
and the people, although the higher orders of society have
occasionally resisted the prerogative of the Crown in concert with
the lower classes.
Lawyers are attached to public order beyond every other
consideration, and the best security of public order is authority.
It must not be forgotten that, if they prize the free institutions
of their country much, they nevertheless value the legality of those
institutions far more: they are less afraid of tyranny than of
arbitrary power; and provided that the legislature take upon itself
to deprive men of their independence, they are not dissatisfied.
I am therefore convinced that the prince who, in presence of an
encroaching democracy, should endeavor to impair the judicial
authority in his dominions, and to diminish the political influence
of lawyers, would commit a great mistake. He would let slip the
substance of authority to grasp at the shadow. He would act more
wisely in introducing men connected with the law into the
government; and if he entrusted them with the conduct of a despotic
power, bearing some marks of violence, that power would most likely
assume the external features of justice and of legality in their
hands.
The government of democracy is favorable to the political power of
lawyers; for when the wealthy, the noble, and the prince are
excluded from the government, they are sure to occupy the highest
stations, in their own right, as it were, since they are the only
men of information and sagacity, beyond the sphere of the people,
who can be the object of the popular choice. If, then, they are led
by their tastes to combine with the aristocracy and to support the
Crown, they are naturally brought into contact with the people by
their interests. They like the government of democracy, without
participating in its propensities and without imitating its
weaknesses; whence they derive a two fold authority, from it and
over it. The people in democratic states does not mistrust the
members of the legal profession, because it is well known that they
are interested in serving the popular cause; and it listens to them
without irritation, because it does not attribute to them any
sinister designs. The object of lawyers is not, indeed, to overthrow
the institutions of democracy, but they constantly endeavor to give
it an impulse which diverts it from its real tendency, by means
which are foreign to its nature. Lawyers belong to the people by
birth and interest, to the aristocracy by habit and by taste, and
they may be looked upon as the natural bond and connecting link of
the two great classes of society.
The profession of the law is the only aristocratic element which can
be amalgamated without violence with the natural elements of
democracy, and which can be advantageously and permanently combined
with them. I am not unacquainted with the defects which are inherent
in the character of that body of men; but without this admixture of
lawyer-like sobriety with the democratic principle, I question
whether democratic institutions could long be maintained, and I
cannot believe that a republic could subsist at the present time if
the influence of lawyers in public business did not increase in
proportion to the power of the people.
This aristocratic character, which I hold to be common to the legal
profession, is much more distinctly marked in the United States and
in England than in any other country. This proceeds not only from
the legal studies of the English and American lawyers, but from the
nature of the legislation, and the position which those persons
occupy in the two countries. The English and the Americans have
retained the law of precedents; that is to say, they continue to
found their legal opinions and the decisions of their courts upon
the opinions and the decisions of their forefathers. In the mind of
an English or American lawyer a taste and a reverence for what is
old is almost always united to a love of regular and lawful
proceedings.
This predisposition has another effect upon the character of the
legal profession and upon the general course of society. The English
and American lawyers investigate what has been done; the French
advocate inquires what should have been done; the former produce
precedents, the latter reasons. A French observer is surprised to
hear how often an English or an American lawyer quotes the opinions
of others, and how little he alludes to his own; whilst the reverse
occurs in France. There the most trifling litigation is never
conducted without the introduction of an entire system of ideas
peculiar to the counsel employed; and the fundamental principles of
law are discussed in order to obtain a perch of land by the decision
of the court. This abnegation of his own opinion, and this implicit
deference to the opinion of his forefathers, which are common to the
English and American lawyer, this subjection of thought which he is
obliged to profess, necessarily give him more timid habits and more
sluggish inclinations in England and America than in France.
The French codes are often difficult of comprehension, but they can
be read by every one; nothing, on the other hand, can be more
impenetrable to the uninitiated than a legislation founded upon
precedents. The indispensable want of legal assistance which is felt
in England and in the United States, and the high opinion which is
generally entertained of the ability of the legal profession, tend
to separate it more and more from the people, and to place it in a
distinct class. The French lawyer is simply a man extensively
acquainted with the statutes of his country; but the English or
American lawyer resembles the hierophants of Egypt, for, like them,
he is the sole interpreter of an occult science.
The station which lawyers occupy in England and America exercises no
less an influence upon their habits and their opinions. The English
aristocracy, which has taken care to attract to its sphere whatever
is at all analogous to itself, has conferred a high degree of
importance and of authority upon the members of the legal
profession. In English society lawyers do not occupy the first rank,
but they are contented with the station assigned to them; they
constitute, as it were, the younger branch of the English
aristocracy, and they are attached to their elder brothers, although
they do not enjoy all their privileges. The English lawyers
consequently mingle the taste and the ideas of the aristocratic
circles in which they move with the aristocratic interests of their
profession.
And indeed the lawyer-like character which I am endeavoring to
depict is most distinctly to be met with in England: there laws are
esteemed not so much because they are good as because they are old;
and if it be necessary to modify them in any respect, or to adapt
them to the changes which time operates in society, recourse is had
to the most inconceivable contrivances in order to uphold the
traditionary fabric, and to maintain that nothing has been done
which does not square with the intentions and complete the labors of
former generations. The very individuals who conduct these changes
disclaim all intention of innovation, and they had rather resort to
absurd expedients than plead guilty to so great a crime. This spirit
appertains more especially to the English lawyers; they seem
indifferent to the real meaning of what they treat, and they direct
all their attention to the letter, seeming inclined to infringe the
rules of common sense and of humanity rather than to swerve one
tittle from the law. The English legislation may be compared to the
stock of an old tree, upon which lawyers have engrafted the most
various shoots, with the hope that, although their fruits may
differ, their foliage at least will be confounded with the venerable
trunk which supports them all.
In America there are no nobles or men of letters, and the people is
apt to mistrust the wealthy; lawyers consequently form the highest
political class, and the most cultivated circle of society. They
have therefore nothing to gain by innovation, which adds a
conservative interest to their natural taste for public order. If I
were asked where I place the American aristocracy, I should reply
without hesitation that it is not composed of the rich, who are
united together by no common tie, but that it occupies the judicial
bench and the bar.
The more we reflect upon all that occurs in the United States the
more shall we be persuaded that the lawyers as a body form the most
powerful, if not the only, counterpoise to the democratic element.
In that country we perceive how eminently the legal profession is
qualified by its powers, and even by its defects, to neutralize the
vices which are inherent in popular government. When the American
people is intoxicated by passion, or carried away by the impetuosity
of its ideas, it is checked and stopped by the almost invisible
influence of its legal counsellors, who secretly oppose their
aristocratic propensities to its democratic instincts, their
superstitious attachment to what is antique to its love of novelty,
their narrow views to its immense designs, and their habitual
procrastination to its ardent impatience.
The courts of justice are the most visible organs by which the legal
profession is enabled to control the democracy. The judge is a
lawyer, who, independently of the taste for regularity and order
which he has contracted in the study of legislation, derives an
additional love of stability from his own inalienable functions. His
legal attainments have already raised him to a distinguished rank
amongst his fellow-citizens; his political power completes the
distinction of his station, and gives him the inclinations natural
to privileged classes.
Armed with the power of declaring the laws to be unconstitutional,
the American magistrate perpetually interferes in political affairs.
He cannot force the people to make laws, but at least he can oblige
it not to disobey its own enactments; or to act inconsistently with
its own principles. I am aware that a secret tendency to diminish
the judicial power exists in the United States, and by most of the
constitutions of the several States the Government can, upon the
demand of the two houses of the legislature, remove the judges from
their station. By some other constitutions the members of the
tribunals are elected, and they are even subjected to frequent
re-elections. I venture to predict that these innovations will
sooner or later be attended with fatal consequences, and that it
will be found out at some future period that the attack which is
made upon the judicial power has affected the democratic republic
itself.
It must not, however, be supposed that the legal spirit of Which I
have been speaking has been confined, in the United States, to the
courts of justice; it extends far beyond them. As the lawyers
constitute the only enlightened class which the people does not
mistrust, they are naturally called upon to occupy most of the
public stations. They fill the legislative assemblies, and they
conduct the administration; they consequently exercise a powerful
influence upon the formation of the law, and upon its execution. The
lawyers are, however, obliged to yield to the current of public
opinion, which is too strong for them to resist it, but it is easy
to find indications of what their conduct would be if they were free
to act as they chose. The Americans, who have made such copious
innovations in their political legislation, have introduced very
sparing alterations in their civil laws, and that with great
difficulty, although those laws are frequently repugnant to their
social condition. The reason of this is, that in matters of civil
law the majority is obliged to defer to the authority of the legal
profession, and that the American lawyers are disinclined to
innovate when they are left to their own choice.
It is curious for a Frenchman, accustomed to a very different state
of things, to hear the perpetual complaints which are made in the
United States against the stationary propensities of legal men, and
their prejudices in favor of existing institutions.
The influence of the legal habits which are common in America
extends beyond the limits I have just pointed out. Scarcely any
question arises in the United States which does not become, sooner
or later, a subject of judicial debate; hence all parties are
obliged to borrow the ideas, and even the language, usual in
judicial proceedings in their daily controversies. As most public
men are, or have been, legal practitioners, they introduce the
customs and technicalities of their profession into the affairs of
the country. The jury extends this habitude to all classes. The
language of the law thus becomes, in some measure, a vulgar tongue;
the spirit of the law, which is produced in the schools and courts
of justice, gradually penetrates beyond their walls into the bosom
of society, where it descends to the lowest classes, so that the
whole people contracts the habits and the tastes of the magistrate.
The lawyers of the United States form a party which is but little
feared and scarcely perceived, which has no badge peculiar to
itself, which adapts itself with great flexibility to the exigencies
of the time, and accommodates itself to all the movements of the
social body; but this party extends over the whole Community, and it
penetrates into all classes of society; it acts upon the country
imperceptibly, but it finally fashions it to suit its purposes.
Trial by Jury in the United States Considered as a Political
Institution
Trial by jury, which is one of the instruments of the sovereignty of
the people, deserves to be compared with the other laws which
establish that sovereignty -- Composition of the jury in the United
States -- Effect of trial by jury upon the national character -- It
educates the people -- It tends to establish the authority of the
magistrates and to extend a knowledge of law among the people.
Since I have been led by my subject to recur to the administration
of justice in the United States, I will not pass over this point
without adverting to the institution of the jury. Trial by jury may
be considered in two separate points of view, as a judicial and as a
political institution. If it entered into my present purpose to
inquire how far trial by jury (more especially in civil cases)
contributes to insure the best administration of justice, I admit
that its utility might be contested. As the jury was first
introduced at a time when society was in an uncivilized state, and
when courts of justice were merely called upon to decide on the
evidence of facts, it is not an easy task to adapt it to the wants
of a highly civilized community when the mutual relations of men are
multiplied to a surprising extent, and have assumed the enlightened
and intellectual character of the age.
My present object is to consider the jury as a political
institution, and any other course would divert me from my subject.
Of trial by jury, considered as a judicial institution, I shall here
say but very few words. When the English adopted trial by jury they
were a semi-barbarous people; they are become, in course of time,
one of the most enlightened nations of the earth; and their
attachment to this institution seems to have increased with their
increasing cultivation. They soon spread beyond their insular
boundaries to every corner of the habitable globe; some have formed
colonies, others independent states; the mother-country has
maintained its monarchical constitution; many of its offspring have
founded powerful republics; but wherever the English have been they
have boasted of the privilege of trial by jury. They have
established it, or hastened to re-establish it, in all their
settlements. A judicial institution which obtains the suffrages of a
great people for so long a series of ages, which is zealously
renewed at every epoch of civilization, in all the climates of the
earth and under every form of human government, cannot be contrary
to the spirit of justice.
I turn, however, from this part of the subject. To look upon the
jury as a mere judicial institution is to confine our attention to a
very narrow view of it; for however great its influence may be upon
the decisions of the law courts, that influence is very subordinate
to the powerful effects which it produces on the destinies of the
community at large. The jury is above all a political institution,
and it must be regarded in this light in order to be duly
appreciated.
By the jury I mean a certain number of citizens chosen
indiscriminately, and invested with a temporary right of judging.
Trial by jury, as applied to the repression of crime, appears to me
to introduce an eminently republican element into the government
upon the following grounds: --
The institution of the jury may be aristocratic or democratic,
according to the class of society from which the jurors are
selected; but it always preserves its republican character, inasmuch
as it places the real direction of society in the hands of the
governed, or of a portion of the governed, instead of leaving it
under the authority of the Government. Force is never more than a
transient element of success; and after force comes the notion of
right. A government which should only be able to crush its enemies
upon a field of battle would very soon be destroyed. The true
sanction of political laws is to be found in penal legislation, and
if that sanction be wanting the law will sooner or later lose its
cogency. He who punishes infractions of the law is therefore the
real master of society. Now the institution of the jury raises the
people itself, or at least a class of citizens, to the bench of
judicial authority. The institution of the jury consequently invests
the people, or that class of citizens, with the direction of
society.
In England the jury is returned from the aristocratic portion of the
nation; the aristocracy makes the laws, applies the laws, and
punishes all infractions of the laws; everything is established upon
a consistent footing, and England may with truth be said to
constitute an aristocratic republic. In the United States the same
system is applied to the whole people. Every American citizen is
qualified to be an elector, a juror, and is eligible to office. The
system of the jury, as it is understood in America, appears to me to
be as direct and as extreme a consquence of the sovereignty of the
people as universal suffrage. These institutions are two instruments
of equal power, which contribute to the supremacy of the majority.
All the sovereigns who have chosen to govern by their own authority,
and to direct society instead of obeying its directions, have
destroyed or enfeebled the institution of the jury. The monarchs of
the House of Tudor sent to prison jurors who refused to convict, and
Napoleon caused them to be returned by his agents.
However clear most of these truths may seem to be, they do not
command universal assent, and in France, at least, the institution
of trial by jury is still very imperfectly understood. If the
question arises as to the proper qualification of jurors, it is
confined to a discussion of the intelligence and knowledge of the
citizens who may be returned, as if the jury was merely a judicial
institution. This appears to me to be the least part of the subject.
The jury is pre-eminently a political institution; it must be
regarded as one form of the sovereignty of the people; when that
sovereignty is repudiated, it must be rejected, or it must be
adapted to the laws by which that sovereignty is established. The
jury is that portion of the nation to which the execution of the
laws is entrusted, as the Houses of Parliament constitute that part
of the nation which makes the laws; and in order that society may be
governed with consistency and uniformity, the list of citizens
qualified to serve on juries must increase and diminish with the
list of electors. This I hold to be the point of view most worthy of
the attention of the legislator, and all that remains is merely
accessory.
I am so entirely convinced that the jury is pre-eminently a
political institution that I still consider it in this light when it
is applied in civil causes. Laws are always unstable unless they are
founded upon the manners of a nation; manners are the only durable
and resisting power in a people. When the jury is reserved for
criminal offences, the people only witnesses its occasional action
in certain particular cases; the ordinary course of life goes on
without its interference, and it is considered as an instrument, but
not as the only instrument, of obtaining justice. This is true a'
fortiori when the jury is only applied to certain criminal causes.
When, on the contrary, the influence of the jury is extended to
civil causes, its application is constantly palpable; it affects all
the interests of the community; everyone co-operates in its work: it
thus penetrates into all the usages of life, it fashions the human
mind to its peculiar forms, and is gradually associated with the
idea of justice itself.
The institution of the jury, if confined to criminal causes, is
always in danger, but when once it is introduced into civil
proceedings it defies the aggressions of time and of man. If it had
been as easy to remove the jury from the manners as from the laws of
England, it would have perished under Henry VIII, and Elizabeth, and
the civil jury did in reality, at that period, save the liberties of
the country. In whatever manner the jury be applied, it cannot fail
to exercise a powerful influence upon the national character; but
this influence is prodigiously increased when it is introduced into
civil causes. The jury, and more especially the jury in civil cases,
serves to communicate the spirit of the judges to the minds of all
the citizens; and this spirit, with the habits which attend it, is
the soundest preparation for free institutions. It imbues all
classes with a respect for the thing judged, and with the notion of
right. If these two elements be removed, the love of independence is
reduced to a mere destructive passion. It teaches men to practice
equity, every man learns to judge his neighbor as he would himself
be judged; and this is especially true of the jury in civil causes,
for, whilst the number of persons who have reason to apprehend a
criminal prosecution is small, every one is liable to have a civil
action brought against him. The jury teaches every man not to recoil
before the responsibility of his own actions, and impresses him with
that manly confidence without which political virtue cannot exist.
It invests each citizen with a kind of magistracy, it makes them all
feel the duties which they are bound to discharge towards society,
and the part which they take in the Government. By obliging men to
turn their attention to affairs which are not exclusively their own,
it rubs off that individual egotism which is the rust of society.
The jury contributes most powerfully to form the judgment and to
increase the natural intelligence of a people, and this is, in my
opinion, its greatest advantage. It may be regarded as a gratuitous
public school ever open, in which every juror learns to exercise his
rights, enters into daily communication with the most learned and
enlightened members of the upper classes, and becomes practically
acquainted with the laws of his country, which are brought within
the reach of his capacity by the efforts of the bar, the advice of
the judge, and even by the passions of the parties. I think that the
practical intelligence and political good sense of the Americans are
mainly attributable to the long use which they have made of the jury
in civil causes. I do not know whether the jury is useful to those
who are in litigation; but I am certain it is highly beneficial to
those who decide the litigation; and I look upon it as one of the
most efficacious means for the education of the people which society
can employ.
What I have hitherto said applies to all nations, but the remark I
am now about to make is peculiar to the Americans and to democratic
peoples. I have already observed that in democracies the members of
the legal profession and the magistrates constitute the only
aristocratic body which can check the irregularities of the people.
This aristocracy is invested with no physical power, but it
exercises its conservative influence upon the minds of men, and the
most abundant source of its authority is the institution of the
civil jury. In criminal causes, when society is armed against a
single individual, the jury is apt to look upon the judge as the
passive instrument of social power, and to mistrust his advice.
Moreover, criminal causes are entirely founded upon the evidence of
facts which common sense can readily appreciate; upon this ground
the judge and the jury are equal. Such, however, is not the case in
civil causes; then the judge appears as a disinterested arbiter
between the conflicting passions of the parties. The jurors look up
to him with confidence and listen to him with respect, for in this
instance their intelligence is completely under the control of his
learning. It is the judge who sums up the various arguments with
which their memory has been wearied out, and who guides them through
the devious course of the proceedings; he points their attention to
the exact question of fact which they are called upon to solve, and
he puts the answer to the question of law into their mouths. His
influence upon their verdict is almost unlimited.
If I am called upon to explain why I am but little moved by the
arguments derived from the ignorance of jurors in civil causes, I
reply, that in these proceedings, whenever the question to be solved
is not a mere question of fact, the jury has only the semblance of a
judicial body. The jury sanctions the decision of the judge, they by
the authority of society which they represent, and he by that of
reason and of law.
In England and in America the judges exercise an influence upon
criminal trials which the French judges have never possessed. The
reason of this difference may easily be discovered; the English and
American magistrates establish their authority in civil causes, and
only transfer it afterwards to tribunals of another kind, where that
authority was not acquired. In some cases (and they are frequently
the most important ones) the American judges have the right of
deciding causes alone. Upon these occasions they are accidentally
placed in the position which the French judges habitually occupy,
but they are invested with far more power than the latter; they are
still surrounded by the reminiscence of the jury, and their judgment
has almost as much authority as the voice of the community at large,
represented by that institution. Their influence extends beyond the
limits of the courts; in the recreations of private life as well as
in the turmoil of public business, abroad and in the legislative
assemblies, the American judge is constantly surrounded by men who
are accustomed to regard his intelligence as superior to their own,
and after having exercised his power in the decision of causes, he
continues to influence the habits of thought and the characters of
the individuals who took a part in his judgment.
The jury, then, which seems to restrict the rights of magistracy,
does in reality consolidate its power, and in no country are the
judges so powerful as there, where the people partakes their
privileges. It is more especially by means of the jury in civil
causes that the American magistrates imbue all classes of society
with the spirit of their profession. Thus the jury, which is the
most energetic means of making the people rule, is also the most
efficacious means of teaching it to rule well.
Chapter 17 Principal Causes Which Tend to Maintain the Democratic
Republic in the United States
Democratic republic subsists in the United States, the principal
object of this book has been to account for the fact of its
existence. Several of the causes which contribute to maintain the
institutions of America have been involuntarily passed by or only
hinted at as I was borne along by my subject. Others I have been
unable to discuss, and those on which I have dwelt most are, as it
were, buried in the details of the former parts of this work. I
think, therefore, that before I proceed to speak of the future, I
cannot do better than collect within a small compass the reasons
which best explain the present. In this retrospective chapter I
shall be succinct, for I shall take care to remind the reader very
summarily of what he already knows; and I shall only select the most
prominent of those facts which I have not yet pointed out.
All the causes which contribute to the maintenance of the democratic
republic in the United States are reducible to three heads: --
I. The peculiar and accidental situation in which Providence has
placed the Americans.
II. The laws.
III. The manners and customs of the people.
Accidental or Providential Causes Which Contribute to the
Maintenance of the Democratic Republic in The United States
The Union has no neighbors -- No metropolis -- The Americans have
had the chances of birth in their favor -- America an empty country
-- How this circumstance contributes powerfully to the maintenance
of the democratic republic in America -- How the American wilds are
peopled -- Avidity of the Anglo-Americans in taking possession of
the solitudes of the New World -- Influence of physical prosperity
upon the political opinions of the Americans.
A thousand circumstances, independent of the will of man, concur to
facilitate the maintenance of a democratic republic in the United
States. Some of these peculiarities are known, the others may easily
be pointed out; but I shall confine my -- self to the most prominent
amongst them.
The Americans have no neighbors, and consequently they have no great
wars, or financial crises, or inroads, or conquest to dread; they
require neither great taxes, nor great armies, nor great generals;
and they have nothing to fear from a scourge which is more
formidable to republics than all these evils combined, namely,
military glory. It is impossible to deny the inconceivable influence
which military glory exercises upon the spirit of a nation. General
Jackson, whom the Americans have twice elected to the head of their
Government, is a man of a violent temper and mediocre talents; no
one circumstance in the whole course of his career ever proved that
he is qualified to govern a free people, and indeed the majority of
the enlightened classes of the Union has always been opposed to him.
But he was raised to the Presidency, and has been maintained in that
lofty station, solely by the recollection of a victory which he
gained twenty years ago under the walls of New Orleans, a victory
which was, however, a very ordinary achievement, and which could
only be remembered in a country where battles are rare. Now the
people which is thus carried away by the illusions of glory is
unquestionably the most cold and calculating, the most unmilitary
(if I may use the expression), and the most prosaic of all the
peoples of the earth.
America has no great capital a city, whose influence is directly or
indirectly felt over the whole extent of the country, which I hold
to be one of the first causes of the maintenance of republican
institutions in the United States. In cities men cannot be prevented
from concerting together, and from awakening a mutual excitement
which prompts sudden and passionate resolutions. Cities may be
looked upon as large assemblies, of which all the inhabitants are
members; their populace exercises a prodigious influence upon the
magistrates, and frequently executes its own wishes without their
intervention.
To subject the provinces to the metropolis is therefore not only to
place the destiny of the empire in the hands of a portion of the
community, which may be reprobated as unjust, but to place it in the
hands of a populace acting under its own impulses, which must be
avoided as dangerous. The pre-ponderance of capital cities is
therefore a serious blow upon the representative system, and it
exposes modern republics to the same defect as the republics of
antiquity, which all perished from not having been acquainted with
that form of government.
It would be easy for me to adduce a great number of secondary causes
which have contributed to establish, and which concur to maintain,
the democratic republic of the United States. But I discern two
principal circumstances amongst these favorable elements, which I
hasten to point out. I have already observed that the origin of the
American settlements may be looked upon as the first and most
efficacious cause to which the present prosperity of the United
States may be attributed. The Americans had the chances of birth in
their favor, and their forefathers imported that equality of
conditions into the country whence the democratic republic has very
naturally taken its rise. Nor was this all they did; for besides
this republican condition of society, the early settlers bequeathed
to their descendants those customs, manners, and opinions which
contribute most to the success of a republican form of government.
When I reflect upon the consequences of this primary circumstance,
methinks I see the destiny of America embodied in the first Puritan
who landed on those shores, lust as the human race was represented
by the first man.
The chief circumstance which has favored the establishment and the
maintenance of a democratic republic in the United States is the
nature of the territory which the Americans inhabit. Their ancestors
gave them the love of equality and of freedom, but God himself gave
them the means of remaining equal and free, by placing them upon a
boundless continent, which is open to their exertions. General
prosperity is favorable to the stability of all governments, but
more particularly of a democratic constitution, which depends upon
the dispositions of the majority, and more particularly of that
portion of the community which is most exposed to feel the pressure
of want. When the people rules, it must be rendered happy, or it
will overturn the State, and misery is apt to stimulate it to those
excesses to which ambition rouses kings. The physical causes,
independent of the laws, which contribute to promote general
prosperity, are more numerous in America than they have ever been in
any other country in the world, at any other period of history. In
the United States not only is legislation democratic, but nature
herself favors the cause of the people.
In what part of human tradition can be found anything at all similar
to that which is occurring under our eyes in North America? The
celebrated communities of antiquity were all founded in the midst of
hostile nations, which they were obliged to subjugate before they
could flourish in their place. Even the moderns have found, in some
parts of South America, vast regions inhabited by a people of
inferior civilization, but which occupied and cultivated the soil.
To found their new states it was necessary to extirpate or to subdue
a numerous population, until civilization has been made to blush for
their success. But North America was only inhabited by wandering
tribes, who took no thought of the natural riches of the soil, and
that vast country was still, properly speaking, an empty continent,
a desert land awaiting its inhabitants.
Everything is extraordinary in America, the social condition of the
inhabitants, as well as the laws; but the soil upon which these
institutions are founded is more extraordinary than all the rest.
When man was first placed upon the earth by the Creator, the earth
was inexhaustible in its youth, but man was weak and ignorant; and
when he had learned to explore the treasures which it contained,
hosts of his fellow creatures covered its surface, and he was
obliged to earn an asylum for repose and for freedom by the sword.
At that same period North America was discovered, as if it had been
kept in reserve by the Deity, and had just risen from beneath the
waters of the deluge.
That continent still presents, as it did in the primeval time,
rivers which rise from never-failing sources, green and moist
solitudes, and fields which the ploughshare of the husbandman has
never turned. In this state it is offered to man, not in the
barbarous and isolated condition of the early ages, but to a being
who is already in possession of the most potent secrets of the
natural world, who is united to his fellow-men, and instructed by
the experience of fifty centuries. At this very time thirteen
millions of civilized Europeans are peaceably spreading over those
fertile plains, with whose resources and whose extent they are not
yet themselves accurately acquainted. Three or four thousand
soldiers drive the wandering races of the aborigines before them;
these are followed by the pioneers, who pierce the Woods, scare off
the beasts of prey, explore the courses of the inland streams, and
make ready the triumphal procession of civilization across the
waste.
The favorable influence of the temporal prosperity of America upon
the institutions of that country has been so often described by
others, and adverted to by myself, that I shall not enlarge upon it
beyond the addition of a few facts. An erroneous notion is generally
entertained that the deserts of America are peopled by European
emigrants, who annually disembark upon the coasts of the New World,
whilst the American population increases and multiplies upon the
soil which its forefathers tilled. The European settler, however,
usually arrives in the United States without friends, and sometimes
without resources; in order to subsist he is obliged to work for
hire, and he rarely proceeds beyond that belt of industrious
population which adjoins the ocean. The desert cannot be explored
without capital or credit; and the body must be accustomed to the
rigors of a new climate before it can be exposed to the climates of
forest life. It is the Americans themselves who daily quit the spots
which gave them birth to acquire extensive domains in a remote
country. Thus the European leaves his cottage for the trans-Atlantic
shores; and the American, who is born on that very coast, plunges in
his turn into the wilds of Central America. This double emigration
is incessant; it begins in the remotest parts of Europe, it crosses
the Atlantic Ocean, and it advances over the solitudes of the New
World. Millions of men are marching at once towards the same
horizon; their language, their religion, their manners differ, their
object is the same. The gifts of fortune are promised in the West,
and to the West they bend their course.
No event can be compared with this continuous removal of the human
race, except perhaps those irruptions which preceded the fall of the
Roman Empire. Then, as well as now, generations of men were impelled
forwards in the same direction to meet and struggle on the same
spot; but the designs of Providence were not the same; then, every
newcomer was the harbinger of destruction and of death; now, every
adventurer brings with him the elements of prosperity and of life.
The future still conceals from us the ulterior consequences of this
emigration of the Americans towards the West; but we can readily
apprehend its more immediate results. As a portion of the
inhabitants annually leave the States in which they were born, the
population of these States increases very slowly, although they have
long been established: thus in Connecticut, which only contains
fifty-nine inhabitants to the square mile, the population has not
increased by more than one-quarter in forty years, whilst that of
England has been augmented by one-third in the lapse of the same
period. The European emigrant always lands, therefore, in a country
which is but half full, and where hands are in request: he becomes a
work-man in easy circumstances; his son goes to seek his fortune in
unpeopled regions, and he becomes a rich landowner. The former
amasses the capital which the latter invests, and the stranger as
well as the native is unacquainted with want.
The laws of the United States are extremely favorable to the
division of property; but a cause which is more powerful than the
laws prevents property from being divided to excess. This is very
perceptible in the States which are beginning to be thickly peopled;
Massachusetts is the most populous part of the Union, but it
contains only eighty inhabitants to the square mile, which is must
less than in France, where 162 are reckoned to the same extent of
country. But in Massachusetts estates are very rarely divided; the
eldest son takes the land, and the others go to seek their fortune
in the desert. The law has abolished the rights of primogeniture,
but circumstances have concurred to re-establish it under a form of
which none can complain, and by which no just rights are impaired.
A single fact will suffice to show the prodigious number of
individuals who leave New England, in this manner, to settle
themselves in the wilds. We were assured in 1830 that thirty-six of
the members of Congress were born in the little State of
Connecticut. The population of Connecticut, which constitutes only
one forty-third part of that of the United States, thus furnished
one-eighth of the whole body of representatives. The States of
Connecticut, however, only sends five delegates to Congress; and the
thirty-one others sit for the new Western States. If these
thirty-one individuals had remained in Connecticut, it is probable
that instead of becoming rich landowners they would have remained
humble laborers, that they would have lived in obscurity without
being able to rise into public life, and that, far from becoming
useful members of the legislature, they might have been unruly
citizens.
These reflections do not escape the observation of the Americans any
more than of ourselves. "It cannot be doubted," says Chancellor Kent
in his "Treatise on American Law," "that the division of landed
estates must produce great evils when it is carried to such excess
as that each parcel of land is insufficient to support a family; but
these disadvantages have never been felt in the United States, and
many generations must elapse before they can be felt. The extent of
our inhabited territory, the abundance of adjacent land, and the
continual stream of emigration flowing from the shores of the
Atlantic towards the interior of the country, suffice as yet, and
will long suffice, to prevent the parcelling out of estates."
It is difficult to describe the rapacity with which the American
rushes forward to secure the immense booty which fortune proffers to
him. In the pursuit he fearlessly braves the arrow of the Indian and
the distempers of the forest; he is unimpressed by the silence of
the woods; the approach of beasts of prey does not disturb him; for
he is goaded onwards by a passion more intense than the love of
life. Before him lies a boundless continent, and he urges onwards as
if time pressed, and he was afraid of finding no room for his
exertions. I have spoken of the emigration from the older States,
but how shall I describe that which takes place from the more recent
ones? Fifty years have scarcely elapsed since that of Ohio was
founded; the greater part of its inhabitants were not born within
its confines; its capital has only been built thirty years, and its
territory is still covered by an immense extent of uncultivated
fields; nevertheless the population of Ohio is already proceeding
westward, and most of the settlers who descend to the fertile
savannahs of Illinois are citizens of Ohio. These men left their
first country to improve their condition; they quit their
resting-place to ameliorate it still more; fortune awaits them
everywhere, but happiness they cannot attain. The desire of
prosperity is become an ardent and restless passion in their minds
which grows by what it gains. They early broke the ties which bound
them to their natal earth, and they have contracted no fresh ones on
their way. Emigration was at first necessary to them as a means of
subsistence; and it soon becomes a sort of game of chance, which
they pursue for the emotions it excites as much as for the gain it
procures.
Sometimes the progress of man is so rapid that the desert reappears
behind him. The woods stoop to give him a passage, and spring up
again when he has passed. It is not uncommon in crossing the new
States of the West to meet with deserted dwellings in the midst of
the wilds; the traveller frequently discovers the vestiges of a log
house in the most solitary retreats, which bear witness to the
power, and no less to the inconstancy of man. In these abandoned
fields, and over these ruins of a day, the primeval forest soon
scatters a fresh vegetation, the beasts resume the haunts which were
once their own, and Nature covers the traces of man's path with
branches and with flowers, which obliterate his evanescent track.
