freeing itself from that insuperable prejudice which elsewhere prevented
the ancient city from admitting aliens to a share in its franchise. And
in this victory over primeval political ideas lay the whole secret of
Rome's mighty career. The victory was not indeed completed until after
the terrible Social War of B.C. 90, but it was begun at least four
centuries earlier with the admission of the plebeians. At the
consummation of the conquest of Italy in B.C. 270 Roman burghership
already extended, in varying degrees of completeness, through the
greater part of Etruria and Campania, from the coast to the mountains;
while all the rest of Italy was admitted to privileges for which ancient
history had elsewhere furnished no precedent. Hence the invasion of
Hannibal half a century later, even with its stupendous victories of
Thrasymene and Cannae, effected nothing toward detaching the Italian
subjects from their allegiance to Rome; and herein we have a most
instructive contrast to the conduct of the communities subject to Athens
at several critical moments of the Peloponnesian War. With this
consolidation of Italy, thus triumphantly demonstrated, the whole
problem of the conquering career of Rome was solved. All that came
afterwards was simply a corollary from this. The concentration of all
the fighting power of the peninsula into the hands of the ruling city
formed a stronger political aggregate than anything the world had as yet
seen. It was not only proof against the efforts of the greatest military
genius of antiquity, but whenever it was brought into conflict with the
looser organizations of Greece, Africa, and Asia, or with the
semi-barbarous tribes of Spain and Gaul, the result of the struggle was
virtually predetermined. The universal dominion of Rome was inevitable,
so soon as the political union of Italy had been accomplished. Among the
Romans themselves there were those who thoroughly understood this point,
as we may see from the interesting speech of the emperor Claudius in
favour of admitting Gauls to the senate.
The benefits conferred upon the world by the, universal dominion of Rome
were of quite inestimable value. First of these benefits, and (as it
were) the material basis of the others, was the prolonged peace that was
enforced throughout large portions of the world where chronic warfare
had hitherto prevailed. The _pax romana_ has perhaps been sometimes
depicted in exaggerated colours; but as compared with all that had
preceded, and with all that followed, down to the beginning of the
nineteenth century, it deserved the encomiums it has received. The
second benefit was the mingling and mutual destruction of the primitive
tribal and municipal religions, thus clearing the way for
Christianity,--a step which, regarded from a purely political point of
view, was of immense importance for the further consolidation of society
in Europe. The third benefit was the development of the Roman law into a
great body of legal precepts and principles leavened throughout with
ethical principles of universal applicability, and the gradual
substitution of this Roman law for the innumerable local usages of
ancient communities. Thus arose the idea of a common Christendom, of a
brotherhood of peoples associated both by common beliefs regarding the
unseen world and by common principles of action in the daily affairs of
life. The common ethical and traditional basis thus established for the
future development of the great nationalities of Europe is the most
fundamental characteristic distinguishing modern from ancient history.
While, however, it secured these benefits for mankind for all time to
come, the Roman political system in itself was one which could not
possibly endure. That extension of the franchise which made Rome's
conquests possible, was, after all, the extension of a franchise which
could only be practically enjoyed within the walls of the imperial city
itself. From first to last the device of representation was never
thought of, and from first to last the Roman _comitia_ remained a
primary assembly. The result was that, as the burgherhood enlarged, the
assembly became a huge mob as little fitted for the transaction of
public business as a town-meeting of all the inhabitants of New York
would be. The functions which in Athens were performed by the assembly
were accordingly in Rome performed largely by the aristocratic senate;
and for the conflicts consequently arising between the senatorial and
the popular parties it was difficult to find any adequate constitutional
check. Outside of Italy, moreover, in the absence of a representative
system, the Roman government was a despotism which, whether more or less
oppressive, could in the nature of things be nothing else than a
despotism. But nothing is more dangerous for a free people than the
attempt to govern a dependent people despotically. The bad government
kills out the good government as surely as slave-labour destroys
free-labour, or as a debased currency drives out a sound currency. The
existence of proconsuls in the provinces, with great armies at their
beck and call, brought about such results as might have been predicted,
as soon as the growing anarchy at home furnished a valid excuse for
armed interference. In the case of the Roman world, however, the result
is not to be deplored, for it simply substituted a government that was
practicable under the circumstances for one that had become demonstrably
impracticable.
As regards the provinces the change from senatorial to imperial
government at Rome was a great gain, inasmuch as it substituted an
orderly and responsible administration for irregular and irresponsible
extortion. For a long time, too, it was no part of the imperial policy
to interfere with local customs and privileges. But, in the absence of a
representative system, the centralizing tendency inseparable from the
position of such a government proved to be irresistible. And the
strength of this centralizing tendency was further enhanced by the
military character of the government which was necessitated by perpetual
frontier warfare against the barbarians. As year after year went by, the
provincial towns and cities were governed less and less by their local
magistrates, more and more by prefects responsible to the emperor only.
