Quilling illustration for Federalist Nos. 67-72
Federalist Nos. 67-72

The President

Generated summaryHamilton defends the presidency against inflated fears of monarchy, showing its powers are limited, its method of selection sound, and its structure, a single officer serving a renewable four-year term, built for energy and accountability rather than royal grandeur.

Federalist 67

Generated summaryOpponents dress the President in royal trappings to frighten the people. Their boldest charge, that he could fill Senate vacancies, is plainly false: the Constitution gives that power to the State executives. The charge is deliberate deception, not honest error.
Key points
  • The proposed Executive has been attacked with least candor, caricatured as a monarch by opponents exploiting the people’s hatred of kings.
  • His real powers scarcely exceed a New York governor’s, yet they are inflated into royal prerogatives, crown and purple.
  • As a sample of the fraud, one writer falsely ascribes to the President the power to fill casual Senate vacancies.
  • The clauses refute it, granting that power expressly to the State executives, not the President.
  • So gross an error could only have sprung from a deliberate intent to deceive the people.

The executive comes next. Perhaps no part has been attacked with less candor or judged with less care. Here the writers against the Constitution show their talent for misrepresentation. They count on the people’s hatred of monarchy, so they treat the President as the full-grown offspring of that detested parent, drawing even on fiction. Powers in few cases greater, in some less, than a governor of New York’s they have magnified into more than royal prerogatives.

Such attempts to transform the office make its real nature worth fixing, and the counterfeits worth exposing. The devices used to corrupt public opinion here are as weak as they are wicked. They far exceed the usual license of party trickery. To pretend a likeness between a king of Great Britain and a magistrate like the President is deliberate fraud.

Take one instance as a sample. A writer applauded by his party assigns the President a power the Constitution expressly gives the State executives. I mean filling chance vacancies in the Senate. On that false suggestion he has built a train of equally false observations. Let him face the evidence and justify the outrage if he can.

The second clause of the second section of the second article lets the President nominate officers and appoint them with the Senate’s advice and consent. It reaches only those “not in the Constitution otherwise provided for” and to be “established by law.” The next clause lets him fill vacancies that happen in the Senate’s recess, by commissions expiring at its next session. From this last the alleged power over Senate vacancies is drawn. The connection of the clauses and the plain words make that deduction not even plausible. The first clause cannot reach senators, whom the Constitution itself provides for and establishes.

Nor can the last clause reach Senate vacancies. First, it merely supplements the general appointment clause. The ordinary power belongs to the President and Senate jointly, so it works only while the Senate sits. It would be improper to keep that body always in session. Vacancies in its recess may need filling at once. So the clause lets the President alone make temporary appointments.

Second, if it supplements the clause before it, its “vacancies” must be the “officers” of that clause. Senators are not among them. Third, the timing confirms this. The power works during the Senate’s recess, and the appointments end at its next session. Had senators been meant, the clause would have tied the power and the term to the State legislatures. Those legislatures make the permanent appointments. Only the national Senate’s situation is considered here, so these vacancies mean only officers it helps the President appoint.

Last, the third section of the first article destroys the pretext. The Senate is two Senators from each State, chosen by its legislature. If a vacancy happens in that legislature’s recess, the State’s executive may make temporary appointments. They last until the legislature next meets and fills the vacancies. So the power over chance Senate vacancies goes in clear terms to the State executives. That proves the contrary reading sprang from an intent to deceive the people.

I have taken pains to set this instance in a clear, strong light. It is plain proof of the arts used to prevent a fair judgment of the Constitution. In so flagrant a case I have allowed myself unusual sharpness. I leave the verdict to any candid and honest opponent of the proposed government. Can language furnish terms harsh enough for so shameless an attempt to impose on the citizens of America?

Federalist 68

Generated summaryElectors chosen for this one purpose, voting apart in their own States and closed to officeholders, guard the choice of President against tumult, cabal, and foreign corruption. The method makes it likely that only men of proven ability and broad esteem reach the office.
Key points
  • The mode of electing the President is excellent, uniting the people’s will with a deliberate, well-guarded choice.
  • Electors chosen by the people for this sole occasion let their will shape the choice without any standing body.
  • A small number drawn from the mass is likeliest to weigh the office’s qualities wisely.
  • Voting within their own States, the electors give little opening to tumult or violent movements.
  • The design blocks cabal, intrigue, and above all foreign influence, barring federal officeholders from serving as electors.
  • Should no candidate gain a majority of the whole, the House chooses from the five highest.
  • The arts of popularity may raise a man in one State, but only rarer merit wins the whole Union, making able Presidents morally certain.