I remember that, in crossing one of the woodland districts Which
still cover the State of New York, I reached the shores of a lake
embosomed in forests coeval with the world. A small island, covered
with woods whose thick foliage concealed its banks, rose from the
centre of the waters. Upon the shores of the lake no object attested
the presence of man except a column of smoke which might be seen on
the horizon rising from the tops of the trees to the clouds, and
seeming to hang from heaven rather than to be mounting to the sky.
An Indian shallop was hauled up on the sand, which tempted me to
visit the islet that had first attracted my attention, and in a few
minutes I set foot upon its banks. The whole island formed one of
those delicious solitudes of the New World which almost lead
civilized man to regret the haunts of the savage. A luxuriant
vegetation bore witness to the incomparable fruitfulness of the
soil. The deep silence which is common to the wilds of North America
was only broken by the hoarse cooing of the wood-pigeon, and the
tapping of the woodpecker upon the bark of trees. I was far from
supposing that this spot had ever been inhabited, so completely did
Nature seem to be left to her own caprices; but when I reached the
centre of the isle I thought that I discovered some traces of man. I
then proceeded to examine the surrounding objects with care, and I
soon perceived that a European had undoubtedly been led to seek a
refuge in this retreat. Yet what changes had taken place in the
scene of his labors! The logs which he had hastily hewn to build
himself a shed had sprouted afresh; the very props were intertwined
with living verdure, and his cabin was transformed into a bower. In
the midst of these shrubs a few stones were to be seen, blackened
with fire and sprinkled with thin ashes; here the hearth had no
doubt been, and the chimney in falling had covered it with rubbish.
I stood for some time in silent admiration of the exuberance of
Nature and the littleness of man: and when I was obliged to leave
that enchanting solitude, I exclaimed with melancholy, "Are ruins,
then, already here?"
In Europe we are wont to look upon a restless disposition, an
unbounded desire of riches, and an excessive love of independence,
as propensities very formidable to society. Yet these are the very
elements which ensure a long and peaceful duration to the republics
of America. Without these unquiet passions the population would
collect in certain spots, and would soon be subject to wants like
those of the Old World, which it is difficult to satisfy; for such
is the present good fortune of the New World, that the vices of its
inhabitants are scarcely less favorable to society than their
virtues. These circumstances exercise a great influence on the
estimation in which human actions are held in the two hemispheres.
The Americans frequently term what we should call cupidity a
laudable industry; and they blame as faint-heartedness what we
consider to be the virtue of moderate desires.
In France, simple tastes, orderly manners, domestic affections, and
the attachments which men feel to the place of their birth, are
looked upon as great guarantees of the tranquillity and happiness of
the State. But in America nothing seems to be more prejudicial to
society than these virtues. The French Canadians, who have
faithfully preserved the traditions of their pristine manners, are
already embarrassed for room upon their small territory; and this
little community, which has so recently begun to exist, will shortly
be a prey to the calamities incident to old nations. In Canada, the
most enlightened, patriotic, and humane inhabitants make
extraordinary efforts to render the people dissatisfied with those
simple enjoyments which still content it. There, the seductions of
wealth are vaunted with as much zeal as the charms of an honest but
limited income in the Old World, and more exertions are made to
excite the passions of the citizens there than to calm them
elsewhere. If we listen to their eulogies, we shall hear that
nothing is more praiseworthy than to exchange the pure and homely
pleasures which even the poor man tastes in his own country for the
dull delights of prosperity under a foreign sky; to leave the
patrimonial hearth and the turf beneath which his forefathers sleep;
in short, to abandon the living and the dead in quest of fortune.
At the present time America presents a field for human effort far
more extensive than any sum of labor which can be applied to work
it. In America too much knowledge cannot be diffused; for all
knowledge, whilst it may serve him who possesses it, turns also to
the advantage of those who are without it. New wants are not to be
feared, since they can be satisfied without difficulty; the growth
of human passions need not be dreaded, since all passions may find
an easy and a legitimate object; nor can men be put in possession of
too much freedom, since they are scarcely ever tempted to misuse
their liberties.
The American republics of the present day are like companies of
adventurers formed to explore in common the waste lands of the New
World, and busied in a flourishing trade. The passions which agitate
the Americans most deeply are not their political but their
commercial passions; or, to speak more correctly, they introduce the
habits they contract in business into their political life. They
love order, without which affairs do not prosper; and they set an
especial value upon a regular conduct, which is the foundation of a
solid business; they prefer the good sense which amasses large
fortunes to that enterprising spirit which frequently dissipates
them; general ideas alarm their minds, which are accustomed to
positive calculations, and they hold practice in more honor than
theory.
It is in America that one learns to understand the influence which
physical prosperity exercises over political actions, and even over
opinions which ought to acknowledge no sway but that of reason; and
it is more especially amongst strangers that this truth is
perceptible. Most of the European emigrants to the New World carry
with them that wild love of independence and of change which our
calamities are so apt to engender. I sometimes met with Europeans in
the United States who had been obliged to leave their own country on
account of their political opinions. They all astonished me by the
language they held, but one of them surprised me more than all the
rest. As I was crossing one of the most remote districts of
Pennsylvania I was benighted, and obliged to beg for hospitality at
the gate of a wealthy planter, who was a Frenchman by birth. He bade
me sit down beside his fire, and we began to talk with that freedom
which befits persons who meet in the backwoods, two thousand leagues
from their native country. I was aware that my host had been a great
leveller and an ardent demagogue forty years ago, and that his name
was not unknown to fame. I was, therefore, not a little surprised to
hear him discuss the rights of property as an economist or a
landowner might have done: he spoke of the necessary gradations
which fortune establishes among men, of obedience to established
laws, of the influence of good morals in commonwealths, and of the
support which religious opinions give to order and to freedom; he
even went to far as to quote an evangelical authority in
corroboration of one of his political tenets.
I listened, and marvelled at the feebleness of human reason. A
proposition is true or false, but no art can prove it to be one or
the other, in the midst of the uncertainties of science and the
conflicting lessons of experience, until a new incident disperses
the clouds of doubt; I was poor, I become rich, and I am not to
expect that prosperity will act upon my conduct, and leave my
judgment free; my opinions change with my fortune, and the happy
circumstances which I turn to my advantage furnish me with that
decisive argument which was before wanting.
The influence of prosperity acts still more freely upon the American
than upon strangers. The American has always seen the connection of
public order and public prosperity, intimately united as they are,
go on before his eyes; he does not conceive that one can subsist
without the other; he has therefore nothing to forget; nor has he,
like so many Europeans, to unlearn the lessons of his early
education.
Influence of the Laws Upon the Maintenance of the Democratic
Republic in the United States
Three principal causes of the maintenance of the democratic republic
-- Federal Constitutions -- Municipal institutions -- Judicial
power.
The principal aim of this book has been to make known the laws of
the United States; if this purpose has been accomplished, the reader
is already enabled to judge for himself which are the laws that
really tend to maintain the democratic republic, and which endanger
its existence. If I have not succeeded in explaining this in the
whole course of my work, I cannot hope to do so within the limits of
a single chapter. It is not my intention to retrace the path I have
already pursued, and a very few lines will suffice to recapitulate
what I have previously explained.
Three circumstances seem to me to contribute most powerfully to the
maintenance of the democratic republic in the United States.
The first is that Federal form of Government which the Americans
have adopted, and which enables the Union to combine the power of a
great empire with the security of a small State.
The second consists in those municipal institutions which limit the
despotism of the majority, and at the same time impart a taste for
freedom and a knowledge of the art of being free to the people.
The third is to be met with in the constitution of the judicial
power. I have shown in what manner the courts of justice serve to
repress the excesses of democracy, and how they check and direct the
impulses of the majority without stopping its activity.
Influence of Manners Upon the Maintenance of the Democratic Republic
in the United States
I have previously remarked that the manners of the people may be
considered as one of the general causes to which the maintenance of
a democratic republic in the United States is attributable. I here
used the word manners with the meaning which the ancients attached
to the word mores, for I apply it not only to manners in their
proper sense of what constitutes the character of social
intercourse, but I extend it to the various notions and opinions
current among men, and to the mass of those ideas which constitute
their character of mind. I comprise, therefore, under this term the
whole moral and intellectual condition of a people. My intention is
not to draw a picture of American manners, but simply to point out
such features of them as are favorable to the maintenance of
political institutions.
Religion Considered as a Political Institution, Which Powerfully
Contributes to the Maintenance of the Democratic Republic Amongst
the Americans
North America peopled by men who professed a democratic and
republican Christianity -- Arrival of the Catholics -- For what
reason the Catholics form the most democratic and the most
republican class at the present time.
Every religion is to be found in juxtaposition to a political
opinion which is connected with it by affinity. If the human mind be
left to follow its own bent, it will regulate the temporal and
spiritual institutions of society upon one uniform principle; and
man will endeavor, if I may use the expression to harmonize the
state in which he lives upon earth with the state which he believes
to await him in heaven. The greatest part of British America was
peopled by men who, after having shaken off the authority of the
Pope, acknowledged no other religious supremacy; they brought with
them into the New World a form of Christianity which I cannot better
describe than by styling it a democratic and republican religion.
This sect contributed powerfully to the establishment of a democracy
and a republic, and from the earliest settlement of the emigrants
politics and religion contracted an alliance which has never been
dissolved.
About fifty years ago Ireland began to pour a Catholic population
into the United States; on the other hand, the Catholics of America
made proselytes, and at the present moment more than a million of
Christians professing the truths of the Church of Rome are to be met
with in the Union. The Catholics are faithful to the observances of
their religion; they are fervent and zealous in the support and
belief of their doctrines. Nevertheless they constitute the most
republican and the most democratic class of citizens which exists in
the United States; and although this fact may surprise the observer
at first, the causes by which it is occasioned may easily be
discovered upon reflection.
I think that the Catholic religion has erroneously been looked upon
as the natural enemy of democracy. Amongst the various sects of
Christians, Catholicism seems to me, on the contrary, to be one of
those which are most favorable to the equality of conditions. In the
Catholic Church, the religious community is composed of only two
elements, the priest and the people. The priest alone rises above
the rank of his flock, and all below him are equal.
On doctrinal points the Catholic faith places all human capacities
upon the same level; it subjects the wise and ignorant, the man of
genius and the vulgar crowd, to the details of the same creed; it
imposes the same observances upon the rich and needy, it inflicts
the same austerities upon the strong and the weak, it listens to no
compromise with mortal man, but, reducing all the human race to the
same standard, it confounds all the distinctions of society at the
foot of the same altar, even as they are confounded in the sight of
God. If Catholicism predisposes the faithful to obedience, it
certainly does not prepare them for inequality; but the contrary may
be said of Protestantism, which generally tends to make men
independent, more than to render them equal.
Catholicism is like an absolute monarchy; if the sovereign be
removed, all the other classes of society are more equal than they
are in republics. It has not unfrequently occurred that the Catholic
priest has left the service of the altar to mix with the governing
powers of society, and to take his place amongst the civil
gradations of men. This religious influence has sometimes been used
to secure the interests of that political state of things to which
he belonged. At other times Catholics have taken the side of
aristocracy from a spirit of religion.
But no sooner is the priesthood entirely separated from the
government, as is the case in the United States, than is found that
no class of men are more naturally disposed than the Catholics to
transfuse the doctrine of the equality of conditions into the
political world. If, then, the Catholic citizens of the United
States are not forcibly led by the nature of their tenets to adopt
democratic and republican principles, at least they are not
necessarily opposed to them; and their social position, as well as
their limited number, obliges them to adopt these opinions. Most of
the Catholics are poor, and they have no chance of taking a part in
the government unless it be open to all the citizens. They
constitute a minority, and all rights must be respected in order to
insure to them the free exercise of their own privileges. These two
causes induce them, unconsciously, to adopt political doctrines,
which they would perhaps support with less zeal if they were rich
and preponderant.
The Catholic clergy of the United States has never attempted to
oppose this political tendency, but it seeks rather to justify its
results. The priests in America have divided the intellectual world
into two parts: in the one they place the doctrines of revealed
religion, which command their assent; in the other they leave those
truths which they believe to have been freely left open to the
researches of political inquiry. Thus the Catholics of the United
States are at the same time the most faithful believers and the most
zealous citizens.
It may be asserted that in the United States no religious doctrine
displays the slightest hostility to democratic and republican
institutions. The clergy of all the different sects hold the same
language, their opinions are consonant to the laws, and the human
intellect flows onwards in one sole current.
I happened to be staying in one of the largest towns in the Union,
when I was invited to attend a public meeting which had been called
for the purpose of assisting the Poles, and of sending them supplies
of arms and money. I found two or three thousand persons collected
in a vast hall which had been prepared to receive them. In a short
time a priest in his ecclesiastical robes advanced to the front of
the hustings: the spectators rose, and stood uncovered, whilst he
spoke in the following terms: --
"Almighty God! the God of Armies! Thou who didst strengthen the
hearts and guide the arms of our fathers when they were fighting for
the sacred rights of national independence; Thou who didst make them
triumph over a hateful oppression, and hast granted to our people
the benefits of liberty and peace; Turn, O Lord, a favorable eye
upon the other hemisphere; pitifully look down upon that heroic
nation which is even now struggling as we did in the former time,
and for the same rights which we defended with our blood. Thou, who
didst create Man in the likeness of the same image, let not tyranny
mar Thy work, and establish inequality upon the earth. Almighty God!
do Thou watch over the destiny of the Poles, and render them worthy
to be free. May Thy wisdom direct their councils, and may Thy
strength sustain their arms! Shed forth Thy terror over their
enemies, scatter the powers which take counsel against them; and
vouchsafe that the injustice which the world has witnessed for fifty
years, be not consummated in our time. O Lord, who holdest alike the
hearts of nations and of men in Thy powerful hand; raise up allies
to the sacred cause of right; arouse the French nation from the
apathy in which its rulers retain it, that it go forth again to
fight for the liberties of the world.
"Lord, turn not Thou Thy face from us, and grant that we may always
be the most religious as well as the freest people of the earth.
Almighty God, hear our supplications this day. Save the Poles, we
beseech Thee, in the name of Thy well-beloved Son, our Lord Jesus
Christ, who died upon the cross for the salvation of men. Amen."
The whole meeting responded "Amen!" with devotion.
Indirect Influence of Religious Opinions Upon Political Society in
the United States
Christian morality common to all sects -- Influence of religion upon
the manners of the Americans -- Respect for the marriage tie -- In
what manner religion confines the imagination of the Americans
within certain limits, and checks the passion of innovation --
Opinion of the Americans on the political utility of religion --
Their exertions to extend and secure its predominance.
I have just shown what the direct influence of religion upon
politics is in the United States, but its indirect influence appears
to me to be still more considerable, and it never instructs the
Americans more fully in the art of being free than when it says
nothing of freedom.
The sects which exist in the United States are innumerable. They all
differ in respect to the worship which is due from man to his
Creator, but they all agree in respect to the duties which are due
from man to man. Each sect adores the Deity in its own peculiar
manner, but all the sects preach the same moral law in the name of
God. If it be of the highest importance to man, as an individual,
that his religion should be true, the case of society is not the
same. Society has no future life to hope for or to fear; and
provided the citizens profess a religion, the peculiar tenets of
that religion are of very little importance to its interests.
Moreover, almost all the sects of the United States are comprised
within the great unity of Christianity, and Christian morality is
everywhere the same.
It may be believed without unfairness that a certain number of
Americans pursue a peculiar form of worship, from habit more than
from conviction. In the United States the sovereign authority is
religious, and consequently hypocrisy must be common; but there is
no country in the whole world in which the Christian religion
retains a greater influence over the souls of men than in America;
and there can be no greater proof of its utility, and of its
conformity to human nature, than that its influence is most
powerfully felt over the most enlightened and free nation of the
earth.
I have remarked that the members of the American clergy in general,
without even excepting those who do not admit religious liberty, are
all in favor of civil freedom; but they do not support any
particular political system. They keep aloof from parties and from
public affairs. In the United States religion exercises but little
influence upon the laws and upon the details of public opinion, but
it directs the manners of the community, and by regulating domestic
life it regulates the State.
I do not question that the great austerity of manners which is
observable in the United States, arises, in the first instance, from
religious faith. Religion is often unable to restrain man from the
numberless temptations of fortune; nor can it check that passion for
gain which every incident of his life contributes to arouse, but its
influence over the mind of woman is supreme, and women are the
protectors of morals. There is certainly no country in the world
where the tie of marriage is so much respected as in America, or
where conjugal happiness is more highly or worthily appreciated. In
Europe almost all the disturbances of society arise from the
irregularities of domestic life. To despise the natural bonds and
legitimate pleasures of home, is to contract a taste for excesses, a
restlessness of heart, and the evil of fluctuating desires. Agitated
by the tumultuous passions which frequently disturb his dwelling,
the European is galled by the obedience which the legislative powers
of the State exact. But when the American retires from the turmoil
of public life to the bosom of his family, he finds in it the image
of order and of peace. There his pleasures are simple and nat ural,
his joys are innocent and calm; and as he finds that an orderly life
is the surest path to happiness, he accustoms himself without
difficulty to moderate his opinions as well as his tastes. Whilst
the European endeavors to forget his domestic troubles by agitating
society, the American derives from his own home that love of order
which he afterwards carries with him into public affairs.
In the United States the influence of religion is not confined TO
the manners, but it extends to the intelligence of the people.
Amongst the Anglo-Americans, there are some who profess the
doctrines of Christianity from a sincere belief in them, and others
who do the same because they are afraid to be suspected of unbelief.
Christianity, therefore, reigns without any obstacle, by universal
consent; the consequence is, as I have before observed, that every
principle of the moral world is fixed and determinate, although the
political world is abandoned to the debates and the experiments of
men. Thus the human mind is never left to wander across a boundless
field; and, whatever may be its pretensions, it is checked from time
to time by barriers which it cannot surmount, Before it can
perpetrate innovation, certain primal and immutable principles are
laid down, and the boldest conceptions of human device are subjected
to certain forms which retard and stop their completion.
The imagination of the Americans, even in its greatest flights, is
circumspect and undecided; its impulses are checked, and its works
unfinished, These habits of restraint recur in political society,
and are singularly favorable both to the tranquillity of the people
and to the durability of the institutions it has established. Nature
and circumstances concurred to make the inhabitants of the United
States bold men, as is sufficiently attested by the enterprising
spirit with which they seek for fortune. If the mind of the
Americans were free from all trammels, they would very shortly
become the most daring innovators and the most implacable disputants
in the world. But the revolutionists of America are obliged to
profess an ostensible respect for Christian morality and equity,
which does not easily permit them to violate the laws that oppose
their designs; nor would they find it easy to surmount the scruples
of their partisans, even if they were able to get over their own.
Hitherto no one in the United States has dared to advance the maxim,
that everything is permissible with a view to the interests of
society; an impious adage which seems to have been invented in an
age of freedom to shelter all the tyrants of future ages. Thus
whilst the law permits the Americans to do what they please,
religion prevents them from conceiving, and forbids them to commit,
what is rash or unjust.
Religion in America takes no direct part in the government of
society, but it must nevertheless be regarded as the foremost of the
political institutions of that country; for if it does not impart a
taste for freedom, it facilitates the use of free institutions.
Indeed, it is in this same point of view that the inhabitants of the
United States themselves look upon religious belief. I do not know
whether all the Americans have a sincere faith in their religion,
for who can search the human heart? but I am certain that they hold
it to be indispensable to the maintenance of republican
institutions. This opinion is not peculiar to a class of citizens or
to a party, but it belongs to the whole nation, and to every rank of
society.
In the United States, if a political character attacks a sect, this
may not prevent even the partisans of that very sect from supporting
him; but if he attacks all the sects together, everyone abandons
him, and he remains alone.
Whilst I was in America, a witness, who happened to be called at the
assizes of the county of Chester (State of New York), declared that
he did not believe in the existence of God, or in the immortality of
the soul. The judge refused to admit his evidence, on the ground
that the witness had destroyed beforehand all the confidence of the
Court in what he was about to say. The newspapers related the fact
without any further comment.
The Americans combine the notions of Christianity and of liberty so
intimately in their minds, that it is impossible to make them
conceive the one without the other; and with them this conviction
does not spring from that barren traditionary faith which seems to
vegetate in the soul rather than to live.
I have known of societies formed by the Americans to send out
ministers of the Gospel into the new Western States to found schools
and churches there, lest religion should be suffered to die away in
those remote settlements, and the rising States be less fitted to
enjoy free institutions than the people from which they emanated. I
met with wealthy New Englanders who abandoned the country in which
they were born in order to lay the foundations of Christianity and
of freedom on the banks of the Missouri, or in the prairies of
Illinois. Thus religious zeal is perpetually stimulated in the
United States by the duties of patriotism. These men do not act from
an exclusive consideration of the promises of a future life;
eternity is only one motive of their devotion to the cause; and if
you converse with these missionaries of Christian civilization, you
will be surprised to find how much value they set upon the goods of
this world, and that you meet with a politician where you expected
to find a priest. They will tell you that "all the American
republics are collectively involved with each other; if the
republics of the West were to fall into anarchy, or to be mastered
by a despot, the republican institutions which now flourish upon the
shores of the Atlantic Ocean would be in great peril. It is,
therefore, our interest that the new States should be religious, in
order to maintain our liberties."
Such are the opinions of the Americans, and if any hold that the
religious spirit which I admire is the very thing most amiss in
America, and that the only element wanting to the freedom and
happiness of the human race is to believe in some blind cosmogony,
or to assert with Cabanis the secretion of thought by the brain, I
can only reply that those who hold this language have never been in
America, and that they have never seen a religious or a free nation.
When they return from their expedition, we shall hear what they have
to say.
There are persons in France who look upon republican institutions as
a temporary means of power, of wealth, and distinction; men who are
the condottieri of liberty, and who fight for their own advantage,
whatever be the colors they wear: it is not to these that I address
myself. But there are others who look forward to the republican form
of government as a tranquil and lasting state, towards which modern
society is daily impelled by the ideas and manners of the time, and
who sincerely desire to prepare men to be free. When these men
attack religious opinions, they obey the dictates of their passions
to the prejudice of their interests. Despotism may govern without
faith, but liberty cannot. Religion is much more necessary in the
republic which they set forth in glowing colors than in the monarchy
which they attack; and it is more needed in democratic republics
than in any others. How is it possible that society should escape
destruction if the moral tie be not strengthened in proportion as
the political tie is relaxed? and what can he done with a people
which is its own master, if it be not submissive to the Divinity?
Principal Causes Which Render Religion Powerful in America
Care taken by the Americans to separate the Church from the State --
The laws, public opinion, and even the exertions of the clergy
concur to promote this end -- Influence of religion upon the mind in
the United States attributable to this cause -- Reason of this --
What is the natural state of men with regard to religion at the
present time -- What are the peculiar and incidental causes which
prevent men, in certain countries, from arriving at this state.
The philosophers of the eighteenth century explained the gradual
decay of religious faith in a very simple manner. Religious zeal,
said they, must necessarily fail, the more generally liberty is
established and knowledge diffused. Unfortunately, facts are by no
means in accordance with their theory. There are certain populations
in Europe whose unbelief is only equalled by their ignorance and
their debasement, whilst in America one of the freest and most
enlightened nations in the world fulfils all the outward duties of
religious fervor.
Upon my arrival in the United States, the religious aspect of the
country was the first thing that struck my attention; and the longer
I stayed there the more did I perceive the great political
consequences resulting from this state of things, to which I was
unaccustomed. In France I had almost always seen the spirit of
religion and the spirit of freedom pursuing courses diametrically
opposed to each other; but in America I found that they were
intimately united, and that they reigned in common over the same
country. My desire to discover the causes of this phenomenon
increased from day to day. In order to satisfy it I questioned the
members of all the different sects; and I more especially sought the
society of the clergy, who are the depositaries of the different
persuasions, and who are more especially interested in their
duration. As a member of the Roman Catholic Church I was more
particularly brought into contact with several of its priests, with
whom I became intimately acquainted. To each of these men I
expressed my astonishment and I explained my doubts; I found that
they differed upon matters of detail alone; and that they mainly
attributed the peaceful dominion of religion in their country to the
separation of church and State. I do not hesitate to affirm that
during my stay in America I did not meet with a single individual,
of the clergy or of the laity, who was not of the same opinion upon
this point.
This led me to examine more attentively than I had hitherto done,
the station which the American clergy occupy in political society. I
learned with surprise that they filled no public appointments; not
one of them is to be met with in the administration, and they are
not even represented in the legislative assemblies. In several
States the law excludes them from political life, public opinion in
all. And when I came to inquire into the prevailing spirit of the
clergy I found that most of its members seemed to retire of their
own accord from the exercise of power, and that they made it the
pride of their profession to abstain from politics.
I heard them inveigh against ambition and deceit, under whatever
political opinions these vices might chance to lurk; but I learned
from their discourses that men are not guilty in the eye of God for
any opinions concerning political government which they may profess
with sincerity, any more than they are for their mistakes in
building a house or in driving a furrow. I perceived that these
ministers of the gospel eschewed all parties with the anxiety
attendant upon personal interest. These facts convinced me that what
I had been told was true; and it then became my object to
investigate their causes, and to inquire how it happened that the
real authority of religion was increased by a state of things which
diminished its apparent force: these causes did not long escape my
researches.
The short space of threescore years can never content the
imagination of man; nor can the imperfect joys of this world satisfy
his heart. Man alone, of all created beings, displays a natural
contempt of existence, and yet a boundless desire to exist; he
scorns life, but he dreads annihilation. These different feelings
incessantly urge his soul to the contemplation of a future state,
and religion directs his musings thither. Religion, then, is simply
another form of hope; and it is no less natural to the human heart
than hope itself. Men cannot abandon their religious faith without a
kind of aberration of intellect, and a sort of violent distortion of
their true natures; but they are invincibly brought back to more
pious sentiments; for unbelief is an accident, and faith is the only
permanent state of mankind. If we only consider religious
institutions in a purely human point of view, they may be said to
derive an inexhaustible element of strength from man himself, since
they belong to one of the constituent principles of human nature.
I am aware that at certain times religion may strengthen this
influence, which originates in itself, by the artificial power of
the laws, and by the support of those temporal institutions which
direct society. Religions, intimately united to the governments of
the earth, have been known to exercise a sovereign authority derived
from the twofold source of terror and of faith; but when a religion
contracts an alliance of this nature, I do not hesitate to affirm
that it commits the same error as a man who should sacrifice his
future to his present welfare; and in obtaining a power to which it
has no claim, it risks that authority which is rightfully its own.
When a religion founds its empire upon the desire of immortality
which lives in every human heart, it may aspire to universal
dominion; but when it connects itself with a government, it must
necessarily adopt maxims which are only applicable to certain
nations. Thus, in forming an alliance with a political power,
religion augments its authority over a few, and forfeits the hope of
reigning over all.
As long as a religion rests upon those sentiments which are the
consolation of all affliction, it may attract the affections of
mankind. But if it be mixed up with the bitter passions of the
world, it may be constrained to defend allies whom its interests,
and not the principle of love, have given to it; or to repel as
antagonists men who are still attached to its own spirit, however
opposed they may be to the powers to which it is allied. The Church
cannot share the temporal power of the State without being the
object of a portion of that animosity which the latter excites.
The political powers which seem to be most firmly established have
frequently no better guarantee for their duration than the opinions
of a generation, the interests of the time, or the life of an
individual. A law may modify the social condition which seems to be
most fixed and determinate; and with the social condition everything
else must change. The powers of society are more or less fugitive,
like the years which we spend upon the earth; they succeed each
other with rapidity, like the fleeting cares of life; and no
government has ever yet been founded upon an invariable disposition
of the human heart, or upon an imperishable interest.
As long as a religion is sustained by those feelings, propensities,
and passions which are found to occur under the same forms, at all
the different periods of history, it may defy the efforts of time;
or at least it can only be destroyed by another religion. But when
religion clings to the interests of the world, it becomes almost as
fragile a thing as the powers of earth. It is the only one of them
all which can hope for immortality; but if it be connected with
their ephemeral authority, it shares their fortunes, and may fall
with those transient passions which supported them for a day. The
alliance which religion contracts with political powers must needs
be onerous to itself; since it does not require their assistance to
live, and by giving them its assistance it may be exposed to decay.
The danger which I have just pointed out always exists, but it is
not always equally visible. In some ages governments seem to be
imperishable; in others, the existence of society appears to be more
precarious than the life of man. Some constitutions plunge the
citizens into a lethargic somnolence, and others rouse them to
feverish excitement. When governments appear to be so strong, and
laws so stable, men do not perceive the dangers which may accrue
from a union of Church and State. When governments display so much
weakness, and laws so much inconstancy, the danger is self-evident,
but it is no longer possible to avoid it; to be effectual, measures
must be taken to discover its approach.
In proportion as a nation assumes a democratic condition of society,
and as communities display democratic propensities, it becomes more
and more dangerous to connect religion with political institutions;
for the time is coming when authority will be bandied from hand to
hand, when political theories will succeed each other, and when men,
laws, and constitutions will disappear, or be modified from day to
day, and this, not for a season only, but unceasingly. Agitation and
mutability are inherent in the nature of democratic republics, just
as Stagnation and inertness are the law of absolute monarchies.
If the Americans, who change the head of the Government once in four
years, who elect new legislators every two years, and renew the
provincial officers every twelvemonth; if the Americans, who have
abandoned the political world to the attempts of innovators, had not
placed religion beyond their reach, where could it abide in the ebb
and flow of human opinions? where would that respect which belongs
to it be paid, amidst the struggles of faction? and what would
become of its immortality, in the midst of perpetual decay? The
American clergy were the first to perceive this truth, and to act in
conformity with it. They saw that they must renounce their religious
influence, if they were to strive for political power; and they
chose to give up the support of the State, rather than to share its
vicissitudes.
In America, religion is perhaps less powerful than it has been at
certain periods in the history of certain peoples; but its influence
is more lasting. It restricts itself to its own resources, but of
those none can deprive it: its circle is limited to certain
principles, but those principles are entirely its own, and under its
undisputed control.
On every side in Europe we hear voices complaining of the absence of
religious faith, and inquiring the means of restoring to religion
some remnant of its pristine authority. It seems to me that we must
first attentively consider what ought to be the natural state of men
with regard to religion at the present time; and when we know what
we have to hope and to fear, we may discern the end to which our
efforts ought to be directed.
The two great dangers which threaten the existence of religions are
schism and indifference. In ages of fervent devotion, men sometimes
abandon their religion, but they only shake it off in order to adopt
another. Their faith changes the objects to which it is directed,
but it suffers no decline. The old religion then excites
enthusiastic attachment or bitter enmity in either party; some leave
it with anger, others cling to it with increased devotedness, and
although persuasions differ, irreligion is unknown. Such, however,
is not the case when a religious belief is secretly undermined by
doctrines which may be termed negative, since they deny the truth of
one religion without affirming that of any other. Progidious
revolutions then take place in the human mind, without the apparent
co-operation of the passions of man, and almost without his
knowledge. Men lose the objects of their fondest hopes, as if
through forgetfulness. They are carried away by an imperceptible
current which they have not the courage to stem, but which they
follow with regret, since it bears them from a faith they love, to a
scepticism that plunges them into despair.
In ages which answer to this description, men desert their religious
opinions from lukewarmness rather than from dislike; they do not
reject them, but the sentiments by which they were once fostered
disappear. But if the unbeliever does not admit religion to be true,
he still considers it useful. Regarding religious institutions in a
human point of view, he acknowledges their influence upon manners
and legislation. He admits that they may serve to make men live in
peace with one another, and to prepare them gently for the hour of
death. He regrets the faith which he has lost; and as he is deprived
of a treasure which he has learned to estimate at its full value, he
scruples to take it from those who still possess it.
On the other hand, those who continue to believe are not afraid
openly to avow their faith. They look upon those who do not share
their persuasion as more worthy of pity than of opposition; and they
are aware that to acquire the esteem of the unbelieving, they are
not obliged to follow their example. They are hostile to no one in
the world; and as they do not consider the society in which they
live as an arena in which religion is bound to face its thousand
deadly foes, they love their contemporaries, whilst they condemn
their weaknesses and lament their errors.
As those who do not believe, conceal their incredulity; and as those
who believe, display their faith, public opinion pronounces itself
in favor of religion: love, support, and honor are bestowed upon it,
and it is only by searching the human soul that we can detect the
wounds which it has received. The mass of mankind, who are never
without the feeling of religion, do not perceive anything at
variance with the established faith. The instinctive desire of a
future life brings the crowd about the altar, and opens the hearts
of men to the precepts and consolations of religion.
But this picture is not applicable to us: for there are men amongst
us who have ceased to believe in Christianity, without adopting any
other religion; others who are in the perplexities of doubt, and who
already affect not to believe; and others, again, who are afraid to
avow that Christian faith which they still cherish in secret.
Amidst these lukewarm partisans and ardent antagonists a small
number of believers exist, who are ready to brave all obstacles and
to scorn all dangers in defence of their faith. They have done
violence to human weakness, in order to rise Superior to public
opinion. Excited by the effort they have made, they scarcely knew
where to stop; and as they know that the first use which the French
made of independence was to attack religion, they look upon their
contemporaries with dread, and they recoil in alarm from the liberty
which their fellow-citizens are seeking to obtain. As unbelief
appears to them to be a novelty, they comprise all that is new in
one indiscriminate animosity. They are at war with their age and
country, and they look upon every opinion which is put forth there
as the necessary enemy of the faith.
