I suppose that since that conference no part of our constitutional system has caused more adverse comment in Europe than this system. It often handicaps the United States from taking a speedy and effectual part in international negotiations, although if the President and the Senate be in harmony and collaborate in this joint responsibility, there is no necessary reason why this should be so.
I share the view of many Americans that this provision of the Constitution was wise and salutary, especially at this time, when the United States has taken such an important position in the councils of civilization. The President is a very powerful Executive, and his tenure, while short, is fixed. Generally he is elected by little more than a majority of the people, and sometimes through the curious workings of the electoral college system, he has been only the choice of a minority of the electorate. For these reasons, the framers of the Constitution were unwilling to vest in the President exclusively the immeasurable power of pledging the faith, man-power, and resources of the nation and of declaring war. The heterogeneous character of our population especially emphasizes the wisdom of this course, for it would be difficult, if not impossible, for an American President to make an offensive and defensive alliance with any nation or declare war against another nation without running counter to the racial interests and passions of a substantial part of the American nation. For better or worse, the United States has limited, but not destroyed, as the world war showed, its freedom to antagonize powerful nations from whose people it has drawn large numbers of its own citizenship. The domestic harmony of the nation requires that before the United States assumes treaty obligations or makes war such policy shall represent the largely preponderating sentiment of its people, and nothing could more effectually secure this end than to require the President, before making a treaty, to secure the assent of two-thirds of the Senate and a majority of both Houses of Congress before making war.
While this may lead, as it has in recent years, to temporary and regrettable embarrassments, yet in the long run, it is not only better for the United States, but it is even to the best interests of other nations, for in this way they are safeguarded against the possible action of an Executive with whom racial instincts might still be very influential. In your country, where the Government of the day is subject to immediate dismissal for want of confidence, such power over foreign relations can be safely entrusted to a few men, but in the United States, with its fixed tenures of office, a President could pledge the faith and involve his nation in war against the interests and will of the people. Suppose the President had unlimited power over our foreign relations and that within the next ten years an American, whose parents were born in any European nation, was elected on purely domestic issues, he could, with his assured four years of power, bring about a new alignment of nations and shake the political equilibrium of the world. The Constitution wisely refused to grant such a power. Hence the provision for the concurrence of the legislative representatives of the nation. At all events, it constitutes a system which, as the last presidential election showed, the American people will not willingly forgo. It is true that this system makes it difficult for the United States to participate effectively in the main purpose of the League of Nations to enforce peace by joint action at Geneva, but to ask the United States to surrender a vital part of its constitutional system, upon which its domestic peace so largely depends, in order to promote the League, seems to me as unreasonable as it would be to ask your country to abolish the Crown, to which it is sincerely attached as a vital part of its system, as a contribution towards international co-operation. You would not surrender such an integral part of your system, and therefore it is not reasonable to expect a similar sacrifice on our part, even though the meritorious purposes of the League be freely recognized.
I have thus summarized briefly and most inadequately some of the essential principles of the Constitution. I have only been able to suggest very impressionistically what they are and the lessons to be drawn from them. If I were able to deliver a dozen addresses on the subject in this historic Hall and with this indulgent audience I would not scratch even the surface. To understand the Constitution of the United States you must not only read the text but the thousands of opinions rendered in the last 130 years by the Supreme Court in its great task of interpreting this wonderful document. Few documents have been the subject of more extended commentaries. The four thousand words have been meticulously examined through intellectual microscopes in judicial opinions, textbooks, and other commentaries which are as "thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks in Vallombrosa."
One can say of this document as Dr. Furness, in his variorum edition of Hamlet, says of the words of that character:
"No words by him let fall, no syllable by him uttered, but has been
caught up and pondered, as no words except those of Holy Writ."
But what of its future and how long will the Constitution wholly resist the washing of time and circumstance? Lord Macaulay once ventured the prediction that the Constitution would prove unworkable as soon as there were no longer large areas of undeveloped land and when the United States became a nation of great cities. That period of development has arrived. In 1880 only 15 per cent. of the American population lived in the cities and the remainder were still on the farms. To-day over 52 per cent, are crowded in one hundred great cities. Lord Macaulay added:
"I believe America's fate is only deferred by physical causes. Institutions purely democratic will sooner or later destroy liberty or civilization, or both…. The American Constitution is all sail and no anchor."
In this last commentary Lord Macaulay was clearly mistaken. As I have shown, the Constitution is not "purely democratic." It is amazing that so great a mind should have so little understood that more than any other Constitution, that of America imposes powerful restraints on democracy. The experience of a century and a quarter has shown that while the anchor may at times drag, yet it measurably holds the ship of state to its ancient moorings. The American Constitution still remains in its essential principles and still enjoys not only the confidence but the affection of the great and varied people whom it rules. To the latter this remarkable achievement must be attributed rather than to any inherent strength in parchment or red seals, for in a democracy the living soul of any Constitution must be such belief of the people in its wisdom and justice. If it should perish to-morrow, it would yet have enjoyed a life and growth of which any nation or age might be justly proud. Moreover, it could claim with truth, if it finally perished, that it had been subjected to conditions for which it was never intended and that some of its essential principles had been ignored.
The Constitution is something more than a written formula of government—it is a great spirit. It is a high and noble assertion, and, indeed, vindication, of the morality of government. It "renders unto Caesar [the political state] the things that are Caesar's," but in safeguarding the fundamental moral rights of the people, it "renders unto God the things that are God's."