Letters from an Ohio Farmer

Franklin's Fourth

To My Fellow Citizens:

Benjamin Franklin snatched lightning from the sky and scepters from the hands of tyrants, a contemporary once said of him.  The lightning snatching refers to Franklin's famous kite flying in a thunderstorm to prove the connection between electricity and lightning.  As for snatching scepters from tyrants, this might refer to a number of Franklin's activities.  The one most fitting to recall on July 4 is Franklin's connection to the Declaration of Independence.

The principal author of the Declaration, Thomas Jefferson, sent Franklin the draft, asking for his opinion.  Franklin made several editorial suggestions, one of great importance.  Jefferson had written "We hold these truths to be sacred and inviolable; that all men are created equal…"  Franklin suggested instead, "We hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men are created equal…"

Some have seen Franklin's suggested change as an appeal to the scientific language of the day at the expense of the more religious sentiment present in the word "sacred."  Yet Franklin did not object to Jefferson's mention of Providence; nor did he object to the phrase "the laws of nature and of nature's God."  Neither was Franklin one to appeal to authority.  What was his intention, then, in suggesting the phrase "self-evident"?   

To understand this, we must recall the consequence of human equality.  If human beings are equal, it means that no one has a right to rule another.  Neither nature nor God has given to one individual, one family, one race, or one class, the right to rule others without their consent.  To be ruled justly, each individual must consent to be ruled.  Equality is the foundation of self-government, free government.

To call human equality sacred and inviolable establishes how important it is, but it does not tell us how we know it.  But if men are to enjoy free government, to never be ruled unless they consent to it, they must know that they are equal.  This must be the most unquestioned political knowledge a citizen possesses.  It must be an idea that carries its own evidence with it.  It must, in brief, be self-evident.  Franklin suggested inserting the phrase "self-evident" in the Declaration to make the foundation of self-government depend on nothing else but the understanding of self-governing men.

It may seem to us, indeed, that human equality is self-evident, heirs as we are to the revolutionary accomplishments of men like Franklin.  But is it really self-evident?  Reflect for a moment on the wonderful irony at the heart of the Declaration:  probably the two most intelligent and most variously and spectacularly talented of our statesmen joined in the founding of our nation by declaring themselves self-evidently equal to all others.  Do not the evident inequalities of men like Franklin and Jefferson call into question the supposed self-evident equality of men?

In fact, they do not.  What is self-evident when we consider Franklin is not that he was equal in intelligence or talents to other men.  This is most self-evidently not the case.  What is self-evident, however, is that no matter how superior Franklin was to others, he was still a human being.  Although surpassingly intelligent, he was not all-knowing.  Although exceedingly industrious, he was not all-powerful.  He did not possess the attributes of a deity.  He was human and self-evidently heir to human limitations and frailties.  Due to his evident abilities, Franklin led every enterprise he was associated with.  Due to his self-evident humanity, he did so only with the consent of those he led.

Franklin's insertion of the term "self-evident" into the Declaration was a critical improvement of the text.  Considering its meaning will always bring us to a better understanding of equality and self-government.  In offering this improvement, Franklin was continuing—when he was 70—his life-long activity as an improver, as a man who sought better ways to do things, from cleaning streets to testing the forces of nature.  This was in keeping with the argument of the Declaration.  If men were equal, then they were not to be judged by their family, religion, race, or class but by what they did.  Franklin discouraged would-be immigrants to the United States who had only their birth or family name to recommend them.  In America, he wrote, "people do not enquire of a stranger, what is he? but what can he do?"

Franklin's life, shaped by the knowledge that a man should be judged above all by what he does, embodied the principles of the Declaration before it was written.  This is why he is often called the first American.  By embodying these principles, Franklin was also manifesting most tangibly his equality with other men.  When he arrived in Philadelphia, Franklin was a nearly penniless 17-year-old.  He had only his talents and industry to rely on.  In this, he was like all men.  Nor could he predict, because it was not in his power, what would result from applying his talents industriously.  In this, he was also like all men.  He could not be assured of achievement, he could only work so as to deserve it. 

More than his editing of the text, Franklin's life was his greatest contribution to the Declaration.  He is the model of an American.  His life not only embodied the Declaration, it vindicated its principles and the hopes of those who drafted it and of those who then and ever after were inspired by it.  Franklin first and above all others showed the good that a free man, a self-governing man, could do.  And so in its own way does the life of any citizen who following Franklin strives to do the best no matter what he has.  Such a life may not snatch lightning from the skies but it will continue to snatch scepters from tyrants.

Happy Fourth,

Ohio Farmer

 

To Provide for the Common Defense

To My Fellow Citizens:

In a previous letter I commented on our self-regarding character as a people, arguing that this character was the only secure foundation for a constitutional government, a government of limited powers.  As we respect ourselves, we will take care of ourselves and those around us.  In doing that, we will have less need of the heavy hand of government.  We will more fully enjoy the blessings of liberty and the happiness that is their fruit.

The self-regard of the people is essential not just to their happiness, however.  It is also essential to their safety.  Consider our current situation.

Long before 9/11, we knew that in a free society such as ours, individuals and small groups who mean to do us harm could operate among us, protected by the same liberties that protect us.  As this danger has increased, the government has responded, as it has always, by increasing its power to gather information on citizens and by restricting their liberties.  How far can this go?  As technology puts more and more power into the hands of smaller groups and even individuals (think of the increasing power individuals now wield to manipulate disease-causing viruses), how much more intrusive will government have to be in order to protect us?  Is there an alternative?

If the threat we face comes from another state and its military forces, then our government and our military forces are the best response.  But if the threat is living among the people, then the people are themselves the best means to meet it.  Even if the government pursued security at the cost of all liberty, its agents would not be as well positioned to identify dangers as the people in their various neighborhoods, communities, and workplaces.  The people are already doing this, and should be encouraged to increase their efforts.  The more the people are actively involved in their own defense, the more likely it is that they will be safe, and the less necessary it will be for them to sacrifice their liberty.  The government cannot make the people defend themselves. Still, the self-regarding people I described in my earlier letter, who take care of themselves and others in crises, are the sort of people, we must hope, who will defend themselves, if not prohibited from doing so.

In speaking of a people active in their own defense, we touch on the hallowed American tradition of the militia, of citizen soldiers ready and willing to defend themselves.  But as always, we must not flatter ourselves.  Citizen vigilance has often led to abuses, to the destruction of the safety and freedom of innocent citizens.  Government vigilance has also led to abuses, however, and only citizen vigilance, constrained by the unbiased application of our laws, will increase the capacities and freedom of Americans.    

Increasing our safety by restricting the power of government is not what we have done in the past.  But as our circumstances are new, so should our thinking be new.  Consider another example.  Most of the infrastructure in our country—phone and electricity lines, gas pipelines, computer networks, railroads—is privately owned.  All of this infrastructure is now, as it has always been, a possible target of attack.  But because all this infrastructure was not centrally planned by the government, because it grew in response to individual initiative, it is redundant and complex.  No one kind of attack can imperil it.  Various utility companies, for example, use different kinds of software to run their networks.  Some have modified what they have bought for their own special circumstances.  No one computer virus or hacking exploit can compromise all these systems.  If the government, in the name of increasing security or efficiency, were to impose one kind of system on these utilities, this would in fact only decrease our security.  The uniformity of central control would make the job of attackers much simpler.

The preamble to the Constitution speaks of establishing the government to provide for the common defense.  For most of our history, increasing the power of government was essential to that defense.  Now, limiting that power is just as important.

Ohio Farmer

We the People

To My Fellow Citizens:

Our Constitution begins with the phrase "We the people."  The people precede the Constitution.  They, through their representatives, wrote it and then voted to adopt it.  Following generations amended it.  Since we can amend the Constitution, ultimately we cannot depend on it unless we ourselves are dependable.  The people are the foundation upon which the legal edifice of the Constitution rests.  No matter what the Constitution says, no matter how clever its provisions, it will never be sound and constitutional government secure, if the people are not sound.

We often hear another account of the relationship between the people and the Constitution.  This account presents the Constitution as a necessary constraint on the people.  The people are a collection of self-interested individuals, perhaps even self-indulgent.  If not for the rule of law, the authority and the procedures of the Constitution, who knows what they would do? This was a view held by some at the time of our Founding.  It is a view still held today.