Such is not the natural state of men with regard to religion at the
present day; and some extraordinary or incidental cause must be at
work in France to prevent the human mind from following its original
propensities and to drive it beyond the limits at which it ought
naturally to stop. I am intimately convinced that this extraordinary
and incidental cause is the close connection of politics and
religion. The unbelievers of Europe attack the Christians as their
political opponents, rather than as their religious adversaries;
they hate the Christian religion as the opinion of a party, much
more than as an error of belief; and they reject the clergy less
because they are the representatives of the Divinity than because
they are the allies of authority.
In Europe, Christianity has been intimately united to the powers of
the earth. Those powers are now in decay, and it is, as it were,
buried under their ruins. The living body of religion has been bound
down to the dead corpse of super-annuated polity: cut but the bonds
which restrain it, and that which is alive will rise once more. I
know not what could restore the Christian Church of Europe to the
energy of its earlier days; that power belongs to God alone; but it
may be the effect of human policy to leave the faith in the full
exercise of the strength which it still retains.
How the Instruction, the Habits, and the Practical Experience of the
Americans Promote the Success of their Democratic Institutions
What is to be understood by the instruction of the American people
-- The human mind more superficially instructed in the United States
than in Europe -- No one completely uninstructed -- Reason of this
-- Rapidity with which opinions are diffused even in the
uncultivated States of the West -- Practical experience more
serviceable to the Americans than book-learning.
I have but little to add to what I have already said concerning the
influence which the instruction and the habits of the Americans
exercise upon the maintenance of their political institutions.
America has hitherto produced very few writers of distinction; it
possesses no great historians, and not a single eminent poet. The
inhabitants of that country look upon what are properly styled
literary pursuits with a kind of disapprobation; and there are towns
of very second-rate importance in Europe in which more literary
works are annually published than in the twenty-four States of the
Union put together. The spirit of the Americans is averse to general
ideas; and it does not seek theoretical discoveries. Neither
politics nor manufactures direct them to these occupations; and
although new laws are perpetually enacted in the United States, no
great writers have hitherto inquired into the general principles of
their legislation. The Americans have lawyers and commentators, but
no jurists; and they furnish examples rather than lessons to the
world. The same observation applies to the mechanical arts. In
America, the inventions of Europe are adopted with sagacity; they
are perfected, and adapted with admirable skill to the wants of the
country. Manufactures exist, but the science of manufacture is not
cultivated; and they have good workmen, but very few inventors.
Fulton was obliged to proffer his services to foreign nations for a
long time before he was able to devote them to his own country.
The observer who is desirous of forming an opinion on the state of
instruction amongst the Anglo-Americans must consider the same
object from two different points of view. If he only singles out the
learned, he will be astonished to find how rare they are; but if he
counts the ignorant, the American people will appear to be the most
enlightened community in the world. The whole population, as I
observed in another place, is situated between these two extremes.
In New England, every citizen receives the elementary notions of
human knowledge; he is moreover taught the doctrines and the
evidences of his religion, the history of his country, and the
leading features of its Constitution. In the States of Connecticut
and Massachusetts, it is extremely rare to find a man imperfectly
acquainted with all these things, and a person wholly ignorant of
them is a sort of phenomenon.
When I compare the Greek and Roman republics with these American
States; the manuscript libraries of the former, and their rude
population, with the innumerable journals and the enlightened people
of the latter; when I remember all the attempts which are made to
judge the modern republics by the assistance of those of antiquity,
and to infer what will happen in our time from what took place two
thousand years ago, I am tempted to burn my books, in order to apply
none but novel ideas to so novel a condition of society.
What I have said of New England must not, however, be applied
indistinctly to the whole Union; as we advance towards the West or
the South, the instruction of the people diminishes. In the States
which are adjacent to the Gulf of Mexico, a certain number of
individuals may be found, as in our own countries, who are devoid of
the rudiments of instruction. But there is not a single district in
the United States sunk in complete ignorance; and for a very simple
reason: the peoples of Europe started from the darkness of a
barbarous condition, to advance toward the light of civilization;
their progress has been unequal; some of them have improved apace,
whilst others have loitered in their course, and some have stopped,
and are still sleeping upon the way.
Such has not been the case in the United States. The Anglo-Americans
settled in a state of civilization, upon that territory which their
descendants occupy; they had not to begin to learn, and it was
sufficient for them not to forget. Now the children of these same
Americans are the persons who, year by year, transport their
dwellings into the wilds; and with their dwellings their acquired
information and their esteem for knowledge. Education has taught
them the utility of instruction, and has enabled them to transmit
that instruction to their posterity. In the United States society
has no infancy, but it is born in man's estate.
The Americans never use the word "peasant," because they have no
idea of the peculiar class which that term denotes; the ignorance of
more remote ages, the simplicity of rural life, and the rusticity of
the villager have not been preserved amongst them; and they are
alike unacquainted with the virtues, the vices, the coarse habits,
and the simple graces of an early stage of civilization. At the
extreme borders of the Confederate States, upon the confines of
society and of the wilderness, a population of bold adventurers have
taken up their abode, who pierce the solitudes of the American
woods, and seek a country there, in order to escape that poverty
which awaited them in their native provinces. As soon as the pioneer
arrives upon the spot which is to serve him for a retreat, he fells
a few trees and builds a log-house. Nothing can offer a more
miserable aspect than these isolated dwellings. The traveller who
approaches one of them towards nightfall, sees the flicker of the
hearth-flame through the chinks in the walls; and at night, if the
wind rises, he hears the roof of boughs shake to and fro in the
midst of the great forest trees. Who would not suppose that this
poor hut is the asylum of rudeness and ignorance? Yet no sort of
comparison can be drawn between the pioneer and the dwelling which
shelters him. Everything about him is primitive and unformed, but he
is himself the result of the labor and the experience of eighteen
centuries. He wears the dress, and he speaks the language of cities;
he is acquainted with the past, curious of the future, and ready for
argument upon the present; he is, in short, a highly civilized
being, who consents, for a time, to inhabit the backwoods, and who
penetrates into the wilds of the New World with the Bible, an axe,
and a file of newspapers.
It is difficult to imagine the incredible rapidity with which public
opinion circulates in the midst of these deserts. I do not think
that so much intellectual intercourse takes place in the most
enlightened and populous districts of France. It cannot be doubted
that, in the United States, the instruction of the people powerfully
contributes to the support of a democratic republic; and such must
always be the case, I believe, where instruction which awakens the
understanding is not separated from moral education which amends the
heart. But I by no means exaggerate this benefit, and I am still
further from thinking, as so many people do think in Europe, that
men can be instantaneously made citizens by teaching them to read
and write. True information is mainly derived from experience; and
if the Americans had not been gradually accustomed to govern
themselves, their book-learning would not assist them much at the
present day.
I have lived a great deal with the people in the United States, and
I cannot express how much I admire their experience and their good
sense. An American should never be allowed to speak of Europe; for
he will then probably display a vast deal of presumption and very
foolish pride. He will take up with those crude and vague notions
which are so useful to the ignorant all over the world. But if you
question him respecting his own country, the cloud which dimmed his
intelligence will immediately disperse; his language will become as
clear and as precise as his thoughts. He will inform you what his
rights are, and by what means he exercises them; he will be able to
point out the customs which obtain in the political world. You will
find that he is well acquainted with the rules of the
administration, and that he is familiar with the mechanism of the
laws. The citizen of the United States does not acquire his
practical science and his positive notions from books; the
instruction he has acquired may have prepared him for receiving
those ideas, but it did not furnish them. The American learns to
know the laws by participating in the act of legislation; and he
takes a lesson in the forms of government from governing. The great
work of society is ever going on beneath his eyes, and, as it were,
under his hands.
In the United States politics are the end and aim of education; in
Europe its principal object is to fit men for private life. The
interference of the citizens in public affairs is too rare an
occurrence for it to be anticipated beforehand. Upon casting a
glance over society in the two hemispheres, these differences are
indicated even by its external aspect.
In Europe we frequently introduce the ideas and the habits of
private life into public affairs; and as we pass at once from the
domestic circle to the government of the State, we may frequently be
heard to discuss the great interests of society in the same manner
in which we converse with our friends. The Americans, on the other
hand, transfuse the habits of public life into their manners in
private; and in their country the jury is introduced into the games
of schoolboys, and parliamentary forms are observed in the order of
a feast.
The Laws Contribute More to the Maintenance of the Democratic
Republic in the United States than the Physical Circumstances of the
Country, and the Manner More than the Laws
All the nations of America have a democratic state of society -- Yet
democratic institutions only subsist amongst the Anglo-Americans --
The Spaniards of South America, equally favored by physical causes
as the Anglo-Americans, unable to maintain a democratic republic --
Mexico, which has adopted the Constitution of the United States, in
the same predicament -- The Anglo-Americans of the West less able to
maintain it than those of the East -- Reason of these different
results.
I have remarked that the maintenance of democratic institutions in
the United States is attributable to the circumstances, the laws,
and the manners of that country. Most Europeans are only acquainted
with the first of these three causes, and they are apt to give it a
preponderating importance which it does not really possess.
It is true that the Anglo-Saxons settled in the New World in a state
of social equality; the low-born and the noble were not to be found
amongst them; and professional prejudices were always as entirely
unknown as the prejudices of birth. Thus, as the condition of
society was democratic, the empire of democracy was established
without difficulty. But this circumstance is by no means peculiar to
the United States; almost all the trans-Atlantic colonies were
founded by men equal amongst themselves, or who became so by
inhabiting them. In no one part of the New World have Europeans been
able to create an aristocracy. Nevertheless, democratic institutions
prosper nowhere but in the United States.
The American Union has no enemies to contend with; it stands in the
wilds like an island in the ocean. But the Spaniards of South
America were no less isolated by nature; yet their position has not
relieved them from the charge of standing armies. They make war upon
each other when they have no foreign enemies to oppose; and the
Anglo-American democracy is the only one which has hitherto been
able to maintain itself in peace.
The territory of the Union presents a boundless field to human
activity, and inexhaustible materials for industry and labor. The
passion of wealth takes the place of ambition, and the warmth of
faction is mitigated by a sense of prosperity. But in what portion
of the globe shall we meet with more fertile plains, with mightier
rivers, or with more unexplored and inexhaustible riches than in
South America?
Nevertheless, South America has been unable to maintain democratic
institutions. If the welfare of nations depended on their being
placed in a remote position, with an unbounded space of habitable
territory before them, the Spaniards of South America would have no
reason to complain of their fate. And although they might enjoy less
prosperity than the inhabitants of the United States, their lot
might still be such as to excite the envy of some nations in Europe.
There are, however, no nations upon the face of the earth more
miserable than those of South America.
Thus, not only are physical causes inadequate to produce results
analogous to those which occur in North America, but they are unable
to raise the population of South America above the level of European
States, where they act in a contrary direction. Physical causes do
not, therefore, affect the destiny of nations so much as has been
supposed.
I have met with men in New England who were on the point of leaving
a country, where they might have remained in easy circumstances, to
go to seek their fortune in the wilds. Not far from that district I
found a French population in Canada, which was closely crowded on a
narrow territory, although the same wilds were at hand; and whilst
the emigrant from the United States purchased an extensive estate
with the earnings of a short term of labor, the Canadian paid as
much for land as he would have done in France. Nature offers the
solitudes of the New World to Europeans; but they are not always
acquainted with the means of turning her gifts to account. Other
peoples of America have the same physical conditions of prosperity
as the Anglo-Americans, but without their laws and their manners;
and these peoples are wretched. The laws and manners of the
Anglo-Americans are therefore that efficient cause of their
greatness which is the object of my inquiry.
I am far from supposing that the American laws are pre-eminently
good in themselves; I do not hold them to be applicable to all
democratic peoples; and several of them seem to be dangerous, even
in the United States. Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that the
American legislation, taken collectively, is extremely well adapted
to the genius of the people and the nature of the country which it
is intended govern. The American laws are therefore good, and to
them must be attributed a large portion of the success which attends
the government of democracy in America: but I do not believe them to
be the principal cause of that success; and if they seem to me to
have more influence upon the social happiness of the Americans than
the nature of the country, on the other hand there is reason to
believe that their effect is still inferior to that produced by the
manners of the people.
The Federal laws undoubtedly constitute the most important part of
the legislation of the United States. Mexico, which is not less
fortunately situated than the Anglo-American Union, has adopted the
same laws, but is unable to accustom itself to the government of
democracy. Some other cause is therefore at work, independently of
those physical circumstances and peculiar laws which enable the
democracy to rule in the United States.
Another still more striking proof may be adduced. Almost all the
inhabitants of the territory of the Union are the descendants of a
common stock; they speak the same language, they worship God in the
same manner, they are affected by the same physical causes, and they
obey the same laws. Whence, then, do their characteristic
differences arise? Why, in the Eastern States of the Union, does the
republican government display vigor and regularity, and proceed with
mature deliberation? Whence does it derive the wisdom and the
durability which mark its acts, whilst in the Western States, on the
contrary, society seems to be ruled by the powers of chance? There,
public business is conducted will an irregularity and a passionate
and feverish excitement, which does not announce a long or sure
duration.
I am no longer comparing the Anglo-American States to foreign
nations; but I am contrasting them with each other, and endeavoring
to discover why they are so unlike. The arguments which are derived
from the nature of the country and the difference of legislation are
here all set aside. Recourse must be had to some other cause; and
what other cause can there be except the manners of the people?
It is in the Eastern States that the Anglo-Americans have been
longest accustomed to the government of democracy, and that they
have adopted the habits and conceived the notions most favorable to
its maintenance. Democracy has gradually penetrated into their
customs, their opinions, and the forms of social intercourse; it is
to be found in all the details of daily life equally as in the laws.
In the Eastern States the instruction and practical education of the
people have been most perfected, and religion has been most
thoroughly amalgamated with liberty. Now these habits, opinions,
customs, and convictions are precisely the constituent elements of
that which I have denominated manners.
In the Western States, on the contrary, a portion of the same
advantages is still wanting. Many of the Americans of the West were
born in the woods, and they mix the ideas and the customs of savage
life with the civilization of their parents. Their passions are more
intense; their religious morality less authoritative; and their
convictions less secure. The inhabitants exercise no sort of control
over their fellow-citizens, for they are scarcely acquainted with
each other. The nations of the West display, to a certain extent,
the inexperience and the rude habits of a people in its infancy; for
although they are composed of old elements, their assemblage is of
recent date.
The manners of the Americans of the United States are, then, the
real cause which renders that people the only one of the American
nations that is able to support a democratic government; and it is
the influence of manners which produces the different degrees of
order and of prosperity that may be distinguished in the several
Anglo-American democracies. Thus the effect which the geographical
position of a country may have upon the duration of democratic
institutions is exaggerated in Europe. Too much importance is
attributed to legislation, too little to manners. These three great
causes serve, no doubt, to regulate and direct the American
democracy; but if they were to be classed in their proper order, I
should say that the physical circumstances are less efficient than
the laws, and the laws very subordinate to the manners of the
people. I am convinced that the most advantageous situation and the
best possible laws cannot maintain a constitution in spite of the
manners of a country; whilst the latter may turn the most
unfavorable positions and the worst laws to some advantage. The
importance of manners is a common truth to which study and
experience incessantly direct our attention. It may be regarded as a
central point in the range of human observation, and the common
termination of all inquiry. So seriously do I insist upon this head,
that if I have hitherto failed in making the reader feel the
important influence which I attribute to the practical experience,
the habits, the opinions, in short, to the manners of the Americans,
upon the maintenance of their institutions, I have failed in the
principal object of my work.
Whether Laws and Manners are Sufficient to Maintain Democratic
Institutions in Other Countries Besides America
The Anglo-Americans, if transported into Europe, would be obliged to
modify their laws -- Distinction to he made between democratic
institutions and American institutions -- Democratic laws may be
conceived better than, or at least different from, those which the
American democracy has adopted -- The example of America only proves
that it is possible to regulate democracy by the assistance of
manners and legislation.
I have asserted that the success of democratic institutions in the
United States is more intimately connected with the laws themselves,
and the manners of the people, than with the nature of the country.
But does it follow that the same causes would of themselves produce
the same results, if they were put into operation elsewhere; and if
the country is no adequate substitute for laws and manners, can laws
and manners in their turn prove a substitute for the country? It
will readily be understood that the necessary elements of a reply to
this question are wanting: other peoples are to be found in the New
World besides the Anglo-Americans, and as these people are affected
by the same physical circumstances as the latter, they may fairly be
compared together. But there are no nations out of America which
have adopted the same laws and manners, being destitute of the
physical advantages peculiar to the Anglo-Americans. No standard of
comparison therefore exists, and we can only hazard an opinion upon
this subject.
It appears to me, in the first place, that a careful distinction
must be made between the institutions of the United States and
democratic institutions in general. When I reflect upon the state of
Europe, its mighty nations, its populous Cities, its formidable
armies, and the complex nature of its politics, I cannot suppose
that even the Anglo-Americans, if they were transported to our
hemisphere, with their ideas, their religion, and their manners,
could exist without considerably altering their laws. But a
democratic nation may be imagined, organized differently from the
American people. It is not impossible to conceive a government
really established upon the will of the majority; but in which the
majority, repressing its natural propensity to equality, should
consent, with a view to the order and the stability of the State, to
invest a family or an individual with all the prerogatives of the
executive. A democratic society might exist, in which the forces of
the nation would be more centralized titan they are in the United
States; the people would exercise a less direct and less
irresistible influence upon public affairs, and yet every citizen
invested with certain rights would participate, within his sphere,
in the conduct of the government. The observations I made amongst
the Anglo-Americans induce me to believe that democratic
institutions of this kind, prudently introduced into society, so as
gradually to mix with the habits and to be interfused with the
opinions of the people, might subsist in other countries besides
America. If the laws of the United States were the only imaginable
democratic laws, or the most perfect which it is possible to
conceive, I should admit that the success of those institutions
affords no proof of the success of democratic institutions in
general, in a country less favored by natural circumstances. But as
the laws of America appear to me to be defective in several
respects, and as I can readily imagine others of the same general
nature, the peculiar advantages of that country do not prove that
democratic institutions cannot succeed in a nation less favored by
circumstances, if ruled by better laws.
If human nature were different in America from what it is elsewhere;
or if the social condition of the Americans engendered habits and
opinions amongst them different from those which originate in the
same social condition in the Old World, the American democracies
would afford no means of predicting what may occur in other
democracies. If the Americans displayed the same propensities as all
other democratic nations, and if their legislators had relied upon
the nature of the country and the favor of circumstances to restrain
those propensities within due limits, the prosperity of the United
States would be exclusively attributable to physical causes, and it
would afford no encouragement to a people inclined to imitate their
example, without sharing their natural advantages. But neither of
these suppositions is borne our by facts.
In America the same passions are to be met with as in Europe; some
originating in human nature, others in the democratic condition of
society. Thus in the United States I found that restlessness of
heart which is natural to men, when all ranks are nearly equal and
the chances of elevation are the same to all. I found the democratic
feeling of envy expressed under a thousand different forms. I
remarked that the people frequently displayed, in the conduct of
affairs, a consummate mixture of ignorance and presumption; and I
inferred that in America, men are liable to the same failings and
the same absurdities as amongst ourselves. But upon examining the
state of society more attentively, I speedily discovered that the
Americans had made great and successful efforts to counteract these
imperfections of human nature, and to correct the natural defects of
democracy. Their divers municipal laws appeared to me to be a means
of restraining the ambition of the citizens within a narrow sphere,
and of turning those same passions which might have worked havoc in
the State, to the good of the township or the parish. The American
legislators have succeeded to a certain extent in opposing the
notion of rights to the feelings of envy; the permanence of the
religious world to the continual shifting of politics; the
experience of the people to its theoretical ignorance; and its
practical knowledge of business to the impatience of its desires.
The Americans, then, have not relied upon the nature of their
country to counterpoise those dangers which originate in their
Constitution and in their political laws. To evils which are common
to all democratic peoples they have applied remedies which none but
themselves had ever thought of before; and although they were the
first to make the experiment, they have succeeded in it.
The manners and laws of the Americans are not the only ones which
may suit a democratic people; but the Americans have shown that it
would be wrong to despair of regulating democracy by the aid of
manners and of laws. If other nations should borrow this general and
pregnant idea from the Americans, without however intending to
imitate them in the peculiar application which they have made of it;
if they should attempt to fit themselves for that social condition,
which it seems to be the will of Providence to impose upon the
generations of this age, and so to escape from the despotism or the
anarchy which threatens them; what reason is there to suppose that
their efforts would not be crowned with success? The organization
and the establishment of democracy in Christendom is the great
political problem of the time. The Americans, unquestionably, have
not resolved this problem, but they furnish useful data to those who
undertake the task.
Importance of What Precedes With Respect to the State of Europe
It may readily be discovered with what intention I undertook the
foregoing inquiries. The question here discussed is interesting not
only to the United States, but to the whole world; it concerns, not
a nation, but all mankind. If those nations whose social condition
is democratic could only remain free as long as they are inhabitants
of the wilds, we could not but despair of the future destiny of the
human race; for democracy is rapidly acquiring a more extended sway,
and the wilds are gradually peopled with men. If it were true that
laws and manners are insufficient to maintain democratic
institutions, what refuge would remain open to the nations, except
the despotism of a single individual? I am aware that there are many
worthy persons at the present time who are not alarmed at this
latter alternative, and who are so tired of liberty as to be glad of
repose, far from those storms by which it is attended, But these
individuals are ill acquainted with the haven towards which they are
bound. They are so deluded by their recollections, as to judge the
tendency of absolute power by what it was formerly, and not by what
it might become at the present time.
If absolute power were re-established amongst the democratic nations
of Europe, I am persuaded that it would assume a new form, and
appear under features unknown to our forefathers. There was a time
in Europe when the laws and the consent of the people had invested
princes with almost unlimited authority; but they scarcely ever
availed themselves of it. I do not speak of the prerogatives of the
nobility, of the authority of supreme courts of justice, of
corporations and their chartered rights, or of provincial
privileges, which served to break the blows of the sovereign
authority, and to maintain a spirit of resistance in the nation.
Independently of these political institutions -- which, however
proposed they might be to personal liberty, served to keep alive the
love of freedom in the mind of the public, and which may be esteemed
to have been useful in this respect -- the manners and opinions of
the nation confined the royal authority within barriers which were
not less powerful, although they were less conspicuous. Religion,
the affections of the people, the benevolence of the prince, the
sense of honor, family pride, provincial prejudices, custom, and
public opinion limited the power of kings, and restrained their
authority within an invisible circle. The constitution of nations
was despotic at that time, but their manners were free. Princes had
the right, but they had neither the means nor the desire, of doing
whatever they pleased.
But what now remains of those barriers which formerly arrested the
aggressions of tyranny? Since religion has lost its empire over the
souls of men, the most prominent boundary which divided good from
evil is overthrown; the very elements of the moral world are
indeterminate; the princes and the peoples of the earth are guided
by chance, and none can define the natural limits of despotism and
the bounds of license. Long revolutions have forever destroyed the
respect which surrounded the rulers of the State; and since they
have been relieved from the burden of public esteem, princes may
henceforward surrender themselves without fear to the seductions of
arbitrary power.
When kings find that the hearts of their subjects are turned towards
them, they are clement, because they are conscious of their
strength, and they are chary of the affection of their people,
because the affection of their people is the bulwark of the throne.
A mutual interchange of good-will then takes place between the
prince and the people, which resembles the gracious intercourse of
domestic society. The subjects may murmur at the sovereign's decree,
but they are grieved to displease him; and the sovereign chastises
his subjects with the light hand of parental affection.
But when once the spell of royalty is broken in the tumult of
revolution; when successive monarchs have crossed the throne, so as
alternately to display to the people the weakness of their right and
the harshness of their power, the sovereign is no longer regarded by
any as the Father of the State, and he is feared by all as its
master. If he be weak, he is despised; if he be strong, he is
detested. He himself is full of animosity and alarm; he finds that
he is as a stranger in his own country, and he treats his subjects
like conquered enemies.
When the provinces and the towns formed so many different nations in
the midst of their common country, each of them had a will of its
own, which was opposed to the general spirit of subjection; but now
that all the parts of the same empire, after having lost their
immunities, their customs, their prejudices, their traditions, and
their names, are subjected and accustomed to the same laws, it is
not more difficult to oppress them collectively than it was formerly
to oppress them singly.
Whilst the nobles enjoyed their power, and indeed long after that
power was lost, the honor of aristocracy conferred an extraordinary
degree of force upon their personal opposition. They afford
instances of men who, notwithstanding their weakness, still
entertained a high opinion of their personal value, and dared to
cope single-handed with the efforts of the public authority. But at
the present day, when all ranks are more and more confounded, when
the individual disappears in the throng, and is easily lost in the
midst of a common obscurity, when the honor of monarchy has almost
lost its empire without being succeeded by public virtue, and when
nothing can enable man to rise above himself, who shall say at what
point the exigencies of power and the servility of weakness will
stop?
As long as family feeling was kept alive, the antagonist of
oppression was never alone; he looked about him, and found his
clients, his hereditary friends, and his kinsfolk. If this support
was wanting, he was sustained by his ancestors and animated by his
posterity. But when patrimonial estates are divided, and when a few
years suffice to confound the distinctions of a race, where can
family feeling be found? What force can there be in the customs of a
country which has changed and is still perpetually changing, its
aspect; in which every act of tyranny has a precedent, and every
crime an example; in which there is nothing so old that its
antiquity can save it from destruction, and nothing so unparalleled
that its novelty can prevent it from being done? What resistance can
be offered by manners of so pliant a make that they have already
often yielded? What strength can even public opinion have retained,
when no twenty persons are connected by a common tie; when not a
man, nor a family, nor chartered corporation, nor class, nor free
institution, has the power of representing or exerting that opinion;
and when every citizen -- being equally weak, equally poor, and
equally dependent -- has only his personal impotence to oppose to
the organized force of the government?
The annals of France furnish nothing analogous to the condition in
which that country might then be thrown. But it may more aptly be
assimilated to the times of old, and to those hideous eras of Roman
oppression, when the manners of the people were corrupted, their
traditions obliterated, their habits destroyed, their opinions
shaken, and freedom, expelled from the laws, could find no refuge in
the land; when nothing protected the citizens, and the citizens no
longer protected themselves; when human nature was the sport of man,
and princes wearied out the clemency of Heaven before they exhausted
the patience of their subjects. Those who hope to revive the
monarchy of Henry IV or of Louis XIV, appear to me to be afflicted
with mental blindness; and when I consider the present condition of
several European nations -- a condition to which all the others tend
-- I am led to believe that they will soon be left with no other
alternative than democratic liberty, or the tyranny of the Caesars.
And indeed it is deserving of consideration, whether men are to be
entirely emancipated or entirely enslaved; whether their rights are
to be made equal, or wholly taken away from them. If the rulers of
society were reduced either gradually to raise the crowd to their
own level, or to sink the citizens below that of humanity, would not
the doubts of many be resolved, the consciences of many be healed,
and the community prepared to make great sacrifices with little
difficulty? In that case, the gradual growth of democratic manners
and institutions should be regarded, not as the best, but as the
only means of preserving freedom; and without liking the government
of democracy, it might be adopted as the most applicable and the
fairest remedy for the present ills of society.
It is difficult to associate a people in the work of government; but
it is still more difficult to supply it with experience, and to
inspire it with the feelings which it requires in order to govern
well. I grant that the caprices of democracy are perpetual; its
instruments are rude; its laws imperfect. But if it were true that
soon no just medium would exist between the empire of democracy and
the dominion of a single arm, should we not rather incline towards
the former than submit voluntarily to the latter? And if complete
equality be our fate, is it not better to be levelled by free
institutions than by despotic power?
Those who, after having read this book, should imagine that my
intention in writing it has been to propose the laws and manners of
the Anglo-Americans for the imitation of all democratic peoples,
would commit a very great mistake; they must have paid more
attention to the form than to the substance of my ideas. My aim has
been to show, by the example of America, that laws, and especially
manners, may exist which will allow a democratic people to remain
free. But I am very far from thinking that we ought to follow the
example of the American democracy, and copy the means which it has
employed to attain its ends; for I am well aware of the influence
which the nature of a country and its political precedents exercise
upon a constitution; and I should regard it as a great misfortune
for mankind if liberty were to exist all over the world under the
same forms.
But I am of opinion that if we do not succeed in gradually
introducing democratic institutions into France, and if we despair
of imparting to the citizens those ideas and sentiments which first
prepare them for freedom, and afterwards allow them to enjoy it,
there will be no independence at all, either for the middling
classes or the nobility, for the poor or for the rich, but an equal
tyranny over all; and I foresee that if the peaceable empire of the
majority be not founded amongst us in time, we shall sooner or later
arrive at the unlimited authority of a single despot.
Chapter 18 The Present and Probable Future Condition of the Three
Races Which Inhabit the Territory of the United States
THE principal part of the task which I had imposed upon myself is
now performed. I have shown, as far as I was able, the laws and the
manners of the American democracy. Here I might stop; but the reader
would perhaps feel that I had not satisfied his expectations.
The absolute supremacy of democracy is not all that we meet with in
America; the inhabitants of the New World may be considered from
more than one point of view. In the course of this work my subject
has often led me to speak of the Indians and the Negroes; but I have
never been able to stop in order to show what place these two races
occupy in the midst of the democratic people whom I was engaged in
describing. I have mentioned in what spirit, and according to what
laws, the Anglo-American Union was formed; but I could only glance
at the dangers which menace that confederation, whilst it was
equally impossible for me to give a detailed account of its chances
of duration, independently of its laws and manners. When speaking of
the united republican States, I hazarded no conjectures upon the
permanence of republican forms in the New World, and when making
frequent allusion to the commercial activity which reigns in the
Union, I was unable to inquire into the future condition of the
Americans as a commercial people.
These topics are collaterally connected with my subject without
forming a part of it; they are American without being democratic;
and to portray democracy has been my principal aim. It was therefore
necessary to postpone these questions, which I now take up as the
proper termination of my work.
The territory now occupied or claimed by the American Union spreads
from the shores of the Atlantic to those of the Pacific Ocean. On
the east and west its limits are those of the continent itself. On
the south it advances nearly to the tropic, and it extends upwards
to the icy regions of the North, The human beings who are scattered
over this space do not form, as in Europe, so many branches of the
same stock. Three races, naturally distinct, and, I might almost
say, hostile to each other, are discoverable amongst them at the
first glance. Almost insurmountable barriers had been raised between
them by education and by law, as well as by their origin and outward
characteristics; but fortune has brought them together on the same
soil, where, although they are mixed, they do not amalgamate, and
each race fulfils its destiny apart.
Amongst these widely differing families of men, the first which
attracts attention, the superior in intelligence, in power and in
enjoyment, is the white or European, the man pre-eminent; and in
subordinate grades, the negro and the Indian. These two unhappy
races have nothing in common; neither birth, nor features, nor
language, nor habits. Their only resemblance lies in their
misfortunes. Both of them occupy an inferior rank in the country
they inhabit; both suffer from tyranny; and if their wrongs are not
the same, they originate, at any rate, with the same authors.
If we reasoned from what passes in the world, we should almost say
that the European is to the other races of mankind, what man is to
the lower animals; -- he makes them subservient to his use; and when
he cannot subdue, he destroys them. Oppression has, at one stroke,
deprived the descendants of the Africans of almost all the
privileges of humanity. The negro of the United States has lost all
remembrance of his country; the language which his forefathers spoke
is never heard around him; he abjured their religion and forgot
their customs when he ceased to belong to Africa, without acquiring
any claim to European privileges. But he remains half way between
the two communities; sold by the one, repulsed by the other; finding
not a spot in the universe to call by the name of country, except
the faint image of a home which the shelter of his master's roof
affords.
The negro has no family; woman is merely the temporary companion of
his pleasures, and his children are upon an equality with himself
from the moment of their birth. Am I to call it a proof of God's
mercy or a visitation of his wrath, that man in certain states
appears to be insensible to his extreme wretchedness, and almost
affects, with a depraved taste, the cause of his misfortunes? The
negro, who is plunged in this abyss of evils, scarcely feels his own
calamitous situation. Violence made him a slave, and the habit of
servitude gives him the thoughts and desires of a slave; he admires
his tyrants more than he hates them, and finds his joy and his pride
in the servile imitation of those who oppress him: his understanding
is degraded to the level of his soul.
The negro enters upon slavery as soon as he is born: nay, he may
have been purchased in the womb, and have begun his slavery before
he began his existence. Equally devoid of wants and of enjoyment,
and useless to himself, he learns, with his first notions of
existence, that he is the property of another, who has an interest
in preserving his life, and that the care of it does not devolve
upon himself; even the power of thought appears to him a useless
gift of Providence, and he quietly enjoys the privileges of his
debasement. If he becomes free, independence is often felt by him to
be a heavier burden than slavery; for having learned, in the course
of his life, to submit to everything except reason, he is too much
unacquainted with her dictates to obey them. A thousand new desires
beset him, and he is destitute of the knowledge and energy necessary
to resist them: these are masters which it is necessary to contend
with, and he has learnt only to submit and obey. In short, he sinks
to such a depth of wretchedness, that while servitude brutalizes,
liberty destroys him.
