The effect of popular instructions to representatives discussed and illustrated.

The Fathers never intended that the people should legislate, interpret the laws or administer justice. They did provide, however, that the people should choose their legislators, their judges and their executives. They sought also to render impossible any interference with the independence of these representatives. Judges are not expected to inquire of bystanders how questions of law shall be decided, or what decrees shall be rendered, or what punishments imposed.

The Fathers did not anticipate that executives would hold their ears so close to the ground as to become nests for crickets. I do not mean to be understood, however, as intimating that the buzzing of insects has never been mistaken for the voice of the people. Members of the House and the Senate were not supposed to conform to Dooley’s definition of a statesman: “One who watches the procession until he discovers in which direction it is moving and then steals the stick from the drum major.” The Fathers expected officials to be as independent of the voters who select them as officers of a corporation are independent of stockholders.

In proof that Washington did not consider the delegates to the Constitutional Convention bound to follow the wishes of the people they represented I cite what Gouverneur Morris quotes him as saying: “It is too probable that no plan we propose will be adopted. Perhaps another dreadful conflict is to be sustained. If to please the people we offer what we ourselves disapprove, how can we afterward defend our work? Let us raise a standard to which the wise and the honest can repair; the event is in the hand of God.”

Suppose the state should engage in banking. A doorkeeper, a bookkeeper and a president would be necessary. But if the president sought instruction from the street, the bank would be short-lived. If a body of stockholders were to enter a bank, as now operated, and demand a loan without security, either for themselves or for some needy fellow creature, the president would probably say, “You can have another president any day you please, but while I am president, you will furnish collateral.” Otherwise, there would be no bank.

L. Q. C. Lamar used to say to his constituents: “If you desire me to represent you in Congress, I will do so.” Then, with becoming dignity and in absolute harmony with the principles of the republic, as established by the Fathers, he would add, “But do not, for a moment, suppose you can stand between the plow handles during the day and tell me how to vote.” Evidently Mr. Lamar expected to study public questions and to be better informed than his average constituent.

Later, the legislature, recognizing his ability, sent him to the United States Senate. Here he opposed greenback legislation which was favorably considered by the people of Mississippi. Thereupon the legislature passed a resolution demanding either that he vote in harmony with the sentiment of his state, or resign. He refused to do either, but continued to speak, and to vote his convictions based on knowledge. Before his term expired, the wisdom of his course was recognized and he was re-elected to the Senate by the very men who had sought to direct his action in a matter wherein they had no jurisdiction and he had supreme responsibility, and concerning which they knew nothing, while he knew much.

Following the Civil War impeachment proceedings were instituted against Andrew Johnson. Because of the known prejudices of the people of Iowa, Senator Grimes of that state was expected to vote “guilty.” He voted “not guilty,” and his colleague asked him, “Do you think you are expressing the sentiment of the people of Iowa?” The grand old Roman replied: “I have not inquired concerning the sentiment of the people of Iowa. I vote my convictions.” That would be political suicide today.

A few years ago proceedings to expel a certain senator were pending and several of his associates, after hearing the evidence submitted to them in their judicial capacity, expressed the conviction that the accused was innocent, but, because of the prejudices of their states, they would have to vote for expulsion. Senator Depew told me of a member who actually cried as he contemplated voting to expel a man whom he believed to be innocent.

I would like to ask how long you think the United States of America can maintain her proud position among the nations of the world, if oath-bound representatives of the people accept popular sentiment as the guide of their official conduct.

At the unveiling of the monument to Elijah Lovejoy, a letter was read from Wendel Phillips containing this sentence: “How cautiously most slip into oblivion and are forgotten, while here and there a man forgets himself into immortality.” In these most trying times our greatest need is men in public life whose ears are always open to counsel but ever closed to clamor—who will approach pending problems that threaten our very existence, with no other care but their country’s weal. The corner stone of freedom, as laid by the Fathers, is the absolute independence of the representative, coupled with the unimpeded right of the people to choose again at brief but appropriate intervals.

Suppose the government should delegate to some congressional district the responsibility of building a submarine. Would anyone think of undertaking the task except on the principle of a republic? You would select some man of mechanical aptitude, plus mechanical experience, and you would hold him responsible for the result. Would you require your representative when selected to listen to popular sentiment, as expressed on the street corners or in the press? Would you have him submit his plans and blue prints to the “people,” by referendum or otherwise?

We all admit that some men know more about farming than others, some more about commerce than others, some more about science than others, but the sentiment is alarmingly general that in the realm of statecraft—the most complex subject ever approached—one man is just as wise as another. At Detroit, Michigan, during the campaign of 1916, Woodrow Wilson used this language: “So I say the suspicion is beginning to dawn in many quarters, that the average man knows the business necessities of the country just as well as the extraordinary man.”

I do not wish to question Mr. Wilson’s sincerity, though I am not unmindful of the fact that he spent the greater part of his active life in college work trying to produce “extraordinary men,” and in that field he was quite successful. Taking issue with his position, but not with his sincerity, I am going to insult popular sentiment and say that I believe there are many men competent to select a competent constructor of a submarine, who are not competent to construct a submarine, or competent to instruct a constructor of a submarine.

But, suppose the people should build such a craft on the principle of a democracy, each one doing what seemed to him wise, without dishonesty or graft. I have no question but that a submarine would be produced that would “sub,” and I am equally certain that it would stay “subbed.”

I want to ask whether, in your opinion, the ship of state—the government of the United States—is any less complicated, any less complex or any less likely to “sub” and stay “subbed,” exactly as each and every republic for twenty-five hundred years did “sub”—if placed in the hands of an inexperienced mass of experimenters in statecraft.

Think this out for yourself. This is your government quite as much as mine, and it will be your government long after the conservative “Old Guard” have left the field of human activities.