This must disturb those who love liberty.  For if the people are weak, and divided by self-interest, then the government must be strong.  For what else could control such people and direct them to useful ends?  It is also a paradoxical view of the Constitution, since some of those who complain of the self-interestedness of the people also praise limited government.  But, again, if the people are weak and divided, does this not encourage their government to be strong and to take over responsibilities for which the people are supposedly unfit?

How we, the people, view ourselves, therefore, is critical to the kind of government we have.  How should we view ourselves?  One test we might apply is a now ancient one, offered by those who sought to revive republican self-government after centuries of rule by emperors and kings.  The test was simply this.  What are the people like when a crisis comes?  What do they discover in themselves?

We might think this a test we will fail.  Have we not heard stories of the horrors in New Orleans following Hurricane Katrina, for example?  Once government disappeared—the narrative goes—savagery returned.  The first reports did convey that sense, but the first reports were wrong or at least exaggerated.  Further research has revealed that violence was rare; people helped one another.  The people of New Orleans and surrounding areas, in the absence of government, organized on their own an evacuation that saved thousands from the flood waters. 

Something similar but on a larger scale happened in New York City on September 11.  When the twin towers fell, thousands were trapped in lower Manhattan.  They moved to the tip of the island.   There they stood, growing numbers pressed against the water's edge.  Some of those who worked the waters around Manhattan started to take people aboard.  Other boats joined them, starting an evacuation that lasted almost nine hours and brought more than 300,000, perhaps nearly 500,000, to safety.  The evacuation took place without panic.  No one was injured or killed during it.

This evacuation was the spontaneous response of people to a crisis.  As such, it reveals something about the people.  One observer saw businessmen, no doubt from the financial district in lower Manhattan, those we might think of as the very paragons of conniving self-interest, carrying the old and disabled to boats, setting them down and then returning into the dust and crowds looking for others they could help.  Such actions occur not just in great crises like 9/11 or Hurricane Katrina. They occur when a tornado rips apart a town and people from surrounding communities come to help or when an ice storm takes out the electricity and neighbors share firewood or check on an elderly couple.

It is important, of course, not to flatter ourselves.  A small number of the people do take advantage of a crisis for their own ends.  The people did get some assistance from the government on 9/11.  Seeing the evacuation starting, the Coast Guard issued a call for all available boats and announced that the normal safety rules about how many passengers a boat might carry would not be enforced.  Above all, we should not take our bearings solely by what people do in a time of crisis.  We live mostly in more normal times, when complacency has a more marked effect and where the law as constraint and guide is helpful. 

Still, we should not accept the idea that the people are above all self-interested, especially if it suggests that the government, therefore, needs a heavy hand.  Or, perhaps, we should take from the example of how the people act in a crisis a better understanding of self-interest.  What we see in a crisis, we might say, is people who think enough of themselves, and what they can do, to think of others as well.  We see that self-interest in this sense derives from self-respect.  If you think well of yourself, you will take an interest in yourself.  Taking an interest in yourself, you will take an interest in and help those who are important to you, your family, friends, neighbors, and fellow-citizens.  The circle of regard spreads, in due proportion, outward from the self-regarding individual.  That is the true foundation upon which the Constitution and our hopes for limited government rest.

Ohio Farmer

A Commercial Republic

To My Fellow Citizens:

The United States was founded as a republic, but there was a spirited debate concerning the kind of republic the new country would be. Thomas Jefferson advocated an agrarian republic based on self reliant yeoman freeholders. He believed that domestic manufactures engendered dependence and corruption, both of which would undermine the virtues necessary to sustain republican government.

Alexander Hamilton, on the other hand, argued for a commercial republic. Only such a system, he thought, could provide the necessary conditions for the security, prosperity, and liberty of American citizens. Over the years, many have argued that the Founders saw commerce as a means of channeling the passions of the people, implying that the American republic is based on the narrow self interest of citizens. But Hamilton's understanding was more elevated.

He saw a commercial republic as creating not only prosperous and free citizens but also virtuous ones. The obligations incurred through commerce and trade would, in Hamilton's view, habituate the citizens of the United States to the virtuous and law-abiding behavior necessary for self-government and provide opportunities for developing the excellence of the human intellect.

In addition, Hamilton believed that commerce would provide the prosperity necessary for American greatness. A commercial republic would not only create the military and naval power necessary to enable a limited republican government to protect the natural rights of its citizens to their lives, liberty, and property, but also offer a hospitable environment for the most high-minded citizens to achieve the honors—even fame—they were capable of deserving for their exertions on behalf of their country. As Hamilton wrote in Federalist 72, "the best security for the fidelity of mankind is to make their interests coincide with their duty."

Hamilton's view prevailed and the United States has risen to become the most prosperous and powerful nation in the history of the world. But recent ongoing economic crises have undermined confidence in the commercial republic that for so long created wealth and power for American citizens. The reason for these economic crises can be traced to the abandonment of the very virtues that Hamilton sought to instill in his fellow citizens.

The virtue necessary to sustain republican government has been replaced with a sense of entitlement and debased dependency. Many Americans have come to accept the Progressive or European social-democratic idea that the purpose of government is not to protect the equal natural rights of individual citizens—the rights invoked by the Declaration of Independence: to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness—but instead to adjudicate the distribution of goods and services among competing claimants.

Those who take this position view the United States, not as a community of individuals, but as an array of groups whose demands must be met. But since government produces nothing on its own, certain favored groups prosper at the expense of others. Progressives invoke the language of rights, but what they mean by the term are privileges or claims to resources that are granted by government.

The result has been an explosion of government spending on behalf of client groups that threatens the financial stability not only of the United States but also of a global economy that depends on America's financial stability.  Debt in and of itself is not the problem. As Hamilton proved, debt prudently managed on behalf of a government of limited power, can lubricate the wheels of commerce. But massive government spending to provide limitless entitlements for a dependent class of recipients produces not only economic problems but political and moral ones. The very concept of "entitlements" creates a dependency that is at odds with, indeed undermines, republican virtue.

At the same time, the U.S. government has pursued policies and imposed regulations tailor-made to destroy the spirit of entrepreneurship that fuels a commercial republic.  As a result, the American economy limps along, as businesses curtail hiring workers and avoid productive investment in the face of uncertainty about future economic policy. Like barnacles on a ship, government policies place a drag on the productive spirit of American citizens that is necessary to achieve the benefits of a commercial society.

In order to reap those benefits, it is necessary to reinvigorate that entrepreneurial spirit. This can only be done by reversing the culture of dependence that the demand for government-provided entitlements has engendered, which has separated interest from duty, contrary to Hamilton's admonition. The primary goal of American statesmanship today must be to reunite the interest and duty of citizens, in Hamilton's sense.

Ohio Farmer

Congress and the Constitution

To the Members of the 112^th Congress:

Constitution Day approaches, the day on which we annually commemorate the signing of the Constitution on September 17, 1787, in Independence Hall in Philadelphia.  Americans—constitutional people that we are—should celebrate. After declaring our independence in 1776, the first action that "We the People" took was to give ourselves constitutions in our various states. Then we created our first national constitution, the Articles of Confederation. A few years later we replaced the Articles with the Constitution we still have today. We are not the oldest country in the world, but our written Constitution has endured longer than that of any other people. That fact is worth not only celebrating, but pondering.

This is especially important for members of Congress. As these letters have had occasion to observe, Congress is at the very heart of our experiment in constitutional self-government. In the Constitution, Congress comes first: it is Article I. Congress holds the law-making power without which the president has much less to do and the federal courts nothing at all.

Congress also has the greatest responsibility for interpreting our Constitution. Most people think that it is the job of the Supreme Court to tell us what the Constitution means. It is true, as Alexander Hamilton wrote in The Federalist #78, that "it is the proper and peculiar province of the courts to say what the law is," but many people have misinterpreted this passage. Hamilton does not say, and does not mean, that the Supreme Court is the only part of the federal government with the authority to interpret the Constitution, or that its interpretations are automatically supreme over Congress. He is simply defending the power of the federal courts to interpret the Constitution in order to decide the legal case in front of them, as courts must do. As he says in the essay, he is defending the independence of the federal courts, not their supremacy.

In fact, of all the branches, Congress has the primary authority to interpret the Constitution. Like the president or the Supreme Court, Congress receives its power from the Constitution.  Just as the president has no authority to act against the Constitution, you in Congress have no authority to pass legislation that violates it. So—as the 112^th Congress has distinguished itself by recognizing—every time you consider a bill, the first question you must ask yourself is not: "Do my constituents like it?" or even "Is it a good idea?" but "Is this Constitutional?" That's not a matter of partisan politics; it's a matter of legitimate authority.