Oppression has been no less fatal to the Indian than to the negro
race, but its effects are different. Before the arrival of white men
in the New World, the inhabitants of North America lived quietly in
their woods, enduring the vicissitudes and practising the virtues
and vices common to savage nations. The Europeans, having dispersed
the Indian tribes and driven them into the deserts, condemned them
to a wandering life full of inexpressible sufferings.
Savage nations are only controlled by opinion and by custom. When
the North American Indians had lost the sentiment of attachment to
their country; when their families were dispersed, their traditions
obscured, and the chain of their recollections broken; when all
their habits were changed, and their wants increased beyond measure,
European tyranny rendered them more disorderly and less civilized
than they were before. The moral and physical condition of these
tribes continually grew worse, and they became more barbarous as
they became more wretched. Nevertheless, the Europeans have not been
able to metamorphose the character of the Indians; and though they
have had power to destroy them, they have never been able to make
them submit to the rules of civilized society.
The lot of the negro is placed on the extreme limit of servitude,
while that of the Indian lies on the uttermost verge of liberty; and
slavery does not produce more fatal effects upon the first, than
independence upon the second. The negro has lost all property in his
own person, and he cannot dispose of his existence without
committing a sort of fraud: but the savage is his own master as soon
as he is able to act; parental authority is scarcely known to him;
he has never bent his will to that of any of his kind, nor learned
the difference between voluntary obedience and a shameful
subjection; and the very name of law is unknown to him. To be free,
with him, signifies to escape from all the shackles of society. As
he delights in this barbarous independence, and would rather perish
than sacrifice the least part of it, civilization has little power
over him.
The negro makes a thousand fruitless efforts to insinuate himself
amongst men who repulse him; he conforms to the tastes of his
oppressors, adopts their opinions, and hopes by imitating them to
form a part of their community. Having been told from infancy that
his race is naturally inferior to that of the whites, he assents to
the proposition and is ashamed of his own nature. In each of his
features he discovers a trace of slavery, and, if it were in his
power, he would willingly rid himself of everything that makes him
what he is.
The Indian, on the contrary, has his imagination inflated with the
pretended nobility of his origin, and lives and dies in the midst of
these dreams of pride. Far from desiring to conform his habits to
ours, he loves his savage life as the distinguishing mark of his
race, and he repels every advance to civilization, less perhaps from
the hatred which he entertains for it, than from a dread of
resembling the Europeans. While he has nothing to oppose to our
perfection in the arts but the resources of the desert, to our
tactics nothing but undisciplined courage; whilst our well-digested
plans are met by the spontaneous instincts of savage life, who can
wonder if he fails in this unequal contest?
The negro, who earnestly desires to mingle his race with that of the
European, cannot effect it; while the Indian, who might succeed to a
certain extent, disdains to make the attempt. The servility of the
one dooms him to slavery, the pride of the other to death.
I remember that while I was travelling through the forests which
still cover the State of Alabama, I arrived one day at the log house
of a pioneer. I did not wish to penetrate into the dwelling of the
American, but retired to rest myself for a while on the margin of a
spring, which was not far off, in the woods. While I was in this
place (which was in the neighborhood of the Creek territory), an
Indian woman appeared, followed by a negress, and holding by the
hand a little white girl of five or six years old, whom I took to be
the daughter of the pioneer. A sort of barbarous luxury set off the
costume of the Indian; rings of metal were hanging from her nostrils
and ears; her hair, which was adorned with glass beads, fell loosely
upon her shoulders; and I saw that she was not married, for she
still wore that necklace of shells which the bride always deposits
on the nuptial couch. The negress was clad in squalid European
garments. They all three came and seated themselves upon the banks
of the fountain; and the young Indian, taking the child in her arms,
lavished upon her such fond caresses as mothers give; while the
negress endeavored by various little artifices to attract the
attention of the young Creole.
The child displayed in her slightest gestures a consciousness of
superiority which formed a strange contrast with her infantine
weakness; as if she received the attentions of her companions with a
sort of condescension. The negress was seated on the ground before
her mistress, watching her smallest desires, and apparently divided
between strong affection for the child and servile fear; whilst the
savage displayed, in the midst of her tenderness, an air of freedom
and of pride which was almost ferocious. I had approached the group,
and I contemplated them in silence; but my curiosity was probably
displeasing to the Indian woman, for she suddenly rose, pushed the
child roughly from her, and giving me an angry look plunged into the
thicket. I had often chanced to see individuals met together in the
same place, who belonged to the three races of men which people
North America. I had perceived from many different results the
preponderance of the whites. But in the picture which I have just
been describing there was something peculiarly touching; a bond of
affection here united the oppressors with the oppressed, and the
effort of nature to bring them together rendered still more striking
the immense distance placed between them by prejudice and by law.
The Present and Probable Future Condition of the Indian Tribes Which
Inhabit the Territory Possessed by the Union
Gradual disappearance of the native tribes -- Manner in which it
takes place -- Miseries accompanying the forced migrations of the
Indians -- The savages of North America had only two ways of
escaping destruction; war or civilization -- They are no longer able
to make war -- Reasons why they refused to become civilized when it
was in their power, and why they cannot become so now that they
desire it -- Instance of the Creeks and Cherokees -- Policy of the
particular States towards these Indians -- Policy of the Federal
Government.
None of the Indian tribes which formerly inhabited the territory of
New England -- the Naragansetts, the Mohicans, the Pecots -- have
any existence but in the recollection of man. The Lenapes, who
received William Penn, a hundred and fifty years ago, upon the banks
of the Delaware, have disappeared; and I myself met with the last of
the Iroquois, who were begging alms. The nations I have mentioned
formerly covered the country to the sea-coast; but a traveller at
the present day must penetrate more than a hundred leagues into the
interior of the continent to find an Indian. Not only have these
wild tribes receded, but they are destroyed; and as they give way or
perish, an immense and increasing people fills their place. There is
no instance upon record of so prodigious a growth, or so rapid a
destruction: the manner in which the latter change takes place is
not difficult to describe.
When the Indians were the sole inhabitants of the wilds from whence
they have since been expelled, their wants were few. Their arms were
of their own manufacture, their only drink was the water of the
brook, and their clothes consisted of the skins of animals, whose
flesh furnished them with food.
The Europeans introduced amongst the savages of North America
fire-arms, ardent spirits, and iron: they taught them to exchange
for manufactured stuffs, the rough garments which had previously
satisfied their untutored simplicity. Having acquired new tastes,
without the arts by which they could be gratified, the Indians were
obliged to have recourse to the workmanship of the whites; but in
return for their productions the savage had nothing to offer except
the rich furs which still abounded in his woods. Hence the chase
became necessary, not merely to provide for his subsistence, but in
order to procure the only objects of barter which he could furnish
to Europe. Whilst the wants of the natives were thus increasing,
their resources continued to diminish.
From the moment when a European settlement is formed in the
neighborhood of the territory occupied by the Indians, the beasts of
chase take the alarm. Thousands of savages, wandering in the forests
and destitute of any fixed dwelling, did not disturb them; but as
soon as the continuous sounds of European labor are heard in their
neighborhood, they begin to flee away, and retire to the West, where
their instinct teaches them that they will find deserts of
immeasurable extent. "The buffalo is constantly receding," say
Messrs. Clarke and Cass in their Report of the year 829; "a few
years since they approached the base of the Alleghany; and a few
years hence they may even be rare upon the immense plains which
extend to the base of the Rocky Mountains." I have been assured that
this effect of the approach of the whites is often felt at two
hundred leagues' distance from their frontier. Their influence is
thus exerted over tribes whose name is unknown to them; and who
suffer the evils of usurpation long before they are acquainted with
the authors of their distress.
Bold adventurers soon penetrate into the country the Indians have
deserted, and when they have advanced about fifteen or twenty
leagues from the extreme frontiers of the whites, they begin to
build habitations for civilized beings in the midst of the
wilderness. This is done without difficulty, as the territory of a
hunting-nation is ill-defined; it is the common property of the
tribe, and belongs to no one in particular, so that individual
interests are not concerned in the protection of any part of it.
A few European families, settled in different situations at a
considerable distance from each other, soon drive away the wild
animals which remain between their places of abode. The Indians, who
had previously lived in a sort of abundance, then find it difficult
to subsist, and still more difficult to procure the articles of
barter which they stand in need of.
To drive away their game is to deprive them of the means of
existence, as effectually as if the fields of our agriculturists
were stricken with barrenness; and they are reduced, like famished
wolves, to prowl through the forsaken woods in quest of prey. Their
instinctive love of their country attaches them to the soil which
gave them birth, even after it has ceased to yield anything but
misery and death. At length they are compelled to acquiesce, and to
depart: they follow the traces of the elk, the buffalo, and the
beaver, and are guided by these wild animals in the choice of their
future country. Properly speaking, therefore, it is not the
Europeans who drive away the native inhabitants of America; it is
famine which compels them to recede; a happy distinction which had
escaped the casuists of former times, and for which we are indebted
to modern discovery!
It is impossible to conceive the extent of the sufferings which
attend these forced emigrations. They are undertaken by a people
already exhausted and reduced; and the countries to which the
newcomers betake themselves are inhabited by other tribes which
receive them with jealous hostility. Hunger is in the rear; war
awaits them, and misery besets them on all sides. In the hope of
escaping from such a host of enemies, they separate, and each
individual endeavors to procure the means of supporting his
existence in solitude and secrecy, living in the immensity of the
desert like an outcast in civilized society. The social tie, which
distress had long since weakened, is then dissolved; they have lost
their country, and their people soon desert them: their very
families are obliterated; the names they bore in common are
forgotten, their language perishes, and all traces of their origin
disappear. Their nation has ceased to exist, except in the
recollection of the antiquaries of America and a few of the learned
of Europe.
I should be sorry to have my reader suppose that I am coloring the
picture too highly; I saw with my own eyes several of the cases of
misery which I have been describing; and I was the witness of
sufferings which I have not the power to portray.
At the end of the year 1831, whilst I was on the left bank of the
Mississippi at a place named by Europeans, Memphis, there arrived a
numerous band of Choctaws (or Chactas, as they are called by the
French in Louisiana). These savages had left their country, and were
endeavoring to gain the right bank of the Mississippi, where they
hoped to find an asylum which had been promised them by the American
government. It was then the middle of winter, and the cold was
unusually severe; the snow had frozen hard upon the ground, and the
river was drifting huge masses of ice, The Indians had their
families with them; and they brought in their train the wounded and
sick, with children newly born, and old men upon the verge of death.
They possessed neither tents nor wagons, but only their arms and
some provisions. I saw them embark to pass the mighty river, and
never will that solemn spectacle fade from my remembrance. No cry,
no sob was heard amongst the assembled crowd; all were silent. Their
calamities were of ancient date, and they knew them to be
irremediable. The Indians had all stepped into the bark which was to
carry them across, but their dogs remained upon the bank. As soon as
these animals perceived that their masters were finally leaving the
shore, they set up a dismal howl, and, plunging all together into
the icy waters of the Mississippi, they swam after the boat.
The ejectment of the Indians very often takes place at the present
day, in a regular, and, as it were, a legal manner. When the
European population begins to approach the limit of the desert
inhabited by a savage tribe, the government of the United States
usually dispatches envoys to them, who assemble the Indians in a
large plain, and having first eaten and drunk with them, accost them
in the following manner: "What have you to do in the land of your
fathers? Before long, you must dig up their bones in order to live.
In what respect is the country you inhabit better than another? Are
there no woods, marshes, or prairies, except where you dwell? And
can you live nowhere but under your own sun? Beyond those mountains
which you see at the horizon, beyond the lake which bounds your
territory on the west, there lie vast countries where beasts of
chase are found in great abundance; sell your lands to us, and go to
live happily in those solitudes." After holding this language, they
spread before the eyes of the Indians firearms, woollen garments,
kegs of brandy, glass necklaces, bracelets of tinsel, earrings, and
looking-glasses. If, when they have beheld all these riches, they
still hesitate, it is insinuated that they have not the means of
refusing their required consent, and that the government itself will
not long have the power of protecting them in their rights. What are
they to do? Half convinced, and half compelled, they go to inhabit
new deserts, where the importunate whites will not let them remain
ten years in tranquillity. In this manner do the Americans obtain,
at a very low price, whole provinces, which the richest sovereigns
of Europe could not purchase.
These are great evils; and it must be added that they appear to me
to be irremediable. I believe that the Indian nations of North
America are doomed to perish; and that whenever the Europeans shall
be established on the shores of the Pacific Ocean, that race of men
will be no more. The Indians had only the two alternatives of war or
civilization; in other words, they must either have destroyed the
Europeans or become their equals.
At the first settlement of the colonies they might have found it
possible, by uniting their forces, to deliver themselves from the
small bodies of strangers who landed on their continent. They
several times attempted to do it, and were on the point of
succeeding; but the disproportion of their resources, at the present
day, when compared with those of the whites, is too great to allow
such an enterprise to be thought of. Nevertheless, there do arise
from time to time among the Indians men of penetration, who foresee
the final destiny which awaits the native population, and who exert
themselves to unite all the tribes in common hostility to the
Europeans; but their efforts are unavailing. Those tribes which are
in the neighborhood of the whites, are too much weakened to offer an
effectual resistance; whilst the others, giving way to that childish
carelessness of the morrow which characterizes savage life, wait for
the near approach of danger before they prepare to meet it; some are
unable, the others are unwilling, to exert themselves.
It is easy to foresee that the Indians will never conform to
civilization; or that it will be too late, whenever they may be
inclined to make the experiment.
Civilization is the result of a long social process which takes
place in the same spot, and is handed down from one generation to
another, each one profiting by the experience of the last. Of all
nations, those submit to civilization with the most difficulty which
habitually live by the chase, Pastoral tribes, indeed, often change
their place of abode; but they follow a regular order in their
migrations, and often return again to their old stations, whilst the
dwelling of the hunter varies with that of the animals he pursues.
Several attempts have been made to diffuse knowledge amongst the
Indians, without controlling their wandering propensities; by the
Jesuits in Canada, and by the Puritans in New England; but none of
these endeavors were crowned by any lasting success. Civilization
began in the cabin, but it soon retired to expire in the woods. The
great error of these legislators of the Indians was their not
understanding that, in order to succeed in civilizing a people, it
is first necessary to fix it; which cannot be done without inducing
it to cultivate the soil; the Indians ought in the first place to
have been accustomed to agriculture. But not only are they destitute
of this indispensable preliminary to civilization, they would even
have great difficulty in acquiring it. Men who have once abandoned
themselves to the restless and adventurous life of the hunter, feel
an insurmountable disgust for the constant and regular labor which
tillage requires. We see this proved in the bosom of our own
society; but it is far more visible among peoples whose partiality
for the chase is a part of their national character.
Independently of this general difficulty, there is another, which
applies peculiarly to the Indians; they consider labor not merely as
an evil, but as a disgrace; so that their pride prevents them from
becoming civilized, as much as their indolence.
There is no Indian so wretched as not to retain under his hut of
bark a lofty idea of his personal worth; he considers the cares of
industry and labor as degrading occupations; he compares the
husbandman to the ox which traces the furrow; and even in our most
ingenious handicraft, he can see nothing but the labor of slaves.
Not that he is devoid of admiration for the power and intellectual
greatness of the whites; but although the result of our efforts
surprises him, he contemns the means by which we obtain it; and
while be acknowledges our ascendancy, he still believes in his
superiority. War and hunting are the only pursuits which appear to
him worthy to be the occupations of a man. The Indian, in the dreary
solitude of his woods, cherishes the same ideas, the same opinions
as the noble of the Middle Ages in his castle, and he only requires
to become a conqueror to complete the resemblance; thus, however
Strange it may seem, it is in the forests of the New World, and not
amongst the Europeans who people its coasts, that the ancient
prejudices of Europe are still in existence.
More than once, in the course of this work, I have endeavored to
explain the prodigious influence which the social condition appears
to exercise upon the laws and the manners of men; and I beg to add a
few words on the same subject.
When I perceive the resemblance which exists between the political
institutions of our ancestors, the Germans, and of the wandering
tribes of North America; between the customs described by Tacitus,
and those of which I have sometimes been a witness, I cannot help
thinking that the same cause has brought about the same results in
both hemispheres; and that in the midst of the apparent diversity of
human affairs, a certain number of primary facts may ice discovered,
from which all the others are derived. In what we usually call the
German institutions, then, I am inclined only to perceive barbarian
habits; and the opinions of savages in what we style fuedal
principles.
However strongly the vices and prejudices of the North American
Indians may be opposed to their becoming agricultural and civilized,
necessity sometimes obliges them to it. Several of the southern
nations, and amongst others the Cherokees and the Creeks, were
surrounded by Europeans, who had landed on the shores of the
Atlantic; and who, either descending the Ohio or proceeding up the
Mississippi, arrived simultaneously upon their borders. These tribes
have not been driven from place to place, like their Northern
brethren; but they have been gradually enclosed within narrow
limits, like the game within the thicket, before the huntsmen plunge
into the interior. The Indians who were thus placed between
civilization and death, found themselves obliged to live by
ignominious labor like the whites. They took to agriculture, and
without entirely forsaking their old habits or manners, sacrificed
only as much as was necessary to their existence.
The Cherokees went further; they created a written language;
established a permanent form of government; and as everything
proceeds rapidly in the New World, before they had all of them
clothes, they set up a newspaper.
The growth of European habits has been remarkably accelerated among
these Indians by the mixed race which has sprung up. Deriving
intelligence from their father's side, without entirely losing the
savage customs of the mother, the half-blood forms the natural link
between civilization and barbarism. Wherever this race has
multiplied the savage state has become modified, and a great change
has taken place in the manners of the people.
The success of the Cherokees proves that the Indians are capable of
civilization, but it does not prove that they will succeed in it.
This difficulty which the Indians find in submitting to civilization
proceeds from the influence of a general cause, which it is almost
impossible for them to escape. An attentive survey of history
demonstrates that, in general, barbarous nations have raised
themselves to civilization by degrees, and by their own efforts.
Whenever they derive knowledge from a foreign people, they stood
towards it in the relation of conquerors, and not of a conquered
nation. When the conquered nation is enlightened, and the conquerors
are half savage, as in the case of the invasion of Rome by the
Northern nations or that of China by the Mongols, the power which
victory bestows upon the barbarian is sufficient to keep up his
importance among civilized men, and permit him to rank as their
equal, until he becomes their rival: the one has might on his side,
the other has intelligence; the former admires the knowledge and the
arts of the conquered, the latter envies the power of the
conquerors. The barbarians at length admit civilized man into their
palaces, and he in turn opens his schools to the barbarians. But
when the side on which the physical force lies, also possesses an
intellectual preponderance, the conquered party seldom become
civilized; it retreats, or is destroyed. It may therefore be said,
in a general way, that savages go forth in arms to seek knowledge,
but that they do not receive it when it comes to them.
If the Indian tribes which now inhabit the heart of the continent
could summon up energy enough to attempt to civilize themselves,
they might possibly succeed. Superior already to the barbarous
nations which surround them, they would gradually gain strength and
experience, and when the Europeans should appear upon their borders,
they would be in a state, if not to maintain their independence, at
least to assert their right to the soil, and to incorporate
themselves with the conquerors. But it is the misfortune of Indians
to be brought into contact with a civilized people, which is also
(it must be owned) the most avaricious nation on the globe, whilst
they are still semi- barbarian: to find despots in their
instructors, and to receive knowledge from the hand of oppression.
Living in the freedom of the woods, the North American Indian was
destitute, but he had no feeling of inferiority towards anyone; as
soon, however, as he desires to penetrate into the social scale of
the whites, he takes the lowest rank in society, for he enters,
ignorant and poor, within the pale of science and wealth. After
having led a life of agitation, beset with evils and dangers, but at
the same time filled with proud emotions, he is obliged to submit to
a wearisome, obscure, and degraded state; and to gain the bread
which nourishes him by hard and ignoble labor; such are in his eyes
the only results of which civilization can boast: and even this much
he is not sure to obtain.
When the Indians undertake to imitate their European neighbors, and
to till the earth like the settlers, they are immediately exposed to
a very formidable competition. The white man is skilled in the craft
of agriculture; the Indian is a rough beginner in an art with which
he is unacquainted. The former reaps abundant crops without
difficulty, the latter meets with a thousand obstacles in raising
the fruits of the earth.
The European is placed amongst a population whose wants he knows and
partakes. The savage is isolated in the midst of a hostile people,
with whose manners, language, and laws he is imperfectly acquainted,
but without whose assistance he cannot live. He can only procure the
materials of comfort by bartering his commodities against the goods
of the European, for the assistance of his countrymen is wholly
insufficient to supply his wants. When the Indian wishes to sell the
produce of his labor, he cannot always meet with a purchaser, whilst
the European readily finds a market; and the former can only produce
at a considerable cost that which the latter vends at a very low
rate. Thus the Indian has no sooner escaped those evils to which
barbarous nations are exposed, than he is subjected to the still
greater miseries of civilized communities; and he finds is scarcely
less difficult to live in the midst of our abundance, than in the
depth of his own wilderness.
He has not yet lost the habits of his erratic life; the traditions
of his fathers and his passion for the chase are still alive within
him. The wild enjoyments which formerly animated him in the woods,
painfully excite his troubled imagination; and his former privations
appear to be less keen, his former perils less appalling. He
contrasts the independence which he possessed amongst his equals
with the servile position which he occupies in civilized society. On
the other hand, the solitudes which were so long his free home are
still at hand; a few hours' march will bring him back to them once
more. The whites offer him a sum, which seems to him to be
considerable, for the ground which he has begun to clear. This money
of the Europeans may possibly furnish him with the means of a happy
and peaceful subsistence in remoter regions; and he quits the
plough, resumes his native arms, and returns to the wilderness
forever. The condition of the Creeks and Cherokees, to which I have
already alluded, sufficiently corroborates the truth of this
deplorable picture.
The Indians, in the little which they have done, have unquestionably
displayed as much natural genius as the peoples of Europe in their
most important designs; but nations as well as men require time to
learn, whatever may be their intelligence and their zeal. Whilst the
savages were engaged in the work of civilization, the Europeans
continued to surround them on every side, and to confine them within
narrower limits; the two races gradually met, and they are now in
immediate juxtaposition to each other. The Indian is already
superior to his barbarous parent, but he is still very far below his
white neighbor. With their resources and acquired knowledge, the
Europeans soon appropriated to themselves most of the advantages
which the natives might have derived from the possession of the
soil; they have settled in the country, they have purchased land at
a very low rate or have occupied it by force, and the Indians have
been ruined by a competition which they had not the means of
resisting. They were isolated in their own country, and their race
only constituted a colony of troublesome aliens in the midst of a
numerous and domineering people.
Washington said in one of his messages to Congress, "We are more
enlightened and more powerful than the Indian nations, we are
therefore bound in honor to treat them with kindness and even with
generosity." But this virtuous and high-minded policy has not been
followed. The rapacity of the settlers is usually backed by the
tyranny of the government. Although the Cherokees and the Creeks are
established upon the territory which they inhabited before the
settlement of the Europeans, and although the Americans have
frequently treated with them as with foreign nations, the
surrounding States have not consented to acknowledge them as
independent peoples, and attempts have been made to subject these
children of the woods to Anglo-American magistrates, laws, and
customs. Destitution had driven these unfortunate Indians to
civilization, and oppression now drives them back to their former
condition: many of them abandon the soil which they had begun to
clear, and return to their savage course of life.
If we consider the tyrannical measures which have been adopted by
the legislatures of the Southern States, the conduct of their
Governors, and the decrees of their courts of justice, we shall be
convinced that the entire expulsion of the Indians is the final
result to which the efforts of their policy are directed. The
Americans of that part of the Union look with jealousy upon the
aborigines, they are aware that these tribes have not yet lost the
traditions of savage life, and before civilization has permanently
fixed them to the soil, it is intended to force them to recede by
reducing them to despair. The Creeks and Cherokees, oppressed by the
several States, have appealed to the central government, which is by
no means insensible to their misfortunes, and is sincerely desirous
of saving the remnant of the natives, and of maintaining them in the
free possession of that territory, which the Union is pledged to
respect. But the several States oppose so formidable a resistance to
the execution of this design, that the government is obliged to
consent to the extirpation of a few barbarous tribes in order not to
endanger the safety of the American Union.
But the federal government, which is not able to protect the
Indians, would fain mitigate the hardships of their lot; and, with
this intention, proposals have been made to transport them into more
remote regions at the public cost.
Between the thirty-third and thirty-seventh degrees of north
latitude, a vast tract of country lies, which has taken the name of
Arkansas, from the principal river that waters its extent. It is
bounded on the one side by the confines of Mexico, on the other by
the Mississippi. Numberless streams cross it in every direction; the
climate is mild, and the soil productive, but it is only inhabited
by a few wandering hordes of Savages. The government of the Union
wishes to transport the broken rem nants of the indigenous
population of the South to the portion of this country which is
nearest to Mexico, and at a great distance from the American
settlements.
We were assured, towards the end of the year 1831, that 10,000
Indians had already gone down to the shores of the Arkansas; and
fresh detachments were constantly following them; but Congress has
been unable to excite a unanimous determination in those whom it is
disposed to protect. Some, indeed, are willing to quit the seat of
oppression, but the most enlightened members of the community refuse
to abandon their recent dwellings and their springing crops; they
are of opinion that the work of civilization, once interrupted, will
never be resumed; they fear that those domestic habits which have
been so recently contracted, may be irrevocably lost in the midst of
a country which is still barbarous, and where nothing is prepared
for the subsistence of an agricultural people; they know that their
entrance into those wilds will be opposed by inimical hordes, and
that they have lost the energy of barbarians, without acquiring the
resources of civilization to resist their attacks. Moreover, the
Indians readily discover that the settlement which is proposed to
them is merely a temporary expedient. Who can assure them that they
will at length be allowed to dwell in peace in their new retreat?
The United States pledge themselves to the observance of the
obligation; but the territory which they at present occupy was
formerly secured to them by the most solemn oaths of Anglo-American
faith. The American government does not indeed rob them of their
lands, but it allows perpetual incursions to be made on them. In a
few years the same white population which now flocks around them,
will track them to the solitudes of the Arkansas; they will then be
exposed to the same evils without the same remedies, and as the
limits of the earth will at last fail them, their only refuge is the
grave.
The Union treats the Indians with less cupidity and rigor than the
policy of the several States, but the two governments are alike
destitute of good faith. The States extend what they are pleased to
term the benefits of their laws to the Indians, with a belief that
the tribes will recede rather than submit; and the central
government, which promises a permanent refuge to these unhappy
beings is well aware of its inability to secure it to them.
Thus the tyranny of the States obliges the savages to retire, the
Union, by its promises and resources, facilitates their retreat; and
these measures tend to precisely the same end. "By the will of our
Father in Heaven, the Governor of the whole world," said the
Cherokees in their petition to Congress, "the red man of America has
become small, and the white man great and renowned. When the
ancestors of the people of these United States first came to the
shores of America they found the red man strong: though he was
ignorant and savage, yet he received them kindly, and gave them dry
land to rest their weary feet. They met in peace, and shook hands in
token of friendship. Whatever the white man wanted and asked of the
Indian, the latter willingly gave. At that time the Indian was the
lord, and the white man the suppliant. But now the scene has
changed. The strength of the red man has become weakness. As his
neighbors increased in numbers his power be came less and less, and
now, of the many and powerful tribes who once covered these United
States, only a few are to be seen a few whom a sweeping pestilence
has left. The northern tribes, who were once so numerous and
powerful, are now nearly extinct. Thus it has happened to the red
man of America. Shall we, who are remnants, share the same fate?
"The land on which we stand we have received as an inheritance from
our fathers, who possessed it from time immemorial, as a gift from
our common Father in Heaven. They bequeathed it to us as their
children, and we have sacredly kept it, as containing the remains of
our beloved men, This right of inheritance we have never ceded nor
ever forfeited. Permit us to ask what better right can the people
have to a country than the right of inheritance and immemorial
peaceable possession? We know it is said of late by the State of
Georgia and by the Executive of the United States, that we have
forfeited think this is said gratuitously. At what time have we made
the forfeit? What great crime have we committed, whereby we must
forever be divested of our country and rights? Was it when we were
hostile to the United States, and took part with the King of Great
Britain, during the struggle for independence? If so, why was not
this forfeiture declared in the first treaty of peace between the
United States and our beloved men? Why was not such an article as
the following inserted in the treaty: -- `The United States give
peace to the Cherokees, but, for the part they took in the late war,
declare them to be but tenants at will, to be removed when the
convenience of the States, within whose chartered limits they live,
shall require it'? That was the proper time to assume such a
possession. But it was not thought of, nor would our forefathers
have agreed to any treaty whose tendency was to deprive them of
their rights and their country."
Such is the language of the Indians: their assertions are true,
their forebodings inevitable. From whichever side we consider the
destinies of the aborigines of North America, their calamities
appear to be irremediable: if they continue barbarous, they are
forced to retire; if they attempt to civilize their manners, the
contact of a more civilized community subjects them to oppression
and destitution. They perish if they continue to wander from waste
to waste, and if they attempt to settle they still must perish; the
assistance of Europeans is necessary to instruct them, but the
approach of Europeans corrupts and repels them into savage life;
they refuse to change their habits as long as their solitudes are
their own, and it is too late to change them when they are
constrained to submit.
The Spaniards pursued the Indians with bloodhounds, like wild
beasts; they sacked the New World with no more temper or compassion
than a city taken by storm; but destruction must cease, and frenzy
be stayed; the remnant of the Indian population which had escaped
the massacre mixed with its conquerors, and adopted in the end their
religion and their manners. The conduct of the Americans of the
United States towards the aborigines is characterized, on the other
hand, by a singular attachment to the formalities of law. Provided
that the Indians retain their barbarous condition, the Americans
take no part in their affairs; they treat them as independent
nations, and do not possess themselves of their hunting grounds
without a treaty of purchase; and if an Indian nation happens to be
so encroached upon as to be unable to subsist upon its territory,
they afford it brotherly assistance in transporting it to a grave
sufficiently remote from the land of its fathers.
The Spaniards were unable to exterminate the Indian race by those
unparalleled atrocities which brand them with indelible shame, nor
did they even succeed in wholly depriving it of its rights; but the
Americans of the United States have accomplished this twofold
purpose with singular felicity; tranquilly, legally,
philanthropically, without shedding blood, and without violating a
single great principle of morality in the eyes of the world. It is
impossible to destroy men with more respect for the laws of
humanity.
Situation of the Black Population in the United States and Dangers
With Which Its Presence Threatens the Whites
Why it is more difficult to abolish slavery, and to efface all
vestiges of it amongst the moderns than it was amongst the ancients
-- In the United States the prejudices of the Whites against the
Blacks seem to increase in proportion as slavery is abolished --
Situation of the Negroes in the Northern and Southern States -- Why
the Americans abolish slavery -- Servitude, which debases the slave,
impoverishes the master -- Contrast between the left and the right
bank of the Ohio -- To what attributable -- The Black race, as well
as slavery, recedes towards the South -- Explanation of this fact --
Difficulties attendant upon the abolition of slavery in the South --
Dangers to come -- General anxiety -- Founadation of a Black colony
in Africa -- Why the Americans of the South increase the hardships
of slavery, whilst they are distressed at its continuance.
The Indians will perish in the same isolated condition in which they
have lived; but the destiny of the negroes is in some measure
interwoven with that of the Europeans. These two races are attached
to each other without intermingling, and they are alike unable
entirely to separate or to combine. The most formidable of all the
ills which threaten the future existence of the Union arises from
the presence of a black population upon its territory; and in
contemplating the cause of the present embarrassments or of the
future dangers of the United States, the observer is invariably led
to consider this as a primary fact.
The permanent evils to which mankind is subjected are usually
produced by the vehement or the increasing efforts of men; but there
is one calamity which penetrated furtively into the world, and which
was at first scarcely distinguishable amidst the ordinary abuses of
power; it originated with an individual whose name history has not
preserved; it was wafted like some accursed germ upon a portion of
the soil, but it afterwards nurtured itself, grew without effort,
and spreads naturally with the society to which it belongs. I need
scarcely add that this calamity is slavery. Christianity suppressed
slavery, but the Christians of the sixteenth century re-established
it -- as an exception, indeed, to their social system, and
restricted to one of the races of mankind; but the wound thus
inflicted upon humanity, though less extensive, was at the same time
rendered far more difficult of cure.
It is important to make an accurate distinction between slavery
itself and its consequences. The immediate evils which are produced
by slavery were very nearly the same in antiquity as they are
amongst the moderns; but the consequences of these evils were
different. The slave, amongst the ancients, belonged to the same
race as his master, and he was often the superior of the two in
education and instruction. Freedom was the only distinction between
them; and when freedom was conferred they were easily confounded
together. The ancients, then, had a very simple means of avoiding
slavery and its evil consequences, which was that of
affranchisement; and they succeeded as soon as they adopted this
measure generally. Not but, in ancient States, the vestiges of
servitude subsisted for some time after servitude itself was
abolished. There is a natural prejudice which prompts men to despise
whomsoever has been their inferior long after he is become their
equal; and the real inequality which is produced by fortune or by
law is always succeeded by an imaginary inequality which is
implanted in the manners of the people. Nevertheless, this secondary
consequence of slavery was limited to a certain term amongst the
ancients, for the freedman bore so entire a resemblance to those
born free, that it soon became impossible to distinguish him from
amongst them.