There were other co-operating causes, economical and social, for the
decline of the empire; but this change alone, which was consummated by
the time of Diocletian, was quite enough to burn out the candle of Roman
strength at both ends. With the decrease in the power of the local
governments came an increase in the burdens of taxation and conscription
that were laid upon them.[14] And as "the dislocation of commerce and
industry caused by the barbarian inroads, and the increasing demands of
the central administration for the payment of its countless officials
and the maintenance of its troops, all went together," the load at last
became greater "than human nature could endure." By the time of the
great invasions of the fifth century, local political life had gone far
towards extinction throughout Roman Europe, and the tribal organization
of the Teutons prevailed in the struggle simply because it had come to
be politically stronger than any organization that was left to
oppose it.
We have now seen how the two great political systems that were founded
upon the Ancient City both ended in failure, though both achieved
enormous and lasting results. And we have seen how largely both these
political failures were due to the absence of the principle of
representation from the public life of Greece and Rome. The chief
problem of civilization, from the political point of view, has always
been how to secure concerted action among men on a great scale without
sacrificing local independence. The ancient history of Europe shows that
it is not possible to solve this problem without the aid of the
principle of representation. Greece, until overcome by external force,
sacredly maintained local self-government, but in securing permanent
concert of action it was conspicuously unsuccessful. Rome secured
concert of action on a gigantic scale, and transformed the thousand
unconnected tribes and cities it conquered into an organized European
world, but in doing this it went far towards extinguishing local
self-government. The advent of the Teutons upon the scene seems
therefore to have been necessary, if only to supply the indispensable
element without which the dilemma of civilization could not be
surmounted. The turbulence of Europe during the Teutonic migrations was
so great and so long continued, that on a superficial view one might be
excused for regarding the good work of Rome as largely undone. And in
the feudal isolation of effort and apparent incapacity for combined
action which characterized the different parts of Europe after the
downfall of the Carolingian empire, it might well have seemed that
political society had reverted towards a primitive type of structure. In
truth, however, the retrogradation was much slighter than appeared on
the surface. Feudalism itself, with its curious net-work of fealties and
obligations running through the fabric of society in every direction,
was by no means purely disintegrative in its tendencies. The mutual
relations of rival baronies were by no means like those of rival clans
or tribes in pre-Roman days. The central power of Rome, though no longer
exerted politically through curators and prefects, was no less effective
in the potent hands of the clergy and in the traditions of the imperial
jurisprudence by which the legal ideas of mediaeval society were so
strongly coloured. So powerful, indeed, was this twofold influence of
Rome, that in the later Middle Ages, when the modern nationalities had
fairly taken shape, it was the capacity for local self-government--in
spite of all the Teutonic reinforcement it had had--that had suffered
much more than the capacity for national consolidation. Among the great
modern nations it was only England--which in its political development
had remained more independent of the Roman law and the Roman church than
even the Teutonic fatherland itself--it was only England that came out
of the mediæval crucible with its Teutonic self-government substantially
intact. On the main-land only two little spots, at the two extremities
of the old Teutonic world, had fared equally well. At the mouth of the
Rhine the little Dutch communities were prepared to lead the attack in
the terrible battle for freedom with which the drama of modern history
was ushered in. In the impregnable mountain fastnesses of upper Germany
the Swiss cantons had bid defiance alike to Austrian tyrant and to
Burgundian invader, and had preserved in its purest form the rustic
democracy of their Aryan forefathers. By a curious coincidence, both
these free peoples, in their efforts towards national unity, were led to
frame federal unions, and one of these political achievements is, from
the stand-point of universal history, of very great significance. The
old League of High Germany, which earned immortal renown at Morgarten
and Sempach, consisted of German-speaking cantons only. But in the
fifteenth century the League won by force of arms a small bit of Italian
territory about Lake Lugano, and in the sixteenth the powerful city of
Bern annexed the Burgundian bishopric of Lausanne and rescued the free
city of Geneva from the clutches of the Duke of Savoy. Other Burgundian
possessions of Savoy were seized by the canton of Freiburg; and after
awhile all these subjects and allies were admitted on equal terms into
the confederation. The result is that modern Switzerland is made up of
what might seem to be most discordant and unmanageable elements. Four
languages--German, French, Italian, and Rhaetian--are spoken within the
limits of the confederacy; and in point of religion the cantons are
sharply divided as Catholic and Protestant. Yet in spite of all this,
Switzerland is as thoroughly united in feeling as any nation in Europe.