In asking the very question, "Is this bill constitutional?" members of Congress are interpreting the Constitution. You can take that duty seriously or unseriously, but you cannot avoid it. In making ordinary law, Congress necessarily makes a judgment on the meaning of the "Supreme Law of the Land." Unlike the other branches, however, Congress is the first place for these judgments. The president does not have to consider the constitutionality of a bill until it reaches his desk; the Supreme Court does not have to think about it unless and until a case reaches its bar. You must weigh it while the legislation is being drafted, while it is being examined in committee, and while it is being debated on the floor.  A bill should never make it out of committee, much less Congress, without the most serious constitutional deliberation.

This is why it is so heartening that the 112^th Congress began by reading the document that enumerates its powers, and why it is so important that bills cite their constitutional source of authority. It means that Congress is taking seriously its duty to interpret our Constitution.

In doing that, you are restoring an old tradition that had almost been forgotten. Since the beginning of the Republic, Congress has been the place for our nation's great constitutional debates. Consider the disputes in the 19^th century over the national bank, or the tariff, or the power of Congress to prohibit slavery in the Western Territories. Or in the 20^th century over regulating industry, establishing Social Security, or passing the War Powers Resolution. At each of these moments, it has been Congress that engaged in the most serious and searching debate on the meaning of the Constitution.

That constitutional deliberation must continue in Congress if we are going to restore the American experiment in self-government. For it is in Congress where the American people most fully govern themselves: where the common rights and responsibilities of the American people are submitted to law, and where the variety of the legitimate interests of the American people are most fully represented. When people's representatives engage in constitutional deliberation, the American people engage in it too.

This is a day to remember that if the Constitution is going to endure—if the American people are going to continue to be a constitutional people—Congress must be the place where the Constitution is most deeply studied, interpreted, and lived out. Only then will the habits and principles of constitutional government be restored in our law.

Happy Constitution Day.

Ohio Farmer

Changing Direction

To the Members of the 112^th Congress:

Much good has been done in Washington recently.  I do not refer to the details of the debt reduction agreement, some of which we have already noted, but to the change it signifies—a change of course for the country. Turning around a fleet of aircraft carriers is child's play compared to turning around the ship of state, but I believe we see before our eyes the signs of a great, ponderous movement of America in the right direction. We owe this hopeful movement largely to the determination of the constitutional conservatives within the GOP and to the good judgment of the new Speaker of the House of Representatives.

If you wonder why liberals are in a funk, why the President's approval ratings are hitting rock-bottom, why he signed off on the debt reduction agreement in virtual secrecy, why he is being criticized openly by progressives and even being compared to the feckless Jimmy Carter, why there is disarray within the Democratic Party, you need look no further than to those who elected a GOP majority in the House, the courage of the Representatives who were elected, and the prudence of Speaker Boehner.  He got almost everything he could reasonably have hoped for in the debt reduction agreement, producing the most radical reorientation of government in our generation. President Obama and the Democrats agreed to massive spending cuts, with more to come, and no tax increases.

This is a strategic and tactical disaster for the progressives and the Democrats, but, far more important is that the debt ceiling debate exposed what Speaker Boehner calls "the arrogant habits of Washington" and opened fundamental political and constitutional questions.  The debate in Washington is shifting away from the favors government might bestow to the question of the proper role of government. As satisfying as his political victory must be, Boehner should be most encouraged by the opening now created to begin a broader conversation about big-government liberalism—really limitless-government liberalism—and why it must be reined in.

If those who brought this about remain resolute, there is a chance of bringing American government back within the bounds of the Constitution.  Boehner and his Republican supporters are beginning to disprove an assumption held by progressives and liberals (and the media) since the New Deal: that government will always grow in size and scope, that all spending increases are permanent. This is a historic change, a movement toward re-establishing public recognition that there are some things it is better not to ask government to do (see Constitutional Lines). The ear of the public is now listening to the argument for limited self-government. If their elected representatives and other public leaders can continue to explain why limiting the power of the federal government is a good thing, we have the opportunity to form public sentiment into a durable governing consensus.

During the debate over the debt ceiling, much was said about how our government is so divided that it is dysfunctional, and how the solution to the perceived problem is bi-partisanship. Some went so far as to assert that the purpose of government is efficiency. Others argued or implied that a parliamentary system would be preferable to the constitutional one we have. After all, there are problems in the world, and our government is not solving them. 

We continue to hear such assertions on a daily basis, but they miss the point. The fact is that our Constitution builds in division (see The Sense of the People); it deliberately makes it difficult to form majorities, and even more difficult to hold them. The Constitution's purpose is not efficiency.  Our constitutional government is not unified, as is, for example, the British Parliamentary regime (we note in passing that the British prime minister speaks for the government, while our president speaks for his administration, only a part of the government). With its federalism, separation of powers, bi-cameralism, and other inventions of prudence, our republican regime intentionally divides, checks, and balances power, so that,

in the extended republic of the United States, and among the great variety of interests, parties, and sects which it embraces, a coalition of a majority of the whole society could seldom take place on any other principles than those of justice and the general good.

Of course, this means that large issues cannot be quickly resolved. Changing direction in our constitutional regime is wonderfully and deliberately complicated.

The easiest and quickest way to form part of our constitutional majority is through the House of Representatives.  Should we be surprised that the new majority in the House—formed but two years into the majority that won the presidency and both branches of Congress for the Democrats—should assert itself?  And should we be surprised that the President's response is to ask this newest majority to become bi-partisan (read "Democrat")?  Politics is not rocket science.

The election of Ronald Reagan in 1980, along with the first Republican Senate majority since 1954, alerted us to divisions in the American electorate that had been muffled during the prior fifty years. Since then noisy debates have continued, with Republicans losing the Senate, then regaining it, losing the presidency, then winning the House, then losing it, and so on. We will need more than a few electoral cycles—and continued conversation and persuasion from the Republicans—to see whether the determination to limit government will take root in public opinion and become the principle of a new governing majority in American politics. In the meantime, let the divisions and the arguments for and against constitutional limits continue. Public reflection and constitutional deliberation is our strength, not our weakness.

Ohio Farmer

The Sense of the People

To the Members of the 112th Congress:

In the negotiations over increasing the national debt ceiling, one fact is so obvious it has barely been mentioned: America has a government that can be, and currently is, divided. A Democratic president and Senate majority leader sit at the table with a Republican Speaker of the House.

Were the configuration otherwise, as it was between the 2008 and 2010 elections when Democrats controlled the House of Representatives as well as the Senate and the presidency, the debt ceiling debate would probably not be taking place at all. When Democratic majorities in both houses of Congress passed an increase in the debt ceiling in 2010, Republican legislators made some critical speeches but the bill moved swiftly to President Obama's desk for signature.

The possibility of divided government inheres in a constitutional republic where both houses of a bicameral legislature and the head of the executive branch are all elected by the people, but not by the same people at the same time. As our civics textbooks teach us, each Representative is elected for two years by voters in one of the 435 congressional districts. Senators are elected every six years, state-by-state. Because those six-year terms are staggered, only one third of the Senate faces the voters in any given election, while the entire membership of the House does. Presidents are elected every four years by the entire, constitutionally organized, national electorate.

Divisions like America's could never occur in a parliamentary democracy where the people elect the entire legislature at once. The party that wins a majority forms a government, and the prime minister – a member of the legislature, as are all the cabinet members – submits legislation that his party invariably passes. Such systems have been described as "dictatorships punctuated by elections."

More than a century ago, the American Progressives began their historic assault on our constitutional system, yearning for the clarity and dispatch of a parliamentary system. Woodrow Wilson, for example, sought sweeping reforms that would "make self-government among us a straightforward thing of simple method, single, unstinted power, and clear responsibility." H.L. Mencken, Wilson's contemporary, offered a less celebratory expression of the same idea: "Democracy is the theory that the common people know what they want, and deserve to get it good and hard."

One strand of the political philosophy woven into the Constitution is that sometimes the people don't know what they want, and other times they think they do, only to wind up regretting their "settled" opinions after some reassessment. The Constitution's authors believed, as one of them stated in Federalist 63, that "where the concurrence of separate and dissimilar bodies [such as the House and Senate] is required in every public act," the republic is best prepared to navigate "particular moments in public affairs when the people . . . may call for measures which they themselves will afterwards be the most ready to lament and condemn." The objective, as we have had several occasions to observe in these letters, is that "the cool and deliberate sense of the community" will "ultimately prevail."