The mode of choosing the Chief Magistrate is almost the only important part of the plan to escape censure. The ablest opponent in print grants that the election is pretty well guarded. I go further: if not perfect, it is excellent. The people’s will should shape so great a trust. So the choice falls to no standing body, but to men the people pick for this purpose, at this moment. A small number drawn from the general mass, free to deliberate, is likeliest to have the judgment it needs.

It was also desirable to give tumult little opening. That danger is much dreaded in choosing so weighty a magistrate. An intermediate body of several electors is far less apt to convulse the community than one man who is himself its final object. Voting within their own States, they are less exposed to heats a single assembly might spread to the people.

Every practicable obstacle was to be set against cabal, intrigue, and corruption, republican government’s deadliest enemies. The danger comes chiefly from foreign powers seeking sway in our councils. Their best means is to raise a creature of their own to the chief magistracy. So the appointment rests on no standing body open to tampering, but on an immediate act of the people, choosing electors for one temporary purpose. The convention also barred all who might be suspected of too great devotion to the sitting President. No senator, representative, or federal officeholder may be an elector. The immediate agents thus enter free of sinister bias. Corrupting so many across thirteen States takes time as well as means.

Another aim: the Executive should depend for continuance on none but the people. Otherwise he might sacrifice duty to those whose favor keeps his office. So his re-election turns on a body deputed for that single choice. Each State’s people choose electors equal to its senators and representatives. They meet within the State and vote for a fit person as President. The votes go to the seat of government; a majority of the whole makes a President. A majority may not fall on one man, and less than a majority might be unsafe. Then the House picks, from the five highest, the man it judges best qualified.

The process makes it morally certain that only eminently qualified men reach the office. Low intrigue and popular arts may raise a man to first honors in one State. The esteem of the whole Union, or the large part a candidate needs, takes another merit. So the office will constantly tend to be filled by men preeminent for ability and virtue. Those who can weigh the executive’s share in good or ill administration will think this no small recommendation. We reject the poet’s heresy that whatever is best administered is best. Still, the true test of good government is its tendency to produce good administration.

The Vice-President is chosen as the President is, with the Senate playing the House’s part. Some call a separate officer needless, even harmful, and would have the Senate elect one of its own. First, so the Senate can always reach a definite decision, its presiding officer has only a casting vote. Drawing a senator there would trade his State a constant vote for an occasional one. Second, the Vice-President may stand in for the President. So the reasons for the President’s mode of election apply with great, if not equal, force to his.

Federalist 69

Generated summaryPoint by point, from his four-year term and impeachment to the veto, war command, pardons, treaties, and appointments, the President’s real powers fall far below the British king’s. Against a New York governor they stand about even, sometimes below.
Key points
  • The real President is nothing like a British king; point by point he resembles an elected State governor.
  • He is elected for four years and impeachable, where the king is hereditary and his person sacred.
  • His veto is only qualified, overridden by two-thirds; the king’s negative over Parliament is absolute.
  • He commands the forces but cannot declare war or raise armies, powers the Constitution gives Congress.
  • He shares the treaty power with the Senate; the king treats with foreign nations alone.
  • He shares appointments with the Senate; the king is the fountain of honor, creating offices and conferring nobility.
  • He has no spiritual jurisdiction; the king heads the national church.
  • On the whole his power rivals a New York governor’s, not a king’s.

I trace the Executive as the convention’s plan marks it out, against the unfair pictures of it. The executive power rests, with few exceptions, in one magistrate. That settles nothing. It likens him to the king of Great Britain, but as much to the Grand Seignior, the khan of Tartary, or a New York governor.

He is elected for four years and may stand again as often as people wish. A king inherits his crown and passes it to his heirs. Nearer is the New York governor: three years, no limit on re-election. Dangerous influence grows far faster in one State than across the Union, so his four years are less to be feared than the governor’s three. He may also be impeached, tried, and removed for treason, bribery, or other high crimes or misdemeanors, then prosecuted at law. A king’s person is sacred; no court reaches him, and only a national revolution could punish him. Here he stands no better than New York’s governor, and worse than Maryland’s and Delaware’s.

