Did James Madison Believe the United States Was a Republic and not a Democracy?

It is common in history, government, and political science classes to stress that the United States has a republican form of government, not a democracy. Article Four, Section Four, Clause One of the U.S. Constitution stipulates that “the United States shall guarantee to every State in this Union a Republican Form of Government . . .” James Madison, one of the Constitution’s leading architects and an author of the pro-Constitution Federalist Papers, expressed fears in Federalist No. 10 that “factions” (what many folks might call “identities” today) would look inward towards the interests of their group at the expense of the common good, which in turn would lead them to vote in ways that were harmful to the public interest. A republic, according to Madison, would provide a check against the excesses of direct democracy and factional politics. Elsewhere it’s been argued that in a republic, a written constitution establishes a list of inalienable rights that cannot be taken away by the government, whereas in a democracy no such protections are offered to the populace and everything is based on the will of the majority.

Case closed, right? Maybe not.

Here is what the late political scientist Robert Dahl wrote in How Democratic is the American Constitution? about the contradictory and confused views of Madison towards republics and democracies (pages 159-162). It’s good food for thought and worth considering if the distinction between the two terms is as stark as many of us often assume it is at first blush.


The view that the Framers intended to create a republic, not a democracy, probably had its origins in Federalist no. 10. Although there as elsewhere [Madison] also used the expression “popular government” as a kind of generic term, he distinguished further between “a pure democracy, by which I mean a society consisting of a small number of persons, who assemble and administer the government in person,” and a “republic, by which I mean a government in which the scheme of representation takes place . . . The two great points of difference between a democracy and a republic are: first, the delegation of the government, in the latter, to a small number of citizens elected by the rest; secondly, the greater number of citizens, and greater sphere of the country, over which the latter may be extended.”

Here Madison was making the common distinction that political scientists and others would later differentiate between “direct democracy” and “representative democracy.” For it was as evident to the Framers as it is to us that given the size of the nation composed of the thirteen existing states, with more to come, “the people” could not possibly assemble directly to enact laws, as they did at the time in New England town meetings and had done two millennia earlier in Greece, where the term “democracy” was invented. It was perfectly obvious to the Framers, then, that in such a large country, a republican government would have to be a representative government, where national laws would be enacted by a representative legislative body consisting of members chosen directly or indirectly by the people.

Madison was probably also influenced by a long tradition of “republicanism” that in both theory and practice leaned somewhat more towards aristocracy, limited suffrage, concern for property rights, and fear of the populace than toward a broadly based popular government more dependent on “the will of the people.”

It is also true, however, that during the eighteenth century the terms “democracy” and “republic” were used rather interchangeably in both common and philosophical usage. Madison, in fact, was well aware of the difficulty of defining “republic.” In Federalist No. 39, he posed the question “What, then, are the distinctive characters [sic] of the republican form?” “Were an answer to this question be sought . . . in the application of the term by political writers, to the constitutions of different states, no satisfactory one could be found. Holland, in which no particle of the supreme authority is derived from the people, has passed almost universally under the denomination of a republic. The same title has been bestowed on Venice, where absolute power over the great body of the people is exercised, in the most absolute manner, by a small body of hereditary nobles.”

In view of this ambiguity, Madison proposed that “we may define a republic to be . . . a government which derives all its power directly or indirectly from great body of the people, and is administered by persons holding their offices during pleasure, or for a limited period, or during good behavior.” By defining a republic as a government which derives all its powers “directly or indirectly from the great body of the people,” Madison now seems to be contradicting the distinction he had drawn earlier in Federalist No. 10. We might read his struggle with definitions as a further illustration of the prevailing confusion over the two terms.

If further evidence were needed of the ambiguity of terminology, we could turn to a highly influential writer whose work was well known to Madison and many of his contemporaries. In The Spirit of the Laws (1748) Montesquieu had distinguished three kinds of government: republican, monarchic, and despotic. Republican governments were of two kinds: “When, in a republic, the people as a body have the sovereign power, it is a Democracy. When the sovereign power is in the hands of a part of the people, it is called an Aristocracy.” But Montesquieu also insisted that “It is in the nature of a Republic that it has only a small territory: without that it could scarcely exist.”

Although the Framers differed among themselves as to how democratic they wanted their republic to be, for obvious reasons they were of one mind about the need for a representative government. But as events soon showed, they could not fully determine just how democratic that representative government would become–under the leadership of, among others, James Madison.