Each party would clearly prefer to deal with the debt ceiling, and the nation's long-term fiscal problems, on its own terms, with both houses of Congress and the presidency under its control. If the Democrats had their way, that would mean higher taxes, especially on the rich; more borrowing, especially until the unemployment rate is much lower; and few spending cuts, especially from domestic programs. If Republicans controlled both ends of Pennsylvania Avenue, they would emphasize spending cuts, especially to domestic programs; less borrowing; tax reforms to apply lower, simpler tax rates to a broader, more vigorous tax base; and regulatory reforms to stimulate economic growth.

Which approach best reflects "the will of the people"? That may be a question that doesn't, at least for the moment, really have an answer. It's not as though either party's philosophy has been hidden over the past years, or undergone profound changes. The voters knew what they were getting when they gave Republicans control over all the federal elected branches from 2002 to 2006, and then when they disliked the results, and chose to check a Republican president with a Democratic House and Senate. The voters knew, or should have known, what they were getting when they empowered Democrats to run everything in 2008, and then again two years later when they decided to return the Republicans to a majority in the House to curtail the Democrats' policy-making latitude.

It would be fair to say, in other words, that the electorate has serious misgivings about both the Democrats' "big government" approach and the Republicans' "limited government" one. After signing up for either, the people quickly succumb to buyer's remorse and avail themselves of the opportunity to weaken or impede the "mandate" they conferred an election or two ago.

Americans didn't used to hedge their political bets this way. From 1900 to 1980 the White House, Senate, and House of Representatives were controlled by the same party for a total of 56 years, 70% of the time. Those 56 years included 14 consecutive years of Democratic control, from 1932 to 1946, when the New Deal was launched, and eight more from 1960 to 1968, which saw the beginning of the Great Society.

By the time the ballots from the 2012 election are counted, the same party will have controlled both houses of Congress and the presidency for only 8 of the preceding 32 years, or 25% of the time. This new era, in which divided government is the rule rather than the exception, was ushered in by the election of Ronald Reagan to the presidency, and GOP victories that gave the party its first Senate majority since 1954.

It's hard to believe that these two developments – the emergence of a credible conservative opposition to the governmental activism promoted by FDR and LBJ, and the beginning of a long era in which partisan majorities are rare and transient – are coincidental. Roosevelt and Johnson spoke to and for an American majority that liked the benefactions big government bestowed. Reagan spoke to and for a majority grown skeptical about the taxes, borrowing, and regulatory intrusions big government required.

That skepticism was sufficient to slow the growth of big government, but not to dismantle the New Deal/Great Society. For the past thirty-one years the American people have straddled an untenable position: voting in favor of most of what big government does, but against most of what big government requires. The debate in Washington over the debt ceiling is an echo of the debate, across America, over the proper scope and cost of government, a debate that seeks a resolution it has not yet found. The cool and deliberate sense of the national community will ultimately prevail, but it must first settle on one or the other of two alternatives that are fundamentally opposed.

Ohio Farmer

Novus Ordo Seclorum

To the Members of the 112th Congress:

America will always have the honor of being the first nation on earth to dedicate itself to the self evident truth that all men are created equal, as it did in declaring independence on July 4, 1776. In that dedication truly was created a New Order of the Ages—a Novus Ordo Seclorum as we say on the Great Seal of the United States. Let us take the occasion of this Independence Day to continue our reflections on what this means. What does it tell us about the foundations, forms, and purposes of American politics? What does it require of us—deserve from us?

Lincoln called the idea of equality the central idea of the American political experiment, from which all its other ideas radiate. It is, he wrote, “an abstract truth, applicable to all men and all times”; it is a philosophical idea about human nature and the just relations of each human being to all others. The revolutionary and founding generation of Americans expressed this idea of human equality in a variety of ways. The familiar language of the Declaration of Independence is "that all men are created equal." To express the same idea, the Virginia Declaration of Rights (June 12, 1776) stated that "all men are by nature equally free and independent." The Declaration of the Rights of the Inhabitants of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts (March 2, 1780) stated that "All men are born free and equal."

To say that all men are by nature equal is to say that human beings are not naturally subordinated one to another: Whatever the many differences may be among human beings, no man is by nature a master; no man is by nature a slave. This is what Jefferson’s vivid metaphor meant, which we quoted in the last letter: "the mass of mankind has not been born with saddles on their backs, nor a favored few booted and spurred, ready to ride them legitimately, by the grace of God." Of this revolutionary idea, at the heart of the Declaration and at the heart of the American experiment in self-government, Lincoln wrote on the eve of Civil War, “that to-day, and in all coming days, it shall be a rebuke and a stumbling-block to the very harbingers of re-appearing tyranny and oppression.” And so it has proven to be: a powerful rebuke and a stumbling block to every form of tyranny and oppression—whether of race, class, or religion, whether home grown or foreign born—that has raised its head over the past two centuries.

Human beings, then, are naturally free as they are naturally equal. It is from this human equality and freedom that the founders derived the idea that government could only be justly founded on consent. Because human beings are not by nature subordinated to one another—that is, because they are equal and free—their consent must be obtained before any human being may rightfully exercise authority over them. It is the voluntary consent of the people that gives authority to government. Only a being possessing reason—a being who can distinguish right from wrong—is capable of voluntary consent. This is why the deepest root of American politics is in the fact, as Thomas Jefferson put it in the Virginia Statute for Religious Liberty, “that Almighty God hath created the mind free.”

Government among free and equal men is formed, the American Founders would say, by social contract or social compact. In the words of the Massachusetts Constitution of 1780: "The body-politic is formed by a voluntary association of individuals: It is a social compact, by which the whole people covenants with each citizen, and each citizen with the whole people." The American body-politic is a voluntary association begun when, in the last words of the Declaration of Independence, "for the support of this Declaration, with a firm Reliance on the Protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge[d] to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor." This is the political community that new citizens enter into when they become citizens. To take on the responsibilities of such citizenship, it is necessary—for citizens old and new—to understand the principles on which this citizenship is based. So it is a useful tradition, as the Fourth of July comes around each year, to reflect again—and again—on the American political principles famously declared to the world on the original Independence Day.

As Thomas Jefferson wrote late in life, in drafting the Declaration of Independence he had not meant to proclaim any "new principles, or new arguments, never before thought of," but merely to express "the American mind." The Declaration contains a stunning summation of the principles of free government; but it was only because the American people already understood these principles that it was possible to establish a government based upon them. Similarly, only if we are capable of understanding these principles will we be able to preserve and perpetuate, maybe even to strengthen and improve, the free institutions—the Novus Ordo Seclorum—that began to arise from them in 1776.  For our own sake and for the sake of the cause to which our country was dedicated on that original Fourth of July, let us take this occasion to renew our dedication to that cause and its noble principles. No one else can do it for us. It will do a world of good. And it is a cause worthy of the last full measure of devotion.
Happy Fourth.

Ohio Farmer

A City Upon a Hill

To the Members of the 112th Congress:

 Is America exceptional? Is it unique among the nations? If so, what makes it so? And what are the implications of the fact? These are not policy questions, but questions about ideas and historical circumstances that are at the foundation of policies. They are the kinds of questions, it seems, that you and other elected and appointed public officials are often compelled for no particularly good reason to answer, as was the president a short time ago. Perhaps this may sometimes seem a tedious requirement of your job, especially when journalists asking the questions have no interest other than ginning up a headline. And so it is understandable if on occasion you reach for plausible sounding formulas in the hope that they will not cause a headline of an undesirable sort. But your answers can matter a great deal. They can be an opportunity to shape the public’s sentiments and opinions in a way that helps free government remain good government.  Answering such questions—even when they haven’t been asked—has in the course of our history given an opportunity for America’s greatest statesmen in small or large ways to strengthen the capacity of their fellow citizens to govern themselves. On the other hand, there is hardly a greater mischief that can be done to the people than to give them bad answers to such questions.

In my last letter I took the liberty of questioning the notion, recently espoused by some leading public officials, that America is exceptional because its principles give it a special right and responsibility to lead. This is a confusion, I argued, if an understandable confusion, of a genuine American exceptionalism that is older than America itself—namely, the idea of America as an example to the world—“a city upon a hill,” as John Winthrop said to the future Massachusetts Bay colonists.  By 1776, when the thirteen colonies assumed their separate and equal station among the powers of the earth as the United States of America, they did so proclaiming principles that made America truly exceptional.  “We hold these truths to be self evident,” they declared, “that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights,” including life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. No people on earth had ever based the authority of their laws on such an assertion. So the historic effort to establish government upon this principle was in truth an unprecedented and exceptional—a then unique—experiment in self government.