To the German-speaking Catholic of Altdorf the German Catholics of
Bavaria are foreigners, while the French-speaking Protestants of Geneva
are fellow-countrymen. Deeper down even than these deep-seated
differences of speech and creed lies the feeling that comes from the
common possession of a political freedom that is greater than that
possessed by surrounding peoples. Such has been the happy outcome of the
first attempt at federal union made by men of Teutonic descent. Complete
independence in local affairs, when combined with adequate
representation in the federal council, has effected such an intense
cohesion of interests throughout the nation as no centralized
government, however cunningly devised, could ever have secured.
Until the nineteenth century, however, the federal form of government
had given no clear indication of its capacity for holding together great
bodies of men, spread over vast territorial areas, in orderly and
peaceful relations with one another. The empire of Trajan and Marcus
Aurelius still remained the greatest known example of political
aggregation; and men who argued from simple historic precedent without
that power of analyzing precedents which the comparative method has
supplied, came not unnaturally to the conclusions that great political
aggregates have an inherent tendency towards breaking up, and that great
political aggregates cannot be maintained except by a strongly-
centralized administration and at the sacrifice of local self-
government. A century ago the very idea of a stable federation of forty
powerful states, covering a territory nearly equal in area to the whole
of Europe, carried on by a republican government elected by universal
suffrage, and guaranteeing to every tiniest village its full meed of
local independence,--the very idea of all this would have been scouted
as a thoroughly impracticable Utopian dream. And such scepticism would
have been quite justifiable, for European history did not seem to afford
any precedents upon which such a forecast of the future could be
logically based. Between the various nations of Europe there has
certainly always existed an element of political community, bequeathed
by the Roman empire, manifested during the Middle Ages in a common
relationship to the Church, and in modern times in a common adherence to
certain uncodified rules of international law, more or less im perfectly
defined and enforced. Between England and Spain, for example, or between
France and Austria, there has never been such utter political severance
as existed normally between Greece and Persia, or Rome and Carthage. But
this community of political inheritance in Europe, it is needless to
say, falls very far short of the degree of community implied in a
federal union; and so great is the diversity of language and of creed,
and of local historic development with the deep-seated prejudices
attendant thereupon, that the formation of a European federation could
hardly be looked for except as the result of mighty though quiet and
subtle influences operating for a long time from without. From what
direction, and in what manner, such an irresistible though perfectly
pacific pressure is likely to be exerted in the future, I shall
endeavour to show in my next lecture. At present we have to observe that
the experiment of federal union on a grand scale required as its
conditions, _first_, a vast extent of unoccupied country which could be
settled without much warfare by men of the same race and speech, and
_secondly_, on the part of the settlers, a rich inheritance of political
training such as is afforded by long ages of self-government. The
Atlantic coast of North America, easily accessible to Europe, yet remote
enough to be freed from the political complications of the old world,
furnished the first of these conditions: the history of the English
people through fifty generations furnished the second. It was through
English self-government, as I argued in my first lecture, that England
alone, among the great nations of Europe, was able to found durable and
self-supporting colonies. I have now to add that it was only England,
among all the great nations of Europe, that could send forth colonists
capable of dealing successfully with the difficult problem of forming
such a political aggregate as the United States have become. For
obviously the preservation of local self-government is essential to the
very idea of a federal union. Without the Town-Meeting, or its
equivalent in some form or other, the Federal Union would become _ipso
facto_ converted into a centralizing imperial government. Should
anything of this sort ever happen--should American towns ever come to be
ruled by prefects appointed at Washington, and should American States
ever become like the administrative departments of France, or even like
the counties of England at the present day--then the time will have come
when men may safely predict the break-up of the American political
system by reason of its overgrown dimensions and the diversity of
interests between its parts. States so unlike one another as Maine and
Louisiana and California cannot be held together by the stiff bonds of a
centralizing government. The durableness of the federal union lies in
its flexibility, and it is this flexibility which makes it the only kind
of government, according to modern ideas, that is permanently applicable
to a whole continent. If ¸the United States were to-day a consolidated
republic like France, recent events in California might have disturbed
the peace of the country. But in the federal union, if California, as a
state sovereign within its own sphere, adopts a grotesque constitution
that aims at infringing on the rights of capitalists, the other states
are not directly affected. They may disapprove, but they have neither
the right nor the desire to interfere. Meanwhile the laws of nature
quietly operate to repair the blunder. Capital flows away from
California, and the business of the state is damaged, until presently
the ignorant demagogues lose favour, the silly constitution becomes a
dead-letter, and its formal repeal begins to be talked of. Not the
smallest ripple of excitement disturbs the profound peace of the country
at large. It is in this complete independence that is preserved by every
state, in all matters save those in which the federal principle itself
is concerned, that we find the surest guaranty of the permanence of the
American political system. Obviously no race of men, save the race to
which habits of self-government and the skilful use of political
representation had come to be as second nature, could ever have
succeeded in founding such a system.