He may return a bill; two thirds of both houses can pass it anyway. The British king’s negative on acts of Parliament is absolute. The President’s qualified negative matches our council of revision, in which the governor sits. He thus exceeds New York’s governor, holding alone what that governor shares with the chancellor and judges. Here he equals the governor of Massachusetts, whose constitution the convention seems to have copied.

He commands the army and navy, and the State militias when called into actual service. He may pardon federal offenses except in impeachment; urge measures on Congress; convene or adjourn the houses; see the laws faithfully executed; and commission all federal officers. In most of this he resembles both king and governor. The material differences are these. First, he commands only the militia actually called out; king and governor command all militia always, so he is below both. Second, his command of the army and navy is the king’s in name but far less in fact: supreme command as first General and admiral. The king may also declare war and raise fleets and armies; the Constitution gives that to the legislature.

Third, he may pardon all cases but impeachment. A New York governor may pardon even impeachment, save treason and murder. In political effect, is not the governor’s power the greater? A governor heading a plot not yet ripened into treason could promise his accomplices impunity. A President may pardon treason tried at law, but shelters no one from impeachment. A full pardon for every early step tempts further than a bare escape from death if arms fail. Fourth, he may adjourn the legislature only when the houses disagree on the time. The British monarch may prorogue Parliament, or dissolve it. The New York governor may also prorogue this State’s legislature for a limited time.

He makes treaties with the Senate’s consent, two thirds of those present agreeing. The British king is the sole and absolute voice of the nation abroad, making treaties of peace, trade, alliance, and every other kind on his own. The treaty power rests wholly in the crown, and royal compacts bind without any other sanction. So the king does alone what the President can do only with a branch of the legislature. This power does exceed any State Executive’s, I admit, but that follows from the sovereign nature of treaties. He also receives ambassadors and other public ministers. Much has been made of this, but it is more dignity than power.

He nominates and, with the Senate’s consent, appoints ambassadors, public ministers, Supreme Court judges, and all other federal officers set up by law. The British king is truly the fountain of honor: he fills all offices, creates them, and confers nobility at pleasure. The President is plainly far below him here. He is not even equal to the New York governor, judged by practice. Appointment there lies with a council of the governor and four senators. The governor claims, and often uses, the right of naming, with a casting vote. If he truly names, he equals the President and exceeds him by that vote. A divided Senate makes no appointment; a divided council lets the governor confirm his own choice.

The President appoints in the open, before a whole branch of the legislature; the New York governor in private, with at most four men. So small a council is far easier to work on than the national Senate. In handing out offices this State’s magistrate is in practice the stronger. Setting aside the treaty power, it is hard to say whether he holds more or less power than the governor. The parallel with a British king plainly has no ground.

He is elected by the people for four years; the king is hereditary and perpetual. He may be punished and disgraced; the king is sacred. His negative is qualified; the king’s absolute. He commands the forces; the king also declares war and raises fleets and armies. Treaties and appointments he shares with a branch of the legislature; the king holds both alone. He can confer no privileges; the king makes denizens of aliens, nobles of commoners, and erects corporations. He sets no rules of trade or currency; the king rules markets, weights, measures, embargoes, and coin. He has no spiritual power; the king heads the national church. What shall we answer those who say things so unlike are alike? The same we owe those who call a government of the people’s elected servants an aristocracy, a monarchy, and a despotism.

Federalist 70

Generated summaryEnergy in government needs one Executive, not several men or a council. One man decides and acts with the speed, secrecy, and responsibility that divided authority weakens, and that lets blame slip away.
Key points
  • Energy in the Executive is a leading feature of good government, and its first ingredient is unity, a single President.
  • A vigorous executive is not hostile to republican government but essential to defense, steady law, and liberty.
  • Energy needs unity, duration, support, and competent powers; safety needs dependence on the people and responsibility.
  • Unity yields decision, activity, secrecy, and dispatch, all of which fade as the numbers grow.
  • A plural executive, whether equal magistrates or a binding council, breeds dissension that weakens and divides the government.
  • Worst of all, plurality conceals faults and destroys responsibility, as blame shifts until no author can be found.
  • A single magistrate is more closely watched and more surely held to account.