As Thomas Jefferson put it in his last surviving letter, written just before he died fifty years to the day after July 4, 1776, the American idea of equality meant “that the mass of mankind has not been born with saddles on their backs, nor a favored few booted and spurred, ready to ride them legitimately, by the grace of God.” America was exceptional in founding our politics on what is least exceptional about us, on what we share with all other human beings at all times and in all places, rather than on any accidents of birth or circumstance that separate us.  For this reason, Jefferson thought that the principles proclaimed in the Declaration not only gave hope to all Americans but were “grounds of hope for others,” everywhere and always.

The experiment of living up to these principles is the American experiment—the effort generation after generation to rise to equality, as Lincoln put it. So long as America remains America, it will be the country first dedicated to this proposition that all men are created equal, and ever aspiring to rise to its demands. Lincoln, echoing Jefferson, called the American idea the “principle of ‘Liberty to all’—the principle that clears the path for all—gives hope to all—and, by consequence, enterprise, and industry to all.”

The American experiment claimed to be an exceptional experiment not only because of its principles, but because conditions here in America were more favorable to the experiment in self-government than anywhere else in the world. The Founders’ America really was a land of opportunity as had never been known in the world before. The United States, as the saying then had it, became “the best poor man’s country on earth.”  Ordinary people, secure in their equal liberty and therefore full of hope and enterprise, could farm their own land and enjoy in peace the bread of their labor; and for the first time in human history, they or their children could aspire without limit to great things—even to the Presidency of the United States. If the experiment in self government fails here, our Founders thought, that failure might be taken as a strong proof that, contrary to American assertions, human beings are not made to govern themselves.

Just as Jefferson and Lincoln hoped, the example of America has helped spread the blessings of liberty to other peoples. Many countries now claim equality as the principle of their politics.  May they live up to those principles, as we hope to do ourselves!

Here in America, when we succeed in living up to our principles, we do something more important than establishing our right to lead.  We establish our worthiness to lead, whenever our interest guided by our justice should require. To rise to these principles, we must understand them. And since we are not born understanding them, we arrange as best we can to learn them from one another—sometimes by listening to our politicians talk about our country—and to hand them down to our children. Can there be a more propitious occasion to refresh our understanding than the annual approach of the Fourth of July?  Let us return to these themes next week.

Ohio Farmer

The Spirit of Checks and Balances

To the Members of the 112th Congress:

Senator Harry Reid of Nevada recently stated that the National Labor Relations Board, the regulatory agency established by the 1935 National Labor Relations Act, was “created in the same spirit of checks and balances” as the U.S. Constitution itself. NLRB “acts as a check on employers and employees alike,” said Reid. “It safeguards employees’ rights to unionize or not to unionize, if they so choose, it mediates allegations of unfair labor practices, and it does all this independent of any outside influence.”

Reid was defending NLRB’s decision to issue a complaint against Boeing, the aircraft manufacturer, for opening a new production facility in South Carolina to produce its latest commercial aircraft, the 787 “Dreamliner.” The NLRB filed its complaint, which is similar to an indictment in criminal court, because its acting general counsel contends that the company decided to open the South Carolina plant in order to threaten the International Association of Machinists, the union representing workers at Boeing’s 787 plant in Seattle, Washington.

The reasoning is that Boeing was attempting to punish IAM for going out on strike in the past, and intimidate it from going out on strike in the future, by opening a new facility to produce the 787 in a state where only 2.8% of private-sector employees are union members. Such an action, the complaint alleges, unlawfully discriminates against those Seattle workers represented by the union. Demonstrating a nice gift for irony, NLRB insists that it does not seek to prohibit Boeing from running its South Carolina factory, only to prevent the company from illegally intimidating IAM. The NLRB remedy, however, is to require Boeing to open and operate a second, unionized 787 factory in Seattle – one that would, of course, turn the non-unionized plant in South Carolina into a hugely expensive redundancy.

Reid’s argument could be considered a faint, though distorted, echo of the assertion in Federalist 51 that the Constitution’s “policy of supplying, by opposite and rival interests, the defect of better motives, might be traced through the whole system of human affairs, private as well as public.” In classical economic thought, of course, the defect of better motives in private affairs is supplied when individuals seeking their own benefit wind up inadvertently improving the lives of others by offering goods and services that are of higher quality or sold at lower prices than those provided by their competitors. As Adam Smith wrote in The Wealth of Nations, “It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker, that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest. We address ourselves, not to their humanity but to their self-love, and never talk to them of our necessities but of their advantages.”

When he suggests that it is a logical extension of the American founding to have a government agency tell a company where it may and must locate its factories and offices, Reid is reflecting the New Deal idea that market competition was no longer a sufficient restraint on powerful industrial enterprises. The economist John Kenneth Galbraith argued for the same view in American Capitalism: regulatory agencies and labor unions imparted to our economic system the benefits of “countervailing power.” Such entities would offset the dominance of giant corporations in markets that were, Galbraith argued, theoretically but not effectively free.

Galbraith and Reid notwithstanding, for a federal agency to lay the groundwork to order a private company to build its products here and not there is contrary to, not consistent with, the logic of the American founding. For one thing, the Constitution protects both the ability of the individual states to govern their internal affairs, and the free flow of commerce between the states. States are prohibited, for example, from levying duties on goods “imported” from other states of the Union. The Constitution was, in this sense, the original North American Free Trade Agreement.

When Congress amended the National Labor Relations Act in 1947, it explicitly authorized state governments to enact “right-to-work” laws, which stipulate that private employers may not fire employees who refuse to join a union or pay union dues. Since a labor union is a kind of cartel, where sellers of labor agree not to compete against one another, right-to-work laws have generally had the intended effect of preventing unions from forming and growing. Since 1947, twenty-two states, including South Carolina but not Washington, have enacted such laws.

Since right-to-work provisions are legal, and the free flow of commerce between states is constitutional, it’s hard to see how the NLRB’s proposed course of action can be wise. If the agency winds up forcing Boeing to build production facilities in Washington, when the company would rather build them in South Carolina, it will nullify Boeing’s right to choose how to run its business, and South Carolina’s right to choose how to run its state.

There are other problems with Reid’s position. Although the Constitution states, “All legislative powers herein granted shall be vested in a Congress of the United States,” Reid means to restrain Congress when he describes NLRB, an entity created by Congress, as an agency that does its work “independent of any outside influence.” The outside influence he resents is Congress itself, or at least its Republican members. For Republicans in Congress to object to NLRB’s course of action concerning Boeing is “inappropriate … disgraceful and dangerous.”

Reid does not, apparently, have a gift for irony. He is outraged that elected members of Congress are objecting to an NLRB inspector bringing a complaint about the violation of NLRB rules before an NLRB administrative law judge – because of the threat such political “interference” poses to the “spirit of checks and balances.” The genius of the Constitution was to separate legislative, executive, and judicial powers. The genius of the New Deal was to combine them in agencies whose employees and friends want to keep them independent from – politics. Independent, that is, of democratic self-government. Independent, in other words, from the people.

“Which Side Are You On?” asks the anthem of the American labor movement. We know which side Harry Reid is on, and it isn’t James Madison’s.

Ohio Farmer

The Commerce Clause

To the Members of the 112^th Congress: 

Are there any limits, in principle, remaining on federal power in America?  We have seen in these letters that there are elected and appointed officials and citizens in the country who would answer, for all practical purposes: “No.” We have also seen that the question is not closed and that it is not just for lawyers or judges to decide; it belongs to all the people, and to all three branches of government.  Let us reflect on one path our nation took that, over the course of a couple of generations, made assertions of unlimited federal power commonplace in America; and let us consider some recent decisions by the courts that remind us that the constitutional conversation is not over. 

Much of the current debate over federal authority (including the lawsuit over the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act—PPACA or Obamacare) turns on how much power Congress has under the Commerce Clause, which states that “Congress shall have Power to . . . regulate Commerce . . . among the several States.”  The Founders inserted the Commerce Clause into the Constitution to correct a deficiency in the Articles of Confederation, which led states to impose duties on goods from other states, or goods which traveled through their states.  James Madison lamented that, in some cases, it was cheaper to buy goods from Great Britain than from a neighboring state given the taxes and duties that the states were placing on the goods.  The Commerce Clause was intended to give Congress the authority to facilitate the free flow of goods among the states. 

