DEMOCRACY IN AMERICA

By Alexis De Tocqueville

AVOCAT À LA COUR ROYALE DE PARIS
ETC., ETC.

Translated by
Henry Reeve, Esq.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.

LONDON:
SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, CONDUIT STREET
1835


Contents

 Book One
 Introductory Chapter
 Chapter I: Exterior Form Of North America
 Chapter Summary
 Chapter II: Origin Of The Anglo-Americans—Part I
 Chapter Summary
 Chapter II: Origin Of The Anglo-Americans—Part II
 Chapter III: Social Conditions Of The Anglo-Americans
 Chapter Summary
 Chapter IV: The Principle Of The Sovereignty Of The People In America
 Chapter Summary
 Chapter V: Necessity Of Examining The Condition Of The States—Part I
 Chapter V: Necessity Of Examining The Condition Of The States—Part II
 Chapter V: Necessity Of Examining The Condition Of The States—Part III
 Chapter VI: Judicial Power In The United States
 Chapter Summary
 Chapter VII: Political Jurisdiction In The United States
 Chapter Summary
 Chapter VIII: The Federal Constitution—Part I
 Chapter Summary
 Summary Of The Federal Constitution
 Chapter VIII: The Federal Constitution—Part II
 Chapter VIII: The Federal Constitution—Part III
 Chapter VIII: The Federal Constitution—Part IV
 Chapter VIII: The Federal Constitution—Part V
 Chapter IX: Why The People May Strictly Be Said To Govern In The
  United
 Chapter X: Parties In The United States
 Chapter Summary
 Parties In The United States
 Chapter XI: Liberty Of The Press In The United States
 Chapter Summary
 Chapter XII: Political Associations In The United States
 Chapter Summary
 Chapter XIII: Government Of The Democracy In America—Part I
 Chapter XIII: Government Of The Democracy In America—Part II
 Chapter XIII: Government Of The Democracy In America—Part III
 Chapter XIV: Advantages American Society Derive From Democracy—Part I
 Chapter XIV: Advantages American Society Derive From Democracy—Part II
 Chapter XV: Unlimited Power Of Majority, And Its Consequences—Part I
 Chapter Summary
 Chapter XV: Unlimited Power Of Majority, And Its Consequences—Part II
 Chapter XVI: Causes Mitigating Tyranny In The United States—Part I
 Chapter Summary
 Chapter XVI: Causes Mitigating Tyranny In The United States—Part II
 Chapter XVII: Principal Causes Maintaining The Democratic
  Republic—Part I
 Chapter XVII: Principal Causes Maintaining The Democratic
  Republic—Part II
 Chapter XVII: Principal Causes Maintaining The Democratic
  Republic—Part III
 Chapter XVII: Principal Causes Maintaining The Democratic
  Republic—Part IV
 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races In The United
  States—Part I
 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part II
 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part III
 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part IV
 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part V
 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part VI
 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part VII
 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part VIII
 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part IX
 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part X
 Conclusion




 Book One




 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 which can now scarcely be
appreciated 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 different
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 and meanness. The people, well acquainted with
its 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 destines a calmer
and a more certain future to the communities of Europe; I am
unacquainted 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 such 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 the 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 I: Exterior Form Of North America




 Chapter Summary


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.

Exterior Form Of North America

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. *a 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.

a
[ Darby’s “View of the United States.”]


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, *b
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. *c 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.

b
[ The Red River.]


c
[ Warden’s “Description of the United States.”]


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. *d 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.

d
[ See Appendix, A.]


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. *e 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. *f 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.

e
[ Malte Brun tells us (vol. v. p. 726) that the water of the Caribbean
Sea is so transparent that corals and fish are discernible at a depth
of sixty fathoms. The ship seemed to float in air, the navigator became
giddy as his eye penetrated through the crystal flood, and beheld
submarine gardens, or beds of shells, or gilded fishes gliding among
tufts and thickets of seaweed.]


f
[ See Appendix, B.]


North America appeared under a very different aspect; there everything
was grave, serious, and solemn: it seemed created to be the 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: *g 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.
*h

g
[ With the progress of discovery some resemblance has been found to
exist between the physical conformation, the language, and the habits
of the Indians of North America, and those of the Tongous, Mantchous,
Mongols, Tartars, and other wandering tribes of Asia. The land occupied
by these tribes is not very distant from Behring’s Strait, which allows
of the supposition, that at a remote period they gave inhabitants to
the desert continent of America. But this is a point which has not yet
been clearly elucidated by science. See Malte Brun, vol. v.; the works
of Humboldt; Fischer, “Conjecture sur l’Origine des Americains”; Adair,
“History of the American Indians.”]


h
[ See Appendix, C.]


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. *i
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. *j 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. *k

i
[ We learn from President Jefferson’s “Notes upon Virginia,” p. 148,
that among the Iroquois, when attacked by a superior force, aged men
refused to fly or to survive the destruction of their country; and they
braved death like the ancient Romans when their capital was sacked by
the Gauls. Further on, p. 150, he tells us that there is no example of
an Indian who, having fallen into the hands of his enemies, begged for
his life; on the contrary, the captive sought to obtain death at the
hands of his conquerors by the use of insult and provocation.]


j
[ See “Histoire de la Louisiane,” by Lepage Dupratz; Charlevoix,
“Histoire de la Nouvelle France”; “Lettres du Rev. G. Hecwelder;”
“Transactions of the American Philosophical Society,” v. I; Jefferson’s
“Notes on Virginia,” pp. 135-190. What is said by Jefferson is of
especial weight, on account of the personal merit of the writer, of his
peculiar position, and of the matter-of-fact age in which he lived.]


k
[ See Appendix, D.]


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 II: Origin Of The Anglo-Americans—Part I




 Chapter Summary


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.

Origin Of The Anglo-Americans, And Its Importance In Relation To Their
Future Condition.

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 *a were seekers
of gold, adventurers, without resources and without character, whose
turbulent and restless spirit endangered the infant colony, *b and
rendered its progress uncertain. The artisans and agriculturists
arrived afterwards; and, although they were a more moral and orderly
race of men, they were in nowise above the level of the inferior
classes in England. *c No lofty conceptions, no intellectual system,
directed the foundation of these new settlements. The colony was
scarcely established when slavery was introduced, *d 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.

a
[ The charter granted by the Crown of England in 1609 stipulated,
amongst other conditions, that the adventurers should pay to the Crown
a fifth of the produce of all gold and silver mines. See Marshall’s
“Life of Washington,” vol. i. pp. 18-66.] [Footnote b: A large portion
of the adventurers, says Stith (“History of Virginia”), were
unprincipled young men of family, whom their parents were glad to ship
off, discharged servants, fraudulent bankrupts, or debauchees; and
others of the same class, people more apt to pillage and destroy than
to assist the settlement, were the seditious chiefs, who easily led
this band into every kind of extravagance and excess. See for the
history of Virginia the following works:—


“History of Virginia, from the First Settlements in the year 1624,” by
Smith.

“History of Virginia,” by William Stith.

“History of Virginia, from the Earliest Period,” by Beverley.]

c
[ It was not till some time later that a certain number of rich English
capitalists came to fix themselves in the colony.]


d
[ Slavery was introduced about the year 1620 by a Dutch vessel which
landed twenty negroes on the banks of the river James. See Chalmer.]


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. *e 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.

e
[ The States of New England are those situated to the east of the
Hudson; they are now six in number: 1, Connecticut; 2, Rhode Island; 3,
Massachusetts; 4, Vermont; 5, New Hampshire; 6, Maine.]


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
adventures than all we can say of them. Nathaniel Morton, *f the
historian of the first years of the settlement, thus opens his subject:

f
[ “New England’s Memorial,” p. 13; Boston, 1826. See also “Hutchinson’s
History,” vol. ii. p. 440.]


“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
pilgrims:—

“So they left that goodly and pleasant city of Leyden, *g 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.”

g
[ The emigrants were, for the most part, godly Christians from the
North of England, who had quitted their native country because they
were “studious of reformation, and entered into covenant to walk with
one another according to the primitive pattern of the Word of God.”
They emigrated to Holland, and settled in the city of Leyden in 1610,
where they abode, being lovingly respected by the Dutch, for many
years: they left it in 1620 for several reasons, the last of which was,
that their posterity would in a few generations become Dutch, and so
lose their interest in the English nation; they being desirous rather
to enlarge His Majesty’s dominions, and to live under their natural
prince.—Translator’s Note.]


The emigrants were about 150 in number, including the women and the
children. Their object was to plant a colony on the shores 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. *h

h
[ This rock is become an object of veneration in the United States. I
have seen bits of it carefully preserved in several towns of the Union.
Does not this sufficiently show how entirely all human power and
greatness is in the soul of man? Here is a stone which the feet of a
few outcasts pressed for an instant, and this stone becomes famous; it
is treasured by a great nation, its very dust is shared as a relic: and
what is become of the gateways of a thousand palaces?]


“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 underwritten, 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. *i

i
[ The emigrants who founded the State of Rhode Island in 1638, those
who landed at New Haven in 1637, the first settlers in Connecticut in
1639, and the founders of Providence in 1640, began in like manner by
drawing up a social contract, which was acceded to by all the
interested parties. See “Pitkin’s History,” pp. 42 and 47.]


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.




 Chapter II: Origin Of The Anglo-Americans—Part II


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; *j 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, *k 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. *l

j
[ This was the case in the State of New York.]


k
[ Maryland, the Carolinas, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey were in this
situation. See “Pitkin’s History,” vol. i. pp. 11-31.]


l
[ See the work entitled “Historical Collection of State Papers and
other authentic Documents intended as materials for a History of the
United States of America, by Ebenezer Hasard. Philadelphia, 1792,” for
a great number of documents relating to the commencement of the
colonies, which are valuable from their contents and their
authenticity: amongst them are the various charters granted by the King
of England, and the first acts of the local governments.


See also the analysis of all these charters given by Mr. Story, Judge
of the Supreme Court of the United States, in the Introduction to his
“Commentary on the Constitution of the United States.” It results from
these documents that the principles of representative government and
the external forms of political liberty were introduced into all the
colonies at their origin. These principles were more fully acted upon
in the North than in the South, but they existed everywhere.]

In 1628 *m 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 *n 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.

m
[ See “Pitkin’s History,” p, 35. See the “History of the Colony of
Massachusetts Bay,” by Hutchinson, vol. i. p. 9.] [Footnote n: See
“Pitkin’s History,” pp. 42, 47.]


This frequently renders its 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. *o 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.

o
[ The inhabitants of Massachusetts had deviated from the forms which
are preserved in the criminal and civil procedure of England; in 1650
the decrees of justice were not yet headed by the royal style. See
Hutchinson, vol. i. p. 452.]


Amongst these documents we shall notice, as especially characteristic,
the code of laws promulgated by the little State of Connecticut in
1650. *p The legislators of Connecticut *q 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, *r 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.

p
[ Code of 1650, p. 28; Hartford, 1830.]


q
[ See also in “Hutchinson’s History,” vol. i. pp. 435, 456, the
analysis of the penal code adopted in 1648 by the Colony of
Massachusetts: this code is drawn up on the same principles as that of
Connecticut.]


r
[ Adultery was also punished with death by the law of Massachusetts:
and Hutchinson, vol. i. p. 441, says that several persons actually
suffered for this crime. He quotes a curious anecdote on this subject,
which occurred in the year 1663. A married woman had had criminal
intercourse with a young man; her husband died, and she married the
lover. Several years had elapsed, when the public began to suspect the
previous intercourse of this couple: they were thrown into prison, put
upon trial, and very narrowly escaped capital punishment.]


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 *s 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. *t The
Code of 1650 abounds in preventive measures. It punishes idleness and
drunkenness with severity. *u Innkeepers are forbidden to furnish more
than a certain quantity of liquor to each consumer; and simple lying,
whenever it may be injurious, *v 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, *w 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. *x
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. *y 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. *z

s
[ Code of 1650, p. 48. It seems sometimes to have happened that the
judges superadded these punishments to each other, as is seen in a
sentence pronounced in 1643 (p. 114, “New Haven Antiquities”), by which
Margaret Bedford, convicted of loose conduct, was condemned to be
whipped, and afterwards to marry Nicholas Jemmings, her accomplice.]


t
[ “New Haven Antiquities,” p. 104. See also “Hutchinson’s History,” for
several causes equally extraordinary.]


u
[ Code of 1650, pp. 50, 57.]


v
[ Ibid., p. 64.]


w
[ Ibid., p. 44.]


*
[ This was not peculiar to Connecticut. See, for instance, the law
which, on September 13, 1644, banished the Anabaptists from the State
of Massachusetts. (“Historical Collection of State Papers,” vol. i. p.
538.) See also the law against the Quakers, passed on October 14, 1656:
“Whereas,” says the preamble, “an accursed race of heretics called
Quakers has sprung up,” etc. The clauses of the statute inflict a heavy
fine on all captains of ships who should import Quakers into the
country. The Quakers who may be found there shall be whipped and
imprisoned with hard labor. Those members of the sect who should defend
their opinions shall be first fined, then imprisoned, and finally
driven out of the province.—“Historical Collection of State Papers,”
vol. i. p. 630.]


x
[ By the penal law of Massachusetts, any Catholic priest who should set
foot in the colony after having been once driven out of it was liable
to capital punishment.]


y
[ Code of 1650, p. 96.]


z
[ “New England’s Memorial,” p. 316. See Appendix, E.]


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, *a when
we recollect that this people enjoyed an almost perfect equality of
fortune, and a still greater uniformity of opinions. *b In Connecticut,
at this period, all the executive functionaries were elected, including
the Governor of the State. *c 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. *d

a
[ Constitution of 1638, p. 17.]


b
[ In 1641 the General Assembly of Rhode Island unanimously declared
that the government of the State was a democracy, and that the power
was vested in the body of free citizens, who alone had the right to
make the laws and to watch their execution.—Code of 1650, p. 70.]


c
[ “Pitkin’s History,” p. 47.]


d
[ Constitution of 1638, p. 12.]


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 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. *e 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.

e
[ Code of 1650, p. 80.]


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; *f strict measures were taken for the maintenance of
roads, and surveyors were appointed to attend to them; *g registers
were established in every parish, in which the results of public
deliberations, and the births, deaths, and marriages of the citizens
were entered; *h clerks were directed to keep these registers; *i
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. *j The law enters into a thousand useful provisions for
a number of social wants which are at present very inadequately felt in
France. [Footnote f: Ibid., p. 78.]

g
[ Ibid., p. 49.]


h
[ See “Hutchinson’s History,” vol. i. p. 455.]


i
[ Code of 1650, p. 86.]


j
[ Ibid., p. 40.]


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. . . .” *k 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.

k
[ Ibid., p. 90.]


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. *l

l
[ Mather’s “Magnalia Christi Americana,” vol. ii. p. 13. This speech
was made by Winthrop; he was accused of having committed arbitrary
actions during his magistracy, but after having made the speech of
which the above is a fragment, he was acquitted by acclamation, and
from that time forwards he was always re-elected governor of the State.
See Marshal, vol. i. p. 166.]


“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 ‘sumus 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 just 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 the 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. *m

m
[ See Appendix, F.]


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. *n 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, *o 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.

n
[ Crimes no doubt exist for which bail is inadmissible, but they are
few in number.]


o
[ See Blackstone; and Delolme, book I chap. x.]




 Chapter III: Social Conditions Of The Anglo-Americans




 Chapter Summary


A 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. *a 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.

a
[ I understand by the law of descent all those laws whose principal
object is to regulate the distribution of property after the death of
its owner. The law of entail is of this number; it certainly prevents
the owner from disposing of his possessions before his death; but this
is solely with the view of preserving them entire for the heir. The
principal object, therefore, of the law of entail is to regulate the
descent of property after the death of its owner: its other provisions
are merely means to this end.]


