Alexis de Tocqueville,
"Government of the Democracy in America"
from
Democracy in America
. . . When serious dangers threaten the state, the
people frequently succeed in selecting the citizens who are the most able
to save it. It has been observed that man rarely retains his
customary level in very critical circumstances; he rises above or
sinks below his usual condition, and the same thing is true of
nations. 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 fought and killed one another amid the
smoking ruins of their temple. But it is more common, with
both nations and individuals, to find extraordinary virtues developed from
the very imminence of danger. Great characters are then
brought into relief as the edifices which are usually concealed by the
gloom of night are illuminated by the glare of a
conflagration. At those dangerous times genius no longer
hesitates to come forward; and the people, alarmed by the perils of
their situation, for a time forget their envious passions.
Great names may then be drawn from the ballot 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 objects required.
In this general excitement distinguished men were ready to anticipate the
call of the community, and the people clung to them for support and placed
them at their head. But such events are rare, and it is from
the ordinary course of affairs that our judgment must be
formed.
If passing occurrences
sometimes check the passions of democracy, the intelligence and the morals
of the community exercise an influence on them which is not less powerful
and far more permanent. This is very perceptible in the United
States.
In New England, where
education and liberty are the daughters of morality and religion, where
society has acquired age and stability enough to enable it to form
principles and hold fixed habits, the common people are accustomed to
respect intellectual and moral superiority and to submit to it without
complaint, although they set at naught all those privileges which wealth
and birth have introduced among mankind. In New England,
consequently, the democracy 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 recent and less strong, where instruction is less general and the
principles of morality, religion, and liberty are less happily combined,
we perceive that talents and virtues become more rare among those who are
in authority.
Lastly, when we arrive
at the new Southwestern states, in which the constitution of society dates
but from yesterday and presents only 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 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 these dangerous tendencies of democracy. On entering
the House of Representatives at Washington, one is struck by the vulgar
demeanor of that great assembly. Often there is not a
distinguished man in the whole number. Its members are almost
all obscure individuals, whose names bring no associations to
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 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 seen in it who has not had an active and illustrious
career: the Senate is composed of eloquent advocates,
distinguished generals, wise magistrates, and statesmen of note, whose
arguments would do honor to the most remarkable parliamentary debates of
Europe.
How comes this strange
contrast, and why are the ablest citizens found in one assembly rather
than in the other? Why is the former body remarkable for its
vulgar elements, while the latter seems to enjoy a monopoly of
intelligence and talent? Both of these assemblies emanate from
the people; both 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 people directly, while the Senate is
elected by elected bodies. The whole body of the citizens name
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 the popular vote; for the legislatures which appoint
them are not aristocratic or privileged bodies, that elect in their own
right, but they are chosen by the totality of the citizens; they are
generally elected every year, and enough new members may be chosen every
year to determine the senatorial appointments. 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 its choice. Men who are chosen in this manner
accurately represent the majority of the nation which governs them;
but they represent only the elevated thoughts that are current in the
community and the generous propensities that prompt its nobler actions
rather than the petty passions that disturb or the vices that disgrace
it.
The time must come when
the American republics will be obliged more frequently to introduce the
plan of election by an elected body into their system of representation or
run the risk of perishing miserably among the shoals of
democracy.
I do not hesitate to
avow 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 who hope to convert this institution into
the exclusive weapon of a party, and those who fear to use it, seem to me
to be equally in error.
SOURCE: Alexis de Tocqueville,
Democracy in America, vol. 1 (New York: Alfred A.
Knopf, 1945), pages 202-205. |