In the late 19^th and early 20th century, states began to regulate areas like working conditions, hours, and crop production and pricing, but Progressives argued that federal regulation was necessary to bring about more reforms.  Many of these policies enjoyed (and continue to enjoy) some measure of popular support. But there was a problem for those who wished to implement the policies at the federal level: the Constitution provided no general authority to regulate businesses.  And so, Progressives and New Dealers in Congress and the White House turned to the Commerce Clause.   

For a time, Progressives and New Dealers were politically successful in promoting their agenda in Congress and the White House, but they had less success in the courts, which found that, while Congress had authority to regulate some local activities that affected interstate commerce, the authority was limited. With retirements, replacements, and threats of court packing, the Court’s position changed over time.  By 1942, the Court decided a case in a way that many believed spelled the end of any limitation on federal authority.  In Wickard v. Filburn, the Court found that the federal government could regulate wheat grown by a farmer for personal consumption under the theory that such local activity, when aggregated, could substantially affect interstate commerce.  

After Wickard, Congress passed innumerable regulations covering business and non-business activity alike based upon the Commerce Clause and the theory that, when aggregated, just about any activity could substantially affect commerce.  Over the course of decades, presidents of both parties signed legislation based upon expanding notions of federal authority, and on the popularity of the underlying legislative policy, and the courts acceded to the enterprise. But the constitutional conversation continued. In the mid-1990s, the Supreme Court struck down the Gun Free School Zones Act, finding that the federal government does not have a general police power to regulate the non-economic act of carrying a gun in a school zone.  Next, the Court struck down a provision of the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA), which permitted individuals to sue their alleged attackers for gender motivated violence.  The Court again found that non-economic violent actions could not be aggregated to establish a substantial connection to interstate commerce. 

Both of these bills were popular, passing Congress with overwhelming majorities.  And why not? Very few would argue in the abstract against banning guns at schools or prohibiting gender-motivated violence.  Given the popularity of the legislation, the Court’s decisions were first widely attacked, but over time they began to receive acceptance in quarters where few expected it. A constitutional conversation was kindled, between the branches—and among the people. Some feminists, for example, who chastised the Court for striking down VAWA, recognized that they did not like the idea of a federal government with unrestricted regulatory authority over their lives.  Citizens and their representatives began to talk not merely about whether the policy objectives sought by Congress were desirable, but whether the federal government was empowered to act in that sphere at all. 

Which brings us back to Obamacare.  Is it bad policy?  That is a very important question. But whatever we might think about that, let us not fail to give our full and best attention to the separate and even more important question: Is it constitutional?  Even the courts that have upheld the act have recognized that there is something unprecedented at play.  Never before has Congress ordered citizens to buy something, and penalized them for failing to do so. If this is permitted, what are the limits? Congress doesn’t have the power to pass any law it wants; it has the powers given to it by the American people through our Constitution—nothing less, but also nothing more. Limits matter. A law based on the assumption that the commerce power is unlimited violates the basic principle of constitutional self-government.

What limits are there to federal authority? This should be the focus of our constitutional conversation.

Ohio Farmer

A Decent Respect

To the Members of the 112^th Congress:

Following the killing of Osama bin Laden on the orders of the President of the United States, some prominent European politicians, clerics, and journalists condemned the act. Americans, many of whom continue publicly to applaud bin Laden’s death, were likened to “Muslims celebrating in the Gaza Strip” following the attacks on America on September 11, 2001. What should Americans think of such criticisms? How, more generally, should we regard the opinions of the peoples and governments of other nations?

To take the second question first, the natural American place to begin a response seems to be with the Declaration that announced our independence to the world in 1776, a declaration that was offered out of “a decent respect to the opinions of mankind,” which “requires that [Americans] should declare the causes which impel them to the separation [from Great Britain].” Declaring the causes of our actions—giving reasons for them—was an act of respect for the opinions of mankind because it treated mankind as if their opinions could respond to reasons. This was a hopeful view of the human condition. It did honor to human nature and imposed expectations on human capacities.

The central idea proclaimed in the declaration—the main reason for our action—was the self evident truth that “all men are created equal,” that is, that all men everywhere and at all times possess by nature equal rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Of course, this was an idea that seemed self-evidently untrue to the hereditary monarchs and nobility of Europe. So America showed its first respect for the opinions of mankind by disagreeing with most of them!—and in the same breath telling the peoples of the world how they might show greater respect for themselves, by recognizing and asserting the rights of their own humanity. 

Americans were keenly aware how difficult it would be to live up to the principle they were proclaiming—how heroic and continuous an effort would be required of themselves or any people that aspired to rise to equality. This very difficulty is partly what makes it such an “honorable determination  . . . to rest all our political experiments on the capacity of mankind for self-government.”  As I have written in an earlier letter, “Any people that wished to be free, including the Americans, would have to demonstrate this capacity for themselves, and continue to demonstrate it each generation.”  What could be more honorable to human nature? What could show greater respect to mankind and their opinions?

The American experiment claims to be a glorious experiment because it aims, for the first time in human history, to make actual the potential for self government that we Americans insist human beings have by nature. This is what the founders meant when they soberly—and by no means arrogantly—reflected on the fact that it seems to have been reserved to “the people of this country, by their conduct and example, to decide the important question, whether societies of men are really capable or not of establishing good government from reflection and choice.”

The greatest respect Americans can show for the opinions of mankind is to take responsibility for being the kind of self governing people we invite all people to be. Taking such responsibility may require, in the sometimes hard course of human events, the killing of the bin Ladens of this world. As I said in my last letter, our men who killed bin Laden were “armed above all with the authority of the people of the United States.  That is what dignified their violence and distinguished it from the brutality authored by their target.” How can the “authority of the people”—us—dignify such an act, raise it above the barbarism and savagery of bin Laden and all who support him and cheer him on? Only, I think, if “we the people” are the people we claimed to be, insisted on being, at our beginning—a people claiming the right to govern ourselves, as we proclaim and respect the same right for all other human beings; a people doing everything in our power to cultivate in ourselves the capacities necessary to vindicate this natural human right.  

Such a people will conduct themselves so that an attack upon them could never in truth be said to be a blessing to mankind; so that if they are compelled to some harsh measure like the killing of bin Laden, the world may truly be said to be better off because of it.  Such a people will arrange the political affairs of their land so that no one could with justice wish for the displacement of their rule by that of an enemy.  They will be neither self-aggrandizing nor self-sacrificing.  They will approach the world, in Washington’s words, as their "interest, guided by justice, shall counsel."

Such a people will understand that politics, though it must sometimes resort to harsh necessities like the killing of bin Ladens, is in the final analysis not reducible to such necessities.  Even Sun Tzu, that great teacher of the art of war, understood that "[t]hose who excel in war [must] first cultivate their own humanity and justice," that war is conducted ultimately for the sake of peace.  Closer to home, our own John Adams offered his American version of that human wisdom, when he reflected , “I must study Politicks and War that my sons may have liberty to study Mathematicks and Philosophy.” The successful practice of the arts of necessity—which are forced upon us by the needs of mere life—seems to be a necessary condition for the flourishing of the arts of freedom—which we pursue because they prepare us to deserve, by using well, "the blessings of liberty."

What about the more particular question, about American rejoicings at the killing of bin Laden? Of course, no self-respecting, self-governing people will condone dancing in the street to celebrate cruel necessities. Nor would it be a proud moment for such a people to make these cruel necessities applause lines in campaign rallies. But only a good people—a people able to take responsibility for choosing right over wrong—can be a self-governing people, and the world will be a sad place when good people can no longer rejoice at the triumph, however small and incomplete, of good over evil.

Ohio Farmer

A Republic If We Can Keep It

To the Members of the 112^th Congress:

That America is emphatically an “experiment” in self government is a prominent theme of these letters. It is a noble experiment. We are honorably determined to stake the fate of our country on the capacity of Americans to govern themselves, knowing full well that this capacity is a rare and difficult thing for human beings to achieve and maintain. The capacity to govern ourselves is the capacity to set reasonable limits for ourselves. Our greatest act of self government in this sense was the act by which “we, the people” submitted our sovereign power to the Constitution, which is at once our creation and the Supreme Law over us.  We have seen in earlier letters various ways in which the Progressive project—which produced the New Deal, the Great Society, and their contemporary successors—aims to replace the Constitution with a “living constitution,” removing in principle all limits on what government might do or how it might do it. This has been the great challenge to self government for the past century. It remains the great challenge for us. It has not been, and it will not be, easy to meet it.