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 people 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. *b 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.

b
[ I do not mean to say that the small proprietor cultivates his land
better, but he cultivates it with more ardor and care; so that he makes
up by his labor for his want of skill.]


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. *c

c
[ Land being the most stable kind of property, we find, from time to
time, rich individuals who are disposed to make great sacrifices in
order to obtain it, and who willingly forfeit a considerable part of
their income to make sure of the rest. But these are accidental cases.
The preference for landed property is no longer found habitually in any
class but among the poor. The small landowner, who has less
information, less imagination, and fewer passions than the great one,
is generally occupied with the desire of increasing his estate: and it
often happens that by inheritance, by marriage, or by the chances of
trade, he is gradually furnished with the means. Thus, to balance the
tendency which leads men to divide their estates, there exists another,
which incites them to add to them. This tendency, which is sufficient
to prevent estates from being divided ad infinitum, is not strong
enough to create great territorial possessions, certainly not to keep
them up in the same family.]


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. *d 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. [Footnote d: See Appendix, G.]

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 overcharged, 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. *e

e
[ This may have been true in 1832, but is not so in 1874, when great
cities like Chicago and San Francisco have sprung up in the Western
States. But as yet the Western States exert no powerful influence on
American society.—-Translator’s Note.]


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 IV: The Principle Of The Sovereignty Of The People In America




 Chapter Summary


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.

The Principle Of The Sovereignty Of The People In America

Whenever the political laws of the United States are to 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. *a [Footnote a: See Appendix, H.]




 Chapter V: Necessity Of Examining The Condition Of The States—Part I


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 the 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 independence, 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; *a 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.

a
[ In 1830 there were 305 townships in the State of Massachusetts, and
610,014 inhabitants, which gives an average of about 2,000 inhabitants
to each township.]


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. *b

b
[ The same rules are not applicable to the great towns, which generally
have a mayor, and a corporation divided into two bodies; this, however,
is an exception which requires the sanction of a law.—See the Act of
February 22, 1822, for appointing the authorities of the city of
Boston. It frequently happens that small towns as well as cities are
subject to a peculiar administration. In 1832, 104 townships in the
State of New York were governed in this manner.—Williams’ Register.]


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.” *c 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.

c
[ Three selectmen are appointed in the small townships, and nine in the
large ones. See “The Town-Officer,” p. 186. See also the principal laws
of the State of Massachusetts relative to the selectmen:


Act of February 20, 1786, vol. i. p. 219; February 24, 1796, vol. i. p.
488; March 7, 1801, vol. ii. p. 45; June 16, 1795, vol. i. p. 475;
March 12, 1808, vol. ii. p. 186; February 28, 1787, vol. i. p. 302;
June 22, 1797, vol. i. p. 539.]

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. *d

d
[ See Laws of Massachusetts, vol. i. p. 150, Act of March 25, 1786.]


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. *e

e
[ All these magistrates actually exist; their different functions are
all detailed in a book called “The Town-Officer,” by Isaac Goodwin,
Worcester, 1827; and in the “Collection of the General Laws of
Massachusetts,” 3 vols., Boston, 1823.]


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 tranquility, 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 country 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 countries 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, *f
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 *g of his council. *h 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.

f
[ See the Act of February 14, 1821, Laws of Massachusetts, vol. i. p.
551.]


g
[ See the Act of February 20, 1819, Laws of Massachusetts, vol. ii. p.
494.]


h
[ The council of the Governor is an elective body.] 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 independence; 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 efforts, 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. *i Besides the general laws, the State sometimes
passes general police regulations; but more commonly the townships and
town officers, conjointly with 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. *j Lastly, these municipal magistrates provide, of their own
accord and without any delegated powers, for those unforeseen
emergencies which frequently occur in society. *k

i
[ See “The Town-Officer,” especially at the words Selectmen, Assessors,
Collectors, Schools, Surveyors of Highways. I take one example in a
thousand: the State prohibits travelling on the Sunday; the
tything-men, who are town-officers, are specially charged to keep watch
and to execute the law. See the Laws of Massachusetts, vol. i. p. 410.


The selectmen draw up the lists of electors for the election of the
Governor, and transmit the result of the ballot to the Secretary of the
State. See Act of February 24, 1796: Id., vol. i. p. 488.]

j
[ Thus, for instance, the selectmen authorize the construction of
drains, point out the proper sites for slaughter-houses and other
trades which are a nuisance to the neighborhood. See the Act of June 7,
1785: Id., vol. i. p. 193.]


k
[ The selectmen take measures for the security of the public in case of
contagious diseases, conjointly with the justices of the peace. See Act
of June 22, 1797, vol. i. p. 539.]


It results from what we have said that in the State of Massachusetts
the administrative authority is almost entirely restricted to the
township, *l 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,
*m but in general the authorities of the county have no right to
interfere with the authorities of the township, *n except in such
matters as concern the county.

l
[ I say almost, for there are various circumstances in the annals of a
township which are regulated by the justice of the peace in his
individual capacity, or by the justices of the peace assembled in the
chief town of the county; thus licenses are granted by the justices.
See the Act of February 28, 1787, vol. i. p. 297.]


m
[ Thus licenses are only granted to such persons as can produce a
certificate of good conduct from the selectmen. If the selectmen refuse
to give the certificate, the party may appeal to the justices assembled
in the Court of Sessions, and they may grant the license. See Act of
March 12, 1808, vol. ii. p. 186.


The townships have the right to make by-laws, and to enforce them by
fines which are fixed by law; but these by-laws must be approved by the
Court of Sessions. See Act of March 23, 1786, vol. i. p. 254.]

n
[ In Massachusetts the county magistrates are frequently called upon to
investigate the acts of the town magistrates; but it will be shown
further on that this investigation is a consequence, not of their
administrative, but of their judicial power.]


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. *o 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.

o
[ The town committees of schools are obliged to make an annual report
to the Secretary of the State on the condition of the school. See Act
of March 10, 1827, vol. iii. p. 183.]




 Chapter V: Necessity Of Examining The Condition Of The States—Part II


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 *p appoints a certain number of justices of
the peace in every county, whose functions last seven years. *q 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, *r 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 *s of
public officers. *t 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. *u 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, *v 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.

p
[ We shall hereafter learn what a Governor is: I shall content myself
with remarking in this place that he represents the executive power of
the whole State.]


q
[ See the Constitution of Massachusetts, chap. II. sect. 1. Section 9;
chap. III. Section 3.]


r
[ Thus, for example, a stranger arrives in a township from a country
where a contagious disease prevails, and he falls ill. Two justices of
the peace can, with the assent of the selectmen, order the sheriff of
the county to remove and take care of him.—Act of June 22, 1797, vol.
i. p. 540.


In general the justices interfere in all the important acts of the
administration, and give them a semi-judicial character.] [Footnote s:
I say the greater number, because certain administrative misdemeanors
are brought before ordinary tribunals. If, for instance, a township
refuses to make the necessary expenditure for its schools or to name a
school-committee, it is liable to a heavy fine. But this penalty is
pronounced by the Supreme Judicial Court or the Court of Common Pleas.
See Act of March 10, 1827, Laws of Massachusetts, vol. iii. p. 190. Or
when a township neglects to provide the necessary war-stores.—Act of
February 21, 1822: Id., vol. ii. p. 570.]

t
[ In their individual capacity the justices of the peace take a part in
the business of the counties and townships.] [Footnote u: These affairs
may be brought under the following heads:—1. The erection of prisons
and courts of justice. 2. The county budget, which is afterwards voted
by the State. 3. The distribution of the taxes so voted. 4. Grants of
certain patents. 5. The laying down and repairs of the country roads.]


v
[ Thus, when a road is under consideration, almost all difficulties are
disposed of by the aid of the jury.]


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. *w 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.

w
[ See Act of February 20, 1786, Laws of Massachusetts, vol. i. p. 217.]


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. *x 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:

x
[ There is an indirect method of enforcing the obedience of a township.
Suppose that the funds which the law demands for the maintenance of the
roads have not been voted, the town surveyor is then authorized, ex
officio, to levy the supplies. As he is personally responsible to
private individuals for the state of the roads, and indictable before
the Court of Sessions, he is sure to employ the extraordinary right
which the law gives him against the township. Thus by threatening the
officer the Court of Sessions exacts compliance from the town. See Act
of March 5, 1787, Id., vol. i. p. 305.]


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; *y 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.

y
[ Laws of Massachusetts, vol. ii. p. 45.]


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. *z 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.

z
[ If, for instance, a township persists in refusing to name its
assessors, the Court of Sessions nominates them; and the magistrates
thus appointed are invested with the same authority as elected
officers. See the Act quoted above, February 20, 1787.]


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, *a 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. *b There
are certain great offences which are officially prosecuted by the
States; *c 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; *d 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, *e 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.

a
[ I say the Court of Sessions, because in common courts there is a
magistrate who exercises some of the functions of a public prosecutor.]


b
[ The grand-jurors are, for instance, bound to inform the court of the
bad state of the roads.—Laws of Massachusetts, vol. i. p. 308.]


c
[ If, for instance, the treasurer of the county holds back his
accounts.—Laws of Massachusetts, vol. i. p. 406.] [Footnote d: Thus, if
a private individual breaks down or is wounded in consequence of the
badness of a road, he can sue the township or the county for damages at
the sessions.—Laws of Massachusetts, vol. i. p. 309.]


e
[ In cases of invasion or insurrection, if the town-officers neglect to
furnish the necessary stores and ammunition for the militia, the
township may be condemned to a fine of from $200 to $500. It may
readily be imagined that in such a case it might happen that no one
cared to prosecute; hence the law adds that all the citizens may indict
offences of this kind, and that half of the fine shall belong to the
plaintiff. See Act of March 6, 1810, vol. ii. p. 236. The same clause
is frequently to be met with in the law of Massachusetts. Not only are
private individuals thus incited to prosecute the public officers, but
the public officers are encouraged in the same manner to bring the
disobedience of private individuals to justice. If a citizen refuses to
perform the work which has been assigned to him upon a road, the road
surveyor may prosecute him, and he receives half the penalty for
himself. See the Laws above quoted, vol. i. p. 308.]


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. *f
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.

f
[ For details see the Revised Statutes of the State of New York, part
i. chap. xi. vol. i. pp. 336-364, entitled, “Of the Powers, Duties, and
Privileges of Towns.”


See in the Digest of the Laws of Pennsylvania, the words Assessors,
Collector, Constables, Overseer of the Poor, Supervisors of Highways;
and in the Acts of a general nature of the State of Ohio, the Act of
February 25, 1834, relating to townships, p. 412; besides the peculiar
dispositions relating to divers town-officers, such as Township’s
Clerk, Trustees, Overseers of the Poor, Fence Viewers, Appraisers of
Property, Township’s Treasurer, Constables, Supervisors of Highways.]

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. *g 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.

g
[ See the Revised Statutes of the State of New York, part i. chap. xi.
vol. i. p. 340. Id. chap. xii. p. 366; also in the Acts of the State of
Ohio, an act relating to county commissioners, February 25, 1824, p.
263. See the Digest of the Laws of Pennsylvania, at the words
County-rates and Levies, p. 170. In the State of New York each township
elects a representative, who has a share in the administration of the
county as well as in that of the township.]


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, *h 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.

h
[ In some of the Southern States the county courts are charged with all
the details of the administration. See the Statutes of the State of
Tennessee, arts. Judiciary, Taxes, etc.]


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. *i

i
[ For instance, the direction of public instruction centres in the
hands of the Government. The legislature names the members of the
University, who are denominated Regents; the Governor and
Lieutentant-Governor of the State are necessarily of the
number.—Revised Statutes, vol. i. p. 455. The Regents of the University
annually visit the colleges and academies, and make their report to the
legislature. Their superintendence is not inefficient, for several
reasons: the colleges in order to become corporations stand in need of
a charter, which is only granted on the recommendation of the Regents;
every year funds are distributed by the State for the encouragement of
learning, and the Regents are the distributors of this money. See chap.
xv. “Instruction,” Revised Statutes, vol. i. p. 455.


The school-commissioners are obliged to send an annual report to the
Superintendent of the Republic.—Id. p. 488.

A similar report is annually made to the same person on the number and
condition of the poor.—Id. p. 631.]

At other times they constitute a court of appeal for the decision of
affairs. *j 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.
*k The same tendency is faintly observable in some other States; *l but
in general the prominent feature of the administration in the United
States is its excessive local independence.

j
[ If any one conceives himself to be wronged by the
school-commissioners (who are town-officers), he can appeal to the
superintendent of the primary schools, whose decision is final.—Revised
Statutes, vol. i. p. 487.


Provisions similar to those above cited are to be met with from time to
time in the laws of the State of New York; but in general these
attempts at centralization are weak and unproductive. The great
authorities of the State have the right of watching and controlling the
subordinate agents, without that of rewarding or punishing them. The
same individual is never empowered to give an order and to punish
disobedience; he has therefore the right of commanding, without the
means of exacting compliance. In 1830 the Superintendent of Schools
complained in his Annual Report addressed to the legislature that
several school-commissioners had neglected, notwithstanding his
application, to furnish him with the accounts which were due. He added
that if this omission continued he should be obliged to prosecute them,
as the law directs, before the proper tribunals.]

k
[ Thus the district-attorney is directed to recover all fines below the
sum of fifty dollars, unless such a right has been specially awarded to
another magistrate.—Revised Statutes, vol. i. p. 383.]


l
[ Several traces of centralization may be discovered in Massachusetts;
for instance, the committees of the town-schools are directed to make
an annual report to the Secretary of State. See Laws of Massachusetts,
vol. i. p. 367.]


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.




 Chapter V: Necessity Of Examining The Condition Of The States—Part III

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; *m 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. *n 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.

m
[ In Massachusetts the Senate is not invested with any administrative
functions.]


n
[ As in the State of New York.]


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.

[See Benjamin Franklin]

The Executive 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. *o 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. *p 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.

o
[ Practically speaking, it is not always the Governor who executes the
plans of the Legislature; it often happens that the latter, in voting a
measure, names special agents to superintend the execution of it.]


p
[ In some of the States the justices of the peace are not elected by
the Governor.]


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 the
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. *q 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.
[Footnote q: [The Civil War of 1860-65 cruelly belied this statement,
and in the course of the struggle the North alone called two millions
and a half of men to arms; but to the honor of the United States it
must be added that, with the cessation of the contest, this army
disappeared as rapidly as it had been raised.—Translator’s Note.]]

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 outstepped 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.
*r 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.

r
[ The authority which represents the State ought not, I think, to waive
the right of inspecting the local administration, even when it does not
interfere more actively. Suppose, for instance, that an agent of the
Government was stationed at some appointed spot in the country, to
prosecute the misdemeanors of the town and county officers, would not a
more uniform order be the result, without in any way compromising the
independence of the township? Nothing of the kind, however, exists in
America: there is nothing above the county-courts, which have, as it
were, only an incidental cognizance of the offences they are meant to
repress.]


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 the
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: *s 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 cooperated 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.

s
[ China appears to me to present the most perfect instance of that
species of well-being which a completely central administration may
furnish to the nations among which it exists. Travellers assure us that
the Chinese have peace without happiness, industry without improvement,
stability without strength, and public order without public morality.
The condition of society is always tolerable, never excellent. I am
convinced that, when China is opened to European observation, it will
be found to contain the most perfect model of a central administration
which exists in the universe.]