Teaching Slavery and Other Democratic Shortcomings in the History Classroom

My last essay on the recent events in Ferguson, Missouri elicited positive feedback and, unsurprisingly, pushback and criticism. When I shared the essay on Twitter, a fellow North St. Louis county native by the name of Alan R. Knight (whom I’ve never met in person or previously interacted with online) tweeted me more than thirty times expressing his belief that I “should be more responsible” when discussing this topic. He provided a laundry list of grievances that never addressed the content of my essay, but instead conveyed a peculiar theory for explaining the economic and social issues currently plaguing North St. Louis county. According to Mr. Knight, much of these problems revolved around the teaching of slavery in history classrooms. In teaching slavery, north county educators are preaching “hatred,” “propaganda,” “victimization,” and “slander” to the area’s African American population in an attempt to teach them to hate the United States, rely on the state and federal government for welfare handouts, and give votes and power to the Democratic party (“democrat slavers,” according to Mr. Knight). He says we live in a fully equal society and that blacks are completely at fault for any “racist hatred” against them.

Most rational readers, I hope, can easily see the ridiculousness and silliness of these claims.

There are plenty of history teachers around the United States who teach this country’s history of slavery and choose not to associate with the Democratic party. Over nine-tenths of all entitlement benefits in the U.S. go to elderly, disabled, or working households – not working-age people who simply refuse to work. Mr. Knight’s blaming of “racist hatred” on the victims of racism rather than actual racists is nothing new within the so-called “race conversation” in America. As I’ve argued repeatedly, teachers are often seen as the sole influence in a child’s upbringing when in reality schools are merely one part of a larger community effort to raise a child. And the idea of a fully equal society becoming reality in social practice is most likely impossible because the precise definition of what constitutes “equality” constantly changes over time as new questions force society to reconsider the boundaries of individual freedom, fair play, and equal protection under the law. This is not to suggest that equality doesn’t exist in some capacity or that the United States has not experienced great advances in economic, social, and political equality during its history. Far from it. It’s safe to say I am probably more content living under the boundaries of equality in 2014 than if I were to live under the boundaries of equality from 1860. It just means there will never be a time when we’ll all shake hands, say “everything’s equal!,” and dispose of our laws, justice systems, and lawyers.

Mr. Knight, however, challenged me on a philosophical level to consider the role of slavery in the history curriculum. What is the importance of teaching slavery in a U.S. history class, regardless of grade level?

As countless historians, scholars, and citizens have argued, the worst aspects of U.S. history–slavery, Indian extermination and western expansion, segregation, Jim Crow laws, lynching, imperialism, and mass incarceration–are not merely blips along the road to American democracy as we understand it today. They were fundamental building blocks in its growth, and you cannot honestly describe this nation’s history without addressing them. As Ta-Nehisi Coates argued earlier this year, “to celebrate freedom and democracy while forgetting America’s origins in a slavery economy is patriotism à la carte.” Our nation’s capitol was literally built with slave labor, for crying out loud.

Teaching slavery is not a form of propaganda or victimization, nor should its existence in the U.S. history curriculum be a partisan talking point in which parties debate whether or not it should be in the curriculum in the first place. Slavery is a part of our history whether we like it or not. Teaching our students of its wrongs illuminates the vast gulf between democratic principles and democratic practices. It also exposes the difficulty of finding a balance between liberty and order in a republican democracy.

It’s also true that we should acknowledge the history of antislavery and the eventual emancipation of all slaves with the passing of the 13th amendment in 1865. Many heroes in U.S. history have put their lives on the line to right serious wrongs and promote peace, justice, and freedom. These people deserve our recognition, historical memories, and other acts of public commemoration. But how do students come to understand the challenges these people faced if you don’t first expose them to the wrongs and inequalities of the society in which they lived? How do students develop a genuine appreciation for abolitionists like William Lloyd Garrison, Frederick Douglass, Theodore Weld, or the Grimke sisters without exposing them to the history of slavery or the fact that the abolitionist movement was very small and almost universally hated throughout the country during the antebellum era? To focus only on what we today consider “a good fight against inequality” without discussing those inequalities in depth is to put the cart before the horse in historical thinking and teaching. Talking only about “good history” is boring and uninspiring to students. It seems to me that if we want our students to feel like empowered citizens who can help make positive changes in our communities, we should expose them to this nation’s historical failures and the ongoing fight to make society more just, humane, and equitable. We’ve come a long way, but we’ve still got a long way to go.

I didn’t respond to all of Mr. Knight’s grievances, but for those interested you will find part of our twitter conversation below.

William Lloyd Garrison and the Principle of Non-Voting

William Lloyd Garrison. Photo Credit: "Declaring America," http://declaringamerica.com/garrison-john-brown-and-the-principle-of-nonresistance-1859/
William Lloyd Garrison. Photo Credit: “Declaring America,” http://declaringamerica.com/garrison-john-brown-and-the-principle-of-nonresistance-1859/

With the passing of November 4, 2014, has come another cycle of debate, discussion, and voting in the United States. Every two years U.S. citizens participate in this ritual by voting for local, county, state, and national leaders to serve and protect their interests. In the months before these elections we are constantly told by politicians, celebrities, and even religious leaders that we must make our voices heard by voting. When we leave the polls we get “I Voted” stickers that act as self-assuring indications to ourselves and others that we’ve participated in the democratic process and have successfully completed our civic duty.

