Republicanism and The Federalist

by George W. Carey

Hamilton, Madison, Jay

The first essay of The Federalist provides a convenient point of departure for exploring Publius's conception of republicanism and the problems associated with it. Towards the end of this essay, he informs us that among the "interesting particulars" he intends to take up in the subsequent papers is "The conformity of the proposed Constitution to the true principles of republican government" (36).[1] The word "true" immediately attracts our attention because it clearly suggests that mistaken or distorted principles or notions of republicanism are abroad. Moreover, though this is more debatable, we may also surmise that Publius wants to undertake this mission because the proposed constitution, when "measured" against these mistaken principles, turns out to be something less than republican. We might also infer that he feels the need to show that the character of the proposed Constitution is in fact republican because if it were otherwise the people would not and/or should not ratify it. Indeed, at a later point, he does write that "if the plan of the convention … be found to depart from the republican character, its advocates must abandon it as no longer defensible" (39:240).

The Founding Fathers – Our First Neocons?

By Gleaves Whitney

The imaginative conservative champions certain first principles in response to the fragmenting forces of modernity.  Burke articulated a humane order to counter the “armed doctrines” of French revolutionaries in the eighteenth century; in turn, Kirk opposed the galloping statism and rapacious totalitarianism of the twentieth.  These avatars set down principles that are drawn from the tested wisdom of the species.  They provide a compass, anchor, and rudder for Homo viator – man the pilgrim – in his long voyage on rough seas. 

One paradox of this conservatism is often overlooked by its champions, and in the present essay I would like to begin to explore the implications of this “disconnect.”  The paradox is that most of conservatism’s first principles are derived from history’s greatest revolutionaries.   Consider briefly:

(1) The belief in a transcendent moral order came not from the conservatives but the revolutionaries of their day.  The Hebrews – led first by Abraham, and then by Moses and Aaron – launched the radical idea of transcendent monotheism amid numerous nature deities.  Such innovative ideas as linear time, a people’s covenant with God, the separation of the Creator from creation, the ethical critique of rulers, the moral evaluation of history, and the end of human sacrifice are all notions we take for granted today, yet they were dramatic departures from the norm between 2,000 to 3,000 years ago.

(2) Sitting in our comfortable pews on Sunday, we also tend to forget that Christianity was once the most radical spiritual force on earth.  (It likely still is.)  Jesus and St. Paul alienated their conservative Jewish teachers even more than their imperial Roman masters.  The blood of the martyrs testified to the gospel’s departure from the status quo.  Centuries later, Gibbon would lay the blame for the fall of the Western Empire at the feet of Christians who preached the counter-cultural beatitudes and proclaimed a new creation under Christ’s dominion.

Who's to blame? by George W. Carey

My good friend, Bruce Frohnen, poses a question ("An isolated, but not Pacifist, query") that I take the liberty to reformulate as follows: Aren't the American people -- whom I had held up as our best hope for putting an end to mindless imperialism ("Nisbet, War, and the American Republic") -- really to blame for the mess we are in today? After all, we are a republic in which, off at the end, the people rule. If our rulers get out of line it's up to the people to set matters straight through elections.

His question is, I confess at once, a critical one. I want to attempt an answer by way of pointing to certain mitigating factors that bear directly on the culpability of the people and even raise the crucial question of whether they can exercise control.

(a) One of the virtues of our system, at least as it was originally "sold," is that there are safeguards against precipitous, oppressive actions. If we are to take Madison at his word, the main safeguards are not institutional in nature. Rather, as we can see from Federalist essays nos. 10 and 51, the major barrier is the multiplicity and diversity of interests found in the extended republic. It was anticipated that the process of majority formation among these diverse and multiple interests would be difficult and time consuming, particularly with respect to progress toward convergence on any unjust or oppressive measure. A second safeguard was the belief on Madison's part at least, that the voters would choose "fit characters" --virtuous, civic-minded individuals -- to represent them. The extended republic, he maintained, at a minimum offered a wider choice of fit characters from which to choose and he thought the people would take advantage of this. To be sure, Madison and others looked upon the Senate as an institution that could delay oppressive or ill-conceived measures that might come to it from the House, hopefully providing enough time for the people to regain their good senses.