The greatest difficulty in antiquity was that of altering the law;
amongst the moderns it is that of altering the manners; and, as far
as we are concerned, the real obstacles begin where those of the
ancients left off. This arises from the circumstance that, amongst
the moderns, the abstract and transient fact of slavery is fatally
united to the physical and permanent fact of color. The tradition of
slavery dishonors the race, and the peculiarity of the race
perpetuates the tradition of slavery. No African has ever
voluntarily emigrated to the shores of the New World; whence it must
be inferred, that all the blacks who are now to be found in that
hemisphere are either slaves or freedmen. Thus the negro transmits
the eternal mark of his ignominy to all his descendants; and
although the law may abolish slavery, God alone can obliterate the
traces of its existence.
The modern slave differs from his master not only in his condition,
but in his origin. You may set the negro free, but you cannot make
him otherwise than an alien to the European. Nor is this all; we
scarcely acknowledge the common features of mankind in this child of
debasement whom slavery has brought amongst us. His physiognomy is
to our eyes hideous, his understanding weak, his tastes low; and we
are almost inclined to look upon him as a being intermediate between
man and the brutes. The moderns, then, after they have abolished
slavery, have three prejudices to contend against, which are less
easy to attack and far less easy to conquer than the mere fact of
servitude: the prejudice of the master, the prejudice of the race,
and the prejudice of color.
It is difficult for us, who have had the good fortune to be born
amongst men like ourselves by nature, and equal to ourselves by law,
to conceive the irreconcilable differences which separate the negro
from the European in America. But we may derive some faint notion of
them from analogy. France was formerly a country in which numerous
distinctions of rank existed, that had been created by the
legislation. Nothing can be more fictitious than a purely legal
inferiority; nothing more contrary to the instinct of mankind than
these permanent divisions which had been established between beings
evidently similar. Nevertheless these divisions subsisted for ages;
they still subsist in many places; and on all sides they have left
imaginary vestiges, which time alone can efface. If it be so
difficult to root out an inequality which solely originates in the
law, how are those distinctions to be destroyed which seem to be
based upon the immutable laws of Nature herself? When I remember the
extreme difficulty with which aristocratic bodies, of whatever
nature they may be, are commingled with the mass of the people; and
the exceeding care which they take to preserve the ideal boundaries
of their caste inviolate, I despair of seeing an aristocracy
disappear which is founded upon visible and indelible signs. Those
who hope that the Europeans will ever mix with the negroes, appear
to me to delude themselves; and I am not led to any such conclusion
by my own reason, or by the evidence of facts.
Hitherto, wherever the whites have been the most powerful, they have
maintained the blacks in a subordinate or a servile position;
wherever the negroes have been strongest they have destroyed the
whites; such has been the only retribution which has ever taken
place between the two races.
I see that in a certain portion of the territory of the United
States at the present day, the legal barrier which separated the two
races is tending to fall away, but not that which exists in the
manners of the country; slavery recedes, but the prejudice to which
it has given birth remains Stationary. Whosoever has inhabited the
United States must have perceived that in those parts of the Union
in which the negroes are no longer slaves, they have in no wise
drawn nearer to the whites. On the contrary, the prejudice of the
race appears to be stronger in the States which have abolished
slavery, than in those where it still exists; and nowhere is it so
intolerant as in those States where servitude has never been known.
It is true, that in the North of the Union, marriages may be legally
contracted between negroes and whites; but public opinion would
stigmatize a man who should connect himself with a negress as
infamous, and it would be difficult to meet with a single instance
of such a union. The electoral franchise has been conferred upon the
negroes in almost all the States in which slavery has been
abolished; but if they come forward to vote, their lives are in
danger. If oppressed, they may bring an action at law, but they will
find none but whites amongst their judges; and although they may
legally serve as jurors, prejudice repulses them from that office.
The Same schools do not receive the child of the black and of the
European. In the theatres, gold cannot procure a seat for the
servile race beside their former masters; in the hospitals they lie
apart; and although they are allowed to invoke the same Divinity as
the whites, it must be at a different altar, and in their own
churches, with their own clergy. The gates of Heaven are not closed
against these unhappy beings; but their inferiority is continued to
the very confines of the other world; when the negro is defunct, his
bones are cast aside, and the distinction of condition prevails even
in the equality of death. The negro is free, but he can share
neither the rights, nor the pleasures, nor the labor, nor the
afflictions, nor the tomb of him whose equal he has been declared to
be; and be cannot meet him upon fair terms in life or in death.
In the South, where slavery still exists, the negroes are less
carefully kept apart; they sometimes share the labor and the
recreations of the whites; the whites consent to intermix with them
to a certain extent, and although the legislation treats them more
harshly, the habits of the people are more tolerant and
compassionate. In the South the master is not afraid to raise his
slave to his own standing, because he knows that he can in a moment
reduce him to the dust at pleasure. In the North the white no longer
distinctly perceives the barrier which separates him from the
degraded race, and he shuns the negro with the more pertinacity,
since he fears lest they should some day be confounded together.
Amongst the Americans of the South, nature sometimes reasserts her
rights, and restores a transient equality between the blacks and the
whites; but in the North pride restrains the most imperious of human
passions. The American of the Northern States would perhaps allow
the negress to share his licentious pleasures, if the laws of his
country did not declare that she may aspire to be the legitimate
partner of his bed; but he recoils with horror from her who might
become his wife.
Thus it is, in the United States, that the prejudice which repels
the negroes seems to increase in proportion as they are emancipated,
and inequality is sanctioned by the manners whilst it is effaced
from the laws of the country. But if the relative position of the
two races which inhabit the United States is such as I have
described, it may be asked why the Americans have abolished slavery
in the North of the Union, why they maintain it in the South, and
why they aggravate its hardships there? The answer is easily given.
It is not for the good of the negroes, but for that of the whites,
that measures are taken to abolish slavery in the United States.
The first negroes were imported into Virginia about the year 1621.
In America, therefore, as well as in the rest of the globe, slavery
originated in the South. Thence it spread from one settlement to
another; but the number of slaves diminished towards the Northern
States, and the negro population was always very limited in New
England.
A century had scarcely elapsed since the foundation of the colonies,
when the attention of the planters was struck by the extraordinary
fact, that the provinces which were comparatively destitute of
slaves, increased in population, in wealth, and in prosperity more
rapidly than those which contained the greatest number of negroes.
In the former, however, the inhabitants were obliged to cultivate
the soil themselves, or by hired laborers; in the latter they were
furnished with hands for which they paid no wages; yet although
labor and expenses were on the one side, and ease with economy on
the other, the former were in possession of the most advantageous
system. This consequence seemed to be the more difficult to explain,
since the settlers, who all belonged to the same European race, had
the same habits, the same civilization, the same laws, and their
shades of difference were extremely slight.
Time, however, continued to advance, and the Anglo-Americans,
spreading beyond the coasts of the Atlantic Ocean, penetrated
farther and farther into the solitudes of file West; they met with a
new soil and an unwonted climate; the obstacles which opposed them
were of the most various character; their races intermingled, the
inhabitants of the South went up towards the North, those of the
North descended to the South; but in the midst of all these causes,
the same result occurred at every step, and in general, the colonies
in which there were no slaves became more populous and more rich
than those in which slavery flourished. The more progress was made,
the more was it shown that slavery, which is so cruel to the slave,
is prejudicial to the master.
But this truth was most satisfactorily demonstrated when
civilization reached the banks of the Ohio. The stream which the
Indians had distinguished by the name of Ohio, or Beautiful River,
waters one of the most magnificent valleys that has ever been made
the abode of man. Undulating lands extend upon both shores of the
Ohio, whose soil affords inexhaustible treasures to the laborer; on
either bank the air is wholesome and the climate mild, and each of
them forms the extreme frontier of a vast State: That which follows
the numerous windings of the Ohio upon the left is called Kentucky,
that upon the right bears the name of the river. These two States
only differ in a single respect; Kentucky has admitted slavery, but
the State of Ohio has prohibited the existence of slaves within its
borders.
Thus the traveller who floats down the current of the Ohio to the
spot where that river falls into the Mississippi, may be said to
sail between liberty and servitude; and a transient inspection of
the surrounding objects will convince him as to which of the two is
most favorable to mankind. Upon the left bank of the stream the
population is rare; from time to time one descries a troop of slaves
loitering in the half-desert fields; the primeval forest recurs at
every turn; society seems to be asleep, man to be idle, and nature
alone offers a scene of activity and of life. From the right bank,
on the contrary, a confused hum is heard which proclaims the
presence of industry; the fields are covered with abundant harvests,
the elegance of the dwellings announces the taste and activity of
the laborer, and man appears to be in the enjoyment of that wealth
and contentment which is the reward of labor.
The State of Kentucky was founded in 1775, the State of Ohio only
twelve years later; but twelve years are more in America than half a
century in Europe, and, at the present day, the population of Ohio
exceeds that of Kentucky by two hundred and fifty thousand souls.
These opposite consequences of slavery and freedom may readily be
understood, and they suffice to explain many of the differences
which we remark be tween the civilization of antiquity and that of
our own time.
Upon the left bank of the Ohio labor is confounded with the idea of
slavery, upon the right bank it is identified with that of
prosperity and improvement; on the one side it is degraded, on the
other it is honored; on the former territory no white laborers can
be found, for they would be afraid of assimilating themselves to the
negroes; on the latter no one is idle, for the white population
extends its activity and its intelligence to every kind of
employment. Thus the men whose task it is to cultivate the rich soil
of Kentucky are ignorant and lukewarm; whilst those who are active
and enlightened either do nothing or pass over into the State of
Ohio, where they may work without dishonor.
It is true that in Kentucky the planters are not obliged to pay
wages to the slaves whom they employ; but they derive small profits
from their labor, whilst the wages paid to free workmen would be
returned with interest in the value of their services. The free
workman is paid, but he does his work quicker than the slave, and
rapidity of execution is one of the great elements of economy. The
white sells his services, but they are only purchased at the times
at which they may be useful; the black can claim no remuneration for
his toil, but the expense of his maintenance is perpetual; he must
be supported in his old age as well as in the prime of manhood, in
his profitless infancy as well as in the productive years of youth.
Payment must equally be made in order to obtain the services of
either class of men: the free workman receives his wages in money,
the slave in education, in food, in care, and in clothing. The money
which a master spends in the maintenance of his slaves goes
gradually and in detail, so that it is scarcely perceived; the
salary of the free workman is paid in a round sum, which appears
only to enrich the individual who receives it, but in the end the
slave has cost more than the free servant, and his labor is less
productive.
The influence of slavery extends still further; it affects the
character of the master, and imparts a peculiar tendency to his
ideas and his tastes. Upon both banks of the Ohio, the character of
the inhabitants is enterprising and energetic; but this vigor is
very differently exercised in the two States. The white inhabitant
of Ohio, who is obliged to subsist by his own exertions, regards
temporal prosperity as the principal aim of his existence; and as
the country which he occupies presents inexhaustible resources to
his industry and ever-varying lures to his activity, his acquisitive
ardor surpasses the ordinary limits of human cupidity: he is
tormented by the desire of wealth, and he boldly enters upon every
path which fortune opens to him; he becomes a sailor, a pioneer, an
artisan, or a laborer with the same indifference, and he supports,
with equal constancy, the fatigues and the dangers incidental to
these various professions; the resources of his intelligence are
astonishing, and his avidity in the pursuit of gain amounts to a
species of heroism.
But the Kentuckian scorns not only labor, but all the undertakings
which labor promotes; as he lives in an idle independence, his
tastes are those of an idle man; money loses a portion of its value
in his eyes; he covets wealth much less than pleasure and
excitement; and the energy which his neighbor devotes to gain, turns
with him to a passionate love of field sports and military
exercises; he delights in violent bodily exertion, he is familiar
with the use of arms, and is accustomed from a very early age to
expose his life in single combat. Thus slavery not only prevents the
whites from becoming opulent, but even from desiring to become so.
As the same causes have been continually producing opposite effects
for the last two centuries in the British colonies of North America,
they have established a very striking difference between the
commercial capacity of the inhabitants of the South and those of the
North. At the present day it is only the Northern States which are
in possession of shipping, manufactures, railroads, and canals. This
difference is perceptible not only in comparing the North with the
South, but in comparing the several Southern States. Almost all the
individuals who carry on commercial operations, or who endeavor to
turn slave labor to account in the most Southern districts of the
Union, have emigrated from the North. The natives of the Northern
States are constantly spreading over that portion of the American
territory where they have less to fear from competition; they
discover resources there which escaped the notice of the
inhabitants; and, as they comply with a system which they do not
approve, they succeed in turning it to better advantage than those
who first founded and who still maintain it.
Were I inclined to continue this parallel, I could easily prove that
almost all the differences which may be remarked between the
characters of the Americans in the Southern and in the Northern
States have originated in slavery; but this would divert me from my
subject, and my present intention is not to point out all the
consequences of servitude, but those effects which it has produced
upon the prosperity of the countries which have admitted it.
The influence of slavery upon the production of wealth must have
been very imperfectly known in antiquity, as slavery then obtained
throughout the civilized world; and the nations which were
unacquainted with it were barbarous. And indeed Christianity only
abolished slavery by advocating the claims of the slave; at the
present time it may be attacked in the name of the master, and, upon
this point, interest is reconciled with morality.
As these truths became apparent in the United States, slavery
receded before the progress of experience. Servitude had begun in
the South, and had thence spread towards the North; but it now
retires again. Freedom, which started from the North, now descends
uninterruptedly towards the South. Amongst the great States,
Pennsylvania now constitutes the extreme limit of slavery to the
North: but even within those limits the slave system is shaken:
Maryland, which is immediately below Pennsylvania, is preparing for
its abolition; and Virginia, which comes next to Maryland, is
already discussing its utility and its dangers.
No great change takes place in human institutions without involving
amongst its causes the law of inheritance. When the law of
primogeniture obtained in the South, each family was represented by
a wealthy individual, who was neither compelled nor induced to
labor; and he was surrounded, as by parasitic plants, by the other
members of his family who were then excluded by law from sharing the
common inheritance, and who led the same kind of life as himself.
The very same thing then occurred in all the families of the South
as still happens in the wealthy families of some countries in
Europe, namely, that the younger sons remain in the same state of
idleness as their elder brother, without being as rich as he is.
This identical result seems to be produced in Europe and in America
by wholly analogous causes. In the South of the United States the
whole race of whites formed an aristocratic body, which was headed
by a certain number of privileged individuals, whose wealth was
permanent, and whose leisure was hereditary. These leaders of the
American nobility kept alive the traditional prejudices of the white
race in the body of which they were the representatives, and
maintained the honor of inactive life. This aristocracy contained
many who were poor, but none who would work; its members preferred
want to labor, consequently no competition was set on foot against
negro laborers and slaves, and, whatever opinion might be
entertained as to the utility of their efforts, it was indispensable
to employ them, since there was no one else to work.
No sooner was the law of primogeniture abolished than fortunes began
to diminish, and all the families of the country were simultaneously
reduced to a state in which labor became necessary to procure the
means of subsistence: several of them have since entirely
disappeared, and all of them learned to look forward to the time at
which it would be necessary for everyone to provide for his own
wants. Wealthy individuals are still to be met with, but they no
longer constitute a compact and hereditary body, nor have they been
able to adopt a line of conduct in which they could persevere, and
which they could infuse into all ranks of society. The prejudice
which stigmatized labor was in the first place abandoned by common
consent; the number of needy men was increased, and the needy were
allowed to gain a laborious subsistence without blushing for their
exertions. Thus one of the most immediate consequences of the
partible quality of estates has been to create a class of free
laborers. As soon as a competition was set on foot between the free
laborer and the slave, the inferiority of the latter became
manifest, and slavery was attacked in its fundamental principle,
which is the interest of the master.
As slavery recedes, the black population follows its retrograde
course, and returns with it towards those tropical regions from
which it originally came. However singular this fact may at first
appear to be, it may readily be explained. Although the Americans
abolish the principle of slavery, they do not set their slaves free.
To illustrate this remark, I will quote the example of the State of
New York. In 1788, the State of New York prohibited the sale of
slaves within its limits, which was an indirect method of
prohibiting the importation of blacks. Thenceforward the number of
negroes could only increase according to the ratio of the natural
increase of population. But eight years later a more decisive
measure was taken, and it was enacted that all children born of
slave parents after July 4, 1799, should be free. No increase could
then take place, and although slaves still existed, slavery might be
said to be abolished.
From the time at which a Northern State prohibited the importation
of slaves, no slaves were brought from the South to be sold in its
markets. On the other hand, as the sale of slaves was forbidden in
that State, an owner was no longer able to get rid of his slave (who
thus became a burdensome possession) otherwise than by transporting
him to the South. But when a Northern State declared that the son of
the slave should be born free, the slave lost a large portion of his
market value, since his posterity was no longer included in the
bargain, and the owner had then a strong interest in transporting
him to the South. Thus the same law prevents the slaves of the South
from coming to the Northern States, and drives those of the North to
the South.
The want of free hands is felt in a State in proportion as the
number of slaves decreases. But in proportion as labor is performed
by free hands, slave labor becomes less productive; and the slave is
then a useless or onerous possession, whom it is important to export
to those Southern States where the same competition is not to be
feared. Thus the abolition of slavery does not set the slave free,
but it merely transfers him from one master to another, and from the
North to the South.
The emancipated negroes, and those born after the abolition of
slavery, do not, indeed, migrate from the North to the South; but
their situation with regard to the Europeans is not unlike that of
the aborigines of America; they remain half civilized, and deprived
of their rights in the midst of a population which is far Superior
to them in wealth and in knowledge; where they are exposed to the
tyranny of the laws rn and the intolerance of the people. On some
accounts they are still more to be pitied than the Indians, since
they are haunted by the reminiscence of slavery, and they cannot
claim possession of a single portion of the soil: many of them
perish miserably, and the rest congregate in the great towns, where
they perform the meanest offices, and lead a wretched and precarious
existence.
But even if the number of negroes continued to increase as rapidly
as when they were still in a state of slavery as the number of
whites augments with twofold rapidity since the abolition of
slavery, the blacks would soon be, as it were, lost in the midst of
a strange population.
A district which is cultivated by slaves is in general more scantily
peopled than a district cultivated by free labor: moreover, America
is still a new country, and a State is therefore not half peopled at
the time when it abolishes slavery. No sooner is an end put to
slavery than the want of free labor is felt, and a crowd of
enterprising adventurers immediately arrive from all parts of the
country, who hasten to profit by the fresh resources which are then
opened to industry. The soil is soon divided amongst them, and a
family of white settlers takes possession of each tract of country.
Besides which, European emigration is exclusively directed to the
free States; for what would be the fate of a poor emigrant who
crosses the Atlantic in search of ease and happiness if he were to
land in a country where labor is stigmatized as degrading?
Thus the white population grows by its natural increase, and at the
same time by the immense influx of emigrants; whilst the black
population receives no emigrants, and is upon its decline, The
proportion which existed between the two races is soon inverted. The
negroes constitute a scanty remnant, a poor tribe of vagrants, which
is lost in the midst of an immense people in full possession of the
land; and the presence of the blacks is only marked by the injustice
and the hardships of which they are the unhappy victims.
In several of the Western States the negro race never made its
appearance, and in all the Northern States it is rapidly declining.
Thus the great question of its future condition is confined within a
narrow circle, where it becomes less formidable, though not more
easy of solution.
The more we descend towards the South, the more difficult does it
become to abolish slavery with advantage: and this arises from
several physical causes which it is important to point out.
The first of these causes is the climate; it is well known that in
proportion as Europeans approach the tropics they suffer more from
labor. Many of the Americans even assert that within a certain
latitude the exertions which a negro can make without danger are
fatal to them; but I do not think that this opinion, which is so
favorable to the indolence of the inhabitants of southern regions,
is confirmed by experience. The southern parts of the Union are not
hotter than the South of Italy and of Spain; and it may be asked why
file European cannot work as well there as in the two latter
countries. If slavery has been abolished in Italy and in Spain
without causing the destruction of the masters, why should not the
same thing take place in the Union? I cannot believe that nature has
prohibited the Europeans in Georgia and the Floridas, under pain of
death, from raising the means of subsistence from the soil, but
their labor would unquestionably be more irksome and less productive
to them than to the inhabitants of New England. As the free workman
thus loses a portion of his superiority over the slave in the
Southern States, there are fewer inducements to abolish slavery.
All the plants of Europe grow in the northern parts of the Union;
the South has special productions of its own. It has been observed
that slave labor is a very expensive method of cultivating corn. The
farmer of corn land in a country where slavery is unknown habitually
retains a small number of laborers in his service, and at seed-time
and harvest he hires several. But the agriculturist in a slave State
is obliged to keep a large number of slaves the whole year round, in
order to sow his fields and to gather in his crops, although their
services are only required for a few weeks; but slaves are unable to
wait till they are hired, and to subsist by their own labor in the
mean time like free laborers; in order to have their services they
must be bought. Slavery, independently of its general disadvantages,
is therefore still more inapplicable to countries in which corn is
cultivated than to those which produce crops of a different kind.
The cultivation of tobacco, of cotton, and especially of the
sugar-cane, demands, on the other hand, unremitting attention: and
women and children are employed in it, ""hose services are of but
little use in the cultivation of wheat. Thus slavery is naturally
more fitted to the countries from which these productions are
derived. Tobacco, cotton, and the sugar-cane are exclusively grown
in the South, and they form one of the principal sources of the
wealth of those States. If slavery were abolished, the inhabitants
of the South would be constrained to adopt one of two alternatives:
they must either change their system of cultivation, and then they
would come into competition with the more active and more
experienced inhabitants of the North; or, if they continued to
cultivate the same produce without slave labor, they would have to
support the competition of the other States of the South, which
might still retain their slaves. Thus, peculiar reasons for
maintaining slavery exist in the South which do not operate in the
North.
But there is yet another motive which is more cogent than all the
others: the South might indeed, rigorously speaking, abolish
slavery; but how should it rid its territory of the black
population? Slaves and slavery are driven from the North by the same
law, but this twofold result cannot be hoped for in the South.
The arguments which I have adduced to show that slavery is more
natural and more advantageous in the South than in the North,
sufficiently prove that the number of slaves must be far greater in
the former districts. It was to the southern settlements that the
first Africans were brought, and it is there that the greatest
number of them have always been imported. As we advance towards the
South, the prejudice which sanctions idleness increases in power. In
the States nearest to the tropics there is not a single white
laborer; the negroes are consequently much more numerous in the
South than in the North. And, as I have already observed, this
disproportion increases daily, since the negroes are transferred to
one part of the Union as soon as slavery is abolished in the other.
Thus the black population augments in the South, not only by its
natural fecundity, but by the compulsory emigration of the negroes
from the North; and the African race has causes of increase in the
South very analogous to those which so powerfully accelerate the
growth of the European race in the North.
In the State of Maine there is one negro in 300 inhabitants; in
Massachusetts, one in 100; in New York, two in 100; in Pennsylvania,
three in the same number; in Maryland, thirty-four; in Virginia,
forty-two; and lastly, in South Carolina fifty-five per cent. Such
was the proportion of the black population to the whites in the year
1830. But this proportion is perpetually changing, as it constantly
decreases in the North and augments in the South.
It is evident that the most Southern States of the Union cannot
abolish slavery without incurring very great dangers, which the
North had no reason to apprehend when it emancipated its black
population. We have already shown the system by which the Northern
States secure the transition from slavery to freedom, by keeping the
present generation in chains, and setting their descendants free; by
this means the negroes are gradually introduced into society; and
whilst the men who might abuse their freedom are kept in a state of
servitude, those who are emancipated may learn the art of being free
before they become their own masters. But it would be difficult to
apply this method in the South. To declare that all the negroes born
after a certain period shall be free, is to introduce the principle
and the notion of liberty into the heart of slavery; the blacks whom
the law thus maintains in a state of slavery from which their
children are delivered, are astonished at so unequal a fate, and
their astonishment is only the prelude to their impatience and
irritation. Thenceforward slavery loses, in their eyes, that kind of
moral power which it derived from time and habit; it is reduced to a
mere palpable abuse of force. The Northern States had nothing to
fear from the contrast, because in them the blacks were few in
number, and the white population was very considerable. But if this
faint dawn of freedom were to show two millions of men their true
position, the oppressors would have reason to tremble. After having
affranchised the children of their slaves the Europeans of the
Southern States would very shortly be obliged to extend the same
benefit to the whole black population.
In the North, as I have already remarked, a twofold migration ensues
upon the abolition of slavery, or even precedes that event when
circumstances have rendered it probable; the slaves quit the country
to be transported southwards; and the whites of the Northern States,
as well as the emigrants from Europe, hasten to fill up their place.
But these two causes cannot operate in the same manner in the
Southern States. On the one hand, the mass of slaves is too great
for any expectation of their ever being removed from the country to
be entertained; and on the other hand, the Europeans and
Anglo-Americans of the North are afraid to come to inhabit a country
in which labor has not yet been reinstated in its rightful honors.
Besides, they very justly look upon the States in which the
proportion of the negroes equals or exceeds that of the whites, as
exposed to very great dangers; and they refrain from turning their
activity in that direction.
Thus the inhabitants of the South would not be able, like their
Northern countrymen, to initiate the slaves gradually into a state
of freedom by abolishing slavery; they have no means of perceptibly
diminishing the black population, and they would remain unsupported
to repress its excesses. So that in the course of a few years, a
great people of free negroes would exist in the heart of a white
nation of equal size.
The same abuses of power which still maintain slavery, would then
become the source of the most alarming perils which the white
population of the South might have to apprehend. At the present time
the descendants of the Europeans are the sole owners of the land;
the absolute masters of all labor; and the only persons who are
possessed of wealth, knowledge, and arms. The black is destitute of
all these advantages, but he subsists without them because he is a
slave. If he were free, and obliged to provide for his own
subsistence, would it be possible for him to remain without these
things and to support life? Or would not the very instruments of the
present superiority of the white, whilst slavery exists, expose him
to a thousand dangers if it were abolished?
As long as the negro remains a slave, he may be kept in a condition
not very far removed from that of the brutes; but, with his liberty,
he cannot but acquire a degree of instruction which will enable him
to appreciate his misfortunes, and to discern a remedy for them.
Moreover, there exists a singular principle of relative justice
which is very firmly implanted in the human heart. Men are much more
forcibly struck by those inequalities which exist within the circle
of the same class, than with those which may be remarked between
different classes. It is more easy for them to admit slavery, than
to allow several millions of citizens to exist under a load of
eternal infamy and hereditary wretchedness. In the North the
population of freed negroes feels these hardships and resents these
indignities; but its numbers and its powers are small, whilst in the
South it would be numerous and strong.
As soon as it is admitted that the whites and the emancipated blacks
are placed upon the same territory in the situation of two alien
communities, it will readily be understood that there are but two
alternatives for the future; the negroes and the whites must either
wholly part or wholly mingle. I have already expressed the
conviction which I entertain as to the latter event. I do not
imagine that the white and black races will ever live in any country
upon an equal footing. But I believe the difficulty to be still
greater in the United States than elsewhere. An isolated individual
may surmount the prejudices of religion, of his country, or of his
race, and if this individual is a king he may effect surprising
changes in society; but a whole people Cannot rise, as it were,
above itself. A despot who should subject the Americans and their
former slaves to the same yoke, might perhaps succeed in commingling
their races; but as long as the American democracy remains at the
head of affairs, no one will undertake so difficult a task; and it
may be foreseen that the freer the white population of the United
States becomes, the more isolated will it remain.
I have previously observed that the mixed race is the true bond of
union between the Europeans and the Indians; just so the mulattoes
are the true means of transition between the white and the negro; so
that wherever mulattoes abound, the intermixture of the two races is
not impossible. In some parts of America, the European and the negro
races are so crossed by one another, that it is rare to meet with a
man who is entirely black, or entirely white: when they are arrived
at this point, the two races may really be said to be combined; or
rather to have been absorbed in a third race, which is connected
with both without being identical with either.
Of all the Europeans the English are those who have mixed least with
the negroes. More mulattoes are to be seen in the South of the Union
than in the North, but still they are infinitely more scarce than in
any other European colony: mulattoes are by no means numerous in the
United States; they have no force peculiar to themselves, and when
quarrels originating in differences of color take place, they
generally side with the whites; just as the lackeys of the great, in
Europe, assume the contemptuous airs of nobility to the lower
orders.
The pride of origin, which is natural to the English, is singularly
augmented by the personal pride which democratic liberty fosters
amongst the Americans: the white citizen of the United States is
proud of his race, and proud of himself. But if the whites and the
negroes do not intermingle in the North of the Union, how should
they mix in the South? Can it be supposed for an instant, that an
American of the Southern States, placed, as he must forever be,
between the white man with all his physical and moral superiority
and the negro, will ever think of preferring the latter? The
Americans of the Southern States have two powerful passions which
will always keep them aloof; the first is the fear of being
assimilated to the negroes, their former slaves; and the second the
dread of sinking below the whites, their neighbors.
If I were called upon to predict what will probably occur at some
future time, I should say, that the abolition of slavery in the
South will, in the common course of things, increase the repugnance
of the white population for the men of color. I found this opinion
upon the analogous observation which I already had occasion to make
in the North. I there remarked that the white inhabitants of the
North avoid the negroes with increasing care, in proportion as the
legal barriers of separation are removed by the legislature; and why
should not the same result take place in the South? In the North,
the whites are deterred from intermingling with the blacks by the
fear of an imaginary danger; in the South, where the danger would be
real, I cannot imagine that the fear would be less general.
If, on the one hand, it be admitted (and the fact is unquestionable)
that the colored population perpetually accumulates in the extreme
South, and that it increases more rapidly than that of the whites;
and if, on the other hand, it be allowed that it is impossible to
foresee a time at which the whites and the blacks will be so
intermingled as to derive the same benefits from society; must it
not be inferred that the blacks and the whites will, sooner or
later, come to open strife in the Southern States of the Union? But
if it be asked what the issue of the struggle is likely to be, it
will readily be understood that we are here left to form a very
vague surmise of the truth. The human mind may succeed in tracing a
wide circle, as it were, which includes the course of future events;
but within that circle a thousand various chances and circumstances
may direct it in as many different ways; and in every picture of the
future there is a dim spot, which the eye of the understanding
cannot penetrate. It appears, however, to be extremely probable that
in the West Indian Islands the white race is destined to be subdued,
and the black population to share the same fate upon the continent.
In the West India Islands the white planters are surrounded by an
immense black population; on the continent, the blacks are placed
between the ocean and an innumerable people, which already extends
over them in a dense mass, from the icy confines of Canada to the
frontiers of Virginia, and from the banks of the Missouri to the
shores of the Atlantic. If the white citizens of North America
remain united, it cannot be supposed that the negroes will escape
the destruction with which they are menaced; they must be subdued by
want or by the sword. But the black population which is accumulated
along the coast of the Gulf of Mexico, has a chance of success if
the American Union is dissolved when the struggle between the two
races begins. If the federal tie were broken, the citizens of the
South would be wrong to rely upon any lasting succor from their
Northern countrymen. The latter are well aware that the danger can
never reach them; and unless they are constrained to march to the
assistance of the South by a positive obligation, it may be foreseen
that the sympathy of color will be insufficient to stimulate their
exertions.
Yet, at whatever period the strife may break out, the whites of the
South, even if they are abandoned to their own resources, will enter
the lists with an immense superiority of knowledge and of the means
of warfare; but the blacks will have numerical strength and the
energy of despair upon their side, and these are powerful resources
to men who have taken up arms. The fate of the white population of
the Southern States will, perhaps, be similar to that of the Moors
in Spain. After having occupied the land for centuries, it will
perhaps be forced to retire to the country whence its ancestors
came, and to abandon to the negroes the possession of a territory,
which Providence seems to have more peculiarly destined for them,
since they can subsist and labor in it more easily that the whites.
The danger of a conflict between the white and the black inhabitants
of the Southern States of the Union -- a danger which, however
remote it may be, is inevitable -- perpetually haunts the
imagination of the Americans. The inhabitants of the North make it a
common topic of conversation, although they have no direct injury to
fear from the struggle; but they vainly endeavor to devise some
means of obviating the misfortunes which they foresee. In the
Southern States the subject is not discussed: the planter does not
allude to the future in conversing with strangers; the citizen does
not communicate his apprehensions to his friends; he seeks to
conceal them from himself; but there is something more alarming in
the tacit forebodings of the South, than in the clamorous fears of
the Northern States.
This all-pervading disquietude has given birth to an undertaking
which is but little known, but which may have the effect of changing
the fate of a portion of the human race. From apprehension of the
dangers which I have just been describing, a certain number of
American citizens have formed a society for the purpose of exporting
to the coast of Guinea, at their own expense, such free negroes as
may be willing to escape from the oppression to which they are
subject. In 1820, the society to which I allude formed a settlement
in Africa, upon the seventh degree of north latitude, which bears
the name of Liberia. The most recent intelligence informs us that
2,500 negroes are collected there; they have introduced the
democratic institutions of America into the country of their
forefathers; and Liberia has a representative system of government,
negro jurymen, negro magistrates, and negro priests; churches have
been built, newspapers established, and, by a singular change in the
vicissitudes of the world, white men are prohibited from sojourning
within the settlement.