But is voting alone really enough to fill that civic duty? To what extent should we be held responsible for the consequences of our votes? Must all democratic governmental changes take place within the system, or are there acceptable strategies for enacting change through outside activism? Might there be ethical or moral issues with voting in a representative democracy? These questions were hotly debated in the United States during the nineteenth century, a time when American representative democracy was still in its infancy and most countries were still run by monarchies and aristocrats. Caleb McDaniel’s recent publication The Problem of Democracy in the Age of Slavery: Garrisonian Abolitionists and Transatlantic Reform illuminates these debates as they took place within the abolitionist movement from 1831-1865.

Antebellum abolitionists are well-known in history for their strong opposition to slavery, their desire to see the institution abolished immediately, and their wish to provide suffrage rights and political equality for African Americans. As McDaniel points out, however, abolitionists also read about and debated a wide range of issues intimately associated with slavery, including free speech, democracy, nationalism, and religion. Within these debates emerged different perspectives about the merits of voting and whether or not it would help in the fight to end slavery in the United States. Garrisonian abolitionists, named after their leader William Lloyd Garrison, took a decided stand against voting or running for political office in the years before the Civil War, arguing that political agitation outside the system would be most effective in convincing Americans to call for the end of slavery.

Garrison, a devoutly religious abolitionist and editor of the Boston-based newspaper The Liberator, provided a nuanced, thought-provoking stance towards the principle of non-voting.

All governments, according to Garrisonians, were coercive entities who used violence to achieve and maintain their legitimacy. The United States received special condemnation from Garrisonians because its government readily implemented legalized state violence to keep millions of blacks in slavery while proclaiming itself as the freest nation on earth. As Garrison argued in 1845, “[The United States] was conceived in sin, and brought forth in iniquity; and its career has been marked by unparalleled hypocrisy, by high-handed tyranny, by a bold defiance of the omniscience and omnipotence of God. Freedom indignantly disowns it, and calls for its extinction; for within its borders are three millions of Slaves, whose blood constitutes its cement, whose flesh forms a large and flourishing branch of its commerce.” Garrisonians viewed all acts of violence as sinful, therefore voting constituted a sinful act that violated the will of God. Voting was also sinful because it privileged allegiances to political parties, governments, and nations over God’s earthly and sovereign kingdom.

Garrisonians instead called on “public agitation” to effect change in American society, arguing that suffrage took a back seat to the important work of influencing public sentiments about slavery. Garrisonian agitations took on many forms, including public speeches and debates, newspaper editorials, books, and abolitionist literature sent to Southern slaveholders through the mails (although President Andrew Jackson’s Postmaster General Amos Kendall allowed postal officers in the South to withhold this mail from its intended recipients, a clearly illegal maneuver aimed at protecting the sensibilities of slaveholders). At heart in these efforts was the belief that agitation was essential to influencing public sentiment and promoting the free expression of dissenting opinions. Garrisonians believed that agitation alone (without actively participating in the democratic process through voting) could convince voters to select anti-slavery candidates for office. In sum, influencing voters’ political perspectives was more important to Garrisonians than teaching them the virtues of voting in the first place. Garrison brought this point home when he remarked in 1839 that “I still expect to see abolition at the ballot-box, renovating the political action of the country . . . not by attempting to prove that it is the duty of every abolitionist to be a voter, but that it is the duty of every voter to be an abolitionist.”

By the 1840s, however, “political abolitionists” began arguing that voting was necessary to overtake the so-called “Slave Power.” According to McDaniel, political abolitionists like Frederick Douglass, Gerrit Smith, and James Birney “believed slaveholders had to be bested in the arena of politics because the government was what gave them so much protection and power” (160). Agitation alone was not enough to effect change, according to these abolitionists, and it was necessary to form political parties to beat proslavery politicians at their own game. Parties like the Liberty Party and the Free-Soil Party formed in the 1840s with the explicit goal of ending slavery, but their success at the polls was minimal and without the support of Garrisonian abolitionists who still believed their freedom to agitate would be compromised by active political participation.

While I personally disagree with the principle of non-voting, I think Garrisonians are right in asserting the importance of influencing public sentiment outside the systems that maintain a representative democracy. Dissent and activism are essential to a healthy republic that values free discussion; free elections can’t take place without those prerequisites. Voting alone doesn’t necessarily fulfill our civic duty because we must also agitate for those prerequisites. In a sense voting is only one tool within a larger responsibility to promote universal freedom and equality at all times.