• What I Saw in the Imperial City

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    "The
    people's good is the highest law"
    ~ Cicero, "De Legibus"

    Recently a
    nameless benefactor, in a Sisyphean effort to provide me with a
    modicum of the professional training I gravely lack, made it possible
    for me to spend a week in Washington, D.C. Wherewith, I eagerly
    haunted the hallowed halls of Congress and learned to scarf Congressional
    Bean Soup with the best of them. I strolled the old carriage lanes
    the length of the National Mall and entertained myself hugely in
    visiting a vast array of taxpayer-subsidized monuments, museums,
    and gardens. After one such ramble, I rested contentedly on the
    steps of the Capitol. Gazing with wizened eyes towards the Washington
    Monument there came unbidden to my mind the famous words of Gibbon:

    “It was at
    Rome, on the 15th of October 1764, as I sat musing amid the ruins
    of the capitol, while the bare-footed friars were singing vespers
    in the temple of Jupiter, that the idea of writing the decline
    and fall of the city first started to my mind…. "

    Well, in place
    of barefoot friars, the omnipresent black-clad Capitol Police had
    to do. And just as inevitably my thoughts, though originally circumscribed
    to the City, gave way as did Gibbon's to musings on the decline
    and fall of empire.

    So herewith,
    as a token of compensation to my unnamed benefactor, are the impressions
    of a political naïf wandering unsupervised in the lair of Leviathan,
    a citizen out of time, holding quixotically to the notion that the
    United States are a constitutional republic, that the Constitution
    circumscribes and enumerates the powers of the central government,
    and that in general the government which governs best, governs least.

    One has only
    to stroll through the teeming concourse of Union Station and out
    into the surrounding streets to completely obliterate from the mind
    any lingering picture of the sleepy Southern town of yesteryear,
    a capitol city so uncomfortable and lacking in amenities that Congress
    hurried to get its work done so as to sooner leave the pestiferous
    place. No, Washington is as noxious to the agricultural yeoman as
    it is nutrimental to the parasitic managerial elite. It exhales
    the atmosphere of a self-conscious capitol city as hordes of people
    hustle purposely about humming with importance and power. The street
    scene is populated by all races, languages, and cultures drawn as
    were the Dacii and Alemanii to Rome as the locus of
    influence and opportunity. What do all these people do? Can it be
    possible they all derive their living from the activities of a handful
    of elected representatives and to the departments, bureaus, institutes
    they fund and regulate? Yes, in a complete inversion of the Founders'
    vision, the ripples of money and power radiate outward from the
    Capitol like the solar wind throughout every square inch of the
    country's political and economic universe.

    The architecture
    of Washington is a hoot. The Mall is flanked on both sides with
    monumental buildings of Beaux Arts grandiosity. I suppose it is
    meant to recall the Rome of old, and evince the new American power’s
    legitimacy, importance, and permanence. To me, the faux grandeur
    falls flat; it seems to try too hard, with one shameless monolith
    after another shouting, “Look at me! Important!”

    But I like
    the quirky and inefficient Smithsonian Castle and to my eye the
    cast iron dome of the Capitol is a thing of beauty. But step inside
    the rotunda, and floating high above the floor is Constantino Brumidi's
    huge and absurd fresco, "The Apotheosis of Washington."
    From the time of Augustus the Roman emperors were routinely deified
    upon death and so too, the Father of Our Country is here depicted
    sitting upon clouds as he ascends into heaven. The befuddled Virginian,
    who in life eschewed any sort of royal title, is clad in imperial
    purple, flanked by the goddess of liberty and the winged figure
    of fame, and surrounded by a myriad of allegorical figures too hackneyed
    to be believed. It is rather easier to picture the same Washington
    in Valhalla, grinding his dentures at the ironic absurdity of it
    all.

    There are a
    lot of places to eat in Washington. None of the Italian restaurants
    I saw had braciola on the menu. That's enough to keep me from living
    there.

    It's surprising
    just how accessible the Members of Congress are. You can breeze
    into any Member's office and be greeted by an eager young staffer
    who seems glad to see you, and who will give you gallery passes
    and other goodies if you ask. If the pooh-bah himself is present,
    and you don't look too smart, he may even come out to shake your
    hand. Anyone with a tolerance for balderdash, or a few drinks in
    him, can sit in on Congressional hearings and observe floor action
    from the Senate or House galleries. I did lots of both, and was
    confirmed in the conviction that they are, to a man, blowhards and
    braggarts. The ability to bloviate must be a prerequisite for the
    job and the laconic, taciturn, or modest best not apply. And carissimi,
    my worst fear was realized: every single damn one of them makes
    it clear that he thinks it's his job to take money from some people
    and give it to others. This simple fact is the unum necessarium,
    the one ineluctable, uncontested bedrock principle of American politics.
    If you want to see this principle iconically portrayed, pick up
    your representative's latest constituent newsletter. If it does
    not have at least one photograph of him/her/it handing some smiling
    vassal an oversized check, I'll eat my head.