Some say a vigorous Executive clashes with republican government. Its friends must at least hope that is false, since to admit it condemns their own principles. Energy in the Executive is a leading part of what defines good government. It guards the country against foreign attack, enforces the laws steadily, and shields property from high-handed combinations that break in on justice. It secures liberty against ambition, faction, and anarchy. A feeble Executive means a feeble execution, and a feeble execution is only a bad one. A government badly run, whatever it is in theory, must in practice be bad.

Granting we need an energetic Executive, three questions remain. What makes this energy? How far does it fit republican safety? How far does the convention’s plan reflect it? The parts of energy are four: unity, duration, adequate support, and competent powers. The parts of safety are two: due dependence on the people, and due responsibility. The soundest statesmen have favored a single Executive and a numerous legislature. Energy is the Executive’s first quality, best in one hand; the legislature is fitter for debate and for winning the people’s trust.

That unity helps energy is not disputed. Decision, activity, secrecy, and dispatch mark one man far more than any number. Unity may be destroyed two ways: by giving power to several magistrates of equal rank, or to one man bound to counsellors. Rome’s two Consuls show the first, several State constitutions the second. Both have backers, and both meet like objections. Other nations teach little here, but as far as they teach anything they warn against plurality. Roman history records much harm from quarrels between the Consuls, and no gain from their number.

Leaving history for reason, the case against plurality in any form is far stronger. Wherever two or more share an undertaking, difference of opinion threatens. Where they hold equal rank in a public trust, rivalry and even hatred are peculiar dangers. The bitterest quarrels spring from these causes, weakening authority and wrecking the plans of those they divide. In an executive of several men they might defeat the gravest measures in a crisis. Worse, they might split the community into factions attached to different men. Men often oppose a measure because they had no hand in it. Once consulted and overruled, they feel bound in honor to defeat what was resolved against them.

Such evils must be borne in the legislature, but building them into the Executive is needless and unwise. In the legislature, quick decision is oftener an evil than a good. The clash of parties may block sound plans, yet it often promotes deliberation and checks the majority. Once a resolution passes it is law, and opposition ends. Nothing offsets quarrels in the Executive; there the harm is pure and never stops. They weaken every measure and blunt the vigor and dispatch it most needs. In war, where executive energy is the bulwark of national safety, plurality is all to be feared.

These points bear most on the first case, magistrates of equal rank. Against a council whose consent the Constitution would require they bear less heavily, but still with weight. A cunning cabal there could sap the whole administration, and without one, mere difference of views would breed weakness and delay. The weightiest objection holds against both: plurality hides faults and destroys responsibility. Responsibility is of two kinds, to censure and to punishment. The first matters more in an elective office, since a man in public trust will oftener make himself unworthy than liable to punishment. Multiplying the Executive makes either harder to fix. Amid mutual charges, blame shifts so smoothly that opinion cannot find the real author.

“I was overruled by my council.” Such pretexts are always at hand, true or false. Who will take the trouble, or the odium, of probing further? Our governor shares only appointments with a council, and there we have seen the mischief. Scandalous appointments were made; the governor blamed the council, the council his nomination. The people could not tell whose influence gave their interests to such unfit hands.

Plurality thus tends to strip the people of their two greatest securities for any delegated power. The first is the restraint of public opinion, which loses force when censure is divided, and uncertain where it falls. The second is the chance to see wrongdoing plainly, and so remove those men, or punish them where the case admits.

In England the king rules for life, is not answerable, and his person is sacred. Nothing there could be wiser than a council answerable to the nation for its advice. Without one the executive would bear no responsibility, which no free government can admit. In a republic every magistrate ought to answer for his own conduct, so that reason turns against a council. In Britain the council supplies the responsibility forbidden the king. Here it would destroy, or greatly lessen, the responsibility meant for the Chief Magistrate.

The executive council rests on the republican jealousy that power is safer in many hands than one. Even granting the maxim, the gain would not outweigh the losses. But I do not think the rule applies to executive power at all. I agree with a writer whom Junius calls “deep, solid, and ingenious”: executive power is more easily confined when it is one. Watchfulness is safer with a single object, and all multiplying of the Executive is dangerous rather than friendly to liberty.

The security sought by multiplying the Executive cannot be had. Numbers must be great enough to make combination hard, or they breed danger instead of safety. The joint credit of several men is more formidable to liberty than one man’s. Where an artful leader can unite so few, power grows more open to abuse than in one man. He, being alone, is watched more closely and suspected more readily. The Decemvirs of Rome, whose name records their number, were more dreaded in usurpation than any one of them.