This is indeed a strange caprice of fortune. Two hundred years have
now elapsed since the inhabitants of Europe undertook to tear the
negro from his family and his home, in order to transport him to the
shores of North America; at the present day, the European settlers
are engaged in sending back the descendants of those very negroes to
the Continent from which they were originally taken; and the
barbarous Africans have been brought into contact with civilization
in the midst of bondage, and have become acquainted with free
political institutions in slavery. Up to the present time Africa has
been closed against the arts and sciences of the whites; but the
inventions of Europe will perhaps penetrate into those regions, now
that they are introduced by Africans themselves. The settlement of
Liberia is founded upon a lofty and a most fruitful idea; but
whatever may be its results with regard to the Continent of Africa,
it can afford no remedy to the New World.
In twelve years the Colonization Society has transported 2,500
negroes to Africa; in the same space of time about 700,000 blacks
were born in the United States. If the colony of Liberia were so
situated as to be able to receive thousands of new inhabitants every
year, and if the negroes were in a state to be sent thither with
advantage; if the Union were to supply the society with annual
subsidies, and to transport the negroes to Africa in the vessels of
the State, it would still be unable to counterpoise the natural
increase of population amongst the blacks; and as it could not
remove as many men in a year as are born upon its territory within
the same space of time, it would fail in suspending the growth of
the evil which is daily increasing in the States. The negro race
will never leave those shores of the American continent, to which it
was brought by the passions and the vices of Europeans; and it will
not disappear from the New World as long as it continues to exist,
The inhabitants of the United States may retard the calamities which
they apprehend, but they cannot now destroy their efficient cause.
I am obliged to confess that I do not regard the abolition of
slavery as a means of warding off the struggle of the two races in
the United States. The negroes may long remain slaves without
complaining; but if they are once raised to the level of free men,
they will soon revolt at being deprived of all their civil rights;
and as they cannot become the equals of the whites, they will
speedily declare themselves as enemies. In the North everything
contributed to facilitate the emancipation of the slaves; and
slavery was abolished, without placing the free negroes in a
position which could become formidable, since their number was too
small for them ever to claim the exercise of their rights. But such
is not the case in the South. The question of slavery was a question
of commerce and manufacture for the slave-owners in the North; for
those of the South, it is a question of life and death. God forbid
that I should seek to justify the principle of negro slavery, as has
been done by some American writers! But I only observe that all the
countries which formerly adopted that execrable principle are not
equally able to abandon it at the present time.
When I contemplate the condition of the South, I can only discover
two alternatives which may be adopted by the white inhabitants of
those States; viz., either to emancipate the negroes, and to
intermingle with them; or, remaining isolated from them, to keep
them in a state of slavery as long as possible. All intermediate
measures seem to me likely to terminate, and that shortly, in the
most horrible of civil wars, and perhaps in the extirpation of one
or other of the two races. Such is the view which the Americans of
the South take of the question, and they act consistently with it.
As they are determined not to mingle with the negroes, they refuse
to emancipate them.
Not that the inhabitants of the South regard slavery as necessary to
the wealth of the planter, for on this point many of them agree with
their Northern countrymen in freely admitting that slavery is
prejudicial to their interest; but they are convinced that, however
prejudicial it may be, they hold their lives upon no other tenure.
The instruction which is now diffused in the South has convinced the
inhabitants that slavery is injurious to the slave-owner, but it has
also shown them, more clearly than before, that no means exist of
getting rid of its bad consequences. Hence arises a singular
contrast; the more the utility of slavery is contested, the more
firmly is it established in the laws; and whilst the principle of
servitude is gradually abolished in the North, that self-same
principle gives rise to more and more rigorous consequences in the
South.
The legislation of the Southern States with regard to slaves,
presents at the present day such unparalleled atrocities as suffice
to show how radically the laws of humanity have been perverted, and
to betray the desperate position of the community in which that
legislation has been promulgated. The Americans of this portion of
the Union have not, indeed, augmented the hardships of slavery; they
have, on the contrary, bettered the physical condition of the
slaves. The only means by which the ancients maintained slavery were
fetters and death; the Americans of the South of the Union have
discovered more intellectual securities for the duration of their
power. They have employed their despotism and their violence against
the human mind. In antiquity, precautions were taken to prevent the
slave from breaking his chains; at the present day measures are
adopted to deprive him even of the desire of freedom. The ancients
kept the bodies of their slaves in bondage, but they placed no
restraint upon the mind and no check upon education; and they acted
consistently with their established principle, since a natural
termination of slavery then existed, and one day or other the slave
might be set free, and become the equal of his master. But the
Americans of the South, who do not admit that the negroes can ever
be commingled with themselves, have forbidden them to be taught to
read or to write, under severe penalties; and as they will not raise
them to their own level, they sink them as nearly as possible to
that of the brutes.
The hope of liberty had always been allowed to the slave to cheer
the hardships of his condition. But the Americans of the South are
well aware that emancipation cannot but be dangerous, when the freed
man can never be assimilated to his former master. To give a man his
freedom, and to leave him in wretchedness and ignominy, is nothing
less than to prepare a future chief for a revolt of the slaves.
Moreover, it has long been remarked that the presence of a free
negro vaguely agitates the minds of his less fortunate brethren, and
conveys to them a dim notion of their rights. The Americans of the
South have consequently taken measures to prevent slave-owners from
emancipating their slaves in most cases; not indeed by a positive
prohibition, but by subjecting that step to various forms which it
is difficult to comply with.
I happened to meet with an old man, in the South of the Union, who
had lived in illicit intercourse with one of his negresses, and had
had several children by her, who were born the slaves of their
father. He had indeed frequently thought of bequeathing to them at
least their liberty; but years had elapsed without his being able to
surmount the legal obstacles to their emancipation, and in the mean
while his old age was come, and he was about to die. He pictured to
himself his sons dragged from market to market, and passing from the
authority of a parent to the rod of the stranger, until these horrid
anticipations worked his expiring imagination into frenzy. When I
saw him he was a prey to all the anguish of despair, and he made me
feel how awful is the retribution of nature upon those who have
broken her laws.
These evils are unquestionably great; but they are the necessary and
foreseen consequence of the very principle of modern slavery. When
the Europeans chose their slaves from a race differing from their
own, which many of them considered as inferior to the other races of
mankind, and which they all repelled with horror from any notion of
intimate connection, they must have believed that slavery would last
forever; since there is no intermediate state which can be durable
between the excessive inequality produced by servitude and the
complete equality which originates in independence. The Europeans
did imperfectly feel this truth, but without acknowledging it even
to themselves. Whenever they have had to do with negroes, their
conduct has either been dictated by their interest and their pride,
or by their compassion. They first violated every right of humanity
by their treatment of the negro and they afterwards informed him
that those rights were precious and inviolable. They affected to
open their ranks to the slaves, but the negroes who attempted to
penetrate into the community were driven back with scorn; and they
have incautiously and involuntarily been led to admit of freedom
instead of slavery, without having the courage to be wholly
iniquitous, or wholly just.
If it be impossible to anticipate a period at which the Americans of
the South will mingle their blood with that of the negroes, can they
allow their slaves to become free without compromising their own
security? And if they are obliged to keep that race in bondage in
order to save their own families, may they not be excused for
availing themselves of the means best adapted to that end? The
events which are taking place in the Southern States of the Union
appear to me to be at once the most horrible and the most natural
results of slavery. When I see the order of nature overthrown, and
when I hear the cry of humanity in its vain struggle against the
laws, my indignation does not light upon the men of our own time who
are the instruments of these outrages; but I reserve my execration
for those who, after a thousand years of freedom, brought back
slavery into the world once more.
Whatever may be the efforts of the Americans of the South to
maintain slavery, they will not always succeed. Slavery, which is
now confined to a single tract of the civilized earth, which is
attacked by Christianity as unjust, and by political economy as
prejudicial; and which is now contrasted with democratic liberties
and the information of our age, cannot survive. By the choice of the
master, or by the will of the slave, it will cease; and in either
case great calamities may be expected to ensue. If liberty be
refused to the negroes of the South, they will in the end seize it
for themselves by force; if it be given, they will abuse it ere
long.
What are the Chances in Favor of the Duration of the American Union,
and What Dangers Threaten It
Reason for which the preponderating force lies in the States rather
than in the Union -- The Union will only last as long as all the
States choose to belong to it -- Causes which tend to keep them
united -- Utility of the Union to resist foreign enemies, and to
prevent the existence of foreigners in America -- No natural
barriers between the several States -- No conflicting interests to
divide them -- Reciprocal interests of the Northern, Southern, and
Western States -- Intellectual ties of union -- Uniformity of
opinions -- Dangers of the Union resulting from the different
characters and the passions of its citizens -- Character of the
citizens in the South and in the North -- The rapid growth of the
Union one' of its greatest dangers -- Progress of the population to
the Northwest -- Power gravitates in the same direction -- Passions
originating from sudden turns of fortune -- Whether the existing
Government of the Union tends to gain strength, or to lose it --
Various signs of its decrease -- Internal improvements -- Waste
lands -- Indians -- The Bank -- The Tariff -- General Jackson.
The maintenance of the existing institutions of the several States
depends in some measure upon the maintenance of the Union itself. It
is therefore important in the first instance to inquire into the
probable fate of the Union. One point may indeed be assumed at once:
if the present confederation were dissolved, it appears to me to be
incontestable that the States of which it is now composed would not
return to their original isolated condition, but that several unions
would then be formed in the place of one, It is not my intention to
inquire into the principles upon which these new unions would
probably be established, but merely to show what the causes are
which may effect the dismemberment of the existing confederation.
With this object I shall be obliged to retrace some of the steps
which I have already taken, and to revert to topics which I have
before discussed. I am aware that the reader may accuse me of
repetition, but the importance of the matter which still remains to
be treated is my excuse; I had rather say too much, than say too
little to be thoroughly understood, and I prefer injuring the author
to slighting the subject.
The legislators who formed the Constitution of 1789 endeavored to
confer a distinct and preponderating authority upon the federal
power. But they were confined by the conditions of the task which
they had undertaken to perform. They were not appointed to
constitute the government of a single people, but to regulate the
association of several States; and, whatever their inclinations
might be, they could not but divide the exercise of sovereignty in
the end.
In order to understand the consequences of this division, it is
necessary to make a short distinction between the affairs of the
Government. There are some objects which are national by their very
nature, that is to say, which affect the nation as a body, and can
only be intrusted to the man or the assembly of men who most
completely represent the entire nation. Amongst these may be
reckoned war and diplomacy. There are other objects which are
provincial by their very nature, that is to say, which only affect
certain localities, and which can only be properly treated in that
locality. Such, for instance, is the budget of a municipality.
Lastly, there are certain objects of a mixed nature, which are
national inasmuch as they affect all the citizens who compose the
nation, and which are provincial inasmuch as it is not necessary
that the nation itself should provide for them all. Such are the
rights which regulate the civil and political condition of the
citizens. No society can exist without civil and political rights.
These rights therefore interest all the citizens alike; but it is
not always necessary to the existence and the prosperity of the
nation that these rights should be uniform, nor, consequently, that
they should be regulated by the central authority.
There are, then, two distinct categories of objects which are
submitted to the direction of the sovereign power; and these
categories occur in all well-constituted communities, whatever the
basis of the political constitution may otherwise be. Between these
two extremes the objects which I have termed mixed may be considered
to lie. As these objects are neither exclusively national nor
entirely provincial, they may be obtained by a national or by a
provincial government, according to the agreement of the contracting
parties, without in any way impairing the contract of association.
The sovereign power is usually formed by the union of separate
individuals, who compose a people; and individual powers or
collective forces, each representing a very small portion of the
sovereign authority, are the sole elements which are subjected to
the general Government of their choice. In this case the general
Government is more naturally called upon to regulate, not only those
affairs which are of essential national importance, but those which
are of a more local interest; and the local governments are reduced
to that small share of sovereign authority which is indispensable to
their prosperity.
But sometimes the sovereign authority is composed of pre- organized
political bodies, by virtue of circumstances anterior to their
union; and in this case the provincial governments assume the
control, not only of those affairs which more peculiarly belong to
their province, but of all, or of a part of the mixed affairs to
which allusion has been made. For the confederate nations which were
independent sovereign States before their union, and which still
represent a very considerable share of the sovereign power, have
only consented to cede to the general Government the exercise of
those rights which are indispensable to the Union.
When the national Government, independently of the prerogatives
inherent in its nature, is invested with the right of regulating the
affairs which relate partly to the general and partly to the local
interests, it possesses a preponderating influence. Not only are its
own rights extensive, but all the rights which it does not possess
exist by its sufferance, and it may be apprehended float the
provincial governments may be deprived of their natural and
necessary prerogatives by its influence.
When, on the other hand, the provincial governments are invested
with the power of regulating those same affairs of mixed interest,
an opposite tendency prevails in society. The preponderating force
resides in the province, not in the nation; and it may be
apprehended that the national Government may in the end be stripped
of the privileges which are necessary to its existence.
Independent nations have therefore a natural tendency to
centralization, and confederations to dismemberment.
It now only remains for us to apply these general principles to the
American Union. The several States were necessarily possessed of the
right of regulating all exclusively provincial affairs. Moreover
these same States retained the rights of determining the civil and
political competency of the citizens, or regulating the reciprocal
relations of the members of the community, and of dispensing
justice; rights which are of a general nature, but which do not
necessarily appertain to the national Government. We have shown that
the Government of the Union is invested with the power of acting in
the name of the whole nation in those cases in which the nation has
to appear as a single and undivided power; as, for instance, in
foreign relations, and in offering a common resistance to a common
enemy; in short, in conducting those affairs which I have styled
exclusively national.
In this division of the rights of sovereignty, the share of the
Union seems at first sight to be more considerable than that of the
States; but a more attentive investigation shows it to be less so.
The under'takings of the Government of the Union are more vast, but
their influence is more rarely felt. Those of the provincial
governments are comparatively small, but they are incessant, and
they serve to keep alive the authority which they represent. The
Government of the Union watches the general interests of the
country; but the general interests of a people have a very
questionable influence upon individual happiness, whilst provincial
interests produce a most immediate effect upon the welfare of the
inhabitants. The Union secures the independence and the greatness of
the nation, which do not immediately affect private citizens; but
the several States maintain the liberty, regulate the rights,
protect the fortune, and secure the life and the whole future
prosperity of every citizen.
The Federal Government is very far removed from its subjects, whilst
the provincial governments are within the reach of them all, and are
ready to attend to the smallest appeal. The central Government has
upon its side the passions of a few superior men who aspire to
conduct it; but upon the side of the provincial governments are the
interests of all those second-rate individuals who can only hope to
obtain power within their own State, and who nevertheless exercise
the largest share of authority over the people because they are
placed nearest to its level. The Americans have therefore much more
to hope and to fear from the States than from the Union; and, in
conformity with the natural tendency of the human mind, they are
more likely to attach themselves to the former than to the latter.
In this respect their habits and feelings harmonize with their
interests.
When a compact nation divides its sovereignty, and adopts a
confederate form of government, the traditions, the customs, and the
manners of the people are for a long time at variance with their
legislation; and the former tend to give a degree of influence to
the central government which the latter forbids. When a number of
confederate states unite to form a single nation, the same causes
operate in an opposite direction. I have no doubt that if France
were to become a confederate republic like that of the United
States, the government would at first display more energy than that
of the Union; and if the Union were to alter its constitution to a
monarchy like that of France, I think that the American Government
would be a long time in acquiring the force which now rules the
latter nation. When the national existence of the Anglo-Americans
began, their provincial existence was already of long standing;
necessary relations were established between the townships and the
individual citizens of the same States; and they were accustomed to
consider some objects as common to them all, and to conduct other
affairs as exclusively relating to their own special interests.
The Union is a vast body which presents no definite object to
patriotic feeling. The forms and limits of the State are distinct
and circumscribed; since it represents a certain number of objects
which are familiar to the citizens and beloved by all. It is
identified with the very soil, with the right of property and the
domestic affections, with the recollections of the past, the labors
of the present, and the hopes of the future. Patriotism, then, which
is frequently a mere extension of individual egotism, is still
directed to the State, and is not excited by the Union. Thus the
tendency of the interests, the habits, and the feelings of the
people is to centre political activity in the States, in preference
to the Union.
It is easy to estimate the different forces of the two governments,
by remarking the manner in which they fulfil their respective
functions. Whenever the government of a State has occasion to
address an individual or an assembly of individuals, its language is
clear and imperative; and such is also the tone of the Federal
Government in its intercourse with individuals, but no Sooner has it
anything to do with a State than it begins to parley, to explain its
motives and to justify its conduct, to argue, to advise, and, in
short, anything but to command. If doubts are raised as to the
limits of the constitutional powers of each government, the
provincial government prefers its claim with boldness, and takes
prompt and energetic steps to support it. In the mean while the
Government of the Union reasons; it appeals to the interests, to the
good sense, to the glory of the nation; it temporizes, it
negotiates, and does not consent to act until it is reduced to the
last extremity. At first sight it might readily be imagined that it
is the provincial government which is armed with the authority of
the nation, and that Congress represents a single State.
The Federal Government is, therefore, notwithstanding the
precautions of those who founded it, naturally so weak that it more
peculiarly requires the free consent of the governed to enable it to
subsist. It is easy to perceive that its object is to enable the
States to realize with facility their determination of remaining
united; and, as long as this preliminary condition exists, its
authority is great, temperate, and effective. The Constitution fits
the Government to control individuals, and easily to surmount such
obstacles as they may be inclined to offer; but it was by no means
established with a view to the possible separation of one or more of
the States from the Union.
If the sovereignty of the Union were to engage in a struggle with
that of the States at the present day, its defeat may be confidently
predicted; and it is not probable that such a struggle would be
seriously undertaken. As often as a steady resistance is offered to
the Federal Government it will be found to yield. Experience has
hitherto shown that whenever a State has demanded anything with
perseverance and resolution, it has invariably succeeded; and that
if a separate government has distinctly refused to act, it was left
to do as it thought fit.
But even if the Government of the Union had any strength inherent in
itself, the physical situation of the country would render the
exercise of that strength very difficult. The United States cover an
immense territory; they are separated from each other by great
distances; and the population is disseminated over the surface of a
country which is still half a wilderness. If the Union were to
undertake to enforce the allegiance of the confederate States by
military means, it would be in a position very analogous to that of
England at the time of the War of Independence.
However strong a government may be, it cannot easily escape from the
consequences of a principle which it has once admitted as the
foundation of its constitution. The Union was formed by the
voluntary agreement of the States; and, in uniting together, they
have not forfeited their nationality, nor have they been reduced to
the condition of one and the same people. If one of the States chose
to withdraw its name from the contract, it would be difficult to
disprove its right of doing so; and the Federal Government would
have no means of maintaining its claims directly, either by force or
by right. In order to enable the Federal Government easily to
conquer the resistance which may be offered to it by any one of its
subjects, it would be necessary that one or more of them should be
specially interested in the existence of the Union, as has
frequently been the case in the history of confederations.
If it be supposed that amongst the States which are united by the
federal tie there are some which exclusively enjoy the principal
advantages of union, or whose prosperity depends on the duration of
that union, it is unquestionable that they will always be ready to
support the central Government in enforcing the obedience of the
others. But the Government would then be exerting a force not
derived from itself, but from a principle contrary to its nature.
States form confederations in order to derive equal advantages from
their union; and in the case just alluded to, the Federal Government
would derive its power from the unequal distribution of those
benefits amongst the States.
If one of the confederate States have acquired a preponderance
sufficiently great to enable it to take exclusive possession of the
central authority, it will consider the other States as subject
provinces and it will cause its own supremacy to be respected under
the borrowed name of the sovereignty of the Union. Great things may
then be done in the name of the Federal Government, but in reality
that Government will have ceased to exist. In both these cases, the
power which acts in the name of the confederation becomes stronger
the more it abandons the natural state and the acknowledged
principles of confederations.
In America the existing Union is advantageous to all the States, but
it is not indispensable to any one of them. Several of them might
break the federal tie without compromising the welfare of the
others, although their own prosperity would be lessened. As the
existence and the happiness of none of the States are wholly
dependent on the present Constitution, they would none of them be
disposed to make great personal sacrifices to maintain it. On the
other hand, there is no State which seems hitherto to have its
ambition much interested in the maintenance of the existing Union.
They certainly do not all exercise the same influence in the federal
councils, but no one of them can hope to domineer over the rest, or
to treat them as its inferiors or as its subjects.
It appears to me unquestionable that if any portion of the Union
seriously desired to separate itself from the other States, they
would not be able, nor indeed would they attempt, to prevent it; and
that the present Union will only last as long as the States which
compose it choose to continue members of the confederation. If this
point be admitted, the question becomes less difficult; and our
object is, not to inquire whether the States of the existing Union
are capable of separating, but whether they will choose to remain
united.
Amongst the various reasons which tend to render the existing Union
useful to the Americans, two principal causes are peculiarly evident
to the observer. Although the Americans are, as it were, alone upon
their continent, their commerce makes them the neighbors of all the
nations with which they trade. Notwithstanding their apparent
isolation, the Americans require a certain degree of strength, which
they cannot retain otherwise than by remaining united to each other.
If the States were to split, they would not only diminish the
strength which they are now able to display towards foreign nations,
but they would soon create foreign powers upon their own territory.
A system of inland custom-houses would then be established; the
valleys would be divided by imaginary boundary lines; the courses of
the rivers would be confined by territorial distinctions; and a
multitude of hindrances would prevent the Americans from exploring
the whole of that vast continent which Providence has allotted to
them for a dominion. At present they have no invasion to fear, and
consequently no standing armies to maintain, no taxes to levy. If
the Union were dissolved, all these burdensome measures might ere
long be required. The Americans are then very powerfully interested
in the maintenance of their Union. On the other hand, it is almost
impossible to discover any sort of material interest which might at
present tempt a portion of the Union to separate from the other
States.
When we cast our eyes upon the map of the United States, we perceive
the chain of the Alleghany Mountains, running from the northeast to
the southwest, and crossing nearly one thousand miles of country;
and we are led to imagine that the design of Providence was to raise
between the valley of the Mississippi and the coast of the Atlantic
Ocean one of those natural barriers which break the mutual
intercourse of men, and form the necessary limits of different
States. But the average height of the Alleghanies does not exceed
2,500 feet; their greatest elevation is not above 4,000 feet; their
rounded summits, and the spacious valleys which they conceal within
their passes, are of easy access from several sides. Besides which,
the principal rivers which fall into the Atlantic Ocean -- the
Hudson, the Susquehanna, and the Potomac -- take their rise beyond
the Alleghanies, in an open district, which borders upon the valley
of the Mississippi. These streams quit this tract of country, make
their way through the barrier which would seem to turn them
westward, and as they wind through the mountains they open an easy
and natural passage to man. No natural barrier exists in the regions
which are now inhabited by the Anglo-Americans; the Alleghanies are
so far from serving as a boundary to separate nations, that they do
not even serve as a frontier to the States. New York, Pennsylvania,
and Virginia comprise them within their borders, and they extend as
much to the west as to the east of the line. The territory now
occupied by the twenty-four States of the Union, and the three great
districts which have not yet acquired the rank of States, although
they already contain inhabitants, covers a surface of 1,002,600
square miles, which is about equal to five times the extent of
France. Within these limits the qualities of the soil, the
temperature, and the produce of the country, are extremely various.
The vast extent of territory occupied by the Anglo-American
republics has given rise to doubts as to the maintenance of their
Union. Here a distinction must be made; contrary interests sometimes
arise in the different provinces of a vast empire, which often
terminate in open dissensions; and the extent of the country is then
most prejudicial to the power of the State. But if the inhabitants
of these vast regions are not divided by contrary interests, the
extent of the territory may be favorable to their prosperity; for
the unity of the government promotes the interchange of the
different productions of the soil, and increases their value by
facilitating their consumption.
It is indeed easy to discover different interests in the different
parts of the Union, but I am unacquainted with any which are hostile
to each other, The Southern States are almost exclusively
agricultural. The Northern States are more peculiarly commercial and
manufacturing. The States of the West are at the same time
agricultural and manufacturing. In the South the crops consist of
tobacco, of rice, of cotton, and of sugar; in the North and the
West, of wheat and maize. These are different sources of wealth; but
union is the means by which these sources are opened to all, and
rendered equally advantageous to the several districts.
The North, which ships the produce of the Anglo-Americans to all
parts of the world, and brings back the produce of the globe to the
Union, is evidently interested in maintaining the confederation in
its present condition, in order that the number of American
producers and consumers may remain as large as possible. The North
is the most natural agent of communication between the South and the
West of the Union on the one hand, and the rest of the world upon
the other; the North is therefore interested in the union and
prosperity of the South and the West, in order that they may
continue to furnish raw materials for its manufactures, and cargoes
for its shipping.
The South and the West, on their side, are still more directly
interested in the preservation of the Union, and the prosperity of
the North. The produce of the South is, for the most part, exported
beyond seas; the South and the West consequently stand in need of
the commercial resources of the North. They are likewise interested
in the maintenance of a powerful fleet by the Union, to protect them
efficaciously. The South and the West have no vessels, but they
cannot refuse a willing subsidy to defray the expenses of the navy;
for if the fleets of Europe were to blockade the ports of the South
and the delta of the Mississippi, what would become of the rice of
the Carolinas, the tobacco of Virginia, and the sugar and cotton
which grow in the valley of the Mississippi? Every portion of the
federal budget does therefore contribute to the maintenance of
material interests which are common to all the confederate States.
Independently of this commercial utility, the South and the West of
the Union derive great political advantages from their connection
with the North. The South contains an enormous slave population; a
population which is already alarming, and still more formidable for
the future. The States of the West lie in the remotest parts of a
single valley; and all the rivers which intersect their territory
rise in the Rocky Mountains or in the Alleghanies, and fall into the
Mississippi, which bears them onwards to the Gulf of Mexico. The
Western States are consequently entirely cut off, by their position,
from the traditions of Europe and the civilization of the Old World.
The inhabitants of the South, then, are induced to support the Union
in order to avail themselves of its protection against the blacks;
and the inhabitants of the West in order not to be excluded from a
free communication with the rest of the globe, and shut up in the
wilds of central America. The North cannot but desire the
maintenance of the Union, in order to remain, as it now is, the
connecting link between that vast body and the other parts of the
world.
The temporal interests of all the several parts of the Union are,
then, intimately connected; and the same assertion holds true
respecting those opinions and sentiments which may be termed the
immaterial interests of men.
The inhabitants of the United States talk a great deal of their
attachment to their country; but I confess that I do not rely upon
that calculating patriotism which is founded upon interest, and
which a change in the interests at stake may obliterate, Nor do I
attach much importance to the language of the Americans, when they
manifest, in their daily conversations, the intention of maintaining
the federal system adopted by their forefathers. A government
retains its sway over a great number of citizens, far less by the
voluntary and rational consent of the multitude, than by that
instinctive, and to a certain extent involuntary agreement, which
results from similarity of feelings and of I will never admit men
constitute a social body, simply because they obey the same head and
the same laws. Society can only exist when a great number of men
consider a great number of things in the same point of view; when
they hold the same opinions upon many subjects, and when the same
occurrences suggest the same thoughts and impressions to their
minds.
The observer who examines the present condition of the United States
upon this principle, will readily discover, that although the
citizens are divided into twenty-four distinct sovereignties, they
nevertheless constitute a single people; and he may perhaps be led
to think that the state of the Anglo-American Union is more truly a
state of society than that of certain nations of Europe which live
under the same legislation and the same prince.
Although the Anglo-Americans have several religious sects, they all
regard religion in the same manner. They are not always agreed upon
the measures which are most conducive to good government, and they
vary upon some of the forms of government which it is expedient to
adopt; but they are unanimous upon the general principles which
ought to rule human society. From Maine to the Floridas, and from
the Missouri to the Atlantic Ocean, the people is held to be the
legitimate source of all power. The same notions are entertained
respecting liberty and equality, the liberty of the press, the right
of association, the jury, and the responsibility of the agents of
Government.
If we turn from their political and religious opinions to the moral
and philosophical principles which regulate the daily actions of
life and govern their conduct, we shall still find the same
uniformity. The Anglo-Americans acknowledge the absolute moral
authority of the reason of the community, as they acknowledge the
political authority of the mass of citizens; and they hold that
public opinion is the surest arbiter of what is lawful or forbidden,
true or false. The majority of them believe that a man will be led
to do what is just and good by following his own interest rightly
understood. They hold that every man is born in possession of the
right of self-government and that no one has the right of
constraining his fellow- creatures to be happy. They have all a
lively faith in the perfectibility of man; they are of opinion that
the effects of the diffusion of knowledge must necessarily be
advantageous, and the consequences of ignorance fatal; they all
consider society as a body in a state of improvement, humanity as a
changing scene, in which nothing is, or ought to be, permanent; and
they admit that what appears to them to be good to-day may be
superseded by something better to-morrow. I do not give all these
opinions as true, but I quote them as characteristic of the
Americans.
The Anglo-Americans are not only united together by these common
opinions, but they are separated from all other nations by a common
feeling of pride. For the last fifty years no pains have been spared
to convince the inhabitants of the United States that they
constitute the only religious, enlightened, and free people. They
perceive that, for the present, their own democratic institutions
succeed, whilst those of other countries fail; hence they conceive
an overweening opinion of their superiority, and they are not very
remote from believing themselves to belong to a distinct race of
mankind.
The dangers which threaten the American Union do not originate in
the diversity of interests or of opinions, but in the various
characters and passions of the Americans. The men who inhabit the
vast territory of the United States are almost all the issue of a
common stock; but the effects of the climate, and more especially of
slavery, have gradually introduced very striking differences between
the British settler of the Southern States and the British settler
of the North. In Europe it is generally believed that slavery has
rendered the interests of one part of the Union contrary to those of
another part; but I by no means remarked this to be the case:
slavery has not created interests in the South contrary to those of
the North, but it has modified the character and changed the habits
of the natives of the South.
I have already explained the influence which slavery has exercised
upon the commercial ability of the Americans in the South; and this
same influence equally extends to their manners. The slave is a
servant who never remonstrates, and who submits to everything
without complaint. He may sometimes assassinate, but he never
withstands, his master. In the South there are no families so poor
as not to have slaves. The citizen of the Southern States of the
Union is invested with a sort of domestic dictatorship, from his
earliest years; the first notion he acquires in life is that he is
born to command, and the first habit which he contracts is that of
being obeyed without resistance. His education tends, then, to give
him the character of a supercilious and a hasty man; irascible,
violent, and ardent in his desires, impatient of obstacles, but
easily discouraged if he cannot succeed upon his first attempt.
The American of the Northern States is surrounded by no slaves in
his childhood; he is even unattended by free servants, and is
usually obliged to provide for his own wants. No sooner does he
enter the world than the idea of necessity assails him on every
side: he soon learns to know exactly the natural limit of his
authority; he never expects to subdue those who withstand him, by
force; and he knows that the surest means of obtaining the support
of his fellow-creatures, is to win their favor. He therefore becomes
patient, reflecting, tolerant, slow to act, and persevering in his
designs.
In the Southern States the more immediate wants of life are always
supplied; the inhabitants of those parts are not busied in the
material cares of life, which are always provided for by others; and
their imagination is diverted to more captivating and less definite
objects. The American of the South is fond of grandeur, luxury, and
renown, of gayety, of pleasure, and above all of idleness; nothing
obliges him to exert himself in order to subsist; and as he has no
necessary occupations, he gives way to indolence, and does not even
attempt what would be useful.
But the equality of fortunes, and the absence of slavery in the
North, plunge the inhabitants in those same cares of daily life
which are disdained by the white population of the South. They are
taught from infancy to combat want, and to place comfort above all
the pleasures of the intellect or the heart. The imagination is
extinguished by the trivial details of life, and the ideas become
less numerous and less general, but far more practical and more
precise. As prosperity is the sole aim of exertion, it is
excellently well attained; nature and mankind are turned to the best
pecuniary advantage, and society is dexterously made to contribute
to the welfare of each of its members, whilst individual egotism is
the source of general happiness.
The citizen of the North has not only experience, but knowledge:
nevertheless he sets but little value upon the pleasures of
knowledge; he esteems it as the means of attaining a certain end,
and he is only anxious to seize its more lucrative applications. The
citizen of the South is more given to act upon impulse; he is more
clever, more frank, more generous, more intellectual, and more
brilliant. The former, with a greater degree of activity, of
common-sense, of information, and of general aptitude, has the
characteristic good and evil qualities of the middle classes. The
latter has the tastes, the prejudices, the weaknesses, and the
magnanimity of all aristocracies. If two men are united in society,
who have the same interests, and to a certain extent the same
opinions, but different characters, different acquirements, and a
different style of civilization, it is probable that these men will
not agree. The same remark is applicable to a society of nations.
Slavery, then, does not attack the American Union directly in its
interests, but indirectly in its manners.