    A
    Peroration on Moral Theology

    According to
    Thomas Aquinas, in times of necessity it may be justifiable to take
    that which belongs to another without permission (the impoverished
    plucks an apple from a neighbour’s tree to feed his starving child).
    However, transferring this exceptional moral precept to civil law
    equates to the licensing of universal larceny. Every sound commentator
    on democracy — from Aristotle to de Tocqueville to Michael Oakeshott
    — says the same: as soon as the public realizes it can vote itself
    benefits out of the public treasury, democracy devolves into a kleptocracy
    and the citizenry lapses into unabashed self-interest and luxury.

    End
    of Peroration

    Of the notion
    that the powers of the federal government are constitutionally circumscribed
    and enumerated there is not a hint or whisper, not a shadow or penumbra.
    The Constitution is like some sort of deity to which Congress pays
    homage but does not obey. By a conspiracy it is understood to be
    nothing more than talking point, mainly useful as an administrative
    and organizational guide.

    Congress legislates
    what it does not understand. At least that's what I was told by
    a happy young lobbyist. She further informed me that it's the lobbyist's
    job to educate the Congressman as to what side of a particular issue
    it's in his best interest to be on. Of course, the lobbyist plays
    Little John to the Congressman's Robin Hood. His purpose is to secure
    a share of the loot for his client. The lobbyist's "one-page-leave-behind"
    and intense persuasive speeches can be summed up in one word: "Gimme!!"

    Congress is
    not a think tank. Legislation is the means to redistribute the taxpayer's
    dollars, and is composed of equal parts compromise and venality.
    Laws are the raw material out of which thousands of bureaucrats
    build enormous structures of rules, regulations, and controls each
    of which has the force of law, and which you are expected to know
    and obey. The last time I looked, the Code of Federal Regulations
    was comprised of over 140,000 pages.

    I have no
    intention of being fair, but if forced to, I would admit that in
    their own obtuse way our representatives have what they think are
    their constituents' best interests at heart. They seem to be capable
    men and women and are generally slick, articulate and intelligent.
    But it's clear that their knowledge of issues is broad but extremely
    shallow. Details, procedural and substantive, are taken care of
    by scores of eager staffers. These hard-working young folks are
    the ones who sleep in the offices, gather and synthesize information,
    negotiate compromises, write position papers, set the member's schedule
    and whisper in his ear. In the district offices at home, proliferating
    like donut shops in New England, they provide all sorts of constituent
    services (that is, they are taxpayer-funded campaign workers, fixing
    problems caused by their bosses in Washington). It looks to me a
    lousy job. The main compensation must be "experience on the
    Hill" and proximity to the levers of power.

    Votes are the
    currency of Congress, which members barter, trade, and sell like
    demented brokers, personal integrity be damned. This trading of
    what should be hard convictions is the Congressional national pastime.
    Shortly before resigning his seat to fight in the Mexican War, Representative
    Jefferson Davis of Mississippi was asked by a colleague to vote
    for another measure so as to obtain a reciprocal vote for his own.
    This is what he had to say:

    "Sir,
    I make no terms, I accept no compromises. If when I ask for an
    appropriation, the object shall be shown to be proper and the
    expenditure constitutional, I defy the gentleman, for his conscience'
    sake, to vote against it. If it should appear to him otherwise,
    then I expect his opposition, and only ask that it be directly,
    fairly and openly exerted. The case shall be presented on its
    single merit; on that I wish to stand or fall."

    Davis'
    sentiments — indeed, his language — are manifestly incomprehensible
    to the congressman of today, with the noble exception of Rep Paul
    of Texas.

    Finally, while
    riding Amtrak home, I mused on what power and prosperity had wrought.
    Then it came to me, a fact so plain that it is simply not seen:
    our representatives do not have, and desperately require, philosophy.
    Without it, they can’t be anything more than political hacks. For
    the just exercise of power they should be conversant with intellects
    that are exalted and measured; they must take time to ponder the
    thoughts of Aristotle, Aquinas, and Montesquieu. And simply to orient
    themselves in history they need to make the acquaintance of Herodotus,
    Plutarch, Livy, and Christopher Dawson. Our present malaise consists
    of good intentions uninformed by wisdom, historical imagination,
    and intellectual modesty. As the scenery flew by my fervent and
    spontaneous prayer for all of them was that they may learn to treasure
    virtue above all, and draw deep into their souls the words of Tacitus:
    "The more corrupt the republic, the more numerous the laws."

    May
    28, 2007

    Anthony
    Mazzone [send him mail]
    writes from his eyrie in Narberth, Pennsylvania.

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