In his speech on April 13 at George Washington University, President Obama explained in his own way why this is the case. “You see,” he said, by way of explaining America’s deficit problem, “most Americans tend to dislike government spending in the abstract, but like the stuff that it buys.” Here, I think, the President is saying essentially what former Speaker of the House of Representatives, Thomas P. “Tip” O’Neill, meant by his most quoted maxim: “All politics is local.” The Progressive agenda counts on the fact that we Americans like the stuff government spending buys, just as Tip O’Neill counted on all politics being local. 

Whenever it was that O’Neill uttered that nugget, he was speaking as a politician, not a political scientist.  A Democrat who won his first election—to the Massachusetts legislature—in 1936, the year voters endorsed the New Deal by overwhelmingly reelecting President Franklin Roosevelt, O’Neill won his last election—to a 17th term in Congress—in 1984, the year Ronald Reagan won his landslide reelection by challenging the propriety and feasibility of continuing the New Deal’s commitment to activist government.  In saying that all politics was local, O’Neill was pushing back against Reaganism, insisting that even if Americans had become dubious about activist government in general, they were still good New Dealers when it came to the particular benefits their own towns and neighborhoods could receive from government programs.  Like Tip O’Neill, President Obama thinks—and not without reason—that Americans will be good New Dealers when push comes to shove. They will like the “stuff” they can get from government so much that, despite their self governing inclinations, they will not be able to resist making themselves more and more dependent on government. 

Reagan and O’Neill, the two antagonists of the 1980s, fought to a draw.  Government spending on social programs grew more slowly under Reagan than under any other modern president, but he was never able to make good on the promise, announced in his first inaugural address, “to curb the size and influence of the Federal establishment.”  At the same time, the nation remained so wary of government’s ambitions that two years after O’Neill’s death a Democratic president, at the start of his own reelection campaign, found it necessary to declare, “The era of big government is over.” 

This political ambivalence, in which Americans have been constitutionalists in principle but Progressives in practice (recognizing the dangers of unlimited government in the abstract, but liking “the stuff that it buys”) has been durable, but there are signs it is becoming untenable.  At the “local” level, the New York Times reported last year that many bond market experts “fear that as states struggle with their growing debts, investors could decide not to buy the debt of the weakest state or local governments,” which “would force a crisis, since states cannot operate if they cannot borrow.”  The crisis seems most formidable in states like California, Illinois, New Jersey and New York—“blue” states, where big government remains very popular.  

At the national level, we read of numbers that tend to numb the minds of even the most public-spirited citizens: the Congressional Budget Office recently forecast that the path charted in President Obama’s 2012 budget would require the federal government to borrow $9.5 trillion over the next ten years.  Federal government debt held by the public equaled 36% of the U.S. Gross Domestic Product in 2007, before the recession began, and 62% of GDP in 2010.  By 2021 (just ten years from now), according to the CBO’s scenario, it will equal 87% of GDP, $20.8 trillion, a level most economists believe would be debilitating, especially since the forces increasing federal deficits are likely to be even stronger in the third decade of this century than in the second.  To cite just one problem, CBO projects interest payments on the national debt will rise from 1.7% of GDP in 2012 to 3.9% in 2021, by which time they will exceed $900 billion per year. That’s just the interest, as the President reminded us. 

It will not be easy for Americans to be constitutionalists in theory and Progressives in practice if our elected government cannot pay its bills.  If the lenders it depends on grow deeply skeptical about its ability to raise taxes or control spending, they will refuse to buy government bonds.  (The manager of the world’s largest bond fund recently reduced the percentage of its holdings in U.S. government-issued debt to zero.)  Less drastically, lenders will demand a costly interest premium to offset the risk of default by state and local governments, or of inflation sponsored by a federal government to reduce its debt by devaluing the currency.  At some point, the question becomes, not whether people like it when the government gives things to us and does things for us—as the President knows, both logic and experience demonstrate conclusively that we do—the crucial question becomes whether people like Progressive government’s endeavors enough to pay for them.  

If we don’t, if it becomes democratically impossible either to raise the taxes necessary to fund the government’s operations, or to reduce the scope of its activities to a level that can be accommodated by the taxes the people are willing to pay, then the Progressive project collapses.  The people will no longer mediate the disparity between what they demand from government and what they surrender to it.  Instead, decisive power over governance will pass to the lenders who keep public-sector operations afloat.   

Such a result would be a financial debacle.  The hard choices the people and their elected representatives now refuse to make will, in retrospect, be far easier than the policy changes an unsentimental bond market insists on as the price for further credit.  But the political failure will be even more deplorable.  In the well-known anecdote already recalled in these letters and sure to be noted again, Benjamin Franklin, upon being asked after the final meeting at Independence Hall in 1787 what kind of government the constitutional convention had fashioned, is supposed to have said, “A republic, if you can keep it.”  It is to America’s credit that we have kept the republic, and in many ways strengthened and improved it, for 224 years.  But we won’t be able to keep it for many more years if we do not return to our self governing ways. 

Ohio Farmer

Capacities of Mankind

To the Members of the 112th Congress:

In recent weeks, the course of human events—from Tunisia, to Libya, to Egypt, to Syria—reminds Americans once again that tyranny is common in the world, that it is hard to remove, and that it is even harder to replace it with freedom and good government. We Americans, of every political stripe, generally like to consider ourselves enemies of tyranny and friends of freedom in the world. Of course, we have lots of debates among ourselves (and with others) about what this means and what this requires of American foreign policy. These debates have been rekindled lately, and I take this occasion to recollect that America came into existence by overthrowing a tyranny and that we have had our own struggles replacing it with freedom and good government.

Our success in these struggles—to the extent that we have met with success—is due to moral and political habits and dispositions that arise from principles that must be learned. These principles and dispositions are the most essential conditions of freedom. Everything else is secondary. Without them, you might exchange an unpopular for a popular tyranny, an incompetent and destitute tyranny for a competent and wealthy one. But you will never have free government.

America began its experiment in freedom with what has become and will forever remain the most characteristic and defining American affirmation:  “We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights.”  The truth of human equality and liberty was asserted against all tyrannies—whether of race, class, or religion, one, few, or many.

That men throughout history tyrannized one another in an infinite variety of ways was not proof to the American founders that human beings do not possess equal rights by nature—rather it was proof of how rare and difficult a thing it is to secure them.  It is proof of the philosophic rigor, the moral discipline, the political sagacity, and the beneficence of opportunity that are required for reflection and free choice to prevail over ignorance, prejudice, accident, and force.

Proclaiming that all men everywhere and at all times possess by nature equal rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, the American founders undertook the historic effort to secure these rights, so far as they thought they could then be secured, to a small people at a particular place and time.  They were acutely conscious of the limits of their ability to secure these rights.  When they were able to establish a “more perfect union” they understood full well how far from perfection they remained.  It was all the new republic could do in the first century of its existence to keep the American experiment in freedom from failing miserably at home while other less fortunate experiments struggled to give birth to  freedom in other parts of the world.

In the course of its history, the American people have many times fallen beneath the high standards they set for themselves at the beginning.  They have strayed from those principles, and they have forgotten them, and become confused about them, and allowed misunderstood self-interest to obscure them.  Our own experience has confirmed for us that democracy requires more of its citizens than any other form of government and that it is no accident that history provides so few examples of successful and enduring democracies.  We count our blessings—the blessings of liberty—when we reflect with John Adams, "how few of the human race have ever had an opportunity of choosing a system of government for themselves and their children," and how few have chosen well.

The “genius” of the American people at the time of the American revolution and founding made it both possible and necessary to establish a country based on the republican principles proclaimed in the Declaration of Independence.  As Jefferson said in explaining the genesis of the Declaration, the ideas expressed in it were “the common sense of the subject” in America.  He was merely expressing “the American mind.”  It was only because the American people had learned to embrace republican principles that it was possible to establish an American republic.  I mentioned in an earlier letter the American founders’ “honorable determination  . . . to rest all our political experiments on the capacity of mankind for self-government.” This was a determination, James Madison affirmed, “which animates every votary of freedom.”  But the founders understood that any people that wished to be free, including the Americans, would have to demonstrate this capacity for themselves, and continue to demonstrate it each generation.  