None would propose more; six to a dozen are named for a council. Even a dozen combine easily, and America has more to fear from that than from one man’s ambition. To a magistrate who is himself responsible, a council is generally nothing better than a clog on his good intentions. It is often an instrument of his bad ones, and almost always a cloak for his faults. I say nothing of expense. A council large enough for its purpose would cost too much for a doubtful object. Before the Constitution appeared, I rarely met a sensible man from any State who denied, from experience, that our executive’s unity was among this State’s best features.

Federalist 71

Generated summaryA four-year term gives the President enough security to resist passing public passions and legislative pressure. It is long enough to make him firm, and not long enough to alarm anyone for liberty.
Key points
  • A term of considerable length, four years, is the Executive’s second source of energy, giving him firmness and independence.
  • A man values what he holds by a firm tenure, so too short a term breeds feebleness and irresolution.
  • The Executive should serve the community’s deliberate sense, not every gust of popular passion, and must sometimes resist temporary delusion.
  • He owes no deference to the legislature’s humors, and must dare to act on his own judgment.
  • Real separation requires that each branch be independent, for the legislature tends to absorb every other power.
  • Four years gives useful firmness without endangering liberty, given the President’s confined powers.

A long term is the second thing the Executive needs for energy. It bears on two things: his own firmness, and his administration’s steadiness. The longer the term, the surer that firmness. Men value a safe hold above a shaky one, and risk more to keep it. A magistrate who must soon step down has too little stake to risk blame by acting on his own. Nor will he stand up to passing ill-humors in society, or in a ruling faction of the legislature. If he might stay by a new election and wants to, hope joins fear to corrupt his integrity or sap his courage. Weakness and wavering mark the office either way.

Some would count the Executive’s servile pliancy to any prevailing current its best recommendation. Such men mistake what government is for. The republican principle asks that the community’s deliberate sense govern its agents. It does not ask compliance with every gust of passion, nor with flatterers who court the people’s prejudices and betray them. The people commonly intend the public good, even in their errors. But they do not always reason rightly about the means. Schemers beset them, and the wonder is they err so seldom. When their interests cross their wishes, the guardians they chose must resist the delusion and win them time for cooler thought.

Whatever deference the Executive owes the people, we cannot claim the like for the legislature’s humors. The legislature may cross the people, or the people may be neutral. Either way, he should dare act his own opinion, with vigor and decision. The rule that divides power also requires each branch to stand free of the others. Why separate the executive or the judiciary from the legislature if both lie at its mercy? To be subordinate to the laws is one thing, to depend on the legislature another. The first agrees with good government. The second breaks it, and puts all power in one hand, whatever the Constitution’s forms.

Earlier papers showed how the legislature tends to absorb every other power. In purely republican governments it is almost impossible to stop. Its members sometimes fancy that they are the people themselves, and often seem ready to rule the other branches. The people are commonly on their side, and their momentum makes it very hard for the others to keep the constitutional balance.

How can a short term affect the Executive’s independence, unless one branch could appoint or remove the other? One answer we have already: a man cares little for a short-lived gain, and will risk little for it. Another is the legislature’s sway over the people. It might block the re-election of a man who resisted its sinister projects. Does four years answer the end? If not, a shorter term at least guards better against ambition. It may beat a longer one still too short to inspire firmness.

We cannot claim that any fixed term fully answers the end, yet four years shapes the character of the government. It always leaves a long interval. In it the prospect of losing office is far enough off not to unsettle a man of ordinary courage. He may reasonably expect time to win the community to his measures. As the election nears, his firmness would likely decline, yet it would draw on the esteem his earlier service had won.

A four-year term makes the Executive firm enough to matter, not enough to alarm anyone for public liberty. The British House of Commons began with the mere power to grant or refuse a tax. From that it cut down the crown’s prerogatives and once abolished royalty and aristocracy. If that body did so much, what is to be feared from an elected magistrate of four years, with a President’s confined powers? Only that he might prove unequal to the task the Constitution gives him. I add only this: a term that leaves doubt of his firmness cannot square with fear of his encroachments.