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, *t 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.

t
[ A writer of talent, who, in the comparison which he has drawn between
the finances of France and those of the United States, has proved that
ingenuity cannot always supply the place of a knowledge of facts, very
justly reproaches the Americans for the sort of confusion which exists
in the accounts of the expenditure in the townships; and after giving
the model of a departmental budget in France, he adds:—“We are indebted
to centralization, that admirable invention of a great man, for the
uniform order and method which prevail alike in all the municipal
budgets, from the largest town to the humblest commune.” Whatever may
be my admiration of this result, when I see the communes of France,
with their excellent system of accounts, plunged into the grossest
ignorance of their true interests, and abandoned to so incorrigible an
apathy that they seem to vegetate rather than to live; when, on the
other hand, I observe the activity, the information, and the spirit of
enterprise which keep society in perpetual labor, in those American
townships whose budgets are drawn up with small method and with still
less uniformity, I am struck by the spectacle; for to my mind the end
of a good government is to ensure the welfare of a people, and not to
establish order and regularity in the midst of its misery and its
distress. I am therefore led to suppose that the prosperity of the
American townships and the apparent confusion of their accounts, the
distress of the French communes and the perfection of their budget, may
be attributable to the same cause. At any rate I am suspicious of a
benefit which is united to so many evils, and I am not averse to an
evil which is compensated by so many benefits.]


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. *u 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.

u
[ See Appendix, I.]


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? *v 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.

v
[ See Appendix K.]


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 VI: Judicial Power In The United States




 Chapter Summary


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.

Judicial Power In The United States And Its Influence On Political
Society.

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. *a

a
[ [The fifth article of the original Constitution of the United States
provides the mode in which amendments of the Constitution may be made.
Amendments must be proposed by two-thirds of both Houses of Congress,
and ratified by the Legislatures of three-fourths of the several
States. Fifteen amendments of the Constitution have been made at
different times since 1789, the most important of which are the
Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth, framed and ratified after the
Civil War. The original Constitution of the United States, followed by
these fifteen amendments, is printed at the end of this edition.
—Translator’s Note, 1874.]]


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, but 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 be 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

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 lawsuit, 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 the 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 VII: Political Jurisdiction In The United States




 Chapter Summary


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.

Political Jurisdiction In The United States

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
*a 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.

a
[ [As it existed under the constitutional monarchy down to 1848.]]


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, and is 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 reader 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 has 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, *b “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. *c 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 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.*d

b
[ Chap. I. sect. ii. Section 8.]


c
[ See the constitutions of Illinois, Maine, Connecticut, and Georgia.]


d
[ See Appendix, N.


[The impeachment of President Andrew Johnson in 1868—which was resorted
to by his political opponents solely as a means of turning him out of
office, for it could not be contended that he had been guilty of high
crimes and misdemeanors, and he was in fact honorably acquitted and
reinstated in office—is a striking confirmation of the truth of this
remark.—Translator’s Note, 1874.]]




 Chapter VIII: The Federal Constitution—Part I


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.




 Chapter Summary


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.

History Of The Federal 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. *a 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. *b 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 was 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; *c 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. *d 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.

a
[ See the articles of the first confederation formed in 1778. This
constitution was not adopted by all the States until 1781. See also the
analysis given of this constitution in “The Federalist” from No. 15 to
No. 22, inclusive, and Story’s “Commentaries on the Constitution of the
United States,” pp. 85-115.]


b
[ Congress made this declaration on February 21, 1787.]


c
[ It consisted of fifty-five members; Washington, Madison, Hamilton,
and the two Morrises were amongst the number.]


d
[ It was not adopted by the legislative bodies, but representatives
were elected by the people for this sole purpose; and the new
constitution was discussed at length in each of these assemblies.]




 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. *e

e
[ See the Amendment to the Federal Constitution; “Federalist,” No. 32;
Story, p. 711; Kent’s “Commentaries,” vol. i. p. 364.


It is to be observed that whenever the exclusive right of regulating
certain matters is not reserved to Congress by the Constitution, the
States may take up the affair until it is brought before the National
Assembly. For instance, Congress has the right of making a general law
on bankruptcy, which, however, it neglects to do. Each State is then at
liberty to make a law for itself. This point has been established by
discussion in the law-courts, and may be said to belong more properly
to jurisprudence.]

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, *f which was destined, amongst other
functions, to maintain the balance of power which had been established
by the Constitution between the two rival Governments. *g

f
[ The action of this court is indirect, as we shall hereafter show.]


g
[ It is thus that “The Federalist,” No. 45, explains the division of
supremacy between the Union and the States: “The powers delegated by
the Constitution to the Federal Government are few and defined. Those
which are to remain in the State Governments are numerous and
indefinite. The former will be exercised principally on external
objects, as war, peace, negotiation, and foreign commerce. The powers
reserved to the several States will extend to all the objects which, in
the ordinary course of affairs, concern the internal order and
prosperity of the State.” I shall often have occasion to quote “The
Federalist” in this work. When the bill which has since become the
Constitution of the United States was submitted to the approval of the
people, and the discussions were still pending, three men, who had
already acquired a portion of that celebrity which they have since
enjoyed—John Jay, Hamilton, and Madison—formed an association with the
intention of explaining to the nation the advantages of the measure
which was proposed. With this view they published a series of articles
in the shape of a journal, which now form a complete treatise. They
entitled their journal “The Federalist,” a name which has been retained
in the work. “The Federalist” is an excellent book, which ought to be
familiar to the statesmen of all countries, although it especially
concerns America.]


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. *h 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. *i 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 *j 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. *k 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. *l

h
[ See Constitution, sect. 8; “Federalist,” Nos. 41 and 42; Kent’s
“Commentaries,” vol. i. p. 207; Story, pp. 358-382; Ibid. pp. 409-426.]


i
[ Several other privileges of the same kind exist, such as that which
empowers the Union to legislate on bankruptcy, to grant patents, and
other matters in which its intervention is clearly necessary.]


j
[ Even in these cases its interference is indirect. The Union
interferes by means of the tribunals, as will be hereafter shown.]


k
[ Federal Constitution, sect. 10, art. I.]


l
[ Constitution, sects. 8, 9, and 10; “Federalist,” Nos. 30-36,
inclusive, and 41-44; Kent’s “Commentaries,” vol. i. pp. 207 and 381;
Story, pp. 329 and 514.]


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 *m

m
[ [In this chapter the author points out the essence of the conflict
between the seceding States and the Union which caused the Civil War of
1861.]]


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 State, 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. *n 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.

n
[ Every ten years Congress fixes anew the number of representatives
which each State is to furnish. The total number was 69 in 1789, and
240 in 1833. (See “American Almanac,” 1834, p. 194.) The Constitution
decided that there should not be more than one representative for every
30,000 persons; but no minimum was fixed on. The Congress has not
thought fit to augment the number of representatives in proportion to
the increase of population. The first Act which was passed on the
subject (April 14, 1792: see “Laws of the United States,” by Story,
vol. i. p. 235) decided that there should be one representative for
every 33,000 inhabitants. The last Act, which was passed in 1832, fixes
the proportion at one for 48,000. The population represented is
composed of all the free men and of three-fifths of the slaves.


[The last Act of apportionment, passed February 2, 1872, fixes the
representation at one to 134,684 inhabitants. There are now (1875) 283
members of the lower House of Congress, and 9 for the States at large,
making in all 292 members. The old States have of course lost the
representatives which the new States have gained.—Translator’s Note.]]

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 g 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. *o

o
[ See “The Federalist,” Nos. 52-56, inclusive; Story, pp. 199-314;
Constitution of the United States, sects. 2 and 3.] The Executive Power
*p


p
[ See “The Federalist,” Nos. 67-77; Constitution of the United States,
art. 2; Story, p. 315, pp. 615-780; Kent’s “Commentaries,” p. 255.]


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 reelected; 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 g 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 just 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.




 Chapter VIII: The Federal Constitution—Part II


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. *q 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. *r

q
[ The Constitution had left it doubtful whether the President was
obliged to consult the Senate in the removal as well as in the
appointment of Federal officers. “The Federalist” (No. 77) seemed to
establish the affirmative; but in 1789 Congress formally decided that,
as the President was responsible for his actions, he ought not to be
forced to employ agents who had forfeited his esteem. See Kent’s
“Commentaries”, vol. i. p. 289.]


r
[ [This comparison applied to the Constitutional King of France and to
the powers he held under the Charter of 1830, till the overthrow of the
monarchy in 1848.—Translator’s Note.]]


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 *s 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. *t

s
[ The sums annually paid by the State to these officers amount to
200,000,000 fr. ($40,000,000).]


t
[ This number is extracted from the “National Calendar” for 1833. The
“National Calendar” is an American almanac which contains the names of
all the Federal officers. It results from this comparison that the King
of France has eleven times as many places at his disposal as the
President, although the population of France is not much more than
double that of the Union.


[I have not the means of ascertaining the number of appointments now at
the disposal of the President of the United States, but his patronage
and the abuse of it have largely increased since 1833.—Translator’s
Note, 1875.]]

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 directly or
indirectly submitted to the legislature, and of his own free authority
he can do but 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 the 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 21st 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. *u

u
[ [This, however, may be a great danger. The period during which Mr.
Buchanan retained office, after the election of Mr. Lincoln, from
November, 1860, to March, 1861, was that which enabled the seceding
States of the South to complete their preparations for the Civil War,
and the Executive Government was paralyzed. No greater evil could
befall a nation.—Translator’s Note.]]


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 the
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, *v 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. *w 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. *x

v
[ As many as it sends members to Congress. The number of electors at
the election of 1833 was 288. (See “The National Calendar,” 1833.)]


w
[ The electors of the same State assemble, but they transmit to the
central government the list of their individual votes, and not the mere
result of the vote of the majority.] [Footnote x: In this case it is
the majority of the States, and not the majority of the members, which
decides the question; so that New York has not more influence in the
debate than Rhode Island. Thus the citizens of the Union are first
consulted as members of one and the same community; and, if they cannot
agree, recourse is had to the division of the States, each of which has
a separate and independent vote. This is one of the singularities of
the Federal Constitution which can only be explained by the jar of
conflicting interests.]


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 *y which are not inherent in the elective system.

y
[ Jefferson, in 1801, was not elected until the thirty-sixth time of
balloting.]


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. *z

z
[ [General Grant is now (1874) the eighteenth President of the United
States.]]


Crises 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.

a
[ [Not always. The election of President Lincoln was the signal of
civil war.—Translator’s Note.]]




 Chapter VIII: The Federal Constitution—Part III

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 *b

b
[ See chap. VI, entitled “Judicial Power in the United States.” This
chapter explains the general principles of the American theory of
judicial institutions. See also the Federal Constitution, Art. 3. See
“The Federalists,” Nos. 78-83, inclusive; and a work entitled
“Constitutional Law,” being a view of the practice and jurisdiction of
the courts of the United States, by Thomas Sergeant. See Story, pp.
134, 162, 489, 511, 581, 668; and the organic law of September 24,
1789, in the “Collection of the Laws of the United States,” by Story,
vol. i. p. 53.]


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. *c 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.

c
[ Federal laws are those which most require courts of justice, and
those at the same time which have most rarely established them. The
reason is that confederations have usually been formed by independent
States, which entertained no real intention of obeying the central
Government, and which very readily ceded the right of command to the
federal executive, and very prudently reserved the right of
non-compliance to themselves.]


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. *d It was easy to proclaim the principle of a Federal
judiciary, but difficulties multiplied when the extent of its
jurisdiction was to be determined.

d
[ The Union was divided into districts, in each of which a resident
Federal judge was appointed, and the court in which he presided was
termed a “District Court.” Each of the judges of the Supreme Court
annually visits a certain portion of the Republic, in order to try the
most important causes upon the spot; the court presided over by this
magistrate is styled a “Circuit Court.” Lastly, all the most serious
cases of litigation are brought before the Supreme Court, which holds a
solemn session once a year, at which all the judges of the Circuit
Courts must attend. The jury was introduced into the Federal Courts in
the same manner, and in the same cases, as into the courts of the
States.


It will be observed that no analogy exists between the Supreme Court of
the United States and the French Cour de Cassation, since the latter
only hears appeals on questions of law. The Supreme Court decides upon
the evidence of the fact as well as upon the law of the case, whereas
the Cour de Cassation does not pronounce a decision of its own, but
refers the cause to the arbitration of another tribunal. See the law of
September 24, 1789, “Laws of the United States,” by Story, vol. i. p.
53.]

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 jurisprudene 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. *e

e
[ In order to diminish the number of these suits, it was decided that
in a great many Federal causes the courts of the States should be
empowered to decide conjointly with those of the Union, the losing
party having then a right of appeal to the Supreme Court of the United
States. The Supreme Court of Virginia contested the right of the
Supreme Court of the United States to judge an appeal from its
decisions, but unsuccessfully. See “Kent’s Commentaries,” vol. i. p.
300, pp. 370 et seq.; Story’s “Commentaries,” p. 646; and “The Organic
Law of the United States,” vol. i. p. 35.]


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. *f

f
[ The Constitution also says that the Federal courts shall decide
“controversies between a State and the citizens of another State.” And
here a most important question of a constitutional nature arose, which
was, whether the jurisdiction given by the Constitution in cases in
which a State is a party extended to suits brought against a State as
well as by it, or was exclusively confined to the latter. The question
was most elaborately considered in the case of Chisholm v. Georgia, and
was decided by the majority of the Supreme Court in the affirmative.
The decision created general alarm among the States, and an amendment
was proposed and ratified by which the power was entirely taken away,
so far as it regards suits brought against a State. See Story’s
“Commentaries,” p. 624, or in the large edition Section 1677.]


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. *g 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.

g
[ As for instance, all cases of piracy.]


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. *h 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.

h
[ This principle was in some measure restricted by the introduction of
the several States as independent powers into the Senate, and by
allowing them to vote separately in the House of Representatives when
the President is elected by that body. But these are exceptions, and
the contrary principle is the rule.]


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. *i 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. *j

i
[ It is perfectly clear, says Mr. Story (“Commentaries,” p. 503, or in
the large edition Section 1379), that any law which enlarges, abridges,
or in any manner changes the intention of the parties, resulting from
the stipulations in the contract, necessarily impairs it. He gives in
the same place a very long and careful definition of what is understood
by a contract in Federal jurisprudence. A grant made by the State to a
private individual, and accepted by him, is a contract, and cannot be
revoked by any future law. A charter granted by the State to a company
is a contract, and equally binding to the State as to the grantee. The
clause of the Constitution here referred to insures, therefore, the
existence of a great part of acquired rights, but not of all. Property
may legally be held, though it may not have passed into the possessor’s
hands by means of a contract; and its possession is an acquired right,
not guaranteed by the Federal Constitution.]


j
[ A remarkable instance of this is given by Mr. Story (p. 508, or in
the large edition Section 1388): “Dartmouth College in New Hampshire
had been founded by a charter granted to certain individuals before the
American Revolution, and its trustees formed a corporation under this
charter. The legislature of New Hampshire had, without the consent of
this corporation, passed an act changing the organization of the
original provincial charter of the college, and transferring all the
rights, privileges, and franchises from the old charter trustees to new
trustees appointed under the act. The constitutionality of the act was
contested, and, after solemn arguments, it was deliberately held by the
Supreme Court that the provincial charter was a contract within the
meaning of the Constitution (Art. I. Section 10), and that the
emendatory act was utterly void, as impairing the obligation of that
charter. The college was deemed, like other colleges of private
foundation, to be a private eleemosynary institution, endowed by its
charter with a capacity to take property unconnected with the
Government. Its funds were bestowed upon the faith of the charter, and
those funds consisted entirely of private donations. It is true that
the uses were in some sense public, that is, for the general benefit,
and not for the mere benefit of the corporators; but this did not make
the corporation a public corporation. It was a private institution for
general charity. It was not distinguishable in principle from a private
donation, vested in private trustees, for a public charity, or for a
particular purpose of beneficence. And the State itself, if it had
bestowed funds upon a charity of the same nature, could not resume
those funds.”]