The States which gave their assent to the federal contract in 1790
were thirteen in number; the Union now consists of thirty-four
members. The population, which amounted to nearly 4,000,000 in 1790,
had more than tripled in the space of forty years; and in 1830 it
amounted to nearly 13,000,000. Changes of such magnitude cannot take
place without some danger.
A society of nations, as well as a society of individuals, derives
its principal chances of duration from the wisdom of its members,
their individual weakness, and their limited number. The Americans
who quit the coasts of the Atlantic Ocean to plunge into the western
wilderness, are adventurers impatient of restraint, greedy of
wealth, and frequently men expelled from the States in which they
were born. When they arrive in the deserts they are unknown to each
other, and they have neither traditions, family feeling, nor the
force of example to check their excesses. The empire of the laws is
feeble amongst them; that of morality is still more powerless. The
settlers who are constantly peopling the valley of the Mississippi
are, then, in every respect very inferior to file Americans who
inhabit the older parts of the Union. Nevertheless, they already
exercise a great influence in its councils; and they arrive at the
government of the commonwealth before they have learnt to govern
themselves.
The greater the individual weakness of each of the contracting
parties, the greater are the chances of the duration of the
contract; for their safety is then dependent upon their union. When,
in 1790, the most populous of the American republics did not contain
500,000 inhabitants, each of them felt its own insignificance as an
independent people, and this feeling rendered compliance with the
federal authority more easy. But when one of the confederate States
reckons, like the State of New York, 2,000,000 of inhabitants, and
covers an extent of territory equal in surface to a quarter of
France, it feels its own strength; and although it may continue to
support the Union as advantageous to its prosperity, it no longer
regards that body as necessary to its existence; and as it continues
to belong to the federal compact, it soon aims at preponderance in
the federal assemblies. The probable unanimity of the States is
diminished as their number increases. At present the interests of
the different parts of the Union are not at variance; but who is
able to foresee the multifarious changes of the future, in a country
in which towns are founded from day to day, and States almost from
year to year?
Since the first settlement of the British colonies, the number of
inhabitants has about doubled every twenty-two years. I perceive no
causes which are likely to check this progressive increase of the
Anglo-American population for the next hundred years; and before
that space of time has elapsed, I believe that the territories and
dependencies of the United States will be covered by more than
100,000,000 of inhabitants, and divided into forty States. I admit
that these 100,000,000 of men have no hostile interests. I suppose,
on the contrary, that they are all equally interested in the
maintenance of the Union; but I am still of opinion that where there
are 100,000,000 of men, and forty distinct nations, unequally
strong, the continuance of the Federal Government can only be a
fortunate accident.
Whatever faith I may have in the perfectibility of man, until human
nature is altered, and men wholly transformed, I shall refuse to
believe in the duration of a government which is called upon to hold
together forty different peoples, disseminated over a territory
equal to one-half of Europe in extent; to avoid all rivalry,
ambition, and struggles between them, and to direct their
independent activity to the accomplishment of the same designs.
But the greatest peril to which the Union is exposed by its increase
arises from the continual changes which take place in the position
of its internal strength. The distance from Lake Superior to the
Gulf of Mexico extends from the 47th to the 30th degree of latitude,
a distance of more than 1,200 miles as the bird flies. The frontier
of the United States winds along the whole of this immense line,
sometimes falling within its limits, but more frequently extending
far beyond it, into the waste. It has been calculated that the
whites advance every year a mean distance of seventeen miles along
the whole of his vast boundary. Obstacles, such as an unproductive
district, a lake or an Indian nation unexpectedly encountered, are
sometimes met with. The advancing column then halts for a while; its
two extremities fall back upon themselves, and as soon as they are
reunited they proceed onwards. This gradual and continuous progress
of the European race towards the Rocky Mountains has the solemnity
of a providential event; it is like a deluge of men rising
unabatedly, and daily driven onwards by the hand of God.
Within this first line of conquering settlers towns are built, and
vast States founded. In 1790 there were only a few thousand pioneers
sprinkled along the valleys of the Mississippi; and at the present
day these valleys contain as many inhabitants as were to be found in
the whole Union in 1790. Their population amounts to nearly
4,000,000. The city of Washington was founded in 1800, in the very
centre of the Union; but such are the changes which have taken
place, that it now stands at one of the extremities; and the
delegates of the most remote Western States are already obliged to
perform a journey as long as that from Vienna to Paris.
All the States are borne onwards at the same time in the path of
fortune, but of course they do not all increase and prosper in the
same proportion. To the North of the Union the detached branches of
the Alleghany chain, which extend as far as the Atlantic Ocean, form
spacious roads and ports, which are constantly accessible to vessels
of the greatest burden. But from the Potomac to the mouth of the
Mississippi the coast is sandy and flat. In this part of the Union
the mouths of almost all the rivers are obstructed; and the few
harbors which exist amongst these lagoons afford much shallower
water to vessels, and much fewer commercial advantages than those of
the North.
This first natural cause of inferiority is united to another cause
proceeding from the laws. We have already seen that slavery, which
is abolished in the North, still exists in the South; and I have
pointed out its fatal consequences upon the prosperity of the
planter himself.
The North is therefore superior to the South both in commerce and
manufacture; the natural consequence of which is the more rapid
increase of population and of wealth within its borders. The States
situate upon the shores of the Atlantic Ocean are already
half-peopled. Most of the land is held by an owner; and these
districts cannot therefore receive so many emigrants as the Western
States, where a boundless field is still open to their exertions.
The valley of the Mississippi is far more fertile than the coast of
the Atlantic Ocean. This reason, added to all the others,
contributes to drive the Europeans westward -- a fact which may be
rigorously demonstrated by figures. It is found that the sum total
of the population of all the United States has about tripled in the
course of forty years. But in the recent States adjacent to the
Mississippi, the population has increased thirty-one-fold, within
the same space of time.
The relative position of the central federal power is continually
displaced. Forty years ago the majority of the citizens of the Union
was established upon the coast of the Atlantic, in the environs of
the spot upon which Washington now stands; but the great body of the
people is now advancing inland and to the north, so that in twenty
years the majority will unquestionably be on the western side of the
Alleghanies. If the Union goes on to subsist, the basin of the
Mississippi is evidently marked out, by its fertility and its
extent, as the future centre of the Federal Government. In thirty or
forty years, that tract of country will have assumed the rank which
naturally belongs to it. It is easy to calculate that its
population, compared to that of the coast of the Atlantic, will be,
in round numbers, as 40 to 11. In a few years the States which
founded the Union will lose the direction of its policy, and the
population of the valley of the Mississippi will preponderate in the
federal assemblies.
This constant gravitation of the federal power and influence towards
the northwest is shown every ten years, when a general census of the
population is made, and the number of delegates which each State
sends to Congress is settled afresh. In 1790 Virginia had nineteen
representatives in Congress. This number continued to increase until
the year 1813, when it reached to twenty-three; from that time it
began to decrease, and in 1833 Virginia elected only twenty-one
representatives. During the same period the State of New York
progressed in the contrary direction: in 1790 it had ten
representatives in Congress; in 1813, twenty-seven; in 1823,
thirty-four; and in 1833, forty. The State of Ohio had only one
representative in 1803, and in 1833 it had already nineteen.
It is difficult to imagine a durable union of a people which is rich
and strong with one which is poor and weak, even if it were proved
that the strength and wealth of the one are not the causes of the
weakness and poverty of the other. But union is still more difficult
to maintain at a time at which one party is losing strength, and the
other is gaining it. This rapid and disproportionate increase of
certain States threatens the independence of the others. New York
might perhaps succeed, with its 2,000,000 of inhabitants and its
forty representatives, in dictating to the other States in Congress.
But even if the more powerful States make no attempt to bear down
the lesser ones, the danger still exists; for there is almost as
much in the possibility of the act as in the act itself. The weak
generally mistrust the justice and the reason of the strong. The
States which increase less rapidly than the others look upon those
which are more favored by fortune with envy and suspicion. Hence
arise the deep-seated uneasiness and ill-defined agitation which are
observable in the South, and which form so striking a contrast to
the confidence and prosperity which are common to other parts of the
Union. I am inclined to think that the hostile measures taken by the
Southern provinces upon a recent occasion are attributable to no
other cause. The inhabitants of the Southern States are, of all the
Americans, those who are most interested in the maintenance of the
Union; they would assuredly suffer most from being left to
themselves; and yet they are the only citizens who threaten to break
the tie of confederation. But it is easy to perceive that the South,
which has given four Presidents, Washington, Jefferson, Madison, and
Monroe, to the Union, which perceives that it is losing its federal
influence, and that the number of its representatives in Congress is
diminishing from year to year, whilst those of the Northern and
Western States are increasing; the South, which is peopled with
ardent and irascible beings, is becoming more and more irritated and
alarmed. The citizens reflect upon their present position and
remember their past influence, with the melancholy uneasiness of men
who suspect oppression: if they discover a law of the Union which is
not unequivocally favorable to their interests, they protest against
it as an abuse of force; and if their ardent remonstrances are not
listened to, they threaten to quit an association which loads them
with burdens whilst it deprives them of their due profits. "The
tariff," said the inhabitants of Carolina in 1832, " enriches the
North, and ruins the South; for if this were not the case, to what
can we attribute the continually increasing power and wealth of the
North, with its inclement skies and arid soil; whilst the South,
which may be styled the garden of America, is rapidly declining?"
If the changes which I have described were gradual, so that each
generation at least might have time to disappear with the order of
things under which it had lived, the danger would be less; but the
progress of society in America is precipitate, and almost
revolutionary. The same citizen may have lived to see his State take
the lead in the Union, and afterwards become powerless in the
federal assemblies; and an Anglo-American republic has been known to
grow as rapidly as a man passing from birth and infancy to maturity
in the course of thirty years. It must not be imagined, however,
that the States which lose their preponderance, also lose their
population or their riches: no stop is put to their prosperity, and
they even go on to increase more rapidly than any kingdom in Europe.
But they believe themselves to be impoverished because their wealth
does not augment as rapidly as that of their neighbors; any they
think that their power is lost, because they suddenly come into
collision with a power greater than their own: thus they are more
hurt in their feelings and their passions than in their interests.
But this is amply sufficient to endanger the maintenance of the
Union. If kings and peoples had only had their true interests in
view ever since the beginning of the world, the name of war would
scarcely be known among mankind.
Thus the prosperity of the United States is the source of the most
serious dangers that threaten them, since it tends to create in some
of the confederate States that over-excitement which accompanies a
rapid increase of fortune; and to awaken in others those feelings of
eu'n', mistrust, and regret which usually attend upon the loss of
it. The Americans contemplate this extraordinary and hasty progress
with exultation; but they would be wiser to consider it with sorrow
and alarm. The Americans of the United States must inevitably become
one of the greatest nations in the world; their offset will cover
almost the whole of North America; the continent which they inhabit
is their dominion, and it cannot escape them. What urges them to
take possession of it so soon? Riches, power, and renown cannot fail
to be theirs at some future time, but they rush upon their fortune
as if but a moment remained for them to make it their own.
I think that I have demonstrated that the existence of the present
confederation depends entirely on the continued assent of all the
confederates; and, starting from this principle, I have inquired
into the causes which may induce the several States to separate from
the others. The Union may, however, perish in two different ways:
one of the confederate States may choose to retire from the compact,
and so forcibly to sever the federal tie; and it is to this
supposition that most of the remarks that I have made apply: or the
authority of the Federal Government may be progressively entrenched
on by the simultaneous tendency of the united republics to resume
their independence. The central power, successively stripped of all
its prerogatives, and reduced to impotence by tacit consent, would
become incompetent to fulfil its purpose; and the second Union would
perish, like the first, by a sort of senile inaptitude. The gradual
weakening of the federal tie, which may finally lead to the
dissolution of the Union, is a distinct circumstance, that may
produce a variety of minor consequences before it operates so
violent a change. The confederation might still subsist, although
its Government were reduced to such a degree of inanition as to
paralyze the nation, to cause internal anarchy, and to check the
general prosperity of the country.
After having investigated the causes which may induce the
Anglo-Americans to disunite, it is important to inquire whether, if
the Union continues to subsist, their Government will extend or
contract its sphere of action, and whether it will become more
energetic or more weak.
The Americans are evidently disposed to look upon their future
condition with alarm. They perceive that in most of the nations of
the world the exercise of the rights of sovereignty tends to fall
under the control of a few individuals, and they are dismayed by the
idea that such will also be the case in their own country. Even the
statesmen feel, or affect to feel, these fears; for, in America,
centralization is by no means popular, and there is no surer means
of courting the majority than by inveighing against the
encroachments of the central power. The Americans do not perceive
that the countries in which this alarming tendency to centralization
exists are inhabited by a single people; whilst the fact of the
Union being composed of different confederate communities is
sufficient to baffle all the inferences which might be drawn from
analogous circumstances. I confess that I am inclined to consider
the fears of a great number of Americans as purely imaginary; and
far from participating in their dread of the consolidation of power
in the hands of the Union, I think that the Federal Government is
visibly losing strength.
To prove this assertion I shall not have recourse to any remote
occurrences, but to circumstances which I have myself witnessed, and
which belong to our own time.
An attentive examination of what is going on in the United States
will easily convince us that two opposite tendencies exist in that
country, like two distinct currents flowing in contrary directions
in the same channel. The Union has now existed for forty-five years,
and in the course of that time a vast number of provincial
prejudices, which were at first hostile to its power, have died
away. The patriotic feeling which attached each of the Americans to
his own native State is become less exclusive; and the different
parts of the Union have become more intimately connected the better
they have become acquainted with each other. The post, that great
instrument of intellectual intercourse, now reaches into the
backwoods; and steamboats have established daily means of
communication between the different points of the coast. An inland
navigation of unexampled rapidity conveys commodities up and down
the rivers of the country. And to these facilities of nature and art
may be added those restless cravings, that busy-mindedness, and love
of pelf, which are constantly urging the American into active life,
and bringing him into contact with his fellow-citizens. He crosses
the country in every direction; he visits all the various
populations of the land; and there is not a province in France in
which the natives are so well known to each other as the 13,000,000
of men who cover the territory of the United States.
But whilst the Americans intermingle, they grow in resemblance of
each other; the differences resulting from their climate, their
origin, and their institutions, diminish; and they all draw nearer
and nearer to the common type. Every year, thousands of men leave
the North to settle in different parts of the Union: they bring with
them their faith, their opinions, and their manners; and as they are
more enlightened than the men amongst whom they are about to dwell,
they soon rise to the head of affairs, and they adapt society to
their own advantage. This continual emigration of the North to the
South is peculiarly favorable to the fusion of all the different
provincial characters into one national character. The civilization
of the North appears to be the common standard, to which the whole
nation will one day be assimilated.
The commercial ties which unite the confederate States are
strengthened by the increasing manufactures of the Americans; and
the union which began to exist in their opinions, gradually forms a
part of their habits: the course of time has swept away the bugbear
thoughts which haunted the imaginations of the citizens in 1789. The
federal power is not become oppressive; it has not destroyed the
independence of the States it has not subjected the confederates to
monarchical institutions; and the Union has not rendered the lesser
States dependent upon the larger ones; but the confederation has
continued to increase in population, in wealth, and in power. I am
therefore convinced that the natural obstacles to the continuance of
the American Union are not so powerful at the present time as they
were in 1789; and that the enemies of the Union are not so numerous.
Nevertheless, a careful examination of the history of the United
States for the last forty-five years will readily convince us that
the federal power is declining; nor is it difficult to explain the
causes of this phenomenon. When the Constitution of 1789 was
promulgated, the nation was a prey to anarchy; the Union, which
succeeded this confusion, excited much dread and much animosity; but
it was warmly supported because it satisfied an imperious want.
Thus, although it was more attacked than it is now, the federal
power soon reached the maximum of its authority, as is usually the
case with a government which triumphs after having braced its
strength by the struggle. At that time the interpretation of the
Constitution seemed to extend, rather than to repress, the federal
sovereignty; and the Union offered, in several respects, the
appearance of a single and undivided people, directed in its foreign
and internal policy by a single Government. But to attain this point
the people had risen, to a certain extent, above itself.
The Constitution had not destroyed the distinct sovereignty of the
States; and all communities, of whatever nature they may be, are
impelled by a secret propensity to assert their independence. This
propensity is still more decided in a country like America, in which
every village forms a sort of republic accustomed to conduct its own
affairs. It therefore cost the States an effort to submit to the
federal supremacy; and all efforts, however successful they may be,
necessarily subside with the causes in which they originated.
As the Federal Government consolidated its authority, America
resumed its rank amongst the nations, peace returned to its
frontiers, and public credit was restored; confusion was succeeded
by a fixed state of things, which was favorable to the full and free
exercise of industrious enterprise. It was this very prosperity
which made the Americans forget the cause to which it was
attributable; and when once the danger was passed, the energy and
the patriotism which had enabled them to brave it disappeared from
amongst them. No sooner were they delivered from the cares which
oppressed them, than they easily returned to their ordinary habits,
and gave themselves up without resistance to their natural
inclinations. When a powerful Government no longer appeared to be
necessary, they once more began to think it irksome. The Union
encouraged a general prosperity, and the States were not inclined to
abandon the Union; but they desired to render the action of the
power which represented that body as light as possible. The general
principle of Union was adopted, but in every minor detail there was
an actual tendency to independence. The principle of confederation
was every day more easily admitted, and more rarely applied; so that
the Federal Government brought about its own decline, whilst it was
creating order and peace.
As soon as this tendency of public opinion began to be manifested
externally, the leaders of parties, who live by the passions of the
people, began to work it to their own advantage. The position of the
Federal Government then became exceedingly critical. Its enemies
were in possession of the popular favor; and they obtained the right
of conducting its policy by pledging themselves to lessen its
influence. From that time forwards the Government of the Union has
invariably been obliged to recede, as often as it has attempted to
enter the lists with the governments of the States. And whenever an
interpretation of the terms of the Federal Constitution has been
called for, that interpretation has most frequently been opposed to
the Union, and favorable to the States.
The Constitution invested the Federal Government with the right of
providing for the interests of the nation; and it had been held that
no other authority was so fit to superintend the internal
improvements" which affected the prosperity of the whole Union;
such, for instance, as the cutting of canals. But the States were
alarmed at a power, distinct from their own, which could thus
dispose of a portion of their territory; and they were afraid that
the central Government would, by this means, acquire a formidable
extent of patronage within their own confines, and exercise a degree
of influence which they intended to reserve exclusively to their own
agents. The Democratic party, which has constantly been opposed to
the increase of the federal authority, then accused the Congress of
usurpation, and the Chief Magistrate of ambition. The central
Government was intimidated by the opposition; and it soon
acknowledged its error, promising exactly to confine its influence
for the future within the circle which was prescribed to it.
The Constitution confers upon the Union the right of treating with
foreign nations. The Indian tribes, which border upon the frontiers
of the United States, had usually been regarded in this light. As
long as these savages consented to retire before the civilized
settlers, the federal right was not contested: but as soon as an
Indian tribe attempted to fix its dwelling upon a given spot, the
adjacent States claimed possession of the lands and the rights of
sovereignty over the natives. The central Government soon recognized
both these claims; and after it had concluded treaties with the
Indians as independent nations, it gave them up as subjects to the
legislative tyranny of the States.
Some of the States which had been founded upon the coast of the
Atlantic, extended indefinitely to the West, into wild regions where
no European had ever penetrated. The States whose confines were
irrevocably fixed, looked with a jealous eye upon the unbounded
regions which the future would enable their neighbors to explore.
The latter then agreed, with a view to conciliate the others, and to
facilitate the act of union, to lay down their own boundaries, and
to abandon all the territory which lay beyond those limits to the
confederation at large. Thenceforward the Federal Government became
the owner of all the uncultivated lands which lie beyond the borders
of the thirteen States first confederated. It was invested with the
right of parcelling and selling them, and the sums derived from this
source were exclusively reserved to the public treasure of the
Union, in order to furnish supplies for purchasing tracts of country
from the Indians, for opening roads to the remote settlements, and
for accelerating the increase of civilization as much as possible.
New States have, however, been formed in the course of time, in the
midst of those wilds which were formerly ceded by the inhabitants of
the shores of the Atlantic. Congress has gone on to sell, for the
profit of the nation at large, the uncultivated lands which those
new States contained. But the latter at length asserted that, as
they were now fully constituted, they ought to enjoy the exclusive
right of converting the produce of these sales to their own use. As
their remonstrances became more and more threatening, Congress
thought fit to deprive the Union of a portion of the privileges
which it had hitherto enjoyed; and at the end of 1832 it passed a
law by which the greatest part of the revenue derived from the sale
of lands was made over to the new western republics, although the
lands them selves were not ceded to them.
The slightest observation in the United States enables one to
appreciate the advantages which the country derives from the bank.
These advantages are of several kinds, but one of them is peculiarly
striking to the stranger. The banknotes of the United States are
taken upon the borders of the desert for the same value as at
Philadelphia, where the bank conducts its operations.
The Bank of the United States is nevertheless the object of great
animosity. Its directors have proclaimed their hostility to the
President: and they are accused, not without some show of
probability, of having abused their influence to thwart his
election. The President therefore attacks the establishment which
they represent with all the warmth of personal enmity; and he is
encouraged in the pursuit of his revenge by the conviction that he
is supported by the secret propensities of the majority. The bank
may be regarded as the great monetary tie of the Union, just as
Congress is the great legislative tie; and the same passions which
tend to render the States independent of the central power,
contribute to the overthrow of the bank.
The Bank of the United States always holds a great number of the
notes issued by the provincial banks, which it can at any time
oblige them to convert into cash. It has itself nothing to fear from
a similar demand, as the extent of its resources enables it to meet
all claims. But the existence of the provincial banks is thus
threatened, and their operations are restricted, since they are only
able to issue a quantity of notes duly proportioned to their
capital. They submit with impatience to this salutary control. The
newspapers which they have bought over, and the President, whose
interest renders him their instrument, attack the bank with the
greatest vehemence. They rouse the local passions and the blind
democratic instinct of the country to aid their cause; and they
assert that the bank directors form a permanent aristocratic body,
whose influence must ultimately be felt in the Government, and must
affect those principles of equality upon which society rests in
America.
The contest between the bank and its opponents is only an incident
in the great struggle which is going on in America between the
provinces and the central power; between the spirit of democratic
independence and the spirit of gradation and subordination. I do not
mean that the enemies of the bank are identically the same
individuals who, on other points, attack the Federal Government; but
I assert that the attacks directed against the bank of the United
States originate in the same propensities which militate against the
Federal Government; and that the very numerous opponents of the
former afford a deplorable symptom of the decreasing support of the
latter.
The Union has never displayed so much weakness as in the celebrated
question of the tariff. The wars of the French Revolution and of
1812 had created manufacturing establishments in the North of the
Union, by cutting off all free communication between America and
Europe. When peace was concluded, and the channel of intercourse
reopened by which the produce of Europe was transmitted to the New
World, the Americans thought fit to establish a system of import
duties, for the twofold purpose of protecting their incipient
manufactures and of paying off the amount of the debt contracted
during the war. The Southern States, which have no manufactures to
encourage, and which are exclusively agricultural, soon complained
of this measure. Such were the simple facts, and I do not pretend to
examine in this place whether their complaints were well founded or
unjust.
As early as the year 1820, South Carolina declared, in a petition to
Congress, that the tariff was "unconstitutional, oppressive, and
unjust." And the States of Georgia, Virginia, North Carolina,
Alabama, and Mississippi subsequently remonstrated against it with
more or less vigor. But Congress, far from lending an ear to these
complaints, raised the scale of tariff duties in the years 1824 and
1828, and recognized anew the principle on which it was founded. A
doctrine was then proclaimed, or rather revived, in the South, which
took the name of Nullification.
I have shown in the proper place that the object of the Federal
Constitution was not to form a league, but to create a national
government. The Americans of the United States form a sole and
undivided people, in all the cases which are specified by that
Constitution; and upon these points the will of the nation is
expressed, as it is in all constitutional nations, by the voice of
the majority. When the majority has pronounced its decision, it is
the duty of the minority to submit. Such is the sound legal
doctrine, and the only one which agrees with the text of the
Constitution, and the known intention of those who framed it.
The partisans of Nullification in the South maintain, on the
contrary, that the intention of the Americans in uniting was not to
reduce themselves to the condition of one and the same people; that
they meant to constitute a league of independent States; and that
each State, consequently retains its entire sovereignty, if not de
facto, at least de jure; and has the right of putting its own
construction upon the laws of Congress, and of suspending their
execution within the limits of its own territory, if they are held
to be unconstitutional and unjust.
The entire doctrine of Nullification is comprised in a sentence
uttered by Vice-President Calhoun, the head of that party in the
South, before the Senate of the United States, in the year 1833:
"The Constitution is a compact to which the States were parties in
their sovereign capacity; now, whenever a compact is entered into by
parties which acknowledge no tribunal above their authority to
decide in the last resort, each of them has a right to judge for
itself in relation to the nature, extent, and obligations of the
instrument." It is evident that a similar doctrine destroys the very
basis of the Federal Constitution, and brings back all the evils of
the old confederation, from which the Americans were supposed to
have had a safe deliverance.
When South Carolina perceived that Congress turned a deaf ear to its
remonstrances, it threatened to apply the doctrine of nullification
to the federal tariff bill. Congress persisted in its former system;
and at length the storm broke out. In the course of 1832 the
citizens of South Carolina, named a national Convention, to consult
upon the extraordinary measures which they were called upon to take;
and on November 24th of the same year this Convention promulgated a
law, under the form of a decree, which annulled the federal law of
the tariff, forbade the levy of the imposts which that law commands,
and refused to recognize the appeal which might be made to the
federal courts of law. This decree was only to be put in execution
in the ensuing month of February, and it was intimated, that if
Congress modified the tariff before that period, South Carolina
might be induced to proceed no further with her menaces; and a vague
desire was afterwards expressed of submitting the question to an
extraordinary assembly of all the confederate States.
In the meantime South Carolina armed her militia, and prepared for
war. But Congress, which had slighted its suppliant subjects,
listened to their complaints as soon as they were found to have
taken up arms. A law was passed, by which the tariff duties were to
be progressively reduced for ten years, until they were brought so
low as not to exceed the amount of supplies necessary to the
Government. Thus Congress completely abandoned the principle of the
tariff; and substituted a mere fiscal impost to a system of
protective duties. The Government of the Union, in order to conceal
its defeat, had recourse to an expedient which is very much in vogue
with feeble governments. It yielded the point de facto, but it
remained inflexible upon the principles in question; and whilst
Congress was altering the tariff law, it passed another bill, by
which the President was invested with extraordinary powers, enabling
him to overcome by force a resistance which was then no longer to be
apprehended.
But South Carolina did not consent to leave the Union in the
enjoyment of these scanty trophies of success: the same national
Convention which had annulled the tariff bill, met again, and
accepted the proffered concession; but at the same time it declared
its unabated perseverance in the doctrine of Nullification: and to
prove what it said, it annulled the law investing the President with
extraordinary powers, although it was very certain that the clauses
of that law would never be carried into effect.
Almost all the controversies of which I have been speaking have
taken place under the Presidency of General Jackson; and it cannot
be denied that in the question of the tariff he has supported the
claims of the Union with vigor and with skill. I am, however, of
opinion that the conduct of the individual who now represents the
Federal Government may be reckoned as one of the dangers which
threaten its continuance.
Some persons in Europe have formed an opinion of the possible
influence of General Jackson upon the affairs of his country, which
appears highly extravagant to those who have seen more of the
subject. We have been told that General Jackson has won sundry
battles, that he is an energetic man, prone by nature and by habit
to the use of force, covetous of power, and a despot by taste. All
this may perhaps be true; but the inferences which have been drawn
from these truths are exceedingly erroneous. It has been imagined
that General Jackson is bent on establishing a dictatorship in
America, on introducing a military spirit, and on giving a degree of
influence to the central authority which cannot but be dangerous to
provincial liberties. But in America the time for similar
undertakings, and the age for men of this kind, is not yet come: if
General Jackson had entertained a hope of exercising his authority
in this manner, he would infallibly have forfeited his political
station, and compromised his life; accordingly he has not been so
imprudent as to make any such attempt.
Far from wishing to extend the federal power, the President belongs
to the party which is desirous of limiting that power to the bare
and precise letter of the Constitution, and which never puts a
construction upon that act favorable to the Government of the Union;
far from standing forth as the champion of centralization, General
Jackson is the agent of all the jealousies of the States; and he was
placed in the lofty station he occupies by the passions of the
people which are most opposed to the central Government. It is by
perpetually flattering these passions that he maintains his station
and his popularity. General Jackson is the slave of the majority: he
yields to its wishes, its propensities, and its demands; say rather,
that he anticipates and forestalls them.
Whenever the governments of the States come into collision with that
of the Union, the President is generally the first to question his
own rights: he almost always outstrips the legislature; and when the
extent of the federal power is controverted, he takes part, as it
were, against himself; he conceals his official interests, and
extinguishes his own natural inclinations. Not indeed that he is
naturally weak or hostile to the Union; for when the majority
decided against the claims of the partisans of nullification, he put
himself at its head, asserted the doctrines which the nation held
distinctly and energetically, and was the first to recommend
forcible measures; but General Jackson appears to me, if I may use
the American expressions, to be a Federalist by taste, and a
Republican by calculation.
General Jackson stoops to gain the favor of the majority, but when
he feels that his popularity is secure, he overthrows all obstacles
in the pursuit of the objects which the community approves, or of
those which it does not look upon with a jealous eye. He is
supported by a power with which his predecessors were unacquainted;
and he tramples on his personal enemies whenever they cross his path
with a facility which no former President ever enjoyed; he takes
upon himself the responsibility of measures which no one before him
would have ventured to attempt: he even treats the national
representatives with disdain approaching to insult; he puts his veto
upon the laws of Congress, and frequently neglects to reply to that
powerful body. He is a favorite who sometimes treats his master
roughly. The power of General Jackson perpetually increases; but
that of the President declines; in his hands the Federal Government
is strong, but it will pass enfeebled into the hands of his
successor.
I am strangely mistaken if the Federal Government of the United
States be not constantly losing strength, retiring gradually from
public affairs, and narrowing its circle of action more and more. It
is naturally feeble, but it now abandons even its pretensions to
strength. On the other hand, I thought that I remarked a more lively
sense of independence, and a more decided attachment to provincial
government in the States. The Union is to subsist, but to subsist as
a shadow; it is to be strong in certain cases, and weak in all
others; in time of warfare, it is to be able to concentrate all the
forces of the nation and all the resources of the country in its
hands; and in time of peace its existence is to be scarcely
perceptible: as if this alternate debility and vigor were natural or
possible.
I do not foresee anything for the present which may be able to check
this general impulse of public opinion; the causes in which it
originated do not cease to operate with the same effect. The change
will therefore go on, and it may be predicted that, unless some
extraordinary event occurs, the Government of the Union will grow
weaker and weaker every day.
I think, however, that the period is still remote at which the
federal power will be entirely extinguished by its inability to
protect itself and to maintain peace in the country. The Union is
sanctioned by the manners and desires of the people; its results are
palpable, its benefits visible. When it is perceived that the
weakness of the Federal Government compromises the existence of the
Union, I do not doubt that a reaction will take place with a view to
increase its strength.
The Government of the United States is, of all the federal
governments which have hitherto been established, the one which is
most naturally destined to act. As long as it is only indirectly
assailed by the interpretation of its laws, and as long as its
substance is not seriously altered, a change of opinion, an internal
crisis, or a war, may restore all the vigor which it requires. The
point which I have been most anxious to put in a clear light is
simply this: Many people, especially in France, imagine that a
change in opinion is going on in the United States, which is
favorable to a centralization of power in the hands of the President
and the Congress. I hold that a contrary tendency may distinctly be
observed. So far is the Federal Government from acquiring strength,
and from threatening the sovereignty of the States, as it grows
older, that I maintain it to be growing weaker and weaker, and that
the sovereignty of the Union alone is in danger. Such are the facts
which the present time discloses. The future conceals the final
result of this tendency, and the events which may check, retard, or
accelerate the changes I have described; but I do not affect to be
able to remove the veil which hides them from our sight.
Of the Republican Institutions of the United States, and What Their
Chances of Duration Are
The Union is accidental -- The Republican institutions have more
prospect of permanence -- A republic for the present the natural
state of the Anglo-Americans -- Reason of this -- In order to
destroy it, all the laws must be changed at the same time, and a
great alteration take place in manners -- Difficulties experienced
by the Americans in creating an aristocracy.
The dismemberment of the Union, by the introduction of war into the
heart of those States which are now confederate, with standing
armies, a dictatorship, and a heavy taxation, might, eventually,
compromise the fate of the republican institutions. But we ought not
to confound the future prospects of the republic with those of the
Union. The Union is an accident, which will only last as long as
circumstances are favorable to its existence; but a republican form
of government seems to me to be the natural state of the Americans;
which nothing but the continued action of hostile causes, always
acting in the same direction, could change into a monarchy. The
Union exists principally in the law which formed it; one revolution,
one change in public opinion, might destroy it forever; but the
republic has a much deeper foundation to rest upon.
