Society in America. Harriet MartineauЧитать онлайн книгу.
law of man coming into collision with the law of God, is constantly broken; and causes of dissension hence arise. I know that slavery is only recognised by the constitution as a matter of fact; and that it is only twice mentioned; in connexion with representation, and with the restitution to their masters of "persons held to labour escaping into another State:" but the fact remains that a man who abhors slavery is compellable by the law which his fathers made, to deliver up to the owner a slave whose act of absconding he approves. It is impossible to estimate the evils which have proceeded from, and which will yet arise out of this guilty but "necessary" compromise.
There was difficulty in bringing the greater and smaller States into union. The smaller States could not agree to such an unequal representation as should render them liable to be swallowed up by the larger; while the larger could not consent to be reduced to an equality with the smaller. The Senate was established to afford an equal state representation; while the House of Representatives affords a fair representation of the nation in the aggregate, according to numbers. But the principle of the general government is, that it governs the entire people as one nation, and not as a league of States. There ought, in consistency with this, to be no state representation at all; and the Senate is an anomaly. An anomalous institution cannot be very long-lived. A second chamber, on a more consistent principle, will probably be established in its place, to fulfil its functions as a Court of Review, and as a check upon the precipitation of the other house, and, if need be, upon the encroachments of the executive. There is yet more of compromise involved in this institution of the Senate; as might be expected, since there is no end of compromise when principle is once departed from; yet there are statesmen who defend it on other grounds than that its establishment was necessary to the foundation of any federal government at all. One observed to me, "Some things look well in theory, and fail in practice. This may not be justifiable in theory; but it works well." If this last sentence be true, the well-working of the Senate is only a temporary affair; an accident. Its radical change becomes a question of time merely; and the recent agitation of the question of Instructions seems to indicate that the time is not very far distant.
The appointment of the judges for life is another departure from the absolute republican principle. There is no actual control over them. Theirs is a virtually irresponsible office. Much can be and is said in defence of this arrangement; and whatever is said, is most powerfully enforced by the weight of character possessed by the judiciary, up to this day. But all this does not alter the fact that irresponsible offices are an inconsistency in a republic. With regard to all this compromise, no plea of expediency can alter the fact that, while the House of Representatives is mainly republican, the Senate is only partially so, being anomalous in its character, and its members not being elected immediately by the people; and that the judiciary is not republican at all, since the judges are independent of the nation, from the time of their appointment.
I was told, on high authority, that the assent of the first nine States to the constitution, in 1788, was obtained by means not absolutely fair. What devices were used to procure an apparent majority, I was not informed; but it is generally supposed that if there had been no legislatures active on the occasion, if it had been put to the vote throughout the nation, the ratification would not have taken place when it did. Chief Justice Marshall gives testimony to this effect in his Life of Washington. "So small, in many instances, was the majority in favour of the constitution, as to afford strong ground for the opinion that, had the influence of character been removed, the intrinsic merits of the instrument would not have secured its adoption. Indeed, it is scarcely to be doubted that, in some of the adopting States, a majority of the people were in opposition."
That a constitution, so framed, and so carried, should have worked as well as it has done, seems to point out two very encouraging things; that we may, without rashness, speak of it as Washington did, when he said, "I was convinced it approached nearer to perfection than any government hitherto instituted among men;" and that the world may quietly and hopefully await the further proceedings of the American people, in their advances towards an uncompromising democracy. There will be changes, but not therefore convulsion. There will be the change which Jefferson foresaw, and provided for without dread. "Still," says he, so lately as June, 1824, "we consider our constitutions not otherwise changeable than by the authority of the people, on a special election of representatives for that very purpose: they are, until then, the lex legum. But can they be made unchangeable? Can one generation bind another, and all others, in succession for ever? I think not. The Creator has made the earth for the living, not the dead."—"A generation may bind itself as long as its majority continues in life; when that has disappeared, another majority is in place, holds all the rights and powers their predecessors once held, and may change their laws and institutions to suit themselves. Nothing then is unchangeable but the inherent and inalienable rights of man."[4]
Nothing can be more striking to a stranger than the experience gained, after some residence in the United States, of the ultimate ascendency of the will of the majority—i.e. of the right—in defiance of all appearances to the contrary. The review of what I witnessed of this kind, in the course of two years, with regard to the conduct of Congress alone, surprises and cheers me. It is true that I see several wrongs unredressed; several wounds inflicted on the people's liberties yet unhealed; but these are cases in which the people do not yet understand what has been done; or have not yet roused themselves to show that they do.
In the Senate, the people's right of petition is invaded. Last session, it was ordained that all petitions and memorials relating to a particular subject—slavery in the District of Columbia—should be laid on the table unread, and never recurred to. Of course, the people will not long submit to this. What has been already achieved in Congress on this topic is a security that the rest will follow. When I entered the United States, there was an absolute and most ominous silence in Congress about slavery. Almost every leading man there told me in conversation that it was the grand question of all; that every member's mind was full of it; that nearly all other questions were much affected, or wholly determined by it; yet no one even alluded to it in public. Before I left, it had found its way into both houses. The houses had, in some sort, come to a vote upon it, which showed the absolute abolition strength in the House of Representatives to be forty-seven. The entering wedge having been thus far driven, it is inconceivable that the nation will allow it to be withdrawn by surrendering their right of petition. When I left, however, the people had virtually no right of petition with regard to the District over which they—i.e. their Congress—have an exclusive jurisdiction.
Again. There were loud and extensive complaints, last session, of the despotism of the chair in the House of Representatives, chiefly in connexion with the subject of slavery. No members, it was said, were allowed a fair hearing but those who sat in a particular part of the house. If this complaint arises out of the peevishness of political disappointment, it will soon be contradicted by facts. If it is true, it is a grave injury. In either case, the chair will not long possess this power of despotism. If the favoured are few, as the complaint states, the injured many will demand and obtain the power to make themselves heard in turn; and no spirit of party can long stand in the way of a claim so just.
Again. After the gentlemen of Charleston had disgraced their city and country, by breaking into the post-office, and burning the contents of the mail-bags, in their dread of abolition papers, a post-master wrote to a member of the cabinet, desiring his approbation for having examined and refused to forward certain papers mailed at his office. The member of the cabinet, Kendall, gave the desired sanction to this audacious stoppage of the post-office function, declaring that the good of the community (as judged of by the individual) is a consideration above the law. The strangers in the land knew not what to make of the fool-hardiness of hazarding such a declaration, in a man of Kendall's wit. It was known that he desired the office of post-master-general; that the president wished him to have it, and that the doubt was whether the Senate would confirm the appointment. Soon after this apparently fatal declaration, he was nominated, and the Senate confirmed his appointment. The declaration, no doubt, seated him in office. The southern members were won by it. Kendall calculated rightly for his immediate object. What is to become of him when the people shall at length recognise the peril and insult to themselves of one of their favoured servants declaring the will of an individual to be occasionally subversive