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.




 Chapter VIII: The Federal Constitution—Part IV

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 in 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. *k

k
[ See Chapter VI. on “Judicial Power in America.”]


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. *l 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.

l
[ See Kent’s “Commentaries,” vol. i. p. 387.]


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 *n 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.

n
[ [The number of States has now risen to 46 (1874), besides the
District of Columbia.]]


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. *o

o
[ At this time Alexander Hamilton, who was one of the principal
founders of the Constitution, ventured to express the following
sentiments in “The Federalist,” No. 71:—


“There are some who would be inclined to regard the servile pliancy of
the Executive to a prevailing current, either in the community or in
the Legislature, as its best recommendation. But such men entertain
very crude notions, as well of the purposes for which government was
instituted as of the true means by which the public happiness may be
promoted. The Republican principle demands that the deliberative sense
of the community should govern the conduct of those to whom they
entrust the management of their affairs; but it does not require an
unqualified complaisance to every sudden breeze of passion, or to every
transient impulse which the people may receive from the arts of men who
flatter their prejudices to betray their interests. It is a just
observation, that the people commonly intend the public good. This
often applies to their very errors. But their good sense would despise
the adulator who should pretend that they always reason right about the
means of promoting it. They know from experience that they sometimes
err; and the wonder is that they so seldom err as they do, beset, as
they continually are, by the wiles of parasites and sycophants; by the
snares of the ambitious, the avaricious, the desperate; by the
artifices of men who possess their confidence more than they deserve
it, and of those who seek to possess rather than to deserve it. When
occasions present themselves in which the interests of the people are
at variance with their inclinations, it is the duty of persons whom
they have appointed to be the guardians of those interests to withstand
the temporary delusion, in order to give them time and opportunity for
more cool and sedate reflection. Instances might be cited in which a
conduct of this kind has saved the people from very fatal consequences
of their own mistakes, and has procured lasting monuments of their
gratitude to the men who had courage and magnanimity enough to serve
them at the peril of their displeasure.”]

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, *p 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. *q

p
[ This was the case in Greece, when Philip undertook to execute the
decree of the Amphictyons; in the Low Countries, where the province of
Holland always gave the law; and, in our own time, in the Germanic
Confederation, in which Austria and Prussia assume a great degree of
influence over the whole country, in the name of the Diet.]


q
[ Such has always been the situation of the Swiss Confederation, which
would have perished ages ago but for the mutual jealousies of its
neighbors.]


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.




 Chapter VIII: The Federal Constitution—Part V


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,
*r 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.

r
[ I do not speak of a confederation of small republics, but of a great
consolidated Republic.]


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 sovereignty of the
Union is so involved in that of the States that it is 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. *s 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.

s
[ See the Mexican Constitution of 1824.]


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 individual 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. *t 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. *u

t
[ [This is precisely what occurred in 1862, and the following paragraph
describes correctly the feelings and notions of the South. General Lee
held that his primary allegiance was due, not to the Union, but to
Virginia.]]


u
[ For instance, the Union possesses by the Constitution the right of
selling unoccupied lands for its own profit. Supposing that the State
of Ohio should claim the same right in behalf of certain territories
lying within its boundaries, upon the plea that the Constitution refers
to those lands alone which do not belong to the jurisdiction of any
particular State, and consequently should choose to dispose of them
itself, the litigation would be carried on in the names of the
purchasers from the State of Ohio and the purchasers from the Union,
and not in the names of Ohio and the Union. But what would become of
this legal fiction if the Federal purchaser was confirmed in his right
by the courts of the Union, whilst the other competitor was ordered to
retain possession by the tribunals of the State of Ohio?]


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 join 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. *v

v
[ Kent’s “Commentaries,” vol. i. p. 244. I have selected an example
which relates to a time posterior to the promulgation of the present
Constitution. If I had gone back to the days of the Confederation, I
might have given still more striking instances. The whole nation was at
that time in a state of enthusiastic excitement; the Revolution was
represented by a man who was the idol of the people; but at that very
period Congress had, to say the truth, no resources at all at its
disposal. Troops and supplies were perpetually wanting. The
best-devised projects failed in the execution, and the Union, which was
constantly on the verge of destruction, was saved by the weakness of
its enemies far more than by its own strength. [All doubt as to the
powers of the Federal Executive was, however, removed by its efforts in
the Civil War, and those powers were largely extended.]]


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. *w As for the Powers of Europe, they are too
distant to be formidable.

w
[ [War broke out between the United States and Mexico in 1846, and
ended in the conquest of an immense territory, including California.]]


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 IX: Why The People May Strictly Be Said To Govern In The
 United


States

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.

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 X: Parties In The United States




 Chapter Summary


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.




 Parties In The United States


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.

a
[ [It is scarcely necessary to remark that in more recent times the
signification of these terms has changed. The Republicans are the
representatives of the old Federalists, and the Democrats of the old
Republicans.—Trans. Note (1861).]] 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. *b

b
[ [The divisions of North and South have since acquired a far greater
degree of intensity, and the South, though conquered, still presents a
formidable spirit of opposition to Northern government.—Translator’s
Note, 1875.]]


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 XI: Liberty Of The Press In The United States




 Chapter Summary


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.

Liberty Of The Press In The United States

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 unacquainted.

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 skillfully 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 the 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. *a

a
[ They only write in the papers when they choose to address the people
in their own name; as, for instance, when they are called upon to repel
calumnious imputations, and to correct a misstatement of facts.]


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. *b

b
[ See Appendix, P.]


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. *c

c
[ It may, however, be doubted whether this rational and self-guiding
conviction arouses as much fervor or enthusiastic devotedness in men as
their first dogmatical belief.]


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.

Another still more valid reason may yet be adduced: when no abstract
opinions are looked upon as 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 XII: Political Associations In The United States




 Chapter Summary


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.

Political Associations In The United States

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 1, 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 XIII: Government Of The Democracy In America—Part I


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 amongst 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 outstepped 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 be 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 connections 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.

a
[ I here use the word magistrates in the widest sense in which it can
be taken; I apply it to all the officers to whom the execution of the
laws is intrusted.]


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. *b 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. *c 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.

b
[ See the Act of February 27, 1813. “General Collection of the Laws of
Massachusetts,” vol. ii. p. 331. It should be added that the jurors are
afterwards drawn from these lists by lot.]


c
[ See Act of February 28, 1787. “General Collection of the Laws of
Massachusetts,” vol. i. p. 302.]


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 and the people, both
of whom are interested in the stability of the magistrate. 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.




 Chapter XIII: Government Of The Democracy In America—Part II

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. *d 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.

d
[ It is needless to observe that I speak here of the democratic form of
government as applied to a people, not merely to a tribe.]


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 by 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 *e 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.

e
[ The word poor is used here, and throughout the remainder of this
chapter, in a relative, not in an absolute sense. Poor men in America
would often appear rich in comparison with the poor of Europe; but they
may with propriety by styled poor in comparison with their more
affluent countrymen.]


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 always 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. *f

f
[ The gross receipts of the Treasury of the United States in 1832 were
about $28,000,000; in 1870 they had risen to $411,000,000. The gross
expenditure in 1832 was $30,000,000; in 1870, $309,000,000.]


Tendencies Of The American Democracy As Regards The Salaries Of Public
Officers

In the 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; *g 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. *h 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.

g
[ The easy circumstances in which secondary functionaries are placed in
the United States result also from another cause, which is independent
of the general tendencies of democracy; every kind of private business
is very lucrative, and the State would not be served at all if it did
not pay its servants. The country is in the position of a commercial
undertaking, which is obliged to sustain an expensive competition,
notwithstanding its tastes for economy.]


h
[ The State of Ohio, which contains a million of inhabitants, gives its
Governor a salary of only $1,200 a year.]


This is very clearly seen in the United States, where the salaries seem
to decrease as the authority of those who receive them augments *i

i
[ To render this assertion perfectly evident, it will suffice to
examine the scale of salaries of the agents of the Federal Government.
I have added the salaries attached to the corresponding officers in
France under the constitutional monarchy to complete the comparison.

     United States
     Treasury Department
     Messenger ............................   $700
     Clerk with lowest salary .............  1,000
     Clerk with highest salary ............  1,600
     Chief Clerk ..........................  2,000
     Secretary of State ...................  6,000
     The President ........................ 25,000

     France
     Ministere des Finances
     Hussier ........................... 1,500 fr.
     Clerk with lowest salary,  1,000 to 1,800 fr.
     Clerk with highest salary  3,200 to 8,600 fr.
     Secretaire-general ................20,000 fr.
     The Minister ......................80,000 fr.
     The King ......................12,000,000 fr.

I have perhaps done wrong in selecting France as my standard of
comparison. In France the democratic tendencies of the nation exercise
an ever-increasing influence upon the Government, and the Chambers show
a disposition to raise the low salaries and to lower the principal
ones. Thus, the Minister of Finance, who received 160,000 fr. under the
Empire, receives 80,000 fr. in 1835: the Directeurs-generaux of
Finance, who then received 50,000 fr. now receive only 20,000 fr. [This
comparison is based on the state of things existing in France and the
United States in 1831. It has since materially altered in both
countries, but not so much as to impugn the truth of the author’s
observation.]]

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. *j 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.

j
[ See the American budgets for the cost of indigent citizens and
gratuitous instruction. In 1831 $250,000 were spent in the State of New
York for the maintenance of the poor, and at least $1,000,000 were
devoted to gratuitous instruction. (William’s “New York Annual
Register,” 1832, pp. 205 and 243.) The State of New York contained only
1,900,000 inhabitants in the year 1830, which is not more than double
the amount of population in the Department du Nord in France.]


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.

These 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 multiple 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 that 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. *k

k
[ The Americans, as we have seen, have four separate budgets, the
Union, the States, the Counties, and the Townships having each
severally their own. During my stay in America I made every endeavor to
discover the amount of the public expenditure in the townships and
counties of the principal States of the Union, and I readily obtained
the budget of the larger townships, but I found it quite impossible to
procure that of the smaller ones. I possess, however, some documents
relating to county expenses, which, although incomplete, are still
curious. I have to thank Mr. Richards, Mayor of Philadelphia, for the
budgets of thirteen of the counties of Pennsylvania, viz., Lebanon,
Centre, Franklin, Fayette, Montgomery, Luzerne, Dauphin, Butler,
Alleghany, Columbia, Northampton, Northumberland, and Philadelphia, for
the year 1830. Their population at that time consisted of 495,207
inhabitants. On looking at the map of Pennsylvania, it will be seen
that these thirteen counties are scattered in every direction, and so
generally affected by the causes which usually influence the condition
of a country, that they may easily be supposed to furnish a correct
average of the financial state of the counties of Pennsylvania in
general; and thus, upon reckoning that the expenses of these counties
amounted in the year 1830 to about $361,650, or nearly 75 cents for
each inhabitant, and calculating that each of them contributed in the
same year about $2.55 towards the Union, and about 75 cents to the
State of Pennsylvania, it appears that they each contributed as their
share of all the public expenses (except those of the townships) the
sum of $4.05. This calculation is doubly incomplete, as it applies only
to a single year and to one part of the public charges; but it has at
least the merit of not being conjectural.]


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. *l 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. *m
[Footnote l: Those who have attempted to draw a comparison between the
expenses of France and America have at once perceived that no such
comparison could be drawn between the total expenditure of the two
countries; but they have endeavored to contrast detached portions of
this expenditure. It may readily be shown that this second system is
not at all less defective than the first. If I attempt to compare the
French budget with the budget of the Union, it must be remembered that
the latter embraces much fewer objects than then central Government of
the former country, and that the expenditure must consequently be much
smaller. If I contrast the budgets of the Departments with those of the
States which constitute the Union, it must be observed that, as the
power and control exercised by the States is much greater than that
which is exercised by the Departments, their expenditure is also more
considerable. As for the budgets of the counties, nothing of the kind
occurs in the French system of finances; and it is, again, doubtful
whether the corresponding expenses should be referred to the budget of
the State or to those of the municipal divisions. Municipal expenses
exist in both countries, but they are not always analogous. In America
the townships discharge a variety of offices which are reserved in
France to the Departments or to the State. It may, moreover, be asked
what is to be understood by the municipal expenses of America. The
organization of the municipal bodies or townships differs in the
several States. Are we to be guided by what occurs in New England or in
Georgia, in Pennsylvania or in the State of Illinois? A kind of analogy
may very readily be perceived between certain budgets in the two
countries; but as the elements of which they are composed always differ
more or less, no fair comparison can be instituted between them. [The
same difficulty exists, perhaps to a greater degree at the present
time, when the taxation of America has largely increased.—1874.]]

m
[ Even if we knew the exact pecuniary contributions of every French and
American citizen to the coffers of the State, we should only come at a
portion of the truth. Governments do not only demand supplies of money,
but they call for personal services, which may be looked upon as
equivalent to a given sum. When a State raises an army, besides the pay
of the troops, which is furnished by the entire nation, each soldier
must give up his time, the value of which depends on the use he might
make of it if he were not in the service. The same remark applies to
the militia; the citizen who is in the militia devotes a certain
portion of valuable time to the maintenance of the public peace, and he
does in reality surrender to the State those earnings which he is
prevented from gaining. Many other instances might be cited in addition
to these. The governments of France and of America both levy taxes of
this kind, which weigh upon the citizens; but who can estimate with
accuracy their relative amount in the two countries?


This, however, is not the last of the difficulties which prevent us
from comparing the expenditure of the Union with that of France. The
French Government contracts certain obligations which do not exist in
America, and vice versa. The French Government pays the clergy; in
America the voluntary principle prevails. In America there is a legal
provision for the poor; in France they are abandoned to the charity of
the public. The French public officers are paid by a fixed salary; in
America they are allowed certain perquisites. In France contributions
in kind take place on very few roads; in America upon almost all the
thoroughfares: in the former country the roads are free to all
travellers; in the latter turnpikes abound. All these differences in
the manner in which contributions are levied in the two countries
enhance the difficulty of comparing their expenditure; for there are
certain expenses which the citizens would not be subject to, or which
would at any rate be much less considerable, if the State did not take
upon itself to act in the name of the public.]

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. *n 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.

n
[ See the details in the Budget of the French Minister of Marine; and
for America, the National Calendar of 1833, p. 228. [But the public
debt of the United States in 1870, caused by the Civil War, amounted to
$2,480,672,427; that of France was more than doubled by the
extravagance of the Second Empire and by the war of 1870.]]


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. *o

o
[ [That is precisely what has since occurred.]]




 Chapter XIII: Government Of The Democracy In America—Part III


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 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 I 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 to-day 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. *p 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.”

p
[ One of the most singular of these occurrences was the resolution
which the Americans took of temporarily abandoning the use of tea.
Those who know that men usually cling more to their habits than to
their life will doubtless admire this great though obscure sacrifice
which was made by a whole people.]


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. *q

q
[ [The Civil War showed that when the necessity arose the American
people, both in the North and in the South, are capable of making the
most enormous sacrifices, both in money and in men.]]


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, *r 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.

r
[ “The President,” says the Constitution, Art. II, sect. 2, Section 2,
“shall have power, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate, to
make treaties, provided two-thirds of the senators present concur.” The
reader is reminded that the senators are returned for a term of six
years, and that they are chosen by the legislature of each State.]