As the Declaration of Independence proclaimed, the just powers of government are derived from "the consent of the governed."  Only a people prepared to consent to a free government are capable of establishing one; and once they have established it, as Ben Franklin never ceases to remind us, they will need to have what it takes to “keep it.”  At the least, this means a people must be prepared to recognize their own humanity and that of their fellow citizens; they will neither aspire to be masters nor submit to be slaves; they must be prepared to rule and be ruled in turn and to abide by the laws they claim the right to make for themselves.

We know from our own American case, even with all the natural and historical advantages we have had, that it is not easy to achieve or to keep and pass on these capacities for self government. Experience and common sense tell us that these capacities are going to be even harder to achieve without the great advantages we have had. So let us be patient and moderate in our expectations from those who may face great disadvantages.

Ohio Farmer

Civility and Powers

To the Members of the 112^th Congress:

"Civility" has been a word to conjure with for the past few weeks. Since the terrible killings and woundings in Tucson, Americans could hardly open a newspaper or turn on a television without someone shouting at us most uncivilly in the name of civility. In the name of making us all friends, "civility" is wielded as a cudgel would be wielded against hated enemies. The word is deployed as a weapon, the way "bipartisanship" has sometimes been deployed in the service of the most narrow and unseemly partisanship.

Citizens' eyes roll and glaze over at such unserious and trumped up scolding. But civility is a serious theme. We want civility in our civil discourse because, in the language of the founders, we want reason and not passion to govern our affairs. We insist that we will be ruled by the consent of the people, and we are aware at the same time that the people can become a mob. And so, as the last letter observed, we have devised "constitutional ways of constructing and shaping the authoritative consent of the people" so that the "cool and deliberate sense of the community" might prevail in our political deliberations.

Among the constitutional devices intended to help achieve this difficult and desirable result, separation of powers ranks high. This idea, "that the legislative, executive and judiciary departments ought to be separate and distinct," is (let us hope!) familiar to every American eighth grader; let us even be so immodest as to say that it is an essential American contribution to the advancement of constitutional governance.  Separation of powers was so important to the founders that they thought, in James Madison's words, that "[t]he accumulation of all powers legislative, executive and judiciary in the same hands . . . may justly be pronounced the very definition of tyranny." But I won't rehearse here what (I trust) we all have learned on the subject from fondly remembered grammar school teachers.

In the spirit of renewed attention to the Constitution that distinguishes this Congress, I will hope merely to observe something that may not be quite so obvious and may have a bearing on Congress's response to current challenges. Put simply, in our Constitution the branches are separate, but they are not equal: the vast preponderance of federal authority is delegated to Congress, which is without question the preeminent branch under the Constitution.  One reason this may not be as obvious as it should be just by reading the Constitution is that, over the last fifty years, the separation of powers has tilted a bit out of constitutional balance. The presidential and judicial branches have become assertive and bold in articulating the national agenda, and Congress has largely deferred to this (or to the bureaucracy), sometimes in an effort to avoid difficult or potentially unpopular actions. Think of the fact that we call the recent historic elections "midterm" elections, as if Congress is a sideshow and the Presidency is the main event.

In our Constitution, Congress is the main event, and our separation of powers will serve us better if Congress is not as deferential as it has become accustomed to being (whether to the executive, the judiciary, or the bureaucracy). Let Congress reassert the lawmaking preeminence and responsibility intended for it in the Constitution--initiating constitutional conversations, setting out an agenda which is not necessarily the President's or the Court's, overturning what the members may consider to be the wayward actions of the other branches--and our constitutional deliberations as a whole will benefit.

I hasten to add, lest "irrational exuberance" seize the day, that when Congress acts boldly and takes the legislative initiative the Constitution intends for it to take, members should do so on behalf of their constitutional duty and not for mere party advantage, and they (and we) should hope and expect to find that the executive branch and the judiciary will rise to resist any assertions that seem to them unacceptable, behaving just as is intended in the Constitutional design. This proper functioning of the separation of powers (aided by the checks and balances within Congress) is meant to impede the misuse of Congressional power. We and Congress will display a kind of constitutional wisdom and patience, I think, if we recognize that the power to resist misuses of Congressional power is also a power that might on occasion thwart the necessary and proper uses of Congressional power.

More generally speaking, if separation of powers is designed to impede the rash introduction of radical change, it also has the effect of making it difficult to undo such change. If this Congress thinks it is its duty to do just that, let it act and give its reasons. It will meet resistance, and we all should expect that reasons will be given in turn. This is our Constitution at work. Citizens should anticipate serious argument, not just about policies, but about rights and duties, about the powers of government and limitations on those powers.  We should all learn from this, and all of this, of course, takes time.  And if our elected representatives can't sort it out, then the people, through the ballot box, will speak again, and a new constitutional deliberation, possibly with different participants, will begin.

A final word:  No constitutional devices like separation of powers--none of these "inventions of prudence," as Publius called them--will bring civility or cool and deliberate reflection from a nation of savages. So our broader constitutional deliberations should include not just civility but all the virtues, capacities, and principles that must shape the character of a people if they mean, as we do mean, to be self governing. Among the themes to include in these deliberations is the civic friendship, the care for one another, even in our millions, that could not be missed when the news of the Tucson tragedies spread across the land.

Ohio Farmer

An Experiment in Self-Government

To the Members of the 112^th Congress:

I wrote in the last letter about the sovereignty of the people and about the oaths you take as members of Congress to uphold the Constitution. Both seem to me to be related in a beautiful way to the American experiment in self government.

Whenever I happen to think about it, I can’t help feeling a fresh sense of wonder, and then of gratitude, that the American people, upon achieving sovereign independence and proclaiming to the world their right to govern themselves, submitted their sovereign power to a Constitution, which was at once their creation and the Supreme Law over them.  This great political act reflected, I think, our recognition that the people’s sovereign power is itself subject to what Thomas Jefferson called "the great principles of right and wrong." As Jefferson put it, it was not an "elective despotism" we fought for; we seemed to understand that if our right to self government was to lead to good government, we must establish conditions under which our authoritative consent might become reflection and deliberation—conditions for drawing out from our sovereign selves what Publius called "the cool and deliberate sense of the community."  To form ourselves into a community in which, in Madison’s word, "Reason" might rule, we formed ourselves into a constitutional people. We devised for ourselves constitutional ways of constructing and shaping the authoritative consent of the people into constitutional deliberations by which we would be governed. 

Think what a people we must already have been, to be determined and able to do such a thing. When the American revolutionaries and founders looked back on the history of popular governments in the world (and they were avid students of that history), they beheld scene upon scene of turbulence and instability, of violent agitation between the extremes of anarchy and tyranny. So terrible was the picture, as Publius said, that it gave advocates of despotism an argument against free government altogether. Nonetheless, because of what they called their "honorable determination ... to rest all our political experiments on the capacity of mankind for self-government," the American Revolutionaries insisted that American government would be founded on the"consent of the governed." In fact, as the founders knew, the proud American people would not accept any other form of government.

But this would have been a false pride, it would have been not an honorable but a foolish determination, if the American people did not possess the capacity for self-government they generously claimed for mankind. But they proved themselves not only determined to establish a government based on consent, but capable, in Benjamin Franklin’s famous phrase, of "keep[ing] it."They proved themselves not only to have the pride to insist on freedom, but the virtues necessary to do honor to it (may this always be the case). In subjecting themselves to the Constitution as they did, they proved themselves already to possess a constitution, in their souls—the constitution of a free people, without which the written Constitution would be useless parchment.  

This constitution in our American souls expressed itself in a small way recently in our expectation and gratification that members of Congress should take an oath to uphold the Constitution. This is an oath of fidelity to the Constitution, and not to us, the people. Our high regard for this oath, it seems to me, is the sovereign people’s way of telling our representatives that we expect you to be somewhat independent of us, that we think good government depends upon it. Those who originally conceived this Constitution said in many different ways that you would do your job well by remaining true to the Constitution, even when some people—I mean, us—clamored for you to do otherwise. In such moments, we count on you to "refine and enlarge" the public’s view with your constitutional deliberations. Your oath opens a slight but decisive space between the people and their representatives, in which you can exercise your constitutional judgment in carrying out your lawmaking duties. Of course, you will often disagree among yourselves about what your duty to the Constitution requires of you. But articulating those differences will benefit all of us by contributing to a constitutional politics which will be the most reliable source of enduring sound policy. If we are as good as we claim to be, you will earn our respect, and our vote, when you respect the Constitution and help us to do the same, even despite what we sometimes might think is our contrary interest. 

Ohio Farmer