Democracy: The lessons of history
AMERICANS TEND to be smug about democracy, assuming we invented it, or at least perfected it. Historians use the phrase "American exceptionalism" to describe this belief that we have something unique to offer the world. It is a messianic impulse whose most recent iteration is the attempt to export our values to the Middle East over the barrel of a gun.
But a look back at the laboratories where "rule of the people" was born - particularly ancient Athens and Renaissance Florence - offers a useful challenge to a hubris born partly out of amnesia. Despite the glaring inadequacies of those earlier systems, they outperformed our democracy in fundamental ways.
By some measures, both ancient Athens and Renaissance Florence were more democratic than we are. This might seem astonishing given that both these earlier systems accepted slavery (as did the United States) and excluded large portions of the population - most notably women and the poor - but they were more effective in instilling a sense of shared purpose on the part of the average citizen.
Government in Athens and Florence made enormous demands on the people. In the Assembly of Athens a large proportion of eligible citizens gathered to debate and decide the great issues of the day. The system was far from perfect, as the unruly crowd of amateur politicians was easily manipulated, often reversing course under the influence of powerful orators. Thucydides records one instance when the Assembly voted one day to massacre the citizens of the rebellious city of Mytilene, only to regret it the next, hurriedly dispatching a second boat to inform the would-be executioners of their change of heart.
Renaissance Florentines, too, understood that democracy meant participation - literally self-government. By drawing in the entire citizen class, Florentine government was genuinely communal. To encourage the broadest participation, Florentines limited the office holding to short periods - often as little as two months, even for the chief executive of the land - guaranteeing that over the course of years most citizens would hold multiple positions.
Fearful that voting could be corrupted through bribes and intimidation, Florentines also adopted the peculiar system of choosing their elected officials at random, blindly drawing the names of candidates from electoral bags. In theory a butcher could serve as head of state, a grocer could vote directly on matters of war and peace. In practice, the system of government by unskilled amateurs encouraged the formation of a shadow government, dominated by a cadre of wealthy and powerful men ultimately dominated by the Medici family and their cronies whose expertise was necessary to the proper functioning of the state.
Both the Athenian and Florentine system inspired a level of passion and sense of responsibility missing in our own representative democracy. In the upcoming presidential election pundits will cheer if voter turnout creeps above 50 percent. Apathy and cynicism reign. The low approval rating of both the president and Congress suggests citizens' alienation from those who govern. The formation of a permanent and professional political class - a concept anathema to both Athenians and Florentines - means that most Americans no longer see this is a government of the people, by the people, and for the people. Instead of rapid rotation in office, politicians have perfected the art of incumbency and honed the skills of fund-raising. Florentines divided political offices into two sorts: those unimportant ones for which the holder received compensation, and those vital offices for which the only payment was the honor of serving one's country.
While it is unrealistic in a nation of more than a quarter billion people to revive the direct street-corner democracy of ancient Athens or Renaissance Florence, we could learn valuable lessons from our predecessors. True democracy requires a level of engagement long missing from our political system. It demands that we be citizens, not merely voters.
Americans barely possess even the minimum requirements of citizenship, like keeping ourselves informed on the issues of the day. Recent surveys suggest our shocking ignorance of both history and geography. Those countries we hope to remake in our image might be more inclined to follow our lead if we could actually locate them on a map.
Miles J. Unger is author of Magnifico: The Brilliant Life and Violent Times of Lorenzo de' Medici.