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. *s 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.

s
[ See the fifth volume of Marshall’s “Life of Washington.” In a
government constituted like that of the United States, he says, “it is
impossible for the chief magistrate, however firm he may be, to oppose
for any length of time the torrent of popular opinion; and the
prevalent opinion of that day seemed to incline to war. In fact, in the
session of Congress held at the time, it was frequently seen that
Washington had lost the majority in the House of Representatives.” The
violence of the language used against him in public was extreme, and in
a political meeting they did not scruple to compare him indirectly to
the treacherous Arnold. “By the opposition,” says Marshall, “the
friends of the administration were declared to be an aristocratic and
corrupt faction, who, from a desire to introduce monarchy, were hostile
to France and under the influence of Britain; that they were a paper
nobility, whose extreme sensibility at every measure which threatened
the funds, induced a tame submission to injuries and insults, which the
interests and honor of the nation required them to resist.”]


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 XIV: Advantages American Society Derive From Democracy—Part I


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. *a

a
[ [The legislation of England for the forty years is certainly not
fairly open to this criticism, which was written before the Reform Bill
of 1832, and accordingly Great Britain has thus far escaped and
surmounted the perils and calamities to which she seemed to be
exposed.]]


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 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.

This truth is exemplified by the most trivial details of national
peculiarities. In France very few 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? *b

b
[ [This, too, has been amended by much larger provisions for the
amusements of the people in public parks, gardens, museums, etc.; and
the conduct of the people in these places of amusement has improved in
the same proportion.]]


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: these 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 amends 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.




 Chapter XIV: Advantages American Society Derive From Democracy—Part II

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 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. *c

c
[ At the time of my stay in the United States the temperance societies
already consisted of more than 270,000 members, and their effect had
been to diminish the consumption of fermented liquors by 500,000
gallons per annum in the State of Pennsylvania alone.]


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. *d 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.

d
[ The same remark was made at Rome under the first Caesars. Montesquieu
somewhere alludes to the excessive despondency of certain Roman
citizens who, after the excitement of political life, were all at once
flung back into the stagnation of private life.]


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 XV: Unlimited Power Of Majority, And Its Consequences—Part I




 Chapter Summary


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.

Unlimited Power Of The Majority In The United States, And Its
Consequences

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. *a

a
[ We observed, in examining the Federal Constitution, that the efforts
of the legislators of the Union had been diametrically opposed to the
present tendency. The consequence has been that the Federal Government
is more independent in its sphere than that of the States. But the
Federal Government scarcely ever interferes in any but external
affairs; and the governments of the State are in the governments of the
States are in reality the authorities which direct society in America.]


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
passion, 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 the 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 right 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. *b

b
[ The legislative acts promulgated by the State of Massachusetts alone,
from the year 1780 to the present time, already fill three stout
volumes; and it must not be forgotten that the collection to which I
allude was published in 1823, when many old laws which had fallen into
disuse were omitted. The State of Massachusetts, which is not more
populous than a department of France, may be considered as the most
stable, the most consistent, and the most sagacious in its undertakings
of the whole Union.]


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 the 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 met with which reminded the
visitor of the barbarity of the Middle Ages.




 Chapter XV: Unlimited Power Of Majority, And Its Consequences—Part II

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. *c 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.

c
[ No one will assert that a people cannot forcibly wrong another
people; but parties may be looked upon as lesser nations within a
greater one, and they are aliens to each other: if, therefore, it be
admitted that a nation can act tyrannically towards another nation, it
cannot be denied that a party may do the same towards another party.]


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. *d

d
[ A striking instance of the excesses which may be occasioned by the
despotism of the majority occurred at Baltimore in the year 1812. At
that time the war was very popular in Baltimore. A journal which had
taken the other side of the question excited the indignation of the
inhabitants by its opposition. The populace assembled, broke the
printing-presses, and attacked the houses of the newspaper editors. The
militia was called out, but no one obeyed the call; and the only means
of saving the poor wretches who were threatened by the frenzy of the
mob was to throw them into prison as common malefactors. But even this
precaution was ineffectual; the mob collected again during the night,
the magistrates again made a vain attempt to call out the militia, the
prison was forced, one of the newspaper editors was killed upon the
spot, and the others were left for dead; the guilty parties were
acquitted by the jury when they were brought to trial.


I said one day to an inhabitant of Pennsylvania, “Be so good as to
explain to me how it happens that in a State founded by Quakers, and
celebrated for its toleration, freed blacks are not allowed to exercise
civil rights. They pay the taxes; is it not fair that they should have
a vote?”

“You insult us,” replied my informant, “if you imagine that our
legislators could have committed so gross an act of injustice and
intolerance.”

“What! then the blacks possess the right of voting in this county?”

“Without the smallest doubt.”

“How comes it, then, that at the polling-booth this morning I did not
perceive a single negro in the whole meeting?”

“This is not the fault of the law: the negroes have an undisputed right
of voting, but they voluntarily abstain from making their appearance.”

“A very pretty piece of modesty on their parts!” rejoined I.

“Why, the truth is, that they are not disinclined to vote, but they are
afraid of being maltreated; in this country the law is sometimes unable
to maintain its authority without the support of the majority. But in
this case the majority entertains very strong prejudices against the
blacks, and the magistrates are unable to protect them in the exercise
of their legal privileges.”

“What! then the majority claims the right not only of making the laws,
but of breaking the laws it has made?”]

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 independence 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
despotism 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
in comparably 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
te 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 *e 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. *f

e
[ This power may be centred in an assembly, in which case it will be
strong without being stable; or it may be centred in an individual, in
which case it will be less strong, but more stable.]


f
[ I presume that it is scarcely necessary to remind the reader here, as
well as throughout the remainder of this chapter, that I am speaking,
not of the Federal Government, but of the several governments of each
State, which the majority controls at its pleasure.]


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: *g
“The executive power in our Government is not the only, perhaps not
even the principal, object 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.

g
[ March 15, 1789.]




 Chapter XVI: Causes Mitigating Tyranny In The United States—Part I




 Chapter Summary


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 despot, 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 anti-democratic. 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 twofold
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 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 title 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, *a
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.

a
[ See chapter VI. on the “Judicial Power in the United States.”]


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.




 Chapter XVI: Causes Mitigating Tyranny In The United States—Part II

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. *b

b
[ The investigation of trial by jury as a judicial institution, and the
appreciation of its effects in the United States, together with the
advantages the Americans have derived from it, would suffice to form a
book, and a book upon a very useful and curious subject. The State of
Louisiana would in particular afford the curious phenomenon of a French
and English legislation, as well as a French and English population,
which are gradually combining with each other. See the “Digeste des
Lois de la Louisiane,” in two volumes; and the “Traite sur les Regles
des Actions civiles,” printed in French and English at New Orleans in
1830.]


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. *c 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. *d

c
[ All the English and American jurists are unanimous upon this head.
Mr. Story, judge of the Supreme Court of the United States, speaks, in
his “Treatise on the Federal Constitution,” of the advantages of trial
by jury in civil cases:—“The inestimable privilege of a trial by jury
in civil cases—a privilege scarcely inferior to that in criminal cases,
which is counted by all persons to be essential to political and civil
liberty. . . .” (Story, book iii., chap. xxxviii.)]


d
[ If it were our province to point out the utility of the jury as a
judicial institution in this place, much might be said, and the
following arguments might be brought forward amongst others:—

By introducing the jury into the business of the courts you are enabled
to diminish the number of judges, which is a very great advantage. When
judges are very numerous, death is perpetually thinning the ranks of
the judicial functionaries, and laying places vacant for newcomers. The
ambition of the magistrates is therefore continually excited, and they
are naturally made dependent upon the will of the majority, or the
individual who fills up the vacant appointments; the officers of the
court then rise like the officers of an army. This state of things is
entirely contrary to the sound administration of justice, and to the
intentions of the legislator. The office of a judge is made inalienable
in order that he may remain independent: but of what advantage is it
that his independence should be protected if he be tempted to sacrifice
it of his own accord? When judges are very numerous many of them must
necessarily be incapable of performing their important duties, for a
great magistrate is a man of no common powers; and I am inclined to
believe that a half-enlightened tribunal is the worst of all
instruments for attaining those objects which it is the purpose of
courts of justice to accomplish. For my own part, I had rather submit
the decision of a case to ignorant jurors directed by a skilful judge
than to judges a majority of whom are imperfectly acquainted with
jurisprudence and with the laws.]

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. *e

e
[ An important remark must, however, be made. Trial by jury does
unquestionably invest the people with a general control over the
actions of citizens, but it does not furnish means of exercising this
control in all cases, or with an absolute authority. When an absolute
monarch has the right of trying offences by his representatives, the
fate of the prisoner is, as it were, decided beforehand. But even if
the people were predisposed to convict, the composition and the
non-responsibility of the jury would still afford some chances
favorable to the protection of innocence.]


In England the jury is returned from the aristocratic portion of the
nation; *f 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. *g The system of the jury,
as it is understood in America, appears to me to be as direct and as
extreme a consequence 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.

f
[ [This may be true to some extent of special juries, but not of common
juries. The author seems not to have been aware that the qualifications
of jurors in England vary exceedingly.]]


g
[ See Appendix, Q.]


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 judgement 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. *h

h
[ See Appendix, R.]


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. *i 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.

i
[ The Federal judges decide upon their own authority almost all the
questions most important to the country.]


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 XVII: Principal Causes Maintaining The Democratic
 Republic—Part I


Principal Causes Which Tend To Maintain The Democratic Republic In The
United States

A democratic republic subsists in the United States, and 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 myself 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.

a
[ The United States have no metropolis, but they already contain
several very large cities. Philadelphia reckoned 161,000 inhabitants
and New York 202,000 in the year 1830. The lower orders which inhabit
these cities constitute a rabble even more formidable than the populace
of European towns. They consist of freed blacks in the first place, who
are condemned by the laws and by public opinion to a hereditary state
of misery and degradation. They also contain a multitude of Europeans
who have been driven to the shores of the New World by their
misfortunes or their misconduct; and these men inoculate the United
States with all our vices, without bringing with them any of those
interests which counteract their baneful influence. As inhabitants of a
country where they have no civil rights, they are ready to turn all the
passions which agitate the community to their own advantage; thus,
within the last few months serious riots have broken out in
Philadelphia and in New York. Disturbances of this kind are unknown in
the rest of the country, which is nowise alarmed by them, because the
population of the cities has hitherto exercised neither power nor
influence over the rural districts. Nevertheless, I look upon the size
of certain American cities, and especially on the nature of their
population, as a real danger which threatens the future security of the
democratic republics of the New World; and I venture to predict that
they will perish from this circumstance unless the government succeeds
in creating an armed force, which, whilst it remains under the control
of the majority of the nation, will be independent of the town
population, and able to repress its excesses.


[The population of the city of New York had risen, in 1870, to 942,292,
and that of Philadelphia to 674,022. Brooklyn, which may be said to
form part of New York city, has a population of 396,099, in addition to
that of New York. The frequent disturbances in the great cities of
America, and the excessive corruption of their local governments—over
which there is no effectual control—are amongst the greatest evils and
dangers of the country.]]

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 preponderance 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 settler 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, just 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 American 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 chances 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. *b

b
[ [The number of foreign immigrants into the United States in the last
fifty years (from 1820 to 1871) is stated to be 7,556,007. Of these,
4,104,553 spoke English—that is, they came from Great Britain, Ireland,
or the British colonies; 2,643,069 came from Germany or northern
Europe; and about half a million from the south of Europe.]]


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 workman 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. *c 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.

c
[ In New England the estates are exceedingly small, but they are rarely
subjected to further division.]


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.




 Chapter XVII: Principal Causes Maintaining The Democratic
 Republic—Part II


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. *d 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.

d
[ [It is difficult to ascertain with accuracy the amount of the Roman
Catholic population of the United States, but in 1868 an able writer in
the “Edinburgh Review” (vol. cxxvii. p. 521) affirmed that the whole
Catholic population of the United States was then about 4,000,000,
divided into 43 dioceses, with 3,795 churches, under the care of 45
bishops and 2,317 clergymen. But this rapid increase is mainly
supported by immigration from the Catholic countries of Europe.]]


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 natural, 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. *e The newspapers related the fact without
any further comment.

e
[ The New York “Spectator” of August 23, 1831, relates the fact in the
following terms:—“The Court of Common Pleas of Chester county (New
York) a few days since rejected a witness who declared his disbelief in
the existence of God. The presiding judge remarked that he had not
before been aware that there was a man living who did not believe in
the existence of God; that this belief constituted the sanction of all
testimony in a court of justice, and that he knew of no cause in a
Christian country where a witness had been permitted to testify without
such belief.”]


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 be done with a people which is its own master, if it be not
submissive to the Divinity?




 Chapter XVII: Principal Causes Maintaining The Democratic
 Republic—Part III


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; *f 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 *g
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.

f
[ Unless this term be applied to the functions which many of them fill
in the schools. Almost all education is entrusted to the clergy.]


g
[ See the Constitution of New York, art. 7, Section 4:— “And whereas
the ministers of the gospel are, by their profession, dedicated to the
service of God and the care of souls, and ought not to be diverted from
the great duties of their functions: therefore no minister of the
gospel, or priest of any denomination whatsoever, shall at any time
hereafter, under any pretence or description whatever, be eligible to,
or capable of holding, any civil or military office or place within
this State.”


See also the constitutions of North Carolina, art. 31; Virginia; South
Carolina, art. I, Section 23; Kentucky, art. 2, Section 26; Tennessee,
art. 8, Section I; Louisiana, art. 2, Section 22.]

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. Prodigious 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 superannuated 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; *h 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.

h
[ [This cannot be said with truth of the country of Kent, Story, and
Wheaton.]]


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. *i

i
[ [In the Northern States the number of persons destitute of
instruction is inconsiderable, the largest number being 241,152 in the
State of New York (according to Spaulding’s “Handbook of American
Statistics” for 1874); but in the South no less than 1,516,339 whites
and 2,671,396 colored persons are returned as “illiterate.”]]


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 loghouse.
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. *j I do not think
that so much intellectual intercourse takes place in the most
enlightened and populous districts of France. *k 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.

j
[ I travelled along a portion of the frontier of the United States in a
sort of cart which was termed the mail. We passed, day and night, with
great rapidity along the roads which were scarcely marked out, through
immense forests; when the gloom of the woods became impenetrable the
coachman lighted branches of fir, and we journeyed along by the light
they cast. From time to time we came to a hut in the midst of the
forest, which was a post-office. The mail dropped an enormous bundle of
letters at the door of this isolated dwelling, and we pursued our way
at full gallop, leaving the inhabitants of the neighboring log houses
to send for their share of the treasure.


[When the author visited America the locomotive and the railroad were
scarcely invented, and not yet introduced in the United States. It is
superfluous to point out the immense effect of those inventions in
extending civilization and developing the resources of that vast
continent. In 1831 there were 51 miles of railway in the United States;
in 1872 there were 60,000 miles of railway.]]

k
[ In 1832 each inhabitant of Michigan paid a sum equivalent to 1 fr. 22
cent. (French money) to the post-office revenue, and each inhabitant of
the Floridas paid 1 fr. 5 cent. (See “National Calendar,” 1833, p.
244.) In the same year each inhabitant of the Departement du Nord paid
1 fr. 4 cent. to the revenue of the French post-office. (See the
“Compte rendu de l’administration des Finances,” 1833, p. 623.) Now the
State of Michigan only contained at that time 7 inhabitants per square
league and Florida only 5: the public instruction and the commercial
activity of these districts is inferior to that of most of the States
in the Union, whilst the Departement du Nord, which contains 3,400
inhabitants per square league, is one of the most enlightened and
manufacturing parts of France.]


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.




