Books of the Week
The New Machiavelli
By JENNY NASMYTH THE trouble with the Western democracies is that they are truly democratic. The people choose their rulers; and because the rulers have to be chosen by the people they tend to be distinguished not so much by their capacity for ruling as by their capacity to persuade people to choose them. They have, as Burke said of the First Republic in France, to be "bidders at an auction of popularity." And those who are prepared to bid highest are not necessarily the greatest connoisseurs.
The miraculous thing, when all has been said and done in the democratic processes of election and government, is that so many great statesmen have arrived at the seat of power. In the United States it is a peculiar miracle. In England, the people at least give themselves six hundred and twenty-five chances of choosing the right Prime Minister, but in America, they elect one man to be their Chief Executive, a man with more power for right or wrong than any Prime Minister; and they elect him on his performance during three months, from the end of July to the beginning of November, at the largest auction of popularity that is ever held anywhere. It is a totally, pathetically, and bathetically inappropriate way to set about it. But, as there is no such thing as an infallibly benevolent despot, it may be as good as any other way that has yet been devised. At all events it is, to the Englishman who does not have to endure it, an intensely romantic affair, and none has been more romantic than the Presidential election of 1952. For Mr. Stevenson won our hearts. More than Mr. Wilson who brought America into the First World War, %ore than Mr. Roosevelt who gave us Lend-Lease, more, in the end, than General Eisenhower who led our armies to victory in 1945, Adlai Stevenson became, in those three short months, a hero at the British breakfast table. By doing what ? By having greatness thrust upon him, in the first place, in opposition to his patently genuine desire to avoid it; by con- ducting a campaign which, even by British standards, which in this respect are more repressed than American, was a model of clarity, wisdom and democratic practice; by refusing to make any bids whatever in the auction of popularity; and by his wonderful intimacy with the more obscure works of the more famous Anglo-Saxon authors. If the truth was told, it might be that Mr. Stevenson acquired more English devotees by quoting Dr. Johnson to the American Legion and Bernard Shaw at Ypsilanti Whistle Stop than by telling the American people the truth. But however it was done, he did it. So long as Adlai Stevenson was running in the United States, he was sure of a landslide in Britain.
* But if he had been running here ? Do the people ever like being told the truth, except about other people ? The answer may be found in 1956. It was certainly not to be found in Mr. Stevenson's defeat in 1952. For Mr. Eisenhower may have won for any number of reasons which had nothing or everything to do with Mr. Stevenson's cam- paign. He may have won because of the magic of his smile and the accumulated magic of his name. He may have won because the American electorate wanted a change, because they believed the Democrats were corrupted by being too long in office, because they liked the idea of Ike going to Korea and bringing the boys home. Or he may have won because he said what they wanted to hear, and Mr. Stevenson told them what he knew they ought to know.
By those who are not interested in American elections, Mr. Stevenson's speeches* should be read for their wit. There are not all that number of people, politicians apart, who could
* The Speeches of Adlai E. Stevenson. (Andre Deutsch. 12s. 6d.)
tell the inhabitants of Hamtramck, Michigan, that "action for action's sake is the last resort of a mentally and morally exhausted mind." When Mr. Eisenhower was standing on a platform in Wisconsin with his arm round Joe McCarthy, his political opponent was bound to take a crack at him. But what he actually said was "You Can tell the size of a man by the size of the thing that makes him mad," and with one stroke of his wit, the political campaign recedes and one is left reflecting on all the little men who are made mad by little things. "Some of us," he told the Volunteers for Stevenson Breakfast, "worship in churches, some in synagogues, some on golf courses "—and there, in a sentence is the middle-class Sunday. Ghost written ? Perhaps, but it was a highly original ghost in the service of a highly exceptional man. Though Mr. Stevenson's speeches may be read for their wit, they should really be read for their content and, above all, for their courage. To the armed services overseas, the Democratic candidate for the Presidency said, "What you all want to know is when you will climb on board the transport that will bring you home. The only honest answer to that is that when our allies become strong enough for their initial defense, most of you come home. And the only way to speed that day is to speed the arming of our friends." He told the American Legion that "we are rapidly becoming a nation of veterans. If we were all to claim a special reward for our service, beyond that to which specific disability or sacrifice has created a just claim, who would be left to pay the bill ? After all, we are Americans first and veterans second . . " At a Memorial Auditorium, in Kentucky, he devoted precisely nine sentences to explaining how his ancestors were connected with that State, and continued, "So, my fellow Kentuckians, I want to talk to you tonight about the war in Korea," and did so, with the utmost serious- ness, for the rest of the evening. There was the occasion when Senator Nixon, between tearful appearances on television. accused Stevenson of complicity in the Hiss case. Stevenson was finally provoked; but even then, politics in the ordinary sense of the word made only the saddest and most fleeting of entries into his campaign.
If you read, you cannot help admiring. But you may also be tempted to wonder whether it was not all a fruitless effort, perhaps even a dangerous one. Elections, it is arguable, are not won that way and the only thing that matters is that the right man should win. But if you have these doubts you should then read Mr. Stevenson's introduction to this selection of his speeches. The worst fate than can befall an honest man is to reach high office as the captive of his election promises, unless those promises represent what he intends to do when he gets there. Countless governments have fallen, countless wrongs been done .and hearts been broken by politicians clipping their own wings on the hustings, forgetting that in office they will have to fly. And then there is another point. The leaders of a democracy often plead the electorate as the excuse for their failures and their follies. But if the politicians persist in treating the electorate as children, how shall the voters ever grow up ? • If democracy is to defeat totalitarianism without a war,. elections will have to be won as Mr. Stevenson tried to- win his. Unless the people are made aware both of the extent of and the limitations on their freedom of choice, they will not use it and therefore they will not value it. Nothing is so difficult to survive as disuse. "Let's talk sense to the American people. Peace is far more important than who wins this election. Whichever party wins, the American people must be sure to win." The words were Stevenson's, the place was Louisville, but the thought would be just as good in Paris, in Rome or in London.
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