Yet even by men of English race, working with out let or hindrance from
any foreign source, and with the better part of a continent at their
disposal for a field to work in, so great a political problem as that of
the American Union has not been solved without much toil and trouble.
The great puzzle of civilization--how to secure permanent concert of
action without sacrificing independence of action--is a puzzle which has
taxed the ingenuity of Americans as well as of older Aryan peoples. In
the year 1788 when our Federal Union was completed, the problem had
already occupied the minds of American statesmen for a century and a
half,--that is to say, ever since the English settlement of
Massachusetts. In 1643 a New England confederation was formed between
Massachusetts and Connecticut, together with Plymouth since merged in
Massachusetts and New Haven since merged in Connecticut. The
confederation was formed for defence against the French in Canada, the
Dutch on the Hudson river, and the Indians. But owing simply to the
inequality in the sizes of these colonies--Massachusetts more than
outweighing the other three combined--the practical working of this
confederacy was never very successful. In 1754, just before the outbreak
of the great war which drove the French from America, a general Congress
of the colonies was held at Albany, and a comprehensive scheme of union
was proposed by Benjamin Franklin, but nothing came of the project at
that time. The commercial rivalry between the colonies, and their
disputes over boundary lines, were then quite like the similar phenomena
with which Europe had so long been familiar. In 1756 Georgia and South
Carolina actually came to blows over the navigation of the Savannah
river. The idea that the thirteen colonies could ever overcome their
mutual jealousies so far as to unite in a single political body, was
received at that time in England with a derision like that which a
proposal for a permanent federation of European States would excite in
many minds to-day. It was confidently predicted that if the common
allegiance to the British crown were once withdrawn, the colonies would
forthwith proceed to destroy themselves with internecine war. In fact,
however, it was the shaking off of allegiance to the British crown, and
the common trials and sufferings of the war of independence, that at
last welded the colonies together and made a federal union possible. As
it was, the union was consummated only by degrees. By the Articles of
Confederation, agreed on by Congress in 1777 but not adopted by all the
States until 1781, the federal government acted only upon the several
state governments and not directly upon individuals; there was no
federal judiciary for the decision of constitutional questions arising
out of the relations between the states; and the Congress was not
provided with any efficient means of raising a revenue or of enforcing
its legislative decrees. Under such a government the difficulty of
insuring concerted action was so great that, but for the transcendent
personal qualities of Washington, the bungling mismanagement of the
British ministry, and the timely aid of the French fleet, the war of
independence would most likely have ended in failure. After the
independence of the colonies was acknowledged, the formation of a more
perfect union was seen to be the only method of securing peace and
making a nation which should be respected by foreign powers; and so in
1788, after much discussion, the present Constitution of the United
States was adopted,--a constitution which satisfied very few people at
the time, and which was from beginning to end a series of compromises,
yet which has proved in its working a masterpiece of political wisdom.
The first great compromise answered to the initial difficulty of
securing approximate equality of weight in the federal councils between
states of unequal size. The simple device by which this difficulty was
at last surmounted has proved effectual, although the inequalities
between the states have greatly increased. To-day the population of New
York is more than eighty times that of Nevada. In area the state of
Rhode Island is smaller than Montenegro, while the state of Texas is
larger than the Austrian empire with Bavaria and Würtemberg thrown in.
Yet New York and Nevada, Rhode Island and Texas, each send two senators
to Washington, while on the other hand in the lower house each state has
a number of representatives proportioned to its population. The upper
house of Congress is therefore a federal while the lower house is a
national body, and the government is brought into direct contact with
the people without endangering the equal rights of the several states.
The second great compromise of the American constitution consists in the
series of arrangements by which sovereignty is divided between the
states and the federal government. In all domestic legislation and
jurisdiction, civil and criminal, in all matters relating to tenure of
property, marriage and divorce, the fulfilment of contracts and the
punishment of malefactors, each separate state is as completely a
sovereign state as France or Great Britain. In speaking to a British
audience a concrete illustration may not be superfluous. If a criminal
is condemned to death in Pennsylvania, the royal prerogative of pardon
resides in the Governor of Pennsylvania: the President of the United
States has no more authority in the case than the Czar of Russia. Nor in
civil cases can an appeal lie from the state courts to the Supreme Court
of the United States, save where express provision has been made in the
Constitution. Within its own sphere the state is supreme. The chief
attributes of sovereignty with which the several states have parted are
the coining of money, the carrying of mails, the imposition of tariff
dues, the granting of patents and copyrights, the declaration of war,
and the maintenance of a navy. The regular army is supported and
controlled by the federal government, but each state maintains its own
militia which it is bound to use in case of internal disturbance before
calling upon the central government for aid. In time of war, however,
these militias come under the control of the central government. Thus
every American citizen lives under two governments, the functions of
which are clearly and intelligibly distinct.