 Chapter XVII: Principal Causes Maintaining The Democratic
 Republic—Part IV


The Laws Contribute More To The Maintenance Of The Democratic Republic
In The United States Than The Physical Circumstances Of The Country,
And The Manners 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. *l 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.

l
[ I remind the reader of the general signification which I give to the
word “manners,” namely, the moral and intellectual characteristics of
social man taken collectively.]


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. *m

m
[ [A remark which, since the great Civil War of 1861-65, ceases to be
applicable.]]


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 preeminently 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
to 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 with 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 be 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 than
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 out 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 opposed 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. *n

n
[ [This prediction of the return of France to imperial despotism, and
of the true character of that despotic power, was written in 1832, and
realized to the letter in 1852.]]


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 XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races In The United
 States—Part I


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. *a 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?

a
[ The native of North America retains his opinions and the most
insignificant of his habits with a degree of tenacity which has no
parallel in history. For more than two hundred years the wandering
tribes of North America have had daily intercourse with the whites, and
they have never derived from them either a custom or an idea. Yet the
Europeans have exercised a powerful influence over the savages: they
have made them more licentious, but not more European. In the summer of
1831 I happened to be beyond Lake Michigan, at a place called Green
Bay, which serves as the extreme frontier between the United States and
the Indians on the north-western side. Here I became acquainted with an
American officer, Major H., who, after talking to me at length on the
inflexibility of the Indian character, related the following fact:—“I
formerly knew a young Indian,” said he, “who had been educated at a
college in New England, where he had greatly distinguished himself, and
had acquired the external appearance of a member of civilized society.
When the war broke out between ourselves and the English in 1810, I saw
this young man again; he was serving in our army, at the head of the
warriors of his tribe, for the Indians were admitted amongst the ranks
of the Americans, upon condition that they would abstain from their
horrible custom of scalping their victims. On the evening of the battle
of . . ., C. came and sat himself down by the fire of our bivouac. I
asked him what had been his fortune that day: he related his exploits;
and growing warm and animated by the recollection of them, he concluded
by suddenly opening the breast of his coat, saying, ‘You must not
betray me—see here!’ And I actually beheld,” said the Major, “between
his body and his shirt, the skin and hair of an English head, still
dripping with gore.”]


The negro, who earnestly desires to mingle his race with that of the
European, cannot effect if; 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; *b 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.

b
[ In the thirteen original States there are only 6,273 Indians
remaining. (See Legislative Documents, 20th Congress, No. 117, p. 90.)
[The decrease in now far greater, and is verging on extinction. See
page 360 of this volume.]]


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. *c Whilst the wants
of the natives were thus increasing, their resources continued to
diminish.

c
[ Messrs. Clarke and Cass, in their Report to Congress on February 4,
1829, p. 23, expressed themselves thus:—“The time when the Indians
generally could supply themselves with food and clothing, without any
of the articles of civilized life, has long since passed away. The more
remote tribes, beyond the Mississippi, who live where immense herds of
buffalo are yet to be found and who follow those animals in their
periodical migrations, could more easily than any others recur to the
habits of their ancestors, and live without the white man or any of his
manufactures. But the buffalo is constantly receding. The smaller
animals, the bear, the deer, the beaver, the otter, the muskrat, etc.,
principally minister to the comfort and support of the Indians; and
these cannot be taken without guns, ammunition, and traps. Among the
Northwestern Indians particularly, the labor of supplying a family with
food is excessive. Day after day is spent by the hunter without
success, and during this interval his family must subsist upon bark or
roots, or perish. Want and misery are around them and among them. Many
die every winter from actual starvation.”


The Indians will not live as Europeans live, and yet they can neither
subsist without them, nor exactly after the fashion of their fathers.
This is demonstrated by a fact which I likewise give upon official
authority. Some Indians of a tribe on the banks of Lake Superior had
killed a European; the American government interdicted all traffic with
the tribe to which the guilty parties belonged, until they were
delivered up to justice. This measure had the desired effect.]

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. *d 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 1829; “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. *e

d
[ “Five years ago,” (says Volney in his “Tableau des Etats-Unis,” p.
370) “in going from Vincennes to Kaskaskia, a territory which now forms
part of the State of Illinois, but which at the time I mention was
completely wild (1797), you could not cross a prairie without seeing
herds of from four to five hundred buffaloes. There are now none
remaining; they swam across the Mississippi to escape from the hunters,
and more particularly from the bells of the American cows.”]


e
[ The truth of what I here advance may be easily proved by consulting
the tabular statement of Indian tribes inhabiting the United States and
their territories. (Legislative Documents, 20th Congress, No. 117, pp.
90-105.) It is there shown that the tribes in the centre of America are
rapidly decreasing, although the Europeans are still at a considerable
distance from them.]


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, *f 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!

f
[ “The Indians,” say Messrs. Clarke and Cass in their Report to
Congress, p. 15, “are attached to their country by the same feelings
which bind us to ours; and, besides, there are certain superstitious
notions connected with the alienation of what the Great Spirit gave to
their ancestors, which operate strongly upon the tribes who have made
few or no cessions, but which are gradually weakened as our intercourse
with them is extended. ‘We will not sell the spot which contains the
bones of our fathers,’ is almost always the first answer to a
proposition for a sale.”]


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. *g 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. *h

g
[ See, in the Legislative Documents of Congress (Doc. 117), the
narrative of what takes place on these occasions. This curious passage
is from the above-mentioned report, made to Congress by Messrs. Clarke
and Cass in February, 1829. Mr. Cass is now the Secretary of War.


“The Indians,” says the report, “reach the treaty-ground poor and
almost naked. Large quantities of goods are taken there by the traders,
and are seen and examined by the Indians. The women and children become
importunate to have their wants supplied, and their influence is soon
exerted to induce a sale. Their improvidence is habitual and
unconquerable. The gratification of his immediate wants and desires is
the ruling passion of an Indian. The expectation of future advantages
seldom produces much effect. The experience of the past is lost, and
the prospects of the future disregarded. It would be utterly hopeless
to demand a cession of land, unless the means were at hand of
gratifying their immediate wants; and when their condition and
circumstances are fairly considered, it ought not to surprise us that
they are so anxious to relieve themselves.”]

h
[ On May 19, 1830, Mr. Edward Everett affirmed before the House of
Representatives, that the Americans had already acquired by treaty, to
the east and west of the Mississippi, 230,000,000 of acres. In 1808 the
Osages gave up 48,000,000 acres for an annual payment of $1,000. In
1818 the Quapaws yielded up 29,000,000 acres for $4,000. They reserved
for themselves a territory of 1,000,000 acres for a hunting-ground. A
solemn oath was taken that it should be respected: but before long it
was invaded like the rest. Mr. Bell, in his Report of the Committee on
Indian Affairs, February 24, 1830, has these words:—“To pay an Indian
tribe what their ancient hunting-grounds are worth to them, after the
game is fled or destroyed, as a mode of appropriating wild lands
claimed by Indians, has been found more convenient, and certainly it is
more agreeable to the forms of justice, as well as more merciful, than
to assert the possession of them by the sword. Thus the practice of
buying Indian titles is but the substitute which humanity and
expediency have imposed, in place of the sword, in arriving at the
actual enjoyment of property claimed by the right of discovery, and
sanctioned by the natural superiority allowed to the claims of
civilized communities over those of savage tribes. Up to the present
time so invariable has been the operation of certain causes, first in
diminishing the value of forest lands to the Indians, and secondly in
disposing them to sell readily, that the plan of buying their right of
occupancy has never threatened to retard, in any perceptible degree,
the prosperity of any of the States.” (Legislative Documents, 21st
Congress, No. 227, p. 6.)]




 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part II


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.
*i 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.

i
[ This seems, indeed, to be the opinion of almost all American
statesmen. “Judging of the future by the past,” says Mr. Cass, “we
cannot err in anticipating a progressive diminution of their numbers,
and their eventual extinction, unless our border should become
stationary, and they be removed beyond it, or unless some radical
change should take place in the principles of our intercourse with
them, which it is easier to hope for than to expect.”]


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. *j 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.

j
[ Amongst other warlike enterprises, there was one of the Wampanaogs,
and other confederate tribes, under Metacom in 1675, against the
colonists of New England; the English were also engaged in war in
Virginia in 1622.]


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; *k 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.

k
[ See the “Histoire de la Nouvelle France,” by Charlevoix, and the work
entitled “Lettres edifiantes.”]


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. *l

l
[ “In all the tribes,” says Volney, in his “Tableau des Etats-Unis,” p.
423, “there still exists a generation of old warriors, who cannot
forbear, when they see their countrymen using the hoe, from exclaiming
against the degradation of ancient manners, and asserting that the
savages owe their decline to these innovations; adding, that they have
only to return to their primitive habits in order to recover their
power and their glory.”]


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 he 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. *m
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.

m
[ The following description occurs in an official document: “Until a
young man has been engaged with an enemy, and has performed some acts
of valor, he gains no consideration, but is regarded nearly as a woman.
In their great war-dances all the warriors in succession strike the
post, as it is called, and recount their exploits. On these occasions
their auditory consists of the kinsmen, friends, and comrades of the
narrator. The profound impression which his discourse produces on them
is manifested by the silent attention it receives, and by the loud
shouts which hail its termination. The young man who finds himself at
such a meeting without anything to recount is very unhappy; and
instances have sometimes occurred of young warriors, whose passions had
been thus inflamed, quitting the war-dance suddenly, and going off
alone to seek for trophies which they might exhibit, and adventures
which they might be allowed to relate.”]


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 be 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 feudal 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, *n 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.

n
[ These nations are now swallowed up in the States of Georgia,
Tennessee, Alabama, and Mississippi. There were formerly in the South
four great nations (remnants of which still exist), the Choctaws, the
Chickasaws, the Creeks, and the Cherokees. The remnants of these four
nations amounted, in 1830, to about 75,000 individuals. It is computed
that there are now remaining in the territory occupied or claimed by
the Anglo-American Union about 300,000 Indians. (See Proceedings of the
Indian Board in the City of New York.) The official documents supplied
to Congress make the number amount to 313,130. The reader who is
curious to know the names and numerical strength of all the tribes
which inhabit the Anglo-American territory should consult the documents
I refer to. (Legislative Documents, 20th Congress, No. 117, pp.
90-105.) [In the Census of 1870 it is stated that the Indian population
of the United States is only 25,731, of whom 7,241 are in California.]]


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. *o

o
[ I brought back with me to France one or two copies of this singular
publication.]


The growth of European habits has been remarkably accelerated among
these Indians by the mixed race which has sprung up. *p 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. *q

p
[ See in the Report of the Committee on Indian Affairs, 21st Congress,
No. 227, p. 23, the reasons for the multiplication of Indians of mixed
blood among the Cherokees. The principal cause dates from the War of
Independence. Many Anglo-Americans of Georgia, having taken the side of
England, were obliged to retreat among the Indians, where they
married.]


q
[ Unhappily the mixed race has been less numerous and less influential
in North America than in any other country. The American continent was
peopled by two great nations of Europe, the French and the English. The
former were not slow in connecting themselves with the daughters of the
natives, but there was an unfortunate affinity between the Indian
character and their own: instead of giving the tastes and habits of
civilized life to the savages, the French too often grew passionately
fond of the state of wild freedom they found them in. They became the
most dangerous of the inhabitants of the desert, and won the friendship
of the Indian by exaggerating his vices and his virtues. M. de
Senonville, the governor of Canada, wrote thus to Louis XIV in 1685:
“It has long been believed that in order to civilize the savages we
ought to draw them nearer to us. But there is every reason to suppose
we have been mistaken. Those which have been brought into contact with
us have not become French, and the French who have lived among them are
changed into savages, affecting to dress and live like them.” (“History
of New France,” by Charlevoix, vol. ii., p. 345.) The Englishman, on
the contrary, continuing obstinately attached to the customs and the
most insignificant habits of his forefathers, has remained in the midst
of the American solitudes just what he was in the bosom of European
cities; he would not allow of any communication with savages whom he
despised, and avoided with care the union of his race with theirs. Thus
while the French exercised no salutary influence over the Indians, the
English have always remained alien from them.]


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, *r 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.

r
[ There is in the adventurous life of the hunter a certain irresistible
charm, which seizes the heart of man and carries him away in spite of
reason and experience. This is plainly shown by the memoirs of Tanner.
Tanner is a European who was carried away at the age of six by the
Indians, and has remained thirty years with them in the woods. Nothing
can be conceived more appalling that the miseries which he describes.
He tells us of tribes without a chief, families without a nation to
call their own, men in a state of isolation, wrecks of powerful tribes
wandering at random amid the ice and snow and desolate solitudes of
Canada. Hunger and cold pursue them; every day their life is in
jeopardy. Amongst these men, manners have lost their empire, traditions
are without power. They become more and more savage. Tanner shared in
all these miseries; he was aware of his European origin; he was not
kept away from the whites by force; on the contrary, he came every year
to trade with them, entered their dwellings, and witnessed their
enjoyments; he knew that whenever he chose to return to civilized life
he was perfectly able to do so—and he remained thirty years in the
deserts. When he came into civilized society he declared that the rude
existence which he described, had a secret charm for him which he was
unable to define: he returned to it again and again: at length he
abandoned it with poignant regret; and when he was at length fixed
among the whites, several of his children refused to share his tranquil
and easy situation. I saw Tanner myself at the lower end of Lake
Superior; he seemed to me to be more like a savage than a civilized
being. His book is written without either taste or order; but he gives,
even unconsciously, a lively picture of the prejudices, the passions,
the vices, and, above all, of the destitution in which he lived.]


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. *s The condition of the Creeks and
Cherokees, to which I have already alluded, sufficiently corroborates
the truth of this deplorable picture.

s
[ The destructive influence of highly civilized nations upon others
which are less so, has been exemplified by the Europeans themselves.
About a century ago the French founded the town of Vincennes up on the
Wabash, in the middle of the desert; and they lived there in great
plenty until the arrival of the American settlers, who first ruined the
previous inhabitants by their competition, and afterwards purchased
their lands at a very low rate. At the time when M. de Volney, from
whom I borrow these details, passed through Vincennes, the number of
the French was reduced to a hundred individuals, most of whom were
about to pass over to Louisiana or to Canada. These French settlers
were worthy people, but idle and uninstructed: they had contracted many
of the habits of savages. The Americans, who were perhaps their
inferiors, in a moral point of view, were immeasurably superior to them
in intelligence: they were industrious, well informed, rich, and
accustomed to govern their own community.


I myself saw in Canada, where the intellectual difference between the
two races is less striking, that the English are the masters of
commerce and manufacture in the Canadian country, that they spread on
all sides, and confine the French within limits which scarcely suffice
to contain them. In like manner, in Louisiana, almost all activity in
commerce and manufacture centres in the hands of the Anglo-Americans.

But the case of Texas is still more striking: the State of Texas is a
part of Mexico, and lies upon the frontier between that country and the
United States. In the course of the last few years the Anglo-Americans
have penetrated into this province, which is still thinly peopled; they
purchase land, they produce the commodities of the country, and
supplant the original population. It may easily be foreseen that if
Mexico takes no steps to check this change, the province of Texas will
very shortly cease to belong to that government.

If the different degrees—comparatively so slight—which exist in
European civilization produce results of such magnitude, the
consequences which must ensue from the collision of the most perfect
European civilization with Indian savages may readily be conceived.]

