7. CHAPTER VII
OF ELECTIVE MONARCHY
Having considered the nature of monarchy in general, it is incumbent on
us to examine how far its mischiefs may be qualified by rendering the monarchy
elective.
One of the most obvious objections to this remedy is the difficulty that
attends upon the conduct of such an election. There are machines that are
too mighty for the human hand to conduct; there are proceedings that are
too gigantic and unwieldy for human institutions to regulate. The distance
between the mass of mankind and a sovereign is so immense, the trust to be
confided so incalculably great, the temptations of the object to be decided
on so alluring, as to set every passion that can vex the mind in tumultuous
conflict. Election will therefore either dwindle into an empty form, a congé
d'élire with the successful candidate's name at full length in the
conclusion, an election perpetually continued in the same family, perhaps
in the same lineal order of descent; or will become the signal of a thousand
calamities, foreign cabal, and domestic war. These evils have been so generally
understood that elective monarchy, in the strict sense of that appellation,
has had very few advocates.
Rousseau, who, in his advice to the Polish nation, appears to be one of
those few, that is, one of those who, without loving monarchy, conceive an
elective sovereignty to be greatly preferable to an hereditary one, endeavours
to provide against the disorders of an election by introducing into it a
species of sortition.[1] In another part of the present enquiry, it will
be our business to examine how far chance, and the decision by lot, are compatible
with the principles, either of sound morality, or sober reason. For the present,
it will be sufficient to say that the project of Rousseau will probably fall
under one part of the following dilemma, and of consequence will be refuted
by the same arguments that bear upon the mode of election in its most obvious
idea.
The design with which election can be introduced into the constitution
of a monarchy must either be that of raising to the kingly office a man of
superlative talents and uncommon genius, or of providing a moderate portion
of wisdom and good intention for these functions, and preventing them from
falling into the hands of persons of notorious imbecility. To the first of
these designs it will be objected by many 'that genius is frequently nothing
more in the hands of its possessor than an instrument for accomplishing the
most pernicious intentions'. And, though in this assertion there is much
partial and mistaken exaggeration, it cannot however be denied that genius,
such as we find it amidst the present imperfections of mankind, is compatible
with very serious and essential errors. If then genius can, by temptations
of various sorts, be led into practical mistake, may we not reasonably entertain
a fear respecting the effect of that situation which is so singularly pregnant
with temptation? If considerations of inferior note be apt to mislead the
mind, what shall we think of this most intoxicating draught, of a condition
superior to restraint, stripped of all those accidents and vicissitudes from
which the morality of human beings has flowed, with no salutary check, with
no intellectual warfare, where mind meets mind on equal terms, but perpetually
surrounded with sycophants, servants and dependents? To suppose a mind in
which genius and virtue are united and permanent is also undoubtedly to suppose
something which no calculation will teach us to expect should offer upon
every vacancy. And, if the man could be found, we must imagine to ourselves
electors almost as virtuous as the elected, or else error and prejudice,
faction and intrigue, will render his election at least precarious, perhaps
improbable. Add to this that it is sufficiently evident, from the unalterable
evils of monarchy already enumerated, and which we shall presently have occasion
to recapitulate, that the first act of sovereignty in a virtuous monarch
whose discernment was equal to his virtue would be to annihilate the constitution
which had raised him to a throne.
But we will suppose the purpose of instituting an elective monarchy, not
to be that of constantly filling the throne with a man of sublime genius,
but merely to prevent the office from falling into the hands of a person
of notorious imbecility. Such is the strange and pernicious nature of monarchy
that it may be doubted whether this be a benefit. Wherever monarchy exists,
courts and administrations must, as long as men can see only with their eyes,
and act only with their hands, be its constant attendants. But these have
already appeared to be institutions so mischievous that perhaps one of the
greatest injuries that can be done to mankind is to persuade them of their
innocence. Under the most virtuous despot, favour and intrigue, the unjust
exaltation of one man, and depression of another, will not fail to exist.
Under the most virtuous despot, the true spring there is in mind, the desire
to possess merit, and the consciousness that merit will not fail to make
itself perceived by those around it, and through their esteem to rise to
its proper sphere, will be cut off; and mean and factitious motives be substituted
in its room. Of what consequence is it that my merit is perceived by mortals
who have no power to advance it? The monarch, shut up in his sanctuary, and
surrounded with formalities, will never hear of it. How should he? Can he
know what is passing in the remote corners of his kingdom? Can he trace the
first tender blossoms of genius and virtue? The people themselves will lose
their discernment of these things, because they will perceive their discernment
to be powerless in effects. The birth of mind is daily sacrificed by hecatombs
to the genius of monarchy. The seeds of reason and truth become barren and
unproductive in this unwholesome climate. And the example perpetually exhibited,
of the preference of wealth and craft over integrity and talents, produces
the most powerful effects upon that mass of mankind, who at first sight may
appear least concerned in the objects of generous ambition. This mischief,
to whatever it amounts, becomes more strongly fastened upon us under a good
monarch than under a bad one. In the latter case, it only restrains our efforts
by violence; in the former, it seduces our understandings. To palliate the
defects and skin over the deformity of what is fundamentally wrong is certainly
very perilous, perhaps very fatal to the best interests of mankind.
Meanwhile the ideas here suggested should be listened to with diffidence
and caution. Great doubts may well be entertained respecting that benefit
which is to be produced by vice and calamity. If I lived under an elective
monarchy, I certainly should not venture to give my vote to a fickle, intemperate
or stupid candidate, in preference to a sober and moderate one. Yet may it
not happen that a succession, such as that of Trajan, Adrian and the Antonines,
familiarizing men to despotism, and preparing them to submit to the tyranny
of their successors, may be fraught with more mischief than benefit? It should
seem that a mild and insidious way of reconciling mankind to a calamity,
before they are made to feel it, is a real and a heavy misfortune.
A question has been started whether it be possible to blend elective and
hereditary monarchy, and the constitution of England has been cited as an
example of this possibility. What was it that the parliament effected at
the revolution, and when they settled the succession upon the house of Hanover?
They elected not an individual, but a new race of men to fill the throne
of these kingdoms. They gave a practical instance of their power, upon extraordinary
emergencies to change the succession. At the same time however that they
effected this in action, they denied it in words. They employed the strongest
expressions that language could furnish to bind themselves, their heirs and
posterity, for ever, to adhere to this settlement. They considered the present
as an emergence which, taking into the account the precautions and restrictions
they had provided, could never occur again.
In reality what sort of sovereignty is that which is partly hereditary
and partly elective? That the accession of a family, or race of men, should
originally be a matter of election has nothing particular in it. All government
is founded in opinion; and undoubtedly some sort of election, made by a body
of electors more or less extensive, originated every new establishment. To
whom, in this amphibious government, does the sovereignty belong, upon the
death of the first possessor? To his heirs and descendants. What sort of
choice shall that be considered which is made of a man half a century before
he begins to exist? By what designation does he succeed? Undoubtedly by that
of hereditary descent. A king of England therefore holds his crown independently,
or, as it has been energetically expressed, 'in contempt', of the choice
of the people.[2]
[[1]]
Considérations sur le Gouvernement de Pologne, Chap. VIII.
[[2]]
This argument is stated, with great copiousness, and irresistible force
of reasoning, by Mr Burke, towards the beginning of his Reflections on the
Revolution in France.