Federalist 72

Generated summaryLetting the President stand for reelection, rather than forcing him out at a fixed term, keeps him working to govern well. It also discourages a departing officeholder from corruption or clinging to power, and lets the country keep an experienced hand at a critical moment.
Key points
  • The President should be re-eligible; barring him after a set term would harm the government far more than help it.
  • Re-eligibility lets the people keep a proven magistrate, securing the permanence of a wise administration.
  • Exclusion weakens the inducements to good behavior, since the hope of reward is the strongest spur to fidelity.
  • It tempts an avaricious or ambitious man to make the most of his brief tenure, even by corrupt or usurping means.
  • It robs the community of the experience the magistrate has gained, experience being the parent of wisdom.
  • It banishes men whose service might be indispensable in a war or similar emergency.
  • It forbids stability, forcing a change of men and so a change of measures.
  • Its promised gains, independence and security, are speculative, and outweighed by these more certain harms.

The administration of government, broadly, covers all the body politic does. In its exact sense it means executive details. Think of foreign negotiations, plans of finance, spending money the legislature has appropriated, running the army and navy, directing war. The men who manage these matters are the chief magistrate’s deputies. They should hold office by his appointment and answer to his oversight. So his term is tied closely to a stable administration. A new President often proves his worth by undoing his predecessor’s work. He replaces the lower officers, and the result is disgraceful, ruinous instability.

To a long fixed term I join re-eligibility, the chance to be re-elected. A long term gives the officer the will to play his part well. It gives the community time to judge where his measures tend. Re-eligibility lets the people keep a man they approve, and secures permanence in a wise administration. No plan seems more plausible at first glance, or more ill-founded on inspection. Respectable men urge holding the chief magistrate a set time, then shutting him out, for a period or forever. Temporary or permanent, the effects are nearly the same, and mostly harmful.

One ill effect of exclusion would be to weaken the inducements to good behavior. Zeal falls when the office’s rewards must end on a fixed date. It rises when a man may still earn his place by merit. Reward is among the strongest spurs to conduct, and fidelity is best secured by making interest agree with duty. Even the love of fame would turn against great undertakings. A man who must leave a long work to unequal successors will not begin it. From most men we could expect only the merit of doing no harm.

Another ill effect would be temptation to sordid aims, to embezzlement, and in some cases to usurpation. A greedy man near the end of his term would make the brief harvest abundant. With a longer prospect he might rest content with his regular benefits. His avarice would guard his avarice. If good conduct could prolong his honors, vanity might check his greed. A fixed end lets greed win. An ambitious man at the summit, sure no merit can save him from the fall, would be violently tempted to prolong his power. He would feel that pull far less if duty could secure the same end.

Would it serve the peace of the community, or the stability of the government, to have half a dozen men who had once risen to the supreme magistracy? They would then wander among the people like discontented ghosts, sighing for a place they are destined never to hold again.

A third ill effect of exclusion is to rob the community of the experience the chief magistrate gains in office. No quality matters more in the first magistrate of a nation, yet exclusion puts it under a constitutional ban. The moment a man gains that experience, he must leave the station that taught it. A fourth ill effect is to banish men whose service the state may urgently need. Changing the chief magistrate at the outbreak of a war would trade experience for inexperience, even if the successor had equal merit. It would also unsettle a settled administration.

A fifth ill effect is that exclusion bans stability in the administration by constitutional rule. Forcing a change of men in the first office forces a change of measures. Men rarely change while measures stay the same. We need not fear too much stability while the people can still choose otherwise. These disadvantages tell most against a perpetual exclusion. But a partial one makes return so remote that they apply nearly as fully.

Two advantages are claimed for exclusion: first, greater independence in the magistrate; second, greater security to the people. Unless the exclusion is perpetual, there is no ground even to claim the first. And even then, may he not have aims or friends for which he would sacrifice his independence? Knowing his time is short, he may be less willing to make enemies by firm conduct. He must soon face their resentment as a private man. Whether the rule promotes his independence or impairs it is hard to say.

The second claim is weaker. Suppose the exclusion were perpetual. A man of irregular ambition, the only kind worth fearing, would yield power reluctantly. If he had won the people’s favor, he might lead them to resent the rule as a restraint on themselves. Their resentment, joined to his thwarted ambition, could endanger liberty more than simply letting the community keep him in office. Disabling the people from keeping men they judge worthy is an excess of refinement. Its gains are speculative; its costs are certain.