What is understood by a republican government in the United States
is the slow and quiet action of society upon itself. It is a regular
state of things really founded upon the enlightened will of the
people. It is a conciliatory government under which resolutions are
allowed time to ripen; and in which they are deliberately discussed,
and executed with mature judgment. The republicans in the United
States set a high value upon morality, respect religious belief, and
acknowledge the existence of rights. They profess to think that a
people ought to be moral, religious, and temperate, in proportion as
it is free. What is called the republic in the United States, is the
tranquil rule of the majority, which, after having had time to
examine itself, and to give proof of its existence, is the common
source of all the powers of the State. But the power of the majority
is not of itself unlimited. In the moral world humanity, justice,
and reason enjoy an undisputed supremacy; in the political world
vested rights are treated with no less deference. The majority
recognizes these two barriers; and if it now and then overstep them,
it is because, like individuals, it has passions, and, like them, it
is prone to do what is wrong, whilst it discerns what is right.
But the demagogues of Europe have made strange discoveries. A
republic is not, according to them, the rule of the majority, as has
hitherto been thought, but the rule of those who are strenuous
partisans of the majority. It is not the people who preponderates in
this kind of government, but those who are best versed in the good
qualities of the people. A happy distinction, which allows men to
act in the name of nations without consulting them, and to claim
their gratitude whilst their rights are spurned. A republican
government, moreover, is the only one which claims the right of
doing whatever it chooses, and despising what men have hitherto
respected, from the highest moral obligations to the vulgar rules of
common-sense. It had been supposed, until our time, that despotism
was odious, under whatever form it appeared. But it is a discovery
of modern days that there are such things as legitimate tyranny and
holy injustice, provided they are exercised in the name of the
people.
The ideas which the Americans have adopted respecting the republican
form of government, render it easy for them to live under it, and
insure its duration. If, in their country, this form be often
practically bad, at least it is theoretically good; and, in the end,
the people always acts in conformity to it.
It was impossible at the foundation of the States, and it would
still be difficult, to establish a central administration in
America. The inhabitants are dispersed over too great a space, and
separated by too many natural obstacles, for one man to undertake to
direct the details of their existence. America is therefore
pre-eminently the country of provincial and municipal government. To
this cause, which was plainly felt by all the Europeans of the New
World, the Anglo-Americans added several others peculiar to
themselves.
At the time of the settlement of the North American colonies,
municipal liberty had already penetrated into the laws as well as
the manners of the English; and the emigrants adopted it, not only
as a necessary thing, but as a benefit which they knew how to
appreciate. We have already seen the manner in which the colonies
were founded: every province, and almost every district, was peopled
separately by men who were strangers to each other, or who
associated with very different purposes. The English settlers in the
United States, therefore, early perceived that they were divided
into a great number of small and distinct communities which belonged
to no common centre;
and that it was needful for each of these little communities to take
care of its own affairs, since there did not appear to be any
central authority which was naturally bound and easily enabled to
provide for them. Thus, the nature of the country, the manner in
which the British colonies were founded, the habits of the first
emigrants, in short everything, united to promote, in an
extraordinary degree, municipal and provincial liberties.
In the United States, therefore, the mass of the institutions of the
country is essentially republican; and in order permanently to
destroy the laws which form the basis of the republic, it would be
necessary to abolish all the laws at once. At the present day it
would be even more difficult for a party to succeed in founding a
monarchy in the United States than for a set of men to proclaim that
France should henceforward be a republic. Royalty would not find a
system of legislation prepared for it beforehand; and a monarchy
would then exist, really surrounded by republican institutions. The
monarchical principle would likewise have great difficulty in
penetrating into the manners of the Americans.
In the United States, the sovereignty of the people is not an
isolated doctrine bearing no relation to the prevailing manners and
ideas of the people: it may, on the contrary, be regarded as the
last link of a chain of opinions which binds the whole
Anglo-American world. That Providence has given to every human being
the degree of reason necessary to direct himself in the affairs
which interest him exclusively -- such is the grand maxim upon which
civil and political society rests in the United States. The father
of a family applies it to his children; the master to his servants;
the township to its officers; the province to its townships; the
State to the provinces; the Union to the States; and when extended
to the nation, it becomes the doctrine of the sovereignty of the
people.
Thus, in the United States, the fundamental principle of the
republic is the same which governs the greater part of human
actions; republican notions insinuate themselves into all the ideas,
opinions, and habits of the Americans, whilst they are formerly
recognized by the legislation: and before this legislation can be
altered the whole community must undergo very serious changes. In
the United States, even the religion of most of the citizens is
republican, since it submits the truths of the other world to
private judgment: as in politics the care of its temporal interests
is abandoned to the good sense of the people. Thus every man is
allowed freely to take that road which he thinks will lead him to
heaven; just as the law permits every citizen to have the right of
choosing his government.
It is evident that nothing but a long series of events, all having
the same tendency, can substitute for this combination of laws,
opinions, and manners, a mass of opposite opinions, manners, and
laws.
If republican principles are to perish in America, they can only
yield after a laborious social process, often interrupted, and as
often resumed; they will have many apparent revivals, and will not
become totally extinct until an entirely new people shall have
succeeded to that which now exists. Now, it must be admitted that
there is no symptom or presage of the approach of such a revolution.
There is nothing more striking to a person newly arrived in the
United States, than the kind of tumultuous agitation in which he
finds political society. The laws are incessantly changing, and at
first sight it seems impossible that a people so variable in its
desires should avoid adopting, within a short space of time, a
completely new form of government. Such apprehensions are, however,
premature; the instability which affects political institutions is
of two kinds, which ought not to be confounded: the first, which
modifies secondary laws, is not incompatible with a very settled
state of society; the other shakes the very foundations of the
Constitution, and attacks the fundamental principles of legislation;
this species of instability is always followed by troubles and
revolutions, and the nation which suffers under it is in a state of
violent transition.
Experience shows that these two kinds of legislative instability
have no necessary connection; for they have been found united or
separate, according to times and circumstances. The first is common
in the United States, but not the second: the Americans often change
their laws, but the foundation of the Constitution is respected.
In our days the republican principle rules in America, as the
monarchical principle did in France under Louis XIV. The French of
that period were not only friends of the monarchy, but they thought
it impossible to put anything in its place; they received it as we
receive the rays of the sun and the return of the seasons. Amongst
them the royal power had neither advocates nor opponents. In like
manner does the republican government exist in America, without
contention or opposition; without proofs and arguments, by a tacit
agreement, a sort of consensus universalis. It is, however, my
opinion that by changing their administrative forms as often as they
do, the inhabitants of the United States compromise the future
stability of their government.
It may be apprehended that men, perpetually thwarted in their
designs by the mutability of the legislation, will learn to look
upon republican institutions as an inconvenient form of society; the
evil resulting from the instability of the secondary enactments
might then raise a doubt as to the nature of the fundamental
principles of the Constitution, and indirectly bring about a
revolution; but this epoch is still very remote.
It may, however, be foreseen even now, that when the Americans lose
their republican institutions they will speedily arrive at a
despotic government, without a long interval of limited monarchy.
Montesquieu remarked, that nothing is more absolute than the
authority of a prince who immediately succeeds a republic, since the
powers which had fearlessly been intrusted to an elected magistrate
are then transferred to a hereditary sovereign. This is true in
general, but it is more peculiarly applicable to a democratic
republic. In the United States, the magistrates are not elected by a
particular class of citizens, but by the majority of the nation;
they are the immediate representatives of the passions of the
multitude; and as they are wholly dependent upon its pleasure, they
excite neither hatred nor fear: hence, as I have already shown, very
little care has been taken to limit their influence, and they are
left in possession of a vast deal of arbitrary power. This state of
things has engendered habits which would outlive itself; the
American magistrate would retain his power, but he would cease to be
responsible for the exercise of it; and it is impossible to say what
bounds could then be Set to tyranny.
Some of our European politicians expect to see an aristocracy arise
in America, and they already predict the exact period at which it
will be able to assume the reins of government. I have previously
observed, and I repeat my assertion, that the present tendency of
American society appears to me to become more and more democratic.
Nevertheless, I do not assert that the Americans will not, at some
future time, restrict the circle of political rights in their
country, or confiscate those rights to the advantage of a single
individual; but I cannot imagine that they will ever bestow the
exclusive exercise of them upon a privileged class of citizens, or,
in other words, that they will ever found an aristocracy.
An aristocratic body is composed of a certain number of citizens
who, without being very far removed from the mass of the people,
are, nevertheless, permanently stationed above it: a body which it
is easy to touch and difficult to strike; with which the people are
in daily contact, but with which they can never combine. Nothing can
be imagined more contrary to nature and to the secret propensities
of the human heart than a subjection of this kind; and men who are
left to follow their own bent will always prefer the arbitrary power
of a king to the regular administration of an aristocracy.
Aristocratic institutions cannot subsist without laying down the
inequality of men as a fundamental principle, as a part and parcel
of the legislation, affecting the condition of the human family as
much as it affects that of society; but these are things so
repugnant to natural equity that they can only be extorted from men
by constraint.
I do not think a single people can be quoted, since human society
began to exist, which has, by its own free will and by its own
exertions, created an aristocracy within its own bosom. All the
aristocracies of the Middle Ages were founded by military conquest;
the conqueror was the noble, the vanquished be came the serf.
Inequality was then imposed by force; and after it had been
introduced into the maners of the country it maintained its own
authority, and was sanctioned by the legislation. Communities have
existed which were aristocratic from their earliest origin, owing to
circumstances anterior to that event, and which became more
democratic in each succeeding age. Such was the destiny of the
Romans, and of the barbarians after them. But a people, having taken
its rise in civilization and democracy, which should gradually
establish an inequality of conditions, until it arrived at
inviolable privileges and exclusive castes, would be a novelty in
the world; and nothing intimates that America is likely to furnish
so singular an example.
Reflection on the Causes of the Commercial Prosperity of the United
States
The Americans destined by Nature to be a great maritime people --
Extent of their coasts -- Depth of their ports -- Size of their
rivers -- The commercial superiority of the Anglo-Americans less
attributable, however, to physical circumstances than to moral and
intellectual causes -- Reason of this opinion -- Future destiny of
the Anglo-Americans as a commercial nation -- The dissolution of the
Union would not check the maritime vigor of the States -- Reason of
this -- Anglo-Americans will naturally supply the wants of the
inhabitants of South America -- They will become, like the English,
the factors of a great portion of the world.
The coast of the United States, from the Bay of Fundy to the Sabine
River in the Gulf of Mexico, is more than two thousand miles in
extent. These shores form an unbroken line, and they are all subject
to the same government No nation in the world possesses vaster,
deeper, or more secure ports for shipping than the Americans.
The inhabitants of the United States constitute a great civilized
people, which fortune has placed in the midst of an uncultivated
country at a distance of three thousand miles from the central point
of civilization. America consequently stands in daily need of
European trade. The Americans will, no doubt, ultimately succeed in
producing or manufacturing at home most of the articles which they
require; but the two continents can never be independent of each
other, so numerous are the natural ties which exist between their
wants, their ideas, their habits, and their manners.
The Union produces peculiar commodities which are now become
necessary to us, but which cannot be cultivated, or can only be
raised at an enormous expense, upon the soil of Europe. The
Americans only consume a small portion of this produce, and they are
willing to sell us the rest. Europe is therefore the market of
America, as America is the market of Europe; and maritime commerce
is no less necessary to enable the inhabitants of the United States
to transport their raw materials to the ports of Europe, than it is
to enable us to supply them with our manufactured produce. The
United States were therefore necessarily reduced to the alternative
of increasing the business of other maritime nations to a great
extent, if they had themselves declined to enter into commerce, as
the Spaniards of Mexico have hitherto done; or, in the second place,
of becoming one of the first trading powers of the globe.
The Anglo-Americans have always displayed a very decided taste for
the sea. The Declaration of Independence broke the commercial
restrictions which united them to England, and gave a fresh and
powerful stimulus to their maritime genius. Ever since that time,
the shipping of the Union has increased in almost the same rapid
proportion as the number of its inhabitants. The Americans
themselves now transport to their own shores nine-tenths of the
European produce which they consume. And they also bring
three-quarters of the exports of the New World to the European
consumer. The ships of the United States fill the docks of Havre and
of Liverpool; whilst the number of English and French vessels which
are to be seen at New York is comparatively small.
Thus, not only does the American merchant face the competition of
his own countrymen, but he even supports that of foreign nations in
their own ports with success. This is readily explained by the fact
that the vessels of the United States can cross the seas at a
cheaper rate than any other vessels in the world. As long as the
mercantile shipping of the United States preserves this superiority,
it will not only retain what it has acquired, but it will constantly
increase in prosperity.
It is difficult to say for what reason the Americans can trade at a
lower rate than other nations; and one is at first led to attribute
this circumstance to the physical or natural advantages which are
within their reach; but this supposition is erroneous. The American
vessels cost almost as much to build as our own; they are not better
built, and they generally last for a shorter time. The pay of the
American sailor is more considerable than the pay on board European
ships; which is proved by the great number of Europeans who are to
be met with in the merchant vessels of the United States. But I am
of opinion that the true cause of their superiority must not be
sought for in physical advantages, but that it is wholly
attributable to their moral and intellectual qualities.
The following comparison will illustrate my meaning. During the
campaigns of the Revolution the French introduced a new system of
tactics into the art of war, which perplexed the oldest generals,
and very nearly destroyed the most ancient monarchies in Europe.
They undertook (what had never before been attempted) to make shift
without a number of things which had always been held to be
indispensable in warfare; they required novel exertions on the part
of their troops which no civilized nations had ever thought of; they
achieved great actions in an incredibly short space of time; and
they risked human life without hesitation to obtain the object in
view. The French had less money and fewer men than their enemies;
their resources were infinitely inferior; nevertheless they were
constantly victorious, until their adversaries chose to imitate
their example.
The Americans have introduced a similar system into their commercial
speculations; and they do for cheapness what the French did for
conquest. The European sailor navigates with prudence; he only sets
sail when the weather is favorable; if an unforeseen accident
befalls him, he puts into port; at night he furls a portion of his
canvas; and when the whitening billows intimate the vicinity of
land, he checks his way, and takes an observation of the sun. But
the American neglects these precautions and braves these dangers. He
weighs anchor in the midst of tempestuous gales; by night and by day
he spreads his sheets to the wind; he repairs as he goes along such
damage as his vessel may have sustained from the storm; and when he
at last approaches the term of his voyage, he darts onward to the
shore as if he already descried a port. The Americans are often
shipwrecked, but no trader crosses the seas so rapidly. And as they
perform the same distance in a shorter time, they can perform it at
a cheaper rate.
The European touches several times at different ports in the course
of a long voyage; he loses a good deal of precious time in making
the harbor, or in waiting for a favorable wind to leave it; and he
pays daily dues to be allowed to remain there. The American starts
from Boston to go to purchase tea in China; he arrives at Canton,
stays there a few days, and then returns. In less than two years he
has sailed as far as the entire circumference of the globe, and he
has seen land but once. It is true that during a voyage of eight or
ten months he has drunk brackish water and lived upon salt meat;
that he has been in a continual contest with the sea, with disease,
and with a tedious existence; but upon his return he can sell a
pound of his tea for a half-penny less than the English merchant,
and his purpose is accomplished.
I cannot better explain my meaning than by saying that the Americans
affect a sort of heroism in their manner of trading. But the
European merchant will always find it very difficult to imitate his
American competitor, who, in adopting the system which I have just
described, follows not only a calculation of his gain, but an
impulse of his nature.
The inhabitants of the United States are subject to all the wants
and all the desires which result from an advanced stage of
civilization; but as they are not surrounded by a community
admirably adapted, like that of Europe, to satisfy their wants, they
are often obliged to procure for themselves the various articles
which education and habit have rendered necessaries. In America it
sometimes happens that the same individual tills his field, builds
his dwelling, contrives his tools, makes his shoes, and weaves the
coarse stuff of which his dress is composed. This circumstance is
prejudicial to the excellence of the work; but it powerfully
contributes to awaken the intelligence of the workman. Nothing tends
to materalize man, and to deprive his work of the faintest trace of
mind, more than extreme division of labor. In a country like
America, where men devoted to special occupations are rare, a long
apprenticeship cannot be required from anyone who embraces a
profession. The Americans, therefore, change their means of gaining
a livelihood very readily; and they suit their occupations to the
exigencies of the moment, in the manner most profitable to
themselves. Men are to be met with who have successively been
barristers, farmers, merchants, ministers of the gospel, and
physicians. If the American be less perfect in each craft than the
European, at least there is scarcely any trade with which he is
utterly unacquainted. His capacity is more general, and the circle
of his intelligence is enlarged.
The inhabitants of the United States are never fettered by the
axioms of their profession; they escape from all the prejudices of
their present station; they are not more attached to one line of
operation than to another; they are not more prone to employ an old
method than a new one; they have no rooted habits, and they easily
shake off the influence which the habits of other nations might
exercise upon their minds from a conviction that their country is
unlike any other, and that its situation is without a precedent in
the world. America is a land of wonders, in which everything is in
constant motion, and every movement seems an improvement. The idea
of novelty is there indissolubly connected with the idea of
amelioration. No natural boundary seems to be set to the efforts of
man; and what is not yet done is only what he has not yet attempted
to do.
This perpetual change which goes on in the United States, these
frequent vicissitudes of fortune, accompanied by such unforeseen
fluctuations in private and in public wealth, serve to keep the
minds of the citizens in a perpetual state of feverish agitation,
which admirably invigorates their exertions, and keeps them in a
state of excitement above the ordinary level of mankind. The whole
life of an American is passed like a game of chance, a revolutionary
crisis, or a battle. As the same causes are continually in operation
throughout the country, they ultimately impart an irresistible
impulse to the national character. The American, taken as a chance
specimen of his countrymen, must then be a man of singular warmth in
his desires, enterprising, fond of adventure, and, above all, of
innovation. The same bent is manifest in all that he does; he
introduces it into his political laws, his religious doctrines, his
theories of social economy, and his domestic occupations; he bears
it with him in the depths of the backwoods, as well as in the
business of the city. It is this same passion, applied to maritime
commerce, which makes him the cheapest and the quickest trader in
the world.
As long as the sailors of the United States retain these inspiriting
advantages, and the practical superiority which they derive from
them, they will not only continue to supply the wants of the
producers and consumers of their own country, but they will tend
more and more to become, like the English, the factors of all other
peoples. This prediction has already begun to be realized; we
perceive that the American traders are introducing themselves as
intermediate agents in the commerce of several European nations; and
America will offer a still wider field to their enterprise.
The great colonies which were founded in South America by the
Spaniards and the Portuguese have since become empires. Civil war
and oppression now lay waste those extensive regions. Population
does not increase, and the thinly scattered inhabitants are too much
absorbed in the cares of self-defense even to attempt any
amelioration of their condition. Such, however, will not always be
the case. Europe has succeeded by her own efforts in piercing the
gloom of the Middle Ages; South America has the same Christian laws
and Christian manners as we have; she contains all the germs of
civilization which have grown amidst the nations of Europe or their
offsets, added to the advantages to be derived from our example: why
then should she always remain uncivilized? It is clear that the
question is simply one of time; at some future period, which may be
more or less remote, the inhabitants of South America will
constitute flourishing and enlightened nations.
But when the Spaniards and Portuguese of South America begin to feel
the wants common to all civilized nations, they will still be unable
to satisfy those wants for themselves; as the youngest children of
civilization, they must perforce admit the superiority of their
elder brethren. They will be agriculturists long before they succeed
in manufactures or commerce, and they will require the mediation of
strangers to exchange their produce beyond seas for those articles
for which a demand will begin to be felt.
It is unquestionable that the Americans of the North will one day
supply the wants of the Americans of the South. Nature has placed
them in contiguity, and has furnished the former with every means of
knowing and appreciating those demands, of establishing a permanent
connection with those States, and of gradually filling their
markets. The merchants of the United States could only forfeit these
natural advantages if he were very inferior to the merchant of
Europe; to whom he is, on the contrary, superior in several
respects. The Americans of the United States already exercise a very
considerable moral influence upon all the peoples of the New World.
They are the source of intelligence, and all the nations which
inhabit the same continent are already accustomed to consider them
as the most enlightened, the most powerful, and the most wealthy
members of the great American family. All eyes are therefore turned
towards the Union; and the States of which that body is composed are
the models which the other communities try to imitate to the best of
their power; it is from the United States that they borrow their
political principles and their laws.
The Americans of the United States stand in precisely the same
position with regard to the peoples of South America as their
fathers, the English, occupy with regard to the Italians, the
Spaniards, the Portuguese, and all those nations of Europe which
receive their articles of daily consumption from England, because
they are less advanced in civilization and trade. England is at this
time the natural emporium of almost all the nations which are within
its reach; the American Union will perform the same part in the
other hemisphere; and every community which is founded, or which
prospers in the New World, is founded and prospers to the advantage
of the Anglo-Americans.
If the Union were to be dissolved, the commerce of the States which
now compose it would undoubtedly be checked for a time; but this
consequence would be less perceptible than is generally supposed. It
is evident that, whatever may happen, the commercial States will
remain united. They are all contiguous to each other; they have
identically the same opinions, interests, and manners; and they are
alone competent to form a very great maritime power. Even if the
South of the Union were to become independent of the North, it would
still require the services of those States. I have already observed
that the South is not a commercial country, and nothing intimates
that it is likely to become so. The Americans of the South of the
United States will therefore be obliged, for a long time to come, to
have recourse to strangers to export their produce, and to supply
them with the commodities which are requisite to satisfy their
wants. But the Northern States are undoubtedly able to act as their
intermediate agents cheaper than any other merchants. They will
therefore retain that employment, for cheapness is the sovereign law
of commerce. National claims and national prejudices cannot resist
the influence of cheapness. Nothing can be more virulent than the
hatred which exists be tween the Americans of the United States and
the English. But notwithstanding these inimical feelings, the
Americans derive the greater part of their manufactured commodities
from England, because England supplies them at a cheaper rate than
any other nation. Thus the increasing prosperity of America turns,
notwithstanding the grudges of the Americans, to the advantage of
British manufactures.
Reason shows and experience proves that no commercial prosperity can
be durable if it cannot be united, in case of need, to naval force.
This truth is as well understood in the United States as it can be
anywhere else: the Americans are already able to make their flag
respected; in a few years they will be able to make it feared. I am
convinced that the dismemberment of the Union would not have the
effect of diminishing the naval power of the Americans, but that it
would powerfully contribute to increase it. At the present time the
commercial States are connected with others which have not the same
interests, and which frequently yield an unwilling consent to the
increase of a maritime power by which they are only indirectly
benefited. If, on the contrary, the commercial States of the Union
formed one independent nation, commerce would become the foremost of
their national interests; they would consequently be willing to make
very great sacrifices to protect their shipping, and nothing would
prevent them from pursuing their designs upon this point.
Nations, as well as men, almost always betray the most prominent
features of their future destiny in their earliest years. When I
contemplate the ardor with which the Anglo-Americans prosecute
commercial enterprise, the advantages which befriend them, and the
success of their undertakings, I cannot refrain from believing that
they will one day become the first maritime power of the globe. They
are born to rule the seas, as the Romans were to conquer the world.
Conclusion
I have now nearly reached the close of my inquiry; hitherto, in
speaking of the future destiny of the United States, I have
endeavored to divide my subject into distinct portions, in order to
study each of them with more attention. My present object is to
embrace the whole from one single point; the remarks I shall make
will be less detailed, but they will be more sure. I shall perceive
each object less distinctly, but I shall descry the principal facts
with more certainty. A traveller who has just left the walls of an
immense city, climbs the neighboring hill; as he goes farther off he
loses sight of the men whom he has so recently quitted; their
dwellings are confused in a dense mass; he can no longer distinguish
the public squares, and he can scarcely trace out the great
thoroughfares; but his eye has less difficulty in following the
boundaries of the city, and for the first time he sees the shape of
the vast whole. Such is the future destiny of the British race in
North America to my eye; the details of the stupendous picture are
overhung with shade, but I conceive a clear idea of the entire
subject.
The territory now occupied or possessed by the United States of
America forms about one-twentieth part of the habitable earth. But
extensive as these confines are, it must not be supposed that the
Anglo-American race will always remain within them; indeed, it has
already far overstepped them.
There was once a time at which we also might have created a great
French nation in the American wilds, to counterbalance the influence
of the English upon the destinies of the New World. France formerly
possessed a territory in North America, scarcely less extensive than
the whole of Europe. The three greatest rivers of that continent
then flowed within her dominions. The Indian tribes which dwelt
between the mouth of the St. Lawrence and the delta of the
Mississippi were unaccustomed to any other tongue but ours; and all
the European settlements scattered over that immense region recalled
the traditions of our country. Louisbourg, Montmorency, Duquesne,
St. Louis, Vincennes, New Orleans (for such were the names they
bore) are words dear to France and familiar to our ears.
But a concourse of circumstances, which it would be tedious to
enumerate, have deprived us of this magnificent inheritance.
Wherever the French settlers were numerically weak and partially
established, they have disappeared: those who remain are collected
on a small extent of country, and are now subject to other laws. The
400,000 French inhabitants of Lower Canada constitute, at the
present time, the remnant of an old nation lost in the midst of a
new people. A foreign population is increasing around them
unceasingly and on all sides, which already penetrates amongst the
ancient masters of the country, predominates in their cities and
corrupts their language. This population is identical with that of
the United States; it is therefore with truth that I asserted that
the British race is not confined within the frontiers of the Union,
since it already extends to the northeast.
To the northwest nothing is to be met with but a few insignificant
Russian settlements; but to the southwest, Mexico presents a barrier
to the Anglo-Americans. Thus, the Spaniards and the Anglo-Americans
are, properly speaking, the only two races which divide the
possession of the New World. The limits of separation between them
have been settled by a treaty; but although the conditions of that
treaty are exceedingly favorable to the Anglo-Americans, I do not
doubt that they will shortly infringe this arrangement. Vast
provinces, extending beyond the frontiers of the Union towards
Mexico, are still destitute of inhabitants. The natives of the
United States will forestall the rightful occupants of these
solitary regions. They will take possession of the soil, and
establish social institutions, so that when the legal owner arrives
at length, he will find the wilderness under cultivation, and
strangers quietly settled in the midst of his inheritance.
The lands of the New World belong to the first occupant, and they
are the natural reward of the swiftest pioneer. Even the countries
which are already peopled will have some difficulty in securing
themselves from this invasion. I have already alluded to what is
taking place in the province of Texas. The inhabitants of the United
States are perpetually migrating to Texas, where they purchase land;
and although they conform to the laws of the country, they are
gradually founding the empire of their own language and their own
manners. The province of Texas is still part of the Mexican
dominions, but it will soon contain no Mexicans; the same thing has
occurred whenever the Anglo-Americans have come into contact with
populations of a different origin.
It cannot be denied that the British race has acquired an amazing
preponderance over all the other European races in the New World;
and that it is very superior to them in civilization, in industry,
and in power. As long as it is only surrounded by desert or thinly
peopled countries, as long as it encounters no dense populations
upon its route, through which it cannot work its way, it will
assuredly continue to spread. The lines marked out by treaties will
not stop it; but it will everywhere transgress these imaginary
barriers.
The geographical position of the British race in the New World is
peculiarly favorable to its rapid increase. Above its northern
frontiers the icy regions of the Pole extend; and a few degrees
below its southern confines lies the burning climate of the Equator.
The Anglo-Americans are, therefore, placed in the most temperate and
habitable zone of the continent.
It is generally supposed that the prodigious increase of population
in the United States is posterior to their Declaration of
Independence. But this is an error: the population increased as
rapidly under the colonial system as it does at the present day;
that is to say, it doubled in about twenty-two years. But this
proportion which is now applied to millions, was then applied to
thousands of inhabitants; and the same fact which was scarcely
noticeable a century ago, is now evident to every observer.
The British subjects in Canada, who are dependent on a king, augment
and spread almost as rapidly as the British settlers of the United
States, who live under a republican government. During the war of
independence, which lasted eight years, the population continued to
increase without intermission in the same ratio. Although powerful
Indian nations allied with the English existed at that time upon the
western frontiers, the emigration westward was never checked. Whilst
the enemy laid waste the shores of the Atlantic, Kentucky, the
western parts of Pennsylvania, and the States of Vermont and of
Maine were filling with inhabitants. Nor did the unsettled state of
the Constitution, which succeeded the war, prevent the increase of
the population, or stop its progress across the wilds. Thus, the
difference of laws, the various conditions of peace and war, of
order and of anarchy, have exercised no perceptible influence upon
the gradual development of the Anglo-Americans. This may be readily
understood; for the fact is, that no causes are sufficiently general
to exercise a simultaneous influence over the whole of so extensive
a territory. One portion of the country always offers a sure retreat
from the calamities which afflict another part; and however great
may be the evil, the remedy which is at hand is greater still.
It must not, then, be imagined that the impulse of the British race
in the New World can be arrested. The dismemberment of the Union,
and the hostilities which might ensue, the abolition of republican
institutions, and the tyrannical government which might succeed it,
may retard this impulse, but they cannot prevent it from ultimately
fulfilling the destinies to which that race is reserved. No power
upon earth can close upon the emigrants that fertile wilderness
which offers resources to all industry, and a refuge from all want.
Future events, of whatever nature they may be, will not deprive the
Americans of their climate or of their inland seas, of their great
rivers or of their exuberant soil. Nor will bad laws, revolutions,
and anarchy be able to obliterate that love of prosperity and that
spirit of enterprise which seem to be the distinctive
characteristics of their race, or to extinguish that knowledge which
guides them on their way.
Thus, in the midst of the uncertain future, one event at least is
sure. At a period which may be said to be near (for we are speaking
of the life of a nation), the Anglo-Americans will alone cover the
immense space contained between the polar regions and the tropics,
extending from the coasts of the Atlantic to the shores of the
Pacific Ocean. The territory which will probably be occupied by the
Anglo-Americans at some future time, may be computed to equal
three-quarters of Europe in extent. The climate of the Union is upon
the whole preferable to that of Europe, and its natural advantages
are not less great; it is therefore evident that its population will
at some future time be proportionate to our own. Europe, divided as
it is between so many different nations, and torn as it has been by
incessant wars and the barbarous manners of the Middle Ages, has
notwithstanding attained a population of 410 inhabitants to the
square league. What cause can prevent the United States from having
as numerous a population in time?
Many ages must elapse before the divers offsets of the British race
in America cease to present the same homogeneous characteristics:
and the time cannot be foreseen at which a permanent inequality of
conditions will be established in the New World. Whatever
differences may arise, from peace or from war, from freedom or
oppression, from prosperity or want, between the destinies of the
different descendants of the great Anglo-American family, they will
at least preserve an analogous social condition, and they will hold
in common the customs and the opinions to which that social
condition has given birth.
In the Middle Ages, the tie of religion was sufficiently powerful to
imbue all the different populations of Europe with the same
civilization. The British of the New World have a thousand other
reciprocal ties; and they live at a time when the tendency to
equality is general amongst mankind. The Middle Ages were a period
when everything was broken up; when each people, each province, each
city, and each family, had a strong tendency to maintain its
distinct individuality. At the present time an opposite tendency
seems to prevail, and the nations seem to be advancing to unity. Our
means of intellectual intercourse unite the most remote parts of the
earth; and it is impossible for men to remain strangers to each
other, or to be ignorant of the events which are taking place in any
corner of the globe. The consequence is that there is less
difference, at the present day, between the Europeans and their
descendants in the New World, than there was between certain towns
in the thirteenth century which were only separated by a river. If
this tendency to assimilation brings foreign nations closer to each
other, it must a fortiori prevent the descendants of the same people
from becoming aliens to each other.
The time will therefore come when one hundred and fifty millions of
men will be living in North America, equal in condition, the progeny
of one race, owing their origin to the same cause, and preserving
the same civilization, the same language, the same religion, the
same habits, the same manners, and imbued with the same opinions,
propagated under the same forms. The rest is uncertain, but this is
certain; and it is a fact new to the world -- a fact fraught with
such portentous consequences as to baffle the efforts even of the
imagination.
There are, at the present time, two great nations in the world which
seem to tend towards the same end, although they started from
different points: I allude to the Russians and the Americans. Both
of them have grown up unnoticed; and whilst the attention of mankind
was directed elsewhere, they have suddenly assumed a most prominent
place amongst the nations; and the world learned their existence and
their greatness at almost the same time.
All other nations seem to have nearly reached their natural limits,
and only to be charged with the maintenance of their power; but
these are still in the act of growth; all the others are stopped, or
continue to advance with extreme difficulty; these are proceeding
with ease and with celerity along a path to which the human eye can
assign no term. The American struggles against the natural obstacles
which oppose him; the adversaries of the Russian are men; the former
combats the wilderness and savage life; the latter, civilization
with all its weapons and its arts: the conquests of the one are
therefore gained by the ploughshare; those of the other by the
sword. The Anglo-American relies upon personal interest to
accomplish his ends, and gives free scope to the unguided exertions
and common-sense of the citizens; the Russian centres all the
authority of society in a single arm; the principal instrument of
the former is freedom; of the latter servitude. Their starting-point
is different, and their courses are not the same; yet each of them
seems to be marked out by the will of Heaven to sway the destinies
of half the globe. |