Chapter XII: Political Associations In T_Democracy in America

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.

[ 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.

[ 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.]

[ 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.

[ 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.

[ 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

[ 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.

[ 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.]

[ 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

[ 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.

[ 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

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

[ 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.]

Chapter XII: Political Associations In The United States