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. *t

t
[ See in the Legislative Documents (21st Congress, No. 89) instances of
excesses of every kind committed by the whites upon the territory of
the Indians, either in taking possession of a part of their lands,
until compelled to retire by the troops of Congress, or carrying off
their cattle, burning their houses, cutting down their corn, and doing
violence to their persons. It appears, nevertheless, from all these
documents that the claims of the natives are constantly protected by
the government from the abuse of force. The Union has a representative
agent continually employed to reside among the Indians; and the report
of the Cherokee agent, which is among the documents I have referred to,
is almost always favorable to the Indians. “The intrusion of whites,”
he says, “upon the lands of the Cherokees would cause ruin to the poor,
helpless, and inoffensive inhabitants.” And he further remarks upon the
attempt of the State of Georgia to establish a division line for the
purpose of limiting the boundaries of the Cherokees, that the line
drawn having been made by the whites, and entirely upon ex parte
evidence of their several rights, was of no validity whatever.]


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. *u 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.

u
[ In 1829 the State of Alabama divided the Creek territory into
counties, and subjected the Indian population to the power of European
magistrates.

In 1830 the State of Mississippi assimilated the Choctaws and
Chickasaws to the white population, and declared that any of them that
should take the title of chief would be punished by a fine of $1,000
and a year’s imprisonment. When these laws were enforced upon the
Choctaws, who inhabited that district, the tribe assembled, their chief
communicated to them the intentions of the whites, and read to them
some of the laws to which it was intended that they should submit; and
they unanimously declared that it was better at once to retreat again
into the wilds.]




Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part III


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, *v 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. *w 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.

v
[ The Georgians, who are so much annoyed by the proximity of the
Indians, inhabit a territory which does not at present contain more
than seven inhabitants to the square mile. In France there are one
hundred and sixty-two inhabitants to the same extent of country.]


w
[ In 1818 Congress appointed commissioners to visit the Arkansas
Territory, accompanied by a deputation of Creeks, Choctaws, and
Chickasaws. This expedition was commanded by Messrs. Kennerly, M’Coy,
Wash Hood, and John Bell. See the different reports of the
commissioners, and their journal, in the Documents of Congress, No. 87,
House of Representatives.]


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 remnants 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. *x 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.

x
[ The fifth article of the treaty made with the Creeks in August, 1790,
is in the following words:—“The United States solemnly guarantee to the
Creek nation all their land within the limits of the United States.”


The seventh article of the treaty concluded in 1791 with the Cherokees
says:—“The United States solemnly guarantee to the Cherokee nation all
their lands not hereby ceded.” The following article declared that if
any citizen of the United States or other settler not of the Indian
race should establish himself upon the territory of the Cherokees, the
United States would withdraw their protection from that individual, and
give him up to be punished as the Cherokee nation should think fit.]

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. *y

y
[ This does not prevent them from promising in the most solemn manner
to do so. See the letter of the President addressed to the Creek
Indians, March 23, 1829 (Proceedings of the Indian Board, in the city
of New York, p. 5): “Beyond the great river Mississippi, where a part
of your nation has gone, your father has provided a country large
enough for all of you, and he advises you to remove to it. There your
white brothers will not trouble you; they will have no claim to the
land, and you can live upon it, you and all your children, as long as
the grass grows, or the water runs, in peace and plenty. It will be
yours forever.”


The Secretary of War, in a letter written to the Cherokees, April 18,
1829, (see the same work, p. 6), declares to them that they cannot
expect to retain possession of the lands at that time occupied by them,
but gives them the most positive assurance of uninterrupted peace if
they would remove beyond the Mississippi: as if the power which could
not grant them protection then, would be able to afford it them
hereafter!]

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. *z “By the will of our
Father in Heaven, the Governor of the whole world,” said the Cherokees
in their petition to Congress, *a “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 became 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?”

z
[ To obtain a correct idea of the policy pursued by the several States
and the Union with respect to the Indians, it is necessary to consult,
1st, “The Laws of the Colonial and State Governments relating to the
Indian Inhabitants.” (See the Legislative Documents, 21st Congress, No.
319.) 2d, The Laws of the Union on the same subject, and especially
that of March 30, 1802. (See Story’s “Laws of the United States.”) 3d,
The Report of Mr. Cass, Secretary of War, relative to Indian Affairs,
November 29, 1823.]


a
[ December 18, 1829.]


“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 this right; but we 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. *b 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.

b
[ The honor of this result is, however, by no means due to the
Spaniards. If the Indian tribes had not been tillers of the ground at
the time of the arrival of the Europeans, they would unquestionably
have been destroyed in South as well as in North America.]


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. *c It is impossible to destroy men
with more respect for the laws of humanity.

c
[ See, amongst other documents, the report made by Mr. Bell in the name
of the Committee on Indian Affairs, February 24, 1830, in which is most
logically established and most learnedly proved, that “the fundamental
principle that the Indians had no right by virtue of their ancient
possession either of will or sovereignty, has never been abandoned
either expressly or by implication.” In perusing this report, which is
evidently drawn up by an experienced hand, one is astonished at the
facility with which the author gets rid of all arguments founded upon
reason and natural right, which he designates as abstract and
theoretical principles. The more I contemplate the difference between
civilized and uncivilized man with regard to the principles of justice,
the more I observe that the former contests the justice of those rights
which the latter simply violates.]


[I leave this chapter wholly unchanged, for it has always appeared to
me to be one of the most eloquent and touching parts of this book. But
it has ceased to be prophetic; the destruction of the Indian race in
the United States is already consummated. In 1870 there remained but
25,731 Indians in the whole territory of the Union, and of these by far
the largest part exist in California, Michigan, Wisconsin, Dakota, and
New Mexico and Nevada. In New England, Pennsylvania, and New York the
race is extinct; and the predictions of M. de Tocqueville are
fulfilled. —Translator’s Note.]

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—Foundation 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 *d 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.

d
[ It is well known that several of the most distinguished authors of
antiquity, and amongst them Aesop and Terence, were, or had been
slaves. Slaves were not always taken from barbarous nations, and the
chances of war reduced highly civilized men to servitude.]


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. *e 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.

e
[ To induce the whites to abandon the opinion they have conceived of
the moral and intellectual inferiority of their former slaves, the
negroes must change; but as long as this opinion subsists, to change is
impossible.]


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 he 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. *f
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. *g

f
[ See Beverley’s “History of Virginia.” See also in Jefferson’s
“Memoirs” some curious details concerning the introduction of negroes
into Virginia, and the first Act which prohibited the importation of
them in 1778.]


g
[ The number of slaves was less considerable in the North, but the
advantages resulting from slavery were not more contested there than in
the South. In 1740, the Legislature of the State of New York declared
that the direct importation of slaves ought to be encouraged as much as
possible, and smuggling severely punished in order not to discourage
the fair trader. (Kent’s “Commentaries,” vol. ii. p. 206.) Curious
researches, by Belknap, upon slavery in New England, are to be found in
the “Historical Collection of Massachusetts,” vol. iv. p. 193. It
appears that negroes were introduced there in 1630, but that the
legislation and manners of the people were opposed to slavery from the
first; see also, in the same work, the manner in which public opinion,
and afterwards the laws, finally put an end to slavery.]


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 the 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.




 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part IV


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. *h

h
[ Not only is slavery prohibited in Ohio, but no free negroes are
allowed to enter the territory of that State, or to hold property in
it. See the Statutes of Ohio.]


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 primaeval 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. *i

i
[ The activity of Ohio is not confined to individuals, but the
undertakings of the State are surprisingly great; a canal has been
established between Lake Erie and the Ohio, by means of which the
valley of the Mississippi communicates with the river of the North, and
the European commodities which arrive at New York may be forwarded by
water to New Orleans across five hundred leagues of continent.]


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. *j
These opposite consequences of slavery and freedom may readily be
understood, and they suffice to explain many of the differences which
we remark between the civilization of antiquity and that of our own
time.

j
[ The exact numbers given by the census of 1830 were: Kentucky,
688,-844; Ohio, 937,679. [In 1890 the population of Ohio was 3,672,316,
that of Kentucky, 1,858,635.]]


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. *k

k
[ Independently of these causes, which, wherever free workmen abound,
render their labor more productive and more economical than that of
slaves, another cause may be pointed out which is peculiar to the
United States: the sugar-cane has hitherto been cultivated with success
only upon the banks of the Mississippi, near the mouth of that river in
the Gulf of Mexico. In Louisiana the cultivation of the sugar-cane is
exceedingly lucrative, and nowhere does a laborer earn so much by his
work, and, as there is always a certain relation between the cost of
production and the value of the produce, the price of slaves is very
high in Louisiana. But Louisiana is one of the confederated States, and
slaves may be carried thither from all parts of the Union; the price
given for slaves in New Orleans consequently raises the value of slaves
in all the other markets. The consequence of this is, that in the
countries where the land is less productive, the cost of slave labor is
still very considerable, which gives an additional advantage to the
competition of free labor.]


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. *l

l
[ A peculiar reason contributes to detach the two last-mentioned States
from the cause of slavery. The former wealth of this part of the Union
was principally derived from the cultivation of tobacco. This
cultivation is specially carried on by slaves; but within the last few
years the market-price of tobacco has diminished, whilst the value of
the slaves remains the same. Thus the ratio between the cost of
production and the value of the produce is changed. The natives of
Maryland and Virginia are therefore more disposed than they were thirty
years ago, to give up slave labor in the cultivation of tobacco, or to
give up slavery and tobacco at the same time.]


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 *m 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, *n and the
rest congregate in the great towns, where they perform the meanest
offices, and lead a wretched and precarious existence.

m
[ The States in which slavery is abolished usually do what they can to
render their territory disagreeable to the negroes as a place of
residence; and as a kind of emulation exists between the different
States in this respect, the unhappy blacks can only choose the least of
the evils which beset them.]


n
[ There is a very great difference between the mortality of the blacks
and of the whites in the States in which slavery is abolished; from
1820 to 1831 only one out of forty-two individuals of the white
population died in Philadelphia; but one negro out of twenty-one
individuals of the black population died in the same space of time. The
mortality is by no means so great amongst the negroes who are still
slaves. (See Emerson’s “Medical Statistics,” p. 28.)]


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;
*o 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; *p and it may be asked why the 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.

o
[ This is true of the spots in which rice is cultivated; rice-grounds,
which are unwholesome in all countries, are particularly dangerous in
those regions which are exposed to the beams of a tropical sun.
Europeans would not find it easy to cultivate the soil in that part of
the New World if it must be necessarily be made to produce rice; but
may they not subsist without rice-grounds?]


p
[ These States are nearer to the equator than Italy and Spain, but the
temperature of the continent of America is very much lower than that of
Europe.


The Spanish Government formerly caused a certain number of peasants
from the Acores to be transported into a district of Louisiana called
Attakapas, by way of experiment. These settlers still cultivate the
soil without the assistance of slaves, but their industry is so languid
as scarcely to supply their most necessary wants.]

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 additional hands, who only live at his cost for a
short period. 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, whose
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 *q 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.

q
[ We find it asserted in an American work, entitled “Letters on the
Colonization Society,” by Mr. Carey, 1833, “That for the last forty
years the black race has increased more rapidly than the white race in
the State of South Carolina; and that if we take the average population
of the five States of the South into which slaves were first
introduced, viz., Maryland, Virginia, South Carolina, North Carolina,
and Georgia, we shall find that from 1790 to 1830 the whites have
augmented in the proportion of 80 to 100, and the blacks in that of 112
to 100.”


In the United States, in 1830, the population of the two races stood as
follows:—

States where slavery is abolished, 6,565,434 whites; 120,520 blacks.
Slave States, 3,960,814 whites; 2,208,102 blacks. [In 1890 the United
States contained a population of 54,983,890 whites, and 7,638,360
negroes.]]

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.




 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part V


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. *r 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. *s

r
[ This opinion is sanctioned by authorities infinitely weightier than
anything that I can say: thus, for instance, it is stated in the
“Memoirs of Jefferson” (as collected by M. Conseil), “Nothing is more
clearly written in the book of destiny than the emancipation of the
blacks; and it is equally certain that the two races will never live in
a state of equal freedom under the same government, so insurmountable
are the barriers which nature, habit, and opinions have established
between them.”]


s
[ If the British West India planters had governed themselves, they
would assuredly not have passed the Slave Emancipation Bill which the
mother-country has recently imposed upon them.]


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. *t 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. *u

t
[ This society assumed the name of “The Society for the Colonization of
the Blacks.” See its annual reports; and more particularly the
fifteenth. See also the pamphlet, to which allusion has already been
made, entitled “Letters on the Colonization Society, and on its
probable Results,” by Mr. Carey, Philadelphia, 1833.]


u
[ This last regulation was laid down by the founders of the settlement;
they apprehended that a state of things might arise in Africa similar
to that which exists on the frontiers of the United States, and that if
the negroes, like the Indians, were brought into collision with a
people more enlightened than themselves, they would be destroyed before
they could be civilized.]


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, *v 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. *w 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.

v
[ Nor would these be the only difficulties attendant upon the
undertaking; if the Union undertook to buy up the negroes now in
America, in order to transport them to Africa, the price of slaves,
increasing with their scarcity, would soon become enormous; and the
States of the North would never consent to expend such great sums for a
purpose which would procure such small advantages to themselves. If the
Union took possession of the slaves in the Southern States by force, or
at a rate determined by law, an insurmountable resistance would arise
in that part of the country. Both alternatives are equally impossible.]


w
[ In 1830 there were in the United States 2,010,327 slaves and 319,439
free blacks, in all 2,329,766 negroes: which formed about one-fifth of
the total population of the United States at that time.]


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. *x

x
[ [This chapter is no longer applicable to the condition of the negro
race in the United States, since the abolition of slavery was the
result, though not the object, of the great Civil War, and the negroes
have been raised to the condition not only of freedmen, but of
citizens; and in some States they exercise a preponderating political
power by reason of their numerical majority. Thus, in South Carolina
there were in 1870, 289,667 whites and 415,814 blacks. But the
emancipation of the slaves has not solved the problem, how two races so
different and so hostile are to live together in peace in one country
on equal terms. That problem is as difficult, perhaps more difficult
than ever; and to this difficulty the author’s remarks are still
perfectly applicable.]]




 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part VI


What Are The Chances In Favor Of The Duration Of The American Union,
And What Dangers Threaten It *y

y
[ [This chapter is one of the most curious and interesting portions of
the work, because it embraces almost all the constitutional and social
questions which were raised by the great secession of the South and
decided by the results of the Civil War. But it must be confessed that
the sagacity of the author is sometimes at fault in these speculations,
and did not save him from considerable errors, which the course of
events has since made apparent. He held that “the legislators of the
Constitution of 1789 were not appointed to constitute the government of
a single people, but to regulate the association of several States;
that 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.” Whence
he inferred that “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 that the Federal Government would have no means of maintaining its
claims directly, either by force or by right.” This is the Southern
theory of the Constitution, and the whole case of the South in favor of
secession. To many Europeans, and to some American (Northern) jurists,
this view appeared to be sound; but it was vigorously resisted by the
North, and crushed by force of arms.


The author of this book was mistaken in supposing that the “Union was a
vast body which presents no definite object to patriotic feeling.” When
the day of trial came, millions of men were ready to lay down their
lives for it. He was also mistaken in supposing that the Federal
Executive is so weak that it requires the free consent of the governed
to enable it to subsist, and that it would be defeated in a struggle to
maintain the Union against one or more separate States. In 1861 nine
States, with a population of 8,753,000, seceded, and maintained for
four years a resolute but unequal contest for independence, but they
were defeated.

Lastly, the author was mistaken in supposing that a community of
interests would always prevail between North and South sufficiently
powerful to bind them together. He overlooked the influence which the
question of slavery must have on the Union the moment that the majority
of the people of the North declared against it. In 1831, when the
author visited America, the anti-slavery agitation had scarcely begun;
and the fact of Southern slavery was accepted by men of all parties,
even in the States where there were no slaves: and that was
unquestionably the view taken by all the States and by all American
statesmen at the time of the adoption of the Constitution, in 1789. But
in the course of thirty years a great change took place, and the North
refused to perpetuate what had become the “peculiar institution” of the
South, especially as it gave the South a species of aristocratic
preponderance. The result was the ratification, in December, 1865, of
the celebrated 13th article or amendment of the Constitution, which
declared that “neither slavery nor involuntary servitude—except as a
punishment for crime—shall exist within the United States.” To which
was soon afterwards added the 15th article, “The right of citizens to
vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States, or by any
State, on account of race, color, or previous servitude.” The
emancipation of several millions of negro slaves without compensation,
and the transfer to them of political preponderance in the States in
which they outnumber the white population, were acts of the North
totally opposed to the interests of the South, and which could only
have been carried into effect by conquest.—Translator’s Note.]]

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 preorganized
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 that 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
undertakings 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. *z

z
[ See the conduct of the Northern States in the war of 1812. “During
that war,” says Jefferson in a letter to General Lafayette, “four of
the Eastern States were only attached to the Union, like so many
inanimate bodies to living men.”]


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. *a 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.

a
[ The profound peace of the Union affords no pretext for a standing
army; and without a standing army a government is not prepared to
profit by a favorable opportunity to conquer resistance, and take the
sovereign power by surprise. [This note, and the paragraph in the text
which precedes, have been shown by the results of the Civil War to be a
misconception of the writer.]]


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. *b 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.

b
[ Thus the province of Holland in the republic of the Low Countries,
and the Emperor in the Germanic Confederation, have sometimes put
themselves in the place of the union, and have employed the federal
authority to their own advantage.]


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, *c 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.

c
[ See “Darby’s View of the United States,” p. 435. [In 1890 the number
of States and Territories had increased to 51, the population to
62,831,900, and the area of the States, 3,602,990 square miles. This
does not include the Philippine Islands, Hawaii, or Porto Rico. A
conservative estimate of the population of the Philippine Islands is
8,000,000; that of Hawaii, by the census of 1897, was given at 109,020;
and the present estimated population of Porto Rico is 900,000. The area
of the Philippine Islands is about 120,000 square miles, that of Hawaii
is 6,740 square miles, and the area of Porto Rico is about 3,600 square
miles.]]


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.




 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part VII


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 resemblances of opinion. I will never admit that 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 *d 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.

d
[ It is scarcely necessary for me to observe that by the expression
Anglo-Americans, I only mean to designate the great majority of the
nation; for a certain number of isolated individuals are of course to
be met with holding very different opinions.]


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.

e
[ Census of 1790, 3,929,328; 1830, 12,856,165; 1860, 31,443,321; 1870,
38,555,983; 1890, 62,831,900.]


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. *e 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 the 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. *f

f
[ This indeed is only a temporary danger. I have no doubt that in time
society will assume as much stability and regularity in the West as it
has already done upon the coast of the Atlantic Ocean.]


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,
*g 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, *h 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?

g
[ Pennsylvania contained 431,373 inhabitants in 1790 [and 5,258,014 in
1890.]]


h
[ The area of the State of New York is 49,170 square miles. [See U. S.
census report of 1890.]]


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 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.

i
[ If the population continues to double every twenty-two years, as it
has done for the last two hundred years, the number of inhabitants in
the United States in 1852 will be twenty millions; in 1874, forty-eight
millions; and in 1896, ninety-six millions. This may still be the case
even if the lands on the western slope of the Rocky Mountains should be
found to be unfit for cultivation. The territory which is already
occupied can easily contain this number of inhabitants. One hundred
millions of men disseminated over the surface of the twenty-four
States, and the three dependencies, which constitute the Union, would
only give 762 inhabitants to the square league; this would be far below
the mean population of France, which is 1,063 to the square league; or
of England, which is 1,457; and it would even be below the population
of Switzerland, for that country, notwithstanding its lakes and
mountains, contains 783 inhabitants to the square league. See “Malte
Brun,” vol. vi. p. 92.


[The actual result has fallen somewhat short of these calculations, in
spite of the vast territorial acquisitions of the United States: but in
1899 the population is probably about eighty-seven millions, including
the population of the Philippines, Hawaii, and Porto Rico.]]

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.
*j 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.

j
[ See Legislative Documents, 20th Congress, No. 117, p. 105.]


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. *k
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. *l

k
[ 3,672,317—Census of 1830.]


l
[ The distance from Jefferson, the capital of the State of Missouri, to
Washington is 1,019 miles. (“American Almanac,” 1831, p. 48.)]


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 *m 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. *n

m
[ The following statements will suffice to show the difference which
exists between the commerce of the South and that of the North:—


In 1829 the tonnage of all the merchant vessels belonging to Virginia,
the two Carolinas, and Georgia (the four great Southern States),
amounted to only 5,243 tons. In the same year the tonnage of the
vessels of the State of Massachusetts alone amounted to 17,322 tons.
(See Legislative Documents, 21st Congress, 2d session, No. 140, p.
244.) Thus the State of Massachusetts had three times as much shipping
as the four above-mentioned States. Nevertheless the area of the State
of Massachusetts is only 7,335 square miles, and its population amounts
to 610,014 inhabitants [2,238,943 in 1890]; whilst the area of the four
other States I have quoted is 210,000 square miles, and their
population 3,047,767. Thus the area of the State of Massachusetts forms
only one-thirtieth part of the area of the four States; and its
population is five times smaller than theirs. (See “Darby’s View of the
United States.”) Slavery is prejudicial to the commercial prosperity of
the South in several different ways; by diminishing the spirit of
enterprise amongst the whites, and by preventing them from meeting with
as numerous a class of sailors as they require. Sailors are usually
taken from the lowest ranks of the population. But in the Southern
States these lowest ranks are composed of slaves, and it is very
difficult to employ them at sea. They are unable to serve as well as a
white crew, and apprehensions would always be entertained of their
mutinying in the middle of the ocean, or of their escaping in the
foreign countries at which they might touch.]

n
[ “Darby’s View of the United States,” p. 444.]


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. *o 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. *p 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.

o
[ It may be seen that in the course of the last ten years (1820-1830)
the population of one district, as, for instance, the State of
Delaware, has increased in the proportion of five per cent.; whilst
that of another, as the territory of Michigan, has increased 250 per
cent. Thus the population of Virginia had augmented thirteen per cent.,
and that of the border State of Ohio sixty-one per cent., in the same
space of time. The general table of these changes, which is given in
the “National Calendar,” displays a striking picture of the unequal
fortunes of the different States.]


p
[ It has just been said that in the course of the last term the
population of Virginia has increased thirteen per cent.; and it is
necessary to explain how the number of representatives for a State may
decrease, when the population of that State, far from diminishing, is
actually upon the increase. I take the State of Virginia, to which I
have already alluded, as my term of comparison. The number of
representatives of Virginia in 1823 was proportionate to the total
number of the representatives of the Union, and to the relation which
the population bore to that of the whole Union: in 1833 the number of
representatives of Virginia was likewise proportionate to the total
number of the representatives of the Union, and to the relation which
its population, augmented in the course of ten years, bore to the
augmented population of the Union in the same space of time. The new
number of Virginian representatives will then be to the old numver, on
the one hand, as the new numver of all the representatives is to the
old number; and, on the other hand, as the augmentation of the
population of Virginia is to that of the whole population of the
country. Thus, if the increase of the population of the lesser country
be to that of the greater in an exact inverse ratio of the proportion
between the new and the old numbers of all the representatives, the
number of the representatives of Virginia will remain stationary; and
if the increase of the Virginian population be to that of the whole
Union in a feeblerratio than the new number of the representatives of
the Union to the old number, the number of the representatives of
Virginia must decrease. [Thus, to the 56th Congress in 1899, Virginia
and West Virginia send only fourteen representatives.]]




 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part VIII


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?” *q

q
[ See the report of its committee to the Convention which proclaimed
the nullification of the tariff in South Carolina.]


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. *r 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: *s 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.

r
[ The population of a country assuredly constitutes the first element
of its wealth. In the ten years (1820-1830) during which Virginia lost
two of its representatives in Congress, its population increased in the
proportion of 13.7 per cent.; that of Carolina in the proportion of
fifteen per cent.; and that of Georgia, 15.5 per cent. (See the
“American Almanac,” 1832, p. 162) But the population of Russia, which
increases more rapidly than that of any other European country, only
augments in ten years at the rate of 9.5 per cent.; in France, at the
rate of seven per cent.; and in Europe in general, at the rate of 4.7
per cent. (See “Malte Brun,” vol. vi. p. 95)]


s
[ It must be admitted, however, that the depreciation which has taken
place in the value of tobacco, during the last fifty years, has notably
diminished the opulence of the Southern planters: but this circumstance
is as independent of the will of their Northern brethren as it is of
their own.]


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 envy,
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, *t 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. *u 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.

t
[ In 1832, the district of Michigan, which only contains 31,639
inhabitants, and is still an almost unexplored wilderness, possessed
940 miles of mail-roads. The territory of Arkansas, which is still more
uncultivated, was already intersected by 1,938 miles of mail-roads.
(See the report of the General Post Office, November 30, 1833.) The
postage of newspapers alone in the whole Union amounted to $254,796.]


u
[ In the course of ten years, from 1821 to 1831, 271 steamboats have
been launched upon the rivers which water the valley of the Mississippi
alone. In 1829 259 steamboats existed in the United States. (See
Legislative Documents, No. 140, p. 274.)]


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 enlighthned
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 monarchial
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. *v 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.

v
[ [Since 1861 the movement is certainly in the opposite direction, and
the federal power has largely increased, and tends to further
increase.]]


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. *w

w
[ See in the Legislative Documents, already quoted in speaking of the
Indians, the letter of the President of the United States to the
Cherokees, his correspondence on this subject with his agents, and his
messages to Congress.]


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. *x 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 themselves were not ceded to them. *y

x
[ The first act of session was made by the State of New York in 1780;
Virginia, Massachusetts, Connecticut, South and North Carolina,
followed this example at different times, and lastly, the act of
cession of Georgia was made as recently as 1802.]


y
[ It is true that the President refused his assent to this law; but he
completely adopted it in principle. (See Message of December 8, 1833.)]


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. *z

z
[ The present Bank of the United States was established in 1816, with a
capital of $35,000,000; its charter expires in 1836. Last year Congress
passed a law to renew it, but the President put his veto upon the bill.
The struggle is still going on with great violence on either side, and
the speedy fall of the bank may easily be foreseen. [It was soon
afterwards extinguished by General Jackson.]]


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. *a 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.

a
[ See principally for the details of this affair, the Legislative
Documents, 22d Congress, 2d Session, No. 30.]


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, *b 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.
*c 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.

b
[ That is to say, the majority of the people; for the opposite party,
called the Union party, always formed a very strong and active
minority. Carolina may contain about 47,000 electors; 30,000 were in
favor of nullification, and 17,000 opposed to it.]


c
[ This decree was preceded by a report of the committee by which it was
framed, containing the explanation of the motives and object of the
law. The following passage occurs in it, p. 34:—“When the rights
reserved by the Constitution to the different States are deliberately
violated, it is the duty and the right of those States to interfere, in
order to check the progress of the evil; to resist usurpation, and to
maintain, within their respective limits, those powers and privileges
which belong to them as independent sovereign States. If they were
destitute of this right, they would not be sovereign. South Carolina
declares that she acknowledges no tribunal upon earth above her
authority. She has indeed entered into a solemn compact of union with
the other States; but she demands, and will exercise, the right of
putting her own construction upon it; and when this compact is violated
by her sister States, and by the Government which they have created,
she is determined to avail herself of the unquestionable right of
judging what is the extent of the infraction, and what are the measures
best fitted to obtain justice.”]




 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part IX


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. *d 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. *e Thus Congress
completely abandoned the principle of the tariff; and substituted a
mere fiscal impost to a system of protective duties. *f 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.

d
[ Congress was finally decided to take this step by the conduct of the
powerful State of Virginia, whose legislature offered to serve as
mediator between the Union and South Carolina. Hitherto the latter
State had appeared to be entirely abandoned, even by the States which
had joined in her remonstrances.]


e
[ This law was passed on March 2, 1833.]


f
[ This bill was brought in by Mr. Clay, and it passed in four days
through both Houses of Congress by an immense majority.]


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 its 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 became the serf. Inequality was then imposed
by force; and after it had been introduced into the manners 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 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. *g And they
also bring three-quarters of the exports of the New World to the
European consumer. *h 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. *i

g
[ The total value of goods imported during the year which ended on
September 30, 1832, was $101,129,266. The value of the cargoes of
foreign vessels did not amount to $10,731,039, or about one-tenth of
the entire sum.]


h
[ The value of goods exported during the same year amounted to
$87,176,943; the value of goods exported by foreign vessels amounted to
$21,036,183, or about one quarter of the whole sum. (Williams’s
“Register,” 1833, p. 398.)]


i
[ The tonnage of the vessels which entered all the ports of the Union
in the years 1829, 1830, and 1831, amounted to 3,307,719 tons, of which
544,571 tons were foreign vessels; they stood, therefore, to the
American vessels in a ratio of about 16 to 100. (“National Calendar,”
1833, p. 304.) The tonnage of the English vessels which entered the
ports of London, Liverpool, and Hull, in the years 1820, 1826, and
1831, amounted to 443,800 tons. The foreign vessels which entered the
same ports during the same years amounted to 159,431 tons. The ratio
between them was, therefore, about 36 to 100. (“Companion to the
Almanac,” 1834, p. 169.) In the year 1832 the ratio between the foreign
and British ships which entered the ports of Great Britain was 29 to
100. [These statements relate to a condition of affairs which has
ceased to exist; the Civil War and the heavy taxation of the United
States entirely altered the trade and navigation of the country.]]


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.




 Chapter XVIII: Future Condition Of Three Races—Part X


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; *j 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.

j
[ Materials are, generally speaking, less expensive in America than in
Europe, but the price of labor is much higher.]


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 unforseen 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 materialize 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. *k 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; *l and America will offer a
still wider field to their enterprise.

k
[ It must not be supposed that English vessels are exclusively employed
in transporting foreign produce into England, or British produce to
foreign countries; at the present day the merchant shipping of England
may be regarded in the light of a vast system of public conveyances,
ready to serve all the producers of the world, and to open
communications between all peoples. The maritime genius of the
Americans prompts them to enter into competition with the English.]


l
[ Part of the commerce of the Mediterranean is already carried on by
American vessels.]


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 between 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 father 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, *m 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.

m
[ The foremost of these circumstances is, that nations which are
accustomed to free institutions and municipal government are better
able than any others to found prosperous colonies. The habit of
thinking and governing for oneself is indispensable in a new country,
where success necessarily depends, in a great measure, upon the
individual exertions of the settlers.]


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. *n

n
[ [This was speedily accomplished, and ere long both Texas and
California formed part of the United States. The Russian settlements
were acquired by purchase.]]


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 ensure, 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. *o 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. *p What cause can
prevent the United States from having as numerous a population in time?

o
[ The United States already extend over a territory equal to one-half
of Europe. The area of Europe is 500,000 square leagues, and its
population 205,000,000 of inhabitants. (“Malte Brun,” liv. 114. vol.
vi. p. 4.)


[This computation is given in French leagues, which were in use when
the author wrote. Twenty years later, in 1850, the superficial area of
the United States had been extended to 3,306,865 square miles of
territory, which is about the area of Europe.]]

p
[ See “Malte Brun,” liv. 116, vol. vi. p. 92.]


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, *q 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.

q
[ This would be a population proportionate to that of Europe, taken at
a mean rate of 410 inhabitants to the square league.]


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; *r 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.

r
[ Russia is the country in the Old World in which population increases
most rapidly in proportion.]