There are at least two significant things to note about this approach. First, it conforms with Schumpeter's understanding of democratic government; that is, the main function of elections is not to decide matters of policy, but rather to select those, the representatives, who will. This, I believe, was the way the Framers wanted it. At least I think it clear that they did not anticipate a continuous parade of popular majorities from issue to issue dictating to their representatives. Nor has our system operated in this fashion. V.O. Key (one of the more sensible "behaviorists") in his extensive study of public opinion found that seldom could it be regarded as "decisive," i.e., as demanding a specific policy or course of action by government.

"Nisbet, War, and the American Republic" by George W. Carey

Winston does well in bringing Robert Nisbet's teaching to bear upon the basic problems we confront ("War, Crisis and Centralization of Power"). An assigned reading in my contemporary American conservative course at Georgetown is Nisbet's Present Age. While this work incorporates much of his previous thought and findings, I assign it primarily because it is a scathing indictment of our interventionist policies since the First World War. He remarks on the "prominence of war in American life since 1914, amounting to a virtual Seventy-Five years war," noting as well "the staggering size of the military establishment since World War II." He contends that there are irrepressible forces at work, namely, "the whole self-perpetuating military-industrial complex and the technological scientific elite that Eisenhower warned against" which shamefully exploits a widely accepted, but sham "American exceptionalism." I think it fair to say that Bush II's foreign policy and rhetoric embodied just about everything Nisbet loathed. He would have been disappointed, but not at all surprised, that his "Seventy-Five years war" is now almost a "Hundred years war."

What I want my students to see from Nisbet's account is that traditional conservatives are not mindless war hawks (think Max Boot) contrary to what one might glean from the talking heads on TV or the main stream media. My having to do this, however, only indicates the extent to which neoconservatism has somehow morphed into just "conservatism."

Be that as it may, Nisbet's observations, coupled what has transpired under the Bush and Obama administrations, point to a state of affairs that troubles me mightily. Specifically, as I see it, there is a gulf, separation, or disjunction (there are perhaps better words to describe this) between sensible, ordinary Americans and those who are making the decisions to commit our nation to sustain hostilities. In fact, and significantly, the separation is more extensive than this: During the run up to the Iraq invasion virtually all the "opinion leaders" -- high ranking officials, the influencial editors and columnists, the gurus from the Council of Foreign Relations, the "talking head" experts on cable TV -- tacitly seemed to assume that military intervention was necessary. For the most part, these individuals were not concerned with the questions surrounding whether we should invade Iraq; rather their concerns centered on when we should invade, what our tactics ought to be, what effects the invasion and the removal of Sadam would be on the Middle East or America's stature in the world, and so forth. While one might have imagined that launching a "preventive war" would have sparked considerable and heated debate, this issue was largely ignored by those in power and their minions. To a lesser degree, Obama's decision to escalate the war in Afghanistan illustrates the same phenomenon: His ultimate decision, much like Bush II's to invade Iraq, seemed like a forgone conclusion once the elite establishment publicly pushed the matter to the forefront as involving the security of the nation.

Perhaps better evidence of the gulf or separation to which I refer is the fact that lies and deception are seemingly necessary to gain popular support for wars. It is now well documented, for instance, that Roosevelt II told the people one thing (your sons will never fight on foreign soil) while he endeavored in various ways to involve the nation in hostilities. Likewise, lies and deception, albeit in a different form, marked our interventions in Vietnam and Iraq. While, in my opinion, this by itself is deplorable, my point is that this practice indicates at least the existence of a separation in outlook and thinking between the decision makers and ordinary citizens. What other reason would there be for the lies and deception if not to bring the people around? Moreover, as Goebbels remarked, such a transformation is not too difficult for those who control government to achieve.