But, say those who hide the absurdity under the cover of ambiguous phrases, have we no discretion? And, if we have, are we not to make use of it in judging of the expediency or inexpediency of the Treaty? Our resolution claims that privilege, and we cannot surrender it without equal inconsistency and breach of duty.
If there be any inconsistency in the case, it lies, not in making appropriations for the Treaty, but in the resolution itself, (Mr. Blount's.) Let us examine it more nearly. A Treaty is a bargain between nations binding in good faith; and what makes a bargain? The assent of the contracting parties. We allow that the Treaty power is not in this House; this House has no share in contracting, and is not a party; of consequence, the President and Senate alone may make a Treaty that is binding in good faith. We claim, however, say the gentlemen, a right to judge of the expediency of Treaties—that is the constitutional province of our discretion. Be it so—what follows? Treaties when adjudged by us to be inexpedient, fall to the ground, and the public faith is not hurt. This, incredible and extravagant as it may seem, is asserted. The amount of it, in plainer language, is this—the President and Senate are to make national bargains, and this House has nothing to do in making them. But bad bargains do not bind this House, and, of inevitable consequence, do not bind the nation. When a national bargain, called a Treaty, is made, its binding force does not depend upon the making, but upon our opinion that it is good. As our opinion on the matter can be known and declared only by ourselves, when sitting in our Legislative capacity, the Treaty, though ratified, and, as we choose to term it, made, is hung up in suspense, till our sense is ascertained. We condemn the bargain, and it falls, though, as we say, our faith does not. We approve a bargain as expedient, and it stands firm, and binds the nation. Yet, even in this latter case, its force is plainly not derived from the ratification by the Treaty-making power, but from our approbation. Who will trace these inferences, and pretend that we may have no share, according to the argument, in the Treaty-making power? These opinions, nevertheless, have been advocated with infinite zeal and perseverance. Is it possible that any man can be hardy enough to avow them, and their ridiculous consequences?
Let me hasten to suppose the Treaty is considered as already made, and then the alternative is fairly presented to the mind, whether we will observe the Treaty, or break it. This, in fact, is the naked question.
If we choose to observe it with good faith, our course is obvious. Whatever is stipulated to be done by the nation, must be complied with. Our agency, if it should be requisite, cannot be properly refused. And I do not see why it is not as obligatory a rule of conduct for the Legislature as for the Courts of Law.
I cannot lose this opportunity to remark, that the coercion, so much dreaded and declaimed against, appears at length to be no more than the authority of principles, the despotism of duty. Gentlemen complain that we are forced to act in this way, we are forced to swallow the Treaty. It is very true, unless we claim the liberty of abuse, the right to act as we ought not. There is but one way open for us, the laws of morality and good faith have fenced up every other. What sort of liberty is that which we presume to exercise against the authority of those laws! It is for tyrants to complain that principles are restraints, and that they have no liberty so long as their despotism has limits.
The consequences of refusing to make provision for the Treaty are not all to be foreseen. By rejecting, vast interests are committed to the sport of the winds, chance becomes the arbiter of events, and it is forbidden to human foresight to count their number, or measure their extent. Before we resolve to leap into this abyss, so dark and so profound, it becomes us to pause and reflect upon such of the dangers as are obvious and inevitable. If this assembly should be wrought into a temper to defy these consequences, it is vain, it is deceptive, to pretend that we can escape them. It is worse than weakness to say, that as to public faith our vote has already settled the question. Another tribunal than our own is already erected. The public opinion, not merely of our own country, but of the enlightened world, will pronounce judgment that we cannot resist, that we dare not even affect to despise.
Well may I urge it to men who know the worth of character, that it is no trivial calamity to have it contested. Refusing to do what the Treaty stipulates shall be done, opens the controversy. Even if we should stand justified at last, a character that is vindicated is something worse than it stood before, unquestioned and unquestionable. Like the plaintiff in an action of slander, we recover a reputation disfigured by invective, and even tarnished by too much handling. In the combat for the honor of the nation, it may receive some wounds, which, though they should heal, will leave some scars. I need not say, for surely the feelings of every bosom have anticipated, that we cannot guard this sense of national honor, this ever-living fire, which alone keeps patriotism warm in the heart, with a sensibility too vigilant and jealous. If, by executing the Treaty, there is no possibility of dishonor, and if by rejecting there is some foundation for doubt and for reproach, it is not for me to measure, it is for your own feelings to estimate the vast distance that divides the one side of the alternative from the other. If, therefore, we should enter on the examination of the question of duty and obligation with some feelings of prepossession, I do not hesitate to say, they are such as we ought to have; it is an after inquiry to determine whether they are such as ought finally to be resisted.
To expatiate on the value of public faith, may pass with some men for declamation; to such men I have nothing to say. To others I will urge, can any circumstance mark upon a people more turpitude and debasement? Can any thing tend more to make men think themselves mean, or degrade to a lower point their estimation of virtue and their standard of action? It would not merely demoralize mankind, it tends to break all the ligaments of society, to dissolve that mysterious charm which attracts individuals to the nation, and to inspire in its stead a repulsive sense of shame and disgust.
What is patriotism? Is it a narrow affection for the spot where a man was born? Are the very clods where we tread entitled to this ardent preference because they are greener? No, sir; this is not the character of the virtue, and it soars higher for its object. It is an extended self-love, mingling with all the enjoyments of life, and twisting itself with the minutest filaments of the heart. It is thus we obey the laws of society, because they are the laws of virtue. In their authority we see not the array of force and terror, but the venerable image of our country's honor. Every good citizen makes that honor his own, and cherishes it not only as precious but as sacred. He is willing to risk his life in its defence, and is conscious that he gains protection while he gives it. For what rights of a citizen will be deemed inviolable when a State renounces the principles that constitute their security? Or, if his life should not be invaded, what would its enjoyments be in a country odious to the eyes of strangers and dishonored in his own? Could he look with affection and veneration to such a country as his parent? The sense of having one would die within him; he would blush for his patriotism, if he retained any, and justly, for it would be a vice. He would be a banished man in his native land.
I see no exception to the respect that is paid among nations to the law of good faith. If there are cases in this enlightened period when it is violated, there are none when it is decried. It is the philosophy of politics—the religion of governments. It is observed by barbarians that a whiff of tobacco-smoke or a string of beads gives not merely binding force, but sanctity, to Treaties. Even in Algiers, a truce may be bought for money, but when ratified, even Algiers is too wise or too just to disown and annul its obligation. Thus, we see neither the ignorance of savages, nor the principles of an association for piracy and rapine, permit a nation to despise its engagements. If, sir, there could be a resurrection from the foot of the gallows; if the victims of justice could live again, collect together, and form a society, they would, however loth, soon find themselves obliged to make justice—that justice under which they fell—the fundamental law of their State. They would perceive it was their interest to make others respect, and they would therefore soon pay some respect themselves